The Angel and the Cross

by Sigmund Brouwer

For once, Quentin nearly breathed those words with her as he stared back at the path they had taken during the night. Then he stared ahead at the path they might have taken.

  They stood atop a thin plateau, which was little more than a narrow ridge jutting from the high hilltop at least a quarter mile behind them. The plateau was barely wider than a Jericho side street. On both sides, it dropped away so steeply that the slopes of the ridge could not support the growth of shrubs. Far, far below, were jagged outcrops of rock.

  Ahead of them, no more than five or six steps, the plateau ended abruptly. If they had continued...

  Quentin kicked a small stone and watched in horrid fascination as it tumbled down the side of the ridge, clattering and gathering more stones and dirt until a small avalanche grew and finally crashed into the rocks. The crashing sound reached them long after the sight of the rising dust.

  “That could have been us,” Shel said with a tremble in her voice. “We walked blind all that way when only a single misstep would have…” Her voice gave out and she could not continue.

  “The boulders,” Quentin mumbled. “I see no boulders.” The plateau behind them was as bare as it was flat and narrow. Yet repeatedly he had stumbled into boulders of stone instead of stepping off the plateau into that dizzying drop.

  What had Pelagius said? Look around you. Then ask yourself if you should be so determined to ignore the love of the Lord.

  Had Pelagius been there like a boulder each time Quentin was about to fall off the plateau?

  Quentin groaned. “O God of Israel. What do you want of me?”

  He was answered only by the lonely keening of the wind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They are the little things that often turn a person’s heart.

  Quentin and Shel had been walking for eight hours. Their wineskin was long empty, and in the heat and their exhaustion, neither had spoken for some time.

  Only once had Quentin asked again what, beyond the return of the sacred golden goblets, the Zealots wanted of him. Shel’s troubled reply had been that it was not possible for her to say. So they had resumed their silent trudging.

  Quentin was lost in puzzled thought, despite the aches of his tired, hungry body. If Pelagius truly were an angel, what did that say about the Lord God of Israel? And if Quentin were to placed new faith in Yahweh instead of in the gods of the Romans, must he also believe in the fight between Good and Evil? If so, how could he shirk the duty that Pelagius had placed upon him?

  Could a Roman soldier ever shirk duty when so plainly called? And what if that duty called for a betrayal of Rome? Quentin asked himself those two questions time and time again as he and Shel stumbled on through the rough, parched hills.

  Then, as their path flattened and brought them down to a dry streambed, a hoopoe bird made his decision for him.

  The hoopoe is a stubby bird that would rather walk in erratic, hopping steps than fly. It is two-thirds the size of a crow, with a black and white body and a pinkish head. It is distinctive because of its likeness to a hammer – one end a two-inch yellow bill, the other a tuft of feathers the same color and about the same length. The hoopoe dashes from stone to stone, searching for worms and grubs, jabbing its beak back and forth into the ground rapidly.

  This hoopoe, however, was in a different frenzy. Its tufted feathers, normally held tightly together to form a single plume, were spread wide like a glorious crown as it cried short, harsh calls of distress.

  Behind it, in the soft sand leading to the streambed, were two young hoopoes, barely more than balls of fuzz. In front of them was a rock badger, its glistening eyes fixed upon the young hoopoes.

  The creatures were so intent upon themselves that they did not notice the approach of Quentin and Shel.

  As the badger scuttled forward to attack the helpless babies, the mother hoopoe hopped high. She then descended upon the badger, beak jabbing and wings flapping furiously. The badger growled and backed away.

  The sand beneath them, marked with tracks and small drops of blood, told them that this struggle had been going on for quite some time.

  Quentin did not understand the dam that suddenly broke inside him. Romans, especially sons of legion commanders, do not feel weaker emotions such as protectiveness, or that silly emotion, love. Yet when he saw the drooping tiredness of the mother hoopoe and her obvious will to die fighting, a small sob caught in his throat.

  He charged ahead in anger, knowing the tough badger could choose to defend itself with sharp claws and slashing teeth. Instead, it fled, pausing once to turn its head back and scowl before disappearing into the shadow beneath a boulder.

  “Take your little ones and go,” Quentin instructed the mother hoopoe. It cocked its head to the side, then slowly relaxed its crown of feathers to a single tuft. With a final call, it hopped sideways and began to herd the two young birds to safety beneath a thorny bush on the other side of the streambed.

  Quentin sat down on a smooth boulder. Shel stood in front of him, gazing downward.

  “You must have gotten dust in your eyes,” she observed.

  “Go ahead. Mock my tears.”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I understand.”

  “Do you? Since I was three years old, I have been taught not to cry, not to care about the weak. The hoopoe could have saved itself easily. I’m sure it has more young ones elsewhere, and, if not, it can simply have more next year. A human mother defending her children, I can understand. But a mere hoopoe ready to give its life? This love is a strange thing!”

  Shel wisely said nothing.

  When Quentin looked up again, his brow was furrowed with doubt. “The angel told me Yahweh is a God of Love. That is so hard to believe, so hard to understand. You see, our Roman gods use people as playthings.”

  Quentin stooped his head and stared at the ground.

  Once again, Shel wisely did not interrupt his thoughts.

  “I have made my decision,” Quentin said as he lifted his head, this time without any doubt reflected on his face. “If Yahweh’s creature, a tiny hoopoe, can love enough to give its life, surely the love from Yahweh Himself is something I can trust. We must return to your Zealots.”

  Shel searched his eyes. “As you wish.” She closed her own eyes and whispered, “May the Lord protect us both.”

  She took the scarf from her head and waved it slowly as high as she could reach.

  One minute later, two grown men appeared on the path above them. Both carried short swords and had grim faces set with determination as they walked down to where Quentin stood.

  Betrayed again.

  Angel Blog

  It wasn’t difficult for me to guess at the questions running through Quentin’s mind as he sat, bound with rope, in a cave nearby.

  Could he truly believe in Yahweh when Yahweh’s people were so poisonously traitorous? Could Quentin believe in Yahweh when, through an angel, He asked a boy to join His battle, then abandoned him in a cave?To be fair to Quentin and his doubts, so far he had seen no sign that he was crucial to a war between Good and Evil. Those who claimed to be on Yahweh’s side, the good side, had so far shown him nothing but bad.Why would an angel go through so much trouble to keep Quentin from the palace after his escape from the Zealots? And why would this angel go through so much trouble to preserve his life outside of Jericho, only to allow him to be captured and abandoned in this cave?For that matter, what did Yahweh want of Quentin?What did the Zealots want of him, if it was not – as Shel had let slip – merely the return of the sacred goblets? Quentin undoubtedly had no illusions about the Zealot fierceness and their bloodthirsty determination to overthrow the Roman rule in Israel. Who knew what they really intended to do with him?

  And who was the mysterious Urbal the Wise? What had he plotted?

  I was there in the cave with him, unseen, for quite some time. In his solitude, Quentin actually began asking those questions aloud.

  I liked him for admitting his doubts.

  Too many of
you think it’s sinful to have doubts about your faith. Then you feel guilty for the doubts you try to deny.

  Doubts are not necessarily bad, especially if they lead you to seek answers. Our Father has nothing to fear as you seek those answers. He is Truth. You will find no falseness in Our Father, as long as you keep seeking. You may not find every answer you want, but that’s not a promise Our Father makes to you anyway.

  Always, on the other side of doubt, your faith will be stronger. That is a promise.

  As for Quentin and his questions, the ones he’d begun to mumble aloud alone in the cave, it was time for me to show myself again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “It is time for you to find out more about these Zealots,” I said from somewhere in the darkness between wavering torches.

  “Pelagius!” Quentin recovered quickly from his surprise. “It would be nice,” he said dryly as he hid a grin, “if you would approach people normally instead of sneaking up on them and their thoughts.”

  I touched his shoulder as I appeared directly in front of him. “You mean that statement with humor, as an old friend welcoming another. I know that. Otherwise, I would rebuke you for irreverence. Messengers from our Lord should never be taken lightly.”

  “I’m sorry,” Quentin said humbly. That new emotion – humility – amazed him. He was the son of a Roman legion commander, learning to assume a mantle of power, yet…

  “Quentin, you must follow me. As we speak, they are arguing about your fate.”

  “Yes, Pelagius.” Quentin – the new Quentin who was beginning to learn faith – did not protest that he was tightly bound with new ropes and unable to walk.

  “You are learning, my friend,” I said to the boy.

  The ropes fell from Quentin and dropped in a heap at his feet.

  **

  The Jericho hills were honeycombed with caves. Most were shallow, dug into the soft limestone by nomads to provide casual shelter against storms. They had been dug long before the city itself had come into existence.

  Some caves, however, were much more elaborate, reaching hundreds of yards into the hill, segmented with dozens of chambers off the main tunnel. This was one such cave Quentin found himself in. On his way in the day before, Quentin had noted how cleverly the Zealots had concealed the entrance with growing shrubs. One needed to be standing directly at the cave entrance to realize it existed.

  It was along the main tunnel from the prison chamber that Pelagius led Quentin to the gathering of the Zealots.

  Far ahead, a low hubbub of noise grew. Against the distant light of dozens of pitch flares, the outline of the tunnel showed clearly where it widened into a large common area.

  I did not slow my pace.

  “We will be seen,” whispered Quentin.

  “I am only seen when I choose to be,” I replied. “As for you, do not fear. Attention is centered on Barabbas. Take your place behind the guards. They will not bother you.”

  Two burly Zealots, short swords carefully hung outside their robes, stood where the narrower cave widened into a large chamber. When Quentin arrived, they were asleep on their feet.

  He grinned at me. “So much is so easy for you.”

  I smiled. “What I do, I only do through the will of Yahweh.”

  “How long will they be asleep?”

  “Until the debate is over.”

  “Then?”

  “You listen. You decide. To win this battle, you must choose to remain here. Your faith will preserve you. If you choose to go, I will help you escape.”

  “This doesn’t sound -” Quentin stopped himself. He was whispering to empty air.

  The first voice reached him, loud and angry. Instantly, he recognized it. He peered around the softly snoring guard in front of him.

  Roughly fifteen people stood in the cave – all the Zealot leaders in the land! Each was considered a wanted criminal by the Roman authorities.

  The Zealots sat cross-legged on the earth floor of the chamber, forming a circle around two men who were standing. The one speaking, Quentin recognized. The other he did not.

  “Yes,” Barabbas said with stormy eloquence. “We must take action now to preserve our people, to preserve our way of life. My plan and the legion commander’s son are our only hope for survival.”

  The other man spoke, more quietly. He was shorter, almost stooped, with gray generously sprinkled throughout his beard. He paced the small circle in the center of the crowd, stopping to survey faces. “We do not know for certain that such drastic action is called for. Our original plan was to hold him as ransom for the return of our temple’s goblets. We should not change that and risk everything now before we are ready for the final fight against the Romans.”

  Quentin caught himself searching the crowd for Shel’s beautiful face. Then, with a stab of pain, he remembered her betrayal. He forced his thoughts of her to turn cold.

  “Risk? Risk!” Barabbas thundered. “Everything we do is a risk! Merely sitting in this cave endangers all our lives. I say to you that my plan will force every man, woman, and child in Israel to join us. Then, and only then, will we be strong enough to overthrow the Roman yoke! The Jews will once again live free in the land that God has given them.”

  Strong murmuring raced through the crowd.

  The older man put up his hand for quiet. “Barabbas is right, of course. By following his plan, all of Israel will be forced to join our cause. But at what cost?”

  The murmuring died down completely.

  “At what cost?” the older man repeated. “By choosing the way of Barabbas, we are choosing to send to slaughter thousands upon thousands of the same men, women, and children we have sworn to deliver. For the war against the Romans is sure to take many innocent lives.”

  The older man paused. “Yet if we wait, the needless slaughter will not begin. By securing the return of the goblets, all of Israel will rejoice in our faithfulness. It may take weeks or months, but because of our wise course of action and obvious determination to succeed, all of Israel will support our cause. And then, finally, when we are stronger and ready and a majority of Israel believes in our cause, a more peaceful revolution will take place – without the slaughter of thousands upon thousands upon thousands.”

  The murmuring grew louder and more rapid than before.

  The old man put up his hand. “And we cannot forget God’s promise to deliver us a Messiah! We must wait until that Messiah arrives. We must not listen to Barabbas, but to Urbal the Wise and the instructions he has sent us.”

  The murmurs grew again. It was obvious to Quentin that the older man had swayed the crowd. Yet a question burned through the boy. What was the plan Barabbas had proposed?

  “Wait!” Barabbas’s voice carried total conviction. “I have not told you all.”

  In the sudden silence, the sizzling of the flaring torches carried clearly around the large assembly.

  When Barabbas spoke again, it was with a quiet intensity. The shadows thrown across his face and red beard only underscored his seriousness.

  “I have heard this from my palace spies,” Barabbas began. “The boy’s father, Marcus, is about to begin a military campaign to bring about the end of the Zealots. He has permission from Rome to use as many soldiers as needed to hunt us down like dogs. He has sworn to rid Israel of Zealots forever.”

  His voice grew stronger as he faced the older man. “That is right. Your Urbal the Wise, the secret mastermind you claim we should all follow – even though he refuses to show his face here today – did not know of this. I see no reason to believe in his authority!”

  Barabbas swung around and around, staring down the crowd like a bull at the end of a rope. “In other words, if the Romans rid the land of all of us, we will not have the time to peaceably convert all of Israel to our cause. And when we are gone, there will be no one left to resist.”

  He let his words hang in the silence for heartbeat after heartbeat.

  “If we do not take action now,” he fin
ally said, “there will be no one left to take action again. Who among you casts his vote for my plan? Stand and be counted.”

  One man near the front of the crowd shuffled to his feet. Then another. For several seconds, there was no other movement, until two more stood near the back. Another pocket stood at the side. The shuffling filled the room like a small wind. When it was finished every person stood, some with heads bowed, others with heads held high and defiant.

  When they sat, Barabbas permitted a grim smile to cross his face. “It is decided, then. Tomorrow, we send the legion commander his son’s ears and hands. The day after, his feet and eyes. If the boy lives, we will send the rest of him. If he dies, we will send his head.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Without warning, I was there beside Quentin, touching his arm.

  I was there because, without doubt, every instinct in his body screamed at Quentin to run. What madness had he agreed to by returning to the Zealots?

  “Let us return to your chamber,” I said with gentleness.

  Quentin was too numb to protest.

  When we returned, Quentin slumped to the floor, huddled against the heaped rope that had bound him barely twenty minutes earlier.

  “You will help me escape?” Quentin said weakly as he stared at the nothingness of the far wall.

  “Yes. If you wish.”

  “I would be crazy not to wish for escape.” Anger injected strength into his voice. “They intend to cut me into pieces. Why?”

  I spoke heavily. “When your father discovers the brutal treatment inflicted upon you, he will retaliate by slaughtering hundreds of Jews in Jericho. This senseless slaughter, in turn, will force the Jews to join in resistance with the Zealots. There will be more slaughter, then more resistance, until finally Israel unites completely to overthrow the Romans. Barabbas and these Zealot leaders have decided those deaths are a small price to pay for a free Israel.”

  “That is my task for your Lord?” Quentin asked bitterly. “To be slain so His people can be free? What kind of price is that to pay?”