Eden (20 page)

The pale stone she had been rubbing with her hands had shown its insides. The white dust rubbed away now showed its beneath, and its beneath was black. Maryam touched her face to brush away sweat. The black from the stone smudged her forehead, the black from the stone blackening her hands.

“Stand back,” she told the animals. “Don't let them notice us. They're coming.”

Maryam and the animals followed the Roman soldiers at a safe distance. The Legionaries didn't seem to care about them, just the man in their midst as he stumbled along. He tripped once, making his guards bump into him, and one of them struck out with the flat of his sword to get him moving again.

Eden and Samson and the littlest lamb felt the clouds overhead frowning in anger, as though kneaded by great hands, torn and knotted together again. Maryam glanced fearfully up at the sky, but it glowered down and she shielded her head with her scarf.

After a few turns and down an empty street they reached a palace not far from the garrison. They could tell it was a palace because of the brightly tiled walls and the lush, green plants hanging from every terrace. The walls glistened where servants had overwatered the flowers and vines in streams running down the bright tiles, as if the palace wept.

Even at this morning hour sounds of music and carousing reached the animals' ears, the continuation of a great party that had been going on all night. Thus now at dawn, the water streaks on the palace walls looked like tears of laughter. As the soldiers entered the hanging gardens, the music faltered and died. Suddenly servants thrust open the palace doors.

Maryam became quietly afraid. She crouched by the outer wall and peered into the courtyard, the animals crowded beside her. Samson guarded her back, the littlest lamb at her feet, and Eden planted herself at the woman's side so no one might approach her.

The revelers emerged from the inner rooms. A gaggle of palace courtiers lurched drunkenly through the doors followed by musicians carrying their drums and flutes, women clutching any man they could find. The nobles and retainers stood about, amused, expectant. The elders of the temple had also joined everyone that morning and stood in a line like crows on a wall, dourly looking on, sour and sober. No, none of them had been drinking all night. The Romans in their red cloaks pushed the man out from among them and he stood in the cold light of dawn, silent and alone.

Finally the Prince of the palace emerged from the inner doors. His wine-soaked eyes looked from face to face innocently, pretending he did not know whom the soldiers brought before him.

At the palace wall, Maryam knelt and clutched Eden to her breast. The dog could feel the woman's heart pounding and the woman's terrible fear, even her thoughts.
If the priests in their grand house could not decide what to do, how could this king with his sodden courtiers and tipsy ladies know?

“Why does that prince want to talk to our master?” asked the littlest lamb.

Eden could smell the perfumed drunkard from the shadow of the courtyard wall. And just as with Maryam, the dog felt the drunkard's mind consumed with a fire of questions. The Prince was a trivial man, cowering inside his kingly robes, afraid like everyone else. Yet Eden saw deeper. His greedy, purple-stained lips hungered for legitimacy.

Virtue.

And this besotted Prince in his kingly robes had none.

Yet here was some obscure fellow the mob called a king, a lowly man who stood before a true prince in that noble's own palace garden.

Had this preaching fool no palace to call his own?

“Who is the King they bring to me?” the wine-faced Prince asked. “Is this the King foretold?” The bejeweled Prince peered at the man standing before them, then stared conspicuously about the palace garden as if to find another king in their midst. He smiled knowingly at the elders of the temple, daring them to speak.

The Prince's eyes gravely returned to the man at hand.

Mocking:

“
This man? This is the one
my father feared?”

The elders of the temple all began to talk at once, angry voices accusing the man of every vice, every sin, every crime—but the Prince held up a hand for silence. He approached cautiously and touched the frayed sleeve of the man's ragged shirt, then quietly asked, “Did you know my father?”

He waited for an answer but when none came, the Prince spoke again:

“They say you were born in Bethlehem. My father knew the children of Bethlehem. In my father's day some old wanderers called it the Town of the Star for a child they sought. A Usurper. So my father cleansed the town of all like you. Today the children of Bethlehem may be older or younger, but none of your age. Are you this Usurper? If you survived the Cleansing of Bethlehem, then
truly a miracle
you stand here today.”

Maryam clutched Eden's neck, and the dog could feel the woman:
Just speak, say something, do anything. Show them. They'll bow down now. If you just show them the slightest sign. Please. Now. Do it now
.

Nothing happened. Their master stood silently in the tiled courtyard surrounded by the leering courtiers, the loose women and the dour priests ruffling their robes like a row of fussy crows. Then the Prince searched the elegant sash about his waist and drew from the folds a threadbare purse. He showed the purse to the crowd gathered in the garden. The coins inside clinked faintly.

“Silver,” the Prince chuckled. “One of my retainers found this purse not far from the city walls. Silver coins at the feet of a dead man hanging in a tree.”

No one spoke. The silence pressed down on the courtyard. Eden saw a familiar face again, standing among the others. No longer a beggar, the Hollow Man wore the embroidered cloak of a courtier.

At last the Prince addressed their master:

“Your young friend took the silver in exchange for you. Then took his life. He even tried to return this silver, but no one seems to want it back.”

The ragged man made no reply.

“Let the Priests decide what to do with their silver.” The Prince tossed the purse towards the line of dour men. The dark birds ruffled their feathers and let it fall. The purse spilt coins, the line of men trembled at the sight of the silver—but no one stooped to pick it up. Better to wait when no one would see.

But the young Prince of this palace garden was not yet through.

He needed to know more.

“But what of the other tales we've heard?” he asked. “Surely you can show us something.”

Again their master spoke no word.

For a moment Eden feared the wine-soaked Prince would anger, but he only scoffed. Just as with the purse, the Prince showed his guests what he held in the palm of his hand. The Prince gazed wistfully at the ragged man standing in the courtyard, then offered him the two stones:

“They say you carried these two stones, and that by holding these two stones a man can know every human heart. Is that true?”

Eden felt Maryam grip tightly around her neck,
say something, anything
.

“It shouldn't be too hard to tell what's in my heart,” the Prince said softly.

“Can you tell?” he asked.

But when their master remained silent the Prince sighed and shook his head. The line of temple elders scowled and began to caw. The Prince glared them to silence and snorted in contempt:

“You're afraid of
him
?”

The dour line of black-robed men drew their cloaks about them and fell to whispers.

Finally there was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. The worldly Prince had come with questions and none were answered. Now he tired of the game. He shrugged.

“So be it.”

The Prince let the two stones drop from his hand. From their place at the gate neither the animals nor the woman could tell whether the insides were white or black. For when they fell, the two stones broke to pieces, no black, no white, nothing but fragments on the courtyard tiles.

“At least do not depart my house the beggar you appeared,” the Prince told Eden's master. “We can find you a robe, I imagine.” He took a worn robe from one of his guards and draped it about the man's shoulders.

“Perhaps someone else will find you a crown.”

To the temple elders he said:

“Behold, your King.”

And then to the gathered company:

“Pilate is in charge of the prison. Let the Romans decide.”

Again, the animals and Maryam followed at a distance. With each step onlookers seemed to spring from the very street, until a mob crowded the pavement stones. Maryam and Samson were elbowed aside, while underfoot Eden and the littlest lamb were stepped on. Eden kept seeing the Hollow Man slipping in and out of the crowd. For a moment beside a beggar, then beside a merchant, then hiding behind the skirts of a housemaid, never in one place for long, but traveling along with everyone like the shadows on their feet.

Eden nudged Maryam to warn her of the dark man's presence, but the woman didn't need to be told. “I see him,” she said.

“I see him too,” said Samson.

“And me as well,” said the littlest lamb. “Don't lose me.”

The Roman soldiers marched their prisoner back toward the Governor's court of law, not inside the garrison but to a narrow paved plaza under high stone walls. The mob gathered at an iron gate and shouted over each other's heads. A sea of angry faces: angry at the Romans, angry at the leaden sky, angry at each other. Scattered drops of rain fell.

A few cool drops, but not enough to calm fevered heads.

And this angered them even more.

The three animals and the woman shrank into a corner—they could see and hear but get no closer than the rabble. As before, Samson the donkey shielded Maryam and the smaller ones from heedless feet with his broad flanks. The woman clutched the old donkey's neck as angry men approached with ropes to drag him off, but Samson brayed and Eden bared her teeth and the men dared come no closer.

“Why are they here? What are they doing?” bleated the littlest lamb.

“Why are these people so angry?” she asked.

“What has our master done to make them so?”

But neither Eden nor Samson knew the answer.

Since dawn they had been caught up in the angry crowd, taken from the garrison to the palace and now back to this stone plaza. At each place pushed and shoved and even clawed at, all because they dared follow a man they knew. Trapped as they were they could move no farther. Maryam's face pressed against the nearest wall, streaked with dirt. She pressed her hands against it also, as though to will her body through the stone, but to no avail.

These blocks would not let her see through them.

And Eden saw her sag in defeat.

Suddenly a chorus of voices cried, “He's here! He's here!”

Faces swarmed the iron gate.

Their master had entered the enclosure.

Now the mad rabble clutched one another, some in fear, but many more in eagerness, loving the spectacle of this ragged man standing on the well-laid stones before the seat of power.

Sentries guarded every corner, and others had arrived to witness judgment. The Prince of the hanging garden waited under an awning along with the elders of the temple. The head Roman came out through an open door. He paused for a moment to speak with the Prince of the palace. The Prince wore bright new robes, but dark circles ringed his eyes and he seemed a little shaky. The two nobles nearly touched heads, as a few words passed between them. The Prince fawned, grateful for the slightest nod from the Roman Governor. And the Governor shrugged in return, satisfied the Prince knew his place.

The head Roman took a seat before the prisoner and glanced disparagingly at the bearded elders of the temple. They stood a few paces away and he wanted them no closer.

Servants brought out a low footstool and placed it at the Roman's feet. Rich, embroidered and bejeweled clothes were laid upon the stool; and Eden could see the temple elders touch each other's hands in fear, in anticipation … and something else. Lust. The elders clucked their tongues, one or two reaching out in anguish for the vestments on the footstool. If only they could touch them, if only they could wear them, if only—