The Hidden Flame (36 page)

C H A P T E R

THIRTY

LINUX SLEPT BETTER than he could remember. He awoke to the sound of Julian moving about in the adjoining room. As his feet touched the floor, the aging servant appeared in the doorway and announced, "There is tea. And hot water for shaving. And a soldier in praetorian dress arrived this morning bearing a scroll from the prelate."

Linux nodded his thanks and went to the bronze mirror by the door to shave.

"You look ... well, different this morning," Julian observed as he brought in the breakfast, the scroll tucked under his arm.

"That is precisely how I feel," he said, the razor-sharp knife scraping over his face.

"Good to hear. You've been rather off your feed of late."

"An illness," Linux replied quietly.

"One brought back from Umbria?"

"No. This ailment I have carried with me for far longer."

"So it's gone, then," the man said, placing the items of food on the table.

Linux took a moment to study the image reflected back at him and wonder if the change was there for all to see. "I can only hope so."

The scroll bore the prelate's crest. As promised, it assigned Linux chambers in the Antonia Fortress, a staff, and an increase both in stipend and rank. Julian's eyebrows rose as Linux read the inscription aloud.

Linux was just finishing breakfast when Alban's voice called, "Permission to enter?"

"Please. Come."

Alban climbed the stairs and entered. "How are you, old friend?"

"I feel better than I have in a long time, though I can scarce believe it myself."

"Believe it," Alban said firmly. "Believe also that it does my heart good to hear the news."

"But I thought you were leaving today."

"The caravan master has decided to put off our departure a few more days." Alban started to say something more, then stopped and finished simply, "It is for the best."

Linux had the distinct impression that Alban wanted to say something about Abigail. But he did not press. "How is Jacob?"

"He has agreed to accompany me."

Linux rose to his feet. "I would like to speak with him."

"That is why he came." Alban followed Linux from the chamber, then halted him at the top of the stairs. He said, "There is another man with us."

Linux noticed his friend's hesitation. "Who is this one?"

Alban took a hard breath. "His name is Stephen."

"Do I know this man?"

"You have seen him. Several times." Another breath. "Stephen is Abigail's betrothed."

"You brought that man here? To what end?"

"We prayed for you last night. Afterward Stephen came to me and said that God had spoken to him. About you."

Linux stared back at Alban, stunned into silence.

"It is customary to offer new believers instruction from one of our leaders," Alban added.

Linux nodded slowly. Not just in confirmation, but rather to give himself time to take in the words. "Your God told this man to offer me instruction?"

Alban smiled briefly, then corrected, "Our God."

"There is much to learn," Linux said. He searched himself and found only the same calm he had awakened to that morning. "He is sincere in this wish to teach me?"

"Come and determine for yourself."

Word came by way of a young boy. Abigail felt herself tremble as she was summoned into the courtyard to speak with him. The youth looked as nervous as she felt. She assumed this was his first task of such importance, and the way he tightly held his fist told her that he clutched coins for his service.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"A man, Alban, asks you to come back to your quarters. He is waiting to speak with you," he said in a rush.

Abigail's hand flew to her breast. Jacob. "Is ... is my brother well?"

"Your brother?"

"Jacob. My brother. Is he-?"

"I cannot say," the lad said with a shake of his head. "I have given you the message just as it was given me."

Abigail fought for composure. "Thank you. You may go."

He whirled and ran from the compound.

Abigail also hastened her steps to the kitchen. Already she was out of breath. "I must go, Martha. Alban must have news of Jacob."

"Is he well?"

"I ... I have not been told."

"Go and God be with you," said the older woman.

Abigail almost ran out, wrapping her shawl about her.

By the time she reached her street she felt sick to her stomach. Both because of the hot sun and because of her uncertainty about what might be ahead. But as she hurried up the alley she saw Alban sitting in the shade of the lean-to.

And Jacob ...

He was not far off, leaning against the building's wall.

Abigail whispered a fervent prayer of thanks as she rushed toward them.

Alban rose to his feet, but it was Jacob who moved toward her. "I am sorry," he began. "Sorry for making you worry. I shouldn't have left with no word."

She managed to control her emotions as she stood in front of him. "You are here now. That is all that matters. You are here." She reached out a hand, and he grasped it tightly.

She could not read Jacob's expression as she looked into his face. Something new was there, something she could not identify.

Alban finally spoke. "Let us go inside."

Abigail followed numbly, hardly recognizing her own humble abode. Alban motioned her to the one stool while he and Jacob settled on a floor mat. "Linux seems to have done me another favor," Alban began.

"Linux?"

"He has sent Jacob back to us. Jacob now sees that some dreams are meant to be handed over to God. To be remolded and redirected in keeping with his will. Sometimes our plans do not fit with the plans of God. Linux helped. . ."

Alban stopped, and he and Abigail looked at Jacob, who was staring straight ahead at the empty gate and the road beyond. His attention seemed to have been given to something, to someone, beyond the present, beyond Alban's words.

Then Jacob spoke. "Linux only told me what I already had realized. I saw it for myself." He hesitated as though even the telling was too hard for him.

"Where were you?" breathed Abigail. "What happened?"

"The arena."

"You were where?" Abigail could feel anger surging inside her. "Why were you in such an evil place?"

"Linux had taken him there-perhaps unwittingly," Alban explained. "Or perhaps to show him what being a legionnaire really means.

"It truly was awful," went on Jacob, his voice nearly inaudible. "Six soldiers, they called them gladiators, were fighting. Two already were dying in the sand. And the people were shouting and laughing and yelling for more blood. They used this ... this horror like it was a game. For their amusement. Death. And pain. And suffering. I could hear the fighters groaning and crying out to their gods. They were frightened to die. And they were frightened to live. I could tell.

"That's when I knew I could never be a Roman soldier. I thought ... I thought their assignment was to keep peace. To serve the law. To fight the enemy. Not ... not to fight each other in an arena filled with screaming people. Not die in a heap in the sand with flies swarming all over. I knew then that I could never be a soldier. It was wicked. It was wrong."

The lad turned an ashen face toward them. "And I had been approached by the Zealots. They showed me another side to being a soldier. Different, yet the same. If I joined the legionnaires or the Zealots, most likely I would be forced to fight other Judeans. And kill them. And for what?"

Jacob covered his face with his hands. Abigail was sure that he was seeing the horrible scene all over again. She slipped off the stool and knelt beside him, drawing him close. "It's all right, Jacob. You are here now. Safe."

For a time Jacob huddled within her embrace. When he pushed back, Abigail didn't know if the trace of tears on his cheek were his ... or hers.

Jacob took a deep breath, then another. Alban spoke softly. "Who was in that arena, Jacob?"

The boy shook his head. "I do not know who they were. They were torn and bloodied and lying on the ground. Some were still crying or groaning, and calling out to their gods." He looked down. "And I prayed. I knew I needed to pray. For them."

Jacob was swallowing, fighting to control his deep emotion. "I asked God what I should do. I asked him to guide me. I had always wanted to be a soldier, but I knew I couldn't be a legionnaire or a Zealot. I didn't know what to do. So he ... he showed me."

Abigail found it hard to wait for the boy to reveal the Lord's answer. It took him a moment, but at length he lifted his head. "I'm going with Alban."

Alban said, "The caravan master has almost completed his business here. We should be leaving within the week. Until then, Jacob will remain with me and learn of his new responsibilities on the road as a caravan guard."

Abigail felt enormous relief, but also mourned inwardly, What will I do without Jacob?

She forced the thought aside and even managed a slight smile. "I shall miss you, brother."

"But you must come too," Jacob said quickly. "You can't stay here."

"I must stay here," responded Abigail. "I am betrothed. To Stephen."

"If he wants to claim you, he can come too. He should go with us."

"His calling is here. He has just been appointed-"

"God can use him wherever he is," Jacob argued. "Galilee needs believers, too, does it not, Alban?" The boy was practically pleading.

"Indeed it does. But each of us must serve where God has placed us. If Stephen feels God has asked him to serve here, then stay here he must until God provides different guidance. You have now decided to be a soldier of our God rather than a soldier of Rome, and God is now your authority. He will give the commands, and you must learn obedience. That is also true for Stephen.

"And I must stay with him," Abigail added. "We will serve God together. There is much need, and Stephen is a good man. He is totally dedicated to our Lord-and the people. He wishes only to give his life in service. And I-"

"But . . ." It was obvious Jacob was sorely troubled.

"What is it?" prompted Alban.

Jacob bowed his head, and his shoulders were shaking as though he had taken a chill.

"There is more?"

Jacob lifted his head, but his eyes were tightly closed. "When I was praying in the arena, I had a dream. A vision-or something. Instead of the gladiators, I was seeing ... our people. Believers of the Way. Followers." He opened his eyes and looked at Alban.

"It was our people in the arena," he said, his voice hushed. "I knew it. As real as if they were actually there. And the crowd was still cheering and laughing and calling for blood."

Jacob turned to Abigail. "Please. Please, sister, come with us."

Once again Abigail wrapped her arms around him. "Jacob, I love you dearly. Though it is very hard to see you leave, I am glad you are going with Alban. To be with Alban and Leah-and the baby. But I cannot go. My place is here with the man I have come to love. He needs me. If ... if suffering lies ahead, then that too is in God's hands. Don't you see? He knows what is ahead, and he has not shown me, at least yet, to leave for Galilee."

She ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I will tell Stephen of ... of what you saw, and ask him to be watchful. He will warn the others."

Alban asked softly, "And what did God say must be done?"

Jacob raised his head and looked at Alban, then Abigail. He said, `You must be ready.' "

C H A P T E R

THIRTY- ONE

LINUX CLIMBED THE NARROW LANE into the Old City. Accompanied by a young lad whose name he did not remember, Linux was being escorted to his next meeting with Stephen. Though the world had shifted beneath Linux's feet, and he now saw things through different eyes, he was still a Roman entering an ancient Judean realm. To be led by a distinctly Hebrew lad was a sign, to any who noticed, that Linux came because he was invited.

As soon as he entered the plaza, the memories swept over him. So much had happened here-Alban's wedding, their fleeing from Herod's wrath, meeting Abigail, and now this. For a brief instant Linux was tempted to turn back.