Fiction

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(Part 3)

Lucas and others had found Aaron’s servant face down in dried blood and dirt inside the tunnel, and carried him out and dug a grave for a decent burial.

Soon there was talk that Aaron had fled south to a village somewhere on the Mediterranean coast. If so it meant he went to see Rabbi Zakkai said to be in the village of Jamnia. But Lucas didn’t want to rely on rumors to make the decision to go hunting for Aaron.

Perhaps he should go ask Sabinus for another codex? It would be a chance to see Flavia again. Lucas liked the idea until he considered how long it would take to return to Syrian Antioch, wait for another a copy to be produced, and then be on his way again.

There must be another option, he thought. It was then he remembered his diaries and searched through his bags and found them. The leather-bound diaries contained notes from all his travels and with them other documents used in writing his long scrolls. He perused the information, and made a decision: he would rely on them, and his good memory, in carrying out Sabinus’ mission with the exiles.

After a restless night Lucas continued his journey to the southern gateway to Bithynia and then to Nicaea. Once in the mountains there was cool, crisp air with the promise of frost and a sharp drop in temperature. At sunset he found a spot in a glen and wrapped myself in a cloak for warmth. As he ate supper his thoughts turned to Nicaea and then fell asleep, exhausted.

A prism of light filtered through the glen in the morning. He felt a chill. Tendrils of fog dissolved before the rising sun, revealing a lush valley below with a river winding along a carpet of green pastures.

Mountain tops with thick forests poked through clouds of the western sky, towering over a plain that spread as far as he could see. It was a coastal land of thatched houses, small farms, and bright colors that stretched north to the white sandy shores of Propontis Euxinus. This was Bithynia, where people were forever young and happy -- unless you were a Christian exile.

He moved through isolated highlands and then beneath crimson stone cliffs of the Sangarius River. He pulled out Sabinus’ map to recheck his location but was confused. The river appeared to flow north, not west as the map showed.

Which way was Nicaea? Since it was getting dark and difficult to see, he decided to spend the night and start fresh at first light.

Next morning he climbed a rocky slope hanging over a valley bounded by graceful mountains and shrouded by dense, grumbling black clouds. Farther down below he saw a stone wall protecting what had to be his destination. It was Nicaea, west of a turquoise expanse called Lake Ascania.

He continued along the northern shore of cultivated olive groves, and then fields with carnations and tulips,hyacinth and quince flowers, marveling at their hues of blue, white and red.

He soon arrived at the main gate on the north side of the town. He went beneath an arch of huge stone blocks and decorated with carvings of fighting men on horseback, the soldiers who colonized Nicaea.

Once inside the gate he took the main avenue to an open bazaar. He searched for Philon, the merchant of ceramic pots, among rows of tinsmiths, weavers, glassblowers and food sellers offering the day’s specials.

He came to a tiny space occupied by a thin man among pottery painted in turquoise, coral and emerald, displaying the beauty of flowers, leaves and trees.

“May I help you find a pot?” inquired the man wearing a modest smile.

“I’m looking for . . . I was admiring the artist’s intricate geometric design on this large one.”

“I see you are an educated man . . . allow me to show this to you.” His bony fingers grasped the container, turning it around for Lucas to view. He waited for Lucas to inspect the item but then sensed a growing indecision.

“This one is more suitable for a man of many travels, someone on a mission like you,” he said, handing Lucas a small, ordinary pot for sale.

“Do you know someone they call Philon?” Lucas said. Philon leaned close. “You have found him. You must be Lucas, the Greek, who Sabinus promised would come.”

“Indeed . . . I want to meet the others when your day of business has ended.”

“Only a few customers today . . . most people are shopping for food. So please help load these unsold vessels onto my cart and we can be on our way.”

It was time to leave anyway as fat raindrops spattered on the roof-tops, the western sky a blend of burnt orange and oleander pink.

Together, they pulled the cart toward the gate and then to a side street, stopping at a small house and tossing a tarp over the pots. A wiry fellow, Philon tied a thick rope over the canvas to hold it secure, working without a word, intent on getting the job done.

Before supper Lucas told Philon his codex had been stolen, and the merchant offered to send someone to search for the thief. Benjamin!

But Lucas’ amazement at seeing Paul’s nephew dissolved when he learned of Hannah’s death from her lung infection.

“She didn’t suffer long,” Benjamin said, holding back tears. “Then a storm destroyed our house, and I went to see Sabinus, who might tell me where to find you.”

“Sabinus must have given you a map to get here.”

Benjamin shook his head. “No, his son drew one.”

“Son?”

“His father had traveled to Rome as Vespasian’s forces advanced on the city. But troops loyal to one of Nero’s successors captured Sabinus on the Capitol steps and . . . and was . . . hacked to death by the mob.”

Lucas couldn’t believe it, his face etched in anguish. The bad news struck like a hammer. “Any word about Flavia?” he asked, a dull, empty ache gnawing at his gut.

“She has married a Roman aristocrat named Lucius Paetus,” Benjamin said.

~~~

Benjamin’s jaw dropped in disbelief when he heard Lucas’ tell about the codex. And he started to sweat at the prospect of tracking down a thief and a murderer. This was not the kind of adventure he had in mind. “Are you sure I’m the right person for this mission?”

“I traveled many miles with your uncle. I knew him well, and you seem so much like him.”

Benjamin also had been brought up in a devout Jewish family. But he hadn’t seen a bright light or heard a voice while walking the road to Damascus. He was dismayed when he learned Saul the persecutor had become Paul the believer. The conversion left Benjamin questioning the Law of Moses and searching for answers.

Lucas studied Benjamin’s serious yet eager face. “Here’s your opportunity for adventure.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, and began to leave.

“Take this before you go,” Lucas said, handing him a piece of papyrus. “When we find him, we’ll find Aaron.”

Benjamin studied the writing and recognized ben Zakkai’s name “I heard he escaped to Masada.”

After Jerusalem fell Masada was the last bastion of Jewish resistance. But if this sage of the Sanhedrin had gone to Masada, then he would be dead now –- along with 900 men, women and children who committed suicide in the face of Roman servitude.

“Do you have any idea where he might be?” Benjamin asked, putting the papyrus in his cloak.

“Perhaps somewhere on the coast.”

“You mean, Caesarea?”

“It’s too crowded.”

“Where do we start looking?”

“Tyre and then go south toward Jamnia.”

“And what about you . . . are you staying here?”

“I’m going to Macedonia, Dalmatia, Italy and Greece.”

“Did God tell you to pack your bags and to those far away places?”

“Not in those exact words . . . I do believe he is sending me on a new mission.”

~~~

After Lucas took off for Macedonia, Benjamin left Nicaea and went westward overland to Troas. There, he boarded the Lulia Felix, a Roman corbita named after a wealthy businesswoman from Pompeii. The ship made stops in Smyrna and Ephesus, and continued to Patara and Antalya.

He then headed to the island of Cyprus and from there to Seleucia. It had been an uneventful trip for the passengers. But things were about to change for Benjamin.

When he got off the ship at Seleucia, Benjamin was robbed of his money at knifepoint in the crush of dock workers. He was lucky, though. He lost a pouch of silver coins, not his life. Now, with limited money, he had to earn the fare somehow or take the Roman road south.

While considering what to do, Benjamin recognized a familiar face in the crowd -- his old friend Laden from Jerusalem! Laden was older than Benjamin, and taller, but also confident and even pugnacious at times. Benjamin made his way through the crowd to Laden, who was enjoying mussels from a fish vendor. “Is that you, Laden?” Benjamin shouted, coming closer.

Laden glanced up and wiped the forbidden shellfish off his hands. “Such a long time it has been . . . “

“Yes it has . . . I’ve been robbed!” Benjamin blurted out.

“What did he look like?”

“A cloth covered his face so all I saw were his eyes. He was bigger than me . . . “

“Well, everybody is . . . never mind . . . what was he wearing?” Laden said.

“Just a brown cloak.”

“We need a better description.”

Benjamin shrugged his shoulders. “I was on my way to Tyre and now have no money to get there.”

Benjamin explained the mission to Laden, who listened with growing interest as the details spilled out.

Laden could not contain himself. “Tell you what, we’ll all go together to Judea.”


(TO READ THE ENTIRE STORY, GO TO http://www.faithful-journey.info/links AND CLICK ON “THE ROAD TO NICAEA.”)

COPYRIGHT 2010 Warren Lamb

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