"Since returning from Rome, I feel as though I have been trapped inside a whirlwind, one not of my own making. It has been a time to sort through everything."
The tribune set aside his scroll. "I'm not certain I approve of my officers spending so much time thinking. Your role is to serve. Your leaders will do the thinking. Too much thought from subordinates leads to dangerous directions and threats against Rome's proper course.
Linux knew the tribune sought a quarrel. He knew also he should have been more worried about it. Yet it seemed as though the sentiment growing in him over the past days was only now truly visible. Here, in this moment of great danger, could he search inside himself and name this new experience? What he felt here was peace.
"Well, do you not have anything to say for yourself?"
"I stand ready to serve at my tribune's pleasure."
"Do you? Do you? And tell me what have you been doing that our consul would reward you with an apartment and staff that should have been the tribune's prerogative to grant?"
"I have served the consul in the tribune's absence, sire. If you wish, I shall gladly give up my chambers this very hour."
"But that does not answer my question, does it? What service have you performed for the consul?"
"That is for the consul to say, sire. I have been ordered to speak to no one about my duties."
Tribune Metellus leapt to his feet. "I countermand that order!"
Linux took great comfort in the steadiness of his mind and tone. "Sire, I am no threat to you or your command."
"So you say," he spat out as he began to pace. "Why should I believe that?"
Linux chose not to answer as he watched the man stalk about. The tribune's breastplate was fashioned from a sheet of gold, embedded with precious gems. The finery flickered a silent warning as he passed back and forth through the sunlight. "I do not know what to do with you, Linux Aurelius. I was warned about you by your brother. Castor is a friend of mine, did you know? He had quite a lot to say about how dangerous, how untrustworthy you might prove to be."
In the past, such evidence of his brother's poison would have sent Linux into yet another rage. This time he found himself at an astonishing distance from those previous responses to even his brother's name. Though he stood at attention while Tribune Metellus deliberated over Linux's future, he felt only calm.
If he had been searching for confirmation that this new direction was real, and the God behind it was as genuine as Stephen and Alban had claimed, it was this.
Abruptly the tribune stopped, swung around to return to his desk, planted his fists upon the scrolls, and said, "You are dismissed. Your fate will be decided in due course." As Linux left the room, the military leader of Judea shouted after him, "Decided by me, do you hear! Not by the consul! By me!"
The sensation of being surrounded by an invisible protective barrier was even more powerful once Linux left the tribune's chambers. He found himself going straight out the fortress entrance and walking directly through the crowded city. He entered the Old City and climbed the stairs to stand in the plaza. He panted softly from the speed with which he had traversed the city. Linux watched the widows gathering at the other end, knowing he was not expected and might not be welcome at this time. But he could wait if need be. He could wait all day.
Then he saw her.
Abigail was playing some game with a group of very young children. Her laughter was just as free as theirs, almost as lilting and high. It was her laughter that had turned Linux around, though he had never heard it before. He was sure no one else would laugh in such a manner, with the clarity of a starlit winter night, and a beauty all her own.
How was it possible, he wondered, to know such sorrow and loss for a woman he could never have, and yet also be surrounded by such peace? How could he feel as though his world had crumbled once more, and yet know at some higher level he was where he should be? In this tragic moment, filled with impossible desires, he could still breathe normally, his heart at rest.
For the first time, he freely accepted the meaning of the word miracle.
Abigail must have noticed him then. She straightened slowly, the laughter draining away. He was sorry to have caused the moment of unbounded joy to end. He watched her adjust her shawl over her face, then turn and speak to one of the older women. Together they crossed the square and nodded a formal greeting. "The blessed Lord's greetings to you, Linux Aurelius."
He nodded in return. "My sister Abigail."
"I'm sorry-Stephen was not expecting you until this afternoon."
"Something happened this morning. I wanted, I needed..." He stopped. It was not Abigail's reserve. Nor was it the older woman who observed him with such concern, even fear.
Linux turned his face away. He knew the women expected him to continue, yet in that moment it was all he could do not to give in to the furious craving clawing at his soul. He had the will, the power, the means to carry her away...
Linux clenched his fists to his sides and shut his eyes as tightly as he did his hands. More than the sun baked down on his upturned face. There in the silence, he heard another voice. One so new he could not truly fathom the language. Only that it spoke to him, a whisper beyond his ability to hear. He could sense that this new voice sang to him, wooed him back.
He turned away. Not physically. Nothing about his outer form changed. He remained as he was, his face turned toward the sun, his entire being locked in conflict. Yet it was over. He knew he would take no action, no matter how great his hunger. He sighed.
"Linux, are you ... ?" The question was no more than a whisper. He lowered his head and opened his eyes.
Abigail and the other woman both backed up a pace. He could see the conflict in Abigail's eyes. She did not know whom she faced-a Roman officer or a fellow believer. He could tell she wanted to offer him the peace with which they all greeted each other. He also knew it was more than a simple greeting. It was real. He had no question of that now. The peace and the power both existed within him. And he accepted that he was part of them. And yet ... A follower who has a new life, a new purpose, a new peace. But who cannot have her....
"Please do not concern yourselves," he finally said with a sigh. "I will sit and await Stephen."
He did not have to remain there long. Though, in truth, actual time counted for little. He sat and watched the sparrows drink from the fountain. The boldest bird flitted over to perch beside him on the bench, tiny eyes brilliant in the sunlight. When Linux did not offer anything to eat, the sparrow eventually fluttered away, its wings making a quiet whirring in the empty air.
"Linux, forgive me for keeping you waiting. I had no idea you would be here until ... Is everything all right?" Stephen hovered beside the bench, the sun turning him into a silhouette. Rays of light shimmered about tousled hair.
Linux sighed and licked his lips. "No. Definitely not."
Stephen settled upon the bench next to him. "May I help?"
Linux's ears turned the question into a condemnation. He could not stop himself from comparing his own conflicted state to the man's clear-eyed conviction and gentle nature. He felt so ashamed he could no longer meet Stephen's gaze. "You already have."
"Are you able to talk about it?"
Linux would like to have said no. But the words seemed to well up of their own accord. "I have a ... a great problem. Two voices struggle within me. Two directions. Two forces." He twisted his hands, then wrenched the air before his face. "I am being torn apart by the power and the-"
"The temptation," Stephen said quietly. "The fact is, you are aware now that you cannot walk in two opposite directions at the same time."
Linux dropped his fists and stared over the now empty plaza. He was not certain how he felt about having his innermost conflict so clearly understood.
"It is time I introduced you to some wonderfully vital concepts that guide a believer's life," Stephen said. "About sin, and repentance, and redemption."
C H A P T E R
T
HIRTY-THREE
ABIGAIL HAD RETREATED TO THE UPPER ROOM for some solitude before her afternoon responsibilities began. She could not have said why she crossed over to the window. Perhaps her troubled thoughts had drawn her to look out on the courtyard below. Maybe she needed the picture to distract her, or to assure her that everything was as it had been. She studied the courtyard with its well, the surrounding walls with scattered seats where she and others often took refuge from the day's heat. People she knew and had learned to love like family were passing back and forth on various duties of the day.
Yes, it was there. All there just as it had been. Surely the God they loved and served would keep it so.
Three small girls played with a kitten in the shadows of a wall. A woman carried a jar of water from the well. Two younger women washed fresh vegetables in the trough, while a pair of older ones sat in the shade grinding wheat into flour for the next day's bread. Four men and two young boys rebuilt a door to the courtyard across the way. At a corner table out of the sun, two men talked while another wrote on a tablet.
But Abigail's eyes lightly skimmed over the scene. It was all familiar-and comforting. Then in the far corner she spotted two men deep in conversation. One of them was Stephen. Her heart instantly took on a faster beat. She recognized the other as Linux. She realized Stephen was again schooling the man in the faith.
She watched as her betrothed reached out a hand and laid it on the other man's shoulder. And then she saw both men bow their heads. She could tell that they were praying. Praying fervently.
Abigail's own prayer joined the men's.
Perhaps this was the way to safety. To bring their oppressorsone at a time-to accept the Messiah as their own.
"So be it, Lord," whispered Abigail. "Thy will be done."
Abigail carried the courtyard scene and the two men praying with her through the day as she went about her duties. It was not until after the evening prayers that she had opportunity for a brief time with Stephen. They sat across from each other at an empty table.
"I saw you in the courtyard with the Roman."
"Linux is proving to be an able student."
"Does he ... well, does he ever speak of trouble ahead for us?"
Stephen shook his head. "We study the Scriptures and talk of faith, not of the world."
"When I was called to see Jacob to say my farewells, Alban was waiting with him. The Roman-the one you spoke with-had taken Jacob to the arena. He saw horrible things. It was enough to thoroughly convince him that he could never become a legionnaire and serve God. He was deeply shaken." Abigail paused, shaken herself at the memory.
"But that wasn't all Jacob saw. As he left the arena to get away from the dying men and the scent of blood, he says he saw a vision."
For a moment Abigail could not go on. She struggled to regain control.
"Suddenly the dead and dying lying there on the sands were ... were followers. He could not identify any of them. But he knew clearly they were from among us.
"He ... he prayed then. Asking God what we were to do, and he received an answer. God said, `They must be ready.' Just that. `Be ready.' "
Stephen's brows had begun to draw together as she spoke. When he realized she had finished her story he nodded. "I have had the same impression. The same message in a different way."
"What must we do? Where can we go? How can we protect ourselves from the forces of Rome?"
"I think it is not Rome that threatens us at this time," he said slowly.
"No? Then-"
"It is our own, Abigail. It is the Judean leaders who refuse to see Christ as the Messiah. The King we have been praying would come. They are the ones who challenge us and fear the power that God has placed in our hands. They fear ... because they do not understand."
"But surely. . ." But before Abigail even finished the thought she knew he was right. She had observed the scowls and flashing eyes, heard the hissing under their breath when a group of followers encountered them in the streets. Yes, Stephen was right.
"If there is trouble with our own countrymen, then Rome wouldn't hesitate to step in. They will not tolerate unrest. Rioting. Then indeed we may be caught in the middle."
Stephen's words were so solemn they made Abigail shiver. "I will tell the apostles," he said. "We need to pray as never before."
"Then you think it is possible? There could be trouble?"
He spoke gently now, even laying a hand lightly on her arm as it rested on the table. "Abigail, we have had no illusions. They killed our Lord. Peter has told us from the beginning that Jesus said we would face persecution. That they rejected and hated him, and we would face the same. We should not be surprised."
"Then ... you are not afraid?"
"I am terrified."
"You think death-?"
"I am not afraid of death, Abigail. I am afraid that I might draw back and not be bold in proclaiming the gospel." He hesitated, then said, "And I am afraid that I might not stand firm. That under the heel of the enemy, in pain, I might deny my Lord."
Though her heart quaked at such a prospect, Abigail said with utter certainty, "I cannot for one moment imagine the stalwart and dedicated man I know would ever even consider denying his Lord."
He smiled a bit crookedly. "Have you heard Peter tell his story? He thought he would be willing to go to death if necessary, with our Lord. But when our Christ was taken, Peter failed to stand with him. He denied him, Abigail. It broke his heart. But it also perhaps made him into the man he is today.
"But Peter also warns us, continually, that we are not able to stand in our own strength. We need God's presence with us. We must pray that God will keep us strong for whatever lies ahead and faithful to the end. And we must encourage one another. Daily."
Such words might have brought even more fear to Abigail's heart, but they left her comforted. Stephen was right. Their God would not desert them.
Someone else heard at least some of their discussion, for a man's voice said, "Well spoken, brother."
They looked over to discover Alban and Martha standing in an archway where a torch cast deep shadows. Both Abigail and Stephen rose quickly to their feet, and Abigail exclaimed, "Alban, I thought you would be on your way by now!"
He looked at Martha, and they both exchanged smiles. "I had a talk with Peter, and we decided that I-and Jacob-would delay our departure in order to be here for the celebration."
Stephen said, "A celebration?"
"Yes, a wedding celebration."
Martha laughed. "Look at their faces."
Abigail dared a quick glance at Stephen and saw an expression on his face she had not seen before. She wondered if her own face carried the same look of awe and anticipation-maybe just a hint of concern. She did not trust herself to speak.
"Here comes Peter now," Alban noted. Instinctively Abigail reached to smooth her hair. Her robe was stained from her day's work, her hair untidy, and she felt she was not at her best after the long hours and long lines of needy recipients.
Stephen seemed not to notice. He gave her such a smile that it reached across the table between them and warmed her heart. Abigail took a deep breath.
Right then Jacob came bounding up to his sister, looking pleased. She was reaching to embrace him when Peter raised his hands to quiet those still in the courtyard and announced, "Alban will be leaving soon to return to Galilee, and we have decided to hold the marriage celebration for Stephen and Abigail tomorrow."
Abigail needed a moment to absorb it all. Could she be ready for marriage-tomorrow?
Peter was saying, "Traditionally a Judean bride does not know the day or the hour that her bridegroom will come to claim her, but since this bridegroom might find her with her hands deep in bins of grain, doling out food supplies for those who come each day, we are making this announcement in her hearing."
The group laughed and clapped, and Abigail shook her head and managed a nervous laugh herself. Stephen must have seen how stunned she was, for he moved around
the table and quietly offered his hand. She felt his strength flow through the contact, the goodness of this man, and yes, the love.
"Tomorrow," she said, her voice trembling. "Let it be so."
She would be ready. She didn't know just what preparations she would need to make. But she would be ready. Of that she was sure.
It was a simple but joyful time. There was no need for anything elaborate. Many of the followers had gathered to wish the two well as they began their new life together. As Abigail stepped into the courtyard, she recognized so many-everyone she and Stephen had ever assisted, it seemed, their faces shining with unaccustomed joy. Today, everywhere she looked, Abigail saw only happiness. It was such a gift, this realization that their wedding was raising the spirits of so many.
Jacob hovered nearby, and Abigail reflected that he already seemed both straighter and taller. He reminded her of a lean and hungry sheep dog-his hair was as unruly as always, though he tried to force it into place with sweeps of his hand. Abigail clung to him for as long as she dared, glad he did not push her away in embarrassment.
He gave her a smile and said, "So my sister is to become a married woman. Does the good Stephen think he will be able to manage such an independent wife?"
Abigail heard chuckles around them, and she laughed too. She knew the comment was Jacob's way of expressing his love and care, and she hugged him once more.
He took her arm and led her through the gathering. "Where will you live?"
"Stephen feels we should live where I am now."
"I am glad that you will not be alone. I worry about you," Jacob told her. She wondered if she had seen just a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but he was smiling and nodding his satisfaction with it all. She struggled against the sudden desire to weep.
Then Stephen was at her side with a look only for her, then extending his hand to her brother. "Jacob, you are most welcome to share our simple home. The loft was yours, and will remain so. We will be glad to have you as part of our new family."
The Hidden Flame Page 25
