The Hidden Flame (37 page)

Ahead waited the young man with gentle but searching eyes, the one who was betrothed to the woman Linux still thought of with a pang through his heart. How could he, a Roman officer and by blood a member of the aristocracy, come to such a man for instruction? Yet the force that had drawn him this far remained with him still, a growing determination to see this to completion.

The boy pushed open the inner doors through which Linux had spoken to Abigail.... Could it have been only a few weeks ago? So much had become packed into those ensuing days. The youngster spoke to Linux for the first time since meeting him where the fortress lane intersected with the main avenue. He said, "Wait here."

The interior courtyard was crowded. Many people, mostly women, surrounded the central table so that the boy could not squeeze through. He called, "Stephen?"

"Here."

"The Roman has come!"

All eyes turned Linux's way. He searched the faces for a glimpse of Abigail. He knew it was futile, but he could not help himself. All he saw were weathered features, ancient eyes filled with at least curiosity, some with hostility and fear.

Stephen must have found a way through the throng. He smiled at Linux. "Welcome, welcome. Perhaps we would be more comfortable speaking outside."

Linux allowed himself to be drawn back into the outer plaza. Stephen explained, "I am helping with widows from among the Hellenized community. You understand that word?"

"Judeans drawn from around the empire."

"We want to be sure they are treated fairly by the local community of believers."

"Why you, may I ask?"

"Why indeed? I wanted to decline their request, but ..." Stephen led him to a bench shaded from the afternoon sun. "Sit, please. Now tell me. Why are you here?"

"You sent for me."

"Yes, yes, of course. But listen to what I am saying. Why are you here? What has brought you to this point, that you would sit with me this afternoon and speak of matters related to our Lord?"

Linux resisted the urge to squirm. "I dislike speaking about myself."

To his surprise, Stephen did not press him further. He may not have expected an answer. "I would like to offer a suggestion, Linux. Stop me if what I say does not apply. You came because you have found yourself trapped. There are forces at work in your life over which you have no control. You are a man of power, of influence, of wealth. And yet, you feel helpless."

Linux could not have been more surprised. "How-?"

"There are others who have experienced similar trials. Here, let me tell you the thoughts of one such person. Another man of power, a king. This comes from our holy texts, and it is called a psalm." He shut his eyes and began to recite, "'Save me, 0 God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing; I have come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. I am weary with my crying; my throat is dry; my eyes fail while I wait for my God. Those who hate me without a cause are more than the hairs of my head; they are mighty who would destroy me, being my enemies wrongfully; though I have stolen nothing, I still must restore it. 0 God, You know my foolishness; and my sins are not hidden from You. Let not those who wait for You, 0 Lord God of hosts, be ashamed because of me.'"

Linux could barely speak. "Why are you telling me this?"

Stephen opened his eyes. "I would like to introduce you further to our Lord God through the holy writings. David was a man chosen by God, anointed as king, and yet he too suffered. As do we all. And here is the key. Our God has been with us all along. Our God awaits the moment when we turn to him and ask his forgiveness, his blessing, his anointing, his peace."

Linux looked around the empty plaza. A pair of sparrows fluttered down from the empty sky, drank from the well, and flew away. Somewhere in the distance a donkey brayed. Through a window behind him, Linux heard a child laugh. "I understand none of this, and yet it calls to me."

Stephen nodded slowly, rocking his entire upper body in the process. "This is true of all of us. It is a huge change, from unbelief to knowing God's presence, from perception of only what we can see, hear, and feel to a new realm, the spiritual world. We enter into this like infants.

"Listen to me, Linux. I do not meet you out here, away from the community of believers, because you are Roman and excluded. I meet you here so that we are not distracted by all else that goes on inside. We do not sit here and speak because you must be proselytized into one temple sect or another. You are here because you already know God. He has touched your heart. Is that not so?"

Linux's swallow was loud in his own ears. He nodded. "Yes."

"So he has touched you, and yet there is much you do not yet understand. How are you to fathom all that is happening? What shall be the direction from inside for what you think? How you shall live? Where you will go? The answer, my new brother, is found within the sacred texts. Together we will begin to study them, you and I. You will learn to speak with God directly. And you will discover how to listen to him speak with you."

Ezra brooded as he watched his children play with the maidservant. She had been personally selected by Miriam, Gamaliel's wife. Seventeen, the girl came from a poor but very religious family. Tonight she had fed the children, then brought them into the room where Ezra pretended to work. The candlelight cast their young features in ruddy shades, and their laughter filled the usually somber chamber. His little girl walked over to where his chair was set by the open window and pulled at his sleeve. Ezra lifted her up and placed her in his lap. The child smelled fresh, and her voice sounded clear and sweet. She allowed herself to be held for a few moments, then squirmed her way down and returned to play with the servant and her brother.

The maidservant was attractive enough, with a pleasant face and a lilting voice that soothed and encouraged as she interacted with the two children. Yet Ezra would never dream of seeking such a one as his wife. How could he have permitted himself to be ensnared by that orphaned washerwoman, one belonging to a sect that held such power over its members? He shook his head at the agonizing memory of his sister.

His gaze moved to the drapes drifting in the evening breeze. The bottom of each drape was sewn around a lead weight, and the material was as sheer as a bride's veil, meant to keep out the night creatures but let in the air. Ezra listened to the sound of the drapes sliding across the tiled floor, in time to the music of his children's laughter. He recalled other nights in this room. When his wife had been with child, she had liked to come and sit here to watch him work, her hands cradled about her, a faint smile on her face. The way she had looked at him, her eyes filled with maternal love, had left him feeling as though he was the most blessed of Judean men. He shook his head once more at another agonizing memory.

His head servant appeared in the doorway. "A man is at the gates, sire. He wishes a word with you."

"It is late. Tell him to return tomorrow."

The servant glanced at the maidservant. "He comes from the house of Gamaliel."

"You may show him here." Ezra rose from his chair. "Ask to his needs. If he wishes food, order the cook to relight the fires."

Ezra nodded toward the young woman, and she trailed behind with his son as he carried his protesting daughter to bed. This night he wanted to remain close to her a moment longer. Only later did he wonder if perhaps he had a foreboding of the change to come. He went into his son's room and spoke with him of the day now gone and the one yet to come. As though either of them might have guessed what lay ahead.

Finally he strode back across the courtyard and along the pillared walkway to his chamber. He stood for a moment in the shadows and observed the young man inside. Saul of Tarsus carried himself with such tension that the air about him seemed alive. He was striding back and forth in front of the shelves of scrolls along the north wall, the section which contained Ezra's collection of the Torah, the biblical law. The broad-shouldered man held himself erect in the manner of one who has known hard labor. This was no pale scholar who had lived his days hunched over ancient scrolls in a synagogue.

Ezra stepped through the doorway and said, "I was hoping you would come."

C H A P T E R

THIRTY-Two

THE ANTONIA FORTRESS WAS DESIGNED in a series of square blocks, each surrounding its own interior courtyard. Passages were long and narrow, as though Herod the Great feared his troops might revolt, and so built the fortress and adjoining palace in a manner that sections could be isolated and thus more easily defended. The most sumptuous apartments, and the tribune's private offices, lined the outer wall facing Jerusalem's southern hills. The light was better there, and the rooms were protected from both the city and the soldiers' din.

Linux selected an apartment that probably had housed a senior servant. It overlooked one of the secluded interior courtyards. Julian made his way from room to room, poking into corners and muttering, but he did not object outright.

Two days later, the tribune that had been sent to replace Bruno Aetius arrived from Rome. Lucius Vitellus Metellus was a staunch supporter of the Senate and a man well accustomed to sailing with the political winds. He sent for Linux, who appeared each morning in the tribune's outer office and sat waiting.

The tribune passed through from time to time, normally surrounded by aides and clerks. Because the tribune ignored Linux, so too did his staff.

Each day, just prior to the midday meal, a senior aide emerged and ordered Linux to report again the next day. Linux saluted and left.

In truth, he did not count these mornings as squandered time. For each afternoon he met with Stephen, and the young man continued Linux's instruction. The material Stephen introduced, and the implications of what Linux heard, left him requiring these empty morning hours to reflect before the afternoon's lesson.

Stephen separated his instruction each day into two parts. First, he introduced Linux to writings of the Judean prophets, and what they had to say about the Messiah's coming. Gradually Stephen built up an image of the Messiah-who he was foretold to be and what his role on earth would encompass.

Stephen's second lesson of the day was about a follower's personal behavior regarding prayer and the commandments-both the traditional ones handed down by Moses and, more recently, Jesus' interpretation of them.

It was very hard for Linux to say which of the two was more jolting.

The tribune's antechamber was as vast as Linux's entire apartment, an ocher rectangle twenty paces wide and fifteen long and ten high. Two square windows set in the fortress's thick outer wall gave the impression of light having to burrow its way inside. The morning sun fell in two brilliant pillars upon the polished stone floor. Often Linux rose from his seat to stretch his legs and pace. The distant green and gold Judean hills seemed to follow his movements, as though the country itself monitored his progress.

The process of thinking his way through these lessons forced him to inspect the very core of his life. The more he studied with Stephen, the greater became his certainty that these hours spent captive in the new tribune's outer hall, intended to humiliate an officer close to the consul, were actually graced to him by ... by whom?

It took Linux four days of sitting and pondering and pacing to finish that sentence.

Graced to me by God.

"Linux Aurelius."

"Ah ... yes?" Linux started as though coming awake, and realized he had paced over into the antechamber's furthest corner. He swiveled about. "Yes?" he said again.

"The tribune will see you now."

"Oh, that is, thank you."

Linux straightened his tunic and followed the aide through the tall double doors. He halted before the tribune's wide table and saluted. "Linux Aurelius reporting for duty, sire."

The tribune did not look up from the scroll he was reading. "I suppose you have lodged your complaints with the consul by now."

"Complaints over what, sire?"