The Hidden Flame (38 page)

The tribune was a narrow man. His shoulders seemed scarcely broad enough to support the standard legionnaire's breastplate. His wrists were slight as a young girl's, his fingers long and supple like a musician's. Hair wispy, neck far too long, head elongated. Only his nose was at odds with the rest of him, a protuberance of astonishing size. "I have kept you waiting because I have been forced to deal with myriad crises since my arrival. Affairs far more vital, I'm afraid, than taking the report of a young officer whose role I have yet to fathom."

"I am here to serve at the tribune's pleasure," Linux replied. "As for keeping me waiting, sire, I have been grateful for the time."

The tribune's eyes were of a light shade of grey, so pale as to appear colorless. It was a trait of the Metellus clan, along with their grandfather's rather frail build. They even took pride in it, claiming that real leaders were those who merely purchased brawn and steel, and controlled both with ruthless brutality.

"Grateful? To what end?"

"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

THIRTY-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.