The Damascus Way

by Janette Oke

  “I hear your words,” Jamal said with a sigh, “and I understand nothing.”

  “We both came because Mother believed this journey was vital. She could not tell me more. Now I understand at least some of what God intends. We are here to testify that Jesus is alive. That he is waiting for you also to accept him into your life. To follow him.”

  Helena said from her place at Julia’s side, “What joy it gives me to hear such words spoken among this group. In my lord’s presence. And to have you listen.”

  Jamal inspected Helena across the fire, his bearded features cast in a ruddy glow, his expression unreadable.

  Helena met his gaze with an unwavering calm. “And what greater joy if only you were to join with us in worshiping the Messiah.”

  After a time Alban asked, “Will you pray with us, sire?”

  Jacob saw Jamal twist his face in an attempt at scorn, but the tremor in his voice gave lie to his gruffness. “I know not to whom you pray.”

  “Then I shall ask the Lord our God to reveal himself to you.”

  “As will I,” Julia said.

  Helena echoed the promise, tears brimming in her eyes, and Jacob added his own voice. “We all shall pray with you, and for you, sire.”

  Jamal dropped his gaze to the fire. “I shall think on this.”

  Alban said, “And I shall ask the Lord to show both his power and his mercy. That before you arrive at the gates of Damascus, you will understand the forces at the Savior’s command. You will witness his ability to do astonishing things, and his love that binds us to him with cords that cannot be broken. We all will pray that you will see his mighty arm at work and hear his gentle call. That you will receive him, accept him, as the God, your God.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  The Megiddo Plains

  The morning air held a distinct chill as Abigail hurried with Martha down to the market stall. A caravan had been spotted, and every merchant scurried to ready his wares. Sales of late had been scant. Winter tempests took their toll even beyond the immediate damage to stalls and goods. Caravans were delayed, and now everyone was in need of their business.

  “Did the boy know who these travelers are, where they are from?” asked Abigail.

  “I didn’t hear him say. But Yelban had sent him to alert us, and he seemed excited and hopeful.”

  Abigail too was hopeful that the caravan master and others in the group would be willing to barter fairly for the weavings in her shop. She needed coins to be able to buy the food and other items she and Dorcas required. Which reminded her of something else. “I am glad Dorcas does not need to spend the day down here with us. She is growing so quickly I cannot keep up with warm clothing for her.”

  Martha reached a hand to Abigail’s arm. “It is a heavy burden you bear. Alone with a child to care for and protect. I am praying that your lot will change, and that a good – ”

  Abigail’s gasp stopped Martha. “What are you saying?” Abigail felt her face grow warm. “Surely you are not asking God to . . . to supply a . . . a husband?” She could hardly form the words.

  “And why should I not?” Martha retorted in her customary brusque manner. “You need someone to help you shoulder the load.”

  “Oh, Martha. Don’t. Please.”

  “It has been five years since you lost Stephen. He would not want you to continue dwelling on the past. Dorcas needs more than a longer gown and warmer wrap. She needs a father. And you need a husband. Someone – ”

  “Please,” interrupted Abigail, “please – do not speak any more on it. I cannot – ”

  “You must hear it, sister. You need to be thinking about it. You cannot go on for much longer alone.”

  “But . . . but first I . . . I need to learn how to love again.” Her last words were little more than a whisper.

  Martha made a sound that could have been interpreted in several ways. “Love again. My dear, you already do.”

  “What . . . what can you possibly mean?”

  “I see it in your eyes every time you look at him, Abigail,” Martha continued in a softer tone. “Every time you speak to him. Even hear his name. And he loves you in return. It is clear to any who care about either of you.”

  “Please, Martha. I beg you – no more.”

  “I will not speak further on this,” Martha said. “But I will continue to pray. I know it is very hard for you to even think of this, but Stephen would have wanted nothing less. He loved you. He would not want you to be struggling along alone.”

  It was quiet for a time, and Abigail breathed a sigh of relief. But Martha had one more word. “He selected someone he knew he could trust. His friend. Your friend. And now Dorcas’s friend. Why else would Stephen have asked him to take on the care of you if . . . ?”

  Abigail was thankful to enter the stall and busy her hands with the tasks before her. But her heart still fluttered in her chest. It was unthinkable. How did one halt Martha from praying such impossible things?

  The long hard ride on patrol had turned up nothing. Even so, Linux sensed bandits lurking in the hills’ deep shadows. Why he was so certain he could not say. Beyond his range of vision, he suspected a cloud of evil was poised to spread over the region. Yet he and his soldiers had found not even so much as ashes of a cold fire pit.

  They rode back in silence, a tribute to his men. After two hard days in the saddle, Linux heard no discontent. Not even as they arrived at their temporary camp beside the Megiddo market area and unsaddled and cared for their exhausted mounts.

  The weather reflected his sour mood. The sky was slate grey and the air very still. Linux expected a hard freeze before dawn. Not the kind of night a tired soldier welcomed. His greeting from the elderly conscript who served his meal would likely be as cold as the night itself. He only hoped the food, no matter how simple, would be hot. A small bit of comfort.

  When he pushed aside the tent’s opening, he was astounded to see Martha sitting on the one stool, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle. She nodded at his look of surprise and held the parcel out to him. “I thought you might need something warm to thaw your bones.”

  The servant appeared, shuffling his feet and grasping his hands nervously in front of him. “I asked her to wait outside, sir, but she insisted. . . .”

  Linux could not suppress a grin. Knowing Martha, if she was determined to do something, it would be done her way. “She is welcome at any time. And I am glad to see her.”

  Linux indicated the old man should remain, knowing Martha would be more at ease with a third person on hand. “Fasten the flaps back and stir up the fire to warm us. And bring a spoon.” The man bowed and busied himself with his tasks.

  Linux turned to his guest. “Welcome to my humble abode, good woman. And what is it you have blessed me with?”

  “Lamb stew. It comes straight from the cooking pot.”

  “It sounds like a soldier’s glimpse of heaven itself,” he said as his servant moved a table away from the tent wall. “Will you share this welcome repast?”

  “I have already supped,” she explained, but she rose and moved toward the table with her bundle. “I would be happy for a cup of tea, though.”

  His servant prepared tea while Linux shifted a pile of maps and parchments to make room for Martha’s gift. Despite his fatigue, Linux was glad for the unexpected company. It was an uncommon pleasure to have someone besides a soldier to talk to over his meal.

  “I thought the Roman army did better by their men,” Martha observed as she opened the parcel and set the bowl on the table.

  “Maybe those appointed to Rome itself. We out here in the field take what we can find. Besides which, I don’t spend much time here. As you well know.” On impulse he asked Martha to pray, and found himself moved by her heartfelt words of thanksgiving.

  He lifted a bite to his mouth and declared, “You have turned lamb into a delicacy fit for a Roman king.” He ate in silence. When his bowl was empty, he watched Martha refill it and asked, “How ar
e things at the market?”

  “A little better today. Abigail . . . But she can tell you all that herself. Dorcas has been asking after you. The little one fears you have forgotten her.”

  “I certainly have not. I do think of her many times, be assured. But we have had some extremely long days in our search for those bandits. When we manage to return to our camp here after a patrol, it often is so late the market is already closed. And Dorcas would long be asleep.”

  “Even so, you should call at the stall. Many of the merchants don’t climb the hill at night.”

  He looked at her. “Such a visit would be seen as . . . well . . . proper?”

  “I will be there. No one would find any cause for gossip when a long-time friend visits us of an evening.”

  He nodded slowly and took another bite. “Is Dorcas now bedded for the night?”

  “She was still singing to her bird when I left.”

  “And that was how long ago?”

  “Not long. That man of yours would have taken the dish and sent me on my way. I was afraid it would all be gone by the time you arrived. I saw his nose twitching at the smell of it.”

  It was the first reason to laugh for some days. “I am very glad you saved it for me.”

  “I also wanted you to know that you are welcome to visit.” Her eyes sought his over the rim of her mug.

  His weariness and disappointment with the day were swept aside. Leaning forward on his elbows, he asked, “How is Abigail? Is her terrible loss less painful now? Sometimes she looks . . .”

  Martha set aside her cup and leaned forward as well. “She is lonely, Linux. Dreadfully so. Only she is so busy worrying over her daughter and learning her new business that she does not allow herself the time to fully realize how she is feeling. But I too see it in her expression, in her eyes. Hear it in her voice.” Martha rubbed a hand over her face. “It breaks my heart, and I have tried to talk to her, but she refuses to discuss it. I have told her I will continue to pray for her, even if she will not allow me to speak of her situation.”

  Linux rose to his feet and walked to the tent’s opening. He stared at the night for a time, but in truth saw only the turmoil within his own heart. Finally he turned back to Martha, and said, “You know I love her.”

  Martha nodded. “I have seen it.”

  “For a long time.”

  Another nod.

  “But I do not wish to cause her further pain, or make her uncomfortable.”

  “Sometimes a woman needs a change of circumstances to begin thinking in a new way.” This normally direct woman chose her words carefully. “She is not ready yet. But she will come to it. One day – soon, I hope – she will realize that she does love you. But not yet. She still needs time.”

  A new resolve burned in his heart. “You are a bearer of light. Abigail has all the time she needs. I will still be here, waiting.”

  He stood and reached for his dust-covered robe. “Let’s go see Dorcas,” he said with a grin, and Martha smiled her agreement.

  The next morning, Linux rode back to the fortress of Megiddo. His journey was lightened by recollections of the previous evening’s joyful encounters – that initial talk with Martha, followed by a visit with his little friend. And her mother. Abigail had greeted him with kindness, but he had resisted the temptation to interpret her every word, every gesture, and gave his attention to a delighted Dorcas.

  After a full and fruitful day, he and the band returned to the crossroads market in the fading light of late afternoon. Linux was not the least bit sorry to leave the old fortress behind. It stood isolated upon its lonely hilltop and brooded over the Samaritan plains. The Romans had taken it over for their own use without doing much to improve its condition. The rocks were black with dirt and age. From a distance, Linux thought it did not look like a fortress but like an angry stone vulture, ever ready to pounce.

  Earlier that afternoon, Linux had finally located the garrison’s missing funds. The commanding officer, the one now lost to the storm, had hidden the money in a compartment behind a loose stone in his private quarters. The coins filled four sacks. Before their departure from the fortress, Linux called the troops to order and paid their back wages. Their loyalty to Linux was sealed. The remaining silver he carried with him to present to Yelban. The funds would not be enough to satisfy the outstanding debts, but no doubt they would go a long way toward repairing the relationship between the garrison and the merchants.

  Linux had split his Megiddo garrison into two groups. One he led himself, the other was directed by a crusty sergeant who hailed from distant Germania. Together he and Fabian planned their patrols so one band always remained near the Megiddo market to protect the shopkeepers.

  Linux had been careful in selecting his own men, choosing those soldiers who were followers of the Way. They numbered seven. Added to these were another four with reputations for honesty and diligence. Most of the merchant families were followers of Jesus, and he sought harmony with them.

  Linux arrived back at the crossroads just as the sun was setting. Little Dorcas ran across the sand, calling his name. He let her help curry and feed the horses. All the while she sang a song she had just learned, one of King David’s psalms. By the time the men were done with their chores, the men were grinning and joking with each other.

  Dorcas led the way to Yelban’s tavern, where Linux’s sergeant waited with his own patrol. It had become their habit to take a meal together whenever both troops were at the Megiddo encampment. Linux and Fabian discussed any sign they had discovered, what reports or rumors had been passed on by villages they had visited, or where the next patrol might need to go. This day, however, Fabian met Linux outside the awning. He saluted the officer and reported, “A message has come from Caesarea, sire.”

  Yelban, attending the tavern’s cooking fire, called over his shoulder, “Surely the news can wait until the man has eaten.”

  Martha appeared, wiping her hands on a cloth. “We have been roasting a sheep for half a day now.”

  “The aroma has had my men groaning with hunger,” Fabian said.

  “Bring your news inside,” Martha insisted. “Sit, rest, pray, and eat. Then news.”

  The meal was as good as the fragrance promised. Most of the villagers drifted over. Some ate, others hovered around the edges. Dorcas stood by Linux’s side and ate from his plate.

  Abigail watched them both, a curious expression on her face. She did not disapprove, Linux was certain of that. Neither did she turn away. She seemed content to watch from her place by the awning’s side wall, apart yet joined to the larger group.

  As the tables were cleared, Fabian passed on the message from Caesarea. Cornelius, senior centurion of the Italian Brigade, had ordered the officer in charge of the Megiddo garrison back to Caesarea. There was to be a gathering of all the outlying forts’ senior officers. Linux was ordered to scour the region as he came, looking for any indications of bandits.

  Linux half expected a wail of protest from Dorcas. But the child continued to eat calmly from his plate, then settled down to play with her doll by his chair. Linux stroked the little girl’s hair. “Will you miss me at least a little?”

  “Oh yes. But you will come back,” she said, nodding confidently.

  The calm statement was enough to cause heads to turn his way. Linux said to the child, “There is no telling what I may face upon my return to Caesarea, child. Or where duty might call me.”

  Dorcas patted the sand-covered planks, smoothing the area around her doll. “You will come home. Here.”

  He risked a brief glance at Abigail. The woman did not meet his gaze.

  Linux signaled to the corporal who had returned with him from the fortress. The man walked into the night, returning with Linux’s saddlebags. He pulled out the sack of silver and handed it to Yelban. “It will not cover all those chits. But it is something.”

  “Something?” Yelban’s fingers trembled as he untied the drawstring. He reached into the sack and
hefted a handful of coins, lifting them high for all to see. “This is what we need. God is caring for us!”

  Yelban raised his voice above the clamor that now filled his tavern. “We will dole this out in fair portions to all who are owed money by the Romans.” He turned and said to Linux, “Someday, perhaps, I will find the words to thank you.”

  Warmed by the elder’s response, Linux joined the others in their nightly prayers. This was the only time Abigail spoke since his appearance. Her prayer emerged so softly that Linux caught only a portion of what she said. But her voice sounded beautiful and stirred him as he listened.

  Afterward they sat there, the Roman legionnaires and the villagers, in the peace that often came with such times. The sergeant was the first to break the silence. He leaned over his knees and said, his voice low, “I find myself growing curious about this God.”

  Linux could feel eyes turn his way. Clearly the villagers considered him the one to speak to the sergeant. Soldier to soldier. “What you are feeling, my friend, is the Lord’s spirit at work within you.”

  The sergeant nodded at the sand by his feet and did not speak.

  Linux gestured to the gathering. “Look about. Some of us are Roman legionnaires. We are gathered in the tent of a Judean merchant. In the heart of Samaria, surrounded by danger and strife. But we know peace. We are here because we care for each other. In a land that considers us their greatest enemy, worse even than the bandits, we are experiencing peace.”

  Linux gestured to Martha. “This good woman saw the Messiah die upon the Roman cross. She saw him laid to rest in a Judean tomb. And she saw him rise again to walk the earth and speak to them, sending them out with the Good News wherever they went.”

  Yelban spoke then. “Just as we have heard it here in Samaria. Challenging us to faith, to hope and love.”

  Linux said to the sergeant, “I ask, not as your commanding officer but as a friend, would you like to pray with us?”