Chapter 1: Tarsus, 10 A.D.
"ARE YOU DONE WITH THAT INFERNAL PRAYING?" Marcus shouted. He propped his hands on his hips, all lanky arms and legs, trying to look all six feet tall. His voice, however, had other ideas. "SOLLY, ARE YOU LISTENING?" he squeaked. Saul finished his petitions to Jehovah before rising. He brushed the pebble imprints from his knees, his coarse red hair catching the sun. Standing, he barely came to his friend's shoulder, a fact Marcus never let him forget. Saul knew they made an odd pair: the freckled, wiry Judean and the tan, smooth-skinned Roman who seemed to have skipped puberty's curses altogether.
"And I have told you, Marc," he said in as earnest and manly a tone as he could command, "there is only one God, and He hears every single word I pray to Him."
“You’re always telling me He answers you.” Marcus looked him up and down. “Did you pray to be that small?”
“Ha ha, so funny. Did you pray to Zeus for your voice to change? Because if you did, I don't think he heard you.”
Marcus's face twisted, and he changed the subject. "I have better things to do with my time, which reminds me that I have to take these parchments to Isaiah, the Publican." His face took on a wicked grin. "And I hear that his daughter is a face worth a second trip across town."
Saul's eyebrows formed tall arches. "Oh, really? And you think this gorgeous daughter of Judea would be interested in a sluggard like you?"
Marcus gave Saul a puzzled look. "Of course."
Saul eyed the parchments. “So, you want to impress her?”
“Obviously.”
“I know how.”
Marcus leaned closer. “How?”
Saul lowered his voice. “Judean fathers admire men of action, men who can be trusted with urgent tasks.”
Marcus frowned. “What are you doing?”
Saul snatched the parchments. “The first one to the door gets the introduction!”
With that, he made his exit. He reached the top of the stairs, but instead of going through the doorway, he jumped onto an adjacent windowsill and grabbed the building's top ledge. With a burst of effort, he pulled himself onto the roof and raced toward the trading square.
Marcus kicked at the ground, raising a cloud of dust, and shook his head vigorously. "Not again. Come on, Saul, this is getting old, and I am not going to play this time."
Saul was halfway across the roof when he heard Marcus' refusal. He stopped and sighed, then turned back toward the building ledge.
"What? Are you afraid of losing again?" Saul remembered the papers clutched in his hand and waved them like a red flag at a charging bull.
"I guess I'll just go see that face for myself."
Marcus saw crimson and charged. Saul saw him spring into action and resumed his chase to the trading square.
Marcus leaped onto the sill and, using his long arms, pulled himself effortlessly onto the roof. Saul was about to reach the far northwestern edge of the roof. Seven feet of open air separated the rooftop from the city wall.
Saul heard Marcus gaining on him.
He ran harder.
Three strides. Two.
Jump.
For one glorious instant, he flew.
For one glorious instant, he flew.
He pumped his fist into the air, exhilarated by his success. But his celebration quickly faded as he heard Marcus's feet land not far behind. The gap was clearly narrowing. Determined, Saul quickened his pace until it seemed his legs might outrun his feet.
A guard leaned against his spear, losing a battle with the previous night's wine.
Saul tore around the corner, kicking the spear out from under the guard. The guard spun.
Marcus flashed past.
He spun again and landed squarely on his backside.
“Saul!” Marcus shouted over his shoulder. “His name is Saul!” But the effort was wasted on the hung-over city guard, whose only interest now was getting back on his feet and catching up on his sleep.
Saul's lungs begged for air and were beginning to grow testy. Up ahead, he could see the wooden ladder that would take him down to the trading square.
As his hands grasped the rough-hewn wood of the ladder, he swung his small body into position to climb down the wall. But his hope began to fade as he saw how close the stronger, taller Marcus really was behind him. His brain strained for an advantage, and then he saw one. An olive merchant was just lowering his awning for the day.
It was his only chance. He threw himself into the air, aiming for the faded canvas. He hit it with a jarring thud that knocked the wind out of him. The fabric ripped with a loud tear, spilling him ungracefully into a mound of bitter fruit. He was bruised and smelled of brine, but he was alive.
As he struggled to get untangled from the wad of canvas, he saw Marcus nearly at the bottom of the ladder.
Marcus was practically at the bottom of the ladder. Slapping his hands on the ground in frustration, Saul struggled to his feet and raced down the alley ahead, which led to the Publican's house.
Saul knew all he had to do was reach the end of the alley, and the door would be just across the street. Smirking as he raced down the narrow alley, his smile vanished when he saw what was in front of him. A detachment of soldiers on horseback had bogged down right in front of his destination. The street was thick with Roman cavalry.
Glancing back, he saw Marcus enter the alley and race toward him. Marcus would catch him in seconds unless Saul did something.
A large ram, its fleece full and ready for shearing, wandered into his path.
Perfect.
Saul planted one foot on its back and launched himself onto the nearest horse. The first rider looked at him in stunned silence, unable to get a word out before Saul moved onto the next. As he jumped off the last horse, he stumbled right through the Publican's front door.
Looking back, he saw Marcus growing frustrated at every turn as he tried to make his way through the crowded boulevard. Saul turned back to the door and pounded on the thick barrier with a triumphant beat.
The door slowly creaked open, and Saul felt his breath leave him. His mouth and eyes wide open, he stared at the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his short life. Dark brown eyes peered out from beneath a curtain of black hair that had fallen unevenly across her face, with one side tucked behind her ear and the other loose. She raised a finger to her lips for a moment, then brushed the hair aside with the back of her hand.
Her brow furrowed in puzzlement as she smiled nervously.
"Yes, can I help you?"
He suddenly became aware of his own scrawny limbs, the dust on his tunic, and the forgotten parchments clutched behind his back. He'd run all this way with them, but now he couldn't remember why.
As he struggled to remember why he was there, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. Marcus gave Saul a gentle but firm shove aside and snatched the forgotten papers from his paralyzed hands.
"Marcus Lycos, at your service," he said with his best Roman dignity. "Are you Rachel, Isaiah's daughter?"
Saul cursed under his breath because his voice had not broken even once.
Rachel stifled an embarrassed giggle and nodded. "I have brought these important papers from the Roman governor for your father," Marcus boomed in a perfectly masculine tone.
She glanced at Saul. “Do all the governor's messages arrive this way?”
Saul opened his mouth.
Nothing.
Marcus smiled. “Only the important ones.”
Marcus turned to Saul and shot him a sarcastic smile. "I’ll meet you later at the stables. By the way, congratulations! It looks like you beat me yet again."
Saul was struck by the way Rachel looked at Marcus. She fixed her brown eyes on the young Roman, and the nervous furrow in her brow smoothed away. A small smile touched her lips, twisting Saul's stomach into a knot.
Saul opened his mouth, about to protest this rude treatment, but before he could get a single word out, Marcus's swift right hand clamped over it, pinning him against the cold stone wall next to the door.
Rachel's smile faltered, and a flicker of confusion crossed her eyes as the smaller boy struggled against his friend's restraining arm. Marcus, for his part, acted as if Saul wasn't even there.
"Will you please escort me to your father?" he said, his blue eyes sparkling. Rachel quickly opened the door the rest of the way.
Marcus turned to Saul and shot him a sarcastic smile. "I’ll meet you later at the stables. By the way, congratulations! It looks like you beat me yet again."
With that, Marcus squeezed Saul's cheeks with his thumb and forefinger, then hurried through the large wooden door. Not wanting Marcus to have the last word, Saul tried to follow him. He opened his mouth, preparing to call Marcus some really choice names he had overheard from a drunken shepherd, but before he could get a word out, the door slammed shut, nearly hitting him in the face. Momentarily stunned, Saul found himself staring at a small knothole in the door.
He just stood there, his anger a hot flash that vanished as quickly as it came. It left behind a hollow ache that was somehow worse. He wasn't even mad at Marcus anymore. All he could see was her nervous smile and the smudge of flour on her cheek. The alley suddenly felt vast and empty. A knot formed in his throat, and his eyes began to burn.
No.
Saul clenched his jaw. He would not cry over some girl he had known for less than a minute.
He punched the door.
“Owwwwww!” he cried.
Saul clutched his hand and glared at the door as though it had struck him first.
He headed for home through the alley, nursing his lacerated hand and feeling a twisted tumult of troubling, confusing emotions. He had glimpsed paradise and desperately wanted to return.
He had always understood races: run harder, jump farther, get there first.
This race had no course.
Saul looked back at Isaiah's door.
“I can win her,” he whispered.
A smile crept across his face.
“I will.”