"Hush," Abigail whispered. "We are not to mention his coming, remember. Even the walls have ears."
They turned the corner leading to their small quarters. Abigail could already detect the odor that continually hung over the area. At first she had often covered her nose with her hand when entering the street. She had now become familiar enough with it to make it bearable, but she still detested the strong smell.
Jacob loathed the place. "I cannot wait to leave this place and begin my real work," he said now, his mouth twisted in disgust. "I taste raw fish throughout the day. When I become a legionnaire, I will live on fresh bread, sweets, and-"
"You know you can no longer follow that path, Jacob. Many of our leaders say that being a soldier is not compatible. Soldiers must take up arms. They must-"
"You think I don't know what soldiers do?" he burst out. "Why do you think I want to be one? I know they do their duty. That's what. Have you ever met a finer man than Alban?"
"No," Abigail agreed quickly. "But Alban did not remain with his troops. I think you may find him saying that life no longer fits with our way. Think on that, I beg you, my brother. What if your desire displeases Alban? Think what he has done for you. He only wants what is best. He loves you like a son."
Her voice had gradually risen from the whisper that they were trying to maintain. She checked herself and switched to a softer tone once again. "He would be so disappointed. He wants you to become.. ."
Jacob moved away from her. Even in the shadows of the twilight she could see his eyes shone with a different intensity. Was it pain or anger that passed over his face?
"Jacob-please," she begged, but she knew that her brother had once again shut himself away. There was no use to talk further. He would not be listening. She felt tears sting her eyes. They were almost home, but it would not be an evening of camaraderie. Even before they reached the door of the small abode, she knew that Jacob would be retreating immediately to the loft and his camel-hair bed. There would be no further discussion of Alban's upcoming visit. There would be nothing left for her to do but to pull out her musty pallet and spread it out on the floor. She, too, would retire-and pray.
Abigail arose earlier than usual the next morning, but Jacob did not respond to her call. After three further attempts, Abigail climbed the shaky ladder made of scraps Jacob had gathered here and there and peered intently into the darkness of the small upper platform. There was no form on the pallet. Jacob had already left.
Her heart sank as she climbed back down to the dirt floor. It was all she could do to keep her tears in check. Had he merely left early for his work? Had he been so angry with her for her strong words that he had decided to disassociate himself? She couldn't bear to think of the possibility of losing him again. He was all she had for family. She wanted to cling to him. To protect him-and be protected, as he had done for her the previous day. What if he had found some way to join the legion without the help or consent of Alban? What if she had driven him to it? She would never be able to forgive herself.
With a heavy heart Abigail prepared herself for the day. She would be attending the morning prayers alone. But she began her own prayers now. Prayed that Jacob might already be at the compound waiting for her. Prayed that she would be able to control her tears if he was not. Prayed for wisdom in what to do next.
She pulled her shawl closely over her face as she closed the lean-to door and propped a stick against it to keep out straying goats and chickens. She wished she could also cover her red and swollen eyes.
The sun was not yet up, though the pink flush on the eastern sky was assurance it soon would be. A bird sang in a tree and was answered by a mate resting on a stone-built wall. Somewhere nearby a baby cried. A man cursed angrily at a skulking dog. And the strong odor of raw fish assailed her nostrils.
She paid little heed to any of it. Her thoughts were still of Jacob.
The long day dragged to its end. Abigail had heard nothing from Jacob. He had not been at the morning prayers, nor at the evening meal. As she wrapped her shawl about her for the journey home, she prayed that when she arrived at their humble dwelling his few belongings would still be there, indicating his planned return.
As she crossed the courtyard, a tall man stepped from the shadows. Her weary heart accelerated when she recognized the Roman soldier, Linux. His dress uniform gleamed where the setting sun reflected off the polished brass. She could not help but notice that he did make an impressive figure. Abigail took a deep breath and would have brushed by had he not stopped her.
"Please." His voice sounded more entreating than commanding. "If I could have only a few words."
Abigail had no recourse, and she nodded, her fingers twisting themselves in her shawl and drawing it more closely about her. She was relieved when he motioned for her to step into a shadowed doorway where she would not be seen in conversation with a Roman soldier.
"I remain much concerned over Alban. I have made numerous inquiries, but I have heard nothing."
"Please, sir," Abigail dared to say, "do not ask about him any further. It could put him and Leah in great danger."
"There may still be enemies?" He stopped, then added, "But of course. Herod no doubt harbors thoughts of revenge."
"I fear so. Some memories are long when they are filled with bile."
"Then I shall indeed remain silent."
"Thank you." Abigail made as though to depart, but he stopped her again.
"Could you at least allow me to ask if there has been any word?"
Abigail paused, then nodded. "Yes."
He gave a deep sigh. "Then they are still safe-and well?"
She merely nodded again.
"I am relieved."
"As are we all."
A third time Abigail moved forward. But again his words halted her. "May I ask if he will be ... joining us soon?"
Abigail wished not to answer. Yet no doubt her own eyes betrayed her. She could no more conceal her anticipation of seeing Alban again than she could deny his coming.
"He will. But in secret. I can say no more."
"I understand. And Leah?"
"She will not be traveling."
"Is she not well?"
"She ... she is very well, I gather." How much should she say? "She ... is with child."
She was totally unprepared for the expressions that crossed his face. A smile. A longing. Then a smile again. But he said nothing. Just looked at her. Deeply. In a way that unsettled her more than she could have expressed. What did he mean by such a daring study of her half-hidden face?
Her thoughts suddenly flew back to a market day of long ago. She had gone on an errand with her mother, when she was young enough still to pay little attention to what might be happening on the streets around her. But her mother had noticed something that made her hiss, "Cover your face," giving the girl a firm nudge. Abigail had quickly complied, wondering, even as she obeyed, about other girls her age with no covering.
It wasn't until they were back within the confines of their own courtyard that her mother offered an explanation. Of sorts. Abigail did not fully understand it. "You must always cover your face when you are in the streets. Men-even older men-look at you. If they think you are bold, they will be bold in return."
"But other girls do not-"
"There are evil men who admire beauty far too much," her mother was quick to cut in. "Once they see it, they must possess it. Your father and I will make the proper arrangements for your betrothal when the time is right. We will choose a man who wishes more than a beautiful face. For now, you must cover your face to keep any of those bold eyes from evil desires. Always. Whenever you are in the streets or market. Do you understand?"
From then on she had been careful to obey her mother. But now she did not have a mother or father to make the proper arrangements for her betrothal. How was she to know if the eyes that met hers conveyed honorable intentions?
This Roman officer's expression sent an undeniable shiver up her spine. Whet
her from fear or something else, Abigail could not explain. She knew only one thing. She had to escape. With no further words she pulled her shawl tightly to her face and rushed past him. She would not stop if he tried to speak further.
At the next corner she risked a quick glance over her shoulder, but she saw no one.
When she opened the door of the lean-to, she hardly dared look in the loft. But she climbed the ladder to some relief that Jacob's clothing was still strewn about, though there was no sign of him.
C H A P T E R
TEN
THE DUTIES OF THE MORNING called for Linux to make a trip to a silversmith's shop. Some infraction had been reported to the garrison, and he was assigned to investigate. He'd been offered an armed escort but shrugged it aside. He knew the shopkeepermany soldiers bought trinkets for their women from him, though Linux had never had occasion to do so. There was no reason to think the matter could not be worked through by simply listening to the merchant's case.
As he walked his thoughts were on Abigail. How was he, a Roman, to make an approach, beginning with this strange sect to which she had attached herself? He knew little of these people and their ways. No doubt Alban could help him with that. If the man would be willing to act on his behalf when he made his visit to the area ... Considering their past friendship, he was sure Alban would find a way to contact him when he arrived, and they would discuss the matter.
As Linux turned onto the main market thoroughfare, he paused by a shop whose interior was being rebuilt. Workers crammed the tight space, raising as much dust as noise. Linux's thoughts were on Abigail. If only ... He thumped the new wooden post by which he stood. He must find a way to make Abigail his.
Linux felt eyes upon him. It took him a long moment to recognize the tousle-haired young man grinning at him. "Jacob!"
"Greetings, sire!"
"You've grown so I doubt your own mother would recognize you. What are you doing here?"
"Working-"
"You're doing no such thing, unless your job is to prop up that wall."
Jacob displayed calloused hands. "I'm learning carpentry."
Linux detected a resigned tone. "This is not something you chose? You wish for a different craft?"
"I ..." Jacob must have caught sight of someone behind Linux.
He turned to find a bearded Judean with mallets for fists and a square face glowering at the lad. Linux assumed an officer's demeanor. "Good day to you, Master Carpenter."
The man nodded abruptly. "Roman."
"I have need of this young man for a time."
"Let us hope you can gain more work from him than I've been able to." The man turned back to his work.
"Come." Linux led the boy up the heat-drenched street. Jacob was a head taller than the last time they had met. In the full sunlight Linux noticed how his shoulders had filled out. His dark hair was flecked with sawdust and his face was ruddy from working in the sun. When Linux was sure they were out of earshot, he said, "You do not wish to be a carpenter?"
"You are correct. I hate it."
"What do you wish for yourself?"
Jacob paused, then said, "I want to be a legionnaire, sire."
Beneath the lad's matter-of-fact tone Linux detected a very real longing. "I recall you saying the same thing to Alban when we first came to Jerusalem."
"Nothing has changed." Jacob kicked at a rock in the road. "That is, nothing has changed for me."
"Ah. I think I understand." Linux walked alongside the boy up the rutted road to where it joined the street of shops. "Alban does not wish for you to become a Roman soldier?"
"How can I know, since I have not seen him in two years? But Abigail is against it. She and our leaders."
Linux's heart leapt at her name, but he kept his voice steady. "Does she say why?"
He kicked at another stone. " `Ours is a way of peace.' That's all I hear when I talk of my dreams."
"Do you understand what they mean by that?"
"I don't want to."
Linux moved a hand over his mouth to cover a smile. But Jacob was sharp enough to catch his response, and it made him angry. "Alban was a centurion, and it didn't stop him from becoming a follower of the Way."
"I was not laughing at you, Jacob. I was thinking how very similar we are, you and I. And Alban too, for that matter. We were all forced into trades and lives that were not of our choosing."
"You did not want to be a soldier?"
"To be honest, Jacob, I was never given much of a chance to ponder the question. My elder brother- Well, let's just say that if I stayed at home, my life would have ended long before I was ready. Besides which, every second-born brother and beyond in my clan has served in the legions. It has been the tradition for generations. I had this drummed into me since I was far younger than you are."
Jacob said idly, "I wish I had been ordered into such a fate." His attention was on a cloth-walled tavern in which skewers of lamb were grilling on open coals.
"How are they feeding you, my boy?"
"I'm always hungry."
"So was I at your age." Linux steered Jacob into the shade and said to the tavern keeper, "Two portions of your finest."
When the serving dish was placed before them, Linux spoke again. "You sit and enjoy the feast. I have a simple matter to attend just down the street. Wait here when you are done."
The boy nodded, a morsel of lamb already up to his mouth.
When Linux resolved the matter with the silversmith, paying a delinquent soldier's bill himself, he returned to find Jacob had devoured both portions. "Another?"
He could see the lad was tempted. But Jacob finally shook his head. "I wish I could, sire. But I couldn't hold another bite. Not right now." They both smiled.
Linux pushed the platter to one side. "And now to business. I want to speak with you man to man."
"S ire?"
"You heard correctly. I am in need of your service. It is our tradition to find a trusted ally when.. . pursuing a matter of some delicacy."
Jacob stared at him for a while, eyes narrowed. "You are speaking of Abigail?"
"Yes-"
"But she is ..."
"She is what?"
"There is another suitor, sire." Jacob's words now tumbled over each other.
The news struck Linux like a blow to the heart. "This is not good. A Judean, no doubt."
"Yes, sire. He is very ... rich. Abigail ... is waiting ... to see what Alban will say. Yes, you see, Alban and Leah are considered our guardians," Jacob said, finishing in a rush, looking around furtively.
Linux leaned closer. "Don't worry-Abigail herself told me that Alban would be coming soon. Would you speak to him about this? Ask him if-"
"It would be my honor!" Jacob's perspective on the whole matter seemed to have suddenly altered.
"Wait, lad." Linux had known so few reasons to smile recently, his face felt stretched into uncomfortable lines. "First you're supposed to ask what I will give you in return."
"I need nothing, sire. I would do this with ... with joy!"
Linux felt his throat constrict. He wondered if he had ever been so young, so trusting. "Well then." He coughed and said, "Here is what I will do for you. Speak to Alban, and to the ... to your leaders if you feel it is proper. In return, I will attempt to find a place for you within the garrison."
The light that burned in Jacob's face was so intense it was hard to meet the boy's gaze. Jacob whispered, "Oh, sire ..."
Linux rose to his feet, found it necessary to cough a second time. "Come. Let us get you back to work. It likely will be for a short time only."
C H A P T E R
ELEVEN
EZRA KNEW SAPPHIRA DID NOT WANT TO RETURN. She had already presented his case to the elders of this new group. They had not responded. His sister feared that for her to now bring her brother to them without a formal invitation would be disrespectful, an affront. Ezra, however, did not care and felt he had waited long enough.
Ezra also knew Sapp
hira's husband had placed the first tract of land up for sale. Ezra had been very angry to learn of this. Land within the Jerusalem walls was priceless, a family heritage to be treasured, not bartered. But at least Sapphira was in no position to object further when he insisted she return with him to the compound.
His businessman's experience told him he was making a mistake. To take up his pursuit again with them, and uninvited, was to reveal his impatience, the depth of his desire for this woman. And if the years in his chosen profession had taught him anything, it was that an impatient trader was one who could be forced to pay far too much. Though he knew this, he pushed it aside.
He did not consider himself a rash man. His every step through life had been measured, considering every decision in light of the future. But not now-not with this ... this orphan, this serving girl, this washerwoman. Even listing such evident flaws had no effect on him. This fact alarmed him, but this too was not enough to deter him from his quest.
He conducted his business while another part of his mind remained trapped by the fleeting glimpse of an impossibly lovely woman. His dreams were repeatedly broken by a whisper of hunger he had not known since his wife's death.
He wanted this woman, this Abigail, for his own.
As soon as they entered the compound in the city's old quarter, the place where the dead prophet had supposedly first reappeared to his so-called apostles, Ezra knew something was amiss. Several groups, heads circled together, were murmuring about something, expressions strained.
The two took places at the courtyard table, yet no one seemed to even notice them. Ezra said to his sister, "Perhaps you should find out what is happening."
She returned soon enough. She pointed to the group clustered in the shadows by the kitchen alcove. "Word has come that several of the apostles were arrested and taken before the Sanhedrin-"
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