Simon came forward, gripping the man-at-arms’ own gladius.
“Open his throat!” someone cried. “What are you waiting for?”
The Virgin cried out, seeking to stay this murder.
The lady saw Telamon’s eyes find Ruth’s.
Simon elevated the blade to plunge it into Telamon’s neck.
A voice broke the silence.
It was neither Telamon’s nor Simon’s.
Nor that of Miriam or the Virgin.
It was Ruth.
It was the child.
“Paul, called to be an Apostle of Jesus Christ through the will of God, and Sosthenes our brother, unto the church of God which is at Corinth . . . ”
Telamon’s eyes turned toward the child. The man-at-arms, through the sheeting of blood that obscured his features, reacted with astonishment.
The sword in Simon’s hand held for the moment.
“ . . . to those sanctified in Christ Jesus and called to be saints . . . grace be unto you, and peace, from God our father and from the lord Jesus Christ . . . ”
Every glance had swung now to the child.
A silence, consummate and complete, held the community.
Ruth continued to recite.
With each word and each line, it became more impossible to doubt that the verses she spoke were indeed the true composition of Paul the Apostle. This could be no fraud. The provenance of the text was too apparent.
The gathering had fallen utterly silent. Ruth’s voice alone carried. The child’s timbre had not by some wonder been transmuted into the voice of a grown woman. It remained the voice of a child, which somehow made its effect, reciting the stanzas of the Apostle, even more forceful and compelling.
The main freight of the letter, as the girl recited it, was a plea from the Apostle for unity within the community, for brotherhood and sisterhood in the face of external adversity and even murderous persecution.
Each word fell like the blow of a lash upon those who had given themselves over to terror and suspicion and anger.
Paul wrote, in the girl’s recitation, that he knew the members of the fledgling church were under extraordinary duress. He implored them to be true to the spirit of hope and faith and love that had led them to hazard everything to follow the man they called their savior. For without such transcendent love, nothing else was possible, nor indeed could any other thought or action possess meaning.
“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.”
A man could be heard sobbing. Others of the community embraced their fellows and implored their pardon. The guardsmen who had seized Telamon now let him go.
Simon himself lowered the Roman sword in his hand. He restored it to Telamon.
“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil . . . Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”
Ruth’s words of the Apostle spoke directly to, and addressed specifically, the very conflicts and failings of faith that both factions of the community had so vividly displayed this evening.
All knew they had failed the Father.
All understood they had fallen short of the Son.
“Charity never faileth; but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.”
Ruth stood now. When she spoke, her words came not in halting stammers, nor lacking in self-composure or self-belief, but with might and grace and power. Telamon’s expression seemed to say, How could this child, who clearly could have spoken at any time she wished, have held her tongue through all that she, and we, have endured?
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”
Ruth’s eyes met Telamon’s in this moment, as his met hers.
“For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”
− 46 −
CROSSROADS
“REMAIN WITH US,” SIMON PLEADED.
The leader beseeched Telamon and Ruth’s exculpation, imploring them not to take flight into isolation and peril but to abide, here and always, with the company.
Miriam, taking station at Simon’s shoulder, seconded this appeal.
“What you have done for this community,” she declared, “is beyond our capacity to recompense. Further, the fact that you have performed this service not for the sake of those with whom you owned acquaintance, or who were dear to you, but instead for strangers, and at such grave personal peril . . . please,” she said, “stay with us. None will be honored more highly or stand in greater esteem within our hearts.”
The party stood now at the final crossroads.
“Will you remain, brother?” said Simon to Telamon.
The man-at-arms’ expression answered for him.
He wished the company well, Telamon declared. It had been his privilege to be of service to those who had hazarded, and continued to hazard, so much for that which could be beheld and believed only with the eyes of the heart.
The Virgin came forward then. Taking Telamon’s hands in both of hers, she appended her own plea for the mercenary to remain with the community. He silenced her, as he had the others, without speech.
The man-at-arms bent and took up his weapons and armor.
The Virgin turned now to Ruth.
“You, child. None has dared as you have, or acted with greater devotion. Surely you will stay with us. I myself will be mother to you, and sister and friend. You cannot be so foolhardy as to resume your life of the highway, apart from all society.”
The girl made answer not in speech, only reached to the earth and lifted the man-at-arms’ kit and carrying pole.
These she set upon her shoulders.
At this point, one of the company came forward and addressed the lady in white, privately but within hearing of the others. The man identified himself as one who had chanced to trek beside the child Ruth for most of the night fleeing the city. He informed the lady that the girl, to all who had encountered her, appeared to be a mute.
In fact, the fellow declared, the child had throughout the flight from Corinth communicated with the man-at-arms and her other companion entirely by sign and gesture. This was why, he suggested, the man-at-arms had appeared so taken aback when the child spoke aloud, reciting the Apostle’s verses. He, the mercenary, had never heard speech from her lips before.
The Virgin turned to Telamon. “Is this true?”
The mercenary’s glance toward Ruth confirmed this.
The lady remained silent for a long moment. Then, stepping forward to address Ruth within hearing of all the others, she touched the girl’s shoulder to detain her for one final question.