“Are you giving this to me?”
“Yes, it’s yours. Just keep it and become richer than you can possibly imagine.”
Daniel rubbed his thumb over the little figure’s head. He could imagine quite a bit. Riches enough to build a home to rival Castle An Dinas. Fine clothes. Fine food. Fine women. Perhaps even riches enough that Papa would have as much respect for Daniel as he did for Jesus.
A voice like that of his father resonated in his head, saying,
You shall have no other gods in my presence.
His hands trembled.
Daniel lay the second idol on the floor before him. He looked to Caden. Then he looked at the idol. “So this is now mine?”
“I give it to you.”
Daniel hesitated, though he knew what must be done. “It is forbidden not only to worship false idols, but even to have them.” He reached into his own pocket bag and clasped the hilt of the knife. “I worship only the one true God, and my soul is not for sale.” Before Caden could stop him, he pulled out the knife and plunged it through the midsection of the talisman.
“No!” Caden cried.
Then there was silence.
He and his talismans had vanished into the air.
Daniel shivered. Only the demons of hell could work such sorcery.
The caravan came to a stop in the field upon Ynys Witrin. An archdruid came out to greet Bridget, and the villagers gathered around to see. She could tell she was an object of curiosity.
The archdruid introduced himself as Elsigar and gestured toward one of the huts near the Tor. “Please, come in and have some food and drink.”
Scarcely had she and her retinue sat at the little table, when he asked her to state her purpose.
She raised an eyebrow. This was not the usual Celtic way. A visiting emissary normally had to endure several nights of feasting before anyone got down to business.
Elsigar smiled. “I did not mean to be rude or unkind. You must be new to such ways.” He spoke with a hint of condescension. “Feasting and frivolity are indeed the norm among kings and warriors, but druids prefer to be more direct.”
“No offense taken, sir. Much as I enjoy the feasting that greets our diplomatic missions, getting down to business is much better.”
“I am surprised your father did not send a druid to speak to me on his behalf.”
“There was no time. My father is now treating with the Dobunni, and it would take weeks to summon the assistance of the druids from our home. We seek to avoid a war with them by resolving something quickly.” Bridget explained the Belgae’s need for a trade route to the Sabrina. She did not expect him to respond immediately.
Elsigar raised no objection. “I will need to summon Grengan. Keeping the peace is a matter for the druids, but issues of commerce fall to the king. We must consult with each other, since your proposal touches on both matters.”
She stood. “Then let us be direct, and visit him now.”
He waved her back into her chair. “Unfortunately, Grengan is away. We must wait until tomorrow.”
“Very well. In the meantime…” Bridget toyed with a bit of bread. “There is one thing I would like to do. I have heard of a young outlander called Jesus who is staying here at Ynys Witrin, and I would very much like to see him.”
“He is ridden with fever…incoherent. He cannot see anyone.”
“I just want to look in on him.”
“We think he may be dangerous. The Tor was a perfect cone two weeks ago. We suspect Jesus of using magic to reshape it, but he has been too ill for us to question him.”
Bridget straightened her spine and looked at Elsigar directly. “I am a princess of the Belgae. Have you confined Jesus as your prisoner? Are you barring me from seeing him?”
“Of course not. I was just warning you of the danger. He is in yonder house; he built it for his mother. You should find her there, too. You can find me here with Grengan tomorrow.” With that, without even offering hospitality for the night, the druid showed her to the door.
Bridget directed her retainers to find a camp site. By then her entourage had drawn a small crowd. She smiled at them, but otherwise ignored them. She whispered to the captain of her guard that he was not to come looking for her if she did not return.
Bridget walked to the house and announced her presence. Aside from the absence of carved figures and talismans, it looked like a typical, but large, Celtic home. The fire on the central hearth crackled merrily, and the smell of baking bread and chicken broth filled the air.
A woman emerged from behind a curtain. “I am Mary. Please come in out of the chill.”
“Thank you. I am Bridget. I have heard of Jesus, and I came to see him. May I?”
Mary nodded, and Bridget rounded the curtain. The lack of modesty as the young man lay atop the bed was shocking, but the sight of Jesus lying naked except for a small loincloth did not offend her. His body was not muscle-bound, as she expected in such a renowned hero. He certainly looked strong and well-defined, but lithe rather than brawny. He was slightly taller than her average countryman. His mother must not have shaved him during his illness, and a thin beard covered his face. The olive tone of his skin marked him as an outlander and added a sense of mystery.
Bridget was so engaged by the sight of him that she didn’t notice Mary speaking to her. She flushed with embarrassment at the thought that the mother must see her as a besotted fool, but she gathered that Mary must have been asking about her and where she was from. Bridget said that she was a princess of the Belgae, and she explained her father’s purpose in sending her.
If the mother noticed anything, she is not letting on.
Just then Jesus awoke, thrashing about and ranting in a language unknown to Bridget. Even through the rants, his voice sounded melodic.
Mary approached the bedside with a small bowl of soup. As soon as she touched Jesus’s forehead, he calmed down and opened his eyes to look at his mother, and then he allowed her to feed him.
There is such love and compassion in his eyes.
Gone now was the fear of being ruled by a brute of a husband if she ever allowed herself to be taken in marriage.
This Jesus respects women, and I do not fear to share my life and everything I am with him. He is all I could possibly want in a man. He is bedridden now, but he will not stay that way forever. What would it be like to share his bed and wake up to him showing that love and compassion for me? I will love him and bear his children, and I will do anything to make him mine.
Light snow dusted the pathway across the Levels towards the Tor, as Daniel made his way to Mary’s house. The hard work for the season was now done. There would be chores to do, saddles to mend, and ore to refine over the winter, but at least he was done with mining until the spring. He tried to rest in the saddle, but through his weary bones, he felt each step the horse took.
Daniel had spent most of the season in the cramped tunnels, wielding his hammer and bringing up the ore to the surface. The ore in the main part of the lode had petered out shortly after Jesus had come down from the Tor and become ill, so they had to go back to another vein and dig where the going was harder. The hours were longer, and Daniel had not been able to get away for the rest of the season.
Jesus had better recover soon and find another lode, or we will need to give up.
Daniel’s spirits rose as he approached Ynys Witrin. It would be good to be back with the family. He wanted to see Jesus, in particular. According to Papa, his cousin was still racked with fever, but his lucid intervals were becoming more frequent. Daniel had many questions for Jesus. Maybe he could tell his cousin about his close encounter with the demon who tempted him. He wasn’t ready to tell Papa about it yet. If ever.
When Daniel arrived, his father and Mary greeted him warmly, but he was too tired to say much. It was all he could do to crawl into a corner behind a curtain, where he fell into a deep sleep. He slept much later than usual the following morning.
By that time, a willowy girl with a long braid of golden hair, had already arrived to help Mary tend to Jesus. She said her name was Bridget, and she spoke with an unfamiliar accent.
Daniel would have preferred to stay and rest—and talk with her—but Papa dragged him out to help with the refining. It wasn’t until late that evening, when everyone was preparing to go to sleep, that he realized that Bridget was staying in Mary’s house. He wanted to ask Mary about it, but he couldn’t when the girl would overhear.
The next morning, when Bridget went out to fetch water, Daniel approached Mary, who was kneading dough.
“So, Aunt Mary…who is Bridget, and why is she staying here? Doesn’t she have a family of her own?”
“Bridget has been a great blessing to me for several weeks now,” said Mary. “She helps me look after Jesus. She helps me cook and clean. I do not know how I would manage without her.”
“Did you hire her as a servant?”
“Oh, my dear Daniel, no! You should have seen her the day she came, sparkling in her jewels. She is a princess of the Belgae. She is wearing simple clothes now because she is helping with the work. She traveled here on some diplomatic mission on behalf of her father, the king of that tribe. Once it was over, she asked to stay here until Jesus is better.”
“Isn’t that strange, for a princess to put aside her dignity and take up the work of a servant?”
“Is my son taking an interest in a
goy
?” Papa asked. Daniel hadn’t seen him get up. Joseph approached the fire to warm himself. “Perhaps it is time to bring you home to Judea to find a proper Jewish wife. No son of mine will marry a heathen.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Papa, but maybe Mary does. It is Jesus this woman dotes on.”
“Do you think Jesus could fall in love with a Briton? Don’t be ridiculous, Daniel,” said Mary.
Joseph looked at Mary. “Daniel may have a point.”
“Jesus has hardly said a word since he was taken ill, and what he says is in Hebrew and Aramaic. She cannot possibly understand him,” Mary replied. “Besides, he is still far too young.”
“He has seen eighteen summers, Mary. Take another look at that son of yours, lying almost naked atop your bed,” said Papa. “He looks like a man to me, and the Britons wed their children when they are much younger than that.”
Over the next several days, Daniel tried to talk to Bridget whenever he could get her attention, which was hard because it was always focused on Jesus. Then the Sabbath came, and they all stayed home for their prayers. When Mary insisted that Bridget should take some time off and go outside, Daniel followed her.
They walked through the apple trees. Then, with a wry smirk, she said, “Race you,” and took off running.
He sprinted after her, but it was no use. She was clearly practiced, while his legs had done nothing but heavy lifting of late. She reached the water’s edge, laughing, and waited for him to catch up.
As they walked back, she spoke of life at her father’s court. To Daniel’s surprise, she had opinions about everything. She held her own when they argued about druids and Jewish monotheism. Even in that she found ways to make him laugh.
“You’re very good around the house, for a princess,” he said.
She laughed, a sound like water bubbling over cobbles. “Thank you, sir. Even highborn Belgae women must relegate themselves to domestic affairs.”
“Oh, domestic affairs? Like the sprint?”
“Hah! Yes.” She shook her head, and her smile drained away. “No. A queen of a strong tribe like ours may go about adorned in jewels and ornaments, but a daughter must stay in the background, properly demure, until her father forces her into marrying some horrible old man.”
“Has your father pledged you in marriage?”
“No, thanks be to all that’s holy, however many gods there may be.” She sighed. “But I fear he will.”
Daniel nodded, unable to think of a witty reply.
Daniel awoke in the middle of the night. He stretched out on the lambskins and smiled, thinking about the funny way Bridget had pouted at him with that upturned nose of hers. He thought about her body, too; like all Celtic women, she dressed modestly, but that did not conceal the curvature of her bosom or the hair escaping in golden ringlets from her braid. Though he was wide awake, he remembered dreaming about her.
The Sabbath is over. Besides, it is not a sin to dream.
Daniel felt a tightness in his groin, and he moved his hand there. He then realized that this had been no ordinary dream. Not only was he fully erect, but his loincloth was wet. He had made himself ritually unclean, and he would need to find a natural spring to serve as the
mikvah
of living water to purify himself as soon as the day broke. There was one within a stone’s throw of the door, but he did not want Mary or his father seeing him and asking questions.
His thoughts turned to the long term. His father had already spoken his mind about the inappropriateness of him marrying a gentile. However, the prospect of a journey back to Judea to find a bride held no appeal. Papa would have to arrange the marriage. Perhaps Bridget could solve the problem if she converted to Judaism.
What am I thinking? She is besotted with Jesus, not me. She can’t realize that Jesus will never give her what she desires. He is truly god as well as man, and he will never love a woman as other men do. He told me that himself. I will bide my time. She will turn to me once she comes to know this.
Daniel moved his hand back to his groin. He slowly began to rub his member. Erotic images of Bridget filled his mind. Her smooth body would be muscularly firm. He could practically feel her nipples on his tongue.
I am already unclean, so I might as well take my time and enjoy this.
The Fallen One could not contain his gloating. Once again he made his way from hell up to heaven.
“So tell me, Omniscient One, how does it feel to know you have already lost?”
“What would make you think that?”
“You have gambled the hope for all of your creation on the shoulders of your begotten son. You would make him the sacrificial lamb for your new covenant, but we know, do we not, that a lamb offered in sacrifice must be unblemished. That is what you, yourself, decreed unto Moses.”