Chronicles of the Host
The Most High had marked Paul for great things; soon He called Paul to Arabia where he spent three years in preparation and prayer. The Host maintained a strict observance of his progress as he made his way to Cilicia, Syria, and Antioch. Several attempts on his life were thwarted, and the Church grew in Asia.
The progress of the young church in Jerusalem was not lost on Lucifer either, who was outraged at the boldness of the believers in the holy city. Day after day the Church grew—even the most entrenched strongholds gave way to the simple faith of men and women who called upon the name of the Lord and spoke that name in faith. But ever looking for the next battle, Lucifer determined to crush his enemy by dealing with the men who had become his greatest obstacle—the traitor Saul and the fisherman Peter.
Antonia Fortress, Jerusalem, A.D. 43–44
“What am I going to do with Saul of Tarsus?”
Nobody looked at Lucifer.
The council that so often offered advice was silent. Lucifer looked over the angels who had thrown their lot—and their destinies—in with him. How long ago it all seemed—when they were angels of standing in the Kingdom. Now they were fugitives, rebels whose cause was to compromise the Most High’s plans for men—and to forestall the dire prediction that hung over them all: that the Seed of the woman would one day crush the head of the serpent.
“I have Berenius and others on it,” said Kara, breaking the silence. “He is stirring the passion of the Jews to intrigue. They were only hours from killing him in Damascus.”
“Yes,” said Pellecus. “Watching the gates of the city.”
Kara sneered at the angel who so often opposed him.
“Who would have suspected they would lower him through a window? Humans are so unpredictable.”
“I would say humans are quite predictable,” Lucifer said, sitting down at the table on a balcony of the Herodian. “And that will prove to be our advantage in the end. Humans will always succumb to their base instincts—especially fanatics.”
“Saul won’t be taken by trickery,” Pellecus said.
“Agreed,” said Lucifer. “I’m not talking about trickery, Pellecus. I’m talking about the religious fools who believe they do the Lord’s work by silencing Saul. Continue fomenting their hatred, Kara. They might have missed him in Damascus—but Jerusalem will be another story.”
“The affair with Cornelius has certainly raised concerns in Caesarea Philippi,” said Pellecus. “Some of our greatest work has been undone there.”
Lucifer glared at Tinius. “You are ruler over that region. What happened?”
“Don’t accuse me!” Tinius snapped. “An angel appeared to Peter in a dream and sent him to that idiotic Cornelius. Why he couldn’t be like the other Romans, I don’t understand. His heart was good toward the people. He even gave money to support a synagogue there.”
Kara laughed. “Bad use of money, Tinius. Romans don’t build synagogues—they burn them. At least that’s what Romans who are managed well do.”
“Cornelius was already beyond our reach,” said Tinius. “Our power is limited with such men. Human minds can be influenced—but they cannot be overcome without consent.”
“Enough!” said Lucifer. “What of this angel, Tinius?”
“He brought a dream to Peter. Of all sorts of animals deemed unclean to his people. These Jews! And in the dream Peter was commanded to partake of the animals, but he refused because he was unclean. Three times this happened. Finally the voice in the dream told him that what the Lord has called clean is no longer unclean.”
“But why Cornelius?” asked Kara. “Just because he loves the Jews?”
“No, Kara,” said Pellecus. “Because he is a Gentile.”
Pellecus walked to the edge of Herod’s palace where the group met. Behind and below him the city of Jerusalem lay in backdrop. The Temple was clearly visible, and the sound of a trumpet announcing evening prayers sounded clearly.
“This city, my friends, is birthed and maintained by the Most High through coercion and fear. We have—up until now—always been able to employ the religion of these people as a weapon against them. Religion is a deadly poison and a great weapon against the minds of men. But the outbreak of the Church proves that the Most High is moving in another direction—and must be dealt with in a different manner. Especially in light of the Cornelius matter.”
The angels looked at him in bemusement. Only Lucifer seemed to grasp the point at which he was driving.
“Don’t you see? The prophecy continues. Abraham was told that the Seed would affect all nations—all peoples. And now the Gentiles are included.”
“Which means this movement will grow beyond Israel and throughout the world,” said Lucifer. “And if that happens, our doom is certain.”
Kara stood. “Then we must stop it!”
Lucifer laughed.
“That is why we are meeting in this dismal palace,” said Lucifer. “The one point Pellecus made that works to our advantage is that religion is a poison. And when it is in the hands of poisonous people it becomes doubly lethal.”
He looked at Kara. “Herod Agrippa is your charge. He is simple, corrupt, and a perfect tool—just like his father. See to it.”
Lucifer walked to the edge of the building and turned to face the others, his silhouette blazing in front of the Temple.
“Jerusalem became too hot for Saul, and he is in Antioch. We can deal with him there. The Church has been at peace here. But it’s time for this city to become hostile again. As Peter will soon discover.”
Lucifer looked at the Temple. Pellecus joined him as the other angels dispersed. Streams of people were moving in and around the Temple Mount complex. Lucifer looked at Pellecus, the wisdom angel who had been with him since the beginning.
“I long for the days of the first Herod, Pellecus.”
Pellecus nodded.
“It seemed as if we’d won,” Lucifer continued. “It seemed so close—as if the end was near.”
“And now?” Pellecus asked.
“My dear Pellecus, if we don’t stop this movement, the end is nearer than we realized. For all of us.”
“Great king, friend of Caesar, pious, and friend of the Romans.”
Marcus Julius Agrippa, called Herod Agrippa, read the inscription on the coin for the thousandth time. It had been struck in his honor and presented to him in Rome at the forum by none other than Claudius himself. Not bad for a grandson of Herod the Great who barely survived the murderous purges of his paranoid grandfather. Friend to Romans and personal friend to its emperor.
Thanks to his influence in Roman politics following the murder of the emperor Caligula, Agrippa had been instrumental in Claudius’ succession. A grateful Claudius rewarded his Jewish protégé with the kingship of Judea. And now he ruled as Rome’s friend, performing the fundamental duties of a client king: collecting the tax, enforcing Roman law, and keeping the peace—above all, keeping the peace.
“Sire?” came a voice.
“Yes, yes, what is it, Claerus?”
“A delegation from the Temple is here to speak with you.”
“What, again?”
Claerus, Herod’s chief aide, approached his king. Herod was staring at a ring given to him by the emperor. He motioned Claerus to come closer. The servant moved warily toward his king. He paused as Herod’s fist raised up—only to realize that he was playing with a ring.
“To think that a man who wears Caesar’s ring must put up with such nonsense. The Caesars know how to deal with such matters.”
He looked up at his servant. “You really must visit Rome one day, Claerus.”
“Perhaps one day, sire.”
Herod looked toward the entry. “Show them in. But tell them that my humor is not good today. Perhaps they’ll get to the point for a change!”
The servant smiled. “You’ll deal with them as a Caesar, my prince?”
“No. I’ll deal with them as a Herod. Besides—I
have arranged a little surprise for them. Have Marcus shown in after the priests are introduced. And tell him to act convincingly this time. Unless he would rather find himself back in the stables.”
Herod looked out the window over the noisy city. “To be in Rome…”
Kara stood behind Herod, watching the men exit the room. He smiled at the pride of men, strutting about as if they were of real importance.
“To be in Rome! I don’t know which is worse—a Caesar or a Herod,” Kara said, moving behind the king.
Berenius agreed. “Caesar or Herod—what difference does it make?”
“Ah, but you’re wrong, Berenius,” Kara said, as the priestly delegation entered the room. “Caesar does what is politically expedient. Herod is driven by fear. A dangerous marriage. The combination of politics and fear always leads to blood among humans.”
Berenius made his way to the leader of the priests and stood beside the man as he was introduced to Herod. He had long had the ear of such men. Always move among humans of influence—that was one of Lucifer’s hallmarks. “Influence brings pride—and pride is easily led,” he would often say. Berenius could not help but agree. The room reeked of pride—kingly and religious—and both driven by fear. As Kara said, a dangerous marriage.
“Both of them want the same thing, Berenius,” Kara observed. “The priests crave an end to the Church regaining their footing with the people; Herod desires an end to the Church to maintain his place with Claudius. And the Church is between them like an animal caught in a trap. Once the leaders are dispatched, the rest of these rats will disappear as always.”
“King Herod, I am here with urgent requests from the Sanhedrin,” the lead priest, Jaerus, began. “They send their respects, as always.”
“As always,” Herod repeated. “The respect is deserved. But the headaches you bring me are neither welcomed nor deserved.”
“Pardon, my king,” said Jaerus. “But we share the same headache. This movement among our people—this disturbance centering on the man Jesus—is becoming more and more difficult to deal with.”
“Yes, well, there are ways to deal with headaches,” Herod continued, as he ate a grape offered by a servant. “In fact, I have already taken measures in hand.”
“Majesty!” came an eager voice from just outside the chamber.
“Ah, here comes Marcus now with the report.”
Everyone turned as a messenger entered quickly, bowing low before his king. He looked up, surprised at the room full of visitors. The king bid him approach.
“Forgive the excitement of my messenger,” Herod said. “All of my servants serve with enthusiasm.”
An uneasy laugh filled the room.
“Well, what is it?”
Marcus looked at the priests with suspicion.
“Don’t worry about them, Marcus. For once we are in agreement!”
“It is done, highness,” Marcus said. “James, the leader of the heretics has been killed on your orders.”
The priests murmured among themselves. Herod smiled.
“And John, his brother?”
“Hasn’t been seen,” continued Marcus. “Probably hidden.”
“Thank you, Marcus.”
The servant bowed and exited the room.
“And now, Jaerus, one headache is gone. Will this please your masters?”
Jaerus bowed before the king. “The hand of the Lord has used you as His instrument, great king. Caesar shall hear of this most excellent development.”
“See that he does,” said Herod. “Let him know that Herod’s peace is a lasting one in my domain.”
The priests made a courteous nod and departed. Herod waited until the delegation left before he spoke again. He called his servant over.
“That certainly went well,” the king said. “Always appeal to their pride. Especially priests.”
Herod walked to the window. “Rome shall speak the name of Herod once more!”
Claerus poured wine. “James’ blood will run through the Church,” he said, handing the goblet to Herod. “You cut off the head of the beast.”
As Herod nodded in agreement, Kara positioned himself to speak into Herod’s mind. He had become a master at influencing the thoughts of men.
“There’s a lesson here, Berenius. Pride is easily guided.” Kara placed his hands on Herod’s head. “Especially misplaced pride.”
“Still there are others,” Kara whispered to Herod.
Herod looked up pensively. “Still, this beast has many heads. Killing one man was easy. But, like Hydra, other heads seem to spring forth from this mob.”
“What are you thinking, Majesty?”
“Peter. Peter must die next.”
“The blood of one man will make a point, but the blood of many will make an end. Have Peter arrested—and anyone with him. It’s high time this Church was brought down. Once he is out of the way—and with Saul out of the country—this rabble will disappear altogether.”
He smiled. “And should Caesar hear of it—that wouldn’t hurt either!”
Michael and Gabriel watched legions of Lucifer’s angels gathering around the royal enclave. In the courtyard, soldiers were receiving their orders from one of Herod’s captains. On a balcony Herod was watching the activity.
“There he is,” Gabriel said. “Caesar’s lapdog.”
“You mean Kara’s lapdog,” said Michael. “This is Kara’s doing.”
“Quite right, Archangel!” a voice announced.
Michael and Gabriel turned to see Kara, Berenius, and several angels.
“Like old times, Michael,” Kara purred. “A gathering of the Host.”
“A gathering of the fallen, Kara,” Gabriel answered. “Your opposition to the Church the Most High is building is pointless.”
“We’ll see,” Kara said. “As their leadership bleeds, so shall the Church.”
“More will come,” Michael said.
“More will die!” snapped Berenius.
“At any rate, it’s a good day for it,” Kara said. “They are celebrating their feast of Unleavened Bread. Such ridiculous antics. To think that bread could buy off the Most High God.”
“I don’t know, Kara,” said Gabriel. “You and your kind attempted to buy Him off with much less.”
“Speak well today, Archangel,” Kara said. “Tomorrow Peter dies. Bread may not buy off the Most High, but blood shall exact quite a price for the Church. Too high a price, I’m afraid.”
“Blood has never frightened the Church, Kara,” Gabriel said. “It lives by it.”
Chapter Eight
PETER IN PRISON
A dark cloud of raucous, howling angels under Kara’s command followed the soldiers sent to arrest Peter. They knew he was preparing for the feast and would be in prayer. The angels were vigilant and watched for any indication that Michael or Gabriel might stage an opposition—but none seemed forthcoming.
“The holy ones are quiet today,” said one of the angels.
“They’re around,” said Necros, the leader of this troop. “But Kara said that the Church is focused elsewhere, and there is little prayer to contend with.”
“Then let’s make quick work of this,” the other answered. “Once they begin praying, it will become difficult to manage.”
“Agreed,” said Necros, as the soldiers pounded on the door where Peter was staying. “Our mission is to bring the Church to its knees—not on them!”
“Are you the one called Peter?” the officer asked.
“I am Peter.”
“Arrest him.”
Peter looked at the officer as the soldier bound his hands. “Thank you, sir.”
The officer smirked at Peter. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because, my friend,” said Peter, tears in his eyes, “the Lord has deemed me worthy to suffer for Him. Praise be to God!”
The officer looked at the soldier.
“Bind him securely,” he ordered. “These people are not only troublesome—they
are insane. His followers may try to help him.”
Four squads of soldiers—four to a squad—were assigned to Peter. Nothing would keep Peter from his date with the executioner the next day. As they arrived at the prison, Peter saw a young man named Seth, who had recently joined the believers. Peter smiled at him and indicated that things would turn out fine. Seth raced away.
“You see?” said Necros, noting Seth’s hasty departure. “The Church is on the run already! Run, young man! Tell the others!”
From a distance Michael and Gabriel were watching the same scene. Gabriel smiled at Michael. “Yes, run, young man! Tell the others!”
Merlos stood near his charge, Peter. He was glad to have been assigned to such a man. He looked at Peter, shackled between two guards. Two more stood at the entrance of the cell. A different man might be discouraged at such a time, Merlos thought to himself. But Peter was actually sleeping peacefully!
“Such peace of mind comes only through the Lord,” said Crispin, who suddenly appeared in the cell. Several angels were with him—students who were learning that “men’s minds are naturally conflicted. But minds that are tempered by the Lord can be at peace in the most extreme situations.”
“Lecturing again, Crispin?” Merlos asked.
“Instructing,” Crispin answered. “These angels will soon be assigned to the Church, and they need an understanding of the ways of men—especially in the heat of crisis.”
“No heat here,” said one of the angels.
Crispin looked at Merlo. “Not yet. But soon it shall be quite hot in here!”
The angels looked at each other quizzically. Merlos only smiled.
Above the prison, Necros was receiving continual reports that became more and more grim. His angels—hundreds strong—covered the prison like a dark net. But around them, in scattered groups, angels of the Lord had begun gathering. A sense of fear was rising in Necros as he watched the growing menace.
“Have you noticed, Corin?” he asked one of his captains.
“We’re keeping a close watch, lord.”
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