The Hidden Flame (31 page)

"The Sanhedrin has arrested the apostles."

Julian stopped suddenly as he returned with bread and cheese. Linux shared a look with his aged servant and said, "When was this?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Do you know the charges?"

"They were preaching from Solomon's Porch."

Linux again looked at his servant, who shrugged. Linux gripped the boy with the hand not holding his mug and lifted him to his feet. "Come, sit at the table."

The boy wolfed down his food and talked between bites. Julian leaned against the doorpost, watching with a soldier's wary eye. The lad did not stop either talking or eating until the plate before him was polished clean.

"Let me see if I have this straight," Linux said. "The ruling Judeans treat this patio area beside their Council building as hallowed ground, which only the senior teachers may use for their proclamations. But the apostles have started using it as their own personal station."

Julian put in, "Sounds as if they were deliberately seeking to provoke the Council."

"Not exactly," Jacob replied, idly rubbing his belly. "They feel the Sanhedrin no longer is able to speak for God. The religious leaders' aim is to hold to power, not help the people."

"And how about the apostles? Whom do they speak for?" Linux asked.

"The apostles have been assigned their authority by the Lord," Jacob replied. "The Spirit fills them and they speak. For them, it is only logical to address the nation from a platform of authority like Solomon's Porch."

Julian's eyebrows rose. "Did you think all that up by yourself?"

The youth shook his head. "But I listen. And Abigail speaks of little else these days."

"You haven't said why you ran away." This from Linux.

"Alban wants me to go work for him in Galilee. But I want to stay here and become a legionnaire. Abigail says I must go with him. And the leaders . . ." Jacob's features drew down. "I don't know what to do."

Linux thought of Abigail now bound to another man, and he wondered if he would ever be free of that gnawing desire. When he did not speak, Julian asked, "Let's go back a moment, lad. The folks who want you to leave Jerusalem for the north, they're the same leaders who were arrested by the Sanhedrin?"

"Yes, but the apostles are free again."

"The Sanhedrin's already freed your leaders?"

"No, sire. An angel came in the night and freed them. This morning they went back to the porch again."

"They are still preaching from the restricted area?" Julian's face could have held either bewilderment or affront. "The Sanhedrin will hand them their heads."

Linux was bewildered himself. "Why do they seek to provoke the Council?"

"They do not care what the Council says or does. They follow the edicts of our Lord. But I ..." He drifted to a halt and stared unblinking at his empty plate.

"You can see ahead to the day when the Sanhedrin will punish you all," Linux supplied quietly.

"Abigail says all this is happening for a purpose." Jacob looked from one man to the other. "She says we must be strong and trust in God. She says we are being cleaved away from all that is unclean, all that is not of our Lord. I don't understand what she is saying! All I can see is ... death."

Linux rose to his feet. "You were right to come here, Jacob."

Julian demanded, "Where are you going?"

"Out to learn what I can."

Julian's age and infirmities kept him from moving fast. But he managed to step in front of Linux to block the doorway. "Think carefully over what you are about to do. If the prelate is anything like the rumors I am hearing, you do not want to let him think for one instant you are on the side of people he may decide to put down."

Linux stepped around his servant. "You will frighten the boy," he said, his voice low.

"Now is as good a time as any I have ever known for remaining well hidden, utterly silent."

"Stay with Julian-I will be back," Linux said to Jacob. As he reached the stairs, he heard a voice calling his name from below. "Here!"

The prelate's household officer climbed the stairs and looked about the stable chambers with obvious disdain. "Governor Marcellus sends his greetings and invites you to join him at the arena tomorrow."

Linux had heard officers in the fortress speak of the prelate's coming games. Some were eager, but most treated the affair with scorn. The majority of the true warriors had little time for the arena. The smell of blood upon the sand only brought back the battles they preferred to forget. But Linux knew an official command when he heard one. "Please thank the prelate, and say I shall be honored."

The subaltern saluted, then offered, "There is a man lurking down below. He has the look of the caravan about him. Or perhaps that of a thief."

"Thank you. I shall go down directly."

But when the officer had departed, Jacob leapt forward in panic. "Alban has come to take me back!"

"He will take you nowhere."

"But he is my guardian! He can order-"

"You are under the protection of a Roman officer. I will go and see what he has to say."

Downstairs he found Alban standing in the first stall, currying a horse and speaking with a smiling stableboy. Alban brushed the gleaming flank in long strokes timed to his words. As Linux approached, he heard Alban talking about Rabbi Jesus. Linux stopped outside the stall, listening as his old friend murmured in easy tones that would calm both horse and man. He felt a sudden burning rage at this Judean God who was keeping him from the woman he wanted. He had a dozen reasons why Alban should be helping him in arranging this. Instead, they invoked this dead prophet's name as if erecting a barrier between themselves and the rest of the world. But he knew in an instant that was as unreasonable as his rage-the woman was promised to another, and if these people wanted to build barriers to keep people like him out, why would they risk their lives by returning to the porch?

Alban handed the brush back to the stableboy and invited him to come sup with them that night. He patted the horse's flank, lifted his head to look at Linux, and walked over. "There are few things I miss about my years as a soldier. But I admit such fine horses are a far cry from the nags a caravan guard rides."

"What do you want?"

Alban must have heard far more than Linux's query. "Old friend, old friend."

"It's a simple enough question. What?"

"I came for Jacob. I heard his voice upstairs, so please don't deny that he is with you."

"I deny nothing. Why should I? He is here of his own volition."

"I need to have a word with him."

"He wishes to become a legionnaire. A goal you instilled in the lad yourself. A most excellent goal."

"He is a Judean and a follower of the Prince of Peace. His future is among his own."

Linux could no longer hold back. "Like the woman you refused to me. So that now she is betrothed." Bitterness filled Linux's mouth so he could scarcely form the words. "Jacob has no interest in speaking any further with you."

"Do not refuse me this out of revenge. He is in danger."

Linux turned away. "Jacob has made his choice. As you did."

"Wait!" Alban's hand fell upon Linux's shoulder. "Tell Jacob I fear for his life. There is more trouble on the wind."

"This is nothing Jacob does not already know," Linux said, shrugging off the hand. "I could have saved Abigail and her brother if you had been the friend you claim to be!"

"Abigail is the betrothed wife of a man she has come to love, doing the Lord's work. Of that I am certain. We are now talking about the boy. You have heard about the events of yesterday?"

Alban's gaze kept Linux where he was. "You mean the imprisonment of the apostles? Jacob told me."

"Last night an angel of the Lord freed them. Today-"

"He told me that as well. I can accept a youth speaking of such nonsense as though it actually happened. But you, a former legionnaire, a former officer, should take more care in the gossip you repeat."

Linux half expected an argument. In fact, he would have welcomed it as an excuse to break things off cleanly and forever.

But Alban's gaze only deepened. "From where you stand, old friend, your words make sense. But hear me out. We followers of the risen Lord are seeing these kinds of extraordinary happenings on a daily basis. We are surrounded by miracles. To have a messenger of God free our captive leaders is amazing and indeed unbelievable-yes, I agree. But from where I stand, it is only the next event in a series of miracles that started upon the day of Pentecost, when tongues of fire settled upon us and I heard the message of truth spoken in the language of my homeland by someone who had never heard a word of it before this."

Linux felt the vague stirrings deep in his soul, a reflection of what he had first sensed in the dimness of a Sabbath courtyard, and then again while watching a man's mere shadow bring the ill and maimed to health.

Alban must have sensed the change, for he leaned closer still. "Join with us, Linux, and know this same power to heal the pain in your heart, that which goes far beyond physical pain."

Linux felt himself torn, as though the invitation were in truth a blade that could cut him off from everything he had ever known and leave him with something totally unfamiliar and even frightening. And yet ... He wrenched himself back. "You make less sense with every word you speak." But his voice sounded weak in his own ears.

Alban looked at him a long moment, then sighed. "Tell Jacob I would have him come with me to Galilee. He can travel as a caravan guard and see the world from a very different vantage point than he's had before. I should have done this before. But I thought it would be better not to separate him from his sister-that he would learn more of what it means to be a follower of Jesus in the company of our apostles. But I see I may have been mistaken. Tell him ... Tell him I must leave in two days. I hope and pray he will come with me. He knows where to find me."

C H A P T E R

TWENTY-SEVEN

As EZRA ENTERED THE TEMPLE GATES at the side of Gamaliel, the air smoldered between them. Gamaliel had declared it was finished, he would clash no more with his oldest friend and closest adviser. Ezra was silent, seething with all that he had not said.

The Temple guards saluted Gamaliel, but he did not respond. Inside the compound, he aimed for the throng between the Temple and the outer wall. Though nearly noon, it was as though the people of Jerusalem had arrived for their dawn devotionals and never left.

As they approached the horde, Ezra had a sudden image, one of such piercing clarity he felt for a moment as though he actually had been transported back to the days of his youth. He was reliving a day when he and Gamaliel had moved through a similar throng, so caught up in their argument over a passage of Scripture they had not even noticed how the crowd parted and then closed in behind them to follow. The two headed for their teacher, the senior Pharisee waiting for them upon Solomon's portico. That day, the teacher stepped to one side and motioned for Gamaliel and Ezra to continue their dispute. They had launched back into their heated discussion, so passionate they failed to realize the entire gathering was listening. Finally Ezra had looked over and seen their teacher, instead of being irate that they were usurping his podium, smiling. He came to them and gripped their shoulders. He announced to the listeners, "I leave my life's work in able hands." And the crowd had laughed and applauded.

Now the Council's lead Pharisee turned and looked at him. Gamaliel's countenance was so somber, so reflective, Ezra wondered if he had been recalling the same event.

Gamaliel said, "I will argue with you no longer, Ezra. I will simply explain to you as I am able the basis for my concern. Will you honor me by listening to what I have to say?"

Why should I, he wanted to retort, when you refused me the same honor? But all he said was, "I will listen."

"Come, then." Gamaliel started through the crowd.

If anything, the gathering was more impenetrable than the previous day. A murmur ran ahead of them, and the crowd parted, pressing aside until the robes of the men they passed became two dark walls. Normally they would be greeted as respected merchantscholar and Council elder with murmurs of respect. Today, however, these men were silent, their eyes burning with a scalding rage. Their anger was not directed at Ezra, however. He walked in the wake of wrath being poured upon Gamaliel. Undoubtedly news had spread of his comments before the Council, how he had stayed the hand that would have unleashed their fury against the followers. Now Gamaliel walked forward, his face to the stones at his feet, giving no sign that he noticed anything at all.

But Ezra saw. He absorbed the crowd's wrath like an elixir that might someday ease his own burning wound.

As yesterday, they arrived at the same stretch of empty stones. On the other side of this impossible divide was a second group, one that occupied the entire length of Solomon's Porch.

"And so they grow," Gamaliel murmured.

"Which is only one more reason for the Council to act," Ezra hissed.