The Making of the Lamb Read online

  Jesus

  With fair tide and wind from the north, they made their way around the southernmost headland at Lysarth by noon and then crossed the wide bay past Ictis to the westernmost headland, which they rounded early in the afternoon. The wind took a westerly turn, allowing them to point the vessel along the northern coast of Belerium without tacking away from the land. The winds held until almost nightfall as they passed the mouth of the Camel and then Rumps Castle. Jesus and Daniel gazed silently toward the shore as the ship slipped past these landmarks.

  With sundown came the Sabbath, so Jesus, Daniel, and Joseph devoted themselves to their prayers throughout the following day.

  They awoke on the morning of the next day to find themselves anchored on the southeast side of a bay that stretched some ten miles across. This arm of the sea gradually narrowed to the mouth of the Sabrina, which flowed from the northeast. A thick fog lay over the nearby shore.

  “We must await the tide,” said Kendrick. “Ynys Witrin lies twelve miles inland, but we can bring the ship right to it. We may need to row if the wind changes, but it looks good for now. You will be able to see it as soon as the fog lifts.”

  “It sounds like you have been here many times before,” remarked Jesus.

  “Yes. The natives mine for silver. My family has come this way for generations to trade for it. I have been asking Joseph to bring you here to locate the mother lodes ever since you showed us your knack for finding tin. Where you find silver, you also find lead.”

  “What kind of people live here?” asked Daniel.

  “This is a kind of no-man’s land. It’s a swampy area that makes it hard to define borders. And it lies between several tribes, so no one tribe can really claim it for themselves without angering the others. The lands of the Dumnonii lie to the west and southwest. The Durotriges and Belgae inhabit the lands to the south and east. The Silures come from the north across this bay. The Dobunni come from their lands on the south side of the Sabrina to the east. Many of the local people live in Lake Village. We will pass it on the way.”

  “Aren’t the Durotriges warlike? I thought they raided the Dumnonii,” Jesus asked.

  “Ynys Witrin is a sacred spot for the druids. They come from all over on their principal feast days, and they keep the peace,” Kendrick answered. “They have laid down powerful prohibitions against bringing weapons there. Not even the Durotriges dare to incur their wrath. Over the generations, the tribes have also found it mutually advantageous to leave the place as a neutral ground where they can trade freely no matter how they have fought each other elsewhere. Look. The fog is lifting and the tide comes in.” Kendrick commanded his crew to make sail.

  The fog was still lifting as they crossed the low-flooded shoreline on the tide. Despite a fair wind there was hardly any wave action. “This area is called ‘The Levels’ because it lies so low and flat,” said Kendrick. “We are sailing near the saltwater marshes that lead to Ynys Witrin. They give the place its name. ‘Isle of Glass’ is what the name means, and it is a good one. The plants and reeds on the bottom absorb the waves before they form.”

  The waters of the River Brue leading to Ynys Witrin were so unnaturally still, it seemed the ship was sailing on glass. They continued for another hour, making their way in the eerie fog as it continued to lift ahead of them.

  “There it is, only a few miles ahead now. The fog has cleared from all but the very top of the Tor.”

  Jesus made out the strange shape of a hill that had emerged from the receding fog. It appeared to pop out of the Levels as if from nowhere. The solitary, massive hill seemed out of place on such a flatland, and its shape seemed to vary as they adjusted course to approach from a different angle. At times, it appeared relatively higher, at other times wider, but always, from any angle, as a perfect cone.

  Closing his eyes, Jesus remembered his homeland. He thought of Mount Tabor and recalled feeling some of the same energy from that place. Like the Tor, Mount Tabor seemed to pop off the floor of the flat Jezreel Valley, but Tabor lacked the surrounding mist and glassy waters. Aside from a sprinkling of trees, Mount Tabor was little more than a desolate rock. But in this new place Jesus felt the abundance of living creatures all around him. The brackish saltwater marshes gave shelter and provided feeding grounds to countless kingfishers, egrets, snipes, and ospreys. Turtles made their nests in the mud. On the firmer ground were stately oaks, elms, and beeches. There would be foxes and otters in those woods. Jesus imagined that such abundance as this would be as endless as the circle of life itself.

  They passed Lake Village on their left—a strange site, an entire village constructed on pylons rising from the glassy water. A platform supported fifty circular buildings. Like all the roundhouses of the Celts, the roofs were thatched, with smoke from kitchen fires wafting through the centers, giving the impression that the village itself was ablaze. Unlike the roundhouses of the Dumnonii, the outer walls of these were constructed entirely from wattle and daub, with no stonework.

  Here and there, armed men patrolled the deck. Jesus pointed them out. “How can that be, if the druids prohibit men from bearing arms in the area?”

  “Warriors can’t bring arms in,” the captain explained, “but that prohibition doesn’t apply to the villagers. They need to hunt and fish and protect their homes.”

  The villagers waved to the ship, and several followed along in coracles, waterborne baskets large enough for two men and covered with animal skins. Others came in larger curraghs.

  The captain said that the natives would take them to the village later that evening. “For now,” he said, “we need to use the tide to get the ship to the island to unload the livestock for grazing.”

  A much lower-lying hill topped by a ridge seemed to reach out to them from the island. They grounded the ship on the beach and lowered the sails. “Welcome to Wearyall Hill and Ynys Witrin,” Kendrick announced.

  Jesus and Daniel helped the crew unload the sheep from below-decks to graze on the thick grass of the island, checking each one for the appropriate marking. The villagers on the island seemed to have been expecting them.

  Jesus and Daniel hung back as Joseph presented his gifts to the king of Lake Village. They were well-received, and the king reciprocated with an offer of hospitality for the entire party. Joseph introduced them. “This is my son, Daniel.” The king nodded. “And this is my nephew, Jesus.”

  “Is this Jesus Bar Joseph of Israel?”

  Uncle Joseph looked taken aback, but responded affirmatively.

  Word of Jesus’s arrival spread quickly through the crowd. They gathered around and began touching him. Smiling and laughing, they rubbed his clothes, his hands, his hair, and even his face. Jesus stood wide-eyed, trying to smile and be courteous, but he did not know what to make of the unexpected attention.

  The village king called on his people to stop. He addressed Jesus. “The bards have told us of your deeds among the Dumnonii. I am honored to meet you and glad that you will be staying with us.”

  “I am humbled by the kindness of your words and the reception your people have given me. I can only hope you will not be disappointed in me.”

  Jesus looked over at Uncle Joseph staring back at him, apparently bemused to find himself eclipsed in his reputation among the Britons.

  They all got into curraghs and paddled with the Britons to Lake Village. They entered the dining hall, the largest structure. It felt strange to Jesus to look down through the cracks in the decking to the water a few feet below. Lake Village had fewer warriors than the Dumnonii and more craftsmen. The feeling was subdued, with far less boasting over the meal than Jesus and Daniel had grown accustomed to.

  As they made their way from the hall, Jesus looked up. The sun was setting behind the Tor. For a few moments, a glorious blaze crowned the hill. Jesus stood transfixed. Then he felt someone tugging his shirt. He looked down and saw a short Celtic lad, eleven or twelve years old, smiling up at him. He reminded Jesus of how Fedwig looked when the
y had first met.

  “The best way to see the Tor is from the top at sunrise. If you meet me at the dock two hours before the sun, I can show you the way—if you like.”

  “I would like that very much. What is your name?”

  “I am Brian, son of Eogen.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Brian, son of Eogen. I am Jesus son of Joseph.”

  “Everyone knows who you are.” Brian laughed. “Don’t forget you need to be at the dock two hours before the sun—just the two of us.”

  “My cousin will feel left out. But I suppose we can take him another time. So, very well, just the two of us it is.”

  The next morning, Jesus stumbled his way around the dock. The fog was thick, and he moved with care so as not to fall in. He could not see more than a few feet ahead. He was beginning to wonder if Brian would be there, when out of nowhere the boy grabbed his hand and led him to the nearest coracle. The craft seemed tippy, but Jesus managed to hold his balance. As they paddled around the village, Jesus heard people up and about, lighting fires. Through the soup-like fog that enveloped everything, he could not see them, only the flames.

  Brian steered from the stern, and Jesus helped paddle from the bow. He wondered how the boy could see where he was going, but somehow he knew the way. They paddled past Kendrick’s ship, stuck in the mud now at low tide. They worked their way upstream, and dry land seemed to enclose them.

  Brian landed the coracle on the shore. “We’ll walk from here.”

  Jesus followed Brian across a field. He could barely see the boy through the fog, even though he was but a few yards ahead.

  “Come on, Jesus, let’s run from here. We’re almost there.”

  “Hold up, I will lose you in the fog.”

  “Just follow the sound of my voice.”

  Jesus heard Brian start to run ahead, and he tried his best to keep up. Brian called out to him, and before he knew it, he was climbing up through the fog. He called to Brian, but heard no response. So, he kept climbing. The Tor was covered with grass with no obstacles, so it was not hard for Jesus to keep walking while making his way upward at an angle to the top.

  The thick mist suddenly cleared. He looked up and saw the Milky Way. And there in the starlight stood Brian, laughing.

  “I knew you couldn’t keep up. I figured you would get lost once I stopped calling.”

  “You little urchin! I’ll fix you!” Jesus lunged forward, but the boy led him on a merry chase around the top of the Tor. It was all knees and elbows once Jesus finally grabbed him. Jesus was far stronger, but the boy was like a greased pig, always managing to slip out of his grip. Jesus stopped wrestling and joined in Brian’s laughter. He lay on his back for a moment to look at the stars.

  Brian saw his opportunity. He jumped on top of Jesus and sat on his chest.

  “Do you give up?”

  “Oh, you’re such a rascal!” Jesus laughed and raised his hands in playful surrender. “Yes, I give up!”

  Brian crossed his arms triumphantly. “Who’s mightier than the hero of Rumps Castle?”

  “You are, Brian.”

  The boy raised his nose, looking down at Jesus. “Don’t you forget it!”

  That was too much for Jesus, so with a quick shove he sent Brian sprawling on the soft grass. He walked over and gave the laughing boy a hand to stand up.

  Brian pointed off in the distance as soon as he got to his feet. “Look over there.”

  It was just a tiny sliver of light at first—but then the light of dawn spread magnificently over the thick banks of fog that lay over the marshes so far below them. Here and there, isolated hilltops popped from the mist. Jesus could make out the ridge of Wearyall Hill, stretched out towards the sea. It seemed to cut upward through the fogbank like the handle of a spoon sticking up from a bowl of thick soup.

  “Do you like to come here, Brian?”

  “Yes!” Brian paused, as if a bit embarrassed. “I just wish I was taller, to see further.” Before he could say another word the boy found himself sitting atop Jesus’s shoulders. “I’m flying!” he shouted, spreading his arms as Jesus began jogging around. “It’s like being a bird flying over the clouds!”

  After a minute of this, Brian patted the top of Jesus’s head. “It’s time to go. The druid will thrash me if I’m late.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.” Jesus lowered the boy to the ground. “I had a friend who got thrashed all the time for being late to class.”

  Brian started walking down and Jesus followed.

  “Hey, Brian!” Jesus shouted. The boy turned around. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun.”

  “So did I!”

  “We should come back again when we have time to watch all the fog burn off.”

  “Sure. Any time!”

  “Next time, let’s bring my cousin Daniel.”

  “All right!”

  “Just one thing. Don’t lose me in the fog on the way back. I’ll never find the boat without you.”

  “I wouldn’t play that trick again.” But Brian started running down the hill. Jesus rolled his eyes and took off after him.

  Before long, Jesus found himself going through thick fog. But this time he heard Brian shouting his name with some regularity. The boy was taking him through woodland. From the sound, it sometimes seemed that Brian was going off in slightly different directions. Was some path taking him this way and that? Or could Brian be playing another prank? And then Jesus heard his name being called from off to the side, and the voice was different, as if Brian were trying to disguise it. The boy was definitely up to something now. “Come on, Brian. Enough of this foolishness! You’re the one who’s going to get the thrashing if you’re late.” Jesus started walking toward the voice; through the mist he began to make out a clearing in the trees ahead of him. Once there, God the Father revealed himself.

  Jesus sighed.

  “Is there something wrong, Son?”

  “No. Well, actually, there is.”

  “You still miss your friend.”

  “Yes”

  “And you ask yourself why I did not answer your prayers for him.”

  “I am not sure I would put it like that.”

  “How would you put it, Jesus?”

  “What did I do wrong? How could I have prayed any harder for Fedwig? Maybe I should have kept that druid from practicing his superstitions over his body as he lay dying.” Jesus started to cry. “Tell me, Father. What should I have done differently?”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You did nothing to anger me, Son.”

  “Would he still be alive if I had done anything differently?”

  “That’s not for you to know, Jesus. Some consequences people can foresee, and some they cannot. Right now, you are no different, in that respect, from other people.”

  “Why did you not answer my prayers, Father?”

  “You must learn to suffer sorrows as all people do. You would not grow much if I solved everything for you. You must remember the story of Gideon that you told to the druid. He prayed hard while he gathered his men. What do you think he prayed for?”

  “I suppose he wanted more men.”

  “Exactly. Instead, I cut his numbers. I did not give him what he asked for, but I granted what he needed. I heard your prayers, Jesus. This time it was not to be.”

  “You gave Gideon the victory, but Fedwig is never coming back.”

  “You are the son of God, Jesus, and your trials will be many. There will come a time when you will feel forsaken entirely.”

  “I don’t see how I can ever truly be angry with you, Father.”

  “I know your feelings, even when you do not put them into words. Even now, you question why I allowed your friend to die.”

  “Friends die in war—that happens,” said Jesus.

  “But you say to yourself that if I am all knowing and all powerful, I could have saved him. You are reluctant to show it, but you are angry.”

  “I try not to be, Father.”

  “
Don’t blame yourself for being angry. I know what the loss of your friend means to you, but you have even greater trials ahead. Just know that you are always my son. No matter how much you are stirred to anger, nothing can truly separate us. Never forget that.”

  “When Fedwig died, I felt so alone. I reached out in my prayers, and you did not answer. I believe I could face anything if I had a way to talk to you when I need you—not wait for answers without knowing when they will come.”

  “People do not always get answers when they want them. Like all people, you have freedom of will, and it is up to you to discern my will as best you can and make your choices. If I came to you each time you called, would you not start putting each question in your life to me? I cannot let that happen. At the right time I will reveal to you what you need to know.”

  He does not want to say more about Fedwig’s death. “I heard Uncle Joseph talk to Daniel about arranging a marriage for him. Daniel speaks to me about the Celtic girls and women, but I am sure he will go back to Israel to find a wife when he is ready. Will I be as other men in that way, too?”

  “You have love within you already, Jesus, but it is the sacrificial and divine love you brought with you from heaven. There will come a time when you will look at anyone and know all their desires, and they will be able to hide no secrets from you. You will care for them deeply, more than you do for yourself. Some will feel the same about you, and you will not be alone. But for you, that is not a physical love as between man and woman; no woman who lacks our divine substance can share such a physical love with you. Taking a wife or not will be your choice, but you will know your desires when the time comes.”

  “Was it wrong of me to fight and kill for freedom, Father? Uncle Joseph was angry with me. I thought I did the right thing; the cause was just.”

  “It was as just as any war.”

  “I thought of the heroes of Israel who fought such bloody battles—Joshua, Gideon, David, and the Maccabees, to name but a few. Did they not fight as men of God?”