Corydon looked curiously at me. “Well,” I said. “I have work to do, but I can’t imagine you’re big enough to help me.”
“Yes, I am!”
“But I need someone who can hand me supplies and tools.”
“I can!”
I began walking toward his tent. “Oh, I think I had better find your grandfather to help me, don’t you?”
“No! He’s too old! You need me!”
Alastor was waiting near a pile of rough-hewn narrow tent poles and dried, dark-haired goat- and sheepskins. He had set out a bench and a low-slung table with needles and threads of varying thickness. “Perfect,” I said.
“And so?” the old man said.
“I have much to tell you.”
“I’m helping Master Paul!” Corydon said.
“I need you to come with me,” his mother said.
When he protested, I said, “When you get back, I’ll be ready for you,” and he ran off.
Alastor proved remarkably agile, steadying the poles while I anchored them and then standing on the table to drape the coverings overhead. In little time we had shaded one side of the dwelling so I would have a place to work and could set about sewing together the hides and skins to enclose my sleeping area.
By the time Taryn and Corydon returned—she with a welcome supply of parchment and quills—I was seated beneath my new canopy and at work with various tools laid out next to me as Alastor watched.
“I wanted to help!” Corydon wailed.
“I’m ready for you,” I said. “Sit right here and I will tell you which tool to hand me.”
I pointed to an awl or a length of thread or whatever device I needed and traded it for the one I finished with. As I suspected, it didn’t take the child long to tire of the job, and he was soon off playing again.
Presently his mother reappeared with a tray containing two cups of water and a bowl of cheese and figs. I tried to thank her in such a way that she would linger and talk, but she hurried away.
“Give her time,” Alastor said.
“She has such grace,” I said, studying the redness already rising on my fingertips. “She moves with ease and silence.”
Alastor nodded, chewing. “My son-in-law often remarked about that very thing. He said her beauty reflected her character. That she was as handsome inside as out.”
“I was speaking more of her elegance.”
He nodded. “She comes by that naturally. Her mother had that same comeliness. But the light has gone out of Taryn.” A sob seemed to catch in his throat. “She lived for Stephanos.”
The cheese went dry in my mouth and I quickly sipped water. “And they came here from where?” I managed.
“Judea,” he whispered, shaking his head and holding up a hand as if he had again said all he cared to. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s too raw.”
Of course it was, but I had to know.
I stood and my legs pushed back the bench. I leaned over the table, resting my weight on my palms.
“Paul, are you all right?”
I nodded. “I just want to finish. Let’s get this done so I can start on Zuriel’s repairs tomorrow.”
“He’ll be glad for that!”
“He can be glad?” I said.
That made Alastor smile, which was a relief. I had trouble breathing.
I set about sorting the untreated hides and told Alastor that in the future I would like to select the sheep and goats that would provide the same. “And when they are harvested, I want to oversee the boiling and dyeing and drying so we get uniformity and eliminate warping and shrinkage.”
“This really is your trade, isn’t it, Paul?”
“Well, you couldn’t tell it from these blisters, but it was my father’s, and he was widely revered.”
“It appears he taught you well.”
“We’ll see. What we have here will serve well as the walls of my bedchamber, but let’s set aside and stack the best choices for our friend. I’ll be his pal by sundown tomorrow.”
“You do believe in miracles,” Alastor said.
6
REVELATION
YANBU, ARABIA
THAT EVENING, OVER A supper of dried fish Taryn had mixed into a stew of legumes, I could not bear even to look at her. The four of us sat on the floor around a mat with the steaming bowl in the middle, into which we dipped our bread. I forced myself to say something polite about the meal, for she had creatively added a side dish of baked grains seasoned with honey. I mentioned that I had never before enjoyed that as part of a supper, but my voice emerged so flat that I noticed her glance at me with what appeared surprise, and if I wasn’t mistaken, even her father shifted uncomfortably.
Corydon’s constant jabbering and begging to sit or play with me occupied Taryn, who scolded and apologized for him. But he was only a child, speaking and acting like a child.
After the meal I tried to entertain him, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was troubled in spirit, desperate to ask where in Judea Taryn and her husband had lived and what had been his profession. But did I really want to know? Or was it better to assume it would be too great a coincidence that I would ever have crossed paths with the late Stephanos?
I confess I learned something about children that evening, or at least about that child. I had so little experience with young ones—in fact, none—that it would have been folly for me to assume it applied to all. But I was struck by how perceptive Corydon seemed to be.
With his mother’s permission to play with me for a few minutes before he went to bed, “or for as long as Master Paul has the patience for it,” he seemed full of vigor. He ran and jumped and showed me little things he played with and told me all about them. I asked about his friends I had met that day, and he told me all about them too.
But after climbing up my back and over my head and asking where my hair had gone, then sliding into my lap and onto the floor and running around to take the same route again, he settled in my lap. He reached to cradle my cheeks in his palms and turned my face so he could look into my eyes.
“Your beard is scratchy,” he said.
“Is it?”
“Yes, and you’re not listening to me.”
How did he know? I thought I had responded adequately enough to feign interest. Was Corydon unusually smart for his age, or was this typical? I had long ago abandoned the idea of marrying and having children, and my work had not exposed me to any except in passing, so I was largely ignorant on the matter. Some of my colleagues in the Temple were charged with teaching children, but when they began their stories about particularly precocious—or problematic—youngsters, I could not pretend to remain engrossed. I had nothing against children. They were simply of little interest.
That had changed in two days with this fascinating little person, but now doubly so with his ability to magically judge the level of my engagement. Shaken by his perception, I decided to put in abeyance my misgivings over his departed father and give Corydon my full attention.
“You know,” I said, turning to look behind me, “I was certain there was just a little boy back here, but now I don’t see him anywhere.”
“That was me!” he said, scampering back there as I turned to the front again.
“Now where did he go?” I shouted. “He was right here in my lap!”
He poked his face around to show me where he was, but of course I was wrenching around to look behind me again. “I can’t find him!”
We kept at this until he grabbed my face again and planted his nose on mine, and I affected great surprise to discover him, to his great glee. And then it was time for him to go to bed. When Taryn came to fetch him, she lifted him from me and hesitated. “Thank you, sir,” she said softly. “Thank you very much.”
I looked away and nodded, unable to speak.
As Taryn put Corydon down and then busied herself baking bread for the next day, Alastor and I sat chatting.
“Are you all right, Paul?”
I shrugged. “Lon
g day. Used new muscles, you know.”
“Certainly a return to tentmaking wasn’t the pinnacle of your day.”
“When I get a little time tomorrow I’ll write it all down and let you read it.”
“You can imagine my curiosity. I mean, I can’t even imply it’s any of my concern, except that the Lord did tell me of your coming.”
“No, I understand. I don’t mean to be so mysterious.”
“You’re obviously troubled, Paul. Just assure me it proved an enriching experience.”
“Oh, it was, yes. In some ways it was an ordeal. But ‘enriching’ would be putting it lightly.”
“I’ll force myself to wait until I can read about it, then. Ah, there is another matter.”
“There is?” I fought to maintain my composure. Did he know who I was?
“Do you know how to fish?”
I laughed, a little too loudly. “I would not be mistaken for a fisherman, no.”
“Still, you must take your turn tomorrow night during second watch. Naturally they go at night so as not to attract attention or give away our location. Four others will go with you. They will have all you need and show you how to use it. The next time you will be expected to act on your own.”
“Willing to do my part.”
“One more thing. Zuriel heads tomorrow night’s party. But given that you said he will be your best friend by sundown . . .”
After Alastor retired and Taryn come in from the ovens, I strolled out to the easement area. On the way back I tried to occupy myself with thoughts of my tent work, playing with the boy, fishing the next night, even when I would take my turn as night watchman. But I couldn’t crowd from my mind the dread that had taken up residence ever since Alastor had mentioned his son-in-law.
Stephanos.
It couldn’t be, could it?
As I reentered the amalgam of dwellings I came upon Nadav, on watch under a torch set in a stand near the livestock pen.
“I’ll have to get you to teach me all I need to know before I take my turn guarding the camp,” I said.
The ruddy-faced young man chuckled. “This is all you need to know,” he said, patting the short sword in an ornate scabbard at his waist.
“May I?” I asked. “I’ve never carried one.”
He slid the sword out and turned it, handing it to me grip-first. “Others have their own weapons, but this is the official one wielded by the man on duty.”
“A Roman gladius,” I said, hefting the weighty piece, just under two feet long. “Where did it come from?”
“You won’t believe it. Zuriel claims a Roman legionnaire left it at the foot of the cross at Jesus’ crucifixion.”
I was dumbfounded. “Zuriel was there?”
Nadav nodded. “He says a few of the armed guards tossed things in a small pile, sort of as a silent tribute, as the Master’s body was being taken away. When the gladius was still lying there at the end of everything, Zuriel took it. And now we use it to protect our little base of refuge.”
“Astonishing.”
Nadav nodded as he replaced it in its sheath. “I don’t see your horse, Paul.”
“I couldn’t afford him. I sent him home.”
“Oh? Where’s that?”
“We agreed not to talk about it.”
Nadav’s countenance fell in the flickering shadows. “That’s curious.”
“I asked you to trust me and keep my confidence.”
“That you did.”
“I can only assure you, friend, that your faith in me in well placed.”
Nadav crossed his arms. “I confess it’s not faith just yet, sir. Let’s say I have no choice but that I hope you are all you say you are.”
“I’m saying I am your brother in Christ, Nadav. If I am not, I am despicable beyond measure for even claiming that.”
“My feeling exactly.”
I lay on the thick mat that separated me from the floor and intertwined my fingers behind my head. Yanbu was windless that night, and only if I strained could I hear the occasional bleat or baa from the livestock pen or Nadav as he made his deliberate passage between tents.
My body craved the relief of the previous night’s sleep, if not more desperately, but my mind was so full I could not imagine where one thought ended and another began. For the brief season I had been in Damascus I had reveled in my marvelous new relationship with God. I had become an entirely different person and awoke with wonder every day, eager to ponder and discuss the richness of God’s love and forgiveness.
Then came danger and flight and the miraculous escape, discovering this enclave of refuge, the precious little family, my encounter with God, the return to tentmaking. And now this, this peculiarity of identical names. But was it anything more than concurrence, or had I simply concocted it?
Nothing should have kept me from quickly descending into a deep slumber—nothing but the raging thoughts cascading through my head. Try as I might to steer them to the most pleasant events of the last two days—meeting with God, the delightful child, his beautiful mother finding me writing supplies—all that reminded me of her father mentioning her late husband. And when I finally did surrender to unconsciousness, I was immediately transported to that tumultuous day in Jerusalem not so long before, when the man I felt was so brash, brazen, and nervy was given his chance to address the Sanhedrin—and would not stop.
Now converted and with a new understanding, I viewed him in a fresh light as courageous, a hero, a martyr to the ultimate cause. But on that day, to me he had been vile, audacious, the symbol of everything I hated. He was an enemy, the enemy, representing a so-called messiah whom I knew to have been a charlatan by the very fact that he was dead! Dead! Who worships a dead god? A dead king? A dead messiah?
This man did.
That night in the desert he inhabited my dream, tormented my sleep, railing against me and my revered colleagues. We were known, admired, respected! People nodded, sometimes even bowed to us as we passed them in the streets. Yet his man spoke to us as if we were recalcitrant ruffians.
Even at full volume, the man spoke eloquently as he recited our own rich history and demanded: “Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? And they killed those who foretold the coming of the Just One, whom you have betrayed and murdered.”
“You are betrayers and murderers?” I shouted to my cohorts. “How dare he? He comes into our domain and accuses us of such heinous deeds?”
The assembled gnashed their teeth and rose up as one, rushing him. In my dream I was suddenly next to him at the dais—why, oh, why had we honored him with such a place of prominence when it was he who was under indictment? He turned and looked fully into my eyes as if he knew me. Then he gazed up as if through the ceiling of the great arched chamber.
“Look!” he said. “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”
“Blasphemer!” I screamed, and the council cried out, covering their ears. Then they surrounded him and dragged him away. I ran ahead, leading them to a plain strewn with rocks, and urged them to stay away from any pit and to use no stones large enough to crush him. I shouted, “This must not look like an execution, but merely a punishment gone awry!”
As they forced him into the open where he could not hide, I took their cloaks and pointed them to the piles of rocks. Nearly seventy men began throwing at him. First one, then another thudded into his belly and chest, and he called out, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!”
He knelt and cried, “Lord, do not charge them with this sin!”
Now, in my dream that had become a nightmare, he lay dead in a pool of blood. I raised both fists, then congratulated the men as I returned their cloaks. They, we, I had done a righteous thing. Each grinned broadly at me and said, “You murdered Stephanos.”
When it had actually happened, I believed it had been a great day and that I might be lauded within the Temple for my role in it. That night I had slept soundly for the first time in months. Bu
t now, in my dream, everything was askew. Suddenly I didn’t want the credit, didn’t want the attention, was puzzled by those who had thrown the rocks now praising me, nay, accusing me, not of having justly executed a blasphemer but of having murdered him.
Though the stone-throwers had numbered fewer than six dozen, in my dream the line seemed to go on forever as I handed them their cloaks, yet the pile of garments never grew smaller. My smile and enthusiasm waned as I fought to get them to stop congratulating me and calling it murder. “No!” I said over and over, “not me, you! And not murder, justice!”
Suddenly the next man in line was Alastor, small and hunched and fifty years older than I knew him to be. His scraggly beard had been bleached pure white, blown by a dry wind to reveal a face pale and drawn and wrinkled. I was pierced by his gaze and tried to evade it. He refused his cloak, refused to shake my hand, and solemnly shook his head. In a voice hollow and ethereal, and pointing a shaky, bony finger, he rasped, “You’re not Paul of Damascus at all. You’re Saul of Tarsus, and you murdered Stephanos.”
“No! No, Alastor! I—”
But in an instant he had become a slender young woman dressed in black from head to toe, a veil covering her face, an angelic boy on her hip staring at me with eyes so large and deep and dark that I knew he saw past his fun new friend to the very soul of an assassin.
As I opened my mouth to plead with the woman, her veil disappeared to reveal such beauty and pain that I could not utter a sound. “You murdered my Stephanos,” she said with a lilt, as if it had just dawned on her.
The boy lowered his chin and said, “You killed Papa.”
I found my voice and reached desperately for mother and son. But she was backing away! “Wait!” I cried. In an instant I saw only a lone figure remaining, dressed in gleaming white with his back to me.
Empire's End Page 7
