Realizing that the king would see them if they stayed put, the advisors, wise men, and courtiers who’d been hiding behind the columns shuffled toward the rear of the throne room. They retreated as quietly as they could as the king neared — but not quietly enough to escape his attention. Did they think he was deaf? Blind? Did they think a great king held on to his throne for thirty years by being a fool?
Herod was struck by a wonderful vision as he passed the columns and neared the east wall. A vision of a world in which he was the sole inhabitant. A world with no outlaws to chase. No duplicitous courtiers or inept generals, no diseased whores or beautiful, covetous sons. A world with no fools to suffer. Perhaps that’s what heaven would be like when he arrived. A whole world for himself. A world to build in his own image. It was a nice thought.
On reaching one of the windows behind the columns and looking out, Herod understood why it had been so hard for the advisor to tell him. He also knew his long night was only beginning. His breath was taken away by what he saw, even in the instant before he’d fully comprehended what it meant. For there, in the eastern sky beyond the silhouette of the Great Temple, was a star brighter than any star he’d ever seen.
“The prophecies, Your Highness.”
The advisor was cowering behind him. Waiting for the outburst he knew would come. But Herod felt no scream crawling up his throat. No rage climbing up his crooked spine. He was almost… amused by it all. Earlier in the day, he’d had the Antioch Ghost in his dungeon. Now, only a few hours later, the Ghost was a free man, and — if one believed in ancient prophecies — the heavens had just signaled the arrival of the man who would topple all the kingdoms of the world, including Herod’s.
Perhaps it was the soreness in his throat. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was exhausted. But when Herod next spoke, he did so with a soft, almost affectionate voice.
“Call the generals back in, please.”
The Antioch Ghost would have to wait. He had bigger problems.
IV
They’d been arguing about what it was. A comet? A fire burning on a clouded hillside? Was it, as Melchyor feared, the all-seeing eye of Herod himself, looking down on them? Whatever it was, it was bright. A small sun, hanging low in the sky to their left, washing out all the other fires in the heavens as they rode south.
The wise men needed a place to stop and rest for a couple of hours. None of them had slept more than a minute or two the night before, and they had a journey of untold length and hardship ahead. It couldn’t be Jerusalem. Not with Herod’s men kicking down every door in the city looking for them. And it couldn’t be the desert, either. Not with that thing up there — that nighttime sun, taking away the biggest advantage the desert had to offer: vast expanses of total darkness in which to disappear.
Unless they were willing to ride for another two or three hours, that left them with very few options. Namely, one of the villages on the outskirts of the city. Balthazar wasn’t about to go north to Bethel — not after the lack of hospitality they’d shown him during his last visit. Herodium was too far. And it had Herod in its name, which, even to a man of few superstitions, seemed like a bad idea.
That left Bethlehem.
It was a shepherd’s village. That meant there’d be stables to hide in. More importantly, stables to hide their camels in. They couldn’t have them tied up in plain sight — not in a village where the only animals were goats. Three camels would seem out of place to all but the most dim-witted soldier. Especially one looking for three escaped criminals.
On the northernmost edge of Bethlehem, before the village organized itself into a series of cobblestoned streets and evenly divided lots, the wise men came upon a cluster of small, brick homes on their right, each with a wooden stable beside it. The largest of these stables looked just about big enough for three men and their camels to squeeze into for a couple of hours. It was also the farthest from the main road, making it that much more appealing.
“Don’t you think we should keep going awhile?” asked Gaspar. “See if there’s something better in the center of the village?”
Balthazar looked down the road into Bethlehem. Other than a few small fires, the village was sound asleep. The streets all but empty. Every rooftop, every cobblestone was clearly visible in the light of that strange star. It wouldn’t be hard to spot three men on camelback. They could spend another hour looking around for something better with that thing shining down on them, or they could grab a couple of hours of sleep now.
Balthazar regretted his choice almost immediately.
It had begun the moment the wise men had poked their heads into the stable and surprised the breastfeeding girl. With her scream still ringing in their ears, the carpenter had come out of nowhere and tried to stab them with a pitchfork. Balthazar had, naturally, responded by grabbing the carpenter’s throat and punching him in the face — blackening his right eye and bloodying his nose. Seeing this, the girl had screamed some more, the baby had started crying, the camels had reared up, and Balthazar’s head had begun to throb all over again.
Now the carpenter was struggling to stay on his feet, clutching the pitchfork with his right hand and pinching his gushing nose shut with his left. The girl was trying to steady him while keeping her eyes fixed on the intruders and holding on to her crying baby at the same time. Balthazar took a step toward them with his palms held out in a nonthreatening posture, the way one might try to calm a spooked animal, but the carpenter responded by thrusting his pitchfork again, nearly connecting with Balthazar’s face. Under normal circumstances, this would have cost the carpenter his life. But Balthazar didn’t have a sword, and he couldn’t risk extending this racket and drawing unwanted attention. He needed peace, and he needed it now.
“Easy,” said Balthazar. “Everybody just… calm down.”
He backed away, his palms still held out, and motioned to his fellow wise men to do the same. The girl stopped shouting. The baby stopped screaming. Balthazar would’ve thought the latter strange, but he was too tired to notice.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what’s your name?”
The carpenter glared back at him for what seemed an eternity — his chest heaving, blood already beginning to dry on his lips and chin. Just when Balthazar was beginning to think he would never answer, the carpenter said, “Joseph.”
“Joseph, good. Nice to meet you, Joseph. And her?”
“My wife,” he said after another pause. “Mary.”
“Good. Joseph? Mary? My name is Balthazar. This is Gaspar… this is Melchyor. We don’t want to hurt you… we’re just looking for a place to rest. But, Joseph? If you don’t put that pitchfork down, I’m going to take it from you and stab you to death in front of your wife and child. Do you understand?”
Balthazar watched the carpenter think it over for what seemed an eternity. Hard, isn’t it? If you give up the pitchfork, you’ll be defenseless. If you don’t, you might have to kill all three of us. So… what’ll it be? As if answering Balthazar’s thoughts, the carpenter threw the pitchfork to the ground. Gaspar was quick to make a move for it, but Balthazar held his hand out and stopped him. He needed peace.
“Good,” said Balthazar. “Now, let’s all sit and talk for a minute.”
The wise men tied their camels up, sat in the hay, and leaned their weary bodies against the stalls. Joseph and Mary sat, too, keeping to the opposite side of the stable, which was a scant ten feet away. Mary held the baby close to her body, still reeling from the shock of seeing her husband beaten and the embarrassment of being seen in such a private, indecent state. Joseph sat beside her, still pinching his nose shut.