Then weâll discuss the situation in greater detail.â Meridias had his chin up and wore an arrogant expression.
âYes, Pappas Meridias,â Pachomius obediently agreed. âIâll be waiting. There is much we need to clarify before we ask our monks to â¦â
They rounded a corner and their voices dropped too low to hear.
âSo, heâs a bishop,â Cyrus said.
Pappas, Greek for âfather,â referred to bishops.
Cyrus quietly said, âCome on. Weâre supposed to be in the crypt translating a book.â
Cyrus turned right and headed down the corridor. Light streamed
through the high windows and illuminated the magnificent vault above them.
Zarathan whispered, âTranslating a book weâve been ordered to burn. If anyone finds out, weâll be executed.â
He studied Cyrus from the corner of his eye. Jairus Claudius Atinius? Why would a bishop from Rome call him by name? If the man had not known Cyrus personally, then someone must have described Cyrus in great detail for the Roman to have recognized him ⦠if indeed he really had recognized him.
Just before they exited into the sunlit garden where palms swayed in the late afternoon breeze, Cyrus stopped and turned. âZarathan, I suppose it is impossible for you to forget the Roman name you just heard.â
With hurt pride, he straightened and answered, âI can keep a secret.â
The lines at the corners of Cyrusâ eyes deepened. He gave Zarathan a short, relieved nod. âI would take that as a great favor, brother.â
FOUR
Mahanayim
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NISAN THE 15TH, THE YEAR 3771
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the earthy scent of the coming storm was heavy on the breeze that swept the dark mountain. Already rain had begun to spot the wool of Yosefâs cloak, and catch like jewels in the golden threads that stitched the fabric.
As they guided their horses up the steep trail toward the pass, starlight glimmered from the leaves of the olive trees and cast uncertain shadows across the rocky slopes.
Yosef studied the darkness, and found himself listening intently for the sound of soldiers, for reins clinking, or a sword being drawn from a scabbard, perhaps spears cutting the air. It would not be long before their crime was discovered, and centurions were sent to hunt them down. He did not know how much time they had. To his servant, riding ahead of him, he called, âYou are a Samaritan, Titus. When will we reach the mountaintop?â
Titus, twenty-five years old, with gray eyes and curly brown hair, had the stony expression of a brave man awaiting his own execution. He replied, âWe should reach the tor by the fifth or sixth hour of night, Master.â 17
âGood. I will be glad when our task is finished. You know the place we are seeking?â
âYes, Master. I grew up here. I know it well.â
Yosef hesitated a moment, then more softly asked, âAnd, as well, you remember what we must do if we fail here?â
âI do, Master, though I pray that is not required of us.â
âAs I do, Titus.â
The third man among them had a face like a scavenger birdâs, narrow and beaked, with alert brown eyes. He wore a long white robe. His name was Mattias, though heâd asked Yosef never to say it aloud in publicâa precaution in case they were caught. He walked two paces behind, leading the packhorse. The poor animal struggled up the trail with its head down, as though the linen-wrapped burden strapped over its back was almost too heavy to bear.
âDo you think they are already after us?â Titus asked.
Yosef reined his horse around a rock before responding, âProbably not. The Law forbids our people from leaving their houses for another two days. Thatâs when theyâll know and notify the praefectus. I pray Petronius makes a good excuse.â
Petronius, a centurion of some reputation, would still have a hard time