The Damascus Way

by Janette Oke

  There was another moment’s tumult, and then a man called out, “What if this stranger is wrong?”

  “No,” Jacob said. He spoke softly, yet it was enough to silence the room. “When we left Tiberias, I was offered the chance to kill Saul and the Temple guards and hide them in the desert. I confess to you that for a time I was tempted. I could have protected those who have fled from his wrath, such as you here in Damascus. I had doubts and fears, just as you do now. But I prayed, and I felt God’s hand holding me back from such a deed. I could not bring myself to act. I stand before you now, today, to proclaim that our Lord guided me. He spoke to me, and I truly believe he spoke to our enemy, Saul.”

  A man demanded, “What does the Lord say to you now?”

  “Two words.” Jacob had never felt more certain of anything in his life. “Fear not.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  Damascus

  Jamal turned to Julia as they walked together through the Damascus streets from the inn. “Would you please wait by the portal while I go in alone?”

  She nodded. “Of course, Father.”

  “You do realize Florina may not wish to see you?”

  Florina? It was a lovely name. Julia swallowed down the sorrow of hearing it for the first time. “That is her decision, Father. Mother and I both know she has the right to grant our request . . . or not. We will not insist.”

  “Your mother is a wonderful woman, Julia. I argued with her at first over her decision. I did not wish to lose her – and I also attempted to dissuade her from this visit. But – ” He sighed deeply. “I know she will do only what she feels is best – for all concerned.”

  Jamal hesitated a moment, then went on, “I cannot hide the fact that I will miss her. Deeply. She has been my jewel for many years. But now I must respect her decision. As she said this morning when I came to the inn with my news, perhaps what God has before us will be an even better relationship. As fellow believers rather than . . .” He didn’t finish, but then said, “I do not pretend that the road ahead will be easy. Pray for me, Julia.”

  She nodded and choked back a sob. His sorrow touched her deeply.

  “Always remember, my dear, your mother may not have been my wife, at least in a legal sense, but you have always been – will always be – my daughter.” He reached for her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and released it.

  Julia felt she could not have been given a greater gift. She wiped her tears and followed her father toward the door ahead.

  The outer portal opened into a vestibule where servants and messengers might wait. Julia took a seat on the side bench. It seemed a rather long time before a servant bowed in front of her. “You may follow me,” he said.

  Julia’s heart pounded within her chest as he led her through a gilded hallway with marble floors. She wondered if the man who silently led the way could hear her heartbeat.

  He pushed open a richly paneled door of polished wood and brass and motioned her forward. Her father was not there. A woman sat alone on a cushioned chair with gilded back and arms.

  She was older than Helena by what Julia guessed might be at least ten years. She was not what Julia would have described as a particularly attractive woman, certainly not so in comparison to her own mother’s striking appearance. Yet she possessed a dignity that to Julia held both judgment and an air of authority. Julia knew instinctively that she was not looking at a woman selected from some small Samaritan village. Her very bearing seemed to announce nobility.

  The woman’s face looked strained. Maybe even unwelcoming. Julia wished she had not come. She hesitated, but the woman motioned to indicate that she was to take a seat across the room.

  “You are Julia?” Her voice was surprisingly soft.

  Julia nodded, unable to form words.

  “I understand that my husband is your father.”

  She found her voice then. “Yes, mistress.”

  Julia saw the dark eyes intently studying her, making her feel Eleven more uncomfortable.

  The woman observed, “I see little of Jamal in your features.”

  “Some say I resemble my mother,” Julia responded, a catch in her voice.

  “She must be an attractive woman.” The words were not said with malice. It seemed a simple observation.

  They sat in silence while the woman continued to study Julia. Then she sighed and lifted a small linen square, fine as silk, to her mouth. Julia wondered if it had been used previously to wipe tears.

  “Tell me, Julia. Why did you come?”

  “I . . . I and my mother have . . . become followers of the Way. We recently heard that you also are a believer. We have prayed about . . . about the . . . our circumstance since we have come to faith, and we wished . . .” What could she possibly say that would make any sense to this woman? “I am not really sure,” she finally admitted. “We have been praying, and Mother thought she should come. The Lord – ”

  “Your mother,” the woman repeated. “Your mother is here?”

  “At the inn. Father’s inn.”

  “So why did Jamal – your father – not bring her to me along with you?”

  “My mother did not wish to intrude unless she knew you wished to see her.”

  Florina stirred and fluttered the linen in her hand, seemingly deep in thought. “And what if I do not?”

  “She . . . we will leave. Return to Tiberias.”

  Florina fell silent. Her dark eyes registered troubled thought. At length she spoke again, her voice soft but strong.

  “I already knew about her. For many years I have known. Not about you, though. No one had informed me that Jamal had another child. I should have suspected, of course. Tell me. Does Jamal have other secrets? Do you have brothers? Sisters?”

  “No. I am the only one.”

  “A daughter,” she said. “We – Jamal and I – do not have a girl. I suppose Jamal has spoiled you.”

  “A little, perhaps.” Julia dropped her head to cover her smile.

  But the woman also smiled. It seemed to please her that Julia had admitted it. “Tell me, Julia. Do you live in a beautiful home?”

  Julia unconsciously circled the room with her gaze, then looked at the woman. “It is very lovely, very comfortable, but not as beautiful as this one,” she said frankly. In truth she had never been in such an elaborate setting before. She could not tell what the woman might think about her response.

  But Florina made no comment. “Jamal is waiting for my return,” she said simply. “I promised him I would not be long.”

  Her weariness showed as she rose slowly to her feet. “We will talk again, Julia. I will send for you.”

  “Thank you, mistress.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “And when you come again, please, will you bring your mother.”

  Julia was in the act of rising, and she was so shocked she could hardly move.

  “I do wish to see her. Yes. Though why, I would not be able to explain.”

  This decision had cost the woman, Julia could see that. She felt a deep compassion for Florina that she knew she would not be wise – or able – to express. “Thank you, mistress,” she said with a brief dip of her head. “From both of us.”

  They were summoned the very next day. A horse-drawn conveyance waited at the inn’s entrance. When she and Helena left the inn, Julia felt a shiver pass through her. It was only yesterday she had met this woman, and though she had not been spurned or disparaged, neither had she felt particularly welcomed. What would this day hold?

  To her surprise, Helena seemed perfectly calm. She sounded pleased with the news that Florina was willing to meet her too. She and Julia had prayed together before retiring and again in the morning. Yes, God would give wisdom, Julia told herself as they were driven to the beautiful residence.

  As they entered the large entryway into the courtyard, Julia could not but marvel again at its splendor. But her mother seemed not to notice.

  They were admitted without delay and led i
nto the small, elaborate sitting area where Florina had met Julia the day before. Julia could not help but wonder if this was the woman’s own private space, like her mother’s secluded arbor at home. Florina was seated in the gilded chair, much like a queen upon her throne.

  This time she rose to meet them. Her eyes flitted over Julia and settled on Helena. Helena dipped her head in a respectful bow. Florina nodded. “Helena. Julia. Please sit with me.”

  A young servant girl pushed through the door bearing a tray of refreshments. All was silent while the maid poured the tea and distributed the cups. She passed a tray of food, mostly unfamiliar but enticing. Julia had no idea what she should try. She watched her mother select honey-dipped figs rolled in nut meal. Julia did the same.

  Florina turned to Helena. “Your daughter tells me you have desired to see me.”

  Julia wondered if her mother would be as nervous as she had been the day before. But Helena surprised her. With a respectful yet confident manner she responded, “I was aware Jamal had another . . . had a wife and another family. For some time I have known and accepted it. But when I became a follower of the Messiah, it no longer seemed . . . well . . . seemed appropriate to overlook the situation. You are his wife. You and your family have a legal and moral right to his time and attention. I do not want to jeopardize your family – your home – in any way. I am sorry for any pain I may have caused you and your children.”

  It did not seem to be what Florina had expected. She took a long breath and looked at her plate. After a moment she raised her head. “Tell me, Helena, how old were you when my husband . . . acquired you?”

  “I was nearing my fifteenth birthday.”

  “A fourteen-year-old?”

  “Fourteen, yes.”

  “Not much more than a child. And I understand along with you came a small house, a market stand, and sundry other items in payment of a debt.”

  Julia looked quickly at her mother, but Helena did not shrink from the question. “That is correct. Jamal was most generous to my family. My mother would have been left utterly destitute and a pauper had he not acted as he did.”

  “So you see him as your benefactor?”

  “I do. In many ways.”

  Florina seemed to consider this for some moments before she spoke again. “Did you know he loved you? More than he loved me?”

  “I am sorry if that is so. But no. I did not know.”

  “We have quarreled long and heatedly over you, Helena. Over your place in his life. His heart.”

  “That is very hard for me to hear. I am deeply sorry.”

  The woman sighed and set aside her cup. She stood and walked toward a large window looking out over a terraced garden. Her shoulders looked stiff but her steps were even, graceful.

  It was a few moments until she spoke again, still facing the garden. “Actually, our past circumstances are not that dissimilar. I, too, was purchased – but as a bride. There was a large dowry that my father considered to be a great advantage. He was a nobleman who had fallen on hard times. Jamal offered wealth in exchange for standing. I was from Ephesus. My family was one of prominence. We worshiped the goddess Diana.” She turned back to Helena. “Have you heard of her?”

  Helena nodded.

  “But Jamal would not abide observances of any gods in his house. He smashed my small statuette that I had brought with me from my home. I felt bereft and cried for days. I – well, I hated him for it.”

  She walked back to her chair. Helena was silent. Julia knew the story had not ended, yet she wondered why Florina was sharing all these sad details with them.

  Julia also knew it was difficult for Florina to continue, but at length she spoke again. “You can imagine that our marriage has not been a happy one. I have obeyed. I have given every appearance of submission to him. But I have made no effort whatever to love my husband. Nor to make him happy.”

  Helena nodded slowly. “I understand.”

  Florina gazed a long time into their faces, as if to determine their judgment of her confession. Then went on. “We have two sons. They have been the only thing in my life that has brought any joy. It was my younger son who first became a follower. He led me to the group that meets here in Damascus. I was yearning for something beyond myself to give me peace. Purpose.”

  She stopped again and Julia watched as her countenance seemed to change. The tightness of her face softened, her eyes lost some of their shadow.

  “And now that I know the true God, I have found what I was searching for. I no longer am in need of statuettes carved of wood or stone and plated with silver or gold. I am at peace. Or I was . . . until now.” She gave a long sigh.

  Helena half rose from her seat and Florina motioned her back down with a slight movement of her hand. “Jamal and I had a long talk last night.” Once again she looked directly at Helena. “In fact, we talked for most of the night. He tells me that you have requested your relationship be terminated.”

  Helena nodded.

  “Why?”

  “It does not seem right to live without marriage when I know God has given specific directives about it.”

  “He would marry you. You must know that.”

  “But that would not be an answer that either you or I would favor.”

  “I understand why I would not favor it. But why not you?”

  “Because . . . I would be claiming what rightly belongs to another – Jamal’s time, his affection. It belongs to you and your family.”

  Florina again went back to the window. “I . . . I thought that surely Jamal must have been exaggerating when he spoke of you. No woman could be so . . . so honorable. So brave. How can you do this? Just step aside? You would have won, you know. He would leave me had you insisted.”

  “I could not live with that,” Helena managed through trembling lips. “It would dishonor us all, especially Jamal.”

  When Florina turned around, her tears were flowing freely. She wiped them with the linen. “These may be the strangest words I have ever spoken. But I feel a kinship with you. I expected to feel threatened. Angry. Instead I feel like . . .”

  “We are sisters in the Lord’s family,” said Helena softly, standing to face her.

  “Yes. Yes, that is it of course. Odd, is it not? Yet . . . I have not been a believer for long, and I still have much to learn. But this I already know. One cannot hold bitterness and anger against another and also have the Lord’s peace.”

  Julia had sat silently, listening to the strange exchange between two women who had shared the same man. She looked in awe at each of them.

  “As I said,” Florina went on, taking her seat once again, but she no longer looked like a queen. She looked like a lonely, needy woman. “Jamal and I had a long talk last night. He was not the only one in the wrong. I had to apologize. I have been a hard, angry woman. No wonder he did not wish to come home to me. But I promised him that with God’s help I will change. I will seek to learn to love him. And I feel that with time – and God – we can fashion a relationship that will be pleasing to heaven. I . . . I thank you for making it possible for me to try.”

  And the next thing Julia knew her mother was kneeling beside Florina while the two women held one another and wept again.

  And that was the way her father found them when he walked into the room. They didn’t notice his coming. Nor his departure. For he left as quickly as he had appeared, tears in his own eyes. Julia started to follow him, but she could not see the way through the tears flooding down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-TWO

  Caesarea

  Pushing hard, a troop of mounted Roman soldiers could have made the journey to Caesarea in two days. Linux took five. They scoured the surrounding countryside on their way and spoke with village elders. They sent patrols out after shadows and whispers of sound, but found no threat. Linux suspected this was what the centurion Cornelius may have intended all along. Show aggressive force and reconnoiter hard. Hunt with a hawk’s vigilance, and f
orce the bandits to take their deadly business elsewhere.

  They were up before each dawn, but none of Linux’s band complained. Their destination was a city on the sea, a Roman place of safety, where food did not taste of sand and grit and desert heat, and the hot baths were the pride of the region. Every day their good humor strengthened, until by journey’s end the legionnaires occasionally even broke into song.

  But by the second day after arriving in Caesarea, Linux chafed under the forced idleness. Each morning he announced his presence to the acting garrison commandant. After that, the hours were his to do with as he pleased. Cornelius was out inspecting his forces. He had been accompanied by all the men Linux knew within the Italian brigade. Linux threw himself into the few tasks that came his way, and chafed at being so far away from Samaria.

  Each night he found himself waking from a deep sleep, only to realize he had dreamed of a child’s laughter. And of a woman’s smile. He had promised Abigail’s lost husband to protect her. Linux would honor that vow with his dying breath – whatever it meant. For Linux was certain the promise had not been made merely to Stephen, but also to the God they both served.

  On the third afternoon a summons was delivered by Grattus, the young subaltern who had first invited Linux to the home of Cornelius. They rode out together at dusk toward the centurion’s home. Grattus still bore the marks of his most recent road assignment. The dust might have been cleaned away, his hair oiled, his uniform fresh. But the strain of the past few weeks had aged him.

  Linux asked, “You had a hard go of it?”

  “We have been busy chasing ghosts. We lost four good men to arrows flung by the night. I accuse the night because we found no one.”

  Cornelius greeted them with his customary gruff courtesy, but the burdens were more evident upon his aging features. “Did Grattus tell you of our sorties?”