sollers

THE TRIBUTE BEARERS

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"You've come to the wrong place, of course," Herod said. "You do realise that, don't you?" He sat back and eyed the three men in front of him. Normally the experience of standing while he lounged at his ease made people restive, so that they had to fight not to fidget like horses that had been kept waiting too long, but these Persians seemed accustomed to patience. They stood there like statues (or perhaps, so flat and lifeless were they, like a row of relief figures) and Herod wondered for a moment how the Chief Priest would react if he walked in just then.

He knew, of course, exactly how the Chief Priest would react if he saw them as people and not as graven images. The tight sleeves proclaimed their nationality out loud, and to him they would, quite simply, be Other People: idolators, followers of false gods. If he thought for a moment he might recognise them as compatriots of Cyrus, and therefore not quite so unspeakable, but he would still not wish to defile himself with them.

But it was not business of the Chief Priest's anyway.

"This is no country to search for a Great King," Herod told them. "That's more in your line than ours. Are you sure you've got the right direction?"

"The Stars do not serve the Lie," the eldest said. "Before we left the East, we read it clearly in the sky: he would be born in the West."

"Then if you'll forgive my suggesting it, perhaps you haven't got the distance right. If someone is to rule the world, my money would be on his being born in Rome." I certainly wouldn't like to be overheard suggesting anything else, he thought. He took a calculated mouthful of wine, wishing they would show some sign of impatience or thirst. "Though even there... Kings are rather out of fashion. The last Roman who tried to call himself King got hacked to pieces by his friends. The August Personage had gathered to himself every title going: Commander in Chief, Censor, Chief Priest, Lord High Everything Else, but his working title is still just number One. Anyway, his wife's past.,.. " Julia, he thought with sudden panic. Is she going to have a son to put the whole world under the hobnailed boot? They really do hate kings. If my schoolbooks were right, they even hacked their first king to death. What chance will I have?

"Not a Roman," the second said firmly. "The Stars are clear. A King, great and wise like Solomon son of David... and of the same lineage."

Herod burst out laughing.

"A son of David? I can tell you where to find him, in that case. Thanks to Number One's great plan to find out exactly how many people ought to be paying him taxes, I can tell you where every last descendant of David is: in Bethlehem. Best of luck to you. The place is crammed to bursting; they're as thick as fleas on a camel. And all as proud as Lucifer, and poor as Joseph's cows."

For the first time their composure broke and they looked uneasily at each other. Herod took another mouthful of wine.

"I can set you on the road to Bethlehem," he offered. "The place is so tiny, you'd never find it on your own." He nodded in dismissal and the three bowed and withdrew backwards.

"Just one more thing," he called as they reached the door. "If you should happen to find him, please let me know. It would only be proper for me to pay him homage."

They had ridden for an hour or so before they felt safe enough to talk, even in Persian

"We're well away from that," the youngest said. "I felt as if I was standing in an empty courtyard with a cobra in the corner. That creature calling himself a King! He's not even a proper Jew, from what I've heard."

"At least we didn't pay him full worship," the second said. "I couldn't have managed that."

"He didn't even know the difference," the youngest said scornfully.

"I don't like what he was saying about Bethlehem," said the second. "Are you quite sure...?"

"The Stars do not serve the Lie," the eldest repeated fiercely.

"But a Jew?" the second persisted. "Kings and Jews don't go together. They don't like them much more than the Romans do.

"That's not what bothers me," said the youngest. "What I don't understand is why any King of the Jews would want to carry out what is expected. Why should any Jew want to help Ahura Mazda against Ahriman?"

"Of course he would be willing to assist the Light," the eldest said. "Even the Jews know about the War between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness that is almost upon us -"

"Some of them," the second pointed out. "A small and insignificant sect."

"The Stars do not serve the Lie," the eldest insisted. "We are at a turning point for all Creation, and the message of the Stars is clear; you saw it for yourselves. A King of the Jews is to be born, whose presence is essential to ensure the defeat of the Darkness. If you do not believe that, and agree that we must win him over to our cause, why have you come all this way?” They were silent then. As they rode on, the only sounds around them were the horses' hooves on the paved road and the jingle of bridles; and then softly, so as not to disturb their masters, the conversations almost in whispers of the servants and grooms.

Herod went to sleep thinking with amusement of his visitors, traipsing off to search the packed streets of Bethlehem. he woke in panic.

Later that day he sat again in the chair where he had received them, and listened to the reports of his experts, headed by the Chief Priest, whose business it had turned out to be after all. A king who could not trust his own sons would be in deadly danger from a rival who was no kin to him; worse., who was of the noblest lineage in the land.

"We have examined the writings," the Chief Priest reported, "and there is no question. The King is to be born in David's own city."

"WHAT'S THAT?"

"`And thou, Bethlehem in the land of Judah,’” the Chief Priest quoted, "`art not the least among the princes of Judah, for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel.'"

The audience halted abruptly, and the experts were hustled out by armed guards.

Three figures swathed in heavy cloaks moved along the road into Bethlehem. They had left their servants shivering around a small fire near to where the horses were tethered; a large party, they could see, would soon be split up and nobody but a madman would take horses into that crush. It was getting late, and they wanted to be sure of accommodation before they started the hunt for the King. A groom had gone down into the town when they had got there, but had returned saying that he could not find anywhere for them to stay. They had come to the conclusion that there had been a failure in communication somewhere, as the lad had little Greek and less Aramaic, so they had gone themselves to find a roof to sleep under. They pulled the cloaks tight around them, to hide the fine fabrics brought from distant Serica and the priceless gifts they had brought to pay in tribute.

They rapidly discovered that there had been no failure in communication; there was nowhere for the to stay. They struggled through the crowds from house to house, getting the same answer each time, ending up at last at a building that was clearly an inn.

"We should have tried here first,," said the second, and knocked at the door. A servant opened it, but at their polite request he stared at them and slammed the door. They could hear him inside, shouting in guttural Aramaic.

"Doesn't speak Greek," the youngest said philosophically. "Let's hope he finds someone who does."

The door opened again, this time to show a person of far greater authority. They made their request again, but the landlord stopped them before they could finish.

"If it's a bed for the night you're after, I'm sorry but I can't oblige. I’ve not a square inch of floor left."

"Perhaps you could squeeze us in somewhere... " the youngest suggested, jingling a handful of gold. The landlord looked at it and sighed.

"I mean what I said. I've not an inch left. if I had, I'd have let it already, last night and the night before that. I've been turning people away all week."

The looked at each other and the youngest started to put the money away. The landlord followed it with his eyes, and as the coins started to disappear under the cloak, he said,

"There's only the cowshed." The money started to emerge again, but the second said suspiciously,

"If there's so much demand, why is it still available?"

The landlord looked from their faces to the gold and back again; then he sighed and said,

"The fact is there's people in there already. There's a lady who's unclean -"

"A leper?" the eldest asked sharply. the landlord was shocked.

"No, no, nothing like that."

The youngest looked at the others, then shrugged and poured the coins into the landlord's hands.

"Just round the side," the landlord said and vanished inside.

A man was standing inside the cowshed when they pushed open the door; well built, with the strong arms and frame of someone who works with his hands, but not causal labourer, for his face had the confidence and assurance of a man of standing and skill; a stonemason or a carpenter, perhaps. The eldest started to frame an apology and an explanation, but stopped when he realised that they were not needed. The man nodded to them, in acknowledgement or greeting. His look was not exactly welcoming, but gave them the impression that they had been expected. He moved aside, and they looked past him to the woman, and what she held.

one by one they took off their cloaks to display their fine clothes of gold-embroidered silk. One by one, they prostrated themselves on the floor, face down on the earth floor with its litter of straw and dung as they performed the full act of obeisance that they would have used, in their own land, only for the Great King, king of Kings, and humbly offered their tribute.

"I was wrong," thought the eldest as he presented his golden treasure. "I was looking for a King over the Jews, not a King born of the Jews."

"I was wrong," thought the second as he presented the casket of costly incense. "I was looking for one to rule over the world, not the One who made the world."

"I was wrong," thought the youngest as he presented the alabaster jar. "I was looking for a mortal king, to whom I was prepared to cry, `Great King, live forever!' and give him myrrh for his burial; but I have found the King who will indeed live for ever."

The woman looked at them as they laid the tribute at her feet, with a serene look of acceptance that the eldest had sometimes seen on men led to execution. There had been a little sound when they came in, but now all was silent; the Water of Life had been thirsty, but now was satisfied. And now the Light of the World closed His eyes in sleep, and the God-bearer gently laid her burden down in the food-trough before her.

We were all wrong, they thought as they left the cowshed that was more glorious even than a hillside cave had been, and the rough wooden trough whose contents were more precious even than those of the bushel basket where the Mithras child had lain to be adored by other shepherds. We were all wrong. The War is already over. The Darkness can never prevail against this Light.

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