The Hidden Flame (27 page)

"But neither of these is a follower. Nor is Linux even a Godfearer. Ezra is most stubborn in his refusal to join us. In Linux, I see hints of change. But at this point, he too remains among the nonbelievers. Given those circumstances, I am not able to recommend either one of them."

Alban nodded again. "It is as you say. Neither man is suitable for Abigail."

"It is agreed, then. I shall tell both men that you have not accepted their offer."

I am safe. Abigail's hands dropped into her lap, and she lowered her eyes also so they would not give away her relief.

Alban rubbed a point on his ankle where the sandal straps must have chafed. "It may not be quite that simple. Both men have power and influence. Both represent groups looking for reason to destroy us. I would not want to unnecessarily make cause for further conflict."

"And you have a suggestion?"

Abigail felt her stomach tighten.

"I think it might be wise for Abigail and Jacob to return to Galilee with me."

Abigail saw her brother sit forward and look around, eyes wide in protest, then sink back into the shadowed recess where he was seated. She knew Jacob would fight this idea with all his being.

But Alban must have noticed Jacob's response. Abigail saw the sorrow that filled Alban's eyes as he glanced briefly at her. He continued, "I will see if I can make arrangements with the caravan driver. We are not prepared to transport a young woman, but perhaps-"

"There could be another way." Peter was stroking his beard, his fingers curling to rake through the thick growth. "You could give her in marriage to one of ours. We have several who might be suitable."

Abigail's spine stiffened in shock. Was she to be given to another man, someone else she did not know, in whom she had no interest? And what of love? She forced herself to sink back against the cool stone of the wall behind her, her whirling thoughts causing her to barely hear the ongoing discussion of her future.

"Yes," Alban was saying. Clearly the idea was pleasing to him, and he leaned forward, arms folded on the table. "Yes. That could be done. We could celebrate their betrothal before I leave. So there would be no further question."

Abigail wanted to leap to her feet and shout a refusal. But, like Jacob, she did not utter a sound, just pushed back further against the wall and tried not to weep. She could not, would not, challenge the authority of her guardian.

But Alban was speaking again. "I met a young man that impressed me greatly. What can you tell me about this fellow Stephen?"

Stephen? Abigail wanted to run and hide. Please, please, she cried inwardly, don't thrust me on Stephen. He is a fine and honorable man, but far too sensitive and caring. He would feel obligated to marry me just to save me from an unsuitable union. You don't know Stephen. A man of great faith which he puts into action daily. He totally gives of himself for others....

Abigail stopped breathing. She had just listed the qualities she would look for in a husband.

"Stephen," Peter was musing aloud. "Yes, Stephen. I couldn't have chosen better myself."

Abigail's thoughts became such a jumble she could no longer sort out what was being said. Stephen was called, and she drew back in embarrassment as he stood before the elders, even as she found herself yearning to hear what he might say.

Alban laid out the circumstances. He then asked Stephen outright if he would be willing to agree to a betrothal to Abigail.

Though her head was lowered, Abigail watched Stephen take a small step back. Then he turned and somehow found her in the shadows. Abigail saw a tenderness in his gaze, an expression she had never seen before.

"I can think of no greater honor for any man," Stephen replied. "But, sir," he said, turning back to Alban, "I have nothing to give. I am a poor man that God has called to serve. I have nothing to offer in return for such a gift. Nothing."

Alban was quick in his response. "Indeed, you have everything to offer that I wish for Abigail. Faith. Uprightness. Integrity. Good will. What are the world's riches in comparison to these? And if I'm interpreting correctly, you could also promise her love."

"Yes," said Stephen simply. "I have already learned to love her. She serves with a heart of compassion. She desires only what God is pleased to give her. Yes, I would love her."

Abigail closed her eyes and let the wonder of the moment wash over her. Stephen had expressed love for her. Before them all, he had declared his love.

There followed a spontaneous celebration of sorts. With the help of a learned elder, Alban and Peter drew up papers. Stephen was not a bit hesitant to sign the document. Abigail was drawn forward by a smiling Martha. Her down-to-earth strength provided a heartwarming validation. Abigail stood before Peter, Alban, and Stephen with a confidence she did not quite yet feel. But when asked if this betrothal was what she wished for herself, she replied, "It is."

Peter thumped the table. "It is settled, then. On the morrow your betrothal to Stephen shall be announced."

Martha put a strong arm around Abigail, and other women came forward to embrace her and offer their blessings. Abigail felt as though their words and their heartfelt joy spilled over her like an anointing. Her eyes were so filled that when Alban stepped in front of her, she scarcely could make him out.

But it was the strong but gentle voice of her guardian that said, "Abigail, I wish you the same joy and contentment with Stephen that I have found with my Leah."

She heard herself thank him, saying something she hoped made sense. Still, she could scarcely believe it. The man she had learned to admire, the man whose steady faith had helped her own to grow, was to become her husband.

Only two things marred her happiness that night. Leah was not present to share her joy.

And Jacob had vanished into the night.

C H A P T E R

TWENTY-THREE

FOR THE FIRST TIME since he had arrived in Judea, Linux found himself without enough to do. In light of the "special assignment" he had been given, the prelate had relieved Linux of all regular duties. He still had not officially accepted the task of moving the Temple treasury into Marcellus's possession, though he had discovered the secret doorway into the Temple grounds.

Tribune Bruno Aetius was leaving Antonia Fortress on the morrow, and he was taking most of his officer corps with him. The news was passed on by the tribune's adjutant. The officer apologized, saying that the tribune had intended to speak personally with Linux. But he had been called away on an urgent matter. "The Zealots have attacked one of our outlying garrisons," the adjutant explained. He then said, "The tribune wishes you good fortune."

"Please pass on my wishes for a safe journey, which I offer you as well."

He was a clean-shaven man a few years younger than Linux. "The tribune would like me to remind you that his invitation to join him in Damascus still ..." He halted midsentence when a shadow filled the doorway. "Yes, what is it?"

"The prelate's compliments. He asks if the officer Linux is present."

"I am."

"Governor Marcellus asks if you are prepared to present your report."

"Not yet. But soon-"

"The prelate reminds you that this matter is most pressing."

"Give the governor my respects, and tell him I hope to have my report ready in two days. Three at the most."

The prelate's household guard saluted and departed. The adjutant studied the empty doorway and quietly remarked, "Do you find it interesting, Linux Aurelius, that the prelate's own guard arrives just as we were about to speak of the tribune's invitation to you?"

Linux did not respond.

"I see," the adjutant said dryly. "Very well, I will make sure the tribune receives your . . . reply."

Linux saluted and left, passing through the fortress courtyards, where iron rang upon iron. Linux stood and watched young recruits, sweating in the summer heat and learning Roman warcraft. He tried to tell himself he had no choice in the matter, that the prelate had ordered him to remain. Even more, the prelate's messenger had just revealed how closely Linux was being kept under observation. But Linux knew full well that if he wished, he could slip away in the night and join the tribune in their march to Damascus. Once there, he would be under the protection of a man who had every reason to despise the governor of Judea and ignore his protests. No, Linux intended to remain because ...

He found it impossible to even think the woman's name without his heart lurching. Abigail. His disappointment at Alban's refusal to help him had hardened into a calculated rage. That morning, in the midst of another sleepless dawn, Linux had made his decision. He would go to Marcellus and agree to the task. He would steal the Temple gold for the prelate.

But only after Marcellus obtained the Judean girl for him.

Why would the prelate refuse the request? After all, the man had already formally assigned Linux the guardianship over his brother's family and promised Castor's assassination. What difference would it make to the governor whom Linux married?

But first Linux would give Alban one final chance to help him, possibly diverting him from having to complete a theft that made him more than uncomfortable.

The last thing Linux expected, however, was to find his friend standing in the shadows across from the fortress gates. His heart gave a tight lurch. "Alban? I thought you were keeping clear of the city. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, of course." He pushed himself off the wall and left the shadows behind. "The stable master said you had been called in by Bruno. How is the tribune?"

Linux waved that aside. "Do you have news of Abigail?"

"I do." Alban took a long breath. "I came because I wanted you to hear this from me. Knowing your heart, this is not easy for me to say. Abigail is betrothed to one of our own."

Linux felt his heart heave more violently, as though it sought a way out of his ribs. "You cannot let this happen."

"It already has, old friend. The young man's name is Stephen. He is a good man. In time, I think he may well become a leader among the believers."

"And if I became one? What then?"

Alban clearly had not expected this. "Would you do this truly?"

"Answer me that question. You owe me this much," Linux pressed. "Would you reconsider if I joined you?"

..." Alban stopped and sighed. His head dropped "It is not a. . ." and his eyes clenched shut.

Linux realized with yet another start that his friend was praying. There was no other explanation for the sudden silence. He started to shout his demand that Alban respond. But he was suddenly caught by the recollection of an unseen presence filling a Judean courtyard, strong as the torch flames, strong as the night. Linux realized he was feeling that same sensation again. For some reason, the realization filled him with remorse as real as a physical pain.

Alban lifted his head. He looked at Linux with a calm that unsettled Linux as much as the news about Abigail. Perhaps more.

Alban said simply, "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"There is something I want you to see."

The empty lane fronting the fortress spilled into a major market thoroughfare. They turned left and followed the avenue up to where it bisected the main artery passing before the Temple gates. Linux tried to avoid this thoroughfare whenever possible. It was the area where overt hostility, resentment, and an entire society's chafing under the Roman heel was concentrated. If ever a riot were to start in Jerusalem, it would be here, where the crowds were worst, the religious fervor highest, and the Temple guards eyed every passing Roman with undisguised loathing.

Yet Alban passed through the throngs with ease. Though many cast silent daggers toward Linux in his legionnaire's uniform, few if any seemed concerned by Alban. He moved easily up the tightly packed lane, then turned away from the Temple toward the Old City.

He pointed Linux into a side alcove. "We can wait here."

Linux sat beside him. "You have become one of them. A Judean."

"The correct term is God-fearer. And, yes, I have."

"So why couldn't I-"

"I ask that you wait, my friend. Everything will be made clear."

Linux stifled his irritation with an impatient sigh and settled back against the wall. Alban glanced up several times to the sky overhead. Linux realized the man was noting time's passage by the sun. "What are we waiting for?"

"The afternoon prayers."

"You mean, inside the Temple? Then why are we here?"

Alban lifted a hand. "Patience. It won't be much longer."

But it seemed to Linux that the waiting was endless. He thought of a dozen different arguments he could force upon his friend. He thought of racing to the prelate's chambers and demanding that Marcellus act immediately, before the betrothal could take place. His mind grew more frantic by the minute. Until finally Alban said, "It is happening."

"What is?"

"Look and see for yourself."

Linux squinted into the sunlight. If anything, the avenue seemed more densely packed than normal. A sudden gap in the throng allowed Linux to see the crowds were not increasing, but rather the avenue itself was becoming obstructed. And how this was taking place caused his hair to stand up on his neck.