The Making of the Lamb (45 page)

Everything had been going so well, until the autumn. They were working a good lode of silver ore and had found a second that they alone knew about. Jesus’s technique for working the silver into Celtic patterns on the bronze ware created a unique medium that certainly would sell well among the Romans. The first shipload sent back to Armorica was sure to return large profits.

But everything had gone sour in the space of only a few months.

Workmen for a rival miner, Horshak, were digging all over the hillside where the new lode was located. Daniel was stuck; he could not hire workers, and he could not ask Grengan to reserve the area without proof that he had a working mine on the new lode. The lack of Roman coin had prevented him from hiring workers. Kendrick had finally appeared with a new supply of money, but Mary had fallen ill the next day, and Daniel could not leave her to supervise the operation.

Esmeralda had to be working against him.
Word is out that she claimed Mary lives too close to the sacred Tor. Grengan says he will defend Mary, but I’m sure there is going to be trouble.

Daniel felt weighed down, as if all that un-mined ore rested on his shoulders. His aunt was in danger, and he could not leave her in the hands of strangers, no matter how friendly they were. He could pay people to look after her, but that was not the same as having family there.
I would never be able to explain to Jesus why I was a day’s journey away in Priddy if Mary were to die.

Finally, they reached the house of Imogen and Postumux in Caer Leir, the main settlement of the Corieltauvi tribe on the Soar River. Their home was similar to the courtyard houses Jesus had seen in the lands of the Dobunni. Jesus and Arvigarus shared a large, comfortable room. The best part was that Pirro was out of sight, relegated to the slave quarters. All they had to do was wait for the snows to melt in the mountain passes, which would take them through the final leg of their journey. Postumux’s allies among the Cornovii tribe would let him know once the passes were safe.

It appeared that the noble families of Caer Leir were trying to emulate the Romans in their daily life. The community’s common hall was largely the province of the craftsmen and lower ranks of the warriors. Jesus and Arvigarus frequently made their way there to join in the boisterous revelry. Imogen and Postumux led a different social life, inviting upper-class friends to dinner parties and being invited back in return. As the hero of Rumps, Jesus often found himself a sought-after guest.

One night Jesus and Arvigarus attended one of these dinner parties with Imogen and Postumux. Arvigarus regularly spent his sister’s money in the community brothels, a fact Imogen was obviously aware of but did not allow to be mentioned in her presence. But this night she insisted that her brother join them.

The host had hired a traveling bard, who asked the company if anyone had a story to request. The host turned to Jesus, the honored guest from across the sea. “Please, sir, you make the first request.”

At first Jesus was at a loss. Then he asked the bard, “Tell the story of how Caer Leir got its name.”

The bard made a little bow. “The community was named for a king of the Corieltauvi who lived many hundreds of years ago. His name was Leir, and he ruled for sixty years. He had no sons, but he did have three daughters: Gonorilla, Regau, and Cordeilla. He loved the three of them, but Cordeilla, the youngest, was his favorite.

“As he grew old, Leir thought to divide his kingdom among them and find them suitable husbands. But doubting his daughters’ worthiness, he tested them by asking each whether she loved him the most. The two eldest daughters answered in flowery language to assure him they did, and he granted them each one-third of his kingdom.

“Cordeilla, the youngest, answered plainly, ‘Father, can any daughter love her father more than duty requires? Whoever pretends to do so must disguise real sentiments under the veil of flattery. I have always loved you as much as any daughter can love her father, but I will not pretend to love you more.’ This greatly annoyed Leir, so he disowned her and married her to an outlander, Aganippus, a king of the Gauls.

“When Leir in his old age came to be infirm, his elder daughters and their husbands rebelled against him and deprived him of all authority. Reflecting on how he had fallen from grandeur, Leir travelled to Gaul to find Cordeilla. He had little hope of assistance from her but sailed anyway. He sent a messenger to tell Cordeilla of the misery he had fallen into. She hired a retinue for her father and provided him royal apparel and food. Restored to his station, Leir met Cordeilla and Aganippus with honor and dignity. Aganippus brought an army to Britain and restored Leir to his kingdom. Leir died three years later and was buried in a great vault in the city he had founded.”

The guests applauded and cheered when the bard finished his tale, and Jesus joined in. Later, when they returned to their room, Jesus brought up the tale again. “I think that is one of the best stories I have heard from any bard in Britain.”

“It’s nothing special.” Arvigarus sat on the edge of his bed and removed his shoes. “I have heard it many times.”

“It reminds me of something from the Scripture of my own people. Long ago, judges ruled my people like kings. Just as King Leir starts out with the full love of his most loving daughter, the people of Israel start out in a state of grace with God. Just as Leir turns from that true love because he is blinded by the flattery of the unworthy daughters, so too do the people of Israel turn from God, abandon his laws, and fall away into sin. Both Leir and the people of Israel become miserable and unhappy. For Leir that meant poverty and dishonor; for Israel it meant defeat in war and slavery.

“Both Leir and the people of Israel come to their senses and hear the call of the true love they have so recklessly abandoned. They despair of ever finding forgiveness, because they have proven to be so unworthy, but nonetheless they repent and reverse course. Leir goes to his daughter. The people of Israel appeal to God for a judge to lead them. Are you with me so far?”

Arvigarus nodded, though he seemed to be paying more attention to putting on his nightclothes.

“Now, here is the part I really love. Cordeilla does not give even a hint of rebuke for her father’s wickedness and cruelty. Her love is so great that she immediately restores him to full honor and dignity. So too is shown the greatness of the love that God has for his chosen people. He never abandons his people on account of their wickedness, but he raises them up and restores them to grace. It happens time and again in the days of the judges, when he hears their cries and raises a new judge to lead them out of misery. It becomes a continuing cycle of God’s grace, the people falling away, then hearing God’s call and turning back to him, and then the magnificent return to grace. I think Leir’s story is so powerful because it makes this cycle part of someone’s life. It is beyond Scripture and history.”

Arvigarus looked at Jesus in silence.

Is he totally confused?

Finally Arvigarus spoke. “You would take a story from Britain back to your homeland to teach your Scripture to your people?”

“I don’t know for sure. I have been preparing to lead my people to freedom from the Romans. But yes, perhaps I will use this story if I am called to do so. I would have to change some elements, though. I do not think Jewish people are ready to look upon a daughter as a godlike figure, above a father who represents the sinfulness of man.”

“How would you change the story?” Arvigarus asked.

Jesus sat on the edge of his bed and thought for some time. “I would reverse the role of the child and the father. I would have the sinfulness of man represented by a son who is by nature a spendthrift—a son who is prodigal. Leir is somewhat prodigal, foolishly giving away his kingdom on account of the flattery of the older daughters.” Jesus gazed at Arvigarus and continued. “I might have the son fall away because of profligate and immoral living, spending all he has on harlots and that sort of thing.”

“So I would be the scamp of your story.” Arvigarus laughed. “Fair enough. Who would inspire the forgiving character?”

“I am thinking of your father. He lost you and your brother when you were infants. When the two of you returned years later, he welcomed you warmly, and he even forgave Guiderius for killing the stepson he favored as Imogen’s suitor. Somehow, I can see him giving you half of everything he has and welcoming you back with total forgiveness after you waste it all away, as I have no doubt you would.”

“I am not that bad. Shouldn’t Guiderius be in the story, too?”

“Yes, there is room in the story for an older brother. As I recall, Guiderius does not approve of the way you spend money. I can see him serving your father after you take your share of the inheritance and leave. He might find it difficult at first to understand why your father would eagerly welcome you back and restore you to a station you might not deserve. But eventually he will understand, once the father explains his happiness in finding a son whom he had given up for dead.”

Arvigarus snorted and climbed into his bed. “You talk much about forgiveness, Jesus. What about Pirro? Could you ever forgive him?”

Jesus thought again before he answered. “That will be hard. He caused so much death and suffering, including the death of my best friend. I do not see that he has ever tried to turn his life in a different direction as Leir did, do you?”

“He only thinks about himself,” observed Arvigarus.

Jesus hung his head. “I am starting to feel some pity for his misery, but that is not the same as forgiveness. He was my uncle’s business partner—nothing more. I cannot say I ever really cared for him.”

From the beach, Joseph gazed out to the flat, motionless, endless sea. He gnashed his teeth thinking of the last few days. He agonized over the terrible, foolish mistake he had made. In his haste to get back to Ynys Witrin, he had neglected to wait for the rainbow that would assure safe passage over the seas. A tempest had caught them in its grip and driven them onto a reef where Kendrick’s ship now lay wrecked.

Kendrick’s two sons, old enough to serve as crewmembers, whittled away at wood as if they did not have a care in the world. It was small consolation that they had made it alive to this small island. There was a little fresh water, and they could catch fish from the sea.

Joseph wondered if the sun had affected the captain and his sons. The captain seemed delirious, claiming they had discovered the mythical Island of Lyonesse. It was supposedly an abandoned land once joined to Belerium, but reputed to be nearly consumed by the azure sea.

Kendrick seemed oblivious to an obvious but inconvenient fact about mythical islands. When one wrecks one’s ship in the process of discovering such a place, its mythical character tends to diminish considerably the prospect of any rescue.

A
messenger from the Cornovii finally arrived to say the Snowden Mountains were passable.

Jesus, born and bred in a desert land, would have disagreed. The vales hundreds of feet below were touched by the emerging green of spring, but the mountain passes remained a world of swirling white and gray, gripped by a cold, damp, biting wind that cut through their cloaks. Clouds wrapped the mountains, sometimes obscuring the trail so they had to pick their way cautiously upward.

As Jesus, Arvigarus and Pirro made their way up a narrow escarpment, the way was sufficiently clear. But more than a hundred feet ahead, there was nothing to see but a thick milky veil streaming by in the gale. Jesus and Arvigarus sat on snow-capped rocks at the summit, waiting for Pirro to catch up.

“How many more ridges are there?” Jesus asked.

“There is a long vale ahead and then one more ridge after that. We will reach that by midday tomorrow. Then we’ll descend through the vales to Bangor.”

“It is nearly six weeks since I left Ynys Witrin. We will be several weeks late getting there. Elsigar must have arrived by ship already and started the classes without us.”

“That cannot be helped,” said Arvigarus. “We had to wait for the weather and then go through these mountains to avoid the Ordovices.”

Pirro stumbled to the top to join them. “It is cruel of you to burden me so.” He lost his footing on a patch of ice and slid back twenty feet, spilling the contents of his pack over the slope. He caught himself on a branch just in time to save himself from hurtling over a precipice. Pirro looked up at Jesus and Arvigarus. “I’m hurt,” he shouted. “I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”

“Clumsy oaf!” Arvigarus drew the whip and descended rapidly toward Pirro.

“Wait,” Jesus shouted, coming after him.

Arvigarus turned to face Jesus. “He’s faking an injury again. He’s not even carrying his share of the load. A good dose of this will fix him, just as it did before.”

“Whipping will not solve anything,” said Jesus. “We need to gather up the supplies before the cloud blinds us.”

Arvigarus glared at Pirro, letting him know he would be dealt with later. By the time everything was gathered and repacked, they had lost half an hour, and the thick mist was closing in again. The descent from the summit proved treacherous, slowing them further. It was not until early evening that they reached the valley floor.

“My back is so tired from the climb, Master. My feet, too,” Pirro complained. “You make me carry so much.”

“Your load is the same as ours. Help us gather wood for the fire,” Jesus answered. “Then you can rest for the night.”

“You are coddling him again,” said Arvigarus. “He needs that whipping I promised earlier.”

“We will have no more of that,” said Jesus. “Starting tomorrow, he carries nothing more than his own food and supplies. If he keeps up, he can come with us. If not, he takes his chances on his own.”

“What kind of choice is that?” said Pirro. “The natives will kill me if they find me on my own.”

“I cannot do anything about it. The Celts put that tattoo on you.”

“You were the one who had me sold. You knew it would be worse than a death sentence.”