The Emissary - exerpts

If one wishes to make a study of life in the great cities, Pergamum is a good place to begin. Her engineering feats are there for all to observe: from her wide avenues and her bridges, to her dark alleyways. Her great monuments, range from her majestic temples to her plain roadside shops, to her make-shift shacks, which are typical of any city. Along her streets one will find the same mixture that makes up the social fabric of all the great cities. There are the rich and the poor; the citizens, the common people, the slaves, and the barbarians. All of these can also be divided up into many classes and categories, such as the soldiers; the priests of the great altar of Zeus, and of the lesser temples; the Roman patricians; the Greek thinkers; the businessmen; the vendors; the craftsmen; and the tramps. One can note how interdependent these various groups are; yet, at the same time, one makes the striking observation how unaware some groups are that certain other ones even exist.

There is no reason to think any of them don’t exist, if one keeps one’s eyes open. Even prisoners can occasionally be seen, being led off in chain gangs to some Roman galley. Indeed, if it weren’t for some of the various groups, certain basic needs would go unmet. However, many members of society go about as though their eyes are shut. The patricians see only other patricians, and perhaps their banker and other necessary functionaries, and of course their own slaves. Craftsmen see no one but other craftsmen, and their customers, and occasionally their patron. Thus, we have many worlds, as it were, coexisting within the confines of a common city, unseen and undisturbed by one another, though interdependent.

One world in particular, remains unseen by all the others, rather by choice. Some would say, however, that it is this class that the rest of society would do much better without, and yet they are very much a part of every big city. Their world is centred around those places which others know better than to trespass: certain taverns into which strangers may walk once, but never again; dark alleys, the one end of which one may enter, well supplied for one’s shopping excursion, only to emerge from the other end empty handed and bruised. This, of course, is the world of the thieves, bandits and pimps.

The only requirement for belonging to this world is, simply, not to have the means to become a part of the other classes of society. The ideal candidates include run-away slaves, unemployed labourers, and abandoned children.

To refer to the latter as ‘children,’ seems almost inappropriate. Childhood, as a concept, doesn’t exist in the world of the dark alleyways; only those features that make one useful (or vulnerable), and otherwise unwanted by the rest of society.

Onestos, in many ways, was typical. By his appearance, he could certainly be distinguished as being unwanted. He was of mixed breed, which gave him a slightly darker complexion than most others – or was that from the dirt? There were also the calluses, and the fact that he was evenly burnt all over from the sun. Whereas other boys one sees on their way home from the baths, or on days their clothes are being washed look undressed, Onestos looked as though clothes never even belonged on his body in the first place.

He also had a flat, naughty looking face which was missing a front tooth. He was very small, even for a ten-year-old. However, his size was probably his secret to survival in more ways than one. For one thing, he was never out of a job. He was useful for getting into houses, and unbarring doors from the inside.

Another thing that seems to go along with smallness of size, is aggressiveness – developed by necessity. He sometimes had to fight to get anything to eat, even after all his hard work.

Right now, he was sitting in a corner, at the end of the alleyway, holding onto his share of the bread, eating it silently. It may have been just a little bit more than his share, but just now, no one was contesting him.

No one had really wanted Onestos’s share, but being that he was the smallest, they loved to tease. As is often the case with the smallest in any crowd, Onestos didn’t understand teasing. His defensive posture didn’t allow for that. Also, there was no one smaller than himself for him to tease.

So they had teased him for awhile, until they got him into a desperate fighting mood, and then they left him in peace. By then, the stewed lamb had run out, so Onestos, like some of the others, had only his piece of bread by itself, albeit a large piece, rolled up with nothing to wrap inside.

While everyone recognised Onestos’s usefulness to the team, and there was sometimes a show of camaraderie, it was hard to find even one person in the crowd who could truly be called his friend. The ones closest to his age were his worst enemies.

In one way, perhaps, the ringleader, Agustin could be called a friend, but only because of his professional opinion of Onestos’s usefulness. He made it clear to the older ones, that if any harm came to Onestos, heads would roll.

They knew he meant it, so Onestos was safe.

He knew he was safe, just so long as he obeyed his trusted leader unwaveringly. (By ‘trusted,’ we don’t necessarily mean ‘trust-worthy’ – only that Onestos had no choice but to trust him.)

Onestos finished his piece of bread. He was still a bit hungry.

Usually, if he raised enough of a fuss, he succeeded in getting his way. Maybe he could manage to get another piece of bread.

Most of the boys got one moderate sized piece, but a few of them got two pieces. This was in proportion to their status in the group, or how well liked they were by those who had status, or sometimes, their aggressive-ness, as in the case of Onestos.

Today, some of the more privileged got a chunk of lamb besides. Euthyphro was the next smallest, and he had two smaller pieces, which Onestos was sure amounted to more than his own larger piece. At least one of his pieces was wrapped around a chunk of the stewed lamb.

Euthyphro was better liked by the bigger boys because of his pretty face, and his readiness to allow them to take certain liberties with him. It hadn’t yet occurred to Onestos that he could gain a little bit of popularity by doing the same. He didn’t have the stomach for that kind of thing.

Some would say Onestos was fortunate in that respect, however it also made him hate Euthyphro all the more.

Euthyphro had been especially mean to him lately. So far, he always got away with it, but deep inside, Onestos thought that if he really wanted to, he could beat Euthyphro to a pulp.

Maybe he only needed an excuse. For starters, he could even out the share of the bread.

He scuffled over slowly to where Euthyphro was sitting. Euthyphro’s attention was diverted by Glaucos, who was jabbing him in his ticklish spot. He was still holding on to one of his pieces, trying to eat it between loud laughs, while fending off Glaucos’s long fingers with his other hand. His other piece of bread was precariously balanced on his knee, with the lamb sitting on top, the bread having unrolled. Some of the gravy was dripping off the edge.

Onestos simply took it as it was just about to fall off, and silently scuffled back into his corner. The piece of lamb fell onto the ground, but Onestos picked it up and wrapped it up carefully in the bread.

‘Hey! Who took my food?’ said Euthyphro. The tone of his voice had a playfulness about it, reflecting his assumption that one of the bigger boys had hidden the food for fun.

‘Onis,’ said Seleucos. ‘I saw him.’

‘Did not!’ Onis declared. (Once upon a long long time, when Onestos was a part of a real family, his baby sister found ‘Onis’ easier to pronounce than ‘Onestos.’ The name had stuck).

‘I’ll drown in the Styx if you didn’t!’ said Euthyphro, now in his less humorous tone, usually reserved for Onis. ‘What’s that you got there?’

‘You wanna fight me for it then?’ said Onis, standing up, though not altogether sure how to go about fighting while still holding the disputed morsel in one hand.

‘Give that back to Euthyphro,’ said Glaucos, ‘Or you won’t live to swallow your first bite of it. I don’t care what Agustin says.’

At once, there was Glaucos, Seleucos and another boy, all three, almost twice Onis’s size, towering over him. This was more than he had bargained for. He had only figured on fighting Euthyphro.

Tears began flooding his eyes, but he drowned out his fear by screaming, ‘You get away from me you snake-headed gorgons or I punch you faces in and Agustin’ll kill you for messing with me...’ The rest wasn’t intelligible enough to be understood.

‘What’s going on here?’

It was the voice of Agustin, who had just walked in with a large wineskin over his shoulder.

‘Oh, Agustin, we were just teaching our dear brother not to take more than his share of the food.’

‘To Medusa they were!’ screamed Onis. ‘They gonna kill me over a piece of bread and they lying like bewitched cowards about it!’

Agustin could be quite authoritative if he wanted, but often, he found it easier to appease Onis’s fits of temper.

‘Easy! Easy now!’ he said. ‘C’mon, let him have that one piece of bread. Come on around everyone, I brought us something to drink!’

Onis remained standing there as the others all got around in a circle, and began to pass the wineskin around. Swallowing his sobs, he went over and stuck his head into the circle next to Agustin just as the wineskin was coming around.

‘Not you, you little scamp,’ said Agustin, abruptly snatching the wineskin away from him, so that the half a mouthful that he got ended up dribbling down his chest.

This made the other boys laugh.

Agustin just snarled, coldly, ‘You got your piece of bread. Now, go and get some sleep. We got work to do tonight at exactly midnight, and I want you sober. You make sure you here, you got that? Or you really have it coming.’

Onis got it. He walked, dejected, up the dark alley, and then off towards the bridge. His only consolation was the piece of bread he was nibbling on.

He turned up another alley. When he got to the end of that, he found his favourite spot on the pavement.

An old tramp, Onis was given to believe, had worn the indentation into the pavement by years of sleeping on the same spot. Others were reluctant to sleep there because they were afraid that the spirit of the old tramp would come to haunt them.

Onis didn’t know that until later, after too many comfortable nights on the same spot. Now the others said that Onis showed signs of being possessed by the spirit of ‘Old Man Gobbo,’ especially when they detected that his accounts of certain events were embellished with more detail then the facts probably called for.

He curled up in ‘Old Man Gobbo’s’ spot and nibbled away on his piece of bread.

Just now, he blamed Euthyphro for his being excluded from a share of the wine. He must make it a point to put Euthyphro in his place, he thought. Somewhere, somehow, he must pick a fight, and show who’s superior.

His bread was finished, and he drifted off to sleep.

The bell at the night sentry’s station near the bridge was struck, indicating the beginning of the midnight watch.

That was Onis’s signal.

He had that sense of knowing just when to wake up. He scrambled to his feet, and ran out of the alley, and down the dark empty street until he came to the other alley. There, he slowed down to a walk. Soon, he saw the familiar figure of a man on a mule-cart.

It was Agustin.

‘Let’s move,’ was all he said, as he pulled Onis up onto the wagon behind him. Then, with a throaty command to the mule, accompanied by a swat with the stick, they were off in the direction Onis had come.

Onis knew that Phaedo had been observing a certain villa in one of the finer neighbourhoods, and watching the movements of the occupants. Judging by the direction they were travelling, they were making for that villa.

Finally, they arrived at a narrow back street where Phaedo was waiting for them. He told them that the occupants, including the slave, were away for the evening, and probably wouldn’t be back until the early crowing of the cock – the usual time for house parties to be over.

After making absolutely sure that the street was empty, Agustin directed the mule underneath one of the eaves, and gave Onis his instructions.

‘Get up onto the roof, and down into the courtyard, and let me in through the stable door.’

Standing on an empty box which he had placed on the driver’s seat, he lifted Onis up so that his feet were resting on his shoulders, and his fingers could reach the gutter of the roof. From there, Onis pulled himself up and climbed silently up the tiled slope.

The courtyard was darkened, but Onis could see by the light of the full moon. He looked for a way down.

There were marble columns supporting the eaves all around the courtyard. Growing up one of them, on the far side, was an ivy vine. He made for that.

Carefully, he climbed down the column, gripping onto the vine, until he was on the ground.

From there, he walked to the door leading to the stable. People generally neglected to lock stable doors from the courtyard. He opened it carefully just a crack and slipped in. Now, he was in the stable, where he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Quietly, so that the two horses weren’t awakened, he walked straight ahead to the big stable door. It was barred with a simple plank. With some effort, he lifted it, and the door swung open on it’s own.

Quickly, Agustin slipped inside, and closed the door without replacing the bar, so that Phaedo could follow later when he had found a place to tie up the mule.

Together they walked through into the courtyard. Agustin bowed reverently at the small alter to Apollo in the middle of the courtyard, and made a vow to leave an offering on the way out. Onis also bowed. Then, they began to examine the possible ways to get into any of the rooms in the main section, from which they could search some of the other rooms for valuables.

The rooms on the other three sides were, no doubt, servants rooms, the kitchen and the bathrooms, through which they would find no access to the front section.

Agustin saw a small window near the top of the wall that had been left open. He pointed to it silently, and then lifted Onis up to it. Onis climbed in and landed on a bed.

From the bedroom, he went into a corridor. He looked into the darkness both ways, and remembered which direction was the main room, which opened into the courtyard. He went in that direction. When he had found it, he carefully felt his way to the door, and was about to lift the bar.

He froze.

He could hear voices in the courtyard where there certainly weren’t supposed to be. Perhaps Phaedo had arrived, but there were voices that definitely didn’t sound like Phaedo’s or Agustin’s. It sounded like there was a struggle going on. Agustin was swearing loudly.

Onis stayed where he was, trembling.

What had gone wrong?

It couldn’t be the owners. They were clearly out, because the front door, according to Phaedo, had been padlocked from the outside, and the door to the courtyard, barred from the inside. They would have entered by the front door.

The voices died down outside, but still, Onis didn’t dare to move. He just sat where he was, on the floor next to the door, with his mind in a daze. His ears remained perked for the familiar sound of Agustin’s voice telling him to open up, and that all was well.

After awhile, something began to tell him that he was waiting in vain, but he still waited – just in case.

Time began to pass.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. He still didn’t dare to go outside.

Then, suddenly, he heard the front door being unlocked.

At once, he jumped up, and raced into the corridor from which he had come, knocking a small table over, and breaking a vase as he went. He found the window he had climbed in, and began to climb out. There was no one outside to catch him, so he had to drop himself down.

As he let go of the window ledge, he could hear voices in the main room.

‘That cat again, by Jupiter! I told you not to leave the window open.’

He landed on his feet, doubling up to absorb the shock of the fall. From there, he ran to the column with the ivy, and climbed up.

Finally on the roof, he began to wonder how he would get down the other side. He realised he should have simply gone out the stable door. Now, he didn’t dare take the chance of going back.

The moon had set, so it was now too dark to see where would be a good place to drop. He climbed quietly and carefully up to the peak of the roof, and lay there straddling the ridge.

The very cat referred to by the householder was just now making its nightly inspection tour of its territory, which of course included that very roof and much of what was under it. However, being blamed for a broken vase would certainly result in the window being shut next time, thereby cutting off much of the tom cat’s domain. That, of course, was tomorrow’s problem, and cats, being practical creatures are minded only for the present.

Well should he be, for tonight he almost had a heart attack!

Suddenly finding a boy on one’s roof at this time of night, is unsettling for any cat! After the initial hiss of astonishment, it eyed Onis suspiciously. Apart from the obvious fact that roofs aren’t the natural habitat for boys, this one didn’t seem to pose any threat that a feline should worry himself too much over, being that he simply lay there looking the cat blankly in the eye. He finally walked carefully around him, and went on his way to make sure that its territorial rights hadn’t been further violated by one of his own species.

In the distance, a night sentry’s bell could be heard indicating the watch which begins at the early crowing of the cock . Bells from several other parts of town also were sounded, some rather faintly. The cocks themselves could also be heard crowing – some closer by.

A night sentry once told Onis that it was he who woke up the cocks with his bell, to remind them of their duty, but Onis always suspected that sometimes the more vigilant of the cocks actually woke him up. He had seen the same sentry asleep at his post on more than one occasion.

Slowly, it began to get light. Onis realised that if anyone saw him there, it would be all over.

He slid carefully to the edge, and began to search for an appropriate landing spot. He wasn’t sure if he could manage a jump from so high. As he could have guessed, the cart was gone. Fortunately, there was a garden wall joining this house to the neighbour’s that was high enough for him to land on, and low enough to leap to the ground from.

He went down that way.

It was already broad daylight by the time Onis came near familiar ground. He was ready for a good sleep.

Now that he was clear and safe from danger, his mind was free to wonder what had happened to Agustin, and what would happen to himself if Agustin had indeed been caught. Before that, his mind hadn’t been clear enough to do anything but make the mechanical decisions that his survival depended on.

He was now walking down the street near where his gang hung out.

A boy emerged around the corner.

It was Euthyphro, wearing a wool chlamys over his shoulders woven in a typical Greek pattern. It actually belonged to Glaucos, who often allowed Euthyphro to wear it, being that Euthyphro was a favourite of his. It wasn’t anything special, but Onis had always wanted to wear it.

Euthyphro stopped as soon as he saw Onis standing in front of him.

‘Ha ha! You good as a dead man in Hades!’ he said, in a superior tone.

‘Oh yeah?’ said Onis. ‘Why?’

‘’Cause you turned Agustin in to the magistrate’s men, that’s why.’

‘Did not, by Jupiter!’

‘I’ll drown in the Styx if you didn’t!’ Euthyphro replied. ‘Phaedo said you did, so I know! You gonna die, by Jupiter, and I just can’t wait to see them slit your throat!’

Euthyphro made a graphic gesture with his thumb and then turned and ran in the direction he had come.

Onis, now in a fit of rage, began to chase him. He caught up with him almost immediately, and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to turn around just as Onis gave him a swift punch to the nose.

He thought he could follow this up with another one to the eye, but Euthyphro was quicker than he had judged, and soon the two were engaged in an all out fight.

Unfortunately for Onis, Euthyphro had received some pointers on boxing from some of his older friends. Most of his punches were well placed, while many of Onis’s, though they were more powerful, failed to find their mark.

At some point in the fight Onis would have normally been allowed to give in and be shown mercy. However, this time, Euthyphro knew that Onis was as good as dead anyway, and wanted to get in all his punches now, while Onis was around to give them to.

Onis had no choice but to fight on desperately.

By now, both noses were dripping blood, and each boy had at least one eye that would soon be turning very black. Onis’s lip had been badly pinched between his own teeth and Euthyphro’s fist. Euthyphro’s chlamys was lying a few feet away.

Onis was doing most of the backing off, but somehow, in the tangle, the two got turned around, and Onis was now backing up towards where the chlamys lay.

Suddenly, Euthyphro gave an extra powerful swing to Onis’s jaw, which sent Onis sprawling on his back on top of the chlamys. Onis’s hand naturally clutched onto it as it came to rest.

For some reason, Euthyphro hesitated before diving into him.

In that instant, Onis saw that he had only one recourse. He scrambled to his feet, and almost by accident, took the chlamys with him. As he did, it seemed like a good idea to keep it.

If Euthyphro was a better fighter than Onis, Onis had more practise in running. In the next moment, the two were running down the road, with Onis gaining the headway, and Euthyphro shouting, ‘Get back here with that cloth, you scaly-faced gorgon! That’s mine!’

Finally, when Euthyphro could run no longer, he stopped and began screaming, almost unintelligibly after Onis, something to the effect that he would never get away with this, but that he would certainly be killed in a most hideous manner.

He kept it up until Onis was out of sight.

Then, suddenly realising that he now had a long way to go before he could inform the others of Onis’s whereabouts, he turned around and ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him.

By the time he brought the others to the spot where he had last seen him, Onis was hopelessly gone.

The bigger boys were very unhappy with Euthyphro for letting Onis go. They reminded him all morning, both verbally and otherwise, that had he simply run around the corner to them instead of giving chase, they would have certainly given Onis his due by now. Glaucos, who now had to go about naked, for the loss of his chlamys, was of half a mind to give Euthyphro what Onis had coming.

› › ›

Midday found Onis walking down a Roman road, dragging the chlamys behind him off to somewhere; where, Onis hadn’t a clue. He only knew that at the end of the road was another city, like this one, where he could steal or beg.

Now that he had put some distance between himself and the threat to his life, his mind was once again clear to deal with the other realities of the day so far spent.

Losing a fight to Euthyphro, though, was something he didn’t care to think about just yet, so he blanked it out of his mind for the time being.

Still, there was enough to occupy his mind: the loss of Agustin; the pain from various parts of his tired body, such as his bleeding nose, his black eyes, his swollen lower lip and the other bruises and scrapes ...

– And the necessity of moving on.

Staying in Pergamum was out of the question – if he were to stay alive, anyway. There was no way the others would believe he hadn’t betrayed Agustin.

Who had betrayed Agustin? Certainly not Onis! That, he was sure of. Agustin was the only thing he had going for him.

No. It had to have been Phaedo. He had been acting strange lately.

And, for him there would be both the reward money and the prospect of becoming ringleader of the gang, with all the privileges that went with it, including as much wine as he cared to drink whenever he wanted, and access to some real women instead of having to settle for pretty faced boys.

How convenient it was that Onis was there to take the blame!

How sad for Agustin ...

It had been a long time since Onis had shed a tear over the loss of anyone. Since then, he had learned never to let anybody become so close that it would hurt if they were to be taken away.

A part of him began to feel the sentimental loss of Agustin, but, as was his habit, he buried that in one of the inner recesses of his mind. Soon, it began to occur to him, how much better off he was, now that he was rid of that bunch in Pergamum. They never were anything but trouble anyway. Even Agustin could be a pain at times.

Further down the road he stopped at a well, and washed the dried blood off of his face, and gave himself a bath. There seemed to be no one about, so he helped himself to some figs from a nearby tree. His mind had been too preoccupied, until now, to realise how hungry he was.

Conveniently located some distance from the road was a haystack under the shade of an oak tree. Here, he lay himself down, out of the sight of anyone likely to be concerned, wrapped in the chlamys, and took a long, much needed nap.

Much later, he was again walking down the road to wherever it led.

Being well rested, and having food in his stomach put him into a different frame of mind.

Also, it felt good wearing the chlamys.

This was now crudely tied around his neck by its corners, and draped over his shoulder, so that half of it covered his front, and half covered his back side. The brass buckle, which normally fastens the two corners over the right shoulder, had dropped off in the fight. At least the chlamys was one thing he had now, which he didn’t have before.

That made him look on the brighter side – that, and a little bit of inspiration from ‘Old Man Gobbo’: If he were never to see that bunch in Pergamum again, then who was there to say Onis hadn’t won that fight with Euthyphro?

Maybe Onis had won!

After all, he had a prize. The chlamys was now his. History began to rewrite itself in Onis’s mind as he walked off into the evening.

He could remember owning one other piece of clothing once, ages ago. Now, wearing a chlamys at long last, Onis felt like a man – a free man. Agustin had told him that he was a free man, but somehow, being with that bunch in Pergamum was not really so much better than being a slave.

Onis would never be a slave again – ever.

› › ›

Two years went by...

One tends to think a lot while walking. When travelling long distances on foot, many things can happen. Ideas gel, minds are made up and sometimes one gets to know oneself a little better.

Shaul had had a lot of time to do all of these on this trip. Perhaps that was good in a way, because Shaul had a lot to think about. In another way, it didn’t seem so good. Uncertainties never do at the time.

For Shaul, this trip had been plagued with uncertainties. From the moment he set out from Antioch with Sila, he had wondered if he was doing the right thing. According to common sense, it ought to have been Bar-Naba – not Sila – who came along on this trip. Bar-Naba really would have made all the difference between a success and dismal failure.

Well – it hadn’t come to failure yet, but Shaul had a feeling like he was going nowhere.

He really had no one to blame for it, but himself. He had stood up to Bar-Naba, the man who had done so much for him. It was Bar-Naba who had practically made Shaul what he was. How could all this have been allowed to happen in the first place?

It’s just that Bar-Naba seemed to have a weakness for his nephew, Yochanan Marcos. It was quite obvious to Shaul that Yochanan would never make it as a fellow worker in such an important task.

Bar-Naba apparently saw something in him.

To be fair, Bar-Naba had also seen a lot in Shaul back in the days when everyone else thought he wouldn’t amount to anything. Everyone else had seen Shaul as a ‘has been.’

Bar-Naba looked, and saw a ‘yet to be.’

This time, however, Shaul knew Bar-Naba was definitely mistaken. He just had to put his foot down.

Bar-Naba was not one to control or manipulate, and he refused to be manipulated by anyone, even Shaul. He had decided that he was bringing Yochanan along and that was that. Tempers began to flare. That was the first time Shaul had seen Bar-Naba become upset – at him anyway.

Both finally sat, and stood, and paced silently waiting for the other to speak.

At last, Shaul said, a little bitterly he now had to admit, ‘Well, if that’s the way it’s going be, you just take Yochanan, but I’m not going with you. I’m going a different way.’

That’s when Bar-Naba, with a sudden calmness in his voice that was disarming, said, ‘You know, Shaul? I think that may be what God is saying to us.’

How can God be saying that? Shaul had thought.

Either we take Yochanan with us or we don’t, but certainly breaking up can’t be right! Not when we make such an unbeatable team!

Shaul had to admit to himself he had only said what he did in an effort to manipulate Bar-Naba into seeing the reality of his mistake.

‘No, really Shaul,’ Bar-Naba said as though answering Shaul’s unspoken thoughts. ‘I know I got a little upset awhile ago (and I ask your forgiveness), but I really think, now, the Lord is saying that it’s time you went on your own without me.’

Shaul looked at Bar-Naba and noted that he was looking back with that serious look that hinted that something was going on that only God and Bar-Naba knew.

Was Bar-Naba really on to something?

Perhaps he was just spiritualising to cover up the fact their expectations had become incompatible.

Shaul wondered yet again as he had many times since he left Antioch, Syria, on this trip. Now he was the leader of a new team that appeared to be growing as they went. First, it was just himself and Sila. Then he took on a thirteen-year-old pupil in Lycaonia, and now a Greek doctor seemed to have latched on to him – at least for as long as they were travelling in the same direction.

People were now looking to him for wisdom and solutions just as he had once looked to Bar-Naba.

Could he deliver?

Or had he made a fatal mistake when he consented to part ways with Bar-Naba?

Perhaps only time can tell.

The afternoon was wearing on and the large group with which the four were travelling came near a town.

‘Dorylaeum?’ asked Sila.

‘Dorylaeum,’ Dr. Lucas answered. ‘This is where the road to Bithynia begins.’

‘I still don’t feel at peace with myself about going to Bithynia,’ said Sila. ‘What do you say, Shaul?’

While he certainly didn’t take the place of Bar-Naba, Sila was a great help in being able to understand spiritual direction. He was usually on target with his observations, but he always left it up to Shaul to take it or leave it.

Shaul’s slowness to agree fully with Sila, in this case, was more out of the lack of a clear alternative plan, rather than any desire to go to Bithynia.

‘I say we find a place to sleep for the night, and since they said there’s a market here tomorrow, we can sell some tents. Then we’ll figure it out from there,’ he said.

On passing through Tarsos, Shaul had bought extra material and spent some of his time in Lystra piecing the tents together for sale at local markets that they would pass. He had also begun teaching his pupil, Timotheos how to sew tents.

‘But Rabban, when are we gonna start announcing about the Lord?’ moaned Timotheos wearily. ‘I mean – like we’ve already sold a whole lot of tents, but we haven’t talked about the Lord to hardly anyone yet.’

This trip wasn’t coming even close to meeting his expectations.

Shaul was silent. He shared the boy’s puzzled concern but didn’t say as much to him. This was another one of those uncertainties about this trip.

In the past, whatever Shaul had found at hand to do, he did, and it was successful. He had announced the news that the long promised Messiah had arrived, and people had responded. Out of that response, believers had spontaneously assembled together in various places. Lystra and Derbe were among the places that now had new congregations of those who believed in Messiah Yeshua. Timotheos along with his mother and grandmother were the result of that.

It had been a simple straightforward strategy. Shaul, being a rabbi, practically had a standing invitation to say a word at any synagogue he happened to enter on Shabbat. This, of course, is the only logical place to begin in the task of announcing the arrival of the Jewish Messiah. The Jews would naturally be the most interested, as it is the Jewish prophets who have long promised his arrival.

Besides, the Jews are usually among the cream of society of any given town. They have prosperous businesses, run many of the banks, and have contacts with the leaders of society.

Not only that, but it’s still thought fashionable in some circles of the well-to-do Greeks and Romans to delve into what mysteries of the universe can be learned through study of the Jewish God.

Many of the Jews – and gentiles – being sincerely interested in the scriptures, welcome any new insight that a visiting rabbi could give, so Shaul told them about the Messiah. This usually worked out well until some of the more staunch and conservative members of the Jewish community decided they couldn’t take any more radical new ideas, or else someone visited from another community where Shaul had been previously.

By then, he generally had enough of a following so that a new congregation could be formed. Indeed, they were usually ejected quite forcefully out of the old congregation. Never-the-less it was a congregation that represented a good cross section of society, as it influenced from the top down rather than trying to do it from the poor or working class upward.

However, this also meant that when there was opposition, that was also from the top and was therefore quite severe. Shaul had already come close to losing his life several times.

Now everything was different. Where ever they went, it seemed like the Holy Spirit – that living breath of God Himself, which accompanied them as a friend and guide – wouldn’t let them do very much.

While travelling in the inland areas; populated by the Hellenised Phrygian, Cappadocian, and Galatian peoples, where Shaul had begun to feel at home; he now felt impelled to move on, and not stay long enough to begin anything of any significance.

Then, he had tried the Greek coastal cities of the province of Asia, and now, Bithynia. In the Asian Greek cities, they weren’t even so much as allowed to open their mouths.

Now, it appeared they were being turned aside from Bithynia by that same something on the inside of them.

Shaul was wondering again, this time out loud to Sila.

‘Do you think we’re on the right track?’ His conversations with Sila were usually in Hebrew.

‘I don’t know,’ Sila answered. ‘It seemed to be the right thing when we left Lystra. What did you think then?’

‘I didn’t think anything. It felt natural just to go to the next city down the road once we’d been around to all the old places.’

There was a pause. ‘Do you think we should turn back?’

They both sat silent, thinking, searching their hearts. The sun was setting before them.

They had found a place outside of town where a large group of people were gathering for the night by a river. Some people were preparing their wares for the market the next day.

Shaul and Sila weren’t in the mood to do that right now. They began praying, first mumbling away with whatever words came up from deep inside their hearts, then some giving thanks to God, and otherwise simply enjoying God’s company. After some silence, there was some more mumbling.

Timotheos had found a group of boys about his own age and they had all jumped into the river. Most of them simply threw their clothes off and went in, but some, like Timotheos, saw the need to wash the dust and sweat out of their clothes and jumped in, clothes and all.

Timotheos hadn’t been near water for about three days. Most of the boys were either apprentices, helpers or slaves who had been travelling with their masters; some were message boys carrying a long distance message; and a few were local farm boys.

None of them were Jewish but this didn’t bother Timotheos very much. He was something like a travelling apprentice himself now, so he was beginning to feel at home with the international class of travelling boys he now met so frequently.

He only kept wondering when he would find the opportunity to share the news of the Messiah with them. Most of them had no concept of anything Timotheos felt he could use to help them understand about Messiah Yeshua. This had become a regular topic of his prayers.

Lucas was walking around the town gathering bits of news and information. He also bought some bread and something to go with it for the group.

He had only recently joined Shaul and his company. They had met along the way, and realising that they were following common pursuits, decided to travel together as far as their paths would allow.

Lucas was on his way to Philippi by way of Troas, but he had hoped to make a sight-seeing trip to Bithynia on the way.

Shaul and Sila were not nearly as sure where their path was leading. Lucas had suggested that Shaul and Sila join him in Macedonia. After all, he said, Macedonia and Achaia are a traveller’s paradise.

However, he picked a rather bad moment to say it. Shaul’s response was, ‘Oi! I’ll be a Nazarite from when I set foot on the place ’till the day I leave.’

Usually, he spoke Greek to Lucas, but outbursts such as this, often came out in Hebrew. Lucas had picked up just enough Hebrew to know that this was a rabbinical way of saying, ‘No way!’

Lucas always called Shaul by his Greek name, Paulos.

Shaul and Sila were still seated under a tree. By now the sun had gone down and the darkness was enveloping them.

‘It seems like if we do go back, it would be a step backwards,’ began Shaul. ‘There’s something going on, but I just can’t get a hold of what it is.’

‘That’s right. I’ve been feeling it down here,’ Sila said, placing his fingers on his belly.

‘Let’s pray some more.’

So they did.

› › ›

The next morning was the usual schedule: Up very early, pray, study the Scriptures on the parchment scrolls and papyri codices they had brought, and enjoy God’s presence.

Timotheos had never done so much praying in all his life. He had prayed and read the Bible a lot at home but nothing like this.

Shaul had told him, ‘You’re going into a war now, so you have to change your life style.’

Timotheos had often heard the elders at home describe the work of proclaiming the message of the Messiah as though it were a war. So far, on this trip, Timotheos had seen very little that even vaguely resembled a skirmish, let alone a war.

None the less, after prayer, it was announced that the company would set out right away along with a large group now leaving, and not stay for the market. The next town, they had learned, was one day’s journey westward and had a market on the following day. Both Shaul and Sila felt good about it.

Moreover, they would spend their walking hours in communing with God.

‘So we’re definitely not going to Bithynia?’ asked Lucas.

‘No,’ said both Shaul and Sila.

‘You don’t want to go and see the place, – I mean, we’re not so far, you wouldn’t have to preach or anything, – just look around if you know what I mean,’ said Lucas.

‘No, we’re definitely not to go there,’ answered Shaul. ‘It would just take us out of the way. I know that very strongly deep down inside right now.’

‘Out of the way of what?’ said Timotheos.

‘What God has for us,’ said Sila.

‘What’s that?’

It wasn’t so much the question that Timotheos asked but rather, the tone of voice that Shaul responded to:

‘For you, Timotheos, it could be back to your mother, with the attitude you’ve got right now. You could make us all miss what God has for us. We ARE in a war, and we have to have our directions from the General. But if you want to straighten out your attitude, and tune in to the Holy Spirit, you can hear Him like the rest of us.’

With that, Shaul lifted his heavy pack to his shoulders and turned towards the far end of the road.

He added, ‘All Sila and I know is that we’re on the verge of something big.’

That sobered Timotheos down. It wasn’t so much the prospect of being sent home; rather, it was that the intermediate step would most probably result in a stinging sensation on his behind, administered by his rabbi’s papyri reed switch. That’s what had followed anything spoken by his rabbi in this tone of voice on more than one occasion. He began to pray inside of himself as they once again trudged along the Roman road towards the West.

As for Lucas, he decided that he preferred the company of his new found companions to the beauty of the Bithynian seaside. Something deep inside told him he was probably in for much more of an adventure this way.

Timotheos was seeing quite a different side of Shaul than he had before. Back in Lystra, Shaul was quite a legend.

The miracle working prophet.

That inspired rabbi.

The Emissary of Yeshua.

Whenever he was teaching a group of them in a home or at a public place, there was a charisma about him. Every word drew one to the edge of the seat (or whatever one was sitting on).

Timotheos could remember the first time Rabbi Shaul was in town with Bar-Naba.

His grandmother, Lois took him one day to hear him speak. His grandmother and his mother, Eunice had been hearing Shaul for some time, and life in the home had radically changed.

Timotheos heard the same words that had changed both his mother and grandmother quite visibly. Now, he hung onto every word.

He wasn’t usually interested in such grown-up talk, but this was different. As he received the words, they began to make the same difference in him as well.

After this, Timotheos’s interests began to change. He had been taught to read the Greek alphabet, and a little bit of Hebrew, so he began to do some reading for himself. One of the leaders of the new congregation had some portions of a Greek translation of the Hebrew scriptures on papyrus, so he went often to his house to read. Sometimes he was allowed to bring one of them home.

Timotheos had never been fully accepted into the local synagogue.

His mother, long ago, fell in love with a Greek man, – a gentile, or ‘goy,’ as the Jews call a non-Jew.

He had seemed nice at first. She was sure that the children could be brought up as good Jews. After all, if the mother is Jewish ... right?

Well, after the wedding, things went differently than she expected. Little Timotheos came along and he never so much as got circumcised as all good little Jewish boys are – let alone attend Talmud Torah and become Bar Mitzvah and all that.

Their case was famous among the local Jewish community.

When Timotheos began to show a great interest in learning the scripture, every one was impressed.

‘Send the boy to rabbinical school,’ they said.

Granny Lois’s only response was ‘A yeshiva, did you say? What rabbi will take him when our own melamed won’t even look at him? And why, you ask? I’ll tell you why! That schlemiel that fathered him wouldn’t allow him to be circumcised!’

But what did all this talk have to do with Timotheos? He just continued to gobble up the words of Torah like other boys devour sweets.

About that time, the rabbi made his second trip to Lycaonia, this time with Sila.

Did his grandmother take him, you ask?

He took his grandmother! In fact he practically dragged her!

Rabbi Shaul soon learned about the Bible-whiz-kid, and began to take an interest in him. Even apart from Timotheos’s interest in the Word of God, Shaul could detect a calling on his life.

After a time, the rabbi popped his suggestion which pleased everyone.

‘Send the boy with me, and I’ll teach him Torah.’

Did I say it pleased everyone?

I’m sorry, allow me to correct myself ... everyone except some of the senior members of the older congregation – the one that doesn’t hold with Yeshua being Messiah – who all knew Timotheos’s father as that old Greek man of questionable reputation, and knew that Timotheos hadn’t been circumcised.

‘Oh! Don’t worry about those old bats!’ someone said.

‘No,’ said Rabbi Shaul. ‘If he’s to be a pupil to a rabbi, he’s got to be circumcised (and besides, you shouldn’t call them “old bats”). A lot of my work is in the synagogue, and as he is Jewish through his mother, and he will be accompanying me everywhere, we better do it right.’

So Shaul took him and circumcised him. It is, of course, quite common for Jewish boys Timotheos’s age to have decisions made arbitrarily on their behalf by their elders.

Not that Timotheos would have complained either way. Although it did take a few days to recover, physically, from the circumcision; as far as he was concerned, he had everything to look forward to. Now he wouldn’t have to settle for just reading dusty old papyri sheets, but he could bask 24 hours a day in that charisma that exuded from his own Rabban Shaul!

He soon found out that it wasn’t quite like that.

The Shaul that he heard preaching the deep mysteries of God was the same Shaul that told him to wash the plates in the stream after their meals on the road. The difference was, of course, the words ‘Timotheos, go wash the plates,’ didn’t rumble down into his inner being like hot oil, as did the words, ‘you are a new creation in Messiah Yeshua.’

Also, there were the other things which Timotheos had never thought of as having anything to do with the life of an Emissary of Yeshua – such things as oral traditions and wisdom passed down from the sages, laws regarding planting and reaping, passages out of Exodus and Leviticus that didn’t seem to apply to anything spiritual, astronomy, commerce, mathe-matics, a lot of reciting (writing skills were neglected since they were on the road most of the time).

Then there was the requirement of learning a trade.

Somehow, Timotheos had the impression that the life of faith is supposed to elevate one above the need for such menial things. Yet there was Shaul, on one hand the epitome of miracle living (so his reputation indicated), but on the other hand demanding the ordinary out of him.

Finally, there was that disturbing maxim Timotheos had been practically forced to memorise: ‘Papyrus has two uses in the processes of learning: in its treated form [crushed, flattened and made into wide sheets], as an invaluable aid in reading and writing and the receiving of information; in its raw form [simply plucked from the swamp, and then applied to the pupil’s bare behind], as the means of ridding the pupil’s mind of the obstructions to learning.’ Sometimes life seemed quite unbearable.