The Hidden Flame (44 page)

Abigail had not gone far when she heard angry shouts and tramping feet. Even in her frantic state she realized that a mob was on a rampage through the streets. She pressed herself into a recess between two shops and pulled her shawl across her face. It was as she feared-Stephen! He was in the center of the throng, insults and worse still being hurled at him. His robe was torn so that one side dragged in the dirt as he walked. She thought she saw a bruise on one cheek, but she could not be sure. Maybe it is merely dust....

It looked like they were heading for the Council chambers. Pharisees haughtily swishing their robes led the way. It was Temple guards who now grasped Stephen's arms, and she saw chains dangling from his wrists as though he were a dangerous criminal. Oh, my Stephen . . . She caught the sob in her throat before it could escape her lips.

She held on to the walls to keep herself upright and drew further back into the shadows until the mob had passed, then crept out and followed at a distance.

More and more people seemed to join the throng pushing through the street. Their cries were now so loud, so demanding, that Abigail could hardly think. She knew she was helpless against such irrational rage. What could she do? Where could she go for help?

Again her thoughts turned to Linux. Somehow she must find him.

Linux felt a mixture of fear and excitement as he marched alongside the household guard. There was no question in his mind that up ahead lay an answer to his prayer. The timing was too precise. He had witnessed miracle after miracle. Though he had fought against the evidence of his own eyes, the time for resisting, for questioning, was over.

Did he have the strength to accept whatever lay ahead? Because he knew it came from God. Which meant that if there was danger or risk or even death, it was divinely intended. And this frightened him mightily.

At the same time, however, there was the sense of God being with him. Linux did not question this either. Not any longer. Here and now, he was certain that he lived in a time of signs and wonders. He was part of this time and these events. God, with his silent voice and in a mysterious swirl of measures beyond his control, was acting in his life. The concept thrilled him.

The servant bowed and announced, "Linux Aurelius, Excellency."

"You may approach."

Linux stepped from sunlight into shadow, and was momentarily blinded in the gloom. He marched forward and saluted. "You wished to see me, sire?"

"Indeed so. I am hearing reports that disturb me mightily."

Linux remained at attention, his eyes fastened upon a point against the far wall. But his peripheral vision took in a number of items. The raised dais held not one gilded chair but two. The second was occupied by Lucius Metellus, the new tribune of the Antonia Fortress. Linux replied, "I regret most sincerely that I might have disturbed the governor's peace in any way, Excellency."

"Peace, yes. An interesting word. It is an altogether too rare commodity in this dreadful land, would you not agree?"

Linux had no idea whether the question was addressed to him and so did not respond. Behind the thrones clustered the prelate's Roman sycophants, their colorful robes fluttering about them. They eyed Linux with the cold joy of an audience awaiting the arena's bloody entertainment.

Lucius Metellus continued, "I was warned before I arrived that maintaining peace in Judea would require a brutal hand. That no portion of my rule would be free of threat."

Linux marveled at how he could feel such dread, yet such calm, in the same moment. "I have maintained steadfast allegiance to Rome at all times, sire."

"Have you? Have you?" The prelate waved at the man seated beside him. "Do tell this officer your news."

"I have taken action to have you followed." The tribune's voice carried a reedy echo in the oversized chamber. "I know you have attended a gathering of this new sect."

The prelate asked, "What do they call themselves? I have forgotten."

"'Followers of the Way,' " the tribune sneered. "Don't bother to deny it, Linux. I have two witnesses waiting outside the chamber."

"There is nothing to deny, sire."

"A Roman officer, consorting with some outlaw Judean sect," the tribune said. "It is unbelievable and revolting."

"Tell me what is going on here," the prelate demanded.

The answer appeared to Linux so clearly it might as well have been written in the air before his face. "Pontius Pilate was most concerned about them, sire. You yourself heard how they continue to trouble the Sanhedrin-"

"So you sought to determine whether they are a threat to Rome?" the prelate interrupted. "And are they?"

"Sire, they are drawn together by dictates of peace and brotherly love. Of that I am most certain."

The tribune countered, "I hear they are in alliance with the Zealots. And that you have become one of them."

Linux chose to answer only the first portion. "The Zealots are ruled by vengeance and war. The followers may share the Zealots' yearnings to reclaim Judea as their homeland. But they will not take up arms against Rome."

The prelate's hand relaxed. The fist stopped tapping the chair's arm. "Here is what I think has happened," he said. His voice had lost its icy edge. "I sought to reward a trusted adviser with chambers inside the fortress. The new tribune arrives and finds a man he assumes is a spy. A man loyal to me above all, and not the tribune. Is that not so, Lucius Metellus?"

The tribune scowled. "We both serve at the Senate's pleasure."

"A fitting response. And it was the Senate who ordered us to maintain peace in Judea. Peace at all costs. Which means that you, Linux Aurelius, who are guilty of nothing save loyalty, must pay. It is clear you cannot remain in your present station. I will not have our peace disturbed by further accusations, none of which bear more truth than this. The question is, what shall I do with you?"

The tribune fidgeted angrily in his chair, the advantage slipping away before his eyes.

Linux remained silent. But not out of fear. He simply waited. The prelate and the tribune were two very similar men. He did not need to look directly at them to see this. Though immune to the decadent behavior that surrounded them, they were captured by the lure of power. They shared the appearance of ascetics, yet this was merely a disguise. Both were so enraptured by the pleasure of holding raw force in their hands that nothing, no lust that captivated lesser mortals, could tempt them.

The tribune said, "You may not send him back to Rome. I forbid it. I will not have him spouting lies in the ears of senators and the like."

The prelate actually laughed. "You? Forbid?"

Lucius Metellus did not budge. "We both have enemies, Governor Marcellus."

The chamber seemed to freeze. The only sound was the soft tapping of the prelate's fingernails on the chair.

Then the answer must have come to him. At that same moment, the prelate turned back and asked, "Linux Aurelius, what is your wish?"

The tribune scoffed, "You would give this officer a choice in the matter?"

"I seek the counsel of all whom I trust. Speak, Linux. Tell us. What would you advise us do in this situation?"

Linux replied, "Assign to me the command of the garrison outside Capernaum."

The two men, and those watching behind the thrones, all gaped at him.

"What? Have you taken leave of your senses, Linux?" This from the governor.

"It would be an honor to serve as the prelate's rear guard. The Golan highlands have become a gathering point for both Parthian bandits and Zealots. They threaten the peaceful communities of that area, and the Damascus Road. This is a vital trade link, and must remain open at all cost."

Governor Marcellus took his time, his eyes moving up and down in inspection of the man standing rigidly before him. "You seek further action, is that it?"

"Sire, I seek only to serve."

"Well, I can think of no reason not to grant this officer his wish. Can you, Lucius?"

The tribune's scowl only deepened. "I still say he is not to be trusted."

"On that point, we must continue to disagree. Very well. Linux Aurelius, you are hereby appointed commandant of the Capernaum garrison. Prepare for your departure without delay." The prelate waved his hand. "You are dismissed."

C H A P T E R

THIRTY-EIGHT

WHEN SHE RETURNED to the Antonia Fortress gates, Abigail came face-to-face with another sentry. She quaked under the guard's hard expression. But she had no choice. She forced herself to step closer.

Before she could speak, the guard demanded, "Who sent for you?"

His accent was so harsh she had difficulty understanding his words. "No one, sir. I came-"

"Then you're free to be claimed by whoever wants you, is that it?"

Abigail felt her cheeks flame. "I seek the officer Linux Aurelius."

"An officer, is it?"

"Yes, sir. Do ... do you know him?"

"Ordinary men not good enough for you, is that it?" He leered.

Abigail lowered her head, humiliation washing over her. "I seek him as a friend."

"Sure you do." He laughed crudely. "Heard that one before."

"Please, sire," begged Abigail. "My business with him is most urgent."

"Tell you what," he snorted. "I'll go call the man if you just pull away your shawl and let me see who you really are. Wouldn't want this officer fellow called out for some old crone, now would I." He laughed again.

At her wits' end, she was about to lower her veil when an officer stepped up to the gate. After glancing at the scene, he barked, "What goes here?"

"This woman says she needs to talk to Linux," said the sentry, backing off a step. "I tried to tell her-"

"Linux Aurelius is not here," the second man offered. He must have noticed that she was greatly distressed, for his tone gentled. "He is in audience with the governor. Do you wish to leave him a message?"

"No. No." Abigail backed away. The guard continued to leer at her from behind the officer's back. "I'm afraid ... I'm afraid it will be too late."

She stumbled away from the entrance, managing to stay on her feet until she had rounded the corner into the confusion of the main thoroughfare. Then everything seemed to be tumbling about her. She lost the battle to stay upright and collapsed against the wall. Pulling her shawl tightly about her, she gave in to the sobs she had tried to hold in check. There was nothing she could do. As much as she wanted to cling to hope, she had the terrible sense that she would never see Stephen again.

Ezra stood at the back of the chamber, only one of the crowd jamming the Council building and spilling out the doors and down the broad front steps. Those inside kept shouting back through the doors so the mob outside could follow the proceedings.

Stephen stood before the Council, his hands chained before him. He was flanked by guards, with two more standing between him and the mob. He was being treated like someone considered a threat to the Council members themselves.

Ezra glanced out the doors to where the mob kept increasing. He turned back in time to hear the shouted accusation, "We heard his blasphemy against the Temple and the Law!"