After they emerged onto the field, they immediately noticed the small clusters of Britons gathered around the house. A quick inspection showed Daniel and Joseph no damage.
For all the night’s violence, particularly the earthquakes, it is strange that the house, so close to the Tor, stands unblemished. These people have good reason to be amazed.
Like a slowly rising stage curtain, the fog gradually lifted. It revealed more and more of the surrounding country, but there was nothing unusual to see, at least in the beginning. Looking to the woods surrounding the field, there did not even appear to be any fallen branches. A man came up and reported to Elsigar, who was standing in one of the groups, and the astonishing word spread: nothing in the Lake Village was amiss.
The sunlight grew stronger and the day grew warmer. People suddenly pointed back to the Tor as a hush of amazement fell over the crowd. Daniel turned to see.
The Tor’s perfect conical shape, rounded only at the top, had distinguished it from all other hills. Now, the lifting fog revealed a distinct ridge that marred its form.
The bank of fog lifted faster as all eyes fixed on the Tor. A second ridgeline and then a third emerged from the lifting shroud. The ridges wound around and around the Tor. From the fields around Mary’s house, the Tor’s conical shape appeared to be altered not only by the new ridge, but also from the side, where the entire shape was now elongated.
As the fog finally dissipated, a lone figure emerged over the second ridgeline.
It is Jesus!
As Mary dropped to her knees in a prayer of thanksgiving, Daniel watched his cousin stumble toward them. The crowd parted to make way. Jesus lurched across the field to his mother and collapsed into her arms.
“Thanks be to God for keeping you safe,” Mary said. “I knew he would protect his son!”
Arvigarus raised an eyebrow.
“How did you survive the night?” Daniel asked. “The earthquakes were so powerful, they reshaped the Tor. The earth about you must have tossed like a sea in a tempest.”
Jesus moaned in weariness. His words were hardly coherent. “The Father lifted me into the sky to watch as he reshaped the Tor.”
“I knew he would keep you safe. You are his only son,” said Mary.
“He doesn’t want me.” Jesus was barely audible. “He transformed the Tor into a monument to the grief I caused him. I saw it looking down from the sky, the shape of a teardrop to mark his sadness. Ridgelines like a whirlwind to remind me of his fury. I now know what it is to be blemished by sin. You should give yourself to be the Lord’s handmaiden once again, Mother. Give yourself to the Father once again so he can beget the son he really wants, for you are still untainted.”
Joseph spoke up. “Whatever you have said or done, Jesus, God is infinitely merciful. He will forgive you and wash it away. You only need to turn back to him.”
“It’s what he wants of me, Uncle, but I cannot do it. I do not even want to. I am so weary.”
Jesus collapsed into a stupor, and Aunt Mary, in her element, directed Daniel and Arvigarus to carry him inside.
As he helped Jesus, Daniel noticed Elsigar watching intensely.
What must he be thinking? What will he do to Jesus and the rest of us when he realizes Jesus had some hand in reshaping this place, which is so holy for the druids? If he was afraid before that we might open the gateways to his Underworld just by climbing the Tor, what superstitions and fears must be racing through his mind now?
The Dobunni set a splendid table, even if their mead was weak. A couple of their warriors staged a sparring match as part of the entertainment, battering one another with blunt-edged swords. Princess Bridget picked at her food, wishing she could join them.
From an early age, she had shown a propensity for boyish sports and combat. Her mother had died years ago, leaving no sons. Bridget was her father’s only hope of a successor, other than a distant cousin whom he despised. Papa hoped for her to wed a strong husband. She did not lack for suitors, but she would not be ruled.
She peered down the table toward her father. His head drooped over his trencher.
Behold, King Aghamore of the Belgae, asleep over his meal. Do our hosts not see how dull the entertainments have become?
For her part, Bridget did her best to feign interest, but Father, it seemed, could not be bothered. And who could blame him? After two nights of pointless revelries, he must be eager to get down to business.
He should just give them the ultimatum, demanding they yield the territory we need, out to the Sabrina, so we can trade with our kinsmen in Eire. These people are divided and ill prepared to fight, but Papa will not abide a war if he can avoid it. He will be the proper guest. He will wait until this stupid feasting is done and the gifts are exchanged before getting down to any business, lest he give unnecessary offense.
Bridget caught a glance from one of the host princes. She raised her tankard for another quaff, and then she held it to her lips to conceal her amusement.
Is he flirting with me? He must not know my reputation.
The princess lowered the tankard and gave the fellow a polite smile.
Papa wants peace with these people, but he will never allow a marriage with them. I wonder what he will do if that fellow makes a bolder move.
A bard stepped to the center of the hall, and Bridget turned her attention to him. He began singing of the outlander called Jesus.
I have heard of that fellow. They say he comes all the way from the other end of the Roman territory. He fought bravely and well at Rumps. They called him the great hero who saved the Dumnonii, but that was two years ago.
The bard continued, accompanying himself on the harp as he set the news to verse. This time, the bard reported, Jesus had defied the gods themselves. Their fury had reshaped the great Tor of Ynys Witrin. Jesus had remained atop the summit, while everyone else quaked with fear through an unnatural, tempestuous night. They thought that Jesus must be dead, for what mortal could withstand the force of such upheavals and live to tell the tale, but Jesus did! The outlander had not made it through without adverse effect though, as the night had weakened him and confined him to bed with a fever. He yet remained at Ynys Witrin.
Bridget listened as the bard filled in more details about the mysterious outlander. Jesus was only a year, perhaps two, older than she was.
He would not be like the matches that Papa would have me make. Those men are old and lecherous.
She looked at the Dobunnian prince and grimaced.
And this Jesus fellow certainly would be no bumpkin like that one.
She looked across the table. Her father remained asleep.
How can he sleep through such a tale?
While the bard moved on to another story, Bridget conjured in her mind a map of the precinct around Ynys Witrin. It lay near the Sabrina, not far from where she sat. She could go there as her father’s emissary. An unusual journey for a girl to take, but a Celtic noblewoman could rise to a more public role. In the absence of brothers, she might even reign in her own right someday. That would be more likely if she could prove her competence now.
How do I convince him to let me go?
She pondered the question as the night wore on, and then, as everyone rose to retire for the night, the idea came to her. “You don’t need those men to help you back to that hut, Papa. I know you are very tired, but I can help you.”
“Humph. They will say King Aghamore is feeble and drunk if he needs a woman to carry him back from a night of feasting.”
“I did not say I would carry you, Papa.” The two of them laughed. “Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about—alone.”
The king dismissed his men.
“I was thinking, the whole purpose of this mission is to find a way for us to gain access to the Sabrina, so we can trade across the water with our kinsmen in Eire, but the Dobunni will be cut off to the west if we extend our lands across theirs.”
“Unless the Dobunni yield that land, we cannot control our trade to the sea.”
“I have thought of a way. Ynys Witrin and the area around it is a sacred precinct—neutral territory.”
“That neutrality is protected under the strictest edict of the druids,” he agreed.
“If the druids consent, our merchants could gain access to the Sabrina across that precinct without interfering with the Dobunni. If the Dobunni support our request, the others will go along. We avoid the war and still get what we need.”
He frowned, thinking this over.
“I can go to Ynys Witrin and talk to the druids, Papa. You stay here and get the Dobunni to help.”
“Let us send enough men so you will be noticed. The people must recognize your hand in securing the peace. They must gain faith in your wisdom, so they will trust you when I am no longer their king.”
“Oh, Papa, you have many years ahead of you.”
“I will not live forever. Go at dawn. Send me word as soon as you know what the druids have to say.”
It fell to Mary to watch over Jesus. She had only one proper bed in her house, but for two weeks she had given it up for Jesus, who lay on it, beset by an awful fever. She was still at his side when Joseph walked in. The days were growing shorter, and dusk was falling.
“I brought some wood for the fire. We may need it if the night brings a chill. How is Jesus?”
Mary sighed and replaced the cold compress on her son’s forehead. “Thank you, Uncle. I have to cool his fever during the day, but we cannot let the room get too cold, either. Jesus lies still for hours, but when he thrashes about, he seems to be having a nightmare. I cannot make any sense of it. Sometimes he calls to me, and sometimes to you. Today he mumbled something about how no one would break his legs; then I could not understand anything else. He often cries out that he is forsaken.” Mary wept softly. “I have never seen him like this. Even as a baby, he was never ill. I’ve never seen him with a weeks-long fever. Do you think we might lose him?”
“I saw him like this only once, when we crossed Gaul on our way to Britain. The fever lasted only one night. I am convinced that the fever I saw then and what we are seeing now is not entirely of this world. I think God has a great purpose for Jesus. I cannot imagine that he has looked after Jesus and seen him this far, only to lose him to a fever. God will still look after him.”
“Oh, Joseph, you speak of the grand purpose that God has for Jesus and the reason he wants to keep him alive. I gave myself as the handmaiden of the Lord, and I am fully aware that God has a mighty purpose for his son. But right now all I care about is that Jesus recovers. I am simply a mother who wants her son to be well.”
Joseph watched Mary sob softly.
Jesus will recover, and his ranting will begin to make more sense. She should not have to hear it that way. Perhaps it is better for me to tell her now, straight out. There is nothing more to keep from Jesus, anyway.
Joseph closed his eyes.
Please, God, help me find the way to tell her. Give me strength and wisdom.
Finally, he broke the silence. “The more I have been with Jesus since I took him from Galilee, the more I am convinced that there is something truly divine within him. There is something within him that is unlike any other man.”
Mary looked up from Jesus and nodded.
“There is a mystery about him, hidden from you and me,” Joseph continued. “And I think it is, for the present, somewhat hidden still from Jesus himself, although he grows into that divine nature more and more as he also grows into manhood. I was not there as much as I should have been when Jesus fell ill, but Daniel stayed with him and told me what happened.”
“I saw in Nazareth how Daniel loves Jesus,” said Mary. “I am thankful that Daniel was there if you could not be, Uncle.”
“As we were crossing Gaul, I made Jesus watch the Romans carry out a crucifixion; I thought it was for his own good. I think that it awoke in Jesus something of the divine spark that he was not ready to handle. It caused him to be at war with his own spirit. He needed to find an answer before he could be at peace with himself. Daniel helped him find an answer, and the fever went away. Daniel told me about it, and I knew that the answer Jesus had was wrong. But I also knew Jesus was not ready for the truth, so I swore Daniel to secrecy. We have kept that secret from Jesus all these years, putting our faith in God to reveal it to Jesus when the time was right. Until now we have kept it from you, too.”
“What is this strange thing that was too terrible for us to know?”
“This is hard, Mary. I must tell it to you in my own way. I think it happened that night when God reshaped the Tor. God must have shown Jesus the truth, and it made Jesus despair. I know you think that what Jesus said about God’s anger came from the delirium of his fever, but what Jesus said to us right before he collapsed makes perfect sense to me. I believe Jesus is now at the crossroads of his life. He has started down a pathway that will lead him to death and pain, but it is not too late for him to turn back—not too late for him to turn back to life and happiness.”
“Why would Jesus be angry with his Father for leading him back to life?”
“Jesus believes that he is the Messiah. He thinks that he can defy the Romans and lead our people to freedom. I have seen him try to prepare himself for that destiny. It is everything to him. You must know this yourself.”
“I know is he skilled with the blade. Everyone tells me of his exploits at Rumps. They see him as a hero. He is, is he not?”
“He certainly is, but he thought he was indestructible. He thought that his Father would always protect him, no matter what. He thought that if the Romans tried to crucify him, everyone would see God literally lifting him off the cross. This would unite the Jewish people behind him and strike fear into the hearts of the Romans. That is what he saw through his fever back in Gaul.”
“But nothing is impossible for God, Joseph. That is what the archangel told me when he said I was to give birth as a virgin, and he was right. If God wants Jesus to be the Messiah for our people, he will protect him, even on the cross.”