The Master's Quilt (28 page)

“Until now.”

“You’re wrong, Malkus. I still love
Rome—perhaps now more than ever. It is the madness that rots within
her I seek to eliminate.” Deucalion sighed. “There was a time when
the Empire was respected throughout the known world. Now we are
feared and reviled. The world no longer trusts our judgment. Rome
and her people have become enfeebled with their lusts. The
citizenry have become blinded to truth. Because they have been fed
lies for so long, they can no longer distinguish between what is
real. . .and what is illusion.”

Malkus frowned, uncertain how to respond.
Deucalion wasn’t saying anything that he himself hadn’t thought
about, more than once. But he had his orders. “About these
documents you spoke of, Deucalion?”

“I’ve hidden them in the city,” lied
Deucalion. “They are the results of my investigation of the
Sanhedrin. A man named Doras—one of the members of the Jerusalem
Council has been conspiring with Antipas to overthrow Caiaphas
and—”

“Doras is dead,” interrupted Malkus.

The news stunned Deucalion. Unseen powers had
obviously been at work in his absence. He hoped Esther hadn’t
overheard their conversation. “Malkus, it’s me Pilate wants,” he
said hurriedly. “He believes I betrayed him; but I assure you, all
I did I have done is for the good of Pilate and Rome.”

“So you say.”

“Think, Malkus! We are not butchers. Think
about why you’re in the Legion, why you’re willing to die for the
Empire in some strange and foreign land. You believe in what you’re
doing.”

“I believe only that Rome must impose order
where there is chaos.”

Deucalion tried another tack. “Let Esther go,
and I’ll return with you to Jerusalem. She’s not a threat to
Pilate. . .or to Rome.”

Malkus was exhausted. Suddenly he was having
trouble thinking clearly. Deucalion’s words were having their
intended effect. “Perhaps you’re right, Commander,” he said
tiredly. “Unfortunately, it is Annas, not Pilate who demands the
woman’s death.”

Deucalion’s eyes widened at the truth.

Malkus cursed himself silently for his
mistake. Now Deucalion would know that he’d lied about taking them
back to Jerusalem. He stared at the imposing figure standing before
him and winced. There was no fear, no anger in his former
Commander’s eyes.

Most unnerving of all, there wasn’t even
resignation. There was only light—a disconcerting,
brilliant
light.

Malkus snapped. “You’ve nothing to bargain
with, Deucalion.” He drew his sword, realizing for the first time
that Deucalion was not armed. “The decision is not mine. It’s over,
Deucalion.”

“Yes, you’re right, Malkus. It
is
finished,” he said, remembering the words Jesus had spoken on the
cross:
“Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they
do.”

He added, “I must die with my failure—but you
and Pilate must live with yours. I forgive you, Malkus, and I pray
to God that He is merciful when you stand before Him in
judgment.”

Deucalion’s penetrating words stung Malkus as
if he had been struck repeatedly with a scourge. His legs went
weak, and he began to tremble. Cursing his weakness, he started to
raise his sword, but the earth heaved violently, throwing both him
and Deucalion to the ground.

Suddenly the rocks surrounding the cave
entrance rolled every which way, scattering chunks of limestone,
dust, and debris in all directions. The earth heaved again, this
time even more violently, and an ominous roar thundered through the
ravine.

The entire cliff seemed to sway.

Dust and small pieces of rock hung suspended
in the air, choking and smothering both men.

Deucalion covered his head with his hands and
arms, as if to somehow ward off the flying rocks. Then he heard
Esther scream. Her voice immediately blended with the dissonant
sound of the earth being torn apart at the seams. He tried to
stand, tried to go to her, but couldn’t. The earth was shaking too
violently.

Chaos reigned.

Malkus fought his way to his knees at the
edge of the cave entrance. Suddenly, a huge boulder was ripped
loose from the ceiling. It clipped him on the shoulder and knocked
him from the ledge. He disappeared into the ravine below with a
muffled scream of agony.

Deucalion scrambled towards the rear of the
cave just as several chunks of limestone, ripped from the ceiling,
came crashing to the floor inches from his legs and feet. “Esther,
are you all right?” he yelled.

There was no reply.

Again the earth shook violently. More rocks
came crashing to the floor. The light in the cave began to dim
rapidly as the entrance filled with rocks and dirt.

Outside the cave, Tacitus attempted to
organize his men. The earth screamed and groaned, as if it were
dying. “Gods protect us!” he cried out, shaking with fear.

He looked across the ravine, wondering what
had happened to Malkus, just as a huge, round slab of glistening
white rock detached itself from the side of the cliff above the
cave. In the blink of an eye it slid down the slope, filling the
small oval of darkness that was the cave entrance. There was a
horrible crunching sound as a hundred-ton section of limestone
crashed to the bottom of the ravine.

Within a matter of minutes the violent
quaking stopped.

An eerie silence, punctuated by intense cries
of pain, settled on the ravine. As the dust and debris began to
settle, Tacitus scrambled towards where the cave had been.

He searched the rubble for Malkus as he went,
calling out his Commander’s name in a hoarse voice. Minutes later
he saw his superior below. Malkus was unconscious, and his leg was
twisted in a sickening direction. Tacitus looked around for help. A
few of the men had been fortunate, and, like him, they weren’t
injured.

He called them by name, ordering them to help
him.

T
he darkness inside
the cave was as solid as the rock that now sealed its entrance.

Deucalion called out to Esther again, his
voice raspy and choked with emotion. There was still no reply.

The violent shaking had stopped and he tried
to stand. A sharp stab of pain raced up the length of his left leg.
When he reached back and felt his calf, his hand came away wet and
sticky. He knew it was blood, and he could feel the jacked edge of
a broken bone protruding through his skin.

He crawled toward the back of the cave,
gritting his teeth against the pain, but stopped when his hand
scraped something hot. There were still some live coals from the
fire. Also, he felt a slight draft of air.
At least we won’t
suffocate
, he thought.

He fumbled in the darkness, burning himself
repeatedly, until he’d gathered up a small pile of embers. Next he
groped for and found a piece of wood, half buried under debris that
had been the ceiling of the small refuge-turned-tomb.

It took some doing but he finally managed to
get a small fire started. The flickering light cast eerie shadows
on the cave walls. He squinted, trying to see better in the
darkness. Fear clutched his heart. Where was she?

Suddenly his eyes stopped roaming the piles
of rubble. He saw her lying at the very back of the cave, covered
with fragments of rock, and she wasn’t moving. Frantic, he crawled
over to her. Blood trickled from her ear. She was badly injured,
but she was alive! He stroked her face, wiping away dust and grime,
then pulled himself up into a sitting position and cradled her head
in his lap. The effort left him weak. He dozed off.

In his arms, Esther moaned. Her eyes
fluttered open. She blinked, trying to orient herself. Her mouth
was dry, and her tongue felt swollen. The lower half of her body
was numb. Frightened, she called Deucalion’s name in a voice that
sounded like wind caressing a field of dry, dead wheat.

When he didn’t respond, she called to him
again, more loudly, more desperately.

Deucalion’s eyes opened instantly.
“Esther?”

“What. . .what happened?”

“Earthquake,” he rasped. “You were struck on
the head by part of the ceiling.” A sharp pain coursed through his
body and he grimaced.

“You’re hurt!” she said.

“My leg’s broken.”

She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. “I can’t
move anything, Deucalion!” she cried, more frightened than she
could ever remember being.

“Shhh. . ., it’s alright, my love. Everything
is alright.”

Esther whispered, “I love you.”

“And I love you—more than I could ever begin
to tell you,” he replied, then adjusted her head so that she would
be more comfortable.

“We’re going to die in this cave, aren’t
we?”

Deucalion nodded.

“I thought it would be more painful,” she
continued, “but it doesn’t hurt at all. I just feel so tired. .
.”

“Rest, my love. Close your eyes and sleep.
When you wake, we’ll be together.”

“Forever?”

“Yes, my little
hadassah
, forever. I
promise.”

Esther smiled. “Hadassah. . .that’s what my
father used to call me.” Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Helplessly, Deucalion watched her life slip
away. He held his hand above her half-parted lips, as if to catch
the breath of life leeching from her and force it back inside her.
He thought of Peter’s captivating words, “Jesus wept,” and he
wanted to cry, but couldn’t. He hurt too much to cry.

He remembered other words of God that Peter
had said near the end of his speech that fateful night he’d made
the decision to accept Esther’s God as his own
.
“The life
of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon the
altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood that
makes atonement for the soul. . .except you eat the flesh of the
Son of man, and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever
eats His flesh and drinks his blood has eternal life; and He will
raise him at the last day.”

Afterwards, when he had questioned Esther
about it, she told him the apostle had quoted the first portion out
of a book called Leviticus—one of five constituting the Jewish
Pentateuch and written by the great Hebrew patriarch, Moses—but
that she wasn’t sure about the second part. Both of them had asked
Barnabas about it and he had told them that the night before Jesus
was crucified The Master had eaten a final meal with his twelve
closest disciples and explained that he was speaking about the
blood of the Lamb of God, the blood of the New Covenant, which was
to be shed for the remission of sins of all who would believe by
faith.

Now, hours passed like minutes. Weak from
loss of blood, Deucalion slipped in and out of consciousness. While
he was conscious, he was extremely thirsty; however, try as he
might, he couldn’t generate any saliva. When he was unconscious, he
dreamed a strange, disconcerting dream:

The land was flat, the air hot and dry.

The two men working the field were forced to
squint in order to block out the harsh glare reflecting off the
dusty, rock-strewn landscape.

No rain had ever fallen upon the field they
now tilled.

They had worked the fields every day for
months now, from dawn until midday, when the heat became so
intolerable that they were forced to rest until late afternoon.
Only then could they return to the tilling and planting.

The younger of the two men, although both
were youthful in appearance sang quietly as he worked, oblivious to
the inhospitable environment. Small rivulets of sweat trickled down
the crevices of his back as he stabbed the parched skin of the
planet with his crude wooden hoe. His perspiration evaporated
quickly upon contact with the air, leaving his body coated with a
crystalline veneer of salt.

Although the two men were brothers, upon
close scrutiny one might believe that they had sprung from the
loins of different fathers. Where his younger brother was tall,
lean and fine boned with narrow shoulders, the older was short and
squat. His broad body sat atop stubby, thick legs, and his whole
frame was covered with a thick carpet of jet-black, coarse, curly
hair.

It was apparent from the way the older one
lashed out at the earth in feverish abandon that he was very angry.
Every few minutes he looked up from where he labored, sweat pouring
off his face, and shouted something unintelligible at the sky,
carrying on a conversation with some unseen tormentor.

Finally, having given himself over to the
voice inside his head, he threw down his tool and headed in the
direction of the small hut he and his brother had constructed as
shelter against the sweltering intensity of the day.

Abel looked up and wondered why Cain had
left his work unfinished.

The relentless, uncompromising onslaught of
the sun campaigned through the morning. After a time, Abel finally
headed for shelter, leaving the earth to battle the implacable heat
in its own way.

He searched the small hut for Cain, but it
was empty. Fatigued, he took several sips of water from the clay
pot sitting near the entrance of the shelter then sat down on the
ground in the shadow of the hut.

He fell into a fitful sleep and when he
awoke the sun gradually slipped over the edge of creation. The
smudged orange glow of day’s last light reflected off the opaque
purple canvas of the sky. The moon, hazy and lavender white, hung
low in the east, suspended like a giant pearl.

He attempted to sit up, but found he could
not; his hands and feet were securely bound, stretching him out
upon the still warm earth like a four point star fallen from
heaven. He was firmly anchored to the ground by four small but
strong wooden stakes.

A dull, throbbing ache pulsed painfully at
the back of his eyes, making it difficult for him to focus clearly.
His mouth tasted like he had eaten sour fruit. He felt like
vomiting.