The Making of the Lamb

by Bear, Robert

  Jesus was overcome with a sense of horror. “Stop this!” he cried out. “Murder!”

  Jesus’s cries seemed to be the cue for everyone else. The victims inside the insidious apparition appeared to finally realize their awful fate. They cried out in fear. Then the crowd behind Jesus began shrieking for the flame.

  Jesus screamed as the druids raised their torches. Elsigar applied his first, putting the flame to some kindling strategically placed in the wicker man’s loins. The other druids followed suit, and a ball of flame soon enveloped the midsection of the giant figure. Jesus strained against his bonds. Maybe I can get loose and save at least some of these victims. Jesus wailed in anguish. One by one, the victims began to drop into the flame. Jesus prayed for them. How they must be suffering! Genofi was the first to drop. Victrikta soon followed. Some clawed their way higher into the arms and head, but they didn’t last long there. One by one, Jesus watched his classmates fall into the flames as the crowd cheered behind him.

  Suddenly an ax struck the back of the post to which Jesus was tied, and his bindings fell away. “Go!” It was the voice of his captor. “Go save your friends from death, if you can!”

  As Jesus dashed forward, the crowd cheered; they were cheering for him. What kind of people are these? First they want to see these victims slaughtered, and now they want me to save them? But Jesus did not look back. He clenched his fists as he ran up the rise, preparing to tear the wicker man apart with his bare hands. As he reached the top, he gasped at the sight before him. The last of the victims were being helped to safety as they lowered themselves from a net stretched several feet off the ground, between the wicker man’s feet. Looking up, Jesus saw that the wicker man’s loins had been consumed first in the flame, leaving a path for the victims to escape below the ball of flames that continued to envelope its midsection.

  The druids formed two lines, forming a pathway from the hollow up the rise towards the assembled crowd. Elsigar walked slowly between them to the top of the rise, where he faced the crowd. As he raised his arms, the structure behind him collapsed in flames. “Behold!” he cried out to the crowd. “Behold those who are chosen. Behold those who are born again!”

  The druids on either side held their wands to form an archway behind Elsigar. One by one, the newly-commissioned ollamh emerged to the cheers of the crowd. They still had years of study ahead, but in spirit they were now druids.

  The ollamh formed themselves into a single line, and Elsigar addressed the crowd once more. “You have seen them born again. But to be reborn in the spirit they must first die to the flesh. Thus, it has been since Bran’s cauldron. Thus, it will always be.”

  Kegs of mead soon appeared among the crowd, and revelries began in earnest.

  Genofi was the first to approach Jesus. “That was awe inspiring, don’t you think?”

  “It seemed so real. I was scared. I hope my screams didn’t ruin it for everyone.”

  “Are you joking? It’s great when we have an outlander watching who has read that nonsense Caesar wrote about the wicker man. Your screaming made it so real. It was the best ordination—ever!”

  Elsigar joined them. “Remember what I said. To be born again in the spirit, we must first die to the flesh. I did not say we must die in the flesh.”

  “So the death you speak of is symbolic?”

  “It’s more than just symbolic,” said Elsigar. “When we are born again in the spirit, we turn away from our old lives in the flesh, and in that sense we die to the flesh, but we do not destroy the flesh. We are not barbaric savages, though that is what Julius Caesar would have you believe. It’s not the worst of the lies he wrote of us. Remember that druids are practiced in the art of fire building; do not try this on your own.”

  Joseph

  “I will take an oath, but I swear only by my own Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” Joseph said as he faced his inquisitor. “I am a peaceful trader from Arimathea, a citizen of Rome, and even noblis decurio.”

  “We are not used to Jews in this province.” The legate examined his scroll. “Very well, it says here that Jews need not swear by the gods of the emperor. Since you are a citizen, are you demanding trial before the emperor in Rome?”

  Joseph looked at his inquisitor, who seemed green and ill-prepared. They have detained me far too long already, and there is no telling how long it will take if they send me to Rome. They say the emperor is ill. “I will stand trial right now.” Before anyone had a chance to speak, he stated his oath his own way, promising to answer truthfully any proper questions put to him.

  The inquisitor held up a letter. “This was written by Gaius Germanicus, a trader of unquestioned integrity,” he said.

  “An old commercial rival of mine,” said Joseph. “He trades with the Cantiaci on the eastern coast of Britain.”

  The inquisitor handed the letter to Joseph, and Joseph read it quickly. According to Gaius Germanicus, word of Jesus’s exploits at Rumps, including the way Jesus had dealt with Pirro’s treachery, had spread as far as eastern Britain.

  “This is not proper evidence,” said Joseph. “Gaius Germanicus says nothing in this letter about what he has seen with his own eyes or heard with his own ears. He is repeating rumors picked up from the natives of Britain. Those natives would not be competent to testify against a Roman citizen in a Roman court. There is no one here competent to testify against me.”

  “The objection is well taken,” ruled the legate.

  The inquisitor questioned Joseph, but he was inexperienced at his craft. After some argument about the phrasing of the questions, he seemed confused. “What do you know directly about the outcome of the battle?”

  “I was not there.”

  By this time the legate had lost interest, and quickly dismissed the case. “You’re free to go, but you should keep an eye on that nephew of yours. From what I’ve heard, he seems like a troublemaker.”

  Joseph and Kendrick soon had another vessel outfitted to take them to Britain. They set the course for Ynys Witrin. Between the wrecks and Joseph’s imprisonment, they had been away for months. Jesus has been off on his own on some fool’s errand to the north. It will be a miracle if Daniel has held everything together with that witch of a druidess plotting against us.

  Jesus

  Jesus looked across the water to the entrance of the Brue, glimmering in the morning light. A Celtic trading vessel was taking him back to Ynys Witrin, along with Arvigarus and Elsigar. He would be back in time to take supper with his mother.

  Arvigarus joined him on deck.

  “This has been quite an adventure for me, studying with the druids,” Jesus remarked.

  “I don’t think I am cut out to be a druid,” said Arvigarus. “My head is swimming with everything I need to remember, and this is just my first year. I don’t know how my father will take it when I tell him.”

  “I cannot believe I fell for that performance with the wicker man. When you saw it, did you know it was just symbolic, or did you think they would truly burn the victims?”

  “Everyone knows that no one actually dies in the flames.”

  “I feel so foolish. Everyone must be laughing at me—the way I carried on.”

  “You should not feel that way,” said Elsigar, stepping up behind them. “Without an outlander screaming murder, the wicker man is nothing more than a ritual. Your screams helped make real the concept of dying to the flesh so we may be born again in the spirit. Do not be troubled if any laughed at your screams, for it is they who are impious.”

  “I think I ended up participating in this ritual more than I expected. I told you I would only watch.”

  “I promised that I would not require you to do anything. You chose to scream and try to save your friends. From what you could see, there were murders about to happen. Surely trying to stop murder does not offend your God?”

  “My God knows my heart. I put all my faith and trust in him.”

  “I want to show you something. Do you remember ho
w you described your concept of one god in three persons to me just before the battle at Rumps?

  ”I remember.”

  “You said that you were different from the druids because the god in three persons was united in purpose. You also said that most of your people accept only one single creator as god.”

  Jesus nodded. “Yes.”

  “I have been carrying this coin ever since I was a boy. It was struck in Gaul before the time of Julius Caesar.” The druid held it out for Jesus to inspect. The coin depicted a bundle of snakes coiled together in a single mass. “It is called the snake egg. It depicts an ancient prophecy from the Fisher King. There will come a time when all our gods will be made one, united in purpose, perhaps just as you have described the unity of purpose of your Father, your Son, and your Spirit.”

  Jesus gazed at the coin. “I see we are closer than I imagined. Once people understand that a god united in purpose can live through multiple persons, the number may not matter so much. It might be easier for your people than for my people to accept the idea of a single god who lives in three persons.”

  Interlude

  Pencaire Parish, Cornwall, England, A.D. 1070, during the reign of King William I of England (the Conqueror)

  As Talfryn, the stonemason, explained his plan for the new guidepost to mark the path to the village church, Father Wigstan thoughtfully nodded his head. I suppose I had better hear him out. They said this stonecutter from Looe is the mayor of that village.

  “It will carry on the tradition of this parish and remind all comers of the time our Lord himself spent here. I will carve it exactly like the worn old carving.”

  “Blasphemy!” exclaimed the priest. “We Saxons have allowed you Welsh to spout this nonsensical legend for far too long. There isn’t a village in the south of England that does not claim that the Christ child was driven ashore in a storm, or visited them, or spent his teenage years there.” We have no time for this. The new Norman bishop will be here anon to inspect the parish. If he hears rumors that I am even discussing this drivel with this Cornish Welshman, it will be the end of me as priest in this parish.

  The stonemason turned red in the face. “It is not legend. It is absolute fact. He walked this ground.”

  Father Wigstan stood stunned. He was not accustomed to people opposing him, particularly laypeople on religious matters.

  The sculptor puffed out his ruddy cheeks and calmed himself. “Our Lord was brought to these shores by his great-uncle Joseph of Arimathea. Scripture mentions Joseph as a rich man who later buried Jesus in his own tomb. He came here to trade with my people, and Jesus came with him as a boy and grew to manhood. Jesus visited many places, because he was working with his uncle in the tin trade. And yes, he came also to Looe, because it is on the way to the Tamar Valley where more tin was to be found.”

  Wigstan was about to reply, when the neigh of a horse caused him to turn.

  “What are you two shouting about?” The rider was dressed in clerical robes. It was the new bishop. Engaged in the argument, Wigstan had not noticed him approach. “I heard the two of you all the way from the road.”

  The priest thought fast as the bishop dismounted and turned over the reins to his attendant. He waved off the stonemason. “It is a foolish business. Nothing that need concern my Lord Bishop.” Wigstan led the bishop toward the church.

  “No, tell me. I love to hear about legends, even silly ones.”

  Wigstan resigned himself to explaining the matter, but he resolved to put it in the best possible light. “These ignorant Cornish Welshmen hold to the old Celtic Church. We Saxons have tried our best to suppress it ever since the Council of Whitby, more than four hundred years ago. It’s a breeding ground of Pelagian heresy.”

  “The only influence I have seen of the Celtic Church in this diocese is their curious crosses and patterns. They look rather attractive to me, actually. Tell me about the legend.”

  “These ignorant people believe that Saint Joseph of Arimathea brought Our Lord Jesus to these shores. That stonemason wants to carve a new guidepost for the church in the same form as the old timeworn one. It is one of these infernal tunic crosses. He wants to show Jesus as a boy with his arms outstretched in a gesture of greeting—which is surely not the proper way of showing him suffering on the cross to redeem the sins of the world. These crosses used to be all over the southwest of England, even beyond Glastonbury, until we Saxons came along and suppressed them, but these Cornish Welshmen are treacherous. They even had their own king until Edward the Confessor extended Saxon rule over them. That is why you still see these infernal crosses all over the diocese. I will not have that stonemason carve a fresh one in my parish.”

  “What is the harm in allowing these people to hold to their legend?”

  “It is heretical. It is outside of Scripture.”

  “Scripture says nothing about the life of our Lord, from the age of twelve until he began his ministry. These Welsh people seem to use the legend as a way to be closer to Our Lord. If it helps them do that, I do not see the harm in it.” He stopped and turned to face Wigstan. His tone turned cold. “You Saxons have no respect for these Welsh people, do you?”

  “The Welsh are ignorant. The word itself means slaves.”

  “I have heard enough,” said the bishop. “The king does not hold to your view. Perhaps you have heard of Cadoc?”

  “No, my Lord. The name means nothing to me.”

  “Let me give you the news from court, then. Cadoc is the survivor of the line of Cornish kings. Our king has just created him Earl of Cornwall. If that is not reason enough for you to respect these people, you would do well to remember that you are responsible for their spiritual welfare. You will allow the stonemason to carry on with the carving of the new guidepost.”

  “Of course, as my Lord Bishop commands.”

  The bishop stomped off several paces in evident disdain. Then he turned back. “Rest assured I shall look into this matter again after the stonemason completes his work, and I had better find that tunic cross on display. Oh, and one thing more—the name of this parish—Pencaire, isn’t it? Where does that come from?”

  “It’s the name of an old ruined Celtic hillfort atop Tregonning Hill,” Father Wigstan replied. “The only real landmark within the parish. We keep it in sight when we beat the bounds.” He referred to the ancient custom of taking boys around the parish boundaries and beating them, so they would remember the limits of the parish.

  “This place needs a proper name, something after a good saint. I am thinking of Saint Hilary of Poitiers. I studied his works when I turned to the cloth. He wrote about how the Word was spread to the islands at the time of the apostles, well before any Saxons arrived. These Cornish Welsh people might take a liking to him.”

  Wigstan never explained to Talfryn why he allowed him to proceed with his new tunic cross.

  The sculptor suspected the bishop had overruled the priest, but he could not know for sure. Talfryn trusted neither the Saxon priest nor the new Norman overlords.

  He was a descendent of the native Celtic race, survivors of so many waves of invaders. The Romans had left his people to their fate as their empire began to crumble. Then came the Saxon barbarians, but just as those bloodthirsty invaders had begun to settle down, Danes arrived, the most bloodthirsty of all. For the last four years, the Normans had been the new rulers. It was too soon to judge them.

  Talfryn would carve the wording at the base in Ogham. To a Saxon or a Norman, it would look like random hash marks, but it was an ancient alphabet brought over from Ireland. Talfryn could translate it—“Look for the Secret of the Lord where the lamb turns to the beginning of his life”—though he had no idea what the words meant. All he knew was that the inscription was carved into every tunic cross.

  Talfryn took one more look at his creation, before setting aside his hammer and chisel.

  What mystery from the ancient past was hidden in those words?

  He studied the expression on the c
hildish face he had carved. It seemed to convey more than just a joyous greeting. There was a yearning in it, he thought. The statue yearns to share its secret. Perhaps it will do so when the world is ready.

  Chapter 14

  The Path to Calvary

  Ynys Witrin, Year A.D. 14, during the reign of Augustus, first Emperor of Rome

  Daniel

  By Celtic custom, the return of family members from a long journey was cause for community celebration. The obligation fell upon the family to organize the feast and invite the neighbors.

  Watching the Lake Villagers in the field next to Mary’s house, Daniel took satisfaction in knowing that the preparations for the occasion did not disappoint. The mead flowed freely as the guests feasted, boasted, reveled, and sang.

  But he felt oddly pensive, too out-of-place to join in the carousing this time. as had become his wont in the past few years, particularly in the company of his younger cousin.

  Daniel smiled, watching a sight he thought he would never live to see. His father, in the center of it all, gyrating this way and that in a wild Jewish dance, to the amusement of the half-drunken Celts.

  Papa was back, along with a tall tale of how he had survived a shipwreck and then faced a Roman inquisition. Normally, his father would not go near any pagan festival, but this time Mary had overseen the proper preparation of the food and drink, Joseph had reluctantly agreed to attend, and within minutes he was throwing himself into the celebration.

  Jesus was there, too, laughing, drinking with the Celts, and joining in Joseph’s dance. I suppose I should be glad Jesus made it back safely, and I believe I am. But, everything will center on him now. No one cares that I was the one who held everything together. No one cares what he put me through, leaving me alone to manage everything, even to look after his sick mother, while he ran off to the north.