The Making of the Lamb (38 page)

“Enough of your rambling, Walter!” interrupted another officer, approaching from the rear division on horseback. “We are not here to be preached at. Smash the damned thing if it makes you happy, and let us get on with the slaughter of the royalist pigs!”

The captain ordered three of his men to topple the monument.

Once the statue lay on the ground, one of the young cavalrymen withdrew his axe and was about to swing at the image of the boy on the cross.

Father Argall charged from his hiding place with a wild howl, his black robe fluttering about him as he ran. Tears welled in his eyes. “Saint Michael—defend me in battle!”

His diversion worked. The young soldier dropped his axe and rushed ahead, reaching for the sword on his shoulder. Musketeers moved to the front.

“It’s the papist priest, and he attacks us!” shouted the captain. “Fire!”

The vicar stopped in his tracks as the soldiers raised their muskets. The bullets from the fusillade tore through his body. He fell to the ground.

The parliamentary soldiers paused over his immobile form only a moment. They stripped the church of its ornamentation. They rode off in pursuit of the Cavaliers, leaving the dead priest and the tunic cross forgotten in the field.

“It will difficult to lift, but we must,” said Jowan, the vestryman, to the men with him in the field just outside the village. They had found the granite cross lying on its side, with the image of the Christ child, arms outstretched. As they lifted it onto their cart, Jowan saw markings carved into its base that he had never noticed before. Somehow, they seemed familiar: a series of five lines with cross marks at different angles. The ravages of time had eroded the markings, but they were still visible, and he could feel them with the tip of his finger.

“We’d best be on our way,” said one of the men. “The new Roundhead preacher will be coming anon, and it will not do for him to catch us with the monument.”

Jowan withdrew his hand and helped the others secure the statue in the cart. Within the hour, they had it secreted in a cellar.

Then he remembered where he had seen the weatherworn image before. He walked back to the church, now a plain shell of its former radiance. The icons and reliquary, even the crucifixes, were gone, stripped away as graven images and symbols of popery. He turned to the sacristy and searched among the scattered papers left by poor Father Argall. He found a rubbing, evidently taken from the stone. It clearly showed the same five lines and hatch marks, and above the image were the words Jowan recognized as Father Argall’s handwriting: “The Secret of the Lord.”

It would not do for the rubbing to be found by the new preacher, so Jowan put it in a bottle and hid it in the cellar of the church tower.

Jowan lived to see the restoration of the crown. Every so often he stole into that cellar to gaze at the tunic cross. The boy seemed to be reaching out to him. The cross yearned to tell its secret, and he wondered what it was.

Year by year, season after season, time took its toll on the stone even though the cross lay protected in that cellar. Moisture got in, then froze, and then thawed. Eventually, nothing of the markings was visible on the stone itself, but the graphite was inert, and remained. The worms that eat paper never found their way to the rubbing. No speck of mold or touch of flame got to it.

Ynys Witrin, A.D. 13, during the reign of Augustus, first emperor of Rome

O
n the day after Samhain, when Elsigar and his councilors departed from Ynys Witrin, Esmeralda was on hand to bid them farewell.
The earth is at rest now, but Elsigar has allowed a menace to stay among us.
“Are you still resolved to allow Jesus to go to Ynys Môn?” she asked.
I cannot stop him from bringing the young outlander. The others respect him too much to listen to me.

“Do I take it rightly that you would not approve?” Elsigar asked.

“Most definitely I would not. He has no respect for our gods, and he will bring down their wrath upon us all. Did you not see the light that was left burning through the night after our good people extinguished all theirs?”

“It came from the hut he built for his mother. But what of it? We know these people have their own faith.”

“It is impious.”

“It is not impious to offer hospitality to those who come from afar and allow them to practice their religion if they keep it to themselves.”

“Elsigar, you were such a fool to let them stay when they first came to our shores. He has been practicing magic.”
Maybe I went too far. He looks angry now. An archdruid such as Elsigar is not often called a fool to his face.

“How can you say this? My councilors and I examined the boy when he first came to Britain and found him to be no practitioner of any magical art. Since then he has been nothing but a help to the Dumnonii. If not for him, the pirates from Eire would be knocking at your door.”

“He practices a mysterious and powerful magic. His god longs to conquer our own gods, and it will tear apart the balance of nature.”

“How do you know this?”

“I heard it from his own lips at Beltane. He told me that he walked down from the summit of the Tor through the mists. How could he have avoided being ensnared into the Otherworld unless he had invoked a powerful incantation?” A look of consternation replaced the anger on Elsigar’s face.
He’s finally getting my point.
“You cannot trust him with the knowledge he will gain in Ynys Môn. He will use it against our own gods and destroy us all.”

Elsigar paused before he spoke. “We knew from the start that Jesus is protected by a powerful god. That is not the same as practicing magic. Who does not ask protection from one god or another? We will see what happens when I return for Imbolc. Perhaps Jesus will have lost interest in our festivals by then. If he comes, we will sort it out. In the meantime, remember that I am not such an old fool that I cannot discern the practice of foul magic.”

Esmeralda let out a gasp.
I have angered him too much.
Nonetheless, she opened her mouth to retort.

Elsigar cut her off. “Look to gain your own wisdom, woman, for you surely need it!” He turned and left.

“Elsigar!” she shouted after him.

The druid did not stop to listen.

Perhaps it is for the best. Imbolc is three months away, and the fool will not be around in the meantime to interfere.

“Look outside. How pretty it is!” Jesus said to the others. He turned again to look through the doorway.

“The snow falls deeper here than the dustings we sometimes see in Judea,” said Joseph. “I have seen it like this in parts of Gaul, but it doesn’t often fall this deeply in Britain.”

They were gathered in Mary’s house. Outside, a midwinter storm had covered the field and the treetops in glistening white. Joseph had arrived the day before to winter with Mary and the boys.

“Let’s go outside and run in the snow,” Jesus said to Daniel.

Soon the boys were darting among the apple trees, pelting one another with snowballs. Mary came to the door to watch. “Thank you, Joseph,” she said.

“It is I who should be thanking you. Your son has made me prosper.”

“I never thought I would ever see Jesus so happy. He is a man now, but look at him and Daniel too, as they frolic. They are like children. But it’s so cold out there; shouldn’t they stay inside where it’s warm?”

Joseph laughed. “They will come in when they feel the need.”
She does not know the destiny that awaits her son. Should I share it with her?
Joseph gently held her shoulder.
No, she has been through so much, taking care of her husband for so long only to lose him. Even here, she doesn’t get to see Jesus much. She deserves some happiness. I will not burden her with what I learned in Lugdunum. Jesus loves her dearly, but not even she can change the path he chooses. It is for God to tell her.

“Is something wrong?” asked Mary.

“I was just thinking.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Mary smiled. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

She suspects something. What can I say? Oh, I have it.
“Has Jesus told you about the new lode?”

Mary laughed. “The boys would never talk business with me; I am a woman, after all.”

“Let me tell you. But it is something we must keep secret for a while.”

Mary nodded.

“Jesus found another lode of silver ore. They have been working the first that they found last summer, and they have a lot of ore to work with now. But that first lode is almost played out. Anyway, we have to keep this secret until we make a deal with Grengan. Otherwise, anyone can come along and claim it.”

“What do you do with the ore? It’s just a lot of rocks isn’t it? Are you taking all that rock back to Gaul?”

“It’s far too heavy and bulky. We need to refine it here. The silver is tricky to work with. Daniel knows a little, but I am better at it. That is why I am staying until spring, at least. We could sell the ore to other miners, but we make more money if we refine it ourselves and take it to Gaul. It’s much easier to transport once we refine it into silver.”

“Did you see this bronze vessel that Jesus made for me?” She led Joseph across the room to take a look. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Joseph smiled as he took the vessel in his hands. It was a typical Celtic vessel made of bronze, but with the Celtic patterns inlaid with silver; he had shown Jesus the inlay technique using silver wire. “So, this is what Grengan was talking about. He told me yesterday that the men of the village were making money over the winter crafting vessels for Jesus.”

“Oh, Mother. You spoiled the surprise.” Jesus walked in, pouting. Daniel came close behind.

“I am sorry, son. I didn’t know it was a surprise.”

Joseph turned to Jesus. “This will be great to take back to Gaul. It doesn’t weigh very much, so it can fill our holds after we load up all the heavy tin and silver.”

Joseph was left to his own thoughts as the conversation drifted off.
It’s a bad business that Pirro never got a chance to do this. These vessels will sell anywhere, and this would have worked out so much better for him than the junk he was trying to sell. I wonder where he is. Is he even alive? His Celtic masters in the north likely have worked him to death by now.

Joseph saw Daniel wince as Jesus went on about filling the space in the ships going back to Gaul.
Daniel must be thinking about Pirro, too. He believes Jesus is the Messiah, but how can that be since he caused Pirro to be sold into slavery? Pirro deserved his punishment, but it was a fate worse than death, and what kind of Messiah would be so lacking in compassion?

Horshak, the silver miner, called on Grengan in the Lake Village later that day. The two men embraced.

“I have not seen you since Samhain, and now winter is upon us,” the village king remarked as he poured. “Come, have some fresh cold-brewed mead.”

“Thank you. The cold-brew is the best. It just snaps on the tongue and says hello.” Horshak laughed. “I drink to your health. May the gods protect you and your kin.”

Grengan returned the toast. “So, how did the year go for you in Cheddar?”

“See for yourself. I brought your royalty.” Horshak became serious.
He will be disappointed.
The miner opened a leather purse and offered up three small silver pieces.

“That’s it?” asked Grengan.

“The silver ore becomes harder to find every year. And now my workers desert me. They all want to work for Daniel Bar Joseph.”
He should be angry, but he only seems surprised.

“So, you have come to complain.”

“My family has worked the Cheddar Gorge for generations, and we have paid your royalty every year without complaint. We have worked alongside other miners who come to take the same silver we seek, but always that has been the way of it. And now you let a group of strangers set aside a field with the best ore for themselves. It is not just. It is not pious.”

“It is not for the druids to say how I award mining stakes. The Cheddar Gorge is open to all who pay the royalty because everyone knows where it is. Daniel and his cousin located something new. They have brought prosperity to the village, and they already have paid more royalty than I get from you all year. If I let anyone dig up the silver that others find, no one else will go looking for silver again.”