Empire's End (14 page)

Walk worthy of My Father, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in every good work and increasing in His knowledge, strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, for all patience and longsuffering with joy, giving thanks to Him who has qualified you to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints. He has delivered you from the power of darkness and brought you into My kingdom, and in Me you have redemption through My blood, the forgiveness of sins
.

I am the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by Me all things were created in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were
created through Me and for Me. And I am before all things, and in Me all things consist. I am the Head of the body, the church, the Beginning, the Firstborn from the dead, that in all things I may have the preeminence
.

For it pleased My Father that in Me all the fullness should dwell, and through Me to reconcile all things to Himself, whether things on earth or things in heaven, having made peace through the blood of My cross
.

It had been my practice to walk deliberately back to the slowly expanding campground of refuge each day, meditating on everything the Lord had impressed upon me and allowing Him to sear it into my soul. But this day I felt filled to overflowing. When would He send me out? When would I get to preach? When would I be able to proclaim His truth to the world?

I had submitted myself to divine counsel and training and instruction. I knew the importance of preparation, especially because my message would be welcomed by only those few the Spirit drew to see their need. Others would hate it and me for spreading it, but that had long since stopped mattering to me. If it were up to me, I would have said I was ready. As Samuel of old had offered, I wanted to shout from the rooftops, “Here am I, Lord! Send me!”

And so it was that I could not keep myself from rushing back. Taryn was always busy with her chores and with Corydon, and so while we would greet each other, smile warmly, and extend kindnesses to each other throughout the day, we generally kept to ourselves and looked forward to time together in the evenings.

This day I wanted to find her immediately and steal her away from whatever seemed more important at the moment. I wanted to give her just a taste of that with which God was blessing me and tell her that perhaps it was time to get serious about our future. Maybe the Lord wasn't ready
to send me out quite as quickly as I planned, but I sensed He was building toward something. He was certainly no longer spoon-feeding me the milk of His word. I was being steeped in doctrine and the knowledge of men's hearts more deeply than in any lecture I had ever sat through—even from the great Gamaliel himself. I had the feeling that my first audience, whoever and wherever it might be, would get the loudest, heaviest, most vigorous dose of preaching they had ever heard. How would I contain myself?

My first hint something was awry came when Corydon was nowhere to be found in the open area around the well and the livestock pen. With the expansion of the refuge, this had grown as new tents had been constructed in a vast circle around it, maintaining a wide berth for animals, children, and women fetching water all day. Daily Corydon would break from his dusty playtime with others and run to welcome me as I entered the area.

Not today.

One of the original tents that backed up to this common area was the rather large dwelling of Zuriel and Kaia. Their tent's repairs served as a model to newcomers of how they wanted the tentmaker to craft their abodes. It was common for me to come upon Kaia and Taryn—and sometimes a few others—talking or fetching water or baking or planting. Each day had become a new opportunity for someone to joke about Taryn and me. I would respond with some rueful statement about how she showed no interest in me, or she would claim her father was looking for a wealthier suitor, and all would laugh.

Today, no Taryn either. In fact, the few people busy in the common area appeared unwilling to look at me. I noticed a stony Kaia standing rigidly behind her tent, almost as if on guard. When she saw me she stepped between tents and called to the front, “Zuriel!” Then she returned and resumed her post.

I greeted several people I knew but elicited no more than a nod. I approached Kaia, who looked as if she had been given an assignment she didn't want. When I searched her eyes, they darted everywhere but at me, and the hard line of her mouth made her look more like her husband than ever.

“What is it, my friend?” I said. “Where is my beloved today?”

“That is not for me to say,” she said, her voice quavery. “You might want to ask Alastor.”

“And where might I find him?”

“In his tent.”

“Kaia, we're friends. Is something wrong? Is everyone all right?”

“Go about your business.”

Zuriel would tell me. He wasn't warm with anyone, but I had won him over somewhat with my work on his tent, carrying my weight on his fishing party, and even saving a couple of his goats from a jackal one night on my watch despite the noisy scuffle that had wakened many—including him. The next day Kaia had delivered a dessert of raisins and honey, whispering, “He won't admit it, but this was his suggestion and his way of showing he's grateful.”

I told her, “Tell him I said thanks.”

“I'll do nothing of the kind.”

And we had laughed. But that was then.

Now I headed to the front of their tent to find Zuriel standing sentry and scowling at me with fierce, dark eyes. “Didn't she tell you Alastor was waiting for you?”

“She did, friend, but surely you can tell me what's happened.”

Before I could flinch, let alone elude him or defend myself, the older man clutched my mantle and tunic in one meaty fist and yanked me close. Exhaling what smelled like decades of garlic and leeks and fish, he growled, “Are you from Tarsus?”

“Originally, or—”

He shoved me away with such force that my sandal caught and I slid on my seat in the hard-packed sand. “You're Saul of Tarsus!”

I felt like a worm, struggling to my feet and dusting myself off. “Not anymore,” I said. “That was a previous life.”

“Well, your previous life has come home to roost,
Saul
.” He spat my name with such disgust that it sickened even me.

Then it hit me. They were guarding their tent against me. “Are Taryn and Corydon here?”

“You'll have to kill me to find out. Now move along.”

I closed my eyes and sighed, desperate to get a message to her. But what? Neither Zuriel nor Kaia seemed in a mood to speak for me. And what could I say, especially through an intermediary, that could persuade Taryn to delay any rash decisions, to allow me at least to explain?

“I love her,” I said.

“You have a strange way of showing it,” Zuriel said, waving me off as if he could no longer stand me in his sight.

I lumbered to our tent, or to what had been our tent—I couldn't imagine calling it that again, and came upon Nadav out front. “He's here, sir,” he called. Turning to me with knowing eyes, he said, “I guess we've solved the mystery of your horse, at long last.”

“I hope it puts your mind at ease.”

“No one's mind is at ease here anymore, Saul.”

“It's Paul now, Nadav.”

“As you wish. You just concoct any reality that suits you, sir, and let Anna and me know what we should believe.”

“Enough, Nadav!” The young man started at the fury in Alastor's voice, and I realized I had not seen the old man angry before myself. “Send him in and return home!”

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay and—”

“You heard me!”

I slipped inside as if approaching the gallows, wondering if any of my future with this family was salvageable. And naturally, I was curious beyond measure how I had been found out.

Alastor sat on the other side of the low table with his head in his hands, looking older than I'd ever seen him. My foot-high stack of parchments lay facedown in a ragged pile on the table before him, and he pointed to a stool across from him.

“I was not unwise to let Nadav go, was I, Paul? You're not going to stone me, are you?”

I hesitated and hung my head. “First,” I muttered, “thank you for calling me by my Roman name. And second, if you know me at all, you know you are safe with me. Old things are passed away—”

“
Do
I know you? I thought I did.”

“I don't know how much you have read, or why, but I have written the truth. I did not know who you were when God sent me here, and when I discovered it, I could not risk saying anything. When finally I knew I must, I did not feel freedom from the Lord—”

“I read that much, Paul. The damage, the tragedy here, is that it was the lad who found your writings.”

“Oh, no!”

“As you know, he's an accomplished reader. You have helped make him so. There was much he didn't understand, but when Taryn discovered him with the pages, she scolded him and put them back where you had stored them. Then Corydon said you had worked in the Temple in Jerusalem. She could not help herself. I had no sons, Paul. Forgive me, but I taught her to read, and she read. She showed me. And she left.”

“I know where she is.”

“She cannot abide you just now, certainly not living in the same tent.”

“I understand. Does Corydon know—”

“Your role in the death of his father? No.”

“Thank God.”

“Taryn said you told her you had been raised a Pharisee and that you studied under Gamaliel.”

I nodded. “I told her that until Christ found me, I was an enemy of believers.”

“But Paul, you must know she had no idea the extent—”

“Of course I know. Does she believe I did not know who she was when I arrived?”

“She wants to, but she is having a terrible time. She loves you, Paul. She has given you her heart.”

“And now?”

Alastor sounded weary. “Put yourself in her place. The first man she loves is sacrificed to a cause she believes in. Despite her pain, she somehow draws strength from his memory and the depth of his character. Thinking she would remain a widow the rest of her days, she feels blessed of God when you find each other. And now the second man she loves is not who she thought he was. In fact, he may as well have personally taken the life of her first love. Paul, it's too much to bear.”

“Hurting her,” I said, “and the prospect of losing her, is too much for
me
to bear. Alastor, I have come to admire and respect you, to love you. Can
you
forgive me? Do
you
believe me, and can you tell me what to do?”

“Bring your chair over here,” the old man said, and I rolled the stool to where I faced him on the other side of the table. He rested his palms on my shoulders. “I believe God found you. I read your account of what happened to you on the road to Damascus, and I have never heard anything like it. Clearly, you have been chosen.

“I don't know what to make of your choices since you have been here. It's difficult to say what I would have done had I found myself in the same predicament. As for me, yes, I believe I do know you and your heart. And I do forgive you. But I cannot speak for my daughter, and frankly, I would not hold it against her if she could never accept becoming your wife.”

“That's my fear.”

“Imagine it. How long would it take for her to think of anything else anytime she lays eyes on you, you talk to her, touch her, embrace her?”

“I know. I feel as if I might die if I don't see her.”

“It's too soon yet.”

“When?”

“That is for her alone to say.”

“What am I to do in the meantime?”

“Plan.”

“Plan what?”

“Plan what you will say when she grants you an audience.” Alastor seemed to stifle a smile.

“What could possibly be humorous right now?”

“The boy. In many ways, he will be your ally.”

“How so?”

“Corydon knows only what he understands. He doesn't know why they are staying away from home. He won't know why you are not visiting when his grandfather visits. He's going to want to see you, and he'll pester her until it happens.”

“I pray you're right.”

“Of course I'm right. But while you're waiting, use your gift to prepare your thoughts.”

“My gift?”

“The gift that has thrust you into this mess. I couldn't believe how much you had written since you have arrived here. And praise God, what He has been telling you in the wilderness! That, too, is your ally, Paul, because it is hard for Taryn to separate the man God has called, and in whom He is confiding so much, from the man who for some reason has kept this terrible secret.”

“I should write to her.”

“That's what I'm saying.”

“And you'll see that she gets it.”

“Yes. But I can't make her read it, and I can't tell her how she is to respond.”

“Am I still allowed to dwell in your tent?”

“You are if you will do me a favor from now on.”

“Name it, Alastor.”

“You will bury your writings where the lad can't find them.”

YANBU

F
OR THE FIRST TIME
since Christ had forgiven and redeemed me, my old nature come flooding back. I was terrified it could wash away the newness of life the Lord had borne in me. I wanted to pray, needed to, but could not. I stood, I paced, I sighed, I talked to myself.

Legs crossed and arms folded, Alastor tilted his head and studied me as I rushed about the tent. “I am about to go mad,” I said, half the time facing him, the other spinning toward the opening and looking to the west. “You tell me to write to her, but what am I to say? Jesus arrests me, God calls me, sends me here, makes me an apostle, allows me to fall in love with the widow of a man I sentenced to death, doesn't allow me to tell her, and yet now I feel no liberty to use Him as an alibi for my silence! I must own my unexplainable guilt.”