When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,66
and we were helpless to stop them.”
Marcus pondered for a long moment as a supper bell clanged. “I know your laws about the Sabbath. You can’t enter the dwelling place of a Gentile … my men are eating now.”
“I cannot eat with you.”
“But will you violate your laws to save a life?”
“My heart knows what is right.”
“I have learned the Lord’s teaching. You people accuse him and condemn Jesus for healing on Shabbat. Yet you will pull an ox from a ditch on Shabbat. Now, to save a one-legged blacksmith, will you come with me?”
There was no longer any question. “I came for that purpose.” I followed Marcus through the gate of the outpost. The courtyard was now deserted. I heard the rowdy laughter of men eating in a dining hall to our right. To the left, the clank of hammer on iron continued in the blacksmith shop.
Marcus led me toward the forge. And there, bent and sweating over the red-hot iron, Patrick labored on. Sparks flew with every hammer blow. He did not look up. I saw the fresh bloody brand of a military slave with the number of Marcus’s cohort burned on Patrick’s forearm.
I stopped midstride as Marcus stepped aside. He addressed Patrick in the language of Britannia.
Patrick did not reply.
Marcus took my arm and pulled me forward into the light of the fire. “He has not spoken one word since he came three days ago. He barely eats. Speak to him,” Marcus instructed me.
I said quietly, “Patrick?”
At the sound of my voice, he paused, still staring at the yellow glow of the iron. He did not look up. His eyes brimmed.
Tears spilled over and hissed on the metal as they fell. “I am dreaming,” he whispered as he wept. “I hear the voice of my brother.” His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Patrick!” I was at his side in two steps. The heat of the forge was on my face. “Look up! Not a dream!”
He cried out and flung the hammer away. Standing erect, he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. “It’s you! You came for me! My brother! My father!”
I wept with him. “My brother. My son.”
“What’s to be done? They’ll never let me go!”
Marcus observed our reunion in silence for a time.
“How is my darling girl?”
“Adrianna weeps for you, her only love. Her hopes are smashed. Her heart broken.”
At this news, Patrick could not control his grief. “Poor darling girl. Poor Adrianna. Better I never gave her hope!”
“Samson and Delilah try to comfort her, but they love you so. Like their own son. Delilah’s tears salt our bread with sorrow.”
“I am lost! All is lost! What is to be done?”
Marcus cleared his throat. “If you were the slave of the House of Lazarus, you could not be conscripted unless your master was paid fair value for a slave.”
Patrick groped for a stool and sank down. He buried his sooty face in his hands. “It was all false! False! There is no freedom within the reach of Rome.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. He commanded, “Be a man. Stop sniveling. Look at him! David ben Lazarus! How can you call this creature worth his salt? Such a weakling is no good to Rome here in the frontier!”
I protested. “But … but … Patrick is …”
Marcus growled, “A worthless weakling, I say! One legged. Mostly mute! He is worse than a woman!” He stepped forward, raising his hand as if to strike Patrick. “What good are you to Rome?”
Patrick looked at the heap of horseshoes he had forged. He blinked at Marcus in astonishment. “Sir …”
Marcus shouted, “Why did you lie to the officers? Why did you tell them you were a free man?”
Patrick tried to speak. “But, sir, I am …”
“Shut up, weakling! Liar! Your master has come for payment from us … or to claim you.” Marcus turned his fury on me. His voice carried across the courtyard. The clamor of soldiers in the dining hall fell silent. “All right, Jew. So! You identified him. This is the man. One leg! Ha! They send the rejects to me and expect me to manage! But you say he is your slave and has value to your estate. What then is the price for him?”
I could hardly think what price I could ever place on Patrick. “I … I … he is my barrelmaker and I …”
Marcus bellowed. “Thirty pieces of silver? You demand the full price of a healthy slave? You must be mad!