Star over Bethlehem by Agatha Christie

of parchment in front of him and he bent over it, writing with a pen, pausing now and then, whilst his eyes half closed, as he lost himself in the ardours of the spirit …
    Mary was careful not to disturb him. She busied herself in getting together the midday meal.
    The man was a man of great beauty, though no longer young. He had great delicacy of feature, and the far-away eyes of a soul to whom spiritual life is as real as the life of the body. Presently his hand slackened on the pen, and he seemed almost to pass into a trance, neither moving nor speaking, and indeed hardly breathing.
    Mary put the dishes on the table.
    â€œYour meal is ready, my son.”
    As one who hears a faint sound from very far away, he shook his head impatiently.
    â€œThe vision … so near …” he muttered, “so near … When—oh when?”
    â€œCome, my son, eat.”
    He waved the food away.
    â€œThere is another hunger, another thirst! The food of the spirit … The thirst for righteousness …”
    â€œBut you must eat. To please me. To please your mother.”
    Gently she coaxed and scolded—and at last he came down from that high exaltation, and smiled at her with a human half-teasing look.
    â€œMust I then eat to satisfy you?”
    â€œYes. Or else I shall be made unhappy.”
    So he ate to please her, hardly noticing what the food was.
    Then he bethought himself to ask:
    â€œHow is it with you, dear mother? You have all you need?”
    â€œI have all I need,” said Mary.
    He nodded, satisfied, and took up his pen once more.
    When Mary had cleared all away, she went out and stood looking out over the sea.
    Her hands clasped together, she bowed her head and spoke softly under her breath.
    â€œHave I done all I could? I am such an ignorant woman. I do not always know how to serve and minister to one who is assuredly a Saint of God. I wash his linen, and prepare his food, and bring him fresh water, and wash his feet. But more than that I know not how to do.”
    As she stood there, her anxiety passed. Serenity came back to her worn face.
    On the shore beneath, a boat had drawn into the little stone pier. It was not an ordinary fishing boat, but one that stood high in the water, and had a big curving prow of richly carved wood. Two men landed from it, and some old men who were mending fishing nets came to accost the strangers.
    Politely the two men made known their business.
    â€œWe seek amongst the islands hereabouts for an island on which is said to dwell the Queen of Heaven.”
    The old fishermen shook their heads.

    â€œWhat you seek is certainly not here. We have no shrine such as you describe.”
    â€œPerhaps your women have knowledge of such a shrine?” one of the strangers suggested. “Women are often secretive about such matters.”
    â€œInquire if you wish. One of us will go up and show you the village.”
    The strangers went up with their guide. The women came clustering out of their houses. They were excited and interested, but they all shook their heads.
    â€œNo Goddess has her Shrine here, alas! Neither by our Spring nor elsewhere.”
    They told him of other shrines reported from other places, but none of them were what the strangers sought.
    â€œBut we have a Holy Man here,” said one of the women proudly. He is skin and bone, and fasts all the time when his old mother will let him.”
    But the strangers were not looking for a Holy Man however great his sanctity.
    â€œAt least inquire of him,” one of the women insisted. “He might know of such a thing as you seek.”
    So they went to the Holy Man’s croft; but he was lost in his Vision and for some time did not even hear what they were saying to him.
    Then he was angry and said:
    â€œDo not go astray after heathen Goddesses. Not after the Scarlet Woman of Babylon, nor after the Abominations of the Phoenicians. There is only one Redeemer, and that is