The Hidden Flame (43 page)

Finally Stephen rose and began to address the crowd. Ezra found himself refusing to hear what the man was saying. Ezra pushed through the crowd, earning himself a few scowls, but most were too intent on listening to notice.

Suddenly he saw an image as strong as his ire. A veil had descended between him and the man on the synagogue's top stair. The veil was knit from his lies and his deceit and his rage. For an instant, one moment only, the veil lifted. And in that moment he saw.

Stephen's features were wreathed in a light so brilliant it turned the day dark. He spoke two words that Ezra could hear clearly. Messiah. Love.

Then the veil descended once again.

Ezra faltered. The hesitation was not merely in his thoughts. He felt his very soul was being twisted and torn. He stood upon a divide as strong as the line drawn between those gathered at the synagogue. Once more he was granted a choice....

But he had come too far. He had too much devoted to his anger and his lust for vengeance. He was, after all, a merchant. He knew what it meant to strike a bargain and move forward, against all the odds that might turn away lesser men.

He raised a fist over his head. "Blasphemer!"

He had not meant to shout quite so loudly. The noise of his voice startled even himself. All around him, men drew back as they would from an open flame.

But his men took this as not merely a sign, but a spur to action. Their voices rose at a pitch and fervor matching his own. The loudest cries came from the dark-robed rabbis surrounding Saul.

"Seize him!" Ezra shouted. "Take him to the Council!"

Abigail stood with the other women listening to her husband. She felt a little shiver as the still-unfamiliar yet wonderful term filled her mind. She held her arms around herself as she thought about how much their love had grown in such a short amount of time-betrothed only weeks ago, and now their marriage.... But, she told herself, she wasn't here to think about the wonder of all her recent blessings but to listen to Stephen preach.

He had begun the afternoon's teaching with an overview of Hebrew history, which she never tired of hearing, especially when he explained how it all pointed to their Messiah. But now he had paused and was looking out over his immediate listeners to a group of men further away. Abigail looked over at them too, and she was immediately alarmed at the expressions on their faces, the tense way they held themselves, as if they were poised ...

Stephen's voice called out, "I invite you all today to recognize your Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth-"

Then she heard a voice scream, "Blasphemer!"

And it was like a rampaging flood, the chaos and terror the single word had unleashed.

Abigail watched in stunned horror as Stephen was dragged from the Freedmen's court, his arms gripped by angry men on either side, propelling him forward. Others grabbed at his robes, his sash, and even his hair. The crowd pushed and surged like a roiling storm, shouting words she neither understood nor desired to comprehend. Her legs could barely hold her upright. What is happening?

A boy nearby was backing away from the scene, his eyes wide with fear. He looked like he was going to turn and make a run for safety. Abigail recognized him from the compound.

She spoke quickly before he could make his dash. "What is happening, Levi? What are they doing?"

"I don't know!"

"Did you hear nothing at all?"

"They said they were taking him to the Council. I don't know why. I didn't ..." And he was gone before finishing.

"The Council? Why?" But no one took heed of her questions. Abigail frantically searched about. Surely there was someone who could tell her, who could help Stephen! She did recognize some, but now they looked as horror-stricken and full of questions as she was.

"What has happened? Why Stephen?" she begged, pulling on a sleeve.

A shrug or shake of the head was all the response she received.

"Couldn't you stop them?" she implored when she came to a huddle of men. Their only answer was to turn and walk away, their strides lengthening with each step.

At the square's other end two Roman soldiers lounged in the shade. For a moment Abigail felt a thrill of hope. She hurried toward them, but before she reached them a man in the dark robes of a Pharisee stepped forward and said something she could not hear. The soldiers looked at one another. Then one spoke to the other and shrugged his shoulders. The Pharisee turned away, and the two soldiers resumed their places, leaning against the stone wall. She could hear their crude laughter. No, they were not likely to help her. She swung around to address a few witnesses of the incident who still remained.

"What happened? What did he do?" she pleaded, trying to gain some understanding.

The one closest to her, his eyes still filled with fear, said, "We didn't see him do anything."

"Then why-?"

"I cannot say. They surrounded him and just grabbed him. He didn't even try to resist. It looked like they had it all planned."

Sickness swept through her, and she felt like she would faint. What could she do? Stephen needed help-now. The apostles were at the Temple for midday prayer. She knew they always lingered there afterward to hear Peter speak. The other women here would be as helpless as she herself. What can I do? Lord ...

Yes, pray. The one word welled up within her. All she could think of was "Please help, God!" Over and over.

If only Alban ... But of course he was many miles away.

Linux! Would Linux help them? He and Stephen had formed a friendship. Surely Linux would be willing to come to the aid of a friend. Abigail whirled toward the Antonia Fortress. She had never been there before. Had always been warned to stay well away from Roman soldiers, but she did not stop. She simply pulled her shawl more closely about her, clutched her robe in her hand, and ran.

She arrived breathless and had difficulty making the soldier at the gate understand her words. "The officer Linux," she panted. "I must see him. Immediately. Please, sire."

But the fellow smirked and answered gruffly, "Afraid you're too late. He's left on some mission."

"Where?" pleaded Abigail. "When will he return?"

"None of my business. Or yours." He smirked again. "I'm not his superior. I ask no questions. Now you'd best be gone. You don't belong here."

Abigail turned and staggered away. What was she to do now?

The Temple. The Temple was nearby. She would check there. Perhaps she would find Peter-or John. Anyone who could help Stephen.

But when she arrived the courtyard was almost empty. The crowd, had there been one, had now dispersed. She looked toward the Council building, but it appeared to be empty. There was no milling crowd, no angry voices to be heard. She spotted a guard. As she approached him, she fought for control of her voice. She did not want him to think her a madwoman.

"Please. Could you tell me if the Council is meeting?"

"Haven't seen anyone go in for hours. And I've been here all afternoon."

Abigail was too distressed to express her thanks. Overwhelming fear gripped her. Where have they taken him? And why?

Her steps faltered, and she was afraid she would not even be able to make it back to the others. "0 dear God," she sobbed, "may he be there when I arrive." The very thought gave strength to her weakened knees.

C H A P T E R

THIRTY-SEVEN

LINUX PAUSED IN THE VESTIBULE at the end of the palace hall, overwhelmed by disgust. Five doorways opened about him, revealing clusters of people in various stages of drunkenness and debauchery. Governor Marcellus was hosting a party to mark the emperor's birthday. Clearly his guests, many of whom had abandoned all pretense of modesty, had been drinking all day.

The governor's messenger had made it clear that Linux's invitation was in truth an order. Linux decided he would stay long enough to be noticed, then slip away. He kept his eyes on the marble-tiled floor as he moved through the least crowded room and out the garden doors. He remembered how Ezra and the priest had averted their eyes from the arena scene.... Could that possibly have been only a couple weeks earlier? It seemed like years, like a scene drawn from the memories of another man's life. Linux waved away a servant offering goblets of spiced wine. He took the stairs leading down to the palace gardens. Once the lush growth blocked his view of the palace chambers, his chest finally unlocked, and he breathed easy.

He stopped at a bench shaded by a trio of date palms. As he seated himself, he recalled a conversation from his childhood. His grandfather had died when Linux was nine. His grandfather had fought for nine years with Germanic legions. Afterward he had served as a Roman senator for thirty-seven years. As long as he was alive, his grandfather had sought to inject a soldier's rough care and instruction into the half-forgotten boy. The old man had taught how the original Roman virtues stressed discipline, simplicity, hard work, and an acceptance of personal responsibility for the greater good. Romans were expected to prepare for a life of politics, military, or both. Linux's grandfather had often gazed at the family residence as he lamented current changes.

Today, however, the fashionable word in Rome was otium. It was considered the proper way of life for this, the Imperial Age. The word had once meant, simply, a time of ease. Now it stood for self-indulgence, constant idleness, and the immediate satisfaction of every desire, no matter how base.

From the rooms behind Linux a woman screamed, and a pair of men howled in drunken abandon. Linux leaned over, fists on his knees and his eyes clenched tightly shut. He felt powerless, isolated.

He had not yet sought to speak with God directly. He had watched and listened as others had prayed over him, around him. Stephen had finished every lesson with a time thus in prayer. But now as he listened to the debauchery inside the palace chambers, Linux recalled how Stephen had responded to the threat of coming danger by reaching out to God. And how Linux had felt during that impossible moment.

He pressed his fists into his forehead. 0 God, whom I have spent a life denying, whom I do not know well, still do I come and beg for your help. Free me from this. I deserve nothing. Yet still I do ask. Free me from the world that no longer has any place for me, nor I in it.

"Linux Aurelius!"

Linux wondered briefly if the voice belonged to one of God's invisible messengers. He lifted his head and blinked and searched the empty path.

"I seek Linux Aurelius!"

"Here!"

A house guard stepped into view and saluted. "The prelate commands you present yourself before him."

Is this the answer? he wondered as he slowly stood to his feet.