

Sunset in Paradise

by Paula Freda

Smashwords Edition

Copyright July 21, 2012

by Dorothy P. Freda

(Pseudonym - Paula Freda)

Bookcover front & back Licensed photos - iStockphoto.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof.

Except for documented biblical passages, references and legends, the names, characters, places and incidents in this book are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

+

JMJ

With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, and to Saint Joseph, and my guardian angels, guides and protectors.

I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 40 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.

Paula Freda

SUNSET IN PARADISE

by

Paula Freda

CHAPTER ONE

The high pitched call of a small desert bird passing overhead stirred the sleeping young man. Lambs bleating as they followed their mothers wove into his dreams of tables laid out with meats and nuts and fruits, and olives marinating in fine oils, all there for him and his brother.

The rude clanging of bells that hung around the neck of the flock's lead wether led by a shepherd youth jarred and shook him awake. He hugged tighter the decaying fibers of the coarse woolen cloak that barely covered his thin lanky form.

In the center of the mountainside cave the meager firewood had burned to a crisp and no longer gave warmth. That would now be the work of the Sun as it began its ascent into the whitening sky.

Dismas hated sunrise. It brought him back to another day of belly aching hunger. Another day of scavenging and thieving with his companions, hungry like himself. His body ached from his bed of dry stony earth, and though only seventeen years of age, he felt more like an old man with brittle aching bones and parched throat. His hunger impelled him to sit up. Further in, slept his brother and the older members of their band of five thieves.

Gestas, their leader, and the others, were already awake, sitting on their heels, crouched in a circle, whispering among themselves as they counted the coins they had robbed from a lone traveler unfortunate enough to have crossed their path late last night. The man had been a stranger to these parts, so there had been no need to kill him, as he would not be able to identify them, although he might already have died from the blows that Gestas had delivered with no remorse.

Jehiel had intervened in time to possibly save the stranger's life, warning that killing him might bring the stranger's kin back asking questions, or seeking revenge. The real reason for his intervention was too charitable for the others to understand. But Dismas knew his brother's weakness. He had his mother's heart and her gentleness, though he hid it well. Dismas, himself, had no memory of his parents. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had died shortly after of a desert fever. Both he and five-year-old Jehiel had been sold into slavery to a rich merchant. The merchant had appointed one of his slave women to rear them until they were old enough to handle hard labor, and then sold them to a wealthy farmer. There had not been much love lost parting from the slave woman. During the few years under her care she had been cold and aloof, doing only what was absolutely necessary. She had told them on the very first day, that she had no desire to develop any closeness which might cause her distress when they were resold.

Yet despite her aloofness, Dismas had grown from babyhood under her care and in his childhood ignorance had called her Mother. Perhaps Dismas the baby had awakened some maternal caring in the slave woman, for she had allowed him to call her mother, although she had never acknowledged any affection to either him or his brother.

Hard labor had proved the appropriate description for working in the farmer's orchards and grain fields, pushing and pulling heavy loads of olives, collecting and stacking bundles of wheat, picking fruits from the trees in the farmer's orchards, and loading them by the bushels into open carts ready for the market. They knew hunger and illness, yet they survived, when so many others didn't.

When Dismas was fourteen, a new slave was brought in, Gestas, belligerent and defiant. The more the slave master beat him and starved him, the more defiant and combatant he grew. Finally, uncontrollable, he was sold to a Master Gladiator for use in the arena. But on the evening before the actual transfer, Gestas, Jehiel and Dismas managed to escape to the mountains where they hid. They never stayed long in one place. Gestas was resourceful and ingenious. Jehiel idolized him. Dismas followed where his brother went, but he did not see Gestas as a hero; rather a man whose desperation for freedom was equal to his obsession for power, even if it was only to lead a gang of thieves.

There were days when Dismas wished they had never met Gestas, and evenings when he would leave the cave and wander over the lands where sheep and goats grazed. During one of those sojourns he had befriended a local shepherd, a young man of his own age, named Haim.

Dismas rose to his feet and strode over to the cloistered group of men. He waited for one of them to address him. Jehiel beckoned to him and he drew near enough to catch the coin his brother tossed him. Enough for a small loaf of unleavened bread. Dismas knew better than to ask for more. He knew what Gestas or the other two would reply. If you want more, go steal it. Apparently today they had no plans for robbery as a band and it was every man for himself.

Dismas put the coin inside the fold of his girder and slipped out of the cave.

It was a clear, hot day, and the marketplace was crowded. The acrid smell of perspiring bodies and the dry musty smell of grains and a variety of dried beans, mixed non too gently with the pungent scent of nuts and olive oil and the overly sweet smell of fruits ripening in the open air under the sun. Vendors plowed their wares with raised voices, especially the fruits, hoping to sell them before they spoiled. Dismas walked slowly down the aisles between the stands, his hands tucked under his tattered cloak. He greeted with a smile, the group of women gathered at the bread stand. The baker had just completed frying some honey doughnuts and set them out to cool on the shelf below the breads. Dismas, all the while exchanging small talk with the customers and the baker, used his right hand to take out the coin from his girder, pay the baker, and select a loaf of bread. And with stealth of hand learned through years of practice, he used his left to pilfer one of the honey doughnuts and tuck it unseen under his cloak. Wishing all a good day, he moved along leisurely, feigning interest in other market stands, until he reached a row of small clay baked homes with outside staircases that led to flat roofs. Quickly he climbed an unattended staircase and made his way over the rooftops to the city walls, climbed over, and headed out toward an oasis adjoining the pasture that his shepherd friend and flock of sheep frequented.

Hunger and thirst slowing his pace, it took him over two hours to reach the oasis. He drank from the small water pond, then sank down beneath a shady palm tree and after a few moments of rest, took out the bread and the honey doughnut held safely in his waistband and ate, slowly, savoring each bite. Then he drank a little more. The water was muddy, but cool. Outside of a few fruits he might steal from an orchard left momentarily unguarded, today's meal was complete. If he was lucky, he might come across an old ailing lizard that he could outrun and kill with a rock, and bring it back to the cave to skin and cook over the fire. He would have to share it with the others, but even those few bites were a feast to a hungry stomach.

CHAPTER TWO

Dismas remained at the oasis until late in the afternoon until he heard the bray of camels in the distance, along with the tinkling of bells and singing, no doubt to alleviate the boredom of a long trek across the desert. A caravan. It was time for him to leave. He avoided strangers — possible slave traders who would find a lone young man in tattered robes, tempting merchandise for sale. He set out toward the pasture where his friend usually brought his sheep to graze. Tonight, he would sleep under the stars.

He reached the stony outcrops by evening. Grass and shrubbery grew in patches where the earth had retained moisture from the rainy seasons and was not as dry. The sheep grazed and drank the water the shepherd had drawn from the nearby well and poured for them into the stone troughs.

Haim sat by a small boulder, one knee raised to support his arm, his hood and cloak thrown back. His staff lay alongside him on the ground. Tonight the sky was clear and the moon full. From this vantage point, he could see his whole flock as they grazed, and in the distance, the small town of Bethlehem, but at the moment he was gazing up at the sky. Dismas saw him and headed toward him, calling to him. Haim glanced down and saw him. Grabbing his staff in hand, he leapt to his feet, arms widening to give his friend a brotherly embrace. "Dismas, I'm glad you're here."

The two embraced, then shared an arm clasp, and laughter.

"What is it?" Dismas asked. "You seem enraptured by the stars."

"Not all, just that one." Haim pointed to a particularly large and bright star.

"It's beautiful," Dismas said.

"Look at the light it casts, like that of an enormous candle. It glows," Haim said.

Dismas added, "The light appears poised over some buildings on the outskirts of the town."

"Strange," Haim marveled, "a light from heaven, perhaps."

Dismas controlled the urge to laugh. Haim was a deeply religious young man, who attended the Synagogue regularly and studied with the Rabbis. He did not wish to hurt his friends feelings. "So, how goes it with your father. Has his health improved?"

Haim lowered his gaze, the answer already written on his saddening features. "Not well, my friend; not well at all. The physicians give him no more than a few months to remain with us. It's his heart. It is weary of our people's subjugation to foreign rule. And ever since our mother passed, he has lost what happiness he knew since the day he set eyes upon her."

"I am sorry, friend," Dismas consoled.

Haim pressed on, "In his weariness, even his faith suffers, his belief that a Messiah will come soon to deliver us from the rule of foreigners."

"If a Messiah came at this time, the unbelievers would crucify him, before giving over their power," Dismas said.

"Not the real Messiah, they could not stand against his strength."

"And could he stand against the cruelty in men's hearts?' Dismas asked despondently. He knew all too well the cruelty in men's hearts.

"The strength of the Messiah will not be of this world," Haim declared.

They sat and talked for a while more, until Dismas, tired from his long day on foot, fell asleep. Haim continued to gaze at the sky, and wonder about the unusually bright star.

Sometime during the deepest part of the night, a clamoring of excited voices roused Dismas. He blinked until he could see clearly the group of shepherds surrounding Haim. He rose and drew near. The men were relating some exciting event.

"Dismas, do you hear," Haim beckoned to him. "The star, it is a light from heaven — to herald His birth. He is born."

"Who is born?" Dismas asked.

"The One the prophecy foretold—There shall come forth a star out of Jacob, And a sceptre shall rise out of Israel — I must see Him! I must!" He turned to the others. "Will one of you take my post so I may go?"

More than one offered. Haim beckoned to Dismas, "Will you come with me?"

Not sure of what Haim expected to find, Dismas agreed, "Of course, dear friend."

As they hurried toward the little town of Bethlehem, Haim recounted to Dismas what the other shepherds had related to him. "They were tending their sheep, when an angel appeared to them. In a triumphant voice, the angel said, Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

CHAPTER THREE

They reached the outskirts of the little town of Bethlehem just as the sky was beginning to lighten. The star's light though weakening in the coming dawn, still shone over a stable attached to a poor man's inn. A group of shepherds and their dogs, and three well-dressed men, giving the appearance of wealth and breeding, stood in front of the opened stable doors. Dismas and Haim joined the group to wait their turn to look inside the stable and see what everyone was staring at. They were all smiling, dazzled by something.

The shepherds made way for the three men of distinction. Dismas whispered to the shepherd closest to him and Haim, "What's going on? Who's in there?"

"Have you not heard? Did the angel not come to you?" And when Dismas shook his head, "He is come; the child is born, our Redeemer, who will free us from the heavy yoke." He moved aside so that Dismas could see better inside the stable. The three distinguished men were kneeling in front of a manger where an infant lay wrapped in a piece of cloth bound by strips of cotton to form a protective cocoon. Beside the swaddled infant, a beautiful young woman wrapped in a plain cloak sat on a haystack. Beside her an older man in simple robes and a walking staff, stood protectively, his eyes trained benevolently on mother and child.

Despite the smell of cow manure and donkey and horses and chickens. surrounding the small family, Dismas could not discount a certain air of solitude and peace; the fetid smell of animal waste did not detract from the beauty of these three people.

The child's eyes were wide open — unusual for a newborn babe — and focused, as though they could see and understand.

The three men on their knees before him, each carried an ornate gilded box. One after the other, they spoke reverently to the child and his parent. With voices heavily accented, yet steady and confident, each spoke in turn reverently to the child and his parents. "We have followed the star for many months, from the moment it appeared in the heavens, studied the prophecies left to us by prophets from centuries past. I am Melchior, of Arabia, and I offer you gold, a symbol of kingship." The gold coins inside the box rattled as he placed it in Joseph's hands.

The second man spoke. "I am Balthasar, of Saga, and I bring you frankincense ― incense to burn, a symbol of your priestship.

The third man spoke. "I am Caspar of Tarsus, and I bring you myrrh, oil to sweeten bitter smells, a symbol of your sufferings foretold by the prophets centuries past in our sacred texts."

Dismas knew that myrrh was used as an embalming oil, and very costly. With infant mortality, the norm rather than the exception, the family would be grateful for this gift if the child did not survive.

The child's gaze rested on the three wise men, for that was what they must be, Dismas surmised; astrologists perhaps, or emissaries from kingly courts. The mother of the baby thanked them with a smile so beautiful, so filled with peace and benevolence, that Dismas held his breath. The father thanked them as well for himself, and his wife, Mary. So that was her name ― Mary. Yes, it fit her.

Of all three gifts, he appreciated the gold the most. It would buy the family food, and shelter, and wool and cotton for clothing. But it was a dangerous gift to give a family on the move. He thought of Gestas and the other thieves. For sure, word of what was transpiring would reach their ears. He felt afraid for this beautiful child, and the sweet lady and kindly man.

His gaze moved to the child, and as if it felt his fear, the baby's gaze met his. Dismas blamed the long hours he had spent on foot the past hours for the sudden haziness he felt, and the thought that entered his mind unbidden. Kind spirit, protect us on our journeys. My time has not come yet."

Dismas shook his head to clear it. He needed to rest before he began his journey back to the cave where his companions hid. He determined to say nothing of what he had witnessed. Hopefully, by the time word of mouth reached his companions, this holy family would be well out of their thieving region.

Haim also had entered the stable and was on his knees, his eyes fixed adoringly upon the child. Dismas withdrew so that others could pay homage. He waited outside and when Haim finally rejoined him, his face was radiant with joy.

"I must return to my sheep, but tonight I know is the beginning of new era. I may not live to see its outcome, but my heart is filled with hope." He clasped Dismas' shoulder warmly. "Will you return with me?"

Dismas shook his head. "I'm tired and hungry. The hunger I can stave off for another few hours, but the tiredness in my bones, even at my young age, that I need to deal with now. Perhaps the family won't mind if curl up in the corner of the stable out of view of the visitors and the landlord." He did not dwell on the other reason, at least not in his conscious mind, that he wished to remain near this precious family for a little while longer, because the child had asked him.

* * * *

Dismas slept and dreamt he stood at the bottom of a hill, looking up. At the top were three crosses. Three tortured forms hung upon them. He wished to know who they were and began to climb the hill. Just as he reached the top, a noise behind him intruded upon the dream and he woke, startled. He began to rise and realized a wool-spun blanket covered him. He stood up and moved quietly toward where the family of three slept. He smiled warmly as he saw that the blankets that covered them matched the one that had covered him. It was clear to him that this precious family were very kind and caring.

Again his hearing, well trained over the years he had spent running and hiding from slavers and Roman Centurions, alerted him to someone else's presence in the stable. A donkey stabled near the sleeping family, shifted nervously.

Dismas sprang into action. With lightening speed, he drew a small dagger that he kept tied to his leg just below his hip under his tunic. Dagger in hand, he jumped over the stall fence.

Though Dismas did not know the grizzly bearded man, he recognized his own kind, a thief like himself. But this thief had come to rob the family. "Out!" Dismas whispered firmly.

"We can share," the man said "We can make quick work of the older man, and the woman and child will bring a good price on the market."

"Get Out!" Dismas ordered.

"I know you," the man said. I've seen you before. You belong to Gestas' gang. I'm sure he'll want his share ― and more.

"There's nothing here for you, or Gestas." Dismas said.

"I saw the gifts!"

"I owe this family. They are under my protection," Dismas said. "Now get out!" He raised the dagger, moved his hand back as if readying to hurl the weapon.

"Gestas will hear of this, I promise you!" the man snarled as he backed-stepped and left the way he had come in, through an unshuttered window in the rear of the stall.

Dismas moved to the window and watched the man run into the desert until he was out of sight.

"Thank you. We owe you our lives," a placid voice spoke from behind him."

Dismas turned. Both the man and woman had climbed to their feet.

"I was hoping not to disturb your rest," Dismas apologized, "but you are not safe here. If he returns with friends, I will not be able to stop them."

A cock crowed in the distance. Dawn was upon them.

With the dawn, came a new visitor in simple garb, but this one entered through the front of the stable, and bowed down before the Holy Family. He introduced himself as a messenger from the three wise men of the night before. My masters wish to warn you that Herod has heard of the birth of your son. He knows of the Messianic prophecy associated with the Star and the birth of your son, and fears the child will one day usurp his kingdom. You must not return home, but hide where he will not think to look for you. My masters are returning straight away to their homes and by a different route than the one Herod expects."

"You are not the first to tell me of the danger from Herod," Joseph said. He turned to Mary who had finished changing the baby Jesus and swaddling him in clean cloths. "I dreamt of a man in white robes, so white they glowed. He spoke a similar warning."

Joseph spoke to the messenger. "Return to your masters, and thank them for their kindness. We will heed their warning."

The messenger bowed low, and turned and left.

Dismas, who had stood quietly listening, now came forward. My friends, if what the messenger has said is true, then you are in double danger, from those I am forced to call my companions, and from Herod and his soldiers."

The young woman cradling the baby had come to stand beside the older man. "You're right," she said. But where are we to go?" She glanced at her husband.

"Yes, we must leave. We have fulfilled our duty and registered according to the decree issued by Augustus. We must leave now. We will travel to Egypt."

Mary glanced askance at her husband. "Egypt?" Then reading the answer in Joseph's eyes, she asked, her tone one of gentle resignation, "Is that where the angel said we must go?"

Joseph placed a comforting arm about her shoulders and nodded.

"Egypt?" Dismas repeated. "Yes, it is far, but you will be out of Herod's territory and his jurisdiction. I know a route that is safe, and passes by a small oasis, frequented by shepherds that will welcome you." Decidedly he added, "Quickly, gather your belongings. We must leave immediately."

The older man touched his arm. My name is Joseph, and I and my wife Mary and our child Jesus, are deeply grateful."

Dismas smiled, a warmth suffusing his chest, a shyness rising to his gaunt cheeks. He had never known the love of a mother and father, and perhaps this would be the closest he would ever experience. "Please, we must hurry and be very quiet. He looked at Mary. Try to keep the baby pacified and quiet."

Mary smiled at him, and Dismas thought, this must be what it's like to know a mother's love.

CHAPTER FOUR

(Two Years Later)

Dismas crouched behind a limestone outcrop alongside the dirt road. With him was his brother Jehiel, and across the road, hidden behind other rocks, was Gestas. Word had come to him from one of his spies that an unprotected family had been seen for days traveling northward from Egypt. They had stopped at inns along the way to eat, and rent shelter for the night. The family was said to be carrying gold, along with other precious possessions.

Dismas hoped the robbery would proceed without unnecessary violence. His stomach might enjoy the food, and the few drachmae Gestas tossed him after a successful robbery, but violence took away any pleasure his intellect found in the meal. Two years ago he had protected a kind and caring family and helped them escape to Egypt. By the time Gestas learned of them and the special gifts they carried, gold, myrrh, frankincense, and gold coins, the man, woman and baby were far beyond his reach.

The thief that Dismas had stopped inside the stable, had told Gestas about the gifts, but he feared the good thief ― as he was apt to call Dismas ― and his dagger enough not to mention their role in the family's escape.

Gestas made a low chirping sound to alert Dismas that someone was coming up the road. He raised his staff horizontally above his head, his signal for Dismas and Jehiel to draw their weapons.

The traveler was on foot, leading a donkey with a woman cuddling a toddler in her arms. Dismas felt uneasy and more-so as the family drew closer to the ambush site. With a pang that made him gasp, he recognized the beautiful young woman and the older man ― Joseph and Mary. The child's name escaped him at the moment. "No, stop!" he cried.

Gestas muttered an oath. The ambushes always worked best with the element of surprise. He stood up and sauntered around the rock to stand in front of Joseph. He smirked as he noticed the older man tighten his grip on his staff and the intense glare in his eyes. It was usually the intense glare or the eyes glazing over with fright. This man would put up a fight.

"Your goods, or your lives," he demanded.

"Leave them alone!" Dismas leapt from behind the limestone outcrop. He placed himself between Joseph and Gestas.

Astonished at the imperative tone from Jehiel's normally submissive brother, Gestas asked, curious, "And why should I do that?"

"This family is special," Dismas said, searching for the right words that might convince the hardened criminal to leave this family in peace. "This family and their child are destined for greatness," he said. "Two years ago, a star in the heavens led me and many others to a humble stable where their child was born. The prophets foretold his birth, and that He is destined for greatness. If you hurt Him or His parents, you will be accountable to the almighty Himself."

Gestas eyed Dismas as if the youth had lost his mind. "I see no fine robes, no rich caravan, no escorts of armed soldiers. I see only two foolish adults and their offspring, traveling alone and unprotected, and foolishly carrying a bag of gold coins."

The man leading the donkey spoke. "Yes, gold coins to buy a small home carved into the mountainside of my hometown and frankincense to sweeten our labors, and myrrh to anoint our bodies when the Almighty calls us."

Taken back by the courage in the older man's voice and the fearless admittance of what he carried, Gestas gazed at him suspiciously. Was this perhaps a trap to catch him in the act of robbery. Was this family a decoy, their fearlessness in the face of the harm that he and his companions might inflict upon them, a hint that guards were hidden somewhere near, waiting to catch Gestas and his compatriots in the act of robbery. And perhaps Dismas was in league with them, a hefty reward in tow. Gestas was tempted to flee.

Dismas read the uncertainty growing on his leader's face. "I will make you a deal if you will let this family pass safely on their way. He pointed to the dark fold of cloth that girdled his waist. I have here 40 drachmae that I have earned honestly over the past two years helping a friend of mine, a shepherd, with his work."

Gestas' eyes narrowed. He often wondered where Dismas disappeared to on warm nights. He'd attributed those absences to Dismas simply foraging for food, or thievery on the side. Dismas usually brought back food and coins upon his return. "You've been holding out on your friends," he smirked.

"I will not let you draw me into an argument. But I will give you 40 drachmae and promise you 40 more each year that I live, as I earn them, if you will let this family along with their possessions pass unharmed."

Dismas took money from inside the fold of material circling his waist. The coins glinted in the sunlight and Gestas, arrested by his greed, made to snatch them. But Dismas pulled back. "Swear by your thief's dishonor in front of me and Jehiel; swear by the Almighty Himself, that you will abide by my offer."

"What if I refuse, and take your 40 drachmae, and the possessions this family carries?"

"You will have to fight me and my dagger, and this humble man with his staff. He glanced at Jehiel. "Will you stand beside me?" he asked.

Jehiel hesitated a moment. He feared Gestas' reprisal. But he was the elder brother. His father with his dying breath had made him promise to protect his infant brother.

Resolutely, he said. "I stand by you. You are my brother. No one, not even you, Gestas, can fault me for that."

Outnumbered and outguessed, Gestas snarled, "Very well!"

"Swear!" Dismas demanded. "Swear by the Almighty, Himself!"

"Very well, I swear!" Gestas snarled even louder. "But I want it all. Give me your belt and everything it holds."

"Let the family pass. I will stay here with you, and within the hour, I will give you the 40 drachmae and everything that I own."

Gestas was a hardened criminal, but he had once been a child and reared in the holy fear of the Lord. He did not abide by the rules, but he feared God's wrath if he swore an oath in the Almighty's name and broke it. He turned angrily to Joseph. "Go on your way, and may you have nothing but sorrow for the rest of your miserable lives!" he spat.

Without flinching, the older man took the donkey's reins and began to lead forward the animal carrying his wife and the child. As they passed by Dismas, the child who had been very quiet in his mother's arms, extended his hand and touched Dismas' face. His touch was like a ray of sunshine warming cold flesh. Dismas met the Child's gaze, and he trembled with awe at its warmth and sensitivity, as if this child could not only see into his mind and the depths of his heart, but understand and feel compassion. This was no ordinary child. In that moment he remembered the name Joseph had called the newborn in the stable — Jesus. Inexplicably, he sensed their paths would cross again, and the boy need his protection again.

Mary spoke, her sweet voice filled with gentleness and kindness. "The Lord God will uphold you with his right hand and grant you forgiveness of sins."

Once again, Dismas felt loved.

CHAPTER FIVE

Twelve Years Later - Jerusalem - Passover

The years had not been kind to Dismas. Although still young at 32, riotous grey streaked the hair above his forehead and at the temples, and wove liberally through his short beard. He no longer lived in caves, but shared a small wood house in the heart of Bethlehem with Gestas and his wife, Yona. Gestas had taken up the trade of blacksmith, holding Dismas, under the threat of death, to his promise to give him 40 drachmae each year that he lived, as he earned them, if he would let the family Dismas considered holy, pass unharmed.

Dismas and his brother Jehiel had remained at the side of Gestas and now labored under him. The man was as a cruel an employer as he had been a thief.

Both remained unmarried, although they had long ago given their hearts to Eliora, the youngest sister of Gestas' wife, loving her from the day they had met her at Gestas' wedding. Eliora was a shy, gentle, innocent creature, with hair the color of milled wheat. Each had vied for her favor. But because of the rivalry, she had refused to marry either one. When first her mother and later her father had passed away, she had gone to stay with her widowed aunt Gavriella who continued to run the inn her husband had left her in Jerusalem.

Annually, Gestas and Yona traveled to Jerusalem to celebrate the sacred feast of Passover. Dismas knew it was not from any kindness that Gestas insisted that he and his brother accompany him, but from the fear that Dismas might renege on his promise and flee. And perhaps he might have fled, except for the hope that Eliora, who remained unmarried, might change her mind and accept his continued proposals each time he visited Jerusalem.

Dismas rode his donkey to the back of the inn of Eliora's aunt, dismounted and led the animal to a small stable behind the wood building. A stable-hand, a big burly fellow, guarded the stable and the donkeys and a couple of horses belonging to the visitors staying at the inn. He recognized Dismas from his past visits, and greeted him warmly, asking after Jehiel and Gestas and his wife. The three had gone straight to the temple to worship and offer their sacrifices of white pigeons, and would arrive later in the afternoon. Dismas always went to the inn to make the necessary preparations for their 3-day stay. He did not mind the extra duty, as it gave him time to visit with Eliora before the others joined him. He and the stable-hand shared local news while they let the donkey drink from the water trough, fed him some hay, let him drink again, then placed him in one the empty stalls. Then, feeling secure that his friend would watch over his animal, Dismas entered the inn through the side door.

Inside the main room, diners and visitors sat at rough wood tables, eating and drinking. Eliora's aunt moved among the tables taking orders and relaying them to her niece who worked in the back room cooking and filling the orders.

Dismas scanned the room for a place to sit. His favorite was a small table for one in the corner. He waited for the lone diner to finish, and quickly took his place when the man left. He made eye contact with Gavriella and she hurried toward him.

"Welcome, and Peace unto you, dear friend," she greeted.

"Unto you, Peace," Dismas replied, accepting her blessing. "You look well, dear friend. How is Eliora?"

Gavriella laughed. "Why, awaiting your offer of marriage, of course."

"Which she will promptly refuse," he sighed. "How do I win her heart?"

"I would not say this in front of Jehiel, but since the first time you professed your affections for my niece, her heart has been yours. But she will not come between you and your brother. Find Jehiel a wife—"

"Easier said then done, but not for lack of trying."

Gavriella nodded, commiserating. She well understood. "Why don't you go to the back and visit. Eliora is always happy to see you."

Dismas rose and headed for the rear of the inn. Jars filled with honey and oil and vinegar lined the shelves on one wall, and a variety herb sprigs, among them thyme, dill and saffron, hung to dry, under the low thatched ceiling, along with garlands of garlic. A bushel of freshly dug out onions squatted in the corner. Eliora was not in the room, but outside in the enclosed courtyard, stirring a large earthenware pot of lentil soup suspended from a tripod over an open fire. From a second tripod hung a pot filled with simmering goat meat and vegetable stew. Dismas' mouth watered from the intoxicating vapors, and only the site of Eliora, a stained linen apron circling her waist, her sleeves rolled up, and her long hair tucked behind her ears under a white kerchief tied behind her neck, prevented him from returning to the dining room and ordering a meal.

He didn't mean to stare, but he couldn't help himself, seeing her in person, after yearning for her in his dreams for the past year.

Eliora moved from the simmering pots to a table behind her where portions of uncooked squash and leeks, waited to be served with unleavened bread and the lentil soup. As she turned, she saw Dismas and stopped. A smile brightened her flour smudged face. As quickly, she remembered her disheveled appearance, and grabbed an end of her apron to wipe the flour and perspiration from her face.

Dismas noted the sudden sheen in her brown eyes—tears. He hurried toward her, his arms aching to embrace her, but allowing only his hands to clasp her shoulders and his gaze to revel in her smile. "How I've missed you, dearest Eliora."

A gentle lowering of her eyes, and then a gaze filled with ardor and love. "And I, you, dearest Dismas."

"Then why do we allow this separation. Give your consent, be my wife, ever at my side."

"Has Jehiel taken a wife yet?"

Sadly, Dismas shook his head, giving the same answer to the same question she had asked him for the past eight years.

"Where is Jehiel?" she asked.

"At the temple. He will return soon, no doubt to renew his proposal."

"Then you have only a little time to sit and eat." She drew a short stool from under the table and beckoned Dismas to sit, then filling a wooden bowl with the lentil stew, she placed it on a wooden platter, along with a portion of the boiled goat's meat, slices of bread and chunks of raw squash, and brought the tray to him. She knelt beside him, and leaning back on her heels, smiled up at him. "Now eat my love, and tell me what news you have from your travels."

With one hand Dismas held the tray on his lap, and with the other he caressed her face. This was their yearly ritual — Gavriella affording them a short time of uninterrupted innocent closeness and private conversation while he ate his meal.

CHAPTER SIX

Gestas, Yona and Jehiel returned by early afternoon. They entered the inn to Gavriella's warm welcome. She seated them at a table, and hurried into the courtyard to alert the two lovers.

Dismas stood up taking Eliora with him. "I beg you, do not encourage Jehiel."

Eliora gazed at him with a hurt expression. "Have I ever?" she asked.

"No, and I thank you. But I'm afraid that his words of love will steal you away from me."

Eliora shook her head adamantly as she clasped his hands in her own. "I will never stop loving you, my sweet Dismas. One day soon Jehiel will tire of my rejections and choose a wife. When he has fallen in love with another, he will see how foolish he has acted, and we will marry freely and with his blessings."

Gavriella stood by the entrance to the courtyard to give her niece and Dismas a few moments to say goodbye. Then she removed the set of keys that hung on the wall. "Dismas," she called. "I'll unlock the back gate. Go out that way. I will tell Gestas and the others that you were here briefly and have gone to the Temple to worship. No doubt Jehiel already knew the reason his brother for the past eight years on their annual visits to Jerusalem for Passover went to the temple by himself later in the day. But confirming the reason outright might inflame tempers and cause a loud argument. Gavriella would lose customers, and of course, poor Eliora would be at the center of the argument and suffer both for herself and for Dismas.

Gazing into his beloved's eyes for a moment longer, Dismas turned and followed Gavriella to the back gate. He turned once more to gaze at his beloved and then went out.

He headed straight for the Temple, eyes downcast, his face a mask of sadness. Surrounded by a throng of visitors on their way to worship at the Temple, he hardly saw anyone, consumed by his anger at his brother for being the cause of his unhappiness. Jehiel was the first born, the elder brother, and he felt it his right to pursue Eliora until she might come to accept him, despite Dismas' feelings. He frowned, a crooked sneer on his lips, the dirt on the ground as dark as his anger, and did not see the man and woman walking alongside him until his shoulder banged into the other man's shoulder.

Dismas turned angrily to shout at the man to watch where he was going, then stopped short, as he recognized the face. Joseph, older, greying, but the very same man whose life, along with that of his gentle young wife and their baby, he had saved from Gestas twelve years ago. He looked quickly to the young woman at Joseph's side. It was Mary, the semblance on her face as gentle and benevolent, despite the lines of hardship and added years. Women aged quickly in his time.

"Forgive me," he mumbled shame-faced. "I am troubled."

"We also," Mary said, anxiously. "We have never forgotten your kindness," She gazed at Joseph for his affirmation.

Joseph nodded, then his brow furrowed as he explained, "We cannot find our son. We are looking everywhere and are on our way back to the Temple to ask if anyone there has seen him.

"Perhaps you've seen him," Mary asked.

Dismas shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I haven't." He paused a moment to reflect. Then, "He must be about twelve years old, now."

"Yes," Mary said with a mother's pride. "Betwixt youth and manhood, with a mind of his own."

Joseph added sternly, "And he is old enough to know better." His tone softened, and Dismas saw the extent of the worry on his face, as he added, "The city is a dangerous place for a child alone and unprotected."

"I will accompany you," Dismas said. "I was headed for the Temple, myself. And if he is not found yet, I will inquire at the Inn where I'm staying."

"Thank you," Mary said, the tenderness in her gentle voice once more reminding Dismas of how precious is the love of a mother.

They walked quickly, the stream of visitors increasing as they neared the Temple, a huge edifice of gleaming white marble, divided into courts and porticoes, each exclusive to a particular group. Dismas, Joseph and Mary entered the Court of the Gentiles which was open to both men and women. This area was also open to vendors selling souvenirs, food, animals to be sacrificed, and especially to currency changers exchanging Roman coins for Tyrian, as Jews who were not permitted by Rome to mint their own money, held Roman currency, an abomination to the Lord.

The threesome searched high and low, but in vain. At last as they returned full circle and drew near to the Temple steps, Mary's face acquired a precognitive look. "Joseph—"

Joseph shook his head. "I already searched in the Temple proper," he answered, worry for his son's safety, making him sound impatient.

Dismas wanting to alleviate Mary's concern, said, "I will walk through the synagogue and look again. Perhaps in the interim, he may have grown weary and returned to rest."

Mary nodded with gratitude. A woman, she was not allowed to enter the synagogue proper.

"Very well," Joseph acquiesced. "I will search the bazaar. Often I think the Lord is displeased to see the entrance to His Holy Place an arena for man's greed."

Dismas could empathize with this feeling, having lived almost his whole life under Gestas' threats. Without further ado, he hurried up the Temple's steps. He searched the stone benches along the walls and when he reached the steps that led to the upper floors where the Jewish sages held court. he listened for voices coming from the upper court, and finally risked moving up the stairs, just to sneak a quick glance. And he saw the boy surrounded by elders. The youth bore his mother's face and her eyes, and Joseph's build. There was no mistaking him. His hand was raised gesticulating about some law under discussion. His eyes were focused on something above him, as though he were looking at the sky. Those eyes held determination, and a fearlessness in the face of schooled elders that would have undermined a normal twelve-year-old.

Dismas moved quietly back down the stairs and returned to the Temple steps where Mary still waited. "I have found him. He is safe, in the Temple, upstairs, surrounded by sages who are listening to him —" and as he recalled their facial expressions, he added "— amazed."

To his surprise, Mary simply smiled, as if she expected no less from her son. "Yes, he has that effect on others."

She touched his arm and with a most radiant smile, she thanked him. "For all your kindness to us, in the past, and now once again, our Father in heaven will not abandon you." It might have been the late afternoon sun, low in the sky, and closer to the horizon, shedding its rays on her face, Dismas was not sure. But it seemed to him Mary's face filled with a light that transfixed his gaze. Her eyes fixed on a point he could not follow, and he did not quite understand her next words, or if she actually spoke them, but the words, if not their meaning, were clear in his mind.

"You will share in his pain and in his glory. And he will hold you in his arms, and keep you safe forever."

He was about to ask if he had heard correctly, when a weary Joseph reached them. "I cannot find him," he said, dispiritedly.

"He is safe, Joseph," Mary spoke. Dismas has found him. He is in the Temple with the Priests."

Joseph sighed, releasing a harried breath along with the worry and tension. "Praise to the Lord." Then as the moment of joy passed, he said, frustration edging his tone, "Why has he done this to us?"

A murmur of voices followed the opening of the Temple doors as a group of Priests followed the youth that Dismas recognized as the young man who had so captivated their attention. "There he is; there is your son," Dismas said as Mary and Joseph hurried to intercept him. Dismas held back, somewhat perturbed by what he thought he had heard Mary say. Besides, he was not kin. His help was no longer needed, and he wished to return to the inn to see his beloved Eliora once again before Gestas would make him return to their homeland with him.

Dismas turned, and that same exquisite light, he assumed was from the sun, caught his gaze once more. He tried to look away, instead his gaze was captured by the youth's eyes, intense, direct, yet filled with such compassion. Yes, that was it. Compassion. But why, Dismas asked himself. Why? Mary's son could not remember him from their last meeting. He had been but a two year old child.

The young man on the verge of manhood smiled at Dismas, and Dismas thought his heart would burst with the tenderness he read in that smile. Dismas could not understand such gratitude. He had simply acted as any good neighbor or friend might, to relieve the worry of a good family. The thought came to him that he was not their neighbor or even their friend. So why had he helped them?

Because he had felt their sorrow, and equated it to what he would feel in their place, and he had acted accordingly. Dismas shrugged. He had done nothing unusual. The light had dissipated, and Mary and Joseph were now speaking to their son. Dismas sighed. It was almost sundown. As he turned quietly to leave, he heard the young man's reply to his parents' query, oddly clearly, despite the distance. "Did you not know I must be about my father's business." He would ponder those words all the way back to the inn and for many years to come.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eighteen Years Later

Dismas yawned and stretched painfully. He was a tired man. And a poor one. Eliora, as was her custom, had already risen to milk the cow and place their meager meal on the table. All these years later, he still wondered if she had done better to accept his brother's proposal. Her hair, no longer the color of milled wheat, still shone, though now grey metal. He loved her still, despite the years, and her once-slim figure, now filled out from the birth of three sons and a daughter, still roused him. Like a hopeless prayer answered, he often recalled, when as he prepared to return with Gestas, he had ventured one more proposal, in the back of inn, under the open courtyard. He had told her about the good family he had aided. About the youth on the brink of manhood, and the radiance of this young man's smile, and that of his mother. Eliora knew from their past conversations how he had first met this family and the strange connection he felt to them. As he ventured that one more proposal before leaving, Eliora had suddenly turned to him. "I accept your proposal. I want to be your wife. I now have the reason I can give your brother for choosing you."

Stunned, Dismas had asked, "What reason?"

"Your kindness, your gentleness, your selflessness. Your brother is a good man, but your goodness outweighs his. As your brother, he cannot deny that. He cannot blame me for choosing the better man." Like a miracle, and with that simple reasoning, Eliora had publicly accepted Dismas' proposal over Jehiel's without causing him loss of face. Jehiel, indeed a good man, bowed to her decision, and sought no reprisal against his brother. And though they were never quite close as before, he soon found another woman who was not as interested in a gentler, more selfless, kinder man, as she was in a hard worker with a larger purse.

Eighteen years," Dismas smiled. Not only was today his daughter's wedding, but it was also the anniversary of his own wedding to his beloved Eliora. Today, he refused to think further about his troubled life. His daughter, Ariana, was to be wed to Gestas' son, Jacob. A blessing or a curse, he sighed. On the one hand, Ariana had loved Jacob since childhood, and she was pleased to no end to accept his proposal. On the other hand, Jacob was Gestas' eldest son, very like his father. Dismas felt a chill run down his spine. Jacob was not a kind man, at least not kind to anyone who did not serve his purpose. He was rich, stern, and it was rumored, not intrinsically an honest man. He gave only where there was profit. Ariana had once confessed her admiration for the tall, dark, somber, silent type, even mysterious. Yes, Jacob fit the description, except that in his case, Dismas prayed that those qualities Ariana admired in Jacob were not of the dark side of nature.

"Dismas," a voice even sweeter with age called from the kitchen of their small wood house. "Are you up, yet, father of the bride?"

Dismas chuckled at the humorous tease in Eliora's voice.

"Yes, yes, oh mother of the bride," he teased back. "I am dressing, bane of my heart." He heard Eliora laugh, because she knew how much he loved her.

The betrothal of Ariana and Jacob had taken place three months ago. As was the custom of his people, Jacob had come last night to claim his bride and take her home with him. He had built a beautiful addition to his Father's house where they would begin their married life. Gestas had heartily approved his son's work, his love for his offspring making him forget for once, the price, and his dowry to Dismas. The father of the groom paid the father of the bride, as his family now gained a woman to help with the chores, while the latter lost her help.

Gestas made up some of his losses by stinting on the quality of food and the amount of wine served. This became apparent when towards the middle of the day, the wine ran out.

Dismas and Eliora and their three sons with their wives and children were seated at the tables on one side of the wedded couple, while Gestas and his family sat on the other side. Cana was a small village where Gestas had decided to move some years ago. Of course, he had demanded that Dismas move there also. There was still the matter of the 40 drachma that Dismas had promised him for the remainder of his life, and the threat that Gestas would revenge himself if Dismas reneged, by informing the roman authorities of their thieving past even if it meant his own arrest. Gestas had several influential friends, not to mention those that he blackmailed to keep quiet about damaging secrets he had managed to learn. Dismas would find no mercy from Gestas' enemies, despite his many years of legitimate work. And so he had moved to Cana as well.

He sat now, smiling, despite the nagging fear that Ariana might one day regret marrying Jacob. He raised his goblet along with Gestas to the newlyweds, his gaze sweeping the guests seated at the long tables on both sides, raising their own goblets. His eyes fell upon a young man with a short beard and shoulder-length brown hair. The young man's gaze was familiar. Beside him, a middle-aged woman in wheat colored robes, festive yet simple, was whispering something in the young man's ear. Dismas' smiled broadened. It was her, Mary, older, with grey streaking her hair. Older, but just as lovely. Then that young man must be her son, Jesus. He strained to see if Joseph was with them.

He must introduce them to his Eliora. It was because of them that she had agreed to marry him when he had related to her his helping Mary and Joseph find Jesus in the Temple. He drank some of the wine joining in Gestas' toast to his son and new daughter-in-law. Then he quickly rose and began moving toward the Mother and Son. He was stopped several times by guests, so that by the time he arrived where he had seen Mary and Jesus seated, they were no longer there.

Disappointed, he scanned the entire court yard. He walked to the side portico leading to the kitchen and saw them. They were speaking with the waiters who stood holding some stone water jars. Dismas hurried to the side portico. Out of courtesy, he stopped a few feet away. Mary was speaking to her son. "They have no wine."

Dismas, already aware of this, planned to apologize to Mary and her son. He lifted a hand to coincide with a greeting, but stopped short as Jesus replied to his mother, "Woman, what is that to me and to thee? My hour is not yet come."

Dismas thought that an odd reply. He was further taken back as Mary smiling quietly turned to the waiters. "Do whatever he tells you."

Jesus glanced at his mother with the patient look of a son whose mother has made a special request, one that out of respect for her, he cannot refuse. He turned to the waiters.

"Fill the water jars with water."

Dismas sighed. At least they had water. The guests would have to be satisfied with that. At this point, Dismas should have walked up to Mary and her son. But the two were focused on the waiters filling the water jars to the brim, and Dismas had the feeling that something more was coming. He waited.

When the jars were filled, Jesus said to them, "Draw out now, and carry to the chief steward of the feast." And they carried it, passing by Dismas. Filled to the brim, some of the liquid spilled. Dismas gasped. Red. Red liquid. He stopped one of the waiters. Grabbing a water scoop from the wall, he plunged it into the water jar and drew out a cupful and tasted it. It was wine, the finest full-bodied wine he had ever tasted. He nodded to the servant to continue on his way."

He looked up and saw that Mary and Jesus had become aware of his presence. He hurried towards them, his features alight with awe and astonishment. "I will not ask how you have performed this wonder. From our very first meeting, those many years ago, I have always known there is something special about you."

Widening his arms to enclose both mother and son in a friendly embrace, he entreated them to join him at his table so that he could introduce his daughter and his son-in-law. They walked with him to the table of honor and extended their good wishes to the wedded couple, and to Eliora who gave Mary and her son, her most gracious smile. Dismas invited them to sit and dine at his table, but they excused themselves as they had friends waiting for them at their own table. Dismas noted the group of men at his friends' table anxiously watching Jesus. He understood.

"They are his followers," Mary explained.

"Ah, yes" Dismas nodded. A man as this would have followers.

He thought to ask, "By the way, I do not see your husband."

Mary replied sadly, "Joseph passed away a few years ago." She added as Dismas expressed his condolences, "He never forgot your kindness."

"None of us will ever forget," Jesus said.

What was about this young man's eyes that to look into them filled Dismas with such peace that all his misgivings for his daughter's happiness seemed to momentarily vanish as though words not spoken had nonetheless been said. Do not fear, friend.

As the two turned to leave, Jesus touched Dismas shoulder. It was that time of afternoon when the sun's rays sometimes streamed down at certain angles. Jesus and Dismas were caught in the cascading light. "Follow me," Jesus asked.

For an instant Dismas' whole being cried for him to say, "Yes, my Lord." And then he remembered his family, and his duties, and Gestas who would never let him go, and might even cause his family and friends to be harmed.

He did not have to refuse; the sadness on his face spoke volumes.

Jesus nodded his understanding; no reproaches, but the offer stood, his smile told Dismas. "We will meet again, friend," he said, placing his hand on Dismas' arm. Then gently shouldering his mother, he led her back to their table.

CHAPTER EIGHT

That night Dismas slept fitfully. In his dreams he saw his daughter and his wife sobbing. He did not know the reason, and when he opened his mouth to ask, the dream dissolved into another, where Jesus and his Mother strolled along a beaten path flanked by olive trees and pretty lavender bell flowers. He yearned to join them, but when he raised his foot to take a step, a chasm opened up before him. He looked to the right and saw a hanging bridge. Quickly he turned toward the bridge, but a hand gripped his shoulder and stopped him. He turned and stared into Gestas' savage face. He woke with a start.

After failed attempts to fall back to sleep, Dismas rose, put on his robes quietly so as not to disturb his beloved Eliora, and spent the remainder of the night in a perturbed state, on a bench set against the enclosing stockgate in the garden in his back courtyard. For a long time he stared at the star-studded heavens. At last he felt sleepy again, stretched out on the bench and fell into a peaceful slumber.

"Dismas, husband, wake up," the voice of his wife woke him.

Dismas opened his eyes, blinked at the bright daylight, and taking in the face of his dear Eliora, he smiled. "Forgive me, I could not sleep and did not wish to disturb you."

"Too much good wine, I warrant," Eliora chuckled. "I wish I could advise you to return to the comfort of your bed, but Gestas is in the kitchen, adamantly requesting to see you.

Dismas made a face. What did Gestas want now. He owned him, and now his daughter as well. He reluctantly hefted himself off the bench and stood up. He had never told Eliora about his debt of the forty drachmae to Gestas. Eliora believed simply that Gestas continued an unavoidable necessity — Dismas' employer, and a nuisance relative. "Very well. Let us see what our rich cousin requires now."

He strode to the kitchen and found Gestas, accompanied by one of his male slave servants, seated on a stool before the table, one hand dunking a large slab of bread into some leftover gravy, and the other holding a filled goblet of wine. After devouring the bread as if he had not eaten in ages, Gestas turned to his slave who held a small towel and a small bowl of water in readiness for his master to cleanse and wipe his hands. Dismas pitied the man, probably much younger than what he appeared, overworked by a miserly insensitive master who refused to purchase two workers when one could do the work of both, that is, until he expired. It was no surprise to him and others who knew Gestas, that he was a frequent visitor to the slave markets — to replenish his stock — as Gestas was apt to say.

Dismas and Eliora had never owned a slave, nor could they afford to buy one, and in fact, they did not want one. Where Gestas seemed to have forgotten his own early years as a slave, or perhaps was avenging himself through the sufferings of others, Dismas' heart went out to the enslaved, as he remembered his own early captivity and felt compassion and pity. He and Eliora much preferred to hire a servant. Their present help was an elderly woman, a former slave who no one had wanted to buy because of her age. Dismas had paid the discounted pittance, officially freed her, and hired her as a paid servant. Grateful, the old woman had fallen on her knees and sworn her allegiance to Eliora and himself, for whatever remained of her meager nearly used-up life. Gestas, of course, had reproached Dismas for wasting money and setting a bad example.

Finished with his lavation, Gestas dismissed his slave, and turned to Dismas, a serious look on his plump bearded face.

"We have work to do!" And when Dismas stared at him non-plussed, he added with a tilt of his flabby chin, "My coffer is nearly empty."

"What has your coffer to do with me? Or are you readying an excuse to reduce the pittance you pay me."

"The pittance I pay you!" Gestas face contorted, reddening. "You have a home, a wife, a servant," he said. I have allowed your daughter to marry my son, and paid you a generous dowry. Do you know how many daughters of rich merchants had their eye on my offspring."

"I know of those daughters who were foolish enough to believe his promises and dishonor themselves so that now no righteous man will look upon them," Dismas said.

"Your daughter — "

"My daughter was smarter!" Dismas interjected, anger welling up in his chest. "She refused to share his bed prematurely. Eliora and I taught her better." A sad note entered his voice. "Although now that she is his wife —" He did not verbalize the remainder of his thought, How long before Jacob grows bored with Ariana and looks elsewhere to satisfy his appetites. Gestas would understand.

Gestas dismissed any future unfaithfulness on his son's part with, "She is his wife and will bear his children, and be privy to the comforts of his inheritance from me."

Like Father, like son, Dismas frowned.

"Which brings me back to my empty coffer," Gestas said. "If it remains empty, I will have no inheritance to bestow on my son; then your daughter will truly suffer."

"What more do you want from me," Dismas asked. "I blacksmith for you the long hours you demand. I stay in your employ and vicinity, blackmailed by your threats of revealing my past inequities shared with you. My family and good friends are precious to me. I will not risk my past actions dishonoring them." In his mind's eye, he saw again the gentle faces of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He had never regretted his promise to Gestas to pay him the forty drachmas each year to protect the Holy Family. Knowing that such goodness as theirs existed in his world, had always given him the strength to give up thievery and work hard, even for the pittance Gestas paid him.

Gestas said, "I have enlisted the aid of three others who are beholden to me. And now I demand yours, as well. My coffer is empty and I plan to fill it. I know your foolish generosity to others has left you with nothing. I don't expect money from you. But I need your presence."

"For what?" Dismas asked, growing fearful.

Gestas glanced about him, making sure no one was within hearing. Satisfied, he bent closer to Dismas and whispered, "Within a fortnight, a very rich widow and her two children plan to return to Rome. She carries with her a treasure of gold coins inside three empty water skins hidden among others that are filled with water. I've learned from my sources that her late husband had fallen out of grace with some Roman officials. To avoid repercussions from those officials, she returns secretly to her kin in Rome, unescorted, but for two of her male servants"

Dismas saw greedy spittle gathering in Gestas' mouth as he anticipated, "She will be easy prey, with no Roman escort to guard her."

"Have you gone mad?" Dismas cried. "A woman — children — " and aware of Gestas' heartlessness, he added, hoping at least to appeal to the man's natural instinct for self-preservation " — a Roman Citizen!"

Gestas' mouth twisted and sprayed saliva as he snarled, "By all means, a Roman Citizen!"

Dismas shook his head and restrained the angry words that would immediately reveal his true motives for dissuading Gestas from committing this vile crime — it was wrong — immoral — unworthy. "A woman and children," he repeated, no longer able to restrain the compassion in his voice.

Gestas stood up abruptly, undaunted by the entreaty in Dismas' eyes. "I have no use for your tenderness of spirit. It will not fill my coffer. I will send word when you are to meet me at the appointed place on the road. Disguise yourself as a beggar; wear a hooded cloak and wrap some rags across your face. I and the others will do the same." Gestas voice acquired a placating note — a bread crumb thrown to a helpless wounded animal. "Not to worry, old friend. We will not be recognized." He did not wait for a reply or further argument. He brushed past Dismas, uncaring and confident. There was nothing the fool could do without implicating himself and his family.

Dismas, distraught and overwhelmed, sank down on the bench, shoulders slumping against the courtyard wall. For years he had believed himself free of the life of thievery that he had relegated to a past existence, to indiscretions forgotten, concealed and pardoned by years of honest work and charitable deeds. A tortured laugh broke from his throat. How he had deceived himself, made himself forget, airbrushed that past and made light of it as though it had never happened, until Gestas decided it was time to remind him.

His youth and his past misdeeds reared up before him, like rotting corpses clawing through dead earth to the surface. Gestas owned him, body and soul.

Dismas rose, despair tugging at his heart, and walked into the kitchen. Eliora was not there, and he remembered she had mentioned yesterday that she meant to visit her daughter in her new home. Perhaps for the best. She did not fully know of his past life, and he dare not tell her of Gestas present demands. He had no doubt she would forgive him. Her love for him had always been strong. But she would stand up to Gestas, and bring his ire and vengeance down on both their heads.

CHAPTER NINE

For weeks anxiety hung over Dismas' mind like a dark smothering mist. Finally the order came. Dismas joined Gestas and three other of his henchmen, and traveled with them to the town of Tabgha, near the Sea of Galilee, on the pretext of a work order to construct an addition to the house of one of Gestas' wealthy customers. The plan was for Gestas and his band to intercept the rich widow and her party composed of her children and two male servants who traveled with her for protection, as she passed through a lesser used road so as not to attract attention to her flight.

Unexpectedly, on the day they were to commit the deed, word arrived from Gestas' sources, that the widow had decided at the last minute to stop and visit for a day with her sister who lived nearby, before continuing on her journey. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Gestas ordered them to separate, and not to be seen talking to each other. They would rejoin him at the appointed time, per his instructions.

Dismas welcomed the short respite. He needed fresh air, a long walk, and time by himself to accept the inevitable. It was a clear, sunny day. The hilly countryside beckoned to him. He would climb. The physical exertion might help to clear his head.

He hiked for a long time through rising slopes heavy with lush grasses and numerous olive trees, and palms heavy with hanging clusters of sweet dates, snipping and munching on some as he climbed the hilly terrains. The solitude he had been enjoying began to fill with men and women until a crowd had formed below a mount overlooking the Galilean sea. At the top of the mount seated on a rock a man in a white tunic and shawl spoke in a strong voice to the crowd. The difference in height between the surrounding land and the bowl-shaped sea, resulted in wide temperature and pressure changes that caused strong winds to drop to the sea and funnel through the hills. The winds served as a natural amplifier. The man's voice spoken downwind carried a fair distance. Dismas could hear him quite clearly, though the man was not shouting. He spoke on an even keel, but with deep emotion and strong conviction.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice: for they shall have their fill. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called children of God. Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Dismas listened mesmerized. He knew that voice. It belonged only to one man that he had met in his life; only one man who was capable of such insight and such kindness.

"Blessed are ye when they shall revile you, and persecute you, and speak all that is evil against you, untruly, for my sake:" the man on the mount continued. "Be glad and rejoice, for your reward is very great in heaven. For so they persecuted the prophets that were before you. You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt lose its savour, wherewith shall it be salted? It is good for nothing any more but to be cast out, and to be trodden on by men. You are the light of the world. A city seated on a mountain cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but upon a candlestick, that it may shine to all that are in the house. So let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven."

A terrible pang of conscience drove up Dismas' chest and he gagged. He had to cover his mouth not to make the sounds heard. What would his gentle friend and his beautiful mother think of him now, as he, Dismas, waited to join Gestas to rob the widow. Yet how could he defy Gestas and place his own family in the danger of Gestas' ire and vengeance. Did he so value his self-esteem in the eyes of this great prophet — for that is what He must be — and forget his duty to protect his loved ones.

"Do not think that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets. I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill. For amen I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one jot, or one tittle shall not pass of the law, till all be fulfilled. He therefore that shall break one of these least commandments, and shall so teach men, shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven. But he that shall do and teach, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.

"I can hear no more!" Dismas cried as he raised his cloaked arm to cover the shame on his face, and fled.

CHAPTER TEN

Gestas and three of his compatriots hid on one side of the dirt road. Dismas hid on the other side. A warm breeze tinged with moisture from the sea only a few miles away, ruffled his hood and the few strands of brown hair that escaped the dark raggedy cloth band he had wrapped about his head and lower half of his face under the hood to hide his identity. Per Gestas' instructions, he had exchanged his robe for a tattered one bartered from a beggar for a few precious coins. The other brigands had done likewise.

The clip clop of horses hooves disturbed the silence and halted Dismas' prayer that the widow and her family had decided at the last minute to choose a different route. But it was apparent that there would be no escape, no postponement. Dismas drew his dagger.

Gestas and his henchmen sprung from both sides of the road, surprising and attacking the two escorts, grabbing their legs and pulling them off their mounts, before the two men could draw the short sword at their side. It had been agreed between Gestas and his henchmen that they would not kill, only render their victims unconscious, so there would be less chance of vengeance or reprisal.

As the others under Gestas, Dismas used only the thick handle of his knife to help knock out the two male servants on the ground. The widow and the child in her arms rode one horse, and her son, a boy no older than seven or eight, rode the small horse behind her. With the road before her blocked by the brigands tackling her servants, the widow attempted to turn her horse and that of her son and run back. But the brigands were too quick and grabbed the bridals of both horses. She was forced to dismount with her child along with her son.

Under the band around his mouth, Dismas' teeth were clenched and his heart hammering. The two servants lay unconscious, blood seeping from their temples where the brigands, including himself, had struck the blows. Accomplishing the deed, along with self-preservation when the two men had tried to defend themselves, had obscured any conscious thoughts of right and wrong. But the sight of the widow holding her infant in one arm and clasping the older boy to her side with the other, reanimated his conscience. He saw again in his mind's eye, the family he had once saved. He must save this family as well. Assure their safety. Quickly, he hurried toward them, intent on stopping any physical harm from the brigands.

But his action brought about a reverse effect.

The widow clutched her children to herself and huddled against her horse. She watched, eyes wide with fear, her lips pressed tightly, controlling screams, her Roman pride entwined with fear that a show of weakness and hysteria would incite even more the cruel mentality of the brigands and bring further harm than she already expected to her and her children. Dismas saw the tears filling her dark eyes and streaming down her rouged cheeks as the masked beggars stripped the water bags from the horses and opening each in turn, howled with joy as they discovered the three that held the roman coins. The widow slowly sank to her knees. All that she had left, all that her beloved husband had hidden for her and their sons. He had whispered in her ear their hiding place behind a loose stone in a wall of their bedroom, an instant before centurions dragged him from their beautiful home.

Gestas was at her right, as Dismas moved toward her, not really knowing what he could do to help her, playing it more by ear. The widow on her knees caught sight of him heading towards her and her children. She bolted upright, her arm not holding the babe, swinging ready to do battle, if not for herself, at least for her sons. A cruel twist of fate, Dismas would ponder in the months to come as desperation wheeled the widow's free hand sporting a double tiered wedding band, one tier left open and angled to show the head and torso of an eel. The sharp edge of the eel's carved head caught on the cloth band around Gestas' mouth, hooked it and dragged it down about his neck, exposing his face.

Dismas could not fully recall what happened next. Perhaps, he reasoned, guilt and shame blocked the horror from his mind, if not from his heart and emotions. All his mind would allow him to remember, were the motionless corpses of the widow and her elder son, face down on the scraggy dirt, blood oozing from the back of their heads, and Gestas, face unmasked, standing coldly, his face determined and dispassionate, still holding the bloodied rock with which he had murdered them.

The wails of the babe still clutched in his mother's arm galvanized Dismas out of his stupor. He flung himself between the corpses and Gestas. "Spare the child" he cried. "I will take him! Raise him as my own. He will never know." He stood like stone between the child and the murderer of its mother, uncaring if Gestas struck him next. In his mind, he was already dead — dead to all that was good and decent — dead his own family for he could now never again accept their love — dead to the holy gentle and kind prophet, the young Holy man whose teachings might change the selfish course of the world headed for darkness and despair, and open the minds and hearts of all humankind to those simple truths that he had shared as he stood at the top of mount. Dead, his mind repeated. Dead to the prophet's beautiful and kind mother. Despair tearing at his heart, he turned his back to Gestas, uncaring if the monster struck him dead as well, bent and gently pried the wailing child from its mother's lifeless arm. "Forgive me" he whispered, "forgive me. I will protect your child with my very life."

Dismas stood up and turned to face Gestas. His enemy gazed at him curiously, a bit awed by Dismas' own determination. Surprised, no doubt, Dismas thought, at the fearlessness he showed in the face of Gestas' cold-bloodedness.

At length, Gestas looked at his henchmen. The water bags filled with the gold coins hung limply in their hands. A heavy silence had drenched their laughter. For the first time in the past few minutes, Gestas felt a chill travel up his spine. His gaze fell again upon the dead widow and her son. Perhaps he had acted too hastily. Gone against his own instructions of no actual violence to avoid kin seeking vengeance or bringing the brunt of Roman justice on their heads. However, he did not wish to lose face in front of his men. He was after all their leader. He glanced up at Dismas and shrugged, feigning indifference. "All right, if it makes you feel better. The child has no memory of us. And the two servants, if they live, never saw my face. And I know you will never risk your family's welfare by revealing the truth to him. We have our gold. Go, take the child. We will dispose of the bodies where no one will find them. The Sea of Galilee hides many a corpse!

The men slowly gathered their weapons, attached the coin-filled water bags to the saddles on the horses of the unfortunates on the ground. Dismas turned wearily around. He had no stomach to watch them gather the bodies for disposal. The two male servants, blood continuing to seep from the wounds to their bludgeoned heads, lay motionless, probably dead, or they soon would be.

Dismas, silently holding to his heart the babe who had strangely quieted in his arms, walked into the desert,. He did not know whether he would ever return to his family.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A beautiful warm, late Spring morning. Eliora had opted to knead her flour on the wood table in the open courtyard. She hummed the undulating tune of a festive dance, one the minstrels had played at her daughter's wedding. As she folded and pressed the dough forward with the heels of her hands, she tapped her feet to the memory of cymbals, lyres and tambourines. Every few seconds as she continued to knead the dough, she glanced protectively to the side, where little Joachim played with some small rocks and sticks. She smiled, as only a proud grandmother can, even an adoptive one. A touch of sadness tempered the warmth of her smile as she contemplated little Joachim. Poor child. Yet fortunate, she thought, that Dismas had found the babe, abandoned and left for dead. He had nursed it back to health, and after failed inquiries, had brought him home to raise as their own.

Her growing worry had proved unnecessary when nearly two months had passed without word from her husband, except for Gestas informing her that Dismas had stayed behind to complete further work on the building commissioned by the wealthy customer. Dismas had returned to her safely, bringing with him this precious child. The small stack of pebbles little Joachim had piled, using sticks as levers to hold them in place, suddenly tumbled back to the ground. He let out a yowl, and began to cry. Eliora quickly wiped her hands on her apron and hurried over to him. She swooped him into her arms, hugging him, and kissed his tears away. God had been generous to her, giving her little Joachim to refill her empty nest.

* * * *

Inside Gestas' Blacksmith shop, flames leapt in the furnace as Dismas worked the bellow's iron handle repeatedly down and up, pumping air into the furnace, sparking the firewood and camel dung to fuel the flames higher. He needed to heat the flames hot enough to melt several narrow slabs of iron waiting on the table behind him, to fill a Roman order for a hundred nails of various sizes and thicknesses. His sleeveless sooth-covered tunic was drenched in sweat. The equally sooty band around his forehead absorbed some of the perspiration and at least kept the salty drops from running into his eyes. With each strenuous pull on the bellow's handle, his arms and legs ached despite the toughened muscles acquired from years of laboring as Gestas' blacksmithing assistant, and reminded him he was no longer a young man, but an aging one.

The wood door to the shop opened. Dismas started, tensing. Ever since the widow's murder, he lived in fear, easily startled, looking behind him as he walked to and from the shop, wondering if someone would recognize the child he had saved and brought home. The babe was now a toddler. The blondish hair had darkened, the child's features changing as he grew. The widow had lived many miles from Jerusalem. There was little to connect Gestas and his henchmen to her. But the guilt weighed upon Dismas. Despite that he had tried to save her and her older son, he had partaken in the robbery. And worse, it was his very action, his movement toward her that had caused her to flail her free arm defensively to protect herself and her sons. Dismas berated himself, cursing his stupidity in not foreseeing her reaction. If he had waited, bided his time, Gestas would probably have left them bound and gagged. When the two escorts returned to consciousness, one of them would have eventually loosed his bindings and freed the others, or some traveler on the road would have found them and freed them.

With a heavy, tortured sigh, Dismas forced his thoughts back to his work at hand. He took the thick cloth wrappings on the table behind him and wound them tightly about his hands to avoid burns as he worked with the thick, heavy tongs, specially made to grasp and lift one narrow iron slab and slide it into the fire, holding it in place until it grew red hot and softened. The cloth wrappings offered some protection when some of the heat transferred to the tongs themselves, but not completely. He'd long ago learned to ignore the burns and the scars and the callouses.

He worked through the afternoon hours, melting the iron, breaking it into small pieces over the anvil, and hammering the glowing metal, forging the nails from short stubby ones to medium sized thinner ones, and to the long thick pointed ones often used to nail condemned prisoners to crosses. As he finished forging each nail, he would place it in the quenching bucket of water beside the anvil, to cool and harden.

By nightfall he had filled about a quarter of the order. The first batch always took the longest. Tomorrow he would increase the number, having already worked out the glitches.

He opened the shop door and let the evening breeze cool his sweat-drenched skin. After a few moments of rest, he returned inside. He grouped the nails into their respective crates. A shiver ran up his spine as he handled the thick, long, pointed ones, and the thought occurred to him that he may have forged the nails for his own crucifixion if he and Gestas were ever found out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The weeks passed and the child grew, accepted and loved by Eliora and Dismas and their family. According to Eliora's calculations, little Joachim was now two years old. She planned a small celebration in their home and invited her daughter and her husband, and Gestas and his wife, Yona, her sister, and Jehiel, Dismas' brother, and his wife, Sarah. It was a good day for a celebration. The sun shone full and bright, and barely a cloud marred the sky's light blue. Eliora had baked extra barley bread and cooked fish (Tilapia) sweetened with honey and pomegranates. She had made sure to put aside servings for her three sons. They were fishermen. An abundance of fish had filled the bay this week, and they were out on the sea casting their nets, but they were expected to return in a couple of days. A rumor circulated that a prophet had called forth the fish to fill the nets. The rumors went as far as to say that the man had walked on the sea. Walked on the sea? she thought chuckling softly. Still, she was known for her open mind, her motto being, where there was smoke, there likely had been a fire. This prophet must have done something marvelous.

When the food was set out on the table in the kitchen, she called her family in from the courtyard where they had been enjoying her small garden of herbs and white, pink-streaked and yellow Lily patches, and the warm spring weather. They filed in and sat down in their favorite spot at the table. With a loving smile to Eliora for once again filling yet another day with joy, Dismas stood up and began to chant a prayer of thanksgiving to God.

A loud heavy pounding shook the door. "Open in the name of the Prefect" a thick uncompromising voice ordered in the language of Rome.

The men at the table bounded to their feet, not quite sure what to do, while the women clasped their young to their chests. Gestas' face had gone white. Oddly, his son Jacob's expression remained calm. He eyed Dismas who had turned to look at the door as though death itself stood behind it. "Best open the door," he told Dismas. "We should not anger the Roman guards."

Dismas galvanized into action. "Gavriella, Ariana, Yona, take your children into the courtyard. If the rear gate is unguarded, go quietly together, far from this house. Do not return until the soldiers have gone." The door shook and the hinges rattled. "Hurry!" he cried as the women, frozen in fear, forced their bodies to move. Gestas, his portly form trembling from head to foot, moved to follow Yona, but Jacob grabbed his arm. "Father, no. You must stay. We may need your influence?" he said in a bland voice.

"N-no, I-I," Gestas stammered, as he tried to pull away.

But Jacob held him in place. "Father, why are you so frightened. You've done nothing wrong. Perhaps they have the wrong house?"

A growing realization, then disbelief twisted Gestas' features, and Dismas read the malevolent look that passed between father and son.

Under the incessant battering of muscled shoulders, swords and fists, the hinges and nails loosened. Yet Jacob's composure remained unruffled, even as the hardware gave way and the door came crashing down. Dismas backed up against the wall, the desire to run cogent, and only the thought that running would cause the soldiers to follow and search, and lead them to the rest of his family, wherever they might be hiding, held him in place. Would they kill first, and ask later? He glanced desperately at Gestas who stood transfixed, dribble escaping the side of his mouth, not from greed this time, but from terror and panic. Jacob continued to hold him by his arm in an iron grip. Why was he not afraid, Dismas wondered, his own heart pounding with fear. What did he know —

Suddenly, Dismas knew. "Oh God of Abraham," he murmured in anguish. What had Jacob done!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He and Gestas should consider themselves lucky, Dismas thought, shivering and pulling the ends of the cloak tighter about him. Eliora had brought him the cloak soon after his imprisonment, a year ago, and pushed it through the small narrow opening in the wall that served to let some light in and as a food portal. He and Gestas could have been placed in one of the small holding cells outside, mere dirt holes topped by bars open to the elements, where crowded prisoners waited for months, sometimes for years, if they survived, to be called for trial. The prisoners crowded into the small holes, baked under the hot sun, or when the rains poured in, they hugged the dirt walls and if they could fit, slid under the moldy benches that lined the dirt walls.

Lucky, because his beloved Eliora, despite his protestations that she should leave the city and flee as her sister, Gestas' wife, had done, remained, and brought him and Gestas food and water, and clothing when permitted, all delivered through the narrow slit that served as the window. The Roman authorities governing the land neither took nor felt any responsibility towards their prisoners. The detainees received no amenities, nor food or water. They depended solely on their families. Those who had no one, starved.

The garrison was located near a market place. The slight breeze that wafted into the cell was welcome, but unfortunately brought with its coolness the smell of bread baking and soups simmering. Dismas ran his tongue over his dry lips, and tried to ignore the ache in his belly begging for nourishment. The half eaten loaf of unleavened bread he hid inside his girder must remain hidden until Gestas fell asleep. This morning Eliora had brought them one each, along with some pieces of cheese. Gestas had quickly gobbled his food, and turned to Dismas to demand his. Taken unawares once had been enough for Dismas to eat his cheese quickly and feign that he had already finished his bread as well. The bread he could hide, but Gestas would smell the cheese. And even this small deception would have been impossible if Dismas, knowing that now he had nothing to lose, had finally stood up to Gestas, and physically fought him. In this respect, his years of working the bellows as Gestas' blacksmith stood him well. His body, despite the meager diet, was leaner and stronger than Gestas' thin, loose-skinned, and self-abused anatomy from years of overeating and lack of exercise. Coward that he truly was, Gestas had backed off, and now only rarely tried to snatch Dismas' portion. Dismas continued to hide his bread to avoid tempting Gestas. Fighting him daily was not something he looked forward to. Better to wait till the man was asleep.

With this thought, he stretched out on the bench that lined the piece of wall he claimed, as had other prisoners that had come and gone over the past year. He wondered in the beginning why Gestas and he were not immediately brought to trial. Why the long wait. He knew their doom was forthcoming when Eliora brought him the news that the widow and her children they were accused of robbing and killing and disposing of the bodies, was a close friend of the wife of the current Magistrate, Pontius Pilate. During one of his business trips, Gestas' son, Jacob, had heard of the hefty reward posted for the murderers of the widow and her children. Despite being dumped into the Sea, one of the male servants had survived, swam to the surface, and returned to Rome and informed the widow's family members about what had happened.

Like father, like son, Jacob had long been hungry for his father's inheritance. He was not particular how he obtained it, along with the reward. Unfortunately for him, Gestas' belongings, his property and his slaves were seized and confiscated. So he was left with only the reward to comfort him. The wife who worshipped him, at last understanding how misplaced her affections were on the man who had condemned his father and her own to certain death, had fled with her mother-in-law, Yonna, Gestas' wife. Only Eliora had returned. Dismas thanked God that Roman justice had not sought to follow her. He remembered the young prophet's words at the wedding of his daughter to Jacob in Cana three years ago. Words not spoken, yet said. When he had gazed into the young prophet's eyes and all his misgivings for his daughter's happiness had momentarily vanished as though words not spoken had nonetheless been said. Do not fear, friend.

Dismas closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It was the only comfort left to him.

Voices raised in excited conversation streamed into the cell through the narrow opening. "He's cured me. I can see. I tell you He is divine. A messenger from God Himself. I can see my hands, my feet; I can see your face."

"But what did he do, this Jesus?" asked another voice.

"Nothing really. Others watching told me he, he spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and spread the clay on my eyes, then told me to go wash in the pool of Siloe. And I went, I washed, and I see."

Dismas strained to hear more, but the voices grew fainter as the speakers moved on and finally stilled.

"Jesus," he whispered. Yes, it had to be same young man who had changed the water into wine at the wedding feast of his daughter. The same young man he had heard speaking such wise, insightful words on the Mount near the Sea of Galilee. "I need to know more about him."

He resolved to ask Eliora to bring him news about this young prophet. Perhaps, she could bring him to his little window to speak to him. Perhaps he could beg his forgiveness for his crimes. ask his advice and feel again that peace that he had felt on the few occasions he had met him and his gentle mother.

In the morning, Eliora brought him and Gestas each a small goat skin bag with some goat's meat and bread. Gestas grasped his before Eliora could finish extending her hand and arm through the slit. He hurried to his corner and hungrily devoured the small meal, grumbling as he did so that Eliora always skimped on his portion and gave more to her husband. Eliora started to deny his accusation, but Dismas motioned her not to bother. "I need to ask you a favor, though you have done more than most wives would, dearest Eliora. I must speak quickly, before the sentry waves you away."

Eliora leaned close to the window, passing him his parcel. "Speak, dear husband. What do you wish?"

"Inquire about a young prophet and healer who goes by the name of Jesus. Find out what you can. And if you are fortunate enough to speak to him, ask if he will come with you the next time you bring us food."

"Enough! On your way. These are prisoners, not guests." the gruff voice of the sentry walking his post interrupted further exchange. Eliora nodded to her husband, then quickly turned and hurried away.

Alarmed and scared, Gestas hid the small goat skin bag with what food was left behind him. Dismas sat quickly on the weathered bench, and hid his parcel of food behind him as well, before the guard looked inside the cell and saw the two frightened men cowering against the dirt wall not worth his time to heckle or torment. He grimaced at the stench coming from the cell, and moved on.

* * * *

"He heals the sick, raises the dead, cleanses the lepers, cast out devils; the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead rise again, the poor have the gospel preached to them," Eliora repeated words she had heard from common folks who had witnessed Jesus' works. "He is as no man ever seen in our land."

"Yes, he is no ordinary man. Do you know where he is now?" They spoke in whispers as Gestas was asleep, neither of them wishing to wake him and hear his cursing or grumbling.

"He is here in Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. The people welcomed him as he rode into the city yesterday on a donkey. They waved palms and shouted blessings upon him."

Dismas returned the empty goat skin bag to her as she passed him another with a little cheese and bread and a small flask of water.

"He is in Jerusalem!?" Dismas whispered, hope rising in his chest. "Then, were you able to speak to him?"

"No, the crowd was too dense. I could not get through. I'm sorry. But I will try again, dearest."

Disheartened, but used now to disappointment, he extended his hand through the slit, palm upward, his gaze beckoning for Eliora to place her hand in his. She clasped it warmly, tears filling her eyes. "Oh my love, why are we so punished?"

"You my dearest, have done nothing wrong. But my punishment is warranted." He did not reply to her questioning glance. He squeezed her fingers gently. "My sins weigh heavy upon my shoulders," he added casually.

"Even these short moments we share I do not deserve. Yet God shows me mercy." Dismas swallowed a sob, not wanting to wake Gestas.

"How is little Joachim?" he asked, turning his thoughts away from himself. "Have you heard word from your daughter? Is she caring for him?"

Eliora nodded. "Yes. She has bonded with him as if he were her own son. I do not think she will give him back to me. But I will not protest. I am old and she is young."

"I don't like the thought of little Joachim growing up under Jacob's influence, a man who betrayed his father for gold."

"Have no fear on that account. She has left Jacob for good. She has divorced him, and the Council of Elders have granted her the divorce. He has shamed himself before his people for accusing his father unjustly to receive the reward. None of us and his own family will have anything to do with him. The last I heard of him he has gone south to live among some of his business associates."

Unjustly? Dismas thought, frowning. So the Council and his family continued to believe that he and Gestas were innocent. Dismas shook his head, lowering his eyes shamefully. "Oh my beloved," he anguished. "I have not told you the truth, because I hoped Gestas' influence over the years with those in power might garner our release. But after all these months imprisoned here, even he has come to realize that there is no hope for us. We are doomed, my love. Eliora, we are guilty." He read the alarm in her eyes. "I had hoped never to reveal my shame. And I have begged God's forgiveness. I did not kill the widow or her son. But I partook of the robbery."

Some of the alarm on Eliora's face, lessened, and finally turned to compassion as Dismas told her, "I was able to save the babe."

"Little Joachim?" Eliora asked, as she at last fully understood.

Dismas nodded. "Perhaps that is why God has protected you all thus far." And perhaps now that Eliora knew the full truth, she would turn away from him as well. He would not blame her. He would make it easy for her to leave. "We have spoken too long. The sentry making his rounds should be reaching this section any moment." He was somewhat surprised that the guard was taking so long to finish his walk around his assigned section of the prison exterior. "Go my beloved, go in peace. We are not worthy of your kindness." He tried to let go of her hand, but she held on to his. Dismas read the love in her eyes and in her smile. It defied all reason.

"Here," Eliora said, letting go of his hand in order to place the parcel containing Gestas' food and water into his palm. "Till tomorrow, my love."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dismas soon learned why the sentry guard was late. The raised voices of soldiers excitedly communicating to each other about what was happening in the magistrate's open court traveled into the cell as the soldiers returned to their quarters near the interior of the prison. A man was accused of fomenting insurrection against the Roman empire. His own people had turned him in and demanded his crucifixion despite that the Magistrate had openly declared that he could find no fault or sign or proof of insurrection in the accused. Pilate even offered them a trade in observance of the custom of freeing a prisoner for their Holy Day of Passover. Jesus, or Barabbas, a professed revolutionist and antagonist of Roman rule. The crowd was insatiable. They chose to free Barabbas.

The voices woke Gestas and he sat up, eyes bleary, and empty stomach growling. "What is all this noise. Can't a condemned man sleep?" he blurted out. "I'm hungry." He looked at Dismas who had already eaten. "You look satiated. Your wife brought you food. Where's mine?"

Dismas picked up the goatskin parcel prepared for Gestas. From experience, he did not bother to offer it to Gestas. And as he expected, Gestas quickly jumped to his feet and grasped the goatskin bag from his hands, reminding him of a wild hungry untrusting animal who expects no mercy.

Gestas made quick work of the humble meal, and drained every drop of water from the small wood flask, not bothering to save some for later.

In the adjoining cells, fellow prisoners were discussing what they as well had heard through the small openings that served as windows. Dismas sat down, sadness filling his heart. How could the crowd have demanded the death of the wise and gentle prophet, the healer, the benefactor. He shook his head, uttering a plea to God above, not to abandon his friend. He would have prayed longer, but at that moment two burly guards entered the prison area. He had seen them before, bringing in new prisoners, or taking others out to freedom, or more likely to the whatever fate awaited them. His heart missed a beat as the two soldiers stopped in front of his cell.

"On your feet," the taller of the two ordered, while the other chose a thick key from several on a welded iron keyring.

Gestas rose slowly to his feet, trying to read the expressions on the faces of two soldiers. Their expressions told him nothing. Dismas took a deep breath. He remembered one prisoner who had been freed. The soldiers' voices had been less stern. Something in their manner less gruff. Someone of influence may have arranged the prisoner's release or proved his innocence beyond a doubt. Not so, today. The two soldiers seized Gestas and Dismas by an arm and roughly pushed them out of the cell. Gestas fell and was rudely pulled up and shoved ahead. Dismas held his balance and moved quickly before the soldier could thrust him forward.

Gestas begged, "Are we being taken to a hearing?" The taller of the two soldiers laughed. "You've had your hearing."

"No, we were never called!" Gestas cried.

More laughter. Dismas swallowed hard.

No explanations, nothing. Both were shoved along past the other cells, past the soldiers' quarters and mess room, and out the thick iron double doors and into the front courtyard. Their garments rent as they were stripped to their waste. Dismas had no doubt of what was coming. Gestas screamed and pleaded and struggled. Dismas could not stop the tears of fear that streamed down his cheeks. But he did not struggle. His arms were wrapped about a wood pole and tied at the wrist; his waist also pinned to the pole by another coarse rope.

He heard the clank of the metal hooks and the swoosh of the leather lashes. "Yes," he thought coldly as fear numbed his thoughts, but sadly not his body. He had made such hooks in Gestas's blacksmith shop, to be attached to a Roman three-lash whip.

He heard the back-swing of the lashes as they met the centrifugal force of the wind and the twang of the forward swing. Then he heard Gestas scream, a blood curdling scream of pain. He managed to turn his head and saw that Gestas had been chosen to be scourged first.

If they adhered to the Jewish law of no more than 40 lashes for a punishment, or forty less one, lest they err and do more, then Gestas would receive thirteen because of the triple lashes, that is, if the commanding officer present condescended today to follow the Jewish law to avoid fomenting more resentment than already existed.

Cold, logical thoughts. Dismas wondered if he was losing his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could shut out as well the sound of lash and hooks meeting and tearing flesh, and Gestas' screams. Another thought entered his mind. Jesus was scourged. This horror had happened to him as well.

With Gestas' cries subsiding into guttural sobs as he began to lose consciousness, Dismas heard the voice of the soldier wielding the lash, count to thirteen. Then the Commander bellowing the order, "Enough! The other one." He motioned toward Dismas.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dismas sat on the ground, slumped over, shoulders, back and arms stripped raw and bleeding, reseeding the dirt already stained red from past flagellations. When they had untied him and allowed his bleeding body to carelessly fall to the ground, the contact with the hard, dry earth had made him scream anew. With what little strength was left in his mangled flesh and muscles, he had managed to sit up and look about him. It was then he had noticed Gestas prone on the ground, unconscious. At this moment, he envied Gestas' unconscious state, if only for a little while not to feel the torn bleeding flesh, the searing rawness that made him scream anew each time he moved.

A slight commotion further up the courtyard made him lift his head. His jaw clenched and his eyes brimmed with added tears. A man, torn and bleeding as himself, sat on a small bench surrounded by a circle of jeering soldiers. On his head was a crown of thorns. The soldiers pushed and pummeled his mangled flesh. One soldier repeatedly hit him on the head with the hilt of his sword. Dismas winced as the crown of thorns dug deep into the man's head. The tortured prisoner moaned with pain, but kept his eyes lowered. Only when another of the soldiers bowed before him in mock reverence, did the prisoner raise his eyes and meet the soldier's gaze. The ridicule died on his features as the suffering man's blue eyes gazed humbly and beneficently at the soldier. The centurion climbed to his feet and backed away. And Dismas knew who the prisoner was. Those eyes, that look, that gentle, sweet man.

Dismas kept his gaze on him, wishing with all his heart that Jesus would look at him. And he did, fully meeting Dismas' gaze. Peace, dear friend. Your pain is mine. Words not spoken, yet said. Dismas heard them in his mind and his heart.

A loud scraping noise made the soldiers move forward to view three muscular slaves each dragging a thick wood crossbeam and ropes. On the floor, Gestas was regaining consciousness. The sight that met his opening eyes made him scream anew.

Like Gestas, and then Jesus, Dismas was rudely yanked to his feet. Barely able to stand, he was held in place by the soldiers as the slaves tied the felled tree trunk across his raw bleeding shoulders and arms. The rough bark tore at his scourged flesh with each movement. The moment the soldiers and slaves stepped back, Dismas' body buckled under the weight of the crossbeam and he fell to his knees. Jeering, harsh merciless commands to stand up and move forward, and the sting of the lash forced his body to stand and file behind Gestas who between groans of pain swore at his captors, and cursed his son. The soldiers pushed Jesus into the lead. Forgetting for an instant his own bloodied pain-riddled form, Dismas glanced at Jesus and admired the young prophet's bravery. His moans as he staggered, torn and bleeding, under the weight of the crossbeam, were not laced with self-pity or hate. Once more Dismas thought, this is no ordinary man. He prayed that Jesus would expire before reaching the place of crucifixion and be spared further pain.

Except for the readily ascertainable fact that they were being led to their crucifixion, nothing else had been revealed to them about who had judged them and ordered their death. He wished at least to know where he would be crucified. As they were driven forward into the main road, Dismas, calling upon what was left of his self-confidence, asked the centurion moving alongside them, "Where...where are we to be crucified." He half-expected to be ignored, but the Centurion turned to him. The man looked angry, but not angry at the prisoners. His features were set sternly, his gaze weary, his mouth clenched, as though he were fighting words he dare not speak. Dismas recognized him. Earlier, he had overheard the Centurion speaking with a fellow soldier, about the young prophet. When he, the Centurion, had been stationed at Capharnaum, one of his most devoted servants had grown ill and was on the point of dying. Coincidentally, the young rabbi was in Capharnaum preaching and performing miracles. The Centurion had sought him out and beseeched him to cure his servant.

"... saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, and is grievously tormented. And Jesus saith to him: I will come and heal him. And the centurion making answer, said: Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof: but only say the word, and my servant shall be healed. For I also am a man subject to authority, having under me soldiers; and I say to this, Go, and he goeth, and to another, Come, and he cometh, and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it. And Jesus hearing this, marvelled; and said to them that followed him: Amen I say to you, I have not found so great faith in Israel.

And I say to you that many shall come from the east and the west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven: But the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into the exterior darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. And Jesus said to the centurion: Go, and as thou hast believed, so be it done to thee. And the servant was healed at the same hour."

"Where...where are we to be crucified?" he repeated. If he had expected compassion because of the soldier's previous contact with the young rabbi, he was disappointed. The man's dark grey eyes turned hard as the iron nails Dismas had often forged. He answered, "You and Gestas will be crucified just outside the town, on the mount your people call Golgotha." Then he gazed at Jesus, shoulders bent unnaturally under the crossbeam, as he trudged forward, pain contorting his features, bruised and bloodied. Blood oozed from the wounds caused by the crown of thorns piercing his brow and his temples and the back of his head.

Without slackening his pace, the Centurion looked at Dismas again. "And the young rabbi will be crucified betwixt the two of you." A corner of his mouth twisted, and now anger filled his eyes. He moved ahead quickly as if eager to be away from the likes of Dismas.

Dismas understood. The young rabbi who had done nothing wrong; who had preached only kindness; who cured the sick, both their spirits and their bodies, was to be crucified for his kind deeds between two murderers.

"Dismas, my beloved," a woman's voice cried.

He turned his head and saw Eliora trying to reach him. One of the guards barred her way. Eliora fell on her knees, her arms outstretched to Dismas, anguished tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dismas felt a sharp pang in his chest. "Oh no," he moaned. "Go home, my wife" he cried. That she should bear such anguish to see him thus. The sting of the lash across his shredded back and the whipmaster's burly frame blocked her image. The crowd closed the gap her presence had momentarily created. He prayed she would not follow him to the top of the mount.

Several times the march was briefly interrupted. Once by a group of women lamenting the gentle rabbi's cruel fate; another time by a young woman taking pity as the rabbi fell. Managing to reach Jesus, she pulled off her wool veil and gently pressed it against his face, attempting to wipe away some of the blood and dirt. Someone called out, "Veronica, no!" Then one of the soldiers roughly shoved her back into the crowd. Dismas heard a commotion coming from the crowd. "Look, someone cried out. Look at the veil. It retains his image!"

Dismas thought his heart would burst in his chest from sorrow as he saw Jesus' mother trying to reach her son. Her cries, "My son, my son —." made the curious sanguine crowd part for her. One of the soldiers moved to bar her way, but the Centurion in command stopped him. "It's his mother. Give them a moment," he ordered. Jesus looked at the Centurion with gratitude, and Dismas could have sworn that words were exchanged, though nothing was said.

As mother and son gazed at each other with more love, compassion and sorrow than Dismas had words to describe, he wished he had superhuman powers to spirit away mother and son, to go back in time and save him from all this horror, back to that moment in the stable when he had first laid eyes upon him, upon the Holy Family and the Holy Babe whom wise men had come to worship, this gentle king and his beautiful mother. For that was what he must be — A King among men and angels, sent from God himself.

Three times the Nazarene fell, so weak that the Centurion picked out a muscular man from the crowd to finish carrying Jesus' cross to the top of the mount. On that final fall, Dismas again exchanged glances with the gentle prophet, and once again he heard words not spoken, yet said. "Peace, dear friend. Come to me all you that labour, and are burdened, and I will refresh you. Take up my yoke upon you, and learn of me, because I am meek, and humble of heart and you shall find rest to your souls. For my yoke is sweet and my burden light."

Yes, Dismas thought. My yoke is heavy. The weight of my sins, iron shackles crushing my spirit. Your yoke is light and sweet. It is love and kindness, humility and gentleness. This was the purpose of his coming. This gentle being was giving his life to lift the crushing yoke of sin from mankind's shoulders. He was taking our sins upon himself. In his mind's eye, he saw Jesus weighed down not just by the thick, heavy crossbeam, but by the entire cross upon which were strapped all the sins of mankind, including those of Dismas himself. His own sufferings, when seen in the light of the sufferings of one gentle, loving being who had done nothing but good, were no heavier than a feather.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The midday sun hung heavy in the sky. Dismas hung, tied and nailed naked to the cross by his wrists and feet, with only a miniscule sedile jutting out from the upright beam behind his buttocks. The small block, when he managed to straddle it, absorbed some of the weight of his body borne by the sprained tendons and muscles in his chest and his outstretched arms, allowing him with sharp, painful spasms to inhale and exhale. He had heard it said and now understood why crucifixion was more a death by asphyxiation than by blood loss. As he grew weaker and the pain too excruciating for him to support the weight of his body, he would no longer be able to move — no longer able to inhale or exhale. Death would at last overtake him.

To his right, Jesus had been crucified between him and Gestas. Their bodies racked with pain, were still able to draw short spasmed breaths and speak briefly between their efforts. To his utter shame and heart-rending anguish, more hard to bear than the excruciating pain, the nakedness, and the shame, was the sight of his beloved Eliora, cloaked from head to foot in mourning sack cloth, at the foot of his cross, her face drained white with shock and horror as the soldiers had stripped him naked, thrown him on his back with his arms still tied along the crossbeam so that he lay face-up on the ground. Her cries had mingled with his as the nails were driven through his wrists pinioning him to the crossbeam. Then using ropes as pulleys, he and the crossbeam were hoisted up the upright beam already in place from former crucifixions. The crossbeam was nailed in the center to the upright beam, and then his feet, one on top of the other, were nailed to the upright beam as well.

With her throat scorched from her cries, and her mind unable to bare seeing anymore pain inflicted on her beloved, she had grown very quiet, her senses overwhelmed to the point of numbness. Much like the other mother, the sweet, beautiful kind woman whose cries had mingled with those of her own son, Jesus, with each slam of the hammer pounding the nails through flesh and bones.

No one had come to see Gestas crucified. His family remained in hiding. Gestas' cries and foaming at the mouth were laced with curses at both man and God.

In agony, Dismas hung on the cross wishing for death to come soon. Beginning to lose consciousness, the voice of the Nazarene crucified between him and Gestas, jolted him awake.

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

A few feet away from Jesus' cross, a group of soldiers sat on the ground, casting lots to divide his garments among them. Some of the people and the rulers among them who had come to enjoy the spectacle, derided the young prophet. saying, "He called himself the Son of God. He saved others; let him save himself, if he be Christ, the elect of God." The soldiers also mocked him offering him vinegar to numb the senses somewhat, saying: "If thou be the king of the Jews, save thyself." But Jesus refused.

Dismas noticed the wooden plaque nailed above Jesus' head crowned with thorns. Written in Greek, Latin and Hebrew were the words: KING OF THE JEWS.

Then Dismas heard Gestas voice, angry and vengeful even in its gnarled, weakened state, blaspheming, sarcasm like venom weaving through it, as he reproached the Nazarene hanging beside him, "If thou be Christ, save thyself and us."

Oh, but Dismas could not stand to hear Gestas, an unrepentant thief and murderer, who had never done a thing in his life that was not for his own pleasure or profit, rebuke one who had done everything to save humankind. Passion welled up in his chest, giving him the momentary burst of strength and purpose to force his upper body upward, past the screaming tendons and muscles, and drawing a breath, he said as loud as he could so that Gestas could hear him, "Have you no fear of God? seeing thou art condemned under the same condemnation? We, indeed, receive the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done no evil."

This man, Dismas thought. No, this was no ordinary man, nor prophet, nor angel. This indeed was the Son of God. And he said to Jesus: "Lord, remember me when thou shalt come into thy kingdom."

Jesus turned his head and gazed into Dismas' eyes filling with new tears. And he said to him, loud and clear, words spoken and heard, "Amen I say to thee, this day thou shalt be with me in paradise."

Peace flooded Dismas' broken body. He hardly felt the spasm that gripped his chest as he attempted to inhale and lost consciousness.

As the third hour after midday drew close, the sun darkened and the ground upon which the crosses were embedded shook. The crowd that had gathered around Golgotha covered their faces in fear that the Almighty might recognize them. They fled, but the earth continued to shake, the tremors spreading across Jerusalem. And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple was rent in the midst. And Jesus crying out with a loud voice, said: Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit. And saying this, he gave up the ghost. Now the centurion whose servant Jesus had healed, seeing what was done, could contain himself no longer and cried out, "Indeed He is the Son of God."

Somewhere, sometime in the moments between ebbing life and death itself, Dismas felt crushing blows to his legs. His body immersed in pain, and drained of most of its blood, was not quite able to distinguish whether the pain was old or new. His legs twitched, and as if from a distance, he heard bone splintering and cracking. He fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

A cool breeze floated across his face. He breathed deeply and stirred. Stretching his arms and legs to release some of the kinks that lying immobile while sleeping had caused, he yawned and slowly opened his eyes. The sky above him was that color of blue that borders on milky white. Soft, transparent, billowy clouds overlapped and clung to each other. Sunrays prismed outward blanching everything around him. Curious about his surroundings, Dismas climbed to his feet. Further up he saw a man resplendent in white robes walking up a beaten path flanked by olive trees and pretty lavender bell flowers, toward the sun's rays. Somehow he knew who that man was. Dismas raised his foot to run forward, and gasped and fell back as a dark chasm opened up before him and he realized he stood perched on its edge. He looked wildly about him and saw to the left a hanging bridge that spanned the chasm. Quickly he turned toward it, but a hand gripped his shoulder mercilessly and stopped him. He turned and stared into Gestas' savage face. "You are mine; you stay with me," Gestas ordered.

Dismas straightened his shoulders, raised his chin stalwartly, and tore Gestas fingers from his shoulder. "Be gone, evil one. I go to my King." Again Gestas tried to grab him, but Dismas moved to the side. Gestas reached out, clawing, grasping, his eyes red with vengeance. As he did so, his foot slipped on the edge and he lost his balance. Terror filled his face, and Dismas knew what caused it. Hopelessness. He fell screaming into the chasm.

Dismas quickly strode to the hanging bridge and crossed, paying no attention to the slight swing of the bridge or to his safety. His gaze was fixed steadily and lovingly on his beloved Redeemer. As he stepped onto the beaten path that smelled of green grass and lavender, he ran toward Jesus, calling his name. Jesus stopped and turned. Upon reaching him, Dismas stared a moment, then bowed his head humbly, waiting, hoping to be forgiven, to be accepted, remembering Jesus' promise to him before death. With a gentle, beautiful smile, Jesus raised his arms and placed them about Dismas shoulders and drew him to his heart, enfolding him in his arms. And as Dismas abandoned himself to that pure and holy love, Jesus said, "Come my dear friend." In that moment, Dismas heard Eliora's voice, lamenting, grieving. He looked at Jesus beseechingly. Again peace filled him. "Not to fear dear friend, for her heart is gentle and pure. She will join you soon."

Together, as they walked into the light, Jesus remarked with an affable wink, "We have always wanted Sunset in Paradise."

The name "Dismas" was adapted from a Greek word meaning "sunset"

St. Dismas, the good thief, is the patron of repentant prisoners.

His feast day is March 25.

Biblical quotes: Gospel according to Matthew

Church, Catholic (2011-01-07). Douay-Rheims Bible

Old and New Testaments

the Apocrypha

Thank you for reading my inspirational story. All the best and peace of mind and spirit.

