Star over Bethlehem - Agatha Christie [13]
“Yes. A miracle happened. Why did my Master do that for me? Why did he acquiesce in my lie? Why? Oh why?”
St. Peter looked at her.
He said:
“So that you should never forget. So that pride could never lay hold of you. So that you should know that you were weak and not strong.”
“I, too—” He stopped and then went on.
“I who was so sure that I could never deny him, so certain that I, above all the others, would be steadfast. I was the one who denied and spoke those lying cowardly words. Why did he choose me—a man like me? He founded his Church on me—Why?”
“That’s easy,” said Elizabeth. “Because you loved him. I think you loved him more than any of the others did.”
“Yes, I loved him. I was one of the first to follow him. There was I, mending the nets, and I looked up, and there he was watching me. And he said, ‘Come with me.’ And I went. I think I loved him from the very first moment.”
“You are so nice, Peter,” said Elizabeth.
St. Peter swung his keys doubtfully.
“I’m not sure about that Church I founded … It’s not turned out at all as we meant …”
“Things never do. You know,” Elizabeth went on thoughtfully. “I’m sorry now I put that leper in my husband’s bed. It seemed at the time a fine defiant Act of Faith. But really—well, it wasn’t very kind, was it?”
St. Appolonia stopped suddenly in her tracks.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ve dropped my tooth. That’s the worst of having such a small emblem.”
She called: “Anthony. Come and find it for me.”
They were in the Land of the Saints now, and as they breathed its special fragrance St. Cristina cried aloud in joy. The Holy Birds sang, and the Harps played.
But the Fourteen did not linger. They pressed forward to the Court of Assembly.
The Archangel Gabriel received them.
“The Court is in Session,” he said. “Enter.”
The Assembly Chamber was wide and lofty. The walls were made of mist and cloud.
The Recording Angel was writing in his Golden Book. He laid it aside, opened his Ledger and said, “Names and addresses, please.”
They told him their names and gave their address. St. Petrock-on-the-Hill. Stickle Buckland.
“Present your Petition,” said the Recording Angel.
St. Peter stepped forward.
“There is unrest amongst us. We ask to go back to Earth.”
“Isn’t Heaven good enough for you?” asked the Recording Angel. There was, perhaps, a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
“It is too good for us.”
The Recording Angel adjusted his Golden Wig, put on his Golden Spectacles, and looked over the top of them with disapprobation.
“Are you questioning the decision of your Creator?”
“We would not dare—but there was a ruling—”
The Archangel Gabriel, as Mediator and Intermediary between Heaven and Earth, rose.
“If I may submit a point of law?”
The Recording Angel inclined his head.
“It was laid down, by Divine decree, that in the Year A.D. 1000 and in every subsequent 1000th Year, there should be fresh Judgments and Decisions on such points as were brought to a special Court of Appeal. Today is the Second Millennium. I submit that every person who has ever lived on earth has today a right of Appeal.”
The Recording Angel opened a large Gold Tome and consulted it. Closing it again, he said:
“Set out your Case.”
St. Peter spoke.
“We died for our Faith. Died joyfully. We were rewarded. Rewarded far beyond our deserts. We—he hesitated and turned to a young man with a beautiful face and burning eyes. “You explain.”
“It was not enough,” said the young man.
“Your reward was not enough?” The Recording Angel looked scandalised.
“Not our reward. Our service. To die for the Faith, to be a Saint, is not enough to merit Eternal Life. You know my story. I was rich. I obeyed the Law. I kept the commandments. It was not enough. I went to the Master. I said to him: “Master, what shall I do to inherit Eternal Life?”
“You were told what to do, and you did it,” said the Recording Angel.
“It was not enough.”
“You did more. After you had given all your possessions to the poor,