A Light to Enlighten the Gentiles

The Persians were only a half a day's ride short of Jerusalem when the bandits hit them. A rock shot out of the pre-dawn curtain of rose light and nicked Balthasaar just above the temple. He let out a cry, blacked out, and rolled off his camel, dropping nine feet to the sand like a rag doll. Caspar hurried to him to see what was wrong, nearly leaping off of his own mount, but Melchior drew his sword and sniffed the wind. He heard them before he saw them. They were quiet, he had to give them that, but the rattle of weapons gave them away as they walk-ran towards them from the still-dark West.

Melchior turned his camel around to meet them, and charged, leaning from his seat to draw the blood of the first man he met. The bandits were not expecting retaliation, and the point man among them was not expecting the shadowy silhouette to move toward them, certainly not swinging a long, curved blade of Babylon. By the time he realized the Persian was a threat, Melchior was upon him. The blade swung up, and carved the bandit's neck straight up through his ears. Melchior swung down and blocked the path to his fallen comrade with a two-handed stance that left no doubt about his intentions or ability. The blood of the point bandit was gathering in a black pool barely visible in the pre-dawn light, but everyone could smell it. It made the camels even more nervous than the sudden excitement, and for a moment, it seemed the world was frozen as the remaining bandits squared off to size up their unexpectedly dangerous prey.

In the end, they were simply too many for him. A thick scarf fell from the face of one of the bandits, and Melchior could easily see that the man was an Israelite. No surprise there, given the neighborhood, but Melchior was shocked to see that the man bore a royal crest upon his vestment. The bandit lunged, and as Melchior parried to meet his thrust, another bandit came from his other side and struck the back of his head with the flat of his blade. Melchior, too, dropped to the sand. The bandits took him by the arms and dragged him to where the other two Persians lay in the sand. One of them went to gather the two camels now riderless, and brought them back to the others. His fellows lost no time emptying their packs in search of booty.

Caspar's eyes narrowed as he took in his attackers, and then widened in alarm as he recognized Melchior's body being dragged toward him. "Take what you want," he said to the tallest of the bandits. He, too, noticed the royal crest, and wondered what it meant, "but I beg you to leave my companions alive. They have done you no wrong, and we throw ourselves upon the mercy of the God of Israel." It was a calculated formula, designed to strike fear into an Israelite. Caspar didn't believe a word of it, there was only one God in the universe, after all, and that was Ahura Mazda. But Caspar knew how Israelites thought, or at least how they should think according to his studies.

"State your business in Jerusalem," the leader spat.

"How do you know we're going to Jerusalem?"

"What? Do you think I'm an idiot? You're half a day's ride, and heading due west. If you're not heading to Jerusalem, you're going through it. State your business and do it quick or it will be my mercy you will be throwing yourself on."

Caspar swallowed, and licked his parched lips. What to tell them? How much to tell them? Based on the royal crest on the man's clothes, he decided upon a strategy. "We are emissaries of his royal highness, the emperor of Persia and all its territories, Phraataces. We come directly from his court to seek an audience with the king of the Jews."

The man weighed what Caspar said carefully. The Persian could almost see his brains working. The travelers were not dressed in finery, but that was simply appropriate caution for traveling without the protection of an entourage. The man's speech, however, was fine, the camels in good shape, and the packs contained more treasure than the bandit had seen in more than a year. He nodded and told the Persian, "Then you are in luck. We are in the employ of the King of Judea, Herod, God's anointed." The man smiled. "We will take you to him."

The man's fellows were fastening the loot to their own packs. "Tell me," Caspar said through clenched teeth, "How shall we come to your king with no gift to offer? Shall we tell him that his soldiers have received it for him? For I can easily tell him that we bore twice or even thrice what you have taken." The leader of the bandits smiled grimly.

Perhaps he had underestimated this man. "We have gotten off on the wrong foot. We are a simple security patrol and mistook you for bandits-an easy assumption to make, is it not?" The leader could tell Caspar was not buying it. He sighed. "We will bear your gifts to the king directly, and you may tell him whatever you like." Balthazar was beginning to stir, and groaned loudly. Caspar smoothed his hair and whispered "Shhh" over him, feeling a great wave of relief. Melchior, too, had begun to stir and was now glaring at their captors, clutching at the wet wound on his scalp.

"Get these men back on their camels," the tall man said to the other bandits with a twinkle in his eye. "They are our honored guests, and we must make sure their gifts reach Herod safely."

Joseph led the donkey east and tried to ignore his headache. The mid-afternoon sun was thankfully behind him, for the burning behind his eyes was bad enough. He put one foot in front of another and reminded himself that he had endured harder journeys. But he had gotten more sleep back then. The six days since the baby was born was a blur of negotiation, the screaming of little lungs, and the noxious smell of soiled swaddling clothes. His temper was wearing thin in the most obvious of places, and Mary was barely speaking to him. They had named the boy "Jesus," or "God saves," at Mary's insistence. "God save me from this child," Joseph breathed as he trudged onward. He didn't really feel that way, but he was tired, frustrated with his wife, and in a considerable amount of pain. In his short career as a father, it was not his best day.

"What?" Mary called ahead from the donkey. She was perched precariously, balancing the baby who was, at the moment, blessedly silent. "Did you say something?"

"Just reciting a prayer," he called back over his shoulder. "We will need to find shelter, soon." The traveling was excruciatingly slow. It should only have been a day's journey from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, but at this pace, Joseph could see it was going to take two. He knew there was an inn about midway between Bethlehem and the Holy City. They had not been lucky with inns of late, but Joseph held on to his hope.

He didn't really want to go to Jerusalem, and would have been content to do the circumcision in Bethlehem and then join a caravan north to Nazareth. But Mary had insisted that Jesus be circumcised by her cousin's husband, the high priest, Zachariah. Joseph had met the old man once, and while he was obviously cultured and intelligent, the young man felt slighted by his treatment. Joseph was just a carpenter after all, not a member of the intelligencia. He was not a player in national politics, he was not rich, or a rabbi, or even particularly religious. In short, Joseph possessed nothing of value to the old man. So Zachariah had been polite, which, in Joseph's vocabulary, was another word for insult.

Herod was not at all pleased to have his morning toiletries interrupted by notice of the "emissaries" from Persia. Consequently, he made them wait until much later than his normal hour for hearing audiences. Balthazar was getting restless, for they knew their time was short, and he could not abide being caged, however fancy the cage seemed to be. When Herod finally did call for them, it was nearly noon, and the tetrarch was already well-sopped with wine. The Persians bowed low and stayed that way until Herod spoke.

"I hear you bring me greetings from the noble Phraataces."

Balthazar, as the official spokesperson, rose up and addressed the King. "Not really, your highness, no."

The tall man who had led the assault upon them looked as if he had been struck in the face by an impertinent concubine. "Oooo," cooed Herod, "This may be more interesting than I had anticipated."

"It is true, your highness, that we are in Phraataces' employ, and that we are courtesans of the emperor. He did not send us but we look forward to making known to him what we may discover."

"Out of favor, are we?" Herod grinned as he saw the redness rise in Balthazar's neck. "Well, far be it for me to upset your political maneuvering."

"We were on our way to Jerusalem when we were set upon by thieves who attacked us without provocation and looted our saddlebags."

"Really?" He looked at the tall man standing at attention to his right. "That's not the story Agbar tells." His eyes twinkled as he spoke. "Could you not see my royal seal upon the tunics of my men?"

"Not in a pre-dawn ambush, sire, no, not clearly."

Herod made a pouty face. "I regret my lieutenant did not properly identify himself and his men, but he assures me that all of your belongings are here, and safe," he pointed to an ornate chest.

"I beg your highnesses' leave to select an appropriate gift before we depart. I wish we had been permitted to offer it upon greeting you."

Herod shifted in his seat, "Yes, your rudeness is hardly your fault. Now, tell me, what errand graces my court with your presence?"

"If it pleases your majesty, we are priests of the One God, Ahura Mazda, lord of the universe, whom you yourself worship in your temple here in Jerusalem." Herod noted with delight that this announcement had set his religious advisers to buzzing off to his left. This was more and more interesting, and he was no longer conscious of the effect of the wine or the normally troubling fact that he was not drinking more of it. "We have noted a new star in the West, and according to our calculations, such an appearance augers the birth of a new king. Due to its position in the sky, it was clear that this would be a king of the West. And Jerusalem almost as far west as we can go. We came seeking news of the babe to carry to our lord, Phraataces. We hoped it wouldplease him."

"I'm sory to disappoint you, but I have no child born recently, nor any on the way."

Balthazar looked confused. "That cannot be, perhaps you have a wife who has not told you?"

Herod's eyebrows rose, "I'll check into that."

"P-p-perhaps your brother tetrarchs," Balthazar stammered.

"Not that I know of." Herod was enjoying toying with this priest. It would have been cruel if he had indeed known of such a child, but he was entirely ignorant of any princelings on the scene. No, this was entirely justifiable torture, and Herod was loving it.

The Zoroastrians huddled and whispered animatedly for a rather long time. They looked shaken, defeated, and uncertain of how to proceed. After another burst of consultation, Herod interrupted them. "Care to share?" he asked impatiently.

"My lord, " Balthazar said nervously, "We wonder if perhaps we are not simply witnessing the birth of a new king-indeed, such a sign as this has never been seen before, so it is possible we have ascribed its meaning to too mundane an event."

Herod was not sure whether that was an insulting comment or not, and his brow furrowed as he listened. "We wonder if perhaps it heralds a new dynasty."

Herod shot up out of his seat, sending wine cups and platters of sweetmeats scattering across the marbled floors. "Do you want to die, Persian?" Everyone's eyes were fixed upon the King except for the tangle of scribes and Pharisees arguing in the corner. One of them broke from the pack and bowed low to the king. "If it please your majesty, I would like to be heard."

Herod was just about to throttle Balthazar, and the Pharisee's intervention might indeed have saved him. "A little privacy, please, your majesty."

Herod's fingers shook in the air just about as high as Balthazar's throat, but the King allowed himself to be turned aside. "This had better be good," he told the Pharisee.

"Your majesty, we often speak of the King as God's anointed. But God anoints men for different reasons." He spoke the word for anointed not in Aramaic, but in Hebrew, Meshiah. "Perhaps this is the messiah, your majesty. Perhaps this is the one who will grow up to wield God's vengeance against Rome, a new Moses who will free our people, once and for all!" The Pharisee's face was positively shining.

Herod hated religious people, and resented the daily compromises he had to make with them to maintain his throne. He did not share the Pharisee's excitement, for he knew the people hated him. He ruled at Rome's pleasure, and if Rome were deposed, batty a notion as that actually was, he had no doubt that he and his would not be occupying any palaces. More likely they would be stoned, with no small amount of rejoicing to follow.

"And does the Torah tell us where such a one would be born, then?"

The Pharisee rushed back to the gaggle of black robes in their corner, and after a few moments of furious articulation, he shuffled back and whispered. "The Law does not tell us, your majesty, but the prophets do. He is to be born in Bethlehem, the city of David." His eyes were wild with promise.

The news came like a punch in the gut to Herod. Bethlehem was, after all, due west of Jerusalem. The Zoroastrians had been right. They had simply not gone far enough, and they surely would, had his men not stopped them. His head swam as he weighed what to do. He felt behind him for his throne, and climbed into it uncertainly, shaking and pale. He was not up against any proper foe, now. He did not battle against flesh and blood, people who could be tortured, imprisoned, exiled or executed. He now opposed powers and principalities beyond his ability to manipulate. The Holy One of Israel was girding his loins to ride out against him, to put an end to his comfort and control. He trembled.

"My beloved princes and priests of Persia," his tone was no longer condescending, but formal and measured, in direct proportion to how out of control he was actually feeling. "We have waited long for such a king. Go and greet him for us, but be sure you return to us when you have found him. For we have our own obeisance to make." He words were thick and dry. Forgotten were his wines and fruits and concubines and political machinations. They were the words of a man naked with terror, a man who has seen the hordes massed against him, with no hope of divine intervention. And to ensure your speedy report," his eyes focused now, nearly running them through with their piercing intensity, "we will keep your treasure safe until you return."

The Zoroastrians glanced at one another, and bowed low, retreating backwards from the king's presence. "Lieutenant," Herod called, waving the man to him. Agbar approached the throne and leaned in as the king continued to motion him closer. "Take as many troops as you need," he whispered, "and make for Bethlehem this very day."

The soldier waited. He had an inkling what he was supposed to do when he got to Bethlehem, but he wanted to hear it from Herod's own lips. "Kill every male child in the city," he said, with a faraway look. "Kill. Every. One. Of. Them." He looked up into the soldier's eyes and focused for a moment, "Any questions?" The Lieutenant shook his head and grinned for all he was worth. This was going to be a very enjoyable mission. Never had bloodlust been so well rewarded. He was a man who loved his work.

Balthazar tossed on his cot, his head swimming with relief and danger. He said a quick prayer to Good Mind, and waited for his thoughts to quiet. Caspar and Melchior were taking their supper in the tavern affixed to the inn, but he was still nauseous from their ordeal, and the thought of food repulsed him.

They had not gone far from the throne room when one of the Pharisees rushed up to them excitedly and informed them of the prophecy regarding Bethlehem. They were exceedingly grateful for this revelation, and it made a lot of sense. But their start was late indeed, and moving slow from their injuries, they had not got far that day. Tomorrow, he thought, Bethlehem.

After Herod's men had cleaned them out, they were frantic over what gifts they might still be able to offer the prince when they found him. Balthazar still had some gold coins, tied up tightly in a scarf bound around his waist. Beyond that, they were in a quandary. Caspar had a supply of medicinal myrrh in his travel apothecary. It wasn't much, but it was still valuable. Melchior, who normally served as a sacristan at home, came up with a bundle of frankincense from their liturgical supplies. All in all, it was a pretty meager offering, not at all proper for a royal audience, but he forced himself to dismiss it. It was what they had, and as such, it must suffice.

His worries drifted to their audience with Herod. Like all kings, Herod was capricious, not to be trusted. What should he have said or not said? What danger might they have instigated? Questions plagued him, but dusk was just around the corner, he reminded himself, and the stars always had much to tell.

Just then Melchior stuck his head in the room. "Balt, come out here. You have to see this."

Balthazar groaned and forced himself upright, still smarting from the rough treatment. He splashed water on his face from the bowl in the corner, and then wearily tottered to the door. He was just in time to see a legion of Herod's soldiers marching off into the west, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Caspar and Melchior came out of hiding when the troops were at a safe distance. "That brigand that assaulted us is leading them," Caspar snarled. "He didn't see us."

"What do you suppose that's all about?" A young man sitting on the porch of the inn wondered aloud.

Melchior ignored the young man, but answered the question, addressing his friends in their own language. "My guess is that Herod is trying to find the child before we do." The dust from the soldiers' sandals had settled like an ominous cloud over their hearts. Without another word, Caspar and Melchior retired again to the tavern to finish their supper. Balthazar was too weary to even make the short journey back to the room, so he enjoyed the falling dark on the porch, in the company of the young stranger.

They chatted politely for a while, until the young man excused himself. "My wife just had a baby a few days ago," he explained, "I should bring her some dinner."

Something in Balthazar nudged him. "Wait," he said to the young man. "Where was your child born?"

"Bethlehem," said the young man. "We've just come from there. Have you been?"

"No," Balthazar shook his head, and although he did not know how, he knew in that moment that he would not be going to Bethlehem after all. He noted the room into which the young man disappeared, and he forced his creaky bones into motion and summoned his companions. They stood outside the tavern door in the dark, whispering excitedly as Balthazar related the conversation he had just had. Just then Caspar looked up, and his jaw dropped. Melchior halted mid-sentence as he and Balthazar followed his gaze to the heavens. The new star was no longer hanging in the west, leading them on. It was straight overhead, blazing like a pillar of fire. They stared at one another in the eerie light it produced, and then, as if on a predetermined cue, they scrambled to their room to collect their effects.

A few minutes later, the Zoroastrians were poised outside the young man's door. Taking a deep breath, Balthazar knocked politely, and waited. The man he had chatted with just a few minutes ago opened the door, and was surprised to see the three of them crowded around the opening. "Oh, hi again," he said uncertainly. "Whatcan I do for you?" It made him nervous that none of them were looking at him, but past him, to where Mary and the baby were nearly asleep.

Balthazar remembered his manners, and turned his attention to the young man. "My apologies for the interruption. We seek an audience with youand your family."

"Look, they're trying to sleep. They're exhausted. Believe me, you don't want the little one to start in again. This is the only time in my life I have cursed the Holy One for not making me deaf. Can you come back tomorrow?"

"My friend," Balthazar put his hand on Joseph's arm, "We have traveled for weeks from Babylon just to meet you, and your child. Our priestly arts have divined that a baby of great importance has just been born. And we think that yours is that baby."

Joseph's eyes widened. "Yes," he said, "I know just what you mean. Well, come in and meet the family. I'm not sure what heroic feats are in store for my son, but you will soon witness for yourself his superhuman lungs. He's a howler, make no mistake."

Mary stirred as the Persians entered. They tried to do it quietly, but their clothes were adorned with metals that clanked and tinkled when they walked. It was a pleasant sound to wake to, and although she was initially startled, Joseph calmed her with a "Shhh, dear, it's all right. The man in the dream has come to these men, too, in his own way. They know. They're here to meet Jesus."

The foreigners knelt before Mary as she rocked the baby on her lap. Their breath caught in their throats and they gazed at the child with evident rapture. The baby, amazingly, gurgled but did not wake. Joseph was grateful for that-he was far easier to adore asleep.

"Gentlemen, let us consult the Urim and Thummim," Balthazar suggested. Caspar shook his head to clear it, and fished around in his shoulder bag. He brought out an embroidered pouch containing two well-worn stones, similar to the ones the Israelites had brought back with them when they left their captivity in Persia. Today they were embedded in Zachariah's breastplate at the Temple, removed only when matters of grave import had to be discerned. In the Zoroastrian tradition, they were the most traditional and reliable means of divining Ahura Mazda's will.

Mary and Joseph looked on with wonder as Caspar prayed over the stones. For their benefit, he repeated his chief inquiry in Aramaic, "Is this, in fact, the child we seek?" He shook the pouch, and then turned it upside down. The stones fell out, and both of them landed with their crude etchings face up.

"He is." They looked at one another in a surreal state of disbelief. "I don't understand," Melchior breathed wonderingly. He spoke again in Persian, "How could this child be a prince? His parents are peasants!"

"Many a tale we have heard of princes sent off to die because of some curse or other," Caspar suggested, "Only to be raised by peasants until heaven deemed them ready to reclaim their thrones." The other two nodded. But then, Caspar had an idea. Praying over the stones, he asked, "Is this child Mithra?" The other two gasped at the blasphemy, but before they could protest the stones had tumbled out, and come to rest one up, one down-a qualified yes.

"He is not Mithra reborn," Balthazar interpreted, "but he is like him, a savior. Mithra, in the old tongue, means covenant," he reminded them. "Perhaps this child is another covenant, a new covenant between Mazda and this people, and maybe of others as well." The others nodded breathlessly, knowing in their hearts that his reading was a true one.

Satisfied, they put the stones away, and withdrew their humble gifts from their bags. They knelt once again before the child, but addressed Joseph. "We greet you on behalf of the court of his majesty Phraataces, emperor of Persia. In his name we offer these gifts, meager as they are. Gold, as befits a king, for he will rule with the hand of justice," Balthazar breathed, almost in a trance. He unrolled the scarf, revealing more gold than Joseph had ever seen in his life. Mary's eyes grew wide and she looked at Joseph with something like alarm. "Is that for us?" she mouthed. He shrugged and returned his gaze to the priests, who were offering other gifts.

"Myrrh, as befits a physician, for he will heal both the body and the soul. And Frankincense, as befits a priest, for he will mediate for his people before Mazda." Mary and Joseph were speechless. Nobody they knew had this much money, would ever earn this much money, with the possible exception of Zachariah. "I-I-I, I don't know what to say," Joseph stammered.

"Shh" Balthazar smiled, "There is no need." And then, in hushed reverence, the priests set up a brazier and performed the fire ceremony in the child's honor. When they had finished singing their prayers in their beautiful, harmonious, but strange language, they quickly packed their things away, bowed low, and were gone.

"Joseph," Mary's voice broke the long silence that followed their exit. "What just happened?"

"I'm not sure," he answered, "but I have a feeling that the weirdness is just beginning."