Simon and Simon: Passion and Power

By Steve Copland

Simon and Simon is the second novel of a 1st century trilogy. It features two men born just a few miles apart whose lives are dramatically different, Simon Peter and Simon Magus. Simon Peter's passionate life weaves through the story and is contrasted with Magus, the one known as ‘Simon the Sorcerer’. The latter travels to Kashmir and studies the Rig Veda in search of individual power. He returns to Israel where he meets Simon Peter in a small Samaritan town. Triarius is a Roman soldier married for only a few months and sent to the Northern frontier. His wife is pregnant when he leaves and believed to be carrying a son if the witch is correct. He sends orders to dispose of the child if the seer is mistaken. His wife gives birth to a daughter, ‘Triaria’, and secretly raises the child while her husband is away, not knowing if he will return. He does, and discovers the child’s existence, and...well, that would be telling the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Copland
• Release date: Nov 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301742165

Steve Copland

Steve Copland is a self-supported missionary from New Zealand, serving The Lord in Ukraine since 2003. He is member of the pastoral team at New Life evangelical church in Kiev. He lectures on Systematic Theology and Church History at the Ukraine Evangelical Seminary, and also Biblical Studies, Apologetics and Church History at the International Christian University in Kiev.

Book preview

Simon and Simon

Passion and Power

Simon and Simon: Passion and Power

Published by Steve Copland at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Steve Copland

All rights reserved solely by the author. The author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All Biblical quotes are taken from the New International Version.

Acknowledgments:

Thanks again to Cindy R for her hours of proofreading, and Kseniia C for her artistic expertise.

Thanks also to Grubashka for her love, advice, patience, and editing skills.

Author's note:

The details surrounding the death of the Apostle Peter remain unclear. Legends abound, yet no conclusive evidence points to a certain place, time or means by which he parted this world. There is little doubt that he spent some time in Rome, that city he often referred to as 'Babylon'. The author has taken Scripture, legend, and tradition and sought to mould them together into what is, hopefully, an accurate portrayal of the apostle's life and death.

List of characters

Simon Peter: Disciple of Jesus.

Simon Magus: Sorcerer who became the Father of Gnosticism.

Triarius: Roman soldier who sold his daughter into slavery.

Aurelia: Triarius' wife.

Triaria: Daughter of Triarius and Aurelia.

Andrew: Triaria's husband.

Josiah and Ruth: Andrew's parents.

Octavious and Demetria: Aurelia's parents.

Lucius: Roman soldier. His story began in book one and concludes in Simon and Simon.

Vita: Lucius' wife.

Artilius: Roman soldier. His story began in Book one and concludes in Book 3.

Cornelius: Roman centurion who converted to Christianity.

Eleazar: Pharisee in opposition to Jesus. His story concludes in Book 3.

Nero: Emperor of Rome and persecutor of Christians.

Scarras: Ex-mercenary and servant of Nero.

John: Disciple of Jesus.

Chapter One

AD 26-29

Light, misty rain swirled in the mid-morning breeze, carrying the scent of new spring blossoms through the open window. Within the white stone walls of the Roman house a young woman stood before a long silver mirror. Aurelia turned left and right, admiring her round belly, whilst running her fingers over her navel. She had just finished her bath. Her young maid had helped her up, dried her gently, and was fetching a clean white robe from her bedchamber. Aurelia was just two months short of her eighteenth birthday. She wondered if the precious child growing in her womb would choose to arrive before, on, or after the event.

The maid walked in with the robe and Aurelia placed it over the edge of the mirror; she wanted to enjoy the moment a little longer. The beautiful free-standing mirror had been a wedding gift from her parents. She took down the robe and slipped it around her shoulders, tying it loosely. Reclining in a comfortable position on the cushion-covered bench near the center of the room, she began to eat breakfast, a simple meal of dried fruits, salted nuts and goat's milk. Her mind wandered back to the wedding, a day not more than nine months past. In a small room on the second floor of her parents' home she had looked out of the long open window at the guests assembled below. Never had she felt such excitement and joy. Livilla, her dearest friend, was putting the finishing touches to the garland that adorned her hair.

Stand still, Aurelia. You don't want these pins falling out and this...stand still...stupid pin. Alright, I think I have it now. Let me look at you.

Aurelia was beautiful in all the ways that men count beauty. Her dark brown hair, which at present was plaited and pinned in circles around her head, was naturally wavy and reached to her waist. Her eyes were a sparkling mixture of blue and green, and this day they shone with the joy of new life and love. In keeping with tradition, her parents had arranged the marriage to Triarius. Both her father and the father of the groom were military men and good friends. Both families were of the equestrian class, large land- owners and wealthy. Both fathers had served Rome under the reign of Augustus, fighting in various parts of the empire, although nowadays the families lived quite far apart. The bride and groom had met only seven months earlier, yet love had blossomed almost immediately.

Aurelia smiled as she remembered looking down at Triarius waiting patiently under the flowered arch in the garden, which was littered with statues of various Greek and Roman deities. He was everything she admired in a man, well, at least in her father's opinion. Triarius was tall for a Roman, well-built and well-educated. His chiseled features gave him the appearance of one of the Greek gods of old, and standing with a wreath upon his blonde head in a white robe, looked as if he may well have recently descended from the skies to claim his bride. Livilla had clasped her hands, smiling broadly as she finished Aurelia's hair, standing back to admire her handiwork.

Time for you to become a wife, dear friend; we better not keep your man waiting...don't want him to run away.

Aurelia hugged her and giggled. He's not going anywhere.

Aurelia's daydream was interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps and the door creaking on iron hinges. Sounds of rain from the street beyond reached her ears as Triarius entered the spacious house and, after removing his wet sandals and helmet, began unbuckling his outer armor as servants came to attend him.

How are my beautiful wife and unborn son this morning? he asked, as he bent over, kissing her forehead and gently running his palm over her belly.

We are both very well, my lord, she said with a beaming smile. What brings you back so early in the day?

Bad news, I'm afraid. There's trouble on the Northern Front. The generals have called for reinforcements. We leave at first light.

But...but that will mean...that will mean...

Yes, Aurelia...it means that I will not be here for the birth of our son. He stroked her hair and ran the back of his hand softly down her cheek. This is the life of a knight...what can I do?

For how long will you be away? she asked, in the hope that he might be gone for just a short time.

Triarius sat down on the edge of the bench. He looked into her moistening eyes and shook his head.

The commander told us that we should let our families know that this mission may take years. I spoke to him for a few minutes, and he said that every available soldier is being called north because the war is going badly. Barbarians are crossing the river into Gaul and attacking Roman forts.

I want you to be here, Triarius...here to greet our firstborn son, she exclaimed, lifting her hand to his face.

Aurelia's early pregnancy had forged a deep love between them. After the seer had suspended a large red amulet over Aurelia's belly, confidently declaring that a male heir was growing within his wife, Triarius had quickly become a doting and patient husband.

I will return, Aurelia. Drusus will watch my back and Livilla will be here to help you through the birth. The gods are looking out for us, wife. We must be thankful for the time we have had together and the life soon to be born. Livilla and Drusus have been trying to create a child for almost two years, yet we have been blessed immediately.

He leaned forward and kissed her lips lightly, then held her in loving arms. I wish I could stay with you tonight, but I must return to the garrison; I have to prepare to leave.

Triarius stood and walked to the door, retrieved his leather armor and strapped it on. Aurelia joined him and they embraced. Outside the rain had stopped. The hot summer sun shone through the broken clouds, causing steam to rise on the wet cobblestones.

I will write...as often as I can. When I return, we will celebrate, I promise. He bent and kissed her, pulled on his sandals and stepped into the sunlight carrying his helmet. Aurelia stood against the door, her hand supporting her belly. She watched him stride between the two-storied houses towards the corner, admiring his form. As he reached the junction, he turned and waved. She lifted her free hand and watched as he disappeared from view. For a brief moment a feeling of relief washed over her.

~~~~

He was born in a small town called Gittham or Gitta, as it was also known, an insignificant village on the road from Caesarea to Shechem in Samaria. Being a Samaritan meant that at the time of his birth he received not only the inheritance of his father but also the hatred of his enemies. The long-standing bitterness between Jew and Samaritan was not simply a thing of birth, as some suggested, but dated back through the centuries. Once the area was the capital of Israel and sported a beautiful temple on Mount Gerizim, the same mountain where Abraham offered sacrifices to God centuries before.

But despite the obvious connections to Israel's patriarch, those in Jerusalem considered all Samaritans heretics, and if one considered the powerful influence of Greek culture and the Samaritans' acceptance of other gods, perhaps at least for Jews, the title was well-earned.

For Simon, being a Samaritan was simply to be what he was. His father's roots were in Italy and his mother, Rachel, was a Jewess from the tribe of Benjamin, although she admitted there was also a possibility of Babylonian blood flowing in her veins. The family had moved to Shechem while Simon was still a boy, as his father found a lucrative position guarding the caravans of the rich merchants who traveled to the Far East.

If one were to look for a source of unnatural curiosity Simon had for magic, sorcery, and the like, his father's strange tales of half-naked sages and sacred rivers would be a good place to start. The boy would sit for hours listening to him describing the long journey through Persia, Scythia and finally Ariaca, the land where the sacred river Ganges flowed from mountains which disappeared into the heavens, of sandy deserts and endless green valleys. He told tales of temples filled with cross-legged priests in colored garments, moaning in strange tongues as hundreds of burning sticks filled the air with the sweet smell of incense.

But the stories which fascinated young Simon the most were those of the sages who lived in the caves in the north of this mysterious land, right beneath the mountains, surrounded by huge flowering trees and waterfalls. Kaashmira, as he called it, sounded like the Hebrew stories of Eden, although the winters there would sometimes freeze the lakes and cover the land with knee-deep snow. It was said that these strange men of ancient wisdom could do almost anything; indeed, even the wild animals revered them as gods and visited them to pay their respects.

Simon's father, Antonius, although little more than a well-paid mercenary-guard, was also something of a philosopher. Antonius could wax lyrical about Socrates and Plato, having learned much of the Greeks on his travels. He had learned to speak the ancient language of the Aryans while waiting in Kaashmira for a caravan to escort to Caesarea. The wait lasted most of a year. By the end of the year his command of Sanskrit was admirable. His teacher had rewarded the diligence of his student with a copy of the ninth mandala of the Rig Veda. The mandala became just one of a fair-sized collection of religious and philosophical texts which he acquired by one means or other in his travels.

By the time he was fifteen, Simon could read in several languages, including Greek, Hebrew and Sanskrit. He was also well educated in the writings of Moses and the Jewish prophets, Greek philosophy, the Upanishads, and the teachings of Gotama. Simon was particularly fond of the philosophy of Epicurus, the philosopher who questioned how evil could exist if God were both all-powerful and all-loving, but his favorite Greek poem, On the Nature of Things, written by Epicurus' disciple Lucretius, expounded the idea that humanity shouldn't fear gods. Even at fifteen Simon shared Lucretius' view.

His friends considered him to be quite strange. Although he wasn't completely disinterested in talking about the mysteries of the opposite sex, it was much more likely that he would be found testing some new idea that had come to mind after reading his father's odd scrolls. One of his tutors liked to tell the story of the day he saw Simon sitting cross-legged in front of a pool of water while opening and closing his eyes.

What are you doing, Simon? the teacher asked him.

Please be quiet, sir, Simon replied. I am trying to concentrate.

What exactly are you concentrating on, if I may ask? enquired the man.

I want to see if the axe will float.

Axe…what axe? asked the teacher, somewhat perplexed by the strange reply.

Simon opened his eyes and stared at the middle-aged man with a rather annoyed look on his face.

Today I was reading in the prophets of Israel where Elijah…or was it Elisha…it doesn't matter who it was…made an axe float. In my father's scrolls, making objects float is common. There is even a description of how to do it. I am trying to float the axe.

So you threw your father's axe into the pool, Simon? the tutor asked, now amused.

Yes, sir...and if I am not successful in my meditations, I will simply step into the pool and retrieve it. It isn't deep.

Would you not rather be playing with the other boys?

I invited some of them to join me, but they were not interested, he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

The teacher sat down on a large stone near the pool. Simon, he asked, do you really think that just anyone can make an axe float? Don't you think that the prophet had been given special power from God?

When I was young, Simon replied, I used to believe that, but not anymore.

The teacher smiled broadly at this. The boy was only fifteen.

When you were young?

Yes, sir. Some years ago. Our Hebrew tutor explained that only the prophets could do these things because they'd been given this power by God. I asked him how Pharaoh's magicians had managed to copy the signs of Moses. I was scolded for my question.

So now what do you think?

Now I think that there is a secret knowledge that anyone can learn; knowledge that people claim to be the power of a god. In the East it is taught that we are all gods and that there are no gods.

Do you understand this teaching, Simon?

Not yet…but one day I will travel there and learn. I will one day float this stupid axe. One day I will be known as Simon Magus.

He got up, waded into the pool, lifted the axe out of the water, wiped it on his clothes and left for home, even forgetting to say goodbye to his tutor who sat there smiling and shaking his head.

~~~~

A few days after the legion left Rome, a messenger arrived from her parents' estate inviting both her and Livilla to come and stay. Aurelia decided that having her mother and best friend with her for the birth was a good idea. She had her chief maid set about packing a few items to take with her. Two of the servants would stay and keep the house in order, collect her husband's wages from the paymaster and deliver any letters which arrived from the Northern Front.

By noon, she and Livilla were sitting comfortably in a small carriage leaving Rome. Aurelia leaned back against the cushions inside the closed carriage, holding her swollen belly as the vehicle clattered over the Roman cobbles.

How are you feeling? Livilla asked.

Like someone is using my belly as a drum...but it's not painful...we'll be fine.

It's only about ten miles, Aurelia...we'll prepare a nice bath and oils for you when we arrive. Have to look after our little mother, she said with a loving smile.

Livilla was an exceptional friend. She had married Drusus almost a year before her best friend's wedding, but to date she was childless and, with Drusus away to the north, she would stay that way. They arrived at the estate in the early evening and within hours both women were settled in.

Aurelia was anxious for news from the front. When a servant arrived from Rome three weeks later bearing a sealed letter, she was elated. Sitting on a cushion near the window, she opened the small scroll and began to read. Triarius assured her that all was well, spoke of the cold wet weather, and said he was praying to the gods for a successful and safe delivery. Then the tone of his letter changed.

'I know, dear wife, that we are expecting a son, and I am confident that the witch was correct in her predictions. I was expecting to be in Rome for the birth, but now that I am away, I must be sure that you know what to do if the hag was wrong. If it is a son, as the seer said, welcome him into the world with joy and tell him his father will soon be home. If the witch was wrong, expose the child. I will not return to a daughter!'

Aurelia felt the child kick within her womb. She winced. She rolled the scroll and held her belly. At that moment a powerful sense of intuition washed over her, a conviction as clear as reading words off a page. The child she carried was a girl. Exposing unwanted daughters had become a Roman habit; indeed, the empire which had invented abortion had come to regard the life of a female child as a thing worth less than a country slave. Mothers were forced to place their naked children outside the house exposing them to the elements and the fate of gods.

Aurelia felt a sense of panic. Would her parents support her if she chose to disobey her husband? Perhaps she should leave and return to Rome, or perhaps she would simply keep Triarius' orders a secret. As her initial panic began to dissolve, another feeling crept into its place, a maternal instinct. In her heart Aurelia was pleased that some quirk of fate had seen her husband taken from Rome. Perhaps the gods were on her side, but one thing was certain, no one would take the life of her child, not while she drew breath. She rose slowly and taking the small scroll placed it in the bottom of a small chest of things she had brought with her.

The contractions began around midnight, just three days before her eighteenth birthday. Aurelia lay still for almost a minute as the sensation passed, then slowly rolled her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. She had spent considerable time talking to the midwife about the birthing process, what to expect and what to do. The old woman, who had brought hundreds of children into the world, was asleep in the next room, a fact that was evidenced by the loud snoring passing through the walls. Livilla was sleeping soundly on the opposite side of the large bed.

Soft orange light from a single oil lamp illuminated the room. Aurelia rose and walked carefully to the small table near the window and poured water. The midwife had insisted that she drink plenty and try to keep moving around for the first few hours after her first contraction. She sat on the window bench and gazed outside. The garden looked different at night. The two old oaks which stood near the center had been witnesses of her marriage to Triarius, their great branches providing ample shade for the guests. The leaves seemed to sparkle like tiny lights as a warm breeze moved them gently in the silver light of an almost full moon.

Another contraction began. Aurelia estimated that it was perhaps fifteen minutes from the first, and again it lasted for almost a minute. She felt excitement, indeed, she wanted to wake Livilla and the entire house, but the midwife had looked as stern as a schoolmaster when she lectured Aurelia about shouting the house down at the first signs that the baby was coming.

You'll be half a day gone before you need me, unless you're having severe pain or you see blood on your linen. So don't go dragging me out of my bed to tell me things have started unless there's something to worry about. I'm a woman who likes her sleep and I don't appreciate sitting around watching first-timers have their pains half an hour apart.

Aurelia rose, took the small lamp and went back to the bed. There was a small wet patch where she had been lying but no discernible discolor that she could see. She went to a shelf in the corner of the room and took down a fresh loin cloth. She opened the loose robe, changed the cloth, and returned to the window seat.

Can't sleep? Aurelia turned to see Livilla rolling onto her side.

The baby is coming, she replied with a broad smile.

Livilla turned quickly and virtually leaped out of bed, heading for the door. Livilla, wait! Don't wake the midwife just yet.

Livilla stopped, her hand on the latch. But we had better get her to take a look at you...umm...just to make sure everything is alright, Livilla said as she grabbed her robe and placed it around her shoulders.

Livilla, everything is fine...there's no need for you to run half-naked through the house waking everyone. Come, sit with me.

Maybe you should lie down? her friend suggested.

Livilla, calm down! The midwife said that the first stage of birthing usually takes about half a day. She told me just to drink plenty of water and move around gently. She also made it very clear not to wake her unless there was a problem.

Another contraction began, and Aurelia held her belly and leaned back slightly. Livilla strode over to the window with a concerned look on her face.

Are you in pain...are you alright? I'm going to get the midwife, she said, turning to the door which joined the rooms.

Livilla! Stop fussing and come here...now! Aurelia ordered. If you do not stop running around as if the house is on fire, you are going to make me nervous. It was just a little labor pain; it's normal and right on schedule. Come, please, just sit with me and enjoy the moment together.

Livilla moved back to the window seat reluctantly and poured Aurelia a cup of water.

I'm sorry. My best friend has never had a baby before, she said smiling nervously.

Don't worry, I'll hold your hand and help you through it, Aurelia replied, grabbing Livilla's hand and laughing.

They hugged and laughed. I'm so happy for you, Aurelia...and also a little jealous.

You won't be jealous later from what I'm told, Aurelia said smiling.

Are you nervous about it? Livilla asked.

No...not at all. Not about giving birth.

Livilla looked at her friend and noticed the smile had raced away. Come now...I know that look well. Something is troubling you.

Aurelia ran her hand around her swollen abdomen and looked into her friend's eyes. I am not having a son, Livilla; the child within me is a girl.

How can you know this for sure? The seer said you were having a son.

Yes, she did, but my daughter disagrees with her. I don't know how I know, I just know. There's something I want to show you, but you must swear to keep it secret.

Of course, Livilla replied. What is it?

In the chest I brought from Rome, at the bottom under the robes, you'll find a scroll. Bring it here.

Another contraction began, lasted for about thirty seconds, and stopped. Livilla found the letter and brought it back to Aurelia.

Read it, but not out loud, Aurelia whispered softly as she stood and walked slowly around the room.

Livilla moved the lamp to give her light and read the letter. When she came to the words which had pierced her friend's heart, she stopped and dropped the letter on the table. Aurelia came and sat beside her. Livilla looked up at her as a tear escaped from her eye.

Just like his father...oh, Aurelia...I'm so sorry. Why didn't you tell me sooner?

I will not expose my child when she is born, Livilla...not for any man.

How will you keep it from him? she asked softly, reaching out and taking Aurelia's hand.

I don't know yet, but I will never give up my child, she said firmly.

Perhaps you are having a son...perhaps your feelings are wrong.

No. When I first read those words the baby kicked me so hard...it was as if she had read them herself. In that moment I knew I was bringing a daughter into this world of men.

Another contraction came and passed.

Triarius' father is away at the front with the legion, and I doubt he is writing to Sophia. In any case, from what I've been told, she would never tell him anything unless forced to. He's a Roman to the core, that man. Your mother told me how he forced Sophia to abort their second child because the seer predicted a daughter. That was the end of her childbearing days.

It would seem that my husband is made in the image of his father, Aurelia exclaimed.

Or perhaps his father ordered him to write the letter, Livilla suggested.

Aurelia looked up at her friend and forced a smile. My parents will stand beside me whatever I decide to do, and I know that you will help me, dear friend.

But you will need to write and tell him about the birth...what will you say?

I was thinking about that. Perhaps my daughter will be staying at a dear friend's house, and I will simply tell him that the child is gone. In any case, neither of us have any way of knowing if our husbands will return from the front. I love Triarius, but in this I must disobey him. If I did as he has commanded, which I will not, and he never returned to me, I would lose my husband and child.

Another contraction came, and the two women smiled.

We will cross each bridge as we arrive at it, Aurelia, Livilla said, stroking her friend's cheek. I will be here, and, by whatever fate the gods have decided, we will find a way.

Aurelia looked out of the window as the first gray light of the imminent dawn began to erase the shadows of the moonlight.

It will be dawn soon. Let's find something to eat and wake the others. Mother will be cross if she misses anything important, she said, as she rose and walked towards the door.

She turned to Livilla and smiled. Thank you for being such a dear friend. Please put the letter back where it was.

Livilla picked up the scroll and placed it back in the chest, came to the door and took her friend's arm.

And what would you like for your last breakfast before you become a mother?

Aurelia laughed as she held her belly softly. Don't be so sure...these things can take days, I'm told.

~~~~

After four years of pestering him, Simon's father, Antonius, agreed to let the boy join him on a caravan bound for Ariaca and India. The contract required him to travel through Persia, carrying mostly gold and jewels for payment of the goods they would bring back for the merchants in Jerusalem, Caesarea, and Damascus. As usual, in excess of twenty armed men would guard the caravan. Most would be mounted on horseback whilst a smaller group would lead several strings of camels. It was a difficult road and, depending on the weather, slower than finishing the journey via the Red Sea route, but Feroz hated the idea of trying to fight pirates from the deck of a boat.

Throughout the year before his twenty third birthday, Antonius made Simon train with sword and bow. In truth, he was a difficult student. He had no desire to learn physical combat, but as it was a pre-condition to his making this trip, he submitted and tried to look ferocious as he blocked, parried, thrust and sliced with the wooden practice weapon. He found he enjoyed archery more. He had this notion that the arrow might be guided by more than sheer physical skill. He had read in his father's scrolls about eastern priestly warriors who could close their eyes and guide their projectiles mentally. After he had lost several arrows to the desert while trying to hit a target with his eyes closed, his father had decided to teach him the craft of fitting heads and feathers to chosen wood in order to make him more careful.

In the spring of Simon's twenty fourth year they set out for Damascus to meet the main body of the caravan. Simon could hardly contain his excitement as he farewelled his mother, mounted his horse and fell in beside the other three riders from Shechem. Simon had seen them before on those occasions when his father was leaving on a journey. He had never taken the slightest interest in such men or their profession, but now that they would be traveling companions he looked more closely. They were rough characters, especially the man Feroz who came from the Far North, hardened from the rigors of the life he had chosen. Feroz sent a silent prayer to Atar and Vayu, the ancient Persian gods of fire and wind. Antonius waved to his wife Rachel and led them down the road.

They rode east to the Jordan River, taking the main road north towards the Sea of Galilee. On the shores of the fresh water sea Herod had almost completed the construction of a new city which would be named Tiberias in honor of the emperor who had been ruling for a few years. Three of Antonius' men were camped there, as work was plentiful for mercenaries guarding payroll caravans, although these were often under the control of the Roman garrison at Magdala, five miles further north.

They arrived at Beth Shan in the late afternoon. The small city was situated on the Jalud River which flowed into the Jordan and was always a welcome stop to Jew and Gentile alike, being close to halfway to Galilee. They stayed at an inn often frequented by Feroz. One of his past traveling companions had given up his life in the saddle and taken to serving food, making a living from the traveling trade. Barid was pleased to see them. They kissed as they met, clasping arms in the way of comrades.

Barid, you old Persian goat, you're getting fatter every time I see you, commented Antonius, as he patted his friend's protruding belly.

Too much good wine and food…not enough sword work or women, he joked, enjoying seeing a man with whom he had often faced death.

Speaking of women, where is that fine wife of yours? She makes the best lamb roll in all of Palestine.

A petite, graying woman appeared from the kitchen, offering a welcome smile toward the travelers.

It is good to see you, Antonius. I take it you would like to dine on lamb this evening? she asked.

Whatever you cook will be welcome, Gatha, replied Antonius.

Barid came up to Simon and greeted him. Your boy is a man, Antonius, and better looking than you. So, young Simon, it seems that you will follow in your father's footsteps? he asked, looking the young man up and down.

Simon was not sure of how he should reply.I am more of a scholar than a fighter, Master Barid, he said.

Just Barid will do, young man. No one calls me master if I can help it. A scholar, eh? he said, turning to Antonius. Must take after your mother, he laughed.

They took care of their horses, washed, and sat down to a dinner of rolled lamb with fresh bread dipped in mint, honey and vinegar sauce. Antonius and Barid told stories of their traveling exploits, entertaining everyone with exaggerations and contradictions.

Do you remember the fight you had with that monster from Merv, Barid? Antonius asked with a wicked grin on his face. Do you see this man's smile, my friends? he continued, pointing to Barid's row of perfect teeth. Can you imagine a brawler like Barid with perfect teeth? One evening we entered an establishment in the city of Merv. There was this monster there who was the personal bodyguard of some official of the city. I swear the man had fangs and horns. Anyway, he had too much to drink and started insulting our Barid. Our Persian host fronted up to the fellow, and fists started to fly. After three tables had been destroyed, and a good quantity of bad wine, Barid got the better of him, but not before the man had knocked out his tooth. Old Barid here went over, picked up the tooth, cleaned it and stuck it back in. The funniest thing I've ever seen, he said chuckling.

Saw a soldier do it once, explained Barid. Worked for him and worked for me, he said smiling.

The next morning they farewelled Barid and Gatha and headed north. The road to Galilee along the Jordan was always beautiful at this time of year. Spring blossoms were bursting from hundreds of fruit trees that lined the road, and new green barley and wheat stood tall in the fields. Along the roadside peasants sat on small wooden stools behind tables covered with various foods for sale. Dried fish and meats, bread, relish and vegetables which had been stored over winter, all were displayed for a hungry traveler.

They passed wagons of various building materials on route to Tiberias. Rumors claimed that the city was splendid in every way. The extravagance of Herod Antipas was legendary, and, like his father Herod the Great, he had a bent towards building architectural monuments as a legacy of his reign. It was almost thirty years since the latter had sent soldiers to slay the innocent children of Bethlehem. People said he had been informed by foreign noblemen of the birth of a child-king. Herod was not the kind to tolerate anyone who might usurp him, so his soldiers had carried out the evil task of murdering hundreds of Jewish boys two years old and under. He had earned the hatred of the people with the heinous act and, it was said, the wrath of God, for he died about ten years later consumed by worms. No one knew if the child he had sought to destroy had survived or not.

By evening they had arrived at the fledgling city. They camped on the outskirts of the town beside the shore of Galilee. That night they feasted on fresh fish which they purchased from a young boy with a line. He was delighted to have earned the coin. After cleaning the fish, Simon prepared a fire and placed flat black stones in the center of the embers. He placed a small iron pan on the stones, a few drops of oil in the pan, and within minutes the smell of their evening meal filled the cool still air. As the sun set behind them, the moon rose full on the eastern shore of Galilee, lighting a silver path across the still clear water towards the Decapolis on the other side. Simon was so taken with the beautiful sight that he burned one of the fish.

It is beautiful, Simon…this land of the Jews, commented Antonius, as he came to stand behind the young man. But you will see sights that will take away the very breath in your lungs; water falling from mountains a thousand times the height of a man; the roaring sound like thunder and the ground shaking under your feet. But…enjoy Galilee. It has a charm of its own. Just don't burn the fish, he said, rubbing the young man's hair.

Later, Simon fell asleep to the sound of frogs in a small pond near the lake's edge. He dreamt he was flying over mountains and trees, soaring like a bird…and then he was falling, falling back to earth where he belonged.

~~~~

Livilla arrived at Aurelia's home as the sun was setting over the Seven Hills of Rome. She hurriedly removed her sandals and, carrying a basket of items she had purchased, entered the room.

How is she? she asked worriedly.

Aurelia sat on the edge of the large bed applying a cold wet cloth to the forehead of the little girl who lay there sleeping.

I think the fever is abating. Did you find the elixir in the market?

Yes, I have it. Give me a moment. The physician said to mix it with water before she drinks it. He also said not to worry as there are many with this fever in the city and it usually lasts only a few days.

Livilla poured part of the bluish liquid into a small clay cup and mixed it with water.

Here...you'll have to wake her, she said, as she passed it to her friend.

Aurelia placed her hand under her daughter's head and raised her up gently. The child opened her eyes.

Drink this, Triaria, she coaxed lovingly, placing the cup on the little girl's lips.

Triaria opened her mouth slightly and swallowed the diluted mixture. Aurelia lowered her head, and, almost immediately, the child closed her eyes and fell back into sleep.

She's a strong girl, Aurelia. She'll be fine, Livilla offered. Got to have her up and running around for our celebrations next week. I am going to spoil both of you on your birthdays, and Drusus has a special surprise for our little princess.

How is his leg? Aurelia asked.

It still gives him a lot of pain, and he'll probably need to use a cane for a long time, but at least he's not lying dead in some god-forsaken place in the north.

Drusus had been sent home from the front after almost three years of fighting. The wound he had sustained from an enemy spear had almost crippled him. Livilla was glad to have him home.

Have you written to Triarius since his last letter? Livilla asked carefully.

Livilla...please...it is enough that my mother should be telling me to write every chance she gets. No, I have not written to him, but I will.

Aurelia removed the damp cloth, rinsed it in a bowl that sat beside the bed, wrung it out and replaced it.

Little Triaria...she is so beautiful, Aurelia.

Aurelia looked adoringly at the child lying on the bed beside her. She would be four years old in a few days, just one day after her own birthday. The birth had gone well. The midwife was a competent woman, albeit a somewhat stern one. There had been no complications to speak of, but little Triaria had made them wait for over twenty hours before she decided to come into this world. Aurelia's mother had simply smiled at her as she brought Triaria cleaned and wrapped to the new mother to suckle. Her father had come into the room a few hours later and, taking her hand, told her that he was thrilled to have a grandchild.

On her naming day she chose to honor her husband. Triaria meant 'little soldier' and she was her father's daughter, whether he knew it or not. Her hair was as blonde as his, her eyes a deep crystal blue. Indeed, she was the image of the man who had demanded she be given to the elements. Aurelia had sent him a letter some weeks after the birth of their daughter. It was carefully worded and skillfully cryptic.

'I hope you are well and safe, Triarius. Forgive me for being the bearer of ill news, but we do not have a son. Perhaps the gods will grant us better favor when you return. I am well despite the ordeal.'

The letters she had received since had plied her for more details. Had she given birth to a stillborn child, had she brought a girl into the world and, if so, had she obeyed his demands? His letters had hardened her heart. She reasoned that he was a good man under a bad influence; she reasoned that he had never seen the beautiful child they had created in love, and within her reasoning she was able to forgive the cruel words. Triaria was a delight to all who knew her. None had betrayed her existence to a man who might never return from the field of battle, even Drusus who had fought alongside his friend. Triaria had taken a liking to him from the moment they met, and Drusus, although in the beginning feeling as though he might be dishonoring his friend's wishes, had come to love Triaria as his own daughter.

Yet all knew that none could stop time or tide and that someday, if the gods of fate and destiny willed it, Triarius would return to Rome.

Chapter Two

AD 30-31

While the sun warmed the golden wheat fields near the town of Capernaum, a brown hawk flew in slow circles, the rising air lifting him far above the small fishing village. The Sea of Galilee sparkled in the early morning sun as fishermen cleaned their nets and hung them to dry after the night's labor. Small yellow eyes scanned the ground below as the bird of prey rose beneath the cloud that was forming above him. When he entered the cooler air, he slipped out of the warm stream and allowed himself to drift over the fields towards the town, hunting for small creatures.

Capernaum lay on the northwestern shores of the fresh water sea, a smallish city which was spread over an area of about a mile and situated on the main trade route which led to Damascus in the north. Beside the road a Roman garrison stood stark against the landscape, its dark basalt walls and tower reminding travelers that customs and taxes were due to the Empire. The city itself was almost square in shape. A mile-long road, cobbled in Roman fashion, led from the main highway through the town center towards the port where fishing boats lay moored and secured for the day. The wooden vessels, eight strides of a man in length, held a single mast from which lanterns were hung to attract the fish and enable the fishermen to work in the deep waters during the hours of darkness.

Small dead-end streets ran from the main road, each with its own common well where the plentiful water was both cold and sweet. The market lay near the center and was surrounded by various inns and public houses where travelers could rest before traveling south to Magdala, Tiberias and beyond. As the hawk descended towards the land, he flew over the outskirts of the town, past well-watered orchards where fruit trees grew in lined rows alongside vineyards which were heavy with new season grapes. Crossing the road above the garrison, he glided over the dry hills where shepherds were grazing flocks of sheep and goats among the sun-bleached rocks. His keen eye spied a lizard sunning itself upon a rock, and with a twitch of his wings the hawk dived headlong towards the unsuspecting creature. Seconds later he was enjoying his first meal of the day.

Simon Bar Jonah and his brother Andrew sat on a wooden bench as the soft lapping of the waves rolled over the dark rocks of the Galilean shore. They were mending nets, tying up holes and loose ends. Their task was almost finished and it was time to head home for food and sleep. They had already sent the night's catch, gutted and washed, up the road towards the market with a trusted employee, minus the fish they were taking home for breakfast. Even after fishing their entire lives, these two sons of Israel never grew tired of fresh fish and hot barley cakes for breakfast.

Come, brother. That will do for now, Simon said, as he dragged the net over the braided rope lines where it would hang and dry.

Patience, Simon, Andrew replied. There's a hole here that even your head would fit through, he said jokingly at his often impatient sibling.

So mend it later. I'm hungry and my children will be watching at the door. Simon insisted.

Alright! Andrew put away the long bone needle he had been using. Not a bad catch though?

Simon picked up a woven basket with a leather thong and flung it over his shoulder. Let's get some oil and heat on these fish before I faint from hunger.

Andrew laughed at his older brother as Simon put his arm around his shoulder and half dragged him towards the main street. They had always been the best of friends and seldom argued. Simon was a natural leader. Even as a small boy he had been the first into the boat when their father had taught them the art of fishing. They walked up the street past the newly renovated synagogue and took the first turn on the right. The population had outgrown the local synagogue, and much of the money for its extensions had been gifted by an unlikely source, the local centurion. The Roman soldier had converted to Judaism some years before and his influence had meant that several other Gentiles had followed his example. The synagogue sported beautifully carved columns, the white stone having been quarried more than twenty miles away.

The brothers greeted several people as they made their way up the street past homes whose grinding stones were already busy at this early hour of the day. They were well known and loved citizens, known for their honesty and easy-going natures. Simon's house was one of the larger buildings on the street. His courtyard boasted a millstone and private well that had been dug by the brothers' late father, Jonah. A staircase led from the edge of courtyard onto the roof, which was partly tiled and partly thatched. Andrew was part of the household as he was still unmarried. His bedchamber, like many of the others, opened onto a common room where the family ate their meals and shared each other's lives.

They entered the courtyard and were greeted by three smiling children who rushed towards their father, the younger and smaller two each claiming one of his legs as if it were their own. The smell of hot barley cakes reached their nostrils as Simon's wife appeared at the door, wiping her flour-covered hands on a towel. She kissed Simon, took the basket, and pushed him and his brother towards a large bowl for washing. By the time they were ready for breakfast, the sound of frying fish came from the oven in the corner of the room. A few minutes later they sat around the long wooden table and gave thanks for the food they were about to receive.

How is your mother? Simon asked his wife, Rachel. Esther had taken ill the day before, and they were concerned that her lingering fever had not abated.

She is no better, I'm afraid. I bathed her head with cool water throughout the night, but the fever hasn't left.

You must be tired then. Get some sleep. Julia will watch her and the children. Tomorrow is Sabbath. We will ask Jairus and the elders to pray for her.

After a few hours' sleep the brothers went back to the dock to work on the nets. There would be no work after sunset with the beginning of Sabbath. That night they continued to apply cold cloths to Esther's head, but in the morning there was still no change in her condition. They walked to the synagogue as a family, enjoying the morning sunshine while Julia, their household servant, stayed with Simon's mother-in-law. Jairus, the synagogue ruler, greeted them as they entered the building. He was young to be leading the religious community of Capernaum, but his love for God's people and His law, combined with his relaxed nature, had seen him welcomed to the position.

How is your daughter, Jairus? Simon asked.

Sadly she is unchanged, he replied, his young face expressing his feelings.

I'm sorry to hear that. We continue to pray for her. Esther has a bad fever. Would you and the elders pray for her after worship, brother? Simon asked respectfully.

Jairus turned to Rachel. Yes, of course. We will come by your house before the people return to my home.

Thank you, Jairus.

We have a guest with us this morning. He has been speaking in synagogues throughout Galilee. He was here in Capernaum earlier in the year and made quite an impression. Perhaps we can ask Him to pray for Esther as well.

Whatever you think, Jairus, Simon replied.

They walked inside, the men moving towards the front of the building whilst the women and children stayed near the rear. In the front left-hand corner a small group of musicians provided soft sounds as they gently plucked the strings of long harps and small lyres, providing an atmosphere conducive to prayer. A few minutes later Jairus brought the scroll which was to be read and placed it on a lectern in the center of the room. He offered prayers, lifting his hands as the worshippers followed suit, raising voices and sending petitions to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. When the voices quieted, a man of around thirty stood and went to the lectern to read. He read from the Book of the Law and then began to explain its meaning.

His eyes scanned the room, searching every heart. His voice was gentle, yet authoritative, and as He spoke the Scriptures came to life as He applied them to the lives of those listening spellbound. Peter's heart raced as the stranger spoke with a quiet passion, every word resonated with the vigor of life as if creation itself danced on the syllables.

Suddenly a man rose to his feet screaming at the speaker with a loud voice. His eyes were wild and his arms flailing about as he seemed to hiss the words, an ugly sneer of defiance on his face. Ha! What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are – the Holy One of God!

The speaker's eyes caught the man in a vice-like stare and, as He raised His hand, He spoke sternly at him.

Be quiet.

There was a strange presence of other-worldly power as He addressed the unclean spirit within the man, rather than the man himself. Come out of him, the Nazarene commanded.

Immediately the man was thrown to the floor as the Nazarene stepped around the lectern and moved towards him. The stricken man's body arched upwards as a shriek came from his mouth. The watchers gasped in fear and awe as his body fell back to the ground. It was clear to all that the demon had left him. He sat up, looking around as if trying to understand what he was doing in the middle of the synagogue floor. Two men came to assist him, and throughout the building people were praising God for what they had just witnessed.

Who is this man who gives orders to evil spirits and they come out? some were saying.

After the demon had been expelled, the Nazarene's face softened, His features replaced with a deep compassion as He looked at the man as if he were His own son. Jairus rose and called the people to prayer, closing the service with an offering of thankfulness for the restoration of their fellow Israelite.

Touching the Nazarene's sleeve, Jairus led the man Jesus to Simon. I have asked the Teacher to come to your house, Simon, in order to help Esther. He has agreed to go.

Thank you, Simon muttered, looking