Tales from Bethlehem:
The Tale of the Honest Spy
By Stephen B. Bagley
I am Manius Cassius Dentatus, and I am a citizen spy. Perhaps you are from some far reaches of the Empire and are not familiar with spies in general and citizen spies in particular. A quick précis: Spies discover hidden information and share it with their employer, usually for the government or the military. Citizen spies also discover hidden information and share it with their employer, but that employer is any citizen with enough coin.
Many spies exist in Judaea. Most are employed by King Herod or by his many enemies. I myself once served Herod, but when he started killing his wives and sons and anyone else whom he thought might be conspiring against him or could possibly conspire against him sometime in the future, I thought it prudent to find another way to place coins in my pouch.
Many noble citizens have need of my services. They seek to know if their wife is dallying with a slave boy or if their partner is actually selling the bushels of dates that he is reporting as spoiled or if their accountant is keeping the books as he should. What I do is find out. And I am known for my honesty. I report what I find, no more, no less. I am careful with this. I am not cheap in my services, and so I work to be worthy of my wages.
This is not to say I don’t have a price, but no one has offered it so far. Thus when I give reports, my employers listen. They might not like what they hear, but that is not my concern. My concern is the coin. That is my only concern. Understand that: I am honest because it allows me to charge more, not because I am seeking favor or reward. If there are gods, they do not concern me. But like most reasonable men, I do not think they exist. I have never seen a miracle from Jupiter or any of his quarrelsome children or their priests. In fact, I’d rather share a cup with a slave who knows how to do a good day’s work in the vineyards than with some foppish priest with his dirty robes and stinky incense.
So when Sextus Gabinius, the chief spymaster for King Herod, summoned me to his chambers in Herodium and told me what Herod sought from me, I was displeased for reasons trice. First, that the King had requested my services once again — you did not refuse a summons unless you wished to land on his enemy list. Second, Herod was notoriously slow paying. Third, it involved religion and even worse, the Jews.
I wondered briefly if I could claim to have the flux, but Gabinius’s stony face convinced me otherwise.
“So, noble Gabinius, what Jews am I following?” I asked. “Another group attempting to overthrow our good King Herod?” The slight twist I gave my words was not lost on the spymaster.
He favored me with a sour smile. “Not Jews,” he said. “Magi. Wise men.”
My face expressed my disbelief better than any words. Gabinius barked a short laugh.
“Our gracious King received visitors from the East,” Gabinius drawled. “They claimed to be following signs that herald the birth of a new Jewish king here in Judaea.”
I sat up straight on that. Herod, the self-styled King of the Jews, had murdered his own sons to protect his Roman-given throne. He would not receive this news gladly. If those wise men had been truly wise, they would have known better than to visit his palace.
Gabinius nodded at my reaction. “Exactly.” He drained his wine cup.
“How did our King receive that news?” I asked.
“Strangely calm,” Gabinius said. “Abnormally so. He offered them rooms for the night and sent for you. He intends to let them leave tomorrow with his ‘blessings.’ You will follow and report on their journey, particularly if they find a newborn king.”
“You can’t be serious!” I said. Surely even Herod wasn’t so far gone in his madness to believe in such tales.
“Our King is always serious these days,” Gabinius said with a smirk. “Deadly serious. I suggest you take the same attitude.” He tossed a small purse to me. The coins inside made a pleasant weight. “I want a full accounting.”
“Of course, noble sir,” I said and bowed too deeply. He laughed.
The next day, I was outside Jerusalem following a caravan. Or actually not following. Apparently these Magi traveled in the evening so they could see the heavens. I bought several cups of wine for one of their servants in a local tavern. This worthy supplied me with the names of the three main Magi: old white-bearded Melchior, red-hued young Gaspar, and ebony skinned Balthazar. They were astronomers who studied the stars and old scrolls seeking eternal truths. Although I pressed their servant, he steadfastly maintained that they were not frauds, that they did not peddle tricks to the unlearned and naive for coin. I sighed. Nothing was more annoying than fanatics. Who knew how long these madmen would wander the wilderness seeking this new king? I began to calculate how many days before I could reasonably abandon this job and not incur Herod’s anger. Or perhaps it was time to leave Judaea and seek my fortune in other parts of the Empire. A citizen spy can always find employment, and at least I’d be away from these Jews.
The Jews had always been a thorn in the side to the Romans, and it all resulted from their religion, which was unlike all the other many faiths that the Romans had embraced. That was the secret of the Roman Empire — they conquered and then assimilated the conquered people into the Empire, including their gods. But this Jewish god was different. He had no children, unlike Jupiter. He had no wives, no battles with half-brothers or mighty Titans. In fact, the Jews maintained their god was the only god. The Romans would have been quite willing to build a temple to this god of the Jews in the Temple Quarter of their cities if the Jews had accepted their god’s place among the gods, but the Jews held themselves apart. They were waiting for a “messiah,” my sources told me. They had been waiting for centuries for this mythic person. They believed this messiah would conquer the earth and lead the Jews to glory. You can understand how such beliefs didn’t endear them to their Roman overlords.
A religion like that was ripe for charlatans and fakes, and ever so often, a new messiah would rise and attempt to rouse the Jews. Some of them led short-lived rebellions against the Empire. The Romans would put down such rebellions with brutal efficiency.
And now Herod had me following a group of madman through the wilderness on the unlikely chance that a king would be born, even though such a king would take years to grow up and Herod would be long dead before this new messiah could raise an army. I sighed. Only kings could be so paranoid.
The next few weeks, I followed the caravan as it traveled through the wilderness. Well, I exaggerate some. There were many small villages that we wandered through. Not that I could find a bed other than a rough camp outside the villages. Caesar Augustus had decreed that every citizen had to return to their hometown and be counted and taxed. Many of these villages only had one inn to begin with, and that was quickly filled.
But I was able to buy a cup of wine and more provisions with the coins Gabinius had advanced. I often bought liquid refreshment for the servants of the Magi. Not that they gave much news. The Magi were following a scroll that was leading them to this newborn king, a king of kings that would unite the world. The Magi would argue about this scroll or that scroll and what it meant each night. They seemed happiest when arguing, according to the servants. Eventually I drifted close enough to join the caravan. The servants, accustomed to me now, allowed me to share their fire without asking too many questions. I stayed vague on my travel plans, but professed the fear of bandits made me long for company. They accepted this easily enough, particularly after I shared a few skins of wine.
Soon I myself could overhear these arguments. Unfortunately, none of these arguments ever gave a hint that the Magi were giving up. No, they would argue about such things as whether the new king had already been born. Old Melchior maintained that the king had already been born when the stars were in the proper alignment several years ago. Young Gaspar, however, said the king was not yet born, and another sign would be seen soon. Not so, Balthazar would say. The king may or may not be born, but no more signs would be forthcoming because the prophets had spoken all the signs already. They could go on for hours like this.
Reluctantly I came to understand they were not tricksters, rather something worse: they were believers. A trickster would give up this mad quest as soon as it ceased to be profitable, but who knows when a believer would? I could be wandering Judaea until my dotage. I decided to stay with the caravan until the advance ran out, then I could return to Gabinius and tell him that these so-called Magi were on an endless quest. But the very night I decided this, things changed.
The three Magi were having a loud argument. Unlike their usual debates, their voices carried real anger. I skulked closer to their fire. I shouldn’t have worried. They were too caught up in their disagreement to notice me.
“The scrolls end here,” Gaspar said. “We have failed. Or the scrolls are wrong. It’s time to return home.”
I knew from the servants that Gaspar had several wives, and he missed their comforts.
“The scrolls are not wrong!” Melchior said. “But we need more knowledge. We should travel to Rome and consult with the Magi there.”
“No!” Caspar said. “We have traveled enough!”
“We must have faith,” Balthazar said. “Another sign will be revealed to us. We have followed the stars to this place. Here we must wait for the heavens to reveal more—”
“No!” Gaspar said. “We have spent three years on this quest. No more!”
The three stood in silence. Eventually Gaspar and Melchior retired to their tents. Balthazar sat by the fire for a long time. His shoulders were slumped, and I could see the discouragement on his face clearly. Perhaps their quest would end tonight — I could see the Magus clearly! I looked around in amazement.
“What is this?” Balthazar gasped. “What is this?” He pointed to the sky. Where the sun would rise, a star blazed, pouring forth a river of light as bright as when the sun stood overhead.
“We must ride!” Balthazar shouted, rousing the camp. Gaspar and Melchior came out of their tents, struggling into their robes.
“We must ride now,” Balthazar shouted again.
Camels, donkeys, and mules carried the caravan toward where the star sent down a blazing ray of light. I rode along with the servants; none questioned my right to join them. We raced over broken land and ended up on a road I recognized. We were headed toward the small village of Bethlehem. I had once followed a thief to Bethlehem. It wasn’t much of a town. An inn, a few homes, a small market, not the place that I would expect a so-called king of kings to be born in.
We galloped through the streets toward a small inn. I expected us to stop there, but the Magi led us past it to the stable in back where above the star blazed in glory. A small crowd of people had gathered near the stable, including several shepherds and apparently servants from the inn. I slid off my camel and walked toward the stable, wondering at all I was seeing. I threaded my way through the sheep. My breath came in clouds.
This cannot be, I told myself. The gods are myths told by dishonest priests to keep the peasants in line and keep their coffers filled with gold.
The night was strangely quiet, only the occasional soft sounds from the barnyard animals. A young servant and a serving maid stood near, holding hands.
The Magi, carrying gifts, approached the stable, but stopped outside. Tears glistened on Gaspar’s face. The shepherds knelt. It seemed as if the entire Empire, the whole earth held its breath.
Then through the clear, cold night filled with blazing light, I heard the single cry of a child.
A single cry of a babe entering our sad, tired world.
I found myself kneeling.
A perfect moment of stillness.
Free of the old myths, the old gods, and the old ways, the world finally woke.
My heart broke.
Later I would see the Child, the babe whom shepherds worshiped and wise men adored. I would understand He would change the world in a thousand glorious ways. I would realize He was truth made flesh. But my life was changed in the yard outside the stable beside a run-down inn when I first heard His perfect voice.
The Tale of the Honest Spy
By Stephen B. Bagley
I am Manius Cassius Dentatus, and I am a citizen spy. Perhaps you are from some far reaches of the Empire and are not familiar with spies in general and citizen spies in particular. A quick précis: Spies discover hidden information and share it with their employer, usually for the government or the military. Citizen spies also discover hidden information and share it with their employer, but that employer is any citizen with enough coin.
Many spies exist in Judaea. Most are employed by King Herod or by his many enemies. I myself once served Herod, but when he started killing his wives and sons and anyone else whom he thought might be conspiring against him or could possibly conspire against him sometime in the future, I thought it prudent to find another way to place coins in my pouch.
Many noble citizens have need of my services. They seek to know if their wife is dallying with a slave boy or if their partner is actually selling the bushels of dates that he is reporting as spoiled or if their accountant is keeping the books as he should. What I do is find out. And I am known for my honesty. I report what I find, no more, no less. I am careful with this. I am not cheap in my services, and so I work to be worthy of my wages.
This is not to say I don’t have a price, but no one has offered it so far. Thus when I give reports, my employers listen. They might not like what they hear, but that is not my concern. My concern is the coin. That is my only concern. Understand that: I am honest because it allows me to charge more, not because I am seeking favor or reward. If there are gods, they do not concern me. But like most reasonable men, I do not think they exist. I have never seen a miracle from Jupiter or any of his quarrelsome children or their priests. In fact, I’d rather share a cup with a slave who knows how to do a good day’s work in the vineyards than with some foppish priest with his dirty robes and stinky incense.
So when Sextus Gabinius, the chief spymaster for King Herod, summoned me to his chambers in Herodium and told me what Herod sought from me, I was displeased for reasons trice. First, that the King had requested my services once again — you did not refuse a summons unless you wished to land on his enemy list. Second, Herod was notoriously slow paying. Third, it involved religion and even worse, the Jews.
I wondered briefly if I could claim to have the flux, but Gabinius’s stony face convinced me otherwise.
“So, noble Gabinius, what Jews am I following?” I asked. “Another group attempting to overthrow our good King Herod?” The slight twist I gave my words was not lost on the spymaster.
He favored me with a sour smile. “Not Jews,” he said. “Magi. Wise men.”
My face expressed my disbelief better than any words. Gabinius barked a short laugh.
“Our gracious King received visitors from the East,” Gabinius drawled. “They claimed to be following signs that herald the birth of a new Jewish king here in Judaea.”
I sat up straight on that. Herod, the self-styled King of the Jews, had murdered his own sons to protect his Roman-given throne. He would not receive this news gladly. If those wise men had been truly wise, they would have known better than to visit his palace.
Gabinius nodded at my reaction. “Exactly.” He drained his wine cup.
“How did our King receive that news?” I asked.
“Strangely calm,” Gabinius said. “Abnormally so. He offered them rooms for the night and sent for you. He intends to let them leave tomorrow with his ‘blessings.’ You will follow and report on their journey, particularly if they find a newborn king.”
“You can’t be serious!” I said. Surely even Herod wasn’t so far gone in his madness to believe in such tales.
“Our King is always serious these days,” Gabinius said with a smirk. “Deadly serious. I suggest you take the same attitude.” He tossed a small purse to me. The coins inside made a pleasant weight. “I want a full accounting.”
“Of course, noble sir,” I said and bowed too deeply. He laughed.
The next day, I was outside Jerusalem following a caravan. Or actually not following. Apparently these Magi traveled in the evening so they could see the heavens. I bought several cups of wine for one of their servants in a local tavern. This worthy supplied me with the names of the three main Magi: old white-bearded Melchior, red-hued young Gaspar, and ebony skinned Balthazar. They were astronomers who studied the stars and old scrolls seeking eternal truths. Although I pressed their servant, he steadfastly maintained that they were not frauds, that they did not peddle tricks to the unlearned and naive for coin. I sighed. Nothing was more annoying than fanatics. Who knew how long these madmen would wander the wilderness seeking this new king? I began to calculate how many days before I could reasonably abandon this job and not incur Herod’s anger. Or perhaps it was time to leave Judaea and seek my fortune in other parts of the Empire. A citizen spy can always find employment, and at least I’d be away from these Jews.
The Jews had always been a thorn in the side to the Romans, and it all resulted from their religion, which was unlike all the other many faiths that the Romans had embraced. That was the secret of the Roman Empire — they conquered and then assimilated the conquered people into the Empire, including their gods. But this Jewish god was different. He had no children, unlike Jupiter. He had no wives, no battles with half-brothers or mighty Titans. In fact, the Jews maintained their god was the only god. The Romans would have been quite willing to build a temple to this god of the Jews in the Temple Quarter of their cities if the Jews had accepted their god’s place among the gods, but the Jews held themselves apart. They were waiting for a “messiah,” my sources told me. They had been waiting for centuries for this mythic person. They believed this messiah would conquer the earth and lead the Jews to glory. You can understand how such beliefs didn’t endear them to their Roman overlords.
A religion like that was ripe for charlatans and fakes, and ever so often, a new messiah would rise and attempt to rouse the Jews. Some of them led short-lived rebellions against the Empire. The Romans would put down such rebellions with brutal efficiency.
And now Herod had me following a group of madman through the wilderness on the unlikely chance that a king would be born, even though such a king would take years to grow up and Herod would be long dead before this new messiah could raise an army. I sighed. Only kings could be so paranoid.
The next few weeks, I followed the caravan as it traveled through the wilderness. Well, I exaggerate some. There were many small villages that we wandered through. Not that I could find a bed other than a rough camp outside the villages. Caesar Augustus had decreed that every citizen had to return to their hometown and be counted and taxed. Many of these villages only had one inn to begin with, and that was quickly filled.
But I was able to buy a cup of wine and more provisions with the coins Gabinius had advanced. I often bought liquid refreshment for the servants of the Magi. Not that they gave much news. The Magi were following a scroll that was leading them to this newborn king, a king of kings that would unite the world. The Magi would argue about this scroll or that scroll and what it meant each night. They seemed happiest when arguing, according to the servants. Eventually I drifted close enough to join the caravan. The servants, accustomed to me now, allowed me to share their fire without asking too many questions. I stayed vague on my travel plans, but professed the fear of bandits made me long for company. They accepted this easily enough, particularly after I shared a few skins of wine.
Soon I myself could overhear these arguments. Unfortunately, none of these arguments ever gave a hint that the Magi were giving up. No, they would argue about such things as whether the new king had already been born. Old Melchior maintained that the king had already been born when the stars were in the proper alignment several years ago. Young Gaspar, however, said the king was not yet born, and another sign would be seen soon. Not so, Balthazar would say. The king may or may not be born, but no more signs would be forthcoming because the prophets had spoken all the signs already. They could go on for hours like this.
Reluctantly I came to understand they were not tricksters, rather something worse: they were believers. A trickster would give up this mad quest as soon as it ceased to be profitable, but who knows when a believer would? I could be wandering Judaea until my dotage. I decided to stay with the caravan until the advance ran out, then I could return to Gabinius and tell him that these so-called Magi were on an endless quest. But the very night I decided this, things changed.
The three Magi were having a loud argument. Unlike their usual debates, their voices carried real anger. I skulked closer to their fire. I shouldn’t have worried. They were too caught up in their disagreement to notice me.
“The scrolls end here,” Gaspar said. “We have failed. Or the scrolls are wrong. It’s time to return home.”
I knew from the servants that Gaspar had several wives, and he missed their comforts.
“The scrolls are not wrong!” Melchior said. “But we need more knowledge. We should travel to Rome and consult with the Magi there.”
“No!” Caspar said. “We have traveled enough!”
“We must have faith,” Balthazar said. “Another sign will be revealed to us. We have followed the stars to this place. Here we must wait for the heavens to reveal more—”
“No!” Gaspar said. “We have spent three years on this quest. No more!”
The three stood in silence. Eventually Gaspar and Melchior retired to their tents. Balthazar sat by the fire for a long time. His shoulders were slumped, and I could see the discouragement on his face clearly. Perhaps their quest would end tonight — I could see the Magus clearly! I looked around in amazement.
“What is this?” Balthazar gasped. “What is this?” He pointed to the sky. Where the sun would rise, a star blazed, pouring forth a river of light as bright as when the sun stood overhead.
“We must ride!” Balthazar shouted, rousing the camp. Gaspar and Melchior came out of their tents, struggling into their robes.
“We must ride now,” Balthazar shouted again.
Camels, donkeys, and mules carried the caravan toward where the star sent down a blazing ray of light. I rode along with the servants; none questioned my right to join them. We raced over broken land and ended up on a road I recognized. We were headed toward the small village of Bethlehem. I had once followed a thief to Bethlehem. It wasn’t much of a town. An inn, a few homes, a small market, not the place that I would expect a so-called king of kings to be born in.
We galloped through the streets toward a small inn. I expected us to stop there, but the Magi led us past it to the stable in back where above the star blazed in glory. A small crowd of people had gathered near the stable, including several shepherds and apparently servants from the inn. I slid off my camel and walked toward the stable, wondering at all I was seeing. I threaded my way through the sheep. My breath came in clouds.
This cannot be, I told myself. The gods are myths told by dishonest priests to keep the peasants in line and keep their coffers filled with gold.
The night was strangely quiet, only the occasional soft sounds from the barnyard animals. A young servant and a serving maid stood near, holding hands.
The Magi, carrying gifts, approached the stable, but stopped outside. Tears glistened on Gaspar’s face. The shepherds knelt. It seemed as if the entire Empire, the whole earth held its breath.
Then through the clear, cold night filled with blazing light, I heard the single cry of a child.
A single cry of a babe entering our sad, tired world.
I found myself kneeling.
A perfect moment of stillness.
Free of the old myths, the old gods, and the old ways, the world finally woke.
My heart broke.
Later I would see the Child, the babe whom shepherds worshiped and wise men adored. I would understand He would change the world in a thousand glorious ways. I would realize He was truth made flesh. But my life was changed in the yard outside the stable beside a run-down inn when I first heard His perfect voice.
***
I was an honest spy. I was not a stupid one. I never returned to Gabinius. Herod never received word of this newborn king from me. A year later, when I had enough coin, I anonymously sent the advance back to the spymaster. Gabinius could figure out it was from me.
Now I work as a fisherman. It is a better trade than what I chose before. I am older, over thirty years older, but my back is still strong. And lately I have been hearing word of a new prophet, a teacher who is traveling the land. I go tomorrow to sit at His feet, the one called Jesus.
Copyright 2008 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.
Now I work as a fisherman. It is a better trade than what I chose before. I am older, over thirty years older, but my back is still strong. And lately I have been hearing word of a new prophet, a teacher who is traveling the land. I go tomorrow to sit at His feet, the one called Jesus.
Copyright 2008 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.
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