The Making of the Lamb (58 page)

“I curse myself for being so blind all these years,” answered Joseph. “The prophecy of the suffering servant is right there in the book of Isaiah, but I was too blind to see that Jesus would suffer even more if he turned his path to peace. But that is indeed the will of God.”

“Part of me wants to spit on the will of God!” Mary paced the little room. “I do not care about this new covenant that God wants to make. I am just a mother who wants her son to live and be happy.” Mary started sobbing again. “What can we do, Joseph? Maybe Jesus can lead a happy and quiet life here in Britain.”

“He told me the Father wants him to go back to Israel. Are you suggesting that Jesus should disobey God?”

“I cannot help it. He is my son, and no mother should have to rest a son in the grave.”

“Did he tell you what he plans to do?”

“He is angry, but he loves his Father in heaven. He says he does not know what to do. He says Bridget gave him the idea, and it brought him out of the fever.”

“What idea?”

“That he adopt the Britons as his people and fight to protect their freedom.”

“That would mean disobeying God.”

“He realizes that. That is why I thought it would be safer for him to lead a quiet life if he stays here.”

Joseph stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “It is out of our hands, Mary. He will make his own decision when the time comes.” Sighing, he lowered his hands. “I must pray on this.”

Joseph left the house, crossed the field that led to the Tor, and climbed directly to the top, over the three ridges. As he made his way, he thought about what Jesus had said, how God had reshaped the Tor into a monument of anger and sadness.
Was it really Jesus to blame? What did the Father expect? Did he really expect his Son to react with joy at the prospect of giving up everything for which he had lived, only to die this painful and shameful death?

At the summit, Joseph began to pray. It was not like the prayers of most people, even the most devout. He did not ask God for anything, and he did not even offer a thanksgiving.
God already knows my desires. This is the time for me to listen. I must open myself to hear what God has to say.
And so Joseph sat still for hour after hour, well into the night.

The Holy Spirit turned Joseph’s thoughts to obedience and disobedience. Joseph recalled Adam’s disobedience.
It was the smallest of things, really, just a bite of fruit, but it was enough to separate man in creation from God in heaven. It released all the evil in the world, all the death and sin. Adam made his choice, but what will happen if Jesus chooses differently? As the firstborn mortal man, Adam condemned the world through his sin of disobedience, but what will happen if Jesus, as both God and man, chooses obedience? Could that undo all the death and sin that Adam’s act of disobedience wreaked upon the world?
Joseph remembered that is what Jesus had told him the Father had said, but neither of them understood how that would work.
Where Adam chose to disobey God just to get a bite of fruit, Jesus could choose the supreme act of obedience, even unto death. It would be the ultimate act of obedience at the greatest possible cost.
The more Joseph thought about it, the more he marveled that Jesus and Adam could be so alike, and yet so different—opposites, and yet the same, like mirror images of each other.
Perhaps Jesus can be the Adam of creation for a new age.

But even as the Spirit led Joseph to focus on the significance Jesus’s sacrifice might bring, Joseph’s heart filled with despair.
He is my blood; I love him like a son. How can I ask him to carry this burden? It would be asking him to choose his own misery and death.

As Joseph concluded his prayer, he realized that the choice before Jesus was not his to make.
Please God, give Jesus wisdom and strength. I do not know what else to pray for.

Daniel walked home after a long, cold day at the mine, longing for a fire to lift the chill from his bones. He flinched at every sound in the woods, anticipating another visit from Esmeralda—or whatever beast of hell had impersonated her.

He leaped across the stream that marked the halfway point between the mine and his hut. Jesus remained at his mother’s house, so when Daniel was in Priddy, he had the place to himself.
Perhaps I should bring Bridget to see it. Then she’d realize I’m not just Jesus’s cousin, but a man with a home and livelihood of my own.
She didn’t have to know that Jesus had put as much work into that home as he had.

“Good morning, Daniel.”

He turned, half expecting to find Esmeralda. But it was a Celtic lass, shorter and thinner than Bridget, with a sweet face surrounded by a cloud of auburn ringlets. He smiled. “Do I know you?”

“Probably not.” On one arm, she carried a basket of pears and apples. “But I know you. Everyone knows you. Daniel bar Joseph, the famous miner of silver.”

He snorted.
She must be the only one who doesn’t think of me as Jesus’s cousin.

“You must be very wealthy and powerful,” she said.

“Huh. Neither. We make a good living, but most of the profit goes right back into operations.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you know best how to run your business.”

Papa does far more of the running than I.
“What is your name?”

“Eurielle.”

“Thank you, Eurielle. You’re very sweet.”

“Don’t flatter me, you outlander. I know who has your heart.”

“Do you?”

“It’s common knowledge that you are besotted with Bridget of the Belgae.”

“And is it common knowledge that she ignores me?”

She giggled, but didn’t answer the question.

“How is it that I have lived in this region all this time and not met you before?” Daniel asked.

Eurielle shrugged. “Your eyes must have been elsewhere. Why should you spare your gaze on a plain girl like me?”

He laughed. “There is nothing plain about you.”

“Now you are mocking my red-headedness, sir.” Her voice sounded petulant, but her eyes showed mirth.

“How could I mock such beauty?”

“Hah! You are a flatterer. It will avail you not. I must go, sir.” She turned aside, but after a few steps, she turned back. “Yet…let me leave you with something.” She took a pear from her basket and pressed it into his hand. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“I hope so, Eurielle.”

Alone in her house, making her own prayer, Mary was not at all conflicted in her purpose.

Please God, Jesus is everything to me. I care nothing about how great he could be. I am a mother who wants her son to live and be happy. He is kind and good. He does not deserve this torment. Give him the life he deserves. If someone must suffer this horrible death, let it be me. I gladly give myself in his place.

Daniel awoke early, alone in his hut, as hungry for Aunt Mary’s bread as he was for Bridget’s company. He quieted the grumbling in his stomach with a bit of old bread soaked in honey, and he set out for the mine. The morning was cold and damp, and a thick mist lay across the landscape.

Once again, as he crossed the landmark stream, Eurielle appeared. “Good morning, Daniel.”

“Good morning, Eurielle.” Today her basket was empty. Perhaps she had yet to do her harvesting. “You’re a very industrious girl, aren’t you? Out doing your gathering at the break of dawn—one of our wise men said a woman who rises before dark to provide for her family is worthy of praise.”

“Sir, you are flattering again.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“You may be handsome and successful, but why should I allow myself to be toyed with? I would only lose you to Bridget of the Belgae in the end. Why should I suffer such heartbreak?”

“You do not know Bridget well. Her eyes are on Jesus only. She spares no interest for anyone else.”

“But he will refuse her, won’t he? And when he does, she’ll turn to you for solace, and poor Eurielle will be out in the cold, alone.”

“I daresay a pretty girl like you will never be alone for long.”

“I could say the same for a handsome fellow like you. Just wait. When Jesus throws her over, Bridget will come running.”

“How do you know he will do that?”

Her laugh was like water in a brook. “Everyone knows that you are the one interested in the ladies, and that your cousin will have none.”

How could everyone know that? It is a thing we’ve discussed only between the two of us. Perhaps people noticed Jesus’s behavior toward the girls at festivals, and surmised the rest.

“I tell you, Bridget has great fondness for you,” Eurielle said.

“Bridget pays no attention to me.”

She sighed. “You men are oblivious. She is toying with you, Daniel. Every girl knows that paying a man too much attention gives him an inflated opinion of himself. And most fellows have far too inflated opinions to begin with. She only pretends to ignore you because she wants you to pursue her.”

Daniel halted. “You are mad.”

She smiled coyly over her shoulder. “Perhaps in spite of all your flirtations, you do not understand women as well as you think.” She continued ahead.

He followed.
I don’t understand women at all. Who can?
“This makes no sense. If she wants me to pursue her, how am I to know that if she gives me no sign?”

“She will give you a sign when she is ready. And when she does, you had best be prepared to give her all a man is able to. If you can’t win her at that point, you’ll lose her forever.”

“That’s insane.”

“I am giving you all the secrets of womanhood.” She turned and faced him, one hand on her hip. “Do you want to know the way to understand a woman, or don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then listen to me. When she gives the barest sign of her true feelings for you—the touch of a hand, a kiss on the cheek—then you must return her affection with all the passion a man can muster. She will say no, no, to test your persistence. Because a man who gives up is weak. So you must press on. Otherwise you’re no man at all.” She spun about and walked away.

“Wait. Eurielle…” He chased after her, calling her, but lost her in the heavy mist.

Joseph had told Jesus that he should expect Elsigar to come calling now that he was out of bed, and sure enough the archdruid summoned Jesus to walk with him up the Tor.

Elsigar pointed out the mysterious ridges, but Jesus already knew what they looked like. He also knew the Tor had been reformed at its base into the shape of a teardrop.

“The reshaping of the Tor has all the signs of magic,” said Elsigar, “and you were the only one at the summit that night. You understand how significant the Tor is to us. It is the gateway to the Underworld, and now it will never be the same.”

“I was not the only one at the summit. God the Father was here, too.” Jesus told Elsigar what God had commanded, that he give himself over to death on a cross. He told Elsigar how he had defied the Father. “It was he, not I, who reshaped the Tor. He made it into a monument to his sadness and anger.”

“This Father you speak of would be the god of your people—the one true god whom you imagine to be the creator of the universe. Is that right?”

“Yes, he is.”

Elsigar shook his head. “And yet you would have me believe that you defy him.”

“I am not sure what I will do when the time comes, but I suppose that would be one way of putting it—that I defy him.”

“I cannot allow any outlander practicing magic to stay in Britain.”

“That is what you said when we first met.”

“I wonder if the damage to the Tor is the price we must pay for my decision to allow you to stay. What you have told me is the most ridiculous story I have ever heard. Too ridiculous to make up, so I suppose you must believe it…and that relieves you of the accusation of practicing magic. I cannot blame you for what any god does, even if you provoked his anger. That is not the same as practicing magic.”

“That is good to hear. I feel I would be starting down the pathway to crucifixion if I return to Galilee right now.”

“As I have watched you over these years, I have never understood how you could worship only one god. You say he commands you to submit to a horrible and shameful death. It must be hard, having your god command you like that, if you have no other god you can turn to instead. You should think about becoming a druid; we have plenty of gods who are not nearly as demanding.”

“I have not decided what I am going to do.”

“Consider it. You have not studied for twenty years like our novices, but you have much of what a druid needs to know already. It will not take you that long, and it would open up a pathway in your life that will keep you off that cross.”

While Jesus was away with Elsigar, Bridget took a large basket into the wild orchard to fetch some apples. She had half-filled the container when a girl popped her head of tousled red hair from behind a tree.

“Hello, Princess Bridget. I thought I was the only one gathering fruit at this hour.”

“I could say the same,” Bridget answered. The girl was thin, but not thin enough to hide behind an apple tree. Where had she come from? “Do I know you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I’m just a common girl. I’m Eurielle. But everyone knows you. Princess of the Belgae.”

Bridget stood on her toes to reach a branch, and drew it down so the shorter girl could reach. “Please help yourself, Eurielle.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am. You’re very kind.” The girl plucked apples from the branch and dropped them in her basket. “Everyone says so. Everyone admires your dedication in staying so long to help Jesus. Even if it is rather foolish.”

Bridget loosed the branch. It snapped away, sending a couple of apples flying. “I beg your pardon?”

“I meant no disrespect, your Highness, but it’s common knowledge that Jesus is devoted to his family.”

“As am I.”

Eurielle laughed. “No, you are devoted only to him. But when you shun his cousin…” She shook her head. “Oh, ma’am. Jesus doesn’t care for people who are rude to Daniel.”

“I have never been rude to Daniel.”

“You scarcely speak to him. And yet he’s so very handsome, and successful, and wise. His silver mines make him one of the richest men in the region.”