Empire's End by Jerry Jenkins, James S. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

the workmanship. Frayed edges and gaping holes clearly allowed in wind, dust, dirt, rocks, and whatever chill the night winds brought. It dawned on me what trade the Lord intended for me to barter here.
    Alastor gestured toward the largest tent, set at the far left end of the compound, and handed Corydon down to me. The lad quickly wriggled from my grasp and ran inside calling, “Mama, a man!”
    I moved to help Alastor, but the old man assured me he was all right and deftly slid off Theo, bellowing a strange name. A young man of ruddy countenance came running from another tent, bowed to me, and was introduced as Nadav.
    â€œOur guest is Paul of Damascus. Bring him water to drink, wash his feet, take his horse to the trough, and let the elders know all will meet him tonight at second watch.”
    â€œYes, Rabbi,” Nadav said. He turned to me. “Welcome, Paul of Damascus.” He looked at Theo and turned back with a puzzled expression.
    â€œHe’ll follow you,” I said.
    Nadav made a clicking sound and Theo followed him to the middle of the compound.
    â€œYou didn’t tell me you were a rabbi, Alastor. Your name—”
    â€œIs not Hebrew. My family is Hellenistic. But yes, I am a lifelong student of the Scriptures.”
    Do not reveal your training
.
    â€œInteresting. As it happens, sir, while I appreciate your hospitality, I am not thirsty, nor are my feet—”
    â€œYou have come a long way, Paul. And don’t deprive the young man the blessing of serving you.”
    â€œVery well.”
    â€œAh, my daughter, Taryn.”
    I could barely make out the lithe, veiled figure just inside the opening of the tent. She stood motionless, seeming to protect Corydon, one dark hand around his shoulder, peeking out from the shadows, the waning sunlight revealing long slender fingers that somehow portended a certain gracefulness.
    It was not my practice to greet unbidden a married woman, let alone a widow, but her own father introduced us. Her entire being seemed hesitant, even unwilling. How fresh must be her grief? Alastor laid a hand gently on my shoulder and nudged me toward her.
    â€œTaryn, our guest is Paul, a brother in Christ from Damascus.”
    She offered a nod and flashed a glance at her father. Annoyance? Panic? Frustration?
    â€œI regret any inconvenience,” I said.
    â€œNot at all,” she said, but her tone and eyes betrayed her.
    â€œNadav will refresh him. Do I smell stew?”
    She nodded, eyes cast down. “Just broth with vegetables and bread. Then some figs.”
    â€œI don’t want to be any extra work,” I said.
    â€œWe have plenty,” she said, backing away. “You are welcome.”
    Somehow I didn’t feel welcome.
    â€œTaryn, please,” Alastor said in a tone more disappointed than scolding, “I have more to tell you.”
    â€œForgive me, Father,” she said, turning back.
    â€œI’ll be back for supper. Please prepare the room for an elders’ meeting at second watch.”
    â€œVery well.”
    Nadav arrived with a cup of water for me to drink and a bowl to wash my feet. Taryn and Corydon had disappeared behind the curtain that separated the two main sections of the tent, and I heard them whispering as she worked. Presently, the boy reappeared and watched intently as Nadav dried my feet. Corydon removed his own sandals and put his tiny feet into mine then amused himself by padding around in them.
    I made a great show of pretending his sandals were mine and trying to force my feet into them. I stood as if I didn’t notice that my toes barely fit through the straps and the heels stopped before the middle of my feet. I strolled to the front of the tent as if to gaze out at the horizon, which made Corydon laugh aloud and call for his mother to “come and see the funny man!”
    â€œI’m not washing your feet again!” Nadav said.
    Taryn pulled back the curtain slightly