The Master's Quilt by Michael J. Webb

his birth—was
something else altogether. “Who determines a man’s destiny, then,
if there are no gods?” he asked.
    “I didn’t say there are no gods, just that I
don’t favor them. Only men who have no answers from within seek
answers from without.”
    “Are you that sure of yourself, then?”
    Pilate flinched. “And why shouldn’t I
be?”
    “What if we are not in control of our
destiny? What if there is only one God, such as the Hebrews claim,
Who created everything and rules from His throne in Heaven?”
    Pilate stopped walking and eyed his
commander. “I listen to that rot from the Jews—I certainly don’t
expect to hear it from a Praetorian,” he replied harshly. “Now,
tell me about this Doras.”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
     
     
    D eucalion arrived at
Doras’ house, located not far from the Temple, in the minutes just
after sunset. As he approached the entrance to the small but
prominent residence, he marveled at the sanguine complexion of the
sky. There is nothing to compare in the entire world with the
beauty of the setting or rising sun , he thought.
    He also thought about his mother, knowing she
would approve of his musings. She was Greek, and a student of
Plato. She, like her philosophical mentor, believed in the love of
the Idea of beauty, the doctrine that physical objects are
merely impermanent representations of unchanging ideas.
    “It is ideas alone that give true knowledge,
Deucalion, not the imperfect manifestations of the Idea as
they become known by the mind,” she told him, just before he left
for Syria.
    At the time, her words confused him. But now,
as he watched the sun disappear over the rim of the world, he felt
as if he knew what she had been trying to say.
    If light was absolute , he reflected, then one might conclude that it was the very essence of spirit;
being free from all impurity meant that it had the power to cleanse
any lesser form simply by coming into contact with that form. The
manifestation of that cleansing then became of secondary
importance—an effect, rather than a result.
    Hi head spun with the intensity of his
thoughts. He closed his eyes momentarily in an attempt to steady
himself. When he opened them, the rich, vibrant colors of sunset
had melted together into the soft yellow bronze of dusk.
    He started for the doorway when something
caught his eye. He looked up and glimpsed the face of a dark-haired
woman watching him from the portico above the veranda. He raised
his hand to shield out the glare and blinked, then looked closer.
The woman was gone, leaving nothing but shadows dancing across the
gypsum-coated, sun- dried brick walls. “Must be the heat,” he
muttered and strode forward.
    The first thing he noticed as he entered
Doras’ house was the cleanliness; there didn’t seem to be a speck
of dust anywhere. And that was most unusual, even for a Jew, since
Jerusalem was a very dusty city. The second thing he realized was
that Doras was not a poor man. The small home was filled with a
variety of expensive rugs, brass and copper lamp stands, and marble
furniture.
    Dinner was served in the main living area. He
sat opposite his host upon cushions covered with very expensive
carpets from Persia. Half a dozen large brass lanterns, overlaid in
gold, provided light. During the meal the two men enjoyed casual
conversation covering a variety of topics. As the servants cleared
away the last few dishes Doras said, “I must say Deucalion, you
intrigue me. Previous to this evening I would have thought our
conversation much too arcane for the Roman soldier’s mind,
preoccupied as it must be with military matters.”
    Deucalion smiled nonchalantly at the subtle
way Doras sought to establish control of the conversation. “Not all
soldiers are as pragmatically blind as our detractors would have
you Jews believe. Some of us even fill our idle hours studying
Hebrew history.”
    “Oh?”
    “You Jews believe in a god called Satan,
correct?”
    “Satan is no god,