The Master's Quilt (21 page)

D
eucalion, Esther,
and Abigail worked their way to the front of the crowded courtyard,
where perhaps a hundred people had gathered to listen to the tall,
heavy-set man with thick, calloused hands.

Abigail had found an old tunic and a cloak
that fit Deucalion. He was certain no one would recognize him from
a distance. He also wore a girdle around his middle so it would be
easier to walk. It had a pouch on the inner seam in which he placed
the small bag of money that had been thrown at him the night he was
ambushed. He had yet to spend any of it, however. But now, he knew
what he was going to do with it. After the meeting, he would give
the money to Esther; she was going to need it now that Doras had
disowned her.

He wondered if Esther was as conscious of his
presence as he was of hers. She stood to his left and whenever her
bare arm brushed against him, he felt a tingling sensation ripple
through his arm. Also, he could swear she smelled like
frankincense.

A number of lanterns had been placed around
the perimeter of the courtyard and the flickering light shone in
the faces of the crowd. Esther saw Joseph clearly and waved at him.
When he saw her he smiled and motioned for her to find him when the
meeting was over. She nodded her agreement.

Deucalion had been extremely nervous at first
and had constantly searched for any sign of trouble. But the man
called Peter had been speaking for almost an hour and nothing out
of the ordinary had happened. Even though the apostle was obviously
unschooled—a fisherman someone had said—his words held power. No
one in the audience seemed restless, and now Deucalion found
himself captivated by Peter’s forceful words as well.

“. . .no doubt some of you are familiar with
the story, but I would like to share it with you anyway, because it
holds special meaning for all of us. Jesus had a close friend named
Lazarus and there seemed to be a spiritual bond between the two of
them that transcended the flesh.

“Not long before our Lord was crucified, He
was ministering outside of Judea, somewhere beyond the Jordan, when
He received news that Lazarus was sick. . .on the verge of death.
Instead of leaving immediately for Bethany, as we who were with Him
expected Him to do, He waited a full two days before returning to
Bethany. Thomas questioned Him about this, and Jesus answered by
saying that Lazarus’ sickness was not unto death, but would be for
the glory of God.”

Peter’s story tugged at Deucalion’s soul and
pulled him to memories of another tomb.
What is it that is so
compelling about this man’s words?
he wondered, then shook his
head and again focused his attention on the disciple.

“When Jesus finally decided it was time to
return to Judea, some of us tried to talk him out of the journey.
We were fearful because there were Jews who’d tried to stone Him to
death on previous occasions and would most likely try again, given
the opportunity. Jesus was unconcerned and He rebuked us for our
fears.

“When we pressed Him to tell us why He
insisted on returning, He said that Lazarus had died, and that He
was glad for our sakes, because we would now have yet another
opportunity to exercise our faith and believe that He was who He
said He was. Thomas again spoke up and said, ‘Let us also go, that
we may die with You, Lord.’

“By the time we arrived in Bethany, Lazarus
had been dead and buried four days. His corpse was beginning to
stink in the sweltering heat, and we could smell the stench ten
cubits away from the stone sepulcher. His sisters, Mary and Martha,
were beside themselves with grief. Jesus wept.”

Peter was overcome by emotion at this point
and struggled to keep his voice from wavering. He regained his
composure and continued. “I saw Jesus stand before the tomb of his
friend and heard him pray to the Father. Then he called out in a
loud, commanding voice:
‘Lazarus. . .Come forth!’
The
mourners stopped their weeping and gasped.”

Peter’s voice rose with fervency. “I tell you
now that Lazarus—still wrapped in burial linen—stepped from the
darkness of the tomb into the light of day.”

The hairs on the back of Deucalion’s neck
stood up, and an odd tingling sensation surged through his body.
All around him, people murmured and began crying and praising
God.

The apostle scanned the gathering with
penetrating brown eyes and concluded by saying, “Brothers and
sisters, I fervently beseech you to gird up the loins of your
minds; be sober, and hope to the end for the grace that is brought
unto us at the revelation of Jesus, the anointed One. We must
become as obedient children, not fashioning ourselves according to
the former lusts we indulged in out of ignorance. Even as He who
has called us is holy, so we also must be holy, because it is
written,
‘be holy, for I am holy.’
”

“We are not redeemed with corruptible things,
such as silver and gold, from the vain citizenship we inherited by
tradition from our fathers. We are redeemed with the precious blood
of the
Christos
, the lamb without spot or blemish. It is
through Him that we believe in God, who raised Him up from the
dead, and gave Him glory, that our faith and hope might be in God.
Purify your souls, obey the truth through the Spirit, and love one
another with a pure heart, fervently. Because all flesh is as
grass, and all the glory of man is as the flower of grass. The
grass withers and the flower falls away. But the Word of the Lord
endures forever. And this is the word which, by the spreading of
good news, is preached unto you.”

Deucalion was amazed.
Could it be so
simple? Could there be One, eternal God who cared so profoundly for
man that He had sent His Son to die for man?
Peter’s words had
struck a cord that lay tautly strung within him. Simultaneously, he
wanted to weep. Again he saw a vision of the tomb.
What have I
done
? he asked silently as the memory of that that fateful
afternoon flooded over him.

Beside him, Esther said, “Are you feeling
ill? You don’t look well.”

“I’ve got to get out of here, Esther. I’m
suffocating.”

Esther searched his eyes and gave him an
understanding nod. “Abigail and I must talk with Joseph. We can
meet you later. There’s a stable not far from here.”

Deucalion nodded, then grasped her hand in
his. “Be careful, Esther. I don’t want anything to happen to
you.”

“We have to hurry, Esther,” whispered
Abigail, tugging at her arm, “Peter and Joseph are leaving.”

Esther’s heart fluttered as she watched
Deucalion leave, but Abigail’s stinging words lingered in her mind:
“The only permanent mistress a Roman soldier has is the
Legion.”

“Yes, Abigail, let us go,” she said as she
pulled her veil over her face so that she wouldn’t be
recognized.

• • •

Unnoticed, Pilate and Malkus observed the
gathering of believers from the shadows. Malkus appeared bored, but
Pilate seemed almost hypnotized.

“He sounds just like the Galilean,” mumbled
the Procurator.

“What?”

Pilate snapped from his daze. “I said the
speaker sounds just like the Galilean.”

Malkus grunted. “If you ask me, I think the
whole thing is a hoax.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was at the tomb, with Deucalion. I
inspected the sepulcher the morning the body supposedly
disappeared. The only evidence that the Nazarene’s body had
actually been there was a bloodied piece of linen.”

“So?”

Malkus shrugged. “We never actually saw the
body placed in the tomb. The sepulcher was already sealed by the
time we arrived.”

“But what about the stone? And the light?
Deucalion told the tribunal that the stone had been rolled away and
that there was an odd, almost blinding white light—before the sun
came up.”

“I don’t have answers to those questions; but
I do know that I watched Deucalion pierce the Nazarene’s side with
a spear while he was still on the cross and I saw blood and water
come from the wound and splatter him. The man was dead, Pilate—of
that
I am certain.”

Pilate watched the crowd, then gasped and
stepped forward in order to see better.

“What is it?”

“Quiet! Do you want us to be seen?” Pilate
motioned for Malkus to step beside him and pointed. “There, near
the front, between those two women. Tell me, do you recognize the
man?” The flickering light made it hard to see clearly.

“Deucalion!” whispered Malkus.

Just then the man with the bushy black beard
stopped talking and the crowd began to disperse. Pilate and Malkus
watched Deucalion as he talked with the two women he stood between.
When the Praetorian turned to leave, Pilate said, “You follow the
women. . .I’ll take Deucalion.”

Malkus nodded.

“And Malkus, not a word of this to
anyone.”

“As you command, Procurator.”

“Report to me in the morning.”

“Hail Caesar,” replied Malkus, as he turned
and melted into the night.

Pilate watched him go, a resigned look on his
face. He mumbled, “Hail Caesar.”

• • •

Deucalion waited anxiously for Esther at the
stable. He should have stayed with her. There was no telling what
might happen with that madman Saul roaming about the city. While he
waited, he thought about the events of the past two years; the
chain of circumstances that had brought him to Jerusalem and to
this place in time.

He had been a member of the personal staff of
guards assigned to Lucius Vitellius, Governor of Syria. Because of
his dedication to the Legion, Vitellius had given him the
responsibility of selecting exceptional soldiers from among various
auxiliary units to be trained as Praetorians. Then, just over a
year before, he met the man who had irrevocably changed his life.
He remembered the day as if it were only yesterday.

Lucius Aelius Sejanus, Commander of the
Praetorian Guard, stood stoically next to Vitellius in the hot
Syrian sun and watched Deucalion training his men, then finally
called out in a gruff voice, “Deucalion Cincinnatus Quinctus, stand
before me.”

He complied, sweat dripping off his bare
chest and arms, while Sejanus scrutinized him. The commander said,
“You have a rather unusual name, young man—Greek, isn’t it?”

“My mother was Greek, sir, and she favored
the gods. Deucalion was the son of Prometheus, King of Phthia.”

“Aha, I see. . .” Sejanus said. “How like a
mother to wish her son to be a king.”

“Actually Prometheus was the first champion
of mankind,” continued Deucalion, brashly ignoring the jab. “Not
only did he beat old Zeus at his own game, which caused the angry
god to hide the knowledge of fire-making from mankind, but he stole
fire from heaven and brought it back to Earth.”

“And what about your father?”

“Roman—and a soldier, of course.”

“You see, I told you he was special,”
interjected Vitellius. “Praetorians are a breed apart, Sejanus. And
this one, if selected, would be even more so.”

Deucalion had been surprised by his
superior’s compliment, but he knew better than to let his
excitement show.

“His arrogance is tempered with logic,”
continued the Governor. “And I find his candid observations most
refreshing. Whatever he calls himself, he’s a soldier born and
bred. It’s in his blood.”

“I’ll think about it, Vitellius,” conceded
Sejanus as he turned to leave.

Sejanus was famed for hyperbole laced with a
dash of satire, and Deucalion was determined to make a final
impression. “Cincinnatus was
not
my father’s name. . .” he
said boldly.

Sejanus stopped and turned slowly.

Several centurions had been milling around,
trying not to appear obvious, yet definitely interested in the
conversation. Deucalion eyed them covertly, knowing they were all
well acquainted with his biting wit. . .and his arrogance. Now that
he was verbally dueling with the infamous Sejanus, he realized they
wanted to see how he would fare. “He’s done it now,” he heard one
named Malkus mutter. “Sejanus can be cruel when he gets angry.”

The smile on Vitellius’ face disappeared.

“Cincinnatus was retired and living on his
farm when war broke out between Rome and a brutal and tough
mountain tribe from central Italy,” Deucalion had continued. “A
Roman army, untrained and under incompetent leadership, was trapped
by the fierce Aequi; it was feared they would be slaughtered.

“The former consul from Rome, then sixty,
took up his armor and resumed office at the request of the people.
Gathering a small force of local herdsmen and farmers, he defeated
the Aequi, completely demoralizing them after sixteen days of
intense conflict. For his efforts he was rewarded a
Triumph
by the people.” He paused, hoping he hadn’t pushed too hard.

“Go on, finish it. . .tell us the rest,”
prodded Vitellius.

“Like the good Roman he was, Cincinnatus once
again resigned his consulship, there being no further need for his
services. Not wanting to burden the people with additional expense,
he returned to his retirement, and his farm, beyond the Tiber.”

The three men stood in the hot sun for
several minutes, caught like insects in the spider web of silence.
Finally, Sejanus smiled. “And just who was this Cincinnatus?”

“My great grandfather, sir.”

“I see. . .” replied the consul, as though he
really did see this time. Abruptly he slapped the Governor on the
back. “I think you’re absolutely right, Vitellius. We most
certainly have the makings of an exceptional soldier in our midst.
See to it that he is appointed to the Guard immediately.”

In the darkness of the stable a horse snorted
loudly. “Take it easy, boy,” whispered Deucalion, “you’ll give me
away.” The animal quieted and he returned to his thoughts.