Jahred scanned the horizon as he saddled his mare. Smooth brown hills rolled out before him. To the north, a rugged cliff-face reached down towards the town. Dusty and sharp, it ran the length of the valley in a seemingly unbroken line. Here and there, he could see little pockmarked villages camouflaged against the steep rises. Little dark irises against the rocky skin of the Judean hills.
      Prince Imalek's caravan had made camp to the west of town. Behind them, the flat-roofed cluster that was Jericho began to come alive, the sound of animals waking carried to them on the wind. Jahred mounted his mare and took off at a gentle trot. Alone, he headed out of the camp towards the mountain pass where they would cross over into Jerusalem.
      Enjoying the early morning silence, he felt the desert quietly wrap its mystery around him. The encampment and humanity far behind him now, he found himself slowly entering into a world of his own choosing. Suddenly he stopped. Up ahead lay an expanse of glittering silver, mirror-like and still. The Salt Sea. The glassy water lay quite a way ahead, a whispery mist rising off the surface like steam. As he gazed at the landscape before him, his heart was filled with peace and joy as the song of silence flowed through his veins.
      His joy grew to a dizzying wonder as the great red wall that was the sun rising slowly emerged from the distant waters, filling his entire vision with flame and fire. It hurt his eyes to look on but he was reluctant to turn his gaze away from such an incredibly beautiful sight - this panorama of reds and yellows and sandy browns against the glassy silver of the Salt Sea with the morning sun rising like a golden orb blushing through the hills of Moab.
      It was a moment of perfect stillness and Jahred was all at once a part of the scene before him. It was a moment out of time, as though the real world had suddenly ceased to exist, as though he, too, had somehow ceased to exist, transported through some invisible portal to another world where the usual rules of existence did not apply. Just as suddenly, the moment was broken, the ebb and flow of reality and dream colliding once more.
      Jahred scanned the desert floor. Stubby shrubs fought to ground their roots in the shifting sands. To his left, a small dirt track ran off towards the silver waters. He cantered on a bit further, enjoying his explorations, glad of the dirt track as the land here was filled with craters - the legacy of a dried out river, or even the old seabed. On every side, mountains of loose sand made it difficult for his mare to get a grip. The Salt Sea, like a magnet, drew him on.
      A grove of tall palms appeared before him. Intrigued, he drove Sylva towards them. Fresh dates clustered under the green canopy. Dusty orange flowers hung down like sunburst, not quite ripe. And suddenly he was there, on the shores of the Salt Sea. All along the shore small, crystallised clusters of salt sparkled in the morning sunshine. Looking at the deceptive waters, and feeling the increasing warmth of the sun, he began to feel thirsty. Dismounting, he reached under his saddle and unhooked a flagon of water and drank deeply. Tying his mare to a nearby palm, he found a smooth rock and sat for a while quietly contemplating the waters and the high mountains beyond.
      He considered the palms around him. Strange to find such things here, he thought, this place is so arid compared to the river valley to the north. Just as he was musing on these things, he heard the rustle of footsteps nearby. Startled, he leapt to his feet and made a start towards his mare, checking his mehra at the same time, feeling for his dagger.
      A man, barefoot, and dressed in a simple white shift came out of the trees. He seemed as surprised as Jahred to find another person there on the shore. He stopped hesitantly, his glance taking in Jahred's defensive grip on his dagger. Slowly, he raised his gaze from the dagger to Jahred's face. Jahred, seeing the man was unarmed, relaxed and released his grip. The man smiled.
      "Welcome, stranger. What brings you here to our oasis?" he said in Aramaic.
      "Your oasis?" asked Jahred, responding in the same tongue.
      "Why, yes." The man waved his hand at the palms around them. "This place is Ein Feshka. My community owns this palm grove, nurtures it."
      "Your community?" murmured Jahred, a questioning lilt in his voice. "Who are you?"
      "I'm Yada. An Essene. My community has a settlement not far from here, at Qumran." He waved vaguely to a point beyond the grove. "Up there, just below the ridge." He paused, as though to get a measure of Jahred. Seeming to like what he saw, he continued. "Well, traveller, would you like to meet my people?"
      Jahred was curious. He would indeed have liked to visit this settlement in the heart of the desert but time was running on. He'd already come further than he should have, had left his friends far behind. They would be setting off soon, he was sure. Reluctantly he shook his head.
      "I'm sorry, Yada. Not this time. I must be getting back to my own people. I have strayed too far already."
      "Your friends are nearby?"
      "Yes, they're camped by Jericho. We are headed towards Jerusalem," replied Jahred.
      "Ah, Jerusalem …" said Yada, a dark fire igniting in his eyes as he recalled recent events. Sighing gently, he laid one hand on Jahred's left shoulder and shook his right hand with the other. "Peace be with you, my friend. Go with God."
      Jahred returned the handshake and remounted. As he cantered past Yada, he could hear the man muttering to himself. "Go with God, go with God." He had no time to ponder on his meeting. Conscious of time passing, he spurred his mare on, racing back towards Jericho and Prince Imalek's caravan. In less than half the time it had taken his dreaming to carry him forward, he was back with his friends.
      Ahmek was enjoying some cold lamb from the evening before. Jahred joined him. Ahmek threw some bread over to his friend and pointed to some nearby bundles. "There's some salted fish in there if you prefer." Mumbling through a mouthful of lamb, he added: "Where have you been?"
      "Oh, nowhere in particular, Ahmek. I just took off to watch the sunrise over the Salt Sea," Jahred answered, deciding in the moment of his response that it wasn't worth mentioning his encounter with Yada. Ahmek, who was really more interested in his breakfast than in what Jahred had to say, simply nodded, as if to say: 'I thought as much.'
      A horn sounded from afar. Jahred and Ahmek looked at each other and smiled. "Time to hit the road again," they chorused, and quickly packing away their belongings, they mounted their horses and set off to look for Mehran and Imalek. Ahmek's father and the Prince were not far away and the two young men quickly came alongside them at the head of the caravan.
      They were not alone.
      Jahred looked long and hard at the stranger; a stream of questions about the curious character bubbled up inside of him. By his dress and manner, he was clearly noble; highborn. He had kind, intelligent eyes and a long, dark, flowing beard, topped with a curling moustache. Long, shiny locks tumbled down to his shoulders. He had a regal look about him. Certainly, the Prince and Mehran had adopted a deferential posture before him.
      Jahred turned excitedly to Ahmek. "Who's that?" he whispered.
      "I'm not sure. I think it may be Prince Imalek's uncle but I can't be certain. I've only seen him once before; when I was a very small boy," replied Ahmek.
      "What's his uncle doing here?"
      "You remember. It was rumoured that he would join our party on the journey. That's Balthasar, his kingdom lies close to the ancient Babylonian city of Ur. He is a pure Persian. His ancestors fought the Great Alexander for many years and their kingdom was much reduced but, like the Prince, I believe he too has come to some form of treaty with the Romans. He has the reputation of being a great Magus, I believe."
      "He's a man of wisdom?" A note of awe crept into Jahred's voice.
      "So I've heard," smiled Ahmek. "As to what he's doing here, I suppose he seeks the new king, much as we do."
      "Do you really think so?"
      "Yes. In fact, don't you recall that it was confirmation from his Court that caused the Prince to set off on this journey?"
      "In addition to the heavenly signs and my father's message, of course," added Jahred, thinking once again of his father and wondering if he had yet been released from the High Tower.
      "Yes, of course," replied Ahmek.
      As they approached the mountain pass that would take them over the hills and into Jerusalem, they finally lapsed into silence.
      Before leaving the valley, Jahred cast his eyes towards the glittering Salt Sea, searching out the settlement Yada had spoken of, but he could see nothing of the sort - only the sea and the oasis. The settlement must be just out of sight over one of the many ridges between the pass and the shores of the Salt Sea.
      Into his lingering gaze a horseman raced. Jahred wondered if it might be Yada. Whoever he was, he was certainly in a hurry. A trail of dust flew across the desert floor behind horse and rider. 'If he doesn't turn off soon, he'll veer straight into the caravan,' thought Jahred to himself. As if he had read Jahred's thoughts, the horseman suddenly veered to his left, disappearing down a smaller desert track leading deep into the mountains not far from where he and Ahmek sat mounted on their own horses. As he turned, something appeared to fall from his saddle. Small, and tubular in shape, it fluttered rather than fell to the ground. Unaware of his loss, the horseman sped on.
      Curious, Jahred covered the short distance, jumped down from his mare and searched amongst the desert shrubs for the mysterious fallen object. He peered and poked for a few moments without success, then just as he was on the point of giving up, he saw it. A small piece of papyrus. Rolled and tied. Excited, he picked it up and hurriedly unrolled it. There were only a few lines written on the papyrus and they made little immediate sense. A mixture of Greek, Hebraic and hieroglyphs with a few other mysterious symbols besides.
      A distant shout broke into his thoughts.
      Ahmek was calling him back to the caravan. He looked wistfully at the papyrus. No time to decipher it now. He gazed down the desert track after the horseman. He was no doubt long gone. He closed the papyrus carefully and slipped it inside his robe. He would investigate it further when they reached Jerusalem.
      The desert road from Jericho to Jerusalem was long and tortuous. They made their way up the steep, winding road. Dusty chocolate brown hills surrounded them as far as they eye could see and, after a while, the monotonous climb on the endless road took on a hypnotic effect. The more they climbed, the more everything began to look the same until it seemed that they were not moving at all. The heat of the day intensified and Jahred, despite his white robes, began to suffer an outrageous thirst. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. His lips took on the same salty crystalline feel of the Salt Sea he had so admired earlier.
      Then, just at the right time, it seemed, the caravan swung off to the left, into a wide, sheltered, valley. Bedouins. Hospitality. Rest. With a thankful sigh, Jahred swung down from his saddle. He inspected his surroundings. Although the Bedouins were a nomadic race, their encampment nevertheless had a welcome air of comfort about it. Small black goats with shortened horns wandered alongside a huge herd of noisy sheep. Unperturbed by the new arrivals, they mingled with the horses and camels of Imalek's caravan. The sun-weary travellers settled beneath the widespread canopies, glad of the shade they offered. Jahred found a dark corner and relaxed as he leaned back against his saddle. Ahmek was soon at his side. "What a journey!" he exclaimed, sinking to the floor with a loud bump. "Such heat!" He wiped his brow as if to make a point of it. "Do you have any water, Jahred? I have such a thirst, you wouldn't believe."
      Jahred could believe only too well the extent of Ahmek's thirst. It could be no less than his own. He shook his head mournfully, upturning his water bottle as he did so.
      "Oh well, not to worry. I'm sure we can find some round here," continued Ahmek. "You wait, I'll see what I can find." In a single bound, he was out of the shelter.
      Left to his own devices, Jahred retrieved his recent find. He unrolled the papyrus, turned it this way, then that. The shelter was gloomy and it was difficult to read. Lack of visibility wasn't his most pressing problem, he decided, following a somewhat intense scrutiny of the text before him. He could make neither head nor tail of the message before him. It had to be in code. Excitement stirred within. A coded message had to be important. His mind rushed on. Perhaps it described the location of some buried treasure. Perhaps it contained important battle plans. Hidden knowledge. It could be any number of things. How absolutely exciting!
      Ahmek reappeared. "Look what I found," he said, happily.
      "Water?" asked Jahred.
      "No, better than that." Ahmek stepped out of the bright sunlight and Jahred saw, behind him, a woman. Dressed in black from head to toe, she carried a tray laden with food and drink. Ahmek joined Jahred. The woman laid the tray at their feet and withdrew.
      Jahred raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
      "The Bedouins laid on a feast for Prince Imalek and Balthasar. It was a small matter to divert some food and drink this way," said Ahmek with a smile. "Eat, drink and let's make merry. Here, look, there's water, wine, bread, lamb. What more could we want?"
      A sudden hunger eclipsing his thirst, Jahred needed no further invitation. They lapsed into silence as they ate and drank their fill.
      Dusk was falling as Jahred, Ahmek and the rest of Prince Imalek's caravan set off once more towards Jerusalem. All along the caravan flaming torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the hills around them.
      Darkness, like a cloak, descends swiftly in the desert. Above the dark sweep of the hills, the indigo sky unveiled a scattering of stars. Jahred was suddenly reminded of the special star they had been following throughout their journey and, twisting in his saddle, sought it out. And there it waited, high above him. Leading them still, it called them ever onwards.
      Filled yet again with its promise, Jahred's heart soared.
      The caravan made steady progress. The bare hills of the Salt Sea gradually gave way to hills crested by small settlements; they beckoned the travellers on. At long last, they crossed the final dark ridge and there before them, on the lower slopes of a steep hill, lay the villages of Bethany and Bethphage.
      Beyond the hill, Jahred knew, lay Jerusalem.
      In the shadowy darkness, he reached out for Ahmek, who had been riding alongside him in silence. "Almost there, my friend."
      "Yes," said Ahmek, tired and, for once, at a loss for words.
      Mehran came riding up to them. "Well, boys, here we are. Jerusalem lies just over that hill. Have you enjoyed your adventure thus far?"
      Jahred and Ahmek smiled and nodded their 'Yes'.
      "We'll be camping here for the night, close to this small town. Tomorrow, the Prince and Balthasar will seek out the Hebrew king, Herod. Our merchants will seek to exchange their wares. And you, what are your plans?"
      "Oh, nothing special, Father. We'll probably just explore the city. I'm sure that'll be excitement enough for one day," said Ahmek.
      Mehran looked at them, a note of concern creeping into his eyes. "Hmmm. Well, perhaps I ought to get Zoltan to accompany you."
      Alarmed, the two young friends returned Mehran's gaze, afraid to speak lest their disappointment show too clearly. Seeing the disappointment rise on their faces, and taking pity on them, Mehran added: "Well, perhaps not. But you must promise me that you will be wise. Remember Damascus! Take care. Please restrict your explorations to public places."
      Relief swept through Jahred and Ahmek. "We will," they chorused as one.
      "Come then. Settle your horses. Let's eat. I'm sure you both must be hungry." Mehran led them towards the small cluster of men gathered around the Prince. "Our journey is nearly at its end. We must celebrate."
      Securing their horses, Jahred and Ahmek followed meekly after Mehran.
      In the nearby town, curious eyes peered out from behind small windows. They were used to caravans passing by from time to time, passing the night outside their homes, but they'd never seen a gathering this big, nor so strange. There appeared to be a large number of horses and men dressed in strange clothes, rich clothing. Men of substance. Men with a guard.
      Shimon paused for a moment, rubbing his forehead. A guard? What kind of merchant travelled with such a large guard? He looked again. There was no doubt about it. The party was encamped less than one hundred cubits from his window and amongst them were some twenty men, dark-faced, bearded, wearing red robes and black terifans, carrying large swords.
      Shimon paced up and down the room, wondering what he should do. His wife Talitha, who was nursing their new baby son, looked at him irritably. "What's the matter with you, Shimon? Come and sit down." He looked at his wife blankly, wondering for a moment who she was and why she was there.
      "I have to go out," he muttered, as he turned and abruptly left the room. Talitha's anger followed him out the door, as she lovingly turned her attention back to her baby boy.
      "What a strange father you have, my son," she whispered.
      Shimon crept silently through the dark. Careful not to make directly for the small group of men, he walked round his house and up onto the hillside, hoping to get close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, hoping to get some idea of who they were and what their mission was in this place. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Information was a valuable commodity, and now that he had an extra mouth to feed, well, there were many ways to fish. He chuckled quietly.
      That should do it, he said to himself as he crept the length of a small stone wall running alongside his house. He peeped over the top. Not more than ten cubits away, Prince Imalek, his uncle Balthasar, Mehran, Zoltan, Jenath and the boys were seated round a spit, eating lamb and drinking wine. Around them, forming a sort of outer circle, were the men of Balthasar's guard.
      Losing himself in the shadow of a nearby olive tree, he crouched and listened.
      "So, Uncle Balthasar, what brings you to Jerusalem?" asked Imalek.
      Jahred listened as Balthasar responded at great length about the story the heavens had brought before his Court, about the arrival of the great star and his conviction that a strong and just king would soon rise to power in this land. Like his nephew Imalek, the star had brought them to this place. It seemed, then, that the king might be Herod, the ruler of Jerusalem.
      Jahred continued listening, eager for more, but Balthasar had, it seemed, said all he had to say. Jahred looked at Imalek, expecting him to mention Ziman's dreams and his message about the new king, but Imalek said nothing, just nodded silently.
      "Well, tomorrow, at last, we will come before the king and hear what he has to say," said Balthasar enthusiastically. His face took on a faraway look. "I wonder what he will have to say? I must say; I haven't heard very good things of this man. Still, I've never known the heavens to be wrong before and this star," he pointed to the bright star directly above them, "well … I've never seen such a bright light and I've never seen such a strange star. Have you ever heard of a star which travels across the sky?" He let out a booming laugh.
      Shimon, crouched behind his tree, was so startled he almost fell over. Clutching the gnarled trunk tightly, his heart pounding for fear of discovery, he made sure he stayed upright.
      Still Imalek added nothing to Balthasar's tale, seeming content to let his uncle take centre stage. Jahred was puzzled and confused at Imalek's silence. Was his father's message so very wrong? Was it so fantastical that Imalek dare not share it with someone outside his own Court, even his uncle? Jahred's heart leapt in sudden alarm. Was it possible that Imalek had forgotten his father's message? No, that was ridiculous and surely could not be. His father had spent two long years imprisoned in the High Tower as a result of the message he had brought to the Court. This message which was even now unravelling before them. No, Imalek could not have forgotten.
      "To the glory of the new king who is to come," said Imalek, raising his goblet, putting an end to Jahred's questions.
      "To the glory of the new king," echoed his entourage.
      Shimon, his mind racing, hugged himself closer still to the olive tree, more anxious than ever to avoid discovery. 'A new king,' he muttered to himself. 'The old king. A strong and just king? Couldn't be Herod! Hmmm.' His thoughts whirred as he sought to calculate just how he could profit from the words he had just heard.
      He screwed up his eyes and rubbed his nose, racking his brain for a source. A name squeezed into his mind. Cornelius. 'Cornelius. Yes. He'll do. I'm sure he can do something with this.' Shimon muttered excitedly, already envisioning a flood of silver coins dropping into his hot little hands. He crept off into the darkness, careful to make no noise.