Wayward Son (49 page)

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Demetrius reached the estate shortly after noon. Cain drew himself up in the bed, his eagerness outstripping the pain in his limbs. He was still wrapped from head to toe in splints and bandages, and a patch covered his wounded eye.

“Welcome to Rome, my friend. I trust you had a productive stay in Judaea?”

Accustomed to Cain’s businesslike manner, Demetrius wasted no time in small talk over the Circus crash. Instead, he immediately provided the information his friend had so urgently requested.

“I arrived at the beginning of February and interviewed at least two dozen people in Galilee. They ranged from humble fishermen to merchants, wealthy landowners, and religious leaders. Their reports about this Jesus were both stunning and controversial,” Demetrius said. “On the one hand, he was hailed by many as a miracle worker. In Judaea, Marcus, lame men have walked, the blind have recovered their sight, and lepers have been cleansed. Children suffering from deadly illnesses have been healed. One person even told me that Jesus actually raised a man named Lazarus from the dead!”

Jesus’s last words to Cain on the docks of Tyre rang in his ears once again. “What else have you learned, Demetrius?”

“Well, sir, Jesus is not universally praised. Many Jews, especially in Galilee, regard him as a great moral teacher, but there is also substantial opposition to him. A number of my informants indicated that he claims to be the Son of God and the promised Messiah. These statements have provoked great anxiety among the local religious authorities, and even greater apprehension in the temple leadership in Jerusalem. Jesus has roundly criticized the Pharisees there as religious hypocrites. There are reports that they are plotting against Jesus, although their specific plans are unclear.”

“How long did you remain in Judaea, Demetrius?”

“I was there nearly two weeks. I left on February 15, arriving here the day before you did. But we had no chance to meet, due to your accident…” Demetrius cast his eyes downward.

“It was no accident,” Cain said darkly. “But no matter, Demetrius. Thank you for your efforts. I must rest now, but please have lunch in the garden with my son. The servants will attend you.”

As he rested his head back on the pillow, Cain pondered the astonishing events of the past few years. Demetrius’s report now allowed him to unravel many mysteries: the healing of his son, his miraculous rescue at the Circus, and the true identity of Jesus. Without a doubt, mused Cain, the reported claims about Jesus were true; no one but the Son of God could do what he had done.

As he took this in, more troubling realizations became clear. Abaddon must be the master of spirits, and he had set up the tile game in Caesarea in a vain attempt to keep him from meeting Jesus. It was he who had thrown the meat on the track at the Circus, attempting to kill Cain after he learned what Jesus had done for Quintus. The master of spirits had gone to great lengths, it seemed, to keep him away from Jesus of Nazareth.

Cain now understood his course. He must return to Judaea immediately. His third journey there would afford him a chance to thank Jesus and perhaps receive the answers to the riddle of his life. Even in his agony, even with virtually every bone in his body still broken, he would go to Judaea.

It was the Ides of March, the beginning of the sailing season. He could make the journey in two or three weeks if the winds were favorable. That afternoon, he sent again for Felix and disclosed his plans. The servants would lay his battered body on a stretcher and transport him from the estate to the Tiber River launch at sunset. A healthy Quintus could now accompany him as his cabin boy on the voyage.

“Will the
Nostos
be ready to weigh anchor tomorrow at sunrise, Captain?”

“You have my word on it, sir.”

CHAPTER 65

The Nostos, AD 33

CAIN’S BODY REGENERATED RAPIDLY. During the sea journey, therefore, he remained secluded in his stateroom, so as not to draw undue attention to the stark changes in his physical condition. Quintus tended to his father’s needs. Himself the beneficiary of a sudden, unexplained cure, the boy was very curious about his father’s swift recovery.

No longer able to evade Quintus’s incessant questions, Cain decided to hold a candid discussion with the son he loved. So, before their meal was served one evening, he sat the boy down.

“Your tutors at home often speak of the gods, Quintus?”

“They frequently teach religion, Father. Especially when we read the myths and legends. I know about many of the gods and goddesses, both Roman and Greek,” the boy said proudly.

“In Judaea, where we are going, the people known as Hebrews worship only one God, not many,” Cain pointed out.

“He must not be much of a god. We Romans are only the latest of many to have conquered them.”

“What if I told you that it was the son of the Hebrew God who healed you? And that he is healing me as well?”

Quintus looked puzzled. “How do you know this?”

“I have met him twice in Judaea, but I did not know who he was then. He said his name was Jesus. The last time I saw him, this man proclaimed to me that your health had been restored, and when I returned to you, I learned that you had been healed that very day!”

“A man? I don’t understand,” Quintus said.

“Nor do I. For some reason I cannot fathom, the Hebrew God sent his son into the world as a human being.”

The boy looked at his father in awe. “Will we meet him when we get to Judaea, father?”

“I
must
meet him, for I need more than just physical healing, Quintus. Before you were born, I committed many evils. Now, I will seek out Jesus and ask for my
soul
to be cured.”

“Father, you are not evil. You have always been kind to me. Years ago, many of the children in the neighborhood said you would abandon me in the forest to be eaten by wolves as I grew sicker. It is the Roman way to get rid of the weak, but I always had faith that you would not do that. I know you would
never
abandon someone you love.”

Cain stared at his son, speechless. “If only he knew…” he thought.

After an awkward silence, he managed, “All I can tell you, son, is that the older one gets, the sicker one’s soul can become. I believe only Jesus can help me.”

Quintus nodded and said, “If he healed me, Father, he will heal you without fail.”

Cain reached for his son, who melted into his father’s embrace.

CHAPTER 66

Jerusalem, April, AD 33

THE AMPHORA DROPPED TO the deck and shattered with a crash. The crew member who had been holding it scarcely seemed to notice the broken shards of pottery around his feet, so intently was he staring at Cain.

It was the morning of Friday, April 3, and the
Nostos
had just docked in Caesarea. With no time to offer an explanation for his full and miraculous recovery to his stunned crew, Cain issued crisp orders for two transport chariots to be brought from the ship’s hold and hitched to teams of horses. He directed two of his Roman guards to accompany him, telling Quintus to remain on the
Nostos
and await him there. Although he was disappointed, Quintus abided by his father’s decision.

Cain first rode to the port’s administrative offices to question the Roman officials there about Jesus of Nazareth. One officer replied that he had heard from traveling Jews that Jesus had gone to Jerusalem, where he was stirring up trouble. Cain did not pause to express his irritation but rather hastened back to his chariot. Ordering his guards to follow closely, he set out for Jerusalem with his horses at a sustainable canter. It was shortly after the third hour, or nine o’clock in the morning. He had sixty miles to ride. If there were no mishaps, he could make Jerusalem by midafternoon.

Around the sixth hour, with the sun almost directly overhead, dark clouds rapidly appeared in what had been a clear sky all morning. Overspreading the sun, they heralded a storm. A strong southeast wind kicked up, and rain first spattered, then drenched, the road’s dust. All the way to Jerusalem, the storm mounted in intensity, until the guards trailing Cain could barely see his chariot in front of them. Lightning and thunder seemed to be vying to rip apart the sky. By two o’clock in the afternoon, it was nearly as dark as night.

As his chariot rumbled through the outskirts of the city, he made out a familiar figure who apparently had sought refuge from the storm under a large olive tree. It was Judas, the treasurer he’d paid for the fish they’d purchased from Jesus’s followers. Cain abruptly reined in the horses, and his chariot came to a halt. He did not pause for salutations.

“Where can I find your master, Judas?”

With disheveled hair, sallow cheeks, and reddened eyes, the man glanced away momentarily and then muttered, “They have taken him to Golgotha.”

Golgotha. he place of the skull. Cain knew it to be a small hill outside the city walls.

“Why are you not with Jesus, then?”

“All the disciples have fled,” the man replied chokingly. “But I, especially, am not worthy to be in his presence.”

“What do you mean?” Cain asked with mounting urgency.

“I betrayed him to the Pharisees and scribes. They arrested him and brought him to the high priest. And all for thirty pieces of silver.” Judas bowed his head in shame.

The silver coins the devil had left behind in Caesarea flashed across Cain’s mind.

“What are they doing with Jesus?” he demanded angrily.

“They are crucifying him,” Judas gasped out. “Oh, Master!” he exclaimed, breaking down in sobs of despair. “I am unfit to live!”

Cain regarded Judas coldly. Disgust and resentment welled up in him. Grabbing a length of rope from the floor of his chariot, he flung it at Judas’s feet.

“Do with this as you must,” he spat out at the man, as he spurred his horses onward toward the site of Jesus’s crucifixion.

The streets began to narrow, and Cain’s progress was blocked by crowds of people fleeing the violent storm. Lightning bolts forked across the sky from horizon to horizon, and claps of thunder sounded ever louder. Then, the ground began shaking violently, and people scattered in every direction. It was just after the ninth hour, and pitch dark between the lightning flashes.

When Cain finally reached Golgotha, he saw three crosses in silhouette against the inky sky. They presented a horrifying spectacle. In the center was Jesus, beaten and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Staring at him through tears, Cain could see he was too late.

The man who had healed his son was dead.

On his head had been placed a crown of thorns. Above, the words of a mocking inscription read:

this is jesus

the king of the jews

On either side of the cross in the center, two other men were in the last throes of their agony, crying out in the storm’s fury. As Cain watched, Roman soldiers approached each cross, armed with hammers. With savage blows, they broke the two men’s legs to hasten their deaths by asphyxiation. The dead weight of their bodies would cause their lungs to collapse.

Cain fell to his knees in front of the central cross. Almost everyone had fled the scene. Only a few onlookers remained, including a group of sobbing women, somewhat more distant, who repeatedly called on Jesus by name. Cain felt himself overwhelmed by despair. His final chance to speak with Jesus was gone. Tears furrowed his cheeks.

As he wept, he watched the soldiers take Jesus’s body down from the cross. Their commander, a centurion, supervised the dolorous task. When the soldiers had finished, the earth shook once more, prompting the centurion to declare, “Truly, this man was the Son of God!”

“But you
crucified
him,” Cain muttered.

He thought again of the crown on Jesus’s head. Thorns had served as a ghastly emblem in his own life, linking him to the Son of God’s final agony on this dreadful day. The devil had scattered the thorns in the wheat field long ago, setting the stage for Cain’s fateful attack on Abel. Now the devil had caused Jesus to be betrayed to his enemies, who tortured him with thorns before putting him to death.

Cain now saw how the master of spirits had tormented him through his whole life, driving a wedge between him and God through temptations, trickery, and even an attempt on his life at the Circus. Why would God have rescued Cain but then fail to save his own son from the devil’s treachery?

Cain returned despondently to his chariot. Without a word to the guards, he retraced his way through Jerusalem and then took the long, muddy road back, not just to the harbor of Caesarea, but to his interminable life still saddled with guilt.

CHAPTER 67

The Nostos: AD 33

IT WAS ALMOST SUNSET when Quintus knocked on the door of his father’s stateroom. Cain had remained secluded in his cabin for four days, with strict orders to be left alone. All Quintus knew was that his father had returned late at night from Jerusalem. He learned from the guards that his father was moody and seemed depressed, but they said nothing about Jesus except that he had died on a cross. Quintus could scarcely imagine such an execution, especially one carried out against a man whom his father had described with such reverence.

After the ship had been restocked with extra provisions, they set sail early on Saturday morning, despite high winds and storm clouds on the horizon. The
Nostos
was on a direct course for Herculaneum. The challenge for Captain Felix and his crew this evening was to navigate the narrow, hazardous strait between Sicily and North Africa before they made their northward turn toward Rome. Submerged reefs in the strait had claimed many a ship.

“Come in,” Cain called in a weary voice.

“Father, our supper will be ready soon,” said Quintus hesitantly. “May we talk together?”

“Yes, son. Sit down here at the table.” To distract himself, Cain was poring over a large chart of the North African coastline.