He had served Addaio for forty years, and he had come to know him as well as he knew himself. That was why he feared him, despite the trust that had long been between them.

"Do you think there is a traitor among us?" Addaio asked him now.

"There may be."

"Do you suspect anyone in particular?"

"No."

"And if you did, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

"No, I would not, not unless I was sure. I would not want someone condemned solely on suspicion."

Addaio looked at Guner fixedly. He envied Guner's goodness, his equanimity, and it struck him not for the first time that his servant would be a better pastor than he was-those who had chosen him had made a mistake; his lineage had weighed too heavily on them. They had chosen him because of the absurd yet age-old habit of showering the descendants of great men with honors and privileges, even when they were unworthy.

Guner's had been a humble family of country people whose forebears, like Addaio's own, had followed their faith in secret.

What if he resigned? What if he called the council together and recommended that they choose Guner as their pastor? No, he thought, they would never do it, they would think he had gone mad. And in fact, he felt that he was going mad in this impossible role, struggling constantly against his own nature, trying to tame his sinful wrath, speaking the certainties that the faithful demanded, and protecting the secrets of the community above all else.

He remembered every detail of the terrible day his father, racked with emotion, had accompanied him to this house in which the former pastor Addaio had then lived, and left him there.

His father, a prominent man in Urfa and a clandestine militant of the True Faith, had told Addaio from the time he was a child that if he behaved himself, if he lived well and purely, one day he might succeed the older Addaio. Addaio had always resisted the idea, assuring his parents that it was the last thing he wanted. The wonder and color of the world filled him with joy: running through gardens filled with fruits and vegetables, swimming in the river, exchanging looks and winks with the teenage girls in whom life was beginning to awaken, as it was in him.

He had especially liked the daughter of one of their neighbors, sweet Rania, a girl with almond eyes and long dark hair. He dreamed of her in the darkness of his room.

But his father had different plans for him. Barely out of adolescence, he was ordered to go to live in the house of old Addaio and to make his vows in preparation for the mission for which, people said, God had chosen him. The community had decided for him that he would be Addaio.

His only friend in those painful years was Guner, who never betrayed him when he escaped to go and hide near Rania's house, hoping to see her even from a distance.

Like him, Guner was a prisoner of the wishes of his parents, whom he honored with his obedience. The poor country people had found for their son, and thus for their entire family, a better destiny than working in the fields from sunup to sundown. Addaio's mother and father, believing the boy worthy, had honored him and his whole family when they accepted his service on behalf of their chosen son.

And so the two men had submitted to the will of their parents, and of their community, and of all those who had come before them, and had ceased forever to be themselves.

John found Obodas digging in the garden, absorbed in his labor. "Where is Timaeus?"

"With Izaz. They are talking. You know that Timaeus is teaching him so that someday he may be a good leader of the community."

Obodas wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and followed John into the house.

"I bring news," John began, as Timaeus and Izaz greeted him. "Harran has arrived with a caravan."

"Harran! Excellent! Where is he?" asked Izaz, jumping to his feet.

"Wait, Izaz. The caravan does not belong to Senin, though Harran is traveling with it." John stopped, his face twisted with emotion.

"What is it? Speak, John, for God's sake!"

"Yes, I must tell you, though it is hard… Harran is blind. When he returned to Edessa, Maanu ordered the guardsmen to tear out his eyes. His master, Senin, has been murdered and his body thrown to the carrion-eaters in the desert.

"Harran swore that he knew nothing about you, that he had left you in Tyre, on the docks, and that by now you should be in Greece, but that enraged Maanu even more."

Izaz began to weep. It was for his sake that these good men had suffered. Timaeus put his arm around him to comfort him.

"We must go to him and bring him here. We will help him. He will stay with us if he wishes."

"I begged him to come with me, but he refused. He wanted you to know of his blindness before he came. He insists that he will not burden you with his keeping."

Izaz, accompanied by Obodas and John, hurried to the place of the caravans. One of the guides told them where they might find Harran and what had happened.

"The leader of the caravan is a relative of Harran. That is why he consented to bring him here. Harran has no one in Edessa: His wife and children have been murdered, and his master, Senin, was tortured and killed in the plaza before all those who wished to witness the spectacle of his suffering. Maanu has cruelly punished all the friends of Abgar."

"But Harran was not a friend of Abgar."

"Senin was, and Senin refused to reveal the hiding place of the shroud of Jesus with which Abgar was healed. Maanu destroyed Senin's house, burned all his possessions, and built a huge pyre on which he sacrificed his livestock. He tortured and tormented his servants-some had their arms cut off, others, their legs, and Harran had his eyes gouged out, the eyes that had guided Senin's caravans across the desert. Harran should be glad to be alive."

They found Harran sitting on the ground outside one of the tents, and Izaz pulled him up and embraced him.

"Harran, my good friend!"

"Izaz? Is it you?"

"Yes, Harran, yes-I have come for you. You must come with me. We will care for you, and you will want for nothing."

Timaeus greeted Harran warmly. He asked John to take Harran into his house while another room was built onto the little house he shared with Izaz and Obodas.

Harran was comforted to know that he would have a place among friends and that he would not have to wander about the city, begging for alms. His voice quivering, he told them that Maanu had ordered all the Christians' houses burned, even the nobles who had professed their faith in Jesus. He had shown no mercy, even to women and children and the aged. The blood of innocents had stained the snowy marble of the city's streets, which even now reeked with the smell of death.

Obodas, his voice breaking, asked about his family, his father and mother, who were servants of Senin and, like him, Christians.

"They are dead. I am sorry, Obodas."

Tears bathed the giant's face, and the words of Timaeus and Izaz were no comfort to him.

At last Izaz asked the question he had feared to ask, of the fates of Thaddeus and his uncle Josar.

"Josar was murdered in the plaza, like Senin. Maanu wanted the death of nobles to serve as a warning to the people, so that they might know that he would show Christians no mercy, no matter their estate. Josar made no sound. Maanu went to witness his torture personally and forced the queen to witness it as well. The queen entreated him-she fell to her knees and begged for your uncle's life, but the king simply smiled to see her suffer. I know naught of Thaddeus. I fear it was the same."

Izaz struggled to contain his tears. They all had reason to be overwhelmed by sorrow and despair. They had all been sinned against and had lost those who were precious to them. He felt a knot in his stomach turning slowly to a burning desire for vengeance.