The Tenth Saint (28 page)

It pleased him to see the three men in such high spirits. They were simpleminded and honest, never complaining about a brutal day’s work. They accepted their lot in life, never challenging or detesting it. And now, it seemed, they were rewarded for every ounce of hard labor and every iron filing they had swallowed in the line of duty.

Hallas gulped his wine until the glass was empty. “Gabriel, my friend, you will help us, and for this you will be paid not only in food but in gold.”

“I am happy to help you, friend, but you need not pay me. Keep it for your family.”

“I insist. If you do not accept, you are no longer in my employ.”

Gabriel laughed at the dramatic proclamation and accepted the pipe from the eldest son. The tobacco was sweet and smooth, but it made him nostalgic for the camel dung he’d once smoked with Da’ud. He exhaled the smoke skyward as an offering.
May you know peace, old friend.

A fortnight later, the armor and weapons were ready and Hallas prepared the horses for the ride to the palace. Gabriel carried the pieces to the stables and helped Hallas tie them down to the saddles. There were swords, long and short, spears, helmets, body armor, and shields of varying sizes. All told, they loaded four horses, one for each of them.

The horses’ hooves clopped rhythmically on the cobblestones as the four rode to the fortress on the rock at the edge of the city. The many trees lining the stone path were barren and covered in snow, but the brisk air carried the scent of renewal.

“Whoa there.” Hallas, who was leading the line, called to his fellow riders to halt their horses.

They had reached the palace gates. A massive wooden door as tall as four men swung open, and the guards bade them pass into the courtyard.

Gabriel had never entered the realm of a king before, for in his time there were no kings, only men who bought or stole power. In fact, he found the entire concept rather tiresome and the idea of bowing before a mortal man offensive to his Western sensibilities. But this was not his world to judge, so he reminded himself to observe silently and follow the others’ lead.

When the king entered the chambers, all bowed so deeply their hair brushed the floor. Gabriel shrank as best he could, trying to blend with the Aksumites as much as his strange appearance would allow. His facial hair, now matted beyond any hope of untangling, and the permanent soot on his hands and face helped— but anyone who took a second look would know he was foreign. His goal was to stay in the background.

King Ezana was a giant of a man, dressed in indigo and red robes draped elaborately around his considerable shoulders and cinched at the waist with a thick belt of leather from which dangled the incisors of lions. Around his neck he wore a golden Coptic cross the size of a man’s palm. His head was covered with a tall fez whose wide crown was draped with chains of silver and gold. His skin was dark as night, his features chiseled and fine as a Roman’s, his cheekbones high, jaw strong, nose curved like a raptor’s, and eyes fierce with ambition. But his most distinct characteristic was his canine teeth, both made of solid gold. The king cut an imposing figure. Despite his contempt for royalty, Gabriel found himself in awe of the raw power manifest in the absolute ruler of these people.

Ezana sat on the throne at the far end of the chamber and stared stone-faced at the assembly of panoply that had been laid before him. A lanky man with shaven head and military dress approached the throne and sifted through the armor, scrutinizing its quality so he could properly advise the king.

Gabriel looked at Hallas and his sons. All three wore the look of dread, as if at any moment the king would approach and give them ten lashings for presenting His Divine Majesty with such inconsequential rubbish.

No such thing happened. Ezana listened to all the criticism of his advisor—”the swords aren’t heavy enough, the helmets are weak at the base”—but didn’t deliver his own verdict until he walked to the equipment and examined it himself. He swung the swords with the skill of an accomplished warrior and checked their blades with a leather-gloved hand. He inspected every shin guard, every helmet, and the point of every spear before laying down his decision.

“Our enemies in Meroe ought to fear us,” he bellowed. “The men of Aksum ride to battle at first snowmelt. And victory will be ours, God willing. This fine armor will serve us well.” He called to his advisor. “Laloum, compensate these men for their trouble.”

Hallas and his sons beamed with relief. It was a dream come true for them, and it pleased Gabriel to know their lives’ efforts would finally be rewarded. But the happy scene did not last long.

A lady of the court burst through the door in tears. “My lord, come quickly. It’s Aria … She was chasing birds and fell into the fountain. She’s not breathing.”

“The king’s youngest daughter,” Hallas whispered to Gabriel. He crossed himself. “God protect her.”

Ezana and his guards and advisors exited the chamber in haste. Gabriel, Hallas, and the boys followed.

As the king made for his daughter’s bedside, Laloum organized the troops. He instructed one of the guards to ride double-time into town to fetch a doctor, asked a group of court ladies to ready smelling salts and compresses, and ordered another group to pray and chant for the girl’s recovery.

Gabriel knew he shouldn’t intervene, but he couldn’t stand by when a child’s life was in danger. He knew his skill was greater than these people imagined and that he had a shot at saving her life. If she had drowned, every minute was valuable. By the time a doctor got there, all could be lost.

“I am a medic,” he told Laloum. “I can help the child.”

Hallas shook his head, horrified. “No, no, no. Gabriel, you should not do this. Leave it to those who know.”

Gabriel waved him oft” and steeled his voice. “Please, Excellency. I beg you. Let me try. I lost a son once. I cannot bear this to happen to another father.”

Laloum stared at him with cold raven eyes, his jaw tight with distrust. “If you are lying, God help me, I will kill you with my own hands.”

Gabriel lowered his head. “Please, for the love of God. I must go to the child.”

Laloum gestured for Gabriel to follow him.

In the bedchamber, the queen was hysterical over the girl’s limp body. A coterie of women were running about like mad, opening windows to let in cold air, fanning the child and loosening her clothes.

Laloum ran to the king’s side and relayed Gabriel’s proposition. The king nodded, and the advisor led Gabriel to the girl.

The girl’s chest wasn’t moving. Gabriel checked her mouth for breathing. Nothing. When he put his ear to her chest, he heard only the rapid thump of his own heartbeat. The girl’s heart had stopped. He gestured to everyone to make room.

Though it had been years since he had last tried to resuscitate, he remembered just what to do. He gently pumped the ball of his palm on her chest until the water had been expelled, then tilted her head back and blew air into her lungs. Begging God to give him the power to save the girl, he thought of his own son, lying lifeless in his arms as the raging fires filled their home with smoke. He repeated the motions until he thought he heard a faint heartbeat and, encouraged, kept at it.

The town doctor arrived, rushing to little Aria’s side and ordering the stranger away, but Gabriel continued, convinced he was breaking through. The doctor, however, would have none of it and pushed Gabriel to the ground.

At the sound of his body hitting the floor, the girl half opened her eyes.

Everyone looked at her, astonished. The queen let out a squeal and threw her arms around her daughter. The ladies of the court crossed themselves and directed their eyes toward the ceiling.

“She is well,” the doctor proclaimed, as if he had restored her life. “Aria lives.”

The king walked to Gabriel, who still lay on the floor on his side, and offered his hand. Gabriel took it and let Ezana pull him to his feet. The two men’s eyes met for a second before Gabriel diverted his gaze to the ground, surprised at how intimidated he felt.

Ezana squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder with a strength befitting his prowess. “What you have done here, I have never seen. I don’t know who you are, white stranger, but you have a gift. You have the power of healing.”

Gabriel couldn’t find the words. His heart raced, chasing all thought out of his brain. He just stood there, nodding nervously.

Ezana took Gabriel’s bearded chin in his palm and, with a strong grip, turned his face to and fro. “Do you come from Rome? Who are your people?”

Gabriel spoke in a hushed tone, self-conscious and aware that every eye in the room was upon him. “I come from the West, my lord. But I have not lived there for a very long time. My life was in the Rub’ al Khali … with Bedouin nomads.”

“What is your name?”

“Gabriel, my lord.”

“Do you believe in God, Gabriel?”

“I do, my lord.”

“That is good.” He nodded and turned to the gathered masses. “God has worked his miracle here today. God has spoken to us through this man.” He pointed to Gabriel. “Remember the name Gabriel. From this day forward, I, Ezana, son of Ella Amida, servant of God and the Lord Jesus, conqueror of all empires, and king of kings, hereby proclaim Gabriel of Arabia my personal doctor and advisor.”

Gabriel was stunned at the proclamation. “But, my lord—”

Ezana silenced him with a raise of his massive paw. “Laloum. See that Gabriel has the proper armor. He will ride with us to Meroe and serve as the medicine man of our military regimen. With him at our side, no enemy can defeat us.” He waved his fist in the air. “The might of Aksum will crush all who stand against us.”

The king’s men stomped with a ceremonial cadence to show their approval of the king’s sentiments and their readiness to take on any enemy. Ezana dismissed everyone and stayed with his wife at Aria’s side.

Gabriel wrapped his robes around his neck and head and threw his blanket over his shoulders. The bitter winter wind hissed through the bare trees and over the rooftops. Unsure of what had just happened and what it would ultimately mean to him, he sank into deep thought as he rode toward his cave.

By the time he arrived, he was shivering with a chill that penetrated his bones. He stacked dry kindling and rubbed two stones together to make a spark. The kindling crackled with the first flame. He blew into his cupped hands to warm them, then placed a juniper log atop the smoking pile.

His thoughts turned to war, the hand of anxiety churning his insides like a well handle. He imagined fire and destruction, spears bending, men wailing, and blood spilling. He lowered his head into his hands. “Let it be swift.”

Gabriel inhaled the sweet scent of the burning wood. He reached for the flint, the same one Da’ud had given him in the caves of Qumran so long ago, the only thing that remained from his desert sojourn, and used it to scratch at the granite walls of the cave’s inner chamber. Hairan’s parting words echoed in his memory:
What you carry inside you, you must take to the great kingdom. And there you shall leave it.

And so he did.

Twenty

S
arah felt the nerves in her stomach as she mentally reviewed her presentation. The UNESCO crowd was never an easy one to please. From her corner of the cavernous hall she surveyed the amphitheatre in which the audience of scientists and academics sat, their faces stern and unyielding under the fluorescent lights. She knew their kind well. Each one was a skeptic, a predator ready to pounce at the slightest misstep.