Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [260]
I said nothing.
"It is the wise man who knows the value of silence," he observed. "It is our policy to welcome all travellers. Yeshua's mercy knows no bounds." He pointed. "You may stable your horse there, poor beast. When you have finished, come find me. I am Avraham ben David, the Rebbe of Miroslas.”
I inclined my head. "Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel.”
"I know who you are," he said.
I led my horse to the stables. There were no other horses there, only goats. A young Vralian man was there, milking one of them. He gaped at me, but said nothing, only pointed to an empty stall. I found the hayrack and a bucket. The Vralian pointed to a tub of water, already beginning to ice over. I lugged an armload of hay into the stall and filled the bucket with water for my grateful mount, then unsaddled him and rubbed him down with a handful of straw, trying to think what in the world I would say to the Rebbe.
It was a quiet place, Miroslas. A place where men go to think and be quiet, Ethan had said. It was true. As I learned later, many of the men there had taken an oath to dwell in silence, contemplating the glories of Yeshua. When I entered through the unguarded main door, the sound of my boot-heels on the flagstones seemed very loud. A fellow of middle years, clad in plain black robes, approached me with a wondering look.
"Rebbe Avraham told me to find him," I said softly in Habiru. He shook his head, uncomprehending. I repeated myself in Rus.
His eyes lit. He touched my arm and beckoned. I thought he would lead me to the Rebbe, but instead, he led me down a long corridor to a dining hall filled with long, empty tables. There I sat while he served me a dish of meat dumplings so good I nearly groaned aloud. If it hadn't been for all the silence, I would have.
When I had finished, he touched my arm again, motioning for me to leave my pack and follow him. It was a good thing I'd had practice in unspoken communication with Kebek. I followed him down another long corridor. We passed other men in plain robes. All of them looked curiously at me. None of them spoke.
He led me to the temple proper. It held the Yeshuite accoutrements with which I was familiar: the khai symbol inlaid in mosaic on the floor, the ever-lit lamp of the Ur Tamid. The ark containing the sacred scrolls; a replica of that original ark described in the Tanakh. I hadn't read the Tanakh. But I knew where it was, that ark. It was in Saba, on an island called Kapporeth, in the midst of the Lake of Tears. I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but I knew. I'd been there. It was where Phèdre had found the Name of God.
And there was one thing here that was not there.
A great cross of rough-hewn timbers, lashed together and bolted to the wall. The Rebbe lay prostrate before it, his arms spread wide. My guide touched my arm a final time, nodded, and departed. I waited.
After a long time, Rebbe Avraham rose. He sat on a wooden bench and beckoned to me. I joined him.
"What do you see?" he asked me.
"A cruel way to die," I said.
"You find it barbaric." He nodded. "When Tadeuz Vral seized upon it as a symbol, I did, too. And yet, he is right." He turned a deep gaze on me. "Yeshua ben Yosef chose this. To subject himself to every humility mortal flesh might bear, to offer up his suffering, to make atonement for all of mankind. On his own shoulders, he bore this cross to the place of his own death, bloodied by the lash, enduring the jeers and spittle of an ignorant populace filled with fear and hatred. Should we not be humbled by this?”
I thought about Phèdre and Daršanga. "Yes, of course.”
"And yet you are not," the Rebbe said. "Not enough to accept his sacrifice with gratitude.”
I spread my hands. "My lord…I am D'Angeline.”
"D'Angeline," he mused. "What does that mean? Elua ben Yeshua was born of the blood of the mashiach. And yet he rejected his birthright when it was offered to him.”
"Blessed Elua had more than one birthright, Father," I said. "The one he chose was love.”
"Carnal love," he said. "Not divine love.”
I shrugged. "We are mortal flesh, my lord.