there—that nighttime sun, taking away the biggest advantage the desert had to offer: vast expanses of total darkness in which to disappear.
Unless they were willing to ride for another two or three hours, that left them with very few options. Namely, one of the villages on the outskirts of the city. Balthazar wasn’t about to go north to Bethel—not after the lack of hospitality they’d shown him during his last visit. Herodium was too far. And it had Herod in its name, which, even to a man of few superstitions, seemed like a bad idea.
That left Bethlehem.
It was a shepherd’s village. That meant there’d be stables to hide in. More importantly, stables to hide their camels in. They couldn’t have them tied up in plain sight—not in a village where the only animals were goats. Three camels would seem out of place to all but the most dim-witted soldier. Especially one looking for three escaped criminals.
On the northernmost edge of Bethlehem, before the village organized itself into a series of cobblestoned streets and evenly divided lots, the wise men came upon a cluster of small, brick homes on their right, each with a wooden stable beside it. The largest of these stables looked just about big enough for three men and their camels to squeeze into for a couple of hours. It was also the farthest from the main road, making it that much more appealing.
“Don’t you think we should keep going awhile?” asked Gaspar. “See if there’s something better in the center of the village?”
Balthazar looked down the road into Bethlehem. Other than a few small fires, the village was sound asleep. The streets all but empty. Every rooftop, every cobblestone was clearly visible in the light of that strange star. It wouldn’t be hard to spot three men on camelback. They could spend another hour looking around for something better with that thing shining down on them, or they could grab a couple of hours of sleep now.
Balthazar regretted his choice almost immediately.
It had begun the moment the wise men had poked their heads into the stable and surprised the breastfeeding girl. With her scream still ringing in their ears, the carpenter had come out of nowhere and tried to stab them with a pitchfork. Balthazar had, naturally, responded by grabbing the carpenter’s throat and punching him in the face—blackening his right eye and bloodying his nose. Seeing this, the girl had screamed some more, the baby had started crying, the camels had reared up, and Balthazar’s head had begun to throb all over again.
Now the carpenter was struggling to stay on his feet, clutching the pitchfork with his right hand and pinching his gushing nose shut with his left. The girl was trying to steady him while keeping her eyes fixed on the intruders and holding on to her crying baby at the same time. Balthazar took a step toward them with his palms held out in a nonthreatening posture, the way one might try to calm a spooked animal, but the carpenter responded by thrusting his pitchfork again, nearly connecting with Balthazar’s face. Under normal circumstances, this would have cost the carpenter his life. But Balthazar didn’t have a sword, and he couldn’t risk extending this racket and drawing unwanted attention. He needed peace, and he needed it now.
“Easy,” said Balthazar. “Everybody just…calm down.”
He backed away, his palms still held out, and motioned to his fellow wise men to do the same. The girl stopped shouting. The baby stopped screaming. Balthazar would’ve thought the latter strange, but he was too tired to notice.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what’s your name?”
The carpenter glared back at him for what seemed an eternity—his chest heaving, blood already beginning to dry on his lips and chin. Just when Balthazar was beginning to think he would never answer, the carpenter said, “Joseph.”
“Joseph, good. Nice to meet you, Joseph. And her?”
“My wife,” he said after another pause.
Unless they were willing to ride for another two or three hours, that left them with very few options. Namely, one of the villages on the outskirts of the city. Balthazar wasn’t about to go north to Bethel—not after the lack of hospitality they’d shown him during his last visit. Herodium was too far. And it had Herod in its name, which, even to a man of few superstitions, seemed like a bad idea.
That left Bethlehem.
It was a shepherd’s village. That meant there’d be stables to hide in. More importantly, stables to hide their camels in. They couldn’t have them tied up in plain sight—not in a village where the only animals were goats. Three camels would seem out of place to all but the most dim-witted soldier. Especially one looking for three escaped criminals.
On the northernmost edge of Bethlehem, before the village organized itself into a series of cobblestoned streets and evenly divided lots, the wise men came upon a cluster of small, brick homes on their right, each with a wooden stable beside it. The largest of these stables looked just about big enough for three men and their camels to squeeze into for a couple of hours. It was also the farthest from the main road, making it that much more appealing.
“Don’t you think we should keep going awhile?” asked Gaspar. “See if there’s something better in the center of the village?”
Balthazar looked down the road into Bethlehem. Other than a few small fires, the village was sound asleep. The streets all but empty. Every rooftop, every cobblestone was clearly visible in the light of that strange star. It wouldn’t be hard to spot three men on camelback. They could spend another hour looking around for something better with that thing shining down on them, or they could grab a couple of hours of sleep now.
Balthazar regretted his choice almost immediately.
It had begun the moment the wise men had poked their heads into the stable and surprised the breastfeeding girl. With her scream still ringing in their ears, the carpenter had come out of nowhere and tried to stab them with a pitchfork. Balthazar had, naturally, responded by grabbing the carpenter’s throat and punching him in the face—blackening his right eye and bloodying his nose. Seeing this, the girl had screamed some more, the baby had started crying, the camels had reared up, and Balthazar’s head had begun to throb all over again.
Now the carpenter was struggling to stay on his feet, clutching the pitchfork with his right hand and pinching his gushing nose shut with his left. The girl was trying to steady him while keeping her eyes fixed on the intruders and holding on to her crying baby at the same time. Balthazar took a step toward them with his palms held out in a nonthreatening posture, the way one might try to calm a spooked animal, but the carpenter responded by thrusting his pitchfork again, nearly connecting with Balthazar’s face. Under normal circumstances, this would have cost the carpenter his life. But Balthazar didn’t have a sword, and he couldn’t risk extending this racket and drawing unwanted attention. He needed peace, and he needed it now.
“Easy,” said Balthazar. “Everybody just…calm down.”
He backed away, his palms still held out, and motioned to his fellow wise men to do the same. The girl stopped shouting. The baby stopped screaming. Balthazar would’ve thought the latter strange, but he was too tired to notice.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what’s your name?”
The carpenter glared back at him for what seemed an eternity—his chest heaving, blood already beginning to dry on his lips and chin. Just when Balthazar was beginning to think he would never answer, the carpenter said, “Joseph.”
“Joseph, good. Nice to meet you, Joseph. And her?”
“My wife,” he said after another pause.
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