"We will wait for Harran to return with a caravan, and then we will be able to decide what to do and when. But whatever happens, or has happened, the shroud of Jesus must never leave Edessa, and we must do all in our power to ensure that belief in Jesus never falters in the city. We will dedicate our lives to fulfilling these promises, made in the name of those who have sacrificed all for our faith."

ZAFARIN TREMBLED. ONLY THE PRESENCE OF his father kept him from turning and fleeing. His mother was holding his arm, and his wife, Ayat, with their litde daughter, walked at his side without a word-they were as frightened as he was. A thin, frail-looking little man, modestly dressed, had opened the door and greeted them quietly.

Now he led the women into another room. "Wait here," he told them, closing the door behind him as he turned back to Zafarin and his father. He led them through the foyer to the threshold of a richly carved double door, opened it, and ushered them inside. Shelves lined the walls of the room, overflowing with books and other objects that were impossible to discern in the flickering candlelight. Heavy curtains over the windows blocked every ray of sun, maintaining the effect of a perpetual twilight in which the shadows seemed alive.

The man at the head of the immense, elaborately carved wooden table should have been dwarfed by the enormous chair in which he sat, but it only made his imposing figure more intimidating. There was not a hair on his head, but the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth left no doubt as to his age, which was also apparent in his bony, large-knuckled hands, which were clasped before him on the table, veins seeming to pulse through almost transparent skin.

Along each side of the table were four high-backed chairs. Sitting in them were eight men, dressed in severe black. Their eyes remained lowered as Zafarin and his father entered the room.

"You failed."

Addaio's voice echoed through the oppressive chamber. Zafarin lowered his head, unable to hide the shame and terror that lay deep within his soul. His father took a step forward and fearlessly met the pastor's eyes.

"I have given you two sons. Both Zafarin and his brother Mendib before him have been selfless and brave; they have sacrificed for you; each has given his body, his voice, his future. Mendib languishes in a foreign prison. They will not speak until the Day of Judgment, when God raises them from the dead again. Our family does not deserve your recriminations. For centuries, the best of us have dedicated our lives to Jesus Christ and to this community. We are human, Addaio, only human, and we fail. Zafarin is intelligent, and you know it. You yourself insisted that he, like

Mendib, go to the university. My son believes that there is a traitor among us, someone who has access to your plans even as you are plotting them out and knows each move we intend to make before we even begin.

"The failure is here, Addaio, inside, and you must find the traitor who lives among us. Betrayal has lived in our community down through time. That is the only way to explain the fact that so far every attempt to rescue what is ours has failed."

Addaio listened without moving a muscle, but his eyes filled with fury.

Zafarin's father stepped forward, up to the table, and placed a sheaf of more than fifty pages, covered front and back with handwriting, on its polished surface.

"This is the report my son has prepared on what happened. His suspicions are there too."

Addaio ignored the papers. He stood up and began to pace silently back and forth. Then he rounded on Zafarin, looming over the younger man as though he were about to strike him.

"Do you know what this failure means? Months, perhaps years before we can try again! The police are investigating, they've begun to connect your failure to your brother's and all the others and they are determined this time to get to the bottom of it. Some of our men may be arrested. If they talk, what then?"

"But these others know nothing of the truth… why they were sent-" Zafarin's father interrupted.

"Quiet! What do you know? Our people in Italy, in Germany, in other countries, know what they need to know, and if they fall into the hands of the police, they'll be made to talk, which means the trail may lead to us. Then what do we do? Do we all cut out our tongues so that we will be unable to betray our Lord?"

"Whatever happens, it shall be the will of God," Zafarin's father said.

"No! It will not be the will of God at all! It will be the result of the failure and stupidity of people who cannot fulfill His will! It will be my fault for not being able to choose better people to do what Jesus asks of us, people worthy of his sacred mission."

The door opened, and two more young men were shown in, accompanied like Zafarin by their fathers.

Rasit, the second man who had been with Zafarin in Turin, and Dermisat, the third, embraced him, as Addaio looked on in contempt. Zafarin had not known that his companions had arrived in Urfa. Addaio had imposed a vow of silence on families and friends so that the three would not learn of one another's presence in the city.

The fathers of Rasit and Dermisat spoke on behalf of their sons, pleading for understanding and clemency.

Addaio seemed not to be listening; he seemed distracted, lost in his own frustration and despair. Silence prevailed in the chamber for a time. Then the pastor raised his head, his eyes cold.

"The three of you will pay for your failure, which is a sin against our Lord."

'Are the sacrifices our sons have already made not enough for you? They have allowed themselves to be mutilated, and one has died. What further punishment would you have them suffer?" Rasit's father burst out.

"You dare defy me?" asked Addaio ominously.

"No. God forbid! You know that our faith in our Lord is unswerving and that we obey you in all things. I ask only compassion for our sons, who have given so much for us, for our mission," the father replied.

Dermisat's father, more contrite, distanced himself from the others. "You are our pastor," he said, "and your word is law. Do what you will with them, for you represent our Lord on earth."

All six of the men fell to their knees then and, heads bowed, began to pray. All they could do was await Addaio's judgment.

None of the eight men who surrounded Addaio had yet spoken. At a sign from him, they filed out of the room. Addaio followed without another glance at the kneeling men.

"Well?" asked Addaio, when they had gathered in an adjoining room. "Is there a traitor among us?"

The group's continued silence enraged him. "You have nothing to say? Nothing, after all that has happened?"

'Addaio, you are our pastor, our Lord's chosen one; we look to you for guidance in this," ventured one of them at last.

"You eight were the only people who knew the entire plan. You eight know who our contacts are. Who is the traitor?"

The men looked at one another nervously, unsure whether Addaio was, in fact, accusing them. They were, after him, the highest leaders of the community.

Their families could be traced back to the earliest history of their people, and they and their forebears had always been faithful to Jesus, faithful to their city, faithful to their vow.

"If there is a traitor, he shall die."

Each of the eight knew Addaio was capable of killing anyone who betrayed the cause. Their pastor was a good man who lived modestly and who fasted for forty days each year in memory of Jesus' fasting in the desert. He helped all those who came to him in need, whether of work, money, or mediation in a family dispute. His word was law to all his followers, but even more, it was counsel in difficult times. He was a respected man in Urfa, where the non-Christians took him to be a lawyer and recognized and respected him as such. But all of them had seen the terrible forces that simmered just beneath his devout surface.