kind of funding that allowed them to travel, and to send spies, and communicate. Everything was much slower then, of course, but business was being conducted all over the Portuguese Empire and there were many ships and overland convoys traveling these routes all the time.”
“Hang on a sec…” Gideon went over to the small coffee pot and got coffee brewing. “We know he was writing the clues for his future children, who he would have assumed would live in Portugal, so the clues would follow the shipping route that existed in his day. Africa, the Arabian Peninsula, and on to the capital in Goa, right?”
Rei nodded. She pointed to a map of the world displayed on her computer screen, and slid her pen from Portugal, down the west coast of Africa, to the very tip. She opened another window, and a satellite view of southernmost Africa appeared. She tapped her pen against the lowest point of land in the image. “There. Cape Town. Whatever he left, if it’s still in existence, is there. Somewhere.”
Excited, Gideon leaned over her and zoomed in on the Cape. “So where is it?”
Rei sighed. “I have no idea.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Malta
AD 96
T he family had been in mourning for two weeks. The body had been washed, treated with herbs, wrapped in yards of white cloth, and laid in the tomb carved from the sandy rock. Achalichus’ brother had put all of the dead man’s belongings into a basket, and laid it aside for his children. There wasn’t much, as Achalichus had been chased out of his homeland by the Romans, who were persecuting the followers of the new religion, most often called simply ‘ The Way.’
Eliyas sat on a simple wooden stool, and looked out onto the beach where his sons and grandsons were making a fishing boat. Shipbuilding, fishing, carpentry… These were good respectable professions for a Jew to follow. Following that Pharisee, Paul, around, being a scribe. Well, that was crazy. Achalichus had never been able to return to Israel, and had spent the remainder of his long life here on Malta, praying and teaching and converting people to his Jesus, until he lost even his memory and sat staring out to sea. Eliyas shook his head.
Ah, but he was a good man, even if misguided. Perhaps God had welcomed him, perhaps not. It was not for Eliyas to say. He had missed his brother for many years, long before his physical body had died. He could feel nothing now but relief for his poor soul, which had been trapped for so long. He didn’t know if all the controversial talk about bodies rising from the dead was true. He didn’t spare much time for such thoughts. But he knew that his brother was free now, and that made him glad.
He had sent a letter to his eldest nephew with the news of his father’s death. Residing in Sicilia, Antonius should arrive soon on a ship to reclaim his father’s possessions. He had not seen Antonius since he was a boy, and now the man was a father, a fisherman, a husband. He was a follower of that Jesus, who some said was the Messiah, too. Bah… How can a Messiah die? He shook his head again. Ridiculous.
Three days later Antonius arrived at his uncle’s home. He was welcomed with open arms by all of his family who resided in Malta, and spent a week being feasted and catching up with all of the births and deaths, triumphs and tragedies. Finally his uncle seemed to remember why he had come, and presented him with a large basket.
“These belonged to your father, to my brother. It is all he had, in the end. He gave up everything when he decided to travel with that Paul fellow, and he never seemed to have the heart to start again when Paul died and the Romans destroyed the Temple.”
Antonius took the basket gratefully. He hadn’t seen his father in many years, since before he had fallen ill. He remembered a man of joy, a hearty man with stories to tell and whose whole hearted belief in Yeshua had converted his children and much of their village. He had nothing of his
“Hang on a sec…” Gideon went over to the small coffee pot and got coffee brewing. “We know he was writing the clues for his future children, who he would have assumed would live in Portugal, so the clues would follow the shipping route that existed in his day. Africa, the Arabian Peninsula, and on to the capital in Goa, right?”
Rei nodded. She pointed to a map of the world displayed on her computer screen, and slid her pen from Portugal, down the west coast of Africa, to the very tip. She opened another window, and a satellite view of southernmost Africa appeared. She tapped her pen against the lowest point of land in the image. “There. Cape Town. Whatever he left, if it’s still in existence, is there. Somewhere.”
Excited, Gideon leaned over her and zoomed in on the Cape. “So where is it?”
Rei sighed. “I have no idea.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Malta
AD 96
T he family had been in mourning for two weeks. The body had been washed, treated with herbs, wrapped in yards of white cloth, and laid in the tomb carved from the sandy rock. Achalichus’ brother had put all of the dead man’s belongings into a basket, and laid it aside for his children. There wasn’t much, as Achalichus had been chased out of his homeland by the Romans, who were persecuting the followers of the new religion, most often called simply ‘ The Way.’
Eliyas sat on a simple wooden stool, and looked out onto the beach where his sons and grandsons were making a fishing boat. Shipbuilding, fishing, carpentry… These were good respectable professions for a Jew to follow. Following that Pharisee, Paul, around, being a scribe. Well, that was crazy. Achalichus had never been able to return to Israel, and had spent the remainder of his long life here on Malta, praying and teaching and converting people to his Jesus, until he lost even his memory and sat staring out to sea. Eliyas shook his head.
Ah, but he was a good man, even if misguided. Perhaps God had welcomed him, perhaps not. It was not for Eliyas to say. He had missed his brother for many years, long before his physical body had died. He could feel nothing now but relief for his poor soul, which had been trapped for so long. He didn’t know if all the controversial talk about bodies rising from the dead was true. He didn’t spare much time for such thoughts. But he knew that his brother was free now, and that made him glad.
He had sent a letter to his eldest nephew with the news of his father’s death. Residing in Sicilia, Antonius should arrive soon on a ship to reclaim his father’s possessions. He had not seen Antonius since he was a boy, and now the man was a father, a fisherman, a husband. He was a follower of that Jesus, who some said was the Messiah, too. Bah… How can a Messiah die? He shook his head again. Ridiculous.
Three days later Antonius arrived at his uncle’s home. He was welcomed with open arms by all of his family who resided in Malta, and spent a week being feasted and catching up with all of the births and deaths, triumphs and tragedies. Finally his uncle seemed to remember why he had come, and presented him with a large basket.
“These belonged to your father, to my brother. It is all he had, in the end. He gave up everything when he decided to travel with that Paul fellow, and he never seemed to have the heart to start again when Paul died and the Romans destroyed the Temple.”
Antonius took the basket gratefully. He hadn’t seen his father in many years, since before he had fallen ill. He remembered a man of joy, a hearty man with stories to tell and whose whole hearted belief in Yeshua had converted his children and much of their village. He had nothing of his
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