“Are you saying that Jesus is now blemished by sin?”
“He said it himself to his mother. He saw the wrath he had provoked in you, and he recognized the blemish in himself.” Satan’s laugh crackled like a fire. “I loved it when he told his mother to offer herself up as your handmaiden once again to help you beget the son you really want.”
“He did not know what he was saying.”
“It does not matter. He cursed you and called you heartless. If that does not separate him from you, I do not know what would. He is now blemished, and nothing you can do will restore him to perfection.”
“He was angry with me, but sometimes anger even against God can be righteous.”
“I see you are up to your old tricks,” Lucifer sneered. “Just as with Job. You let him off the hook even when he turned against you.”
“You are a fine one to lecture me about sin separating man from God. You misunderstand the lesson of Job. I may be demanding and jealous, but I am also fair and just. Yes, Job was angry with me, but his anger was righteous. I allowed you to make his life miserable. I allowed you to take away everything he had and to afflict him with lesions and all the pain of hell. In the end, he decided not to press his righteous claim against me because of his love for me and his trust in me. I did not forgive him for a transgression; instead, I made full recompense under the law. I rendered justice, not mercy, to Job.”
“But Jesus said he does not want to obey you.”
“What kind of man would want to obey me in this? I have ripped away his hopes and dreams. I am sending him to a miserable, shameful, painful death.”
“A truly sinless man would care only about obeying and serving his god.”
“I sent Jesus to be incarnate in the world to be the pathway for a broken humanity to gain salvation. I sent him not to condemn the world, but to save it from sin. Do you think I offer salvation only to those who never fear or doubt? Do you think I offer salvation only to those who are never moved to anger at the trials I allow them to suffer in the world? Jesus is broken right now, just as his body will be broken on the cross, but he is still perfect in my eyes. He is the perfect example for a broken humanity to follow and be made perfect through my power to save and be made fit to stand before me.
“Like Adam, Jesus will make his choice,” the Father continued. “He will make his choice in the wretchedness of a broken humanity, and I—not you, or even he—will be the one to judge whether he has blemished himself through sin.”
“He will never choose the path of shame and death on the cross for you,” Lucifer retorted.
“Then you will agree, will you not, that if he makes that choice of his own free will, that I might righteously judge him to be unblemished by sin?”
“I will concede the point, if you agree that he must make that choice on his own. Just as you have commanded me to leave him unmolested until the time comes for his temptation, so too must you agree that he is not to be offered any reward until he commits to his choice.”
“Done,” said the Father. “Now, leave my presence.”
D
aniel woke early, wondering whether he should ask Jesus about Caden. Was he human or demon?
Whatever Caden was, he had vanished without a trace. None of the other miners would admit to remembering anything about him. And why would a demon offer Daniel untold wealth? What did he have that a demon would want? Was it nothing more than his imagination? Or had he lost his mind?
Mary still seemed anxious about Jesus, haunted by something.
How much has Papa shared with her? Papa, Aunt Mary, and Jesus have so much to worry about; I shouldn’t add to their troubles. The demon is gone; that should be good enough.
The smell of flour and oil filled the air. Mary was making the bread.
Daniel glanced over at Jesus, who was still asleep. He seemed to be resting more comfortably.
Daniel needed fresh air. He got up and smiled to Mary as he walked outside. She still seemed preoccupied, hardly noticing him. How unkind it would be to burden her more.
Winters at Ynys Witrin were mild, as winters go. The air was wet with a chill that gave it a crisp bite. As he walked among the apple trees, Daniel felt invigorated. The fog thickened around him.
“So, we meet again.” The voice was unmistakable: Esmeralda! She must have been walking beside him for some time.
“I thought Elsigar banished you.” Once her participation in the robbery had been exposed, the people had demanded it. He quickened his pace.
She easily matched him. “He is not here, and a druid’s power cannot be undone—not even by another druid,” she answered. “A druid is one with nature. Can you banish an eagle from the sky? That would be easier than banishing a druid.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I want peace between us. I want peace, prosperity, and justice for my people.”
“Those are noble words, but they do not match your actions.”
“I am not evil, Daniel. You think I am, but everything I did was for my people. You and your family come as outlanders, take the fruits of our land, and bring a strange and powerful god with you. Jesus says he works no magic, but we know he does. It will be the destruction of the people.”
“I still cannot imagine what you want with me.”
“I need your strength.”
He halted and turned to face her. “What?”
“Even when I plotted and schemed against you, I had to admire you. There you were, left to hold everything together after Jesus ran off and left you, with no coin to hire workers, with your Aunt Mary sick. Yet you beat me.” Esmeralda hung her head. The hood of her cloak shadowed her face.
At least someone had noticed his hard work and appreciated his abilities.
“You soldiered on and held everything together,” she said. “But now Jesus is back, and everyone’s thoughts are on him again, aren’t they?”
“I suppose so. I don’t think I will ever forget how hard it was.”
“That’s the strength I am talking of.” The druidess gripped his upper arm with a firm hand. “You do everything to hold things together, yet everyone cares only about Jesus.”
“But what do you want from me?”
“The Britons need a leader. The Romans will come one day, and they will find us weak, divided, and undisciplined. I can make you king of the Britons.”
He stared into her eerie, unblinking green eyes. Could she be serious? Would pagans allow a Jew to rule? Daniel certainly had the administrative skill, though he was no warrior like Tristan. He envisioned himself on a great carved throne like the one Fergus inherited from his father Uryen. Perhaps he could even convert the heathen…
Esmeralda shook him from his reverie. “All will bow down before you, if you decide to worship—”
He flung off her hand. “Away from me, witch! I worship the one true God and no other.”
In an instant, Esmeralda vanished.
He was left talking into the mist.
Was it another demon, or did I imagine that? If those demons are real, they do not seem very powerful. They seem powerless if I refuse what they offer.
A chilly, damp wind blew against Mary’s house, but inside, the cheer of the fire and the fragrance of baking bread warmed the soul.
Bridget thought only briefly about attending the Imbolc festival, but the sound of the wind reminded her how dismal she would feel if she went. Besides, Mary would need her, or so she told herself. In truth, she could count on Mary to be understanding, and it would not be the first time she would have braved the elements. The real reason to miss the festival was that she did not want to leave Jesus’s side.
At first, it had been difficult for Bridget to gain any sense of what he was saying. His rants always began in Aramaic, but when she spoke to him in the Celtic tongue, he would switch to that language. It was not much of a conversation—he was still ranting, and none of what he said made sense—but at least she could understand his words. He talked a lot about his father. Jesus seemed to love him dearly, but she also caught on that Jesus felt forsaken, and one day, Jesus said something that suggested that this father was sending him to his death. Yet she knew Mary’s husband was dead.
What is this talk about his father? It must be madness brought on by the fever.
As the weeks wore on, Bridget tried to solve the puzzle of his ravings. Sometimes she could ask a question and get an answer, though not always rational. Other times her questions merely inspired him to go onto something else entirely.
A week had passed since he had mentioned this seemingly cruel father figure. He talked about crucifixion, a horrible method of execution used by the Romans. Like most Britons, she had heard of this by rumor, but it had never occurred to her how monstrously cruel it was.
One day he described his “father” as the one true god, which made no sense. How could his father be a god? And how could there be just a single god in the entire universe? She asked Mary about it, and Mary explained the Jewish belief.
“But why does he call this god his father?”
Mary looked away.
Bridget’s heart pounded. If Lugh could be both god and giant, could Jesus?…
She gazed again at Jesus, beautiful even in his infirmity. If anyone could be both god and man, it would be him. She turned back to Mary, her voice trembling. “If Jesus were really the son of your all-powerful god…would he not be a god himself?”
Mary sighed, dicing an onion into her soup pot. “He will be called the Son of the Most High, he will inherit the throne of his ancestor David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever. Or so I’m told.”
That answer was almost as mad as her son’s ravings.
In the hopes of gleaning sensible answers from among the crazy ones, Bridget continued posing questions to Jesus.
She could understand his despair over the cruel destiny that he believed awaited him and perhaps over the Father’s bidding that he turn away from the heroic life for which he had prepared. She began to grasp his supposed dual nature as both god and man. But then he began ranting about three persons in the godhead, and she was lost again.
One day, as the first signs of spring were emerging, Mary left Bridget alone with Jesus, who was rambling in his delirium. She called to him, and he mumbled a response.
She leaned closer. “If you are divine, can you not choose your own path? Surely you are not bound to choose between fighting the Romans or letting them crucify you?”
Jesus became quiet.
Bridget paused.
He must be listening to me.
“You say the Romans will return to vanquish and subjugate the Britons. If you are truly divine, can’t you stop this from happening?”
Jesus grunted something that may have been “What?”
“If your Father adopted the Israelites as his chosen people in the time of Abraham, could you not adopt the Britons as yours? You said you share his divine substance, so if he can adopt the Jews, why cannot you adopt the Britons? Unite us. Lead us to victory when the Romans invade.”
Jesus sat up, wide awake, looking at her. “Who are you?”
“I am Bridget, princess of the Belgae. I have been helping your mother take care of you.”
“You are right. I do have the power to create my own path in this life. Everything is my choice as much as my Father’s.”
Bridget nodded, smiling.
He rubbed his face. “I am weary. I must sleep. Please stay with me.” Jesus drank the water she gave him. Then he settled back in his bed, no longer ranting or thrashing about. For the first time, he seemed to rest in a deep, dreamless sleep. She touched his forehead—all trace of fever was gone.
Whatever the Father’s plan for Jesus, Joseph had been certain it was not for him to die of fever in Britain. Still, he hadn’t expected the illness to last so long, and it was a relief to see Jesus up and about as winter gave way to spring. He ought to talk to Jesus about what he had said, but Joseph did not want to hear Jesus confirm that God had already condemned him to die on the cross, even if Jesus were to lead a peaceful life.
Right after the sundown following the Sabbath day, after spending the day cooped up inside for prayers, Jesus, Daniel, and Bridget went out walking and left Joseph with Mary.
Joseph could tell Mary had something on her mind; all day she had seemed distracted.
“I do not know what to do for Jesus now,” she said.
“So, he has talked to you.”
“He told me that he talked to you, also.”
Joseph sighed. “I have been trying to put it out of my mind. He said something a few weeks ago; I tried to tell myself that it was nothing more than wild talk brought on by his fever. What did he say to you?”
“I tried to tell him he should consider a different path, the path of peace, and be a different type of Messiah,” said Mary. “I told him that he could live a long and happy life if he gave up his plan to wage war on Rome. Do you remember?”
Joseph nodded.
“He told me that God, his Father, already had laid that out for him.” Through her sobs, Mary struggled to make herself understood. “He said our own people will turn against him and ask the Romans to crucify him. Did he say that to you, too?”
“Mary, it might be that I should have come to you about this sooner. I was hoping it was just his fever talking. When did he say this to you?”
“It was Friday, just before the beginning of the Sabbath. He was quite collected. I think he was upset only because he saw it was making me sad.” She gripped Joseph’s hand. “Don’t blame yourself. I should have known something like this would happen. My husband and I presented Jesus at the temple shortly after he was born. A man named Simeon blessed us, saying the spirit of God had revealed to him that he would not see death before he had seen the Christ. At first we were glad, because he said that he could depart this world in peace knowing that Jesus was its salvation. But then he said that a sword would pierce my soul. I had no idea what he meant. I thought he must be a madman, but I never in all these years truly dismissed what he said from my mind. I see now he must have been a true prophet. What should we do now?”