The Hidden Flame

by Janette Oke;T. Davis Bunn

  "I am Linux." She was far lovelier than he recalled. The dark eyes frankly met his gaze, the voice sounded musical even when turned shy by this stranger. "Forgive the intrusion. I come in peace, seeking word of Alban and Leah."

  "They are not here."

  "Are they safe?" His voice was rough with emotion, as if he had run a fierce race.

  "They are." She smiled, and her face grew lovelier still.

  Someone from within said, "Abigail?"

  She backed a step.

  "My lady, please, can you at least tell me where they are?"

  "We do not speak..." Her name was called again, more sharply. She swiveled the small door shut, saying, "I must go."

  Linux stared at the closed portal. The young woman had left behind the scent of lemons and some spice, perhaps myrrh.

  He whispered the name. "Abigail."

  Reluctantly, he turned away, shoulders sagging in defeat.

  C H A P T E R

  Six

  THE NEWS EzRA SOUGHT came from the most unexpected source. "My own sister?"

  Sapphira was the youngest of their clan. "An unexpected jewel," his mother had always called her, which was how the name had been chosen. Sapphira had married into a family of Jerusalem merchants. It was from their compound that Ezra did business whenever he was there in the city. He sat now in the chamber he had taken as a headquarters for himself, and stared across the table strewn with documents and samples of wares, and tried to come to terms with what he was hearing. "You? A follower of this dead prophet?"

  "If you ask among the followers, my brother, they will tell you he is not dead."

  "Who? Who says such a thing? The man was crucified. By the Romans. You think suddenly these masters of death and mayhem made a mistake? Or changed their minds?"

  Sapphira was not an especially attractive woman. Ezra also considered her rather weak willed. But their parents had doted upon her like they did their grandchildren, refusing her nothing. As a result, she had grown up expecting her every wish to be fulfilled before it was hardly uttered.

  But this. Ezra was aghast.

  Her husband, Ananias, sat next to her. He was a smallish man with constantly moving eyes. As though whatever deal he might just have negotiated, he suspected that an even better one lurked somewhere around the next corner. Ezra demanded, "You too?"

  "They are accomplishing signs and wonders. I have seen them with my own eyes."

  "This is your answer? I can walk you down to the Temple gates and show you a dozen mendicants who claim such powers!"

  "These miracles are real," Sapphira declared quietly.

  Ananias added, "Didn't you tell us you were interested in making contact with them yourself?"

  Ezra rose from the table and walked toward the wide balcony doors. His attention was caught by the hand-polished mirror he had purchased for his late wife. Most religious Judeans considered reflections an unnecessary temptation. The finest mirrors were also extremely expensive. But Ezra had wanted her to see how beautiful she truly was. They used to stand before it together, and he would point out all the features of her beauty.

  Nowadays, he rarely gave his reflection a glance. But today Ezra found he could not turn away. He stared at himself and noted the traces of grey in his neatly trimmed hair and beard. There were also circles under his eyes, so deep not even the tan from his travels could disguise them. He was in his forties, and though he still thought of himself as young and vibrant, he could feel the first winds of wintry age sweep about his spirit. As Ezra studied his reflection, he realized he was coming to resemble his father.

  With a calm he did not feel, he changed tack. If he wanted information, he must feign an interest in the beliefs of this new sect. Success for his assignment depended upon it. He turned back to the seated couple and said, "You are right, of course. Forgive me."

  "As you wish to do, I went the first time out of curiosity," Sapphira said. "I had heard so many things. I merely wanted to see for myself."

  His sister had always been a lover of the markets and the teahouses, Ezra reflected. Gossip was as vital to her as breathing. He knew he was being uncharitable, but he could not help himself. Hearing that his own sister was a follower of this nonsense left him wanting to distance himself from her.

  Ananias nodded. "I went because she asked me to come. She asked and she asked."

  "Ananias, please."

  "It is true." He turned to the woman. "You would not leave me alone about this."

  And you, Ezra amended silently, were born to follow.

  Ananias was also the youngest sibling of his clan, just like Sapphira. Ezra had been against the marriage. The father of Ananias had been the first of his line to deserve the title of merchant. The grandfather had been a simple caravan driver. By dint of hard work and harder bargaining, the family had lifted itself into the class of traders. Now they owned a dozen stalls on Jerusalem's main avenues.

  Ezra returned to his chair and inspected the wispy-bearded man seated across from him. If Ananias did nothing else his entire life, this alliance with Ezra's merchant empire justified his position within the clan a thousand times over.

  Ananias reiterated, "You pestered and you begged, and so I went."

  Ezra asked, "And now?"

  For once, the man's restless eyes were stilled. "You have not witnessed what is happening among them. I have."

  "And what does that mean?"

  "You see them as a growing sect. You wish to know who they are. You think perhaps an alliance might be of benefit."

  Ezra was unsettled by the man's intuitive summation. "Is that wrong?"

  "We are merchants. It is our way. I am merely saying that things are not as you expect. Judea is filled with sects and people claiming to possess secret knowledge. This is not such a group."

  Ezra inspected the man more closely. Perhaps there was more to his rather furtive brother-in-law than Ezra thought. "How can you be so sure?"

  Ananias looked at his wife. "Tell him what you told me."

  Sapphira said, "I heard a friend speak of ... of miraculous things. It seemed like an afternoon's entertainment to go and see for myself. I confess this now. You see, I too had my reasons for wanting to know them, all of which were wrong."

  Sapphira spoke in a rush now, like she had as a child. Eager and excited and full of the moment's desire. Yet Ezra heard something new. A strength he did not recognize, an intensity that suggested a deeper passion. "You are saying I am wrong to wish to know them?" he suggested.

  "No, brother. What I am saying is be prepared to confront things which you cannot understand."

  "Either you are with them or you are not," Ananias said. "If you are among the followers of Jesus, he will work within you."

  "But the man is dead!"

  The two of them shared a secret smile, which unsettled Ezra more than anything he had yet heard from them. Sapphira pointed to her heart and said, "He lives. Here. Now."

  "Accept it or not, it is your choice," Ananias added. "But it does not change the facts. Jesus died, and yet he lives."

  Ezra clamped down hard upon his first impulse, which was to stamp and rage and argue. He took a few moments to swallow away his contempt. "This I must see for myself."

  Sapphira beamed. "And I will arrange it for you, dear brother."

  Ezra spent the next hours in a state of wary expectation. He remained unsettled that Sapphira had become one of the dead prophet's followers. He tried to find out more about them, sending a trusted servant into the marketplace with instructions to ask around, offer bribes if necessary, but bring him information to clarify the situation. Surely if he could discover what he wanted to know on his own, he would not need the illusionary help of his sister and brother-in-law.

  But what his servant brought back disturbed him even more.

  "Signs and wonders" was the expression the servant repeated. The way the man spoke, Ezra knew he was reciting what he had heard from others. Apparently the market was as conflicted over this
group as Ezra was. Some dismissed them as outcasts. Jerusalem was filled with followers of one person or another, shouting to the heavens how their rabbi held a special understanding of the truth. Ezra had expected this. In his youth, he and Gamaliel had been among those outside the Temple, proclaiming to other students how their own teacher was the finest Pharisee who had ever lived.

  But this was different.

  According to his servant, actual miracles were taking place. The leaders of this group, now referred to as apostles, or holy teachers, were gifted with powers that had once belonged only to the prophets themselves. Or, more likely, it was all a ruse.

  Ezra hid his unease from the servant, who had only done what Ezra had requested. Yet when the man departed, Ezra found himself unable to return to his work. He paced the room, arguing internally over the notion that little Sapphira would have given her allegiance to one such as this.

  A knock at the door halted him. The servant returned to announce, "A woman is here, master."

  "She was sent by my sister?"

  "She did not say, master. But I think not."

  "I do not. . ." Ezra then noticed his servant's barely concealed smirk. "What is it?"

  "I am certain you will wish to see her, master."

  "Send her in." Mystified, he waited in the middle of the chamber.

  As soon as the woman appeared, Ezra understood.

  She wore the trailing robes of a Greek temple priestess. Elongated cheekbones stretched down to a truly enormous nose. Her skin was mottled, yet she had rouged her cheeks like a brazen young girl. The effect was ghastly.

  "I bring you greetings, Ezra bin Simon."

  He responded with a courtly nod and said to the servant, who was openly smiling now, "Bring refreshments."

  "Greetings," the crone repeated as Ezra motioned her to a chair. "From one of the finest families in all Judea."

  "I am honored," Ezra replied.

  "You should be, sire. Oh my, yes. You should be honored beyond the powers of speech to convey. Shall I tell you why?"

  He walked around the table and seated himself. "Please, continue."

  "Because this family has a daughter, sire, the likes of whom you have never seen. How do I know this? Well you may ask, sire. I know this because if you laid eyes on this beauty, you would be blinded to all but your desire to wed this young woman and claim her as your very own."

  The servant proffered the crone a gilded tray. The hand that reached for the goblet was as ancient as the rest of her. She took a noisy sip, and continued, "You have two children."

  "That I do, yes."

  "And they miss their mother. No doubt you also long for your departed wife. A tragedy, your loss. I see her absence still embedded in your features. But the time for mourning is over, sire. I come as the herald of a new dawn."

  His servant lingered by the door, watching the woman as he might an actor upon the stage. And she was very skilled, Ezra had to admit. He had met enough matchmakers over the months to know that this one was indeed a professional. "Does this new dawn of mine happen to have a name?"

  "Gloria."

  Then the family was Greek, the term the locals used for any Judean clan from beyond Israel's borders. "From which clan?"

  "Isaac. Of Athens. And Caesarea."

  He knew them, of course. They were a shipping family. Of good repute. "Her age?"

  "A truly beautiful sixteen. Fresh as the dawn, this child, and with a voice that brings to mind the soft cry of doves."

  As the woman continued to sing the young lady's praises, Ezra leaned back in his chair and gave this the serious consideration it deserved. The Isaac clan possessed ships, which his own trading empire lacked. He had dealt with them for years. He had in fact journeyed to Alexandria on one of their vessels. He suspected they were not particularly religious, which was the norm for most Judeans who lived in Caesarea. This did not disturb him overly much. They were known as an honorable clan, and Ezra had found them harsh but fair and true to their word. They would know of his own standing within the religious community, and if they were offering their daughter's hand, it would mean that the young woman knew how to run a kashrut, religious, household.

  His mind darted back to the meeting that Sapphira was setting up, which returned him to the question of what to do about his sister's newfound allegiance to this sect. Suddenly he was too unsettled to remain in his chair. He bounded up so swiftly the old woman stopped in midsentence.

  "Forgive me, lady. Do continue."

  The woman stretched her features into the semblance of a smile. "Clearly the gentleman is taken with the young woman, yes? And well he should be, for her skin is as fresh as ..."

  Ezra found himself standing once more before the mirror's polished surface. He was not a bad-looking sort. A bit craggy, and still very dark from the months upon the open sea. Ezra stroked the silver in his short beard and wondered what a young woman would think of him.

  But what the old woman said was true. The time of mourning was coming to a close. The children needed a mother. And he a wife.

  He realized that the woman had asked him something and was waiting for a response. "Could you please repeat that, my lady?"

  "I asked whether the gentleman might wish to have me approach the family on his behalf."

  "You were the one who came to me," Ezra countered. Clearly this woman sought a betrothal payment from both families. "The family sent you, yes? Which means you are here on their behalf"

  The woman gave a satisfied smile. Ezra had not refused the offer outright. "Indeed I am, sire. Indeed I am."

  His sister arrived just as the matchmaker was departing. By the time his servant had seen the old woman out the front door, Sapphira must have put together all of the pieces concerning the old woman's visit and wore the same smirk as his servant. "Are you ready, brother?"

  "For what?"

  "For what, he says. Look at the man. He has not even met the young lady, and already he is thinking of bringing her into his home."

  Ezra felt his face grow hot, which only caused Sapphira to laugh. Even his servant hid a chuckle behind his hand. Sapphira took his arm and said, "Come, we are expected."

  "You have arranged for me to meet one of the sect?"

  "We do not consider ourselves a sect, brother."

  "I meant no disrespect. How should I refer to them?"

  "Within the gatherings, we now call ourselves followers of the Way."

  He heartily disliked hearing his sister claim allegiance to this group, whatever they might call themselves. Ezra hid his grimace by squinting at the sun. "The heat is fierce this afternoon. Shall I order us a cart?"

  "It would be unseemly to arrive in such a fashion. Besides, we are going into the old quarter."

  Ezra bit back a complaint. The old quarter was how the poorest section of Jerusalem was known. He had not been there in years. He doubted it had improved since his last visit. He motioned to the two sentries standing by the entrance to the compound. "Accompany us."

  Sapphira clearly disliked the armed protection, but did not voice objections. Instead she went on, "Among those who do not follow, but who hold us in respect, we are known by the town where Jesus was raised. Nazareth. Nazarenes."

  Ezra faltered, leaning against a nearby wall. The word in Hebrew was Hano yee and held powerful significance among religious Judeans. The word signified the highest form of denial of self, rejection of sin, turning away from temptation, and earnestly seeking the Lord.

  "Is everything all right, brother?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. So you are taking me to the home of one of the leaders."

  "The apostles come mostly from the Galilee. They reside here with other followers who have homes in Jerusalem."

  This time he could not hide his scowl. To the religious of Jerusalem, the Galileans were only a tiny step above Samar- ians. "Really, sister, this is too much. You have taken up with riffraff!"

  Sapphira, unaccustomed to having anyone in her family criticize her ways, turn
ed sullen, and instantly Ezra was taken back to earlier days, when such looks would have melted their parents' hearts. She said, "If you are going to talk to me like that, we may as well turn around and go home."

  "Forgive me, sister. That was unnecessarily rude."

  "You were the one who wanted this meeting."

  "Indeed I was. Tell me more of this group."

  Sapphira turned cheerful once more, but her account now was laden with tales of miracles and events which simply made no logical sense whatsoever. She described the group's growth at an impossible rate. She spoke of how people shared what they had, and no one within the community lacked for anything. She related how the Master himself had fed five thousand from a single basket of fish and a few loaves of bread, and how this same miracle often appeared to still happen as daily needs were met.

  Ezra could not stop himself from asking, "How much of our family's money have you given to them, sister?"

  The sullen pout returned. "We share with those who need."

  Ezra guessed that his family's hard-earned gold-gold that his own efforts had increased significantly-was now feeding the poor who flocked to this new sect precisely because there was free food to be had. His food. His gold. No wonder the sect was growing.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  C H A P T E R

  SEVEN

  THE SCENE THAT EZRA FOUND at the apostles' gathering place was nothing like what he had expected.

  There was no swelling crowd of the poor, gathering like crows around anything for the picking, no hordes of beggars grasping for alms. Ezra and his sister Sapphira entered a square like a hundred others in the city, populated with a modest number going about their business. Water in the unadorned central fountain trickled from a simple clay pipe and fell into a narrow trough. The surrounding dwellings were poor but not unkempt. Shutters remained closed against the late afternoon heat. A single donkey ate from a feed sack. A woman filled a clay pot and nodded a greeting to Sapphira before stepping back through high double doors and out of sight.