The crowd stirred about him, their heads all turned toward the left. Linux pushed himself away from the wall. He had no clear idea of why he was there, but he too watched the large man coming toward him on the avenue.
"Linux?"
Peter's shadow fell upon him, and the man reached out to grip Linux's shoulder. The apostle looked into his face, then said, "The door remains open to you."
As the procession of believers continued on, Alban planted himself in front of the lad standing next to Linux. "Ah, Jacob, I've been so worried. Where have you been?"
When Jacob did not respond, Linux leaned in close to the lad. His voice was hoarse. "I want you to listen to me very carefully."
Jacob stood straight and wiped his dusty face with a sleeve.
"You have no place among the legions of Rome. What you saw back there in the arena is the clearest possible reason why."
"What has happened?" Alban's alarm was evident.
Linux lifted one hand for silence and continued to speak directly to Jacob. "Alban wants to take you with him to Galilee. You must go."
"But, I-"
"No," Linux said, his tone unmistakable. "You do not want it. You would not find your dreams there. What you want does not exist. Behind the glitter and the pomp and the power lies the brutal force, the might of a godless empire, and all too often, death."
"Listen to him, lad," Alban murmured. "He speaks truth."
"Go with him to Galilee," Linux said, then straightened with the slow motions of an old man.
Alban asked once more, more quietly this time, "What has happened?"
Linux tried several replies, then said simply, "I was wrong. About many things." He began to turn away.
"Wait." Alban gripped him by the arm. "Old friend, will you pray with me?"
Linux found himself no longer able to protest. He simply stood, head bowed. Alban held on to his arm and began to speak. Linux heard no words clearly. He felt as though a cool rain had begun to fall on him. Washing away all he had believed was inevitable, all that was impossible to change.
Finally Alban stopped speaking. He leaned closer and said, "Listen to the Spirit's voice within you, my friend-he will guide you the next hour, the next day, and into the future."
The storerooms felt stifling in the morning heat. And the dust from the grains made Abigail's throat hurt. She wished there was another way to weigh and portion the daily distributions. But this was part of the service she gave to the community of believers. Morning by morning she encouraged herself with the thought that this was the task that God had given her, and she was privileged to be serving him. And not far away from Stephen.
She was just opening another sack to measure out a portion for a family of four when she heard noise in the courtyard. It was not the usual soft chatter of children, the shuffling about of those coming for supplies, or a guffaw from one or another of the men. These voices were loud with sounds of frustration. Even anger.
Abigail felt fear up and down her spine. The compound had been filled earlier with new rumors of Judean religious leaders meeting with the Romans, seeking to stem their rising numbers.
She looked around the door and saw some of the followers in an animated discussion with Peter and James, the natural brother of the Lord. Abigail watched for a time, then returned to filling sacks with grain. Whatever it was, Peter would handle it for all of them.
The conversation outside gradually diminished. When Abigail looked out again she saw Peter and James, arms around the shoulders of their visitors, as James led them in a prayer. Clearly the situation, whatever it was, had been resolved.
Stephen and two young boys came for the filled sacks. The heavier task of moving them from storage to the courtyard was always done by the men. Stephen hoisted sacks on the boys' backs and turned to lift his own.
Abigail dared to whisper, "What was that about?"
Stephen put the sack down and moved a bit closer, his eyes showing concern. "The Hellenized Judeans are not happy with the distribution process. They don't feel their own widows and orphans are being properly and fairly cared for."
If anyone would know the truth of their concerns, it was Stephen. She asked, "What do you think?"
Stephen said carefully, "Whenever I am present, we are vigilant to give the same allotments to all who approach us."
"But when you are absent?"
Stephen turned and stared out the storeroom's open doorway. "The widows and orphans from the freedmen's group are perhaps the most vulnerable among us. Many come from outlying provinces. They include many former slaves, with no funds or income or place to stay. We help care for all their needs. Especially those without gardens, fields, or vineyards of their own."
"And families to help," Abigail said softly.
He looked at her. "If everyone had your giving heart and caring spirit, this situation would vanish."
She studied the man before her. Stephen always gave careful thought to another's circumstance. Her heart swelled with a sentiment so new it took her a moment to name it-pride in him and for what they might soon share.
Abigail asked, "What can be done?"
"Peter says the apostles who are teaching and healing should not be pulled away from those callings. There is a meeting planned for tonight. It will be decided then. Peter says he feels that the task is too great for one man. He is suggesting that others be sought out. With more working together, the needs will be met."
"What do you think?"
"I agree," Stephen said. "It really is a large responsibility, and I cannot be several places at once. I trust it will make your load easier as well. I fear you are doing far more than your share."
She smiled. "God gives me strength."
"But more hands will be welcomed. Have you ideas of who would work well at this ministry?"
Abigail did, though she did not then express her thoughts. "They will draw lots?"
"That is the usual way. But tonight they may just be announced."
"No matter," Abigail said. "However they are selected, there will be much prayer beforehand. God will direct toward those who are the best ones for the task."
"That is right, of course. A good reminder, Abigail."
He gave her a smile and turned back to the pile of filled sacks. The two boys were already returning for their next load.
That evening Abigail sat with the women and listened as Peter explained the situation. "We must not fail to give our full attention to the spreading of the Good News and to prayer. But we must also care for those who are in need. That, too, is God's commandment to us. We must be careful not to neglect that task.
"I have spent the afternoon in prayer, as have other apostles, and now we are ready to act. We would like you to select seven men-men who are full of the Spirit and wisdom-and we will turn this responsibility over to them."
The entire assembly held silent for a time, and then nods and smiles went around the gathering.
"Please organize yourselves into seven groups," Peter said to the men. "Then pray that God will direct you to the person who is equal to the task. When your group has agreed on one person, bring that name here to us."
After a pause of slight uncertainty, the men began to form themselves into circles. Peter stood to count the groups, motioning for some to join others as necessary. In a surprisingly short time, all were arranged as instructed and the sound of voices in prayer lifted over the courtyard.
Abigail and the other women also prayed that the Lord would guide in the selection. She saw one man move to where the apostles were sitting, murmur something, then return to his place. Rather quickly others followed, and Peter wrote their names down.
Peter stood, and everyone turned to face him. "God has revealed the names of seven men who are equal to the task," he said, looking at the papyrus in his hand. "These men will together be responsible to see that those who are in need have supplies, fairly given. We do not wish any to feel slighted or to be in need. The men will oversee the tables, and if
there is a requirement from someone who is unable to come to the table, they will see that a delivery of supplies is made."
Peter looked around at those in the courtyard. "I will read the names." He paused to clear his throat, then lifted the papyrus.
"Stephen."
Abigail felt her heart lurch with pride and joy. She looked toward Stephen, already knowing where to find him in the crowd. The moment his name was called he sat a bit straighter, his hand went to his face, and he bowed his head. Already he was praying, she knew, for God's help and direction.
Peter continued reading, "Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas of Antioch."
Oh good, there is at least one Grecian among them, she noted as the names were read. It will be easier for the Greeks to feel they are being treated fairly. She could hear murmurs of assent.
Peter called the seven to come forward for their commissioning prayer.
Abigail scarcely knew the others on the list, but Stephen had been named first. Did that mean he, the keeper of the records, would be the one truly in charge?
If so, it was to be an enormous task. But she was sure he would do it well. And she would pray for him.
But at the moment she could not wait to speak with him.
There was opportunity for only a brief meeting before Abigail's companions would be leaving the courtyard for the night.
Stephen sought her out, and she lifted her face, slightly embarrassed. "I am pleased you have been chosen, Stephen." She wasn't sure if that was a proper statement, but she did want him to know how she felt.
He did not respond as she had expected. "It is an overwhelming assignment," he said. "One I do not feel worthy to perform."
She didn't know what else to say to him.
"I felt it was a gift from God that I was assigned as the keeper of the records," he continued, his voice low. "Me, with my background, trusted to serve in this way ... So new to the faith. I owe such a debt of gratitude. To Jesus Christ my Lord. To the apostles. To the followers who put my name forward."
"You are more than able to do it," Abigail said, though feeling rather helpless in the face of his uncertainty.
"But to be chosen tonight and added to the ranks of our leaders . . ." He frowned at the cobblestones. "I feel very unworthy and unprepared."
Abigail pulled her shawl across her face in preparation for her departure with the others. Then she reached out and lightly touched his arm.
"You were not chosen tonight simply by the insight and knowledge of our fellow believers, Stephen. The Lord was with each group as they prayed and discussed their assignment. `Full of the Spirit and wisdom'-weren't those Peter's instructions?"
C H A P T E R
THIRTY
LINUX SLEPT BETTER than he could remember. He awoke to the sound of Julian moving about in the adjoining room. As his feet touched the floor, the aging servant appeared in the doorway and announced, "There is tea. And hot water for shaving. And a soldier in praetorian dress arrived this morning bearing a scroll from the prelate."
Linux nodded his thanks and went to the bronze mirror by the door to shave.
"You look ... well, different this morning," Julian observed as he brought in the breakfast, the scroll tucked under his arm.
"That is precisely how I feel," he said, the razor-sharp knife scraping over his face.
"Good to hear. You've been rather off your feed of late."
"An illness," Linux replied quietly.
"One brought back from Umbria?"
"No. This ailment I have carried with me for far longer."
"So it's gone, then," the man said, placing the items of food on the table.
Linux took a moment to study the image reflected back at him and wonder if the change was there for all to see. "I can only hope so."
The scroll bore the prelate's crest. As promised, it assigned Linux chambers in the Antonia Fortress, a staff, and an increase both in stipend and rank. Julian's eyebrows rose as Linux read the inscription aloud.
Linux was just finishing breakfast when Alban's voice called, "Permission to enter?"
"Please. Come."
Alban climbed the stairs and entered. "How are you, old friend?"
"I feel better than I have in a long time, though I can scarce believe it myself."
"Believe it," Alban said firmly. "Believe also that it does my heart good to hear the news."
"But I thought you were leaving today."
"The caravan master has decided to put off our departure a few more days." Alban started to say something more, then stopped and finished simply, "It is for the best."
Linux had the distinct impression that Alban wanted to say something about Abigail. But he did not press. "How is Jacob?"
"He has agreed to accompany me."
Linux rose to his feet. "I would like to speak with him."
"That is why he came." Alban followed Linux from the chamber, then halted him at the top of the stairs. He said, "There is another man with us."
Linux noticed his friend's hesitation. "Who is this one?"
Alban took a hard breath. "His name is Stephen."
"Do I know this man?"
"You have seen him. Several times." Another breath. "Stephen is Abigail's betrothed."
"You brought that man here? To what end?"
"We prayed for you last night. Afterward Stephen came to me and said that God had spoken to him. About you."
Linux stared back at Alban, stunned into silence.
"It is customary to offer new believers instruction from one of our leaders," Alban added.
Linux nodded slowly. Not just in confirmation, but rather to give himself time to take in the words. "Your God told this man to offer me instruction?"
Alban smiled briefly, then corrected, "Our God."
"There is much to learn," Linux said. He searched himself and found only the same calm he had awakened to that morning. "He is sincere in this wish to teach me?"
"Come and determine for yourself."
Word came by way of a young boy. Abigail felt herself tremble as she was summoned into the courtyard to speak with him. The youth looked as nervous as she felt. She assumed this was his first task of such importance, and the way he tightly held his fist told her that he clutched coins for his service.
"Yes?" she prompted.
"A man, Alban, asks you to come back to your quarters. He is waiting to speak with you," he said in a rush.
Abigail's hand flew to her breast. Jacob. "Is ... is my brother well?"
"Your brother?"
"Jacob. My brother. Is he-?"
"I cannot say," the lad said with a shake of his head. "I have given you the message just as it was given me."
Abigail fought for composure. "Thank you. You may go."
He whirled and ran from the compound.
Abigail also hastened her steps to the kitchen. Already she was out of breath. "I must go, Martha. Alban must have news of Jacob."
"Is he well?"
"I ... I have not been told."
"Go and God be with you," said the older woman.
Abigail almost ran out, wrapping her shawl about her.
By the time she reached her street she felt sick to her stomach. Both because of the hot sun and because of her uncertainty about what might be ahead. But as she hurried up the alley she saw Alban sitting in the shade of the lean-to.
And Jacob ...
He was not far off, leaning against the building's wall.
Abigail whispered a fervent prayer of thanks as she rushed toward them.
Alban rose to his feet, but it was Jacob who moved toward her. "I am sorry," he began. "Sorry for making you worry. I shouldn't have left with no word."
She managed to control her emotions as she stood in front of him. "You are here now. That is all that matters. You are here." She reached out a hand, and he grasped it tightly.
She could not read Jacob's expression as she looked into his face. Something new was there, something s
he could not identify.
Alban finally spoke. "Let us go inside."
Abigail followed numbly, hardly recognizing her own humble abode. Alban motioned her to the one stool while he and Jacob settled on a floor mat. "Linux seems to have done me another favor," Alban began.
"Linux?"
"He has sent Jacob back to us. Jacob now sees that some dreams are meant to be handed over to God. To be remolded and redirected in keeping with his will. Sometimes our plans do not fit with the plans of God. Linux helped. . ."
Alban stopped, and he and Abigail looked at Jacob, who was staring straight ahead at the empty gate and the road beyond. His attention seemed to have been given to something, to someone, beyond the present, beyond Alban's words.
Then Jacob spoke. "Linux only told me what I already had realized. I saw it for myself." He hesitated as though even the telling was too hard for him.
"Where were you?" breathed Abigail. "What happened?"
"The arena."
"You were where?" Abigail could feel anger surging inside her. "Why were you in such an evil place?"
"Linux had taken him there-perhaps unwittingly," Alban explained. "Or perhaps to show him what being a legionnaire really means.
"It truly was awful," went on Jacob, his voice nearly inaudible. "Six soldiers, they called them gladiators, were fighting. Two already were dying in the sand. And the people were shouting and laughing and yelling for more blood. They used this ... this horror like it was a game. For their amusement. Death. And pain. And suffering. I could hear the fighters groaning and crying out to their gods. They were frightened to die. And they were frightened to live. I could tell.
"That's when I knew I could never be a Roman soldier. I thought ... I thought their assignment was to keep peace. To serve the law. To fight the enemy. Not ... not to fight each other in an arena filled with screaming people. Not die in a heap in the sand with flies swarming all over. I knew then that I could never be a soldier. It was wicked. It was wrong."
The Hidden Flame Page 23
