The Making of the Lamb (55 page)

“No, Mary, that is not what is prophesied. I have studied the Scripture all my life, and I tell you this. If the Romans put Jesus on the cross of crucifixion, he will die there.”

Mary turned deathly pale.

Joseph clutched her hand to reassure her before she started breaking down. “Hold on, Mary. There is another way. Jesus can be a different type of Messiah. He can teach our people the pathway of peace. Surely, the Romans will have no quarrel with that.”

“Why do you think the fever besets him now?”

“I believe his Father revealed to Jesus his error. It is not easy for him to accept that his destiny will lead him to crucifixion and death. He is angry because when he turns from the path of a freedom fighter, he gives up everything he has lived for. He will not rest until he finds an answer that satisfies both his divine spark and his human nature. The fever has returned because the answer he thought he had is false, and it will not leave him until he has a better one. Until then he will not get better—but neither do I expect he will die, for God still has a great purpose for him, and it is neither to die here in Britain on a sickbed nor to die on a cross.”

Mary turned to Jesus and sighed. “What can we do for him?”

“What you have done. Try to make him comfortable while the fever remains. We must be ready to help Jesus make the right choice when the time comes. We must help him listen to his Father and accept his will.”

Distraught as everyone was over Jesus’s condition, someone needed to attend to the mine, so Daniel returned to the Mendips. He hired Caden, a bright, pleasant young man perhaps two or three years older than himself. At the end of Caden’s first day, Daniel noticed that his ore pile was significantly higher than those of the others.
Funny, he didn’t seem to be working that hard. I am glad I didn’t chastise him for goofing off, as I was about to do. Maybe the work just comes easy to him because he is so strong.
Caden was indeed very muscular. There was something odd about him, though. While everyone else was soaked with sweat and covered in grime, Caden finished the day dry and clean.

The next day, Daniel puzzled over this new worker. Not that there was anything to complain about, for Caden took the same daily wage as the others and again produced the biggest pile of ore. Every time he had crawled over to Caden through the shafts, Daniel had seen him swinging his axe; but he still felt suspicious that somehow Caden was only managing not to get caught in idleness.
I wonder what he does as soon as I turn my back?

At the end of the day, Daniel looked at the exhaustion on the faces of the men. He wiped the grimy sweat from his own brow. Once again Caden, clean and lively, offered the biggest pile of ore.

Daniel took a sample from Caden’s pile. The rock was richly veined with gray, the telltale sign of silver. “Your ore is not just plentiful, but it is the richest of anyone’s. I don’t know how you do it and stay so clean, but that is good work.”

Caden smiled.

“Are you going home to your family tonight?”

“I am just traveling through. My family is far away on the other side of Britain. I am staying with distant cousins of mine at the mouth of the Axe.”

“That’s a long walk. Why don’t you stay here? I could use some company for dinner. Usually my younger cousin is with me, but he is sick back on Ynys Witrin. So I’ve eaten alone for several weeks. Hardly anyone lives around here; Priddy is scarcely a village.”

“That’s very gracious of you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me that. Work is done for the day.”

Daniel enjoyed his evening in Caden’s company. Caden was an eager listener, and Daniel delighted in telling him of his adventures in Britain, particularly all about Rumps. Caden listened as if he had never heard any of it.

As he went to sleep, it occurred to Daniel that Caden had not mentioned much about himself. No matter. Perhaps he should offer Caden a higher wage to make sure he stayed on. The quantity and quality of his production certainly justified it.

The poor horse slogged its way across the wetland, carrying Joseph back to Ynys Witrin from the mine near Priddy. Another week had passed, with Jesus still feverish in Mary’s bed. The operation of the mining venture had returned to normal—nothing seemed amiss. In the long term, Jesus’s help was critical if they were to continue to replenish the ore loads with new finds, but the current lode near Priddy was continuing to yield silver, and there was no sign of imminent depletion. Daniel could manage the daily mining activity well enough on his own.

Nonetheless, Joseph felt a sense of foreboding.

Kendrick would soon bring his new ship to Ynys Witrin to take the season’s production to market in Armorica. After so many years, Joseph trusted the sea captain’s business acumen as well as his integrity. If Jesus had not recovered by then, Joseph would stay and have Kendrick handle the transport and sale. It would not be the first time.

A gentle rain began to fall. Though Ynys Witrin was only a few miles ahead, Joseph would be soaked by the time he got there, and that would expose him even more to the nighttime chill. Hopefully, the muck around the horse’s hooves would not get much wetter before he reached the house; otherwise, he would have to dismount and lead the beast.

Elsigar was not an immediate problem, but he could soon become one. The archdruid was not happy about the reshaping of the Tor. It was one of the most sacred places for the druids—the gateway to their otherworld—and it was not to be trifled with. Elsigar was still demanding to speak to Jesus. He would want to know whether the young man had practiced magic on that fateful night. If he thought it to be so, there was no telling what retribution he would demand.

Joseph had gained some time by pointing out from the writings of Isaiah that divine power, not magic, could reshape the physical world, raising up the valleys and laying low the mountains. Surprisingly, the pagan listened, at least to the point of staying his hand for a time. Joseph knew that the druids told of their gods’ involvement in the reshaping of hills and valleys.

“I have learned to respect the power of your god,” the archdruid had told Joseph. “But I must be sure that this is the working of a god and not some conjurer’s trick. I worry that Jesus seems to be growing in whatever powers he has. That could soon surpass the power of any druid to control him. He seems to live under the protection of your god, and that could be dangerous.”

The ground turned more solid as they emerged from wetland onto pasture, making the way easier for the horse. Through the gathering dusk, Joseph made out the smoke from Mary’s hearth rising through the thatch. The warmth of the fire would soon comfort his bones, but it would not still the anxiety in his heart. The progression of Jesus’s fever had been maddening to watch.
Jesus is at the crossroads of his life, he is at war with his divine spirit, and everything is uncertain. That is what brings on this fever, just as it did in Gaul. He can live a long, happy, prosperous life, but not if he continues on the path that leads to pain and death on a cross.

Mary looked up from her son as her uncle entered. “He is much better today. The fever seems to have broken. He rests comfortably for the first time in many weeks.”

“We can give thanks to God for that, but let us not raise our hopes yet. He has improved before, only to relapse.”

The rain stopped, and Mary stepped outside to refresh herself in the cool night air.

A few moments later, Jesus stirred. “Is that you, Uncle? I feel so weak.”

“I am here, Jesus. Your mother is taking a walk. She has been looking after you for many weeks. You have had a raging fever.” Joseph felt Jesus’s forehead. “You still have the fever, but you are no longer burning up. Do you remember anything that happened?”

“I remember the night on the Tor. Oh! Father and I, we were so angry. I remember what he said and what he showed me. The last thing I remember is coming down from the Tor and collapsing into mother’s arms, but my head is filled with so many visions—from Jerusalem, of my future—of my own death.”

“Your fever was bad. You have had nightmares—”

“They were prophetic visions, Uncle. They were real. I know they were.”

“Did your Father tell you what he wants from you?”

“You were right. He does not want me to be a heroic king like David. I am not to be the instrument to free our people. It will not come in my lifetime, Uncle, but our people will rebel against Rome, and the Romans will destroy the temple.”

“What? Impossible.”
The boy is surely mad.
Yet Joseph remembered Jesus’s destruction of his model temple as Daniel had described the day he brought Mary to Ynys Witrin.

“I’ve seen it, Uncle. When the Jews rebel again, the Romans will drive them from Jerusalem, just as in the days of King Zedekiah. Rebellion against Rome will not save our people.”

Joseph sighed. Yes, the temple had been destroyed once, so it could happen again. “So God wants you to give up the sword and turn your life to peace.”

“That is what he wants. You were right about that. I just cannot do it.”

“Jesus, I know you expected to lead our people in the fight for their freedom, to be a king like your ancestor David. You expected to become the greatest king our people have ever known. But if you renounce the sword and turn toward peace, the Romans will have no quarrel with you. They will have no reason to crucify you. You can have a long and prosperous life. Perhaps you can lead our people on the same path and avoid this disastrous rebellion you speak of.”

Jesus erupted in peals of wild laughter.

What is wrong with him? It must be the fever.

“Oh, Uncle Joseph, you have been right all these years, but also so very wrong. You were right about what my Father wants from me. He does want me to put away the sword, just as you have said.”

“Your Father loves you. He is protecting you. He knows what the Romans will do to you if you turn against them.”

“Protecting me? Really?”

“Don’t you see it now, how your path will lead to pain and death on the cross?”

“That’s where you are wrong, Uncle. The path of obedience is the one that will lead me there. He begat me not to be a fighter king like David. I am to be the sacrificial lamb of his new covenant.”

Joseph gasped.
This makes no sense.
“Why should the Romans crucify you if they have no reason to fear you?”

“Oh, you are going to love this part, Uncle! The Romans will know of my innocence, but our own people will cry out for my crucifixion. When I teach the truth, our religious leaders will turn against me, incite the people, and convict me. They will call it blasphemy, and the ruler from Rome will put me to the cross to appease them, to avoid riot and rebellion.”

Joseph collapsed as if struck down by a mighty blow.
Could this be the fever talking? Was Jesus raving?

Once again, Jesus erupted in laughter. “Think how Daniel has always believed I am blessed to be the son of God. Would not anyone think that? I must be blessed, all right—blessed with a father who wishes me to die by crucifixion.”

Joseph looked at Jesus in horror.
He must be mad. It must be the fever.
Indeed, Joseph touched Jesus’s forehead and felt the burn of the fever. Jesus collapsed back on Mary’s bed. By the time she returned, Jesus was ranting unintelligibly, tossing and turning. Joseph shook his head to show Mary that her son had taken a turn for the worse.
What can I say to her now?

Excusing himself, Joseph started walking up the Tor, turning his thoughts back to what Jesus had revealed.
Maybe it was a lucid interval. Maybe it does make sense. Isaiah prophesied about a suffering servant; I must read his Scripture passage again. How could I be so wrong?

Joseph arrived at the summit. It was his turn now to cry his anguish into the night. He spent himself until his voice failed. No one heard him, except for the Father.

The next morning, Daniel told Caden that he had decided to raise his wage.

Caden expressed his gratitude, but it seemed to Daniel that the extra money did not make much difference.

Later that morning Daniel crawled through the shafts. Each miner worked in an individual chamber. Sometimes there was room only for one man to swing an axe. He passed a shaft that led to Caden’s chamber. It was silent.

Daniel crawled in.

There was Caden, sitting on his rump. In the flickering light of the oil lamp, Daniel detected a hint of a smirk.

“I offered you more money because you produced so much ore. You’re a good friend, Caden, but I cannot pay you to sit idle.”

“Keep your money. I have plenty of my own.”

“Then why are you working? Are you leaving?”

“Not unless you tell me to. I will have as much ore for you again tonight. I could bring up even more, but that would make the others jealous.”

“How?”

“It’s not difficult. Here, hand me some of that waste over there.”

Daniel gathered a handful of splintered rock from the waste pile. Caden held open his hands and nodded to him. Daniel poured it in.

“Watch this,” said Caden. He folded his hands together over the material. Daniel bent forward to look closer in the flickering light. Caden opened his hands. Inside was a sizeable nugget of solid gold.

Daniel gasped. “What did you just do?”

“I am richer than you can possibly imagine, Daniel. I buy anything I want. I have palaces, slaves, and women—not only in Britain, but in every land.”

“How do you?—”

“When I was your age, a man gave me something. He said all I had to do was keep it with me.” Caden reached into his pocket bag and brought out a talisman. The head was carved from wood, and the body was sewn together over some fiber filling.

“Do you worship that?”

“The man said nothing about worshipping it. But he said to never let it go, if I wanted to live. There was one other thing, though.”

“What was that?”

“He said that I would find another talisman in my pocket bag one day, and he said that I would have to pass the second one on with the same instructions. I found this last night after you went to sleep. I thought about how you befriended me, and genuinely, not for my wealth like so many others. So I decided it should be yours.”