Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh: A Novel

CHAPTER 1

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magis from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him. Matthew 2:1, 2 NIV

E VEN WHEN NIGHT curtained the stone window ledge in black, Caspar continued staring blankly into the sky, his mood as dark as the heavens. Running his smooth hands across the roughness of the ancient, mottled stones, he once again relived the horror of his father’s death.

It’s already been a week since we buried him, he thought. And still I can’t sleep. Caspar feared he might never sleep again. Blinking back tears, he pushed tousled black hair from his furrowed forehead, but still he couldn’t pull himself from the window’s dark despondency.

How he wished he hadn’t shouted at his father. How he wished his youthful exuberance hadn’t taken over. How he wished he could call back his angry words, and rewrite the ending of that fatal night, even as he knew it wasn’t possible. His mind replayed the scene again, as it had so many times.

I don’t care what the prophecy says! No new star is going to miraculously appear to lead you to a new king. There isn’t going to be any new king! You must be insane to think such a stupid thing!

Shuddering, Caspar closed his eyes tightly; trying to erase the vivid picture of the hurt look on his father’s wrinkled face. Closing his eyes didn’t help. The image was still there, clawing into his mind. Opening his eyes, Caspar blinked back at the blinking stars which were appearing in the darkness, nightly reminders of the accident. While Caspar had not yet seen his twentieth birthday, he felt old. Strange how one could be young, and thin and lean, and feel ancient. He realized regret and memory had altered him, perhaps forever.

His father screamed as he fell, the scream ending abruptly when his heavy body hit the black courtyard two stories below the window.

If only I had been there beside him. Caspar thought again and again, Then maybe I could have caught him before he fell. If only I hadn’t yelled at him… if only… if only… if only. Shaking his clenched fist toward the sky, he cursed the stars aloud.

You are to blame! If it weren’t for the stars, my father would be alive! He knew cursing the stars wouldn’t bring his father back, but somehow it released some of his venom to scream at them. Turning away from the stars’ eternal blinking, Caspar sat heavily on the wooden bench next to his father’s work table. He knew that once again, he wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept for so long. Tonight would be no different. Crossing his limp arms on the worn tabletop, he collapsed his head on them, willing thought and images to cease, yet knowing they would not.

Actually, Caspar blamed the stars for his mother’s death, too. When she was alive, she stood there with his father—evening after evening after evening—waiting for the last stars to appear. She also believed the words of the prophets. Caspar had tried to dissuade them. He tried to explain that the prophets hadn’t meant a real star, but only meant the coming Messiah would be a descendent of Jacob. In fact, Caspar wasn’t even sure the prophecy meant that. He wasn’t sure it meant anything at all. When he was a small child, Caspar had stood and waited with his parents. Trying to believe, yet unsure. When he grew older, he rebelled, secure in the prideful wisdom of his teens. At that point, he refused to watch for a star.

How Caspar longed for the inner peace of his father! How he longed for the total serenity that was always alive in his father’s face as he waited, watching the night sky.

Why? he asked aloud of the shadows. Why did he have to spend every night staring out this window? Then, as if in answer, his father’s response tumbled into his mind. He could almost hear the softness of the words, as if his father were once again alive and present and patiently explaining.

Perhaps tonight he will be born. Perhaps tonight the star will appear and I can go in search of the king who will fulfill the words of our prophets. His father always stroked his white beard when he spoke of the star, and Caspar could still visualize him standing in front of the window, leaning towards the sky, constantly searching for the new, more brilliant star. A star which never came.

"There will come a star out of Jacob . . ." Words of nonsense. Foolishness.

Raising his head from his arms, Caspar’s eyes rested again on the dim outline of the stone window frame. Somehow, the room seemed lighter.

Somehow, the darkness outside appeared to have dispelled somewhat.

Somehow, the room seemed less lonely. Casper longed for the serenity of his father.

Caspar’s mother had died when he was still a small boy. Actually, he couldn’t remember much about her except that she stood with his father. He could remember the feeling of loneliness after she was gone, but that was almost all he felt, and gradually, even the loneliness had faded as he spent long hours with his father, listening as he spoke of the law and the prophets. But even then, as a youth, Caspar had rebelled. Sometimes he wished he could be more like his father. Serene in his beliefs. Secure in his faith.

Walking to the window once more, Caspar stared at the shadows in the courtyard below the house—shadows moving here and there, bumping into each other before being swallowed by larger shadows. The great stone fence struggled to contain them, but the shadows surmounted the wall and crept into the Arabian countryside beyond. Caspar turned from the window, afraid of the night and the horror. His eyes riveted on his father’s leather girdle still lying across the wooden stool in the corner. He stroked it lovingly, caressing the leather pockets made soft with years of working. His father had taken it off just before the accident. Returning to the work bench where his tears had stained its waxed top, Caspar drew one finger through the salty dampness.

I was a good son to my father, he thought, I learned the law and the prophecies like he told me, even when I didn’t really believe it all. His father had been stern and demanding and expected Caspar to follow the literal law, but Caspar revolted in his own way.

Once he had stolen something just to prove the world wouldn’t come to an end if he broke the law. His eyes moved to the large chest in the corner. He could remember sneaking into the top drawer and taking one of the coins from the white leather pouch his father kept there.

But I returned it, he said aloud. Crossing the room, Caspar opened the drawer and withdrew the pouch. He stared at it. His father had made it from the skin of an unborn lamb, working the leather until the depth of its whiteness was perfect.

It must be soft as floating fluff from a dying dandelion and white as a white cow’s milk. And when it was finished, Caspar’s father had filled it with gold coins from the treasury. This was to be his gift for the king.

White is symbolic of the purity of the Messiah, and gold is symbolic of his kingship. When the star comes, I’ll take it and go and find the king himself. Caspar’s fingers tightened around the pouch until the coins inside creased his fingers as white as the lambskin. He hated the pouch and all it stood for.

You! he shouted, You and the stars killed my father! Throwing the pouch savagely against the stone wall, Caspar heard the coins jingle for an instant before the bag fell to the floor where it lay like some dead animal. Flinging himself upon his father’s bed, he wept, his broad shoulders heaving convulsively with sobs, until at last he fell into a half-conscious sleep.

Suddenly he awoke, startled. Can it be morning already? he muttered. Looking around the room, Caspar felt a brilliant light illuminating even the far corners, highlighting the taper on the chest. The light laughed in the opaque glass bottle and danced on the leather girdle, maintaining a soft, ethereal quality.

Caspar knuckled his eyes stupidly as he rushed to the window. The outside splendor was overwhelming! The mansion’s white stones turned mystic blue, and the courtyard no longer hid any shadowy secrets. Like an inanimate deity, the light’s visible touch covered the earth as far as Caspar could see. The entire world seemed radiated in gentle light, and Caspar was filled with awe as he stood, transfixed. He thought he must still be asleep. Servants rushing about with frenzied shouts, calling out to each other and pointing skyward, filled the courtyard. The star! The star! They shouted at one another. It’s the star of Jacob!

No, it can’t be, mumbled Caspar. Suddenly, he was cold and afraid.

The commotion in the courtyard turned to silence as the servants fell upon their knees in prayer. Caspar could not move from his place at the window. His father had told the household that when the star appeared they would all go with him to find the Messiah, and that the servants would worship him the same as the master. Now the servants were beginning to rise and look upward toward the window where Caspar stood.

This can’t be the star of Jacob. There is no such thing, thought Caspar, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he was moving to the corner where he had thrown the pouch of gold. Picking it up, he looked at it again, recalling his father’s words.

My way is clear. When the star appears, I’ll take all our servants and camels and indeed, the whole household, and follow wherever the star leads, to deliver my gift to the King of the Jews. Caspar still doubted, but he knew he had no choice. He had to follow the star and prove that his father had been wrong. That was the only way he would ever find peace again. I know there is no truth in the story, but I must go and prove the star leads nowhere.

Picking up the pouch, Caspar clasped it tightly in his hands. I’ll take this, but only to prove there is no king. Yet he knew even as he thought the words, he doubted, because he was afraid. He was afraid of the star, afraid of death which he didn’t understand, and afraid mostly of himself. He had to prove his manhood, and the only way he could do that was to follow the star and prove his father was wrong. That would make him a man and give him serenity.

Since no one could sleep anyway, the rest of the night everyone spent preparing the servants and the camels for the journey. Caspar didn’t know how long it might be, because his father had said it might take months to find where the king was born.

Food was loaded on camels and filled wineskins strapped to their backs. Caspar took gold from the treasury and it, too was strapped to the backs of the beasts. Servants rushed from one animal to the other, eager to begin the journey. They seemed consumed by breathless impatience, but Caspar didn’t share their enthusiasm, because he was reluctant to leave the security of his father’s house. His reason told him he had no choice.

My heart is still heavy and my errand is the errand of a fool, he mused as he mounted his camel and plodded slowly to the head of the procession. Glancing at the star, he shuddered. Slowly the strange procession moved away from the stone house in the direction of the eerie light. And to his surprise, Caspar dozed as the company traveled. While he was still unable to sleep soundly because of contradictory thoughts and feelings, he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, perhaps even years. At least now he had something to do, and activity helped ease his frustrations.

The first day’s journey was long, and the land stretched endlessly before the caravan. Camels moved turtle-like across the sand. At last Caspar halted the strange train and the servants set about preparing camp for the night. A fire was built and supper was prepared. After eating, Caspar sat sipping wine, staring into the fire’s flickering flames. Glancing past the fire at the expanse of land ahead, he wondered where his journey would end, and what he would find at that end. Could it be? he thought. Could it be that there is really a child out there somewhere? Could my father have been right? Is this really the star of Jacob? Searching his heart, he still found no answers, and again he slept restlessly, unable to quiet the surging queries which rose inside of him.

Next day, the caravan continued snaking across the land in the star’s direction. The landscape was dull, and Caspar was bored. He wondered again what he was doing, and why he was doing it. He wished for someone with whom he could talk, but there was no one. Slowly, he became aware of movement to the south. At least it was something to look at, and as the day wore on tediously, he occupied his mind with watching the movement. Slowly, the second caravan drew closer, and appeared to be moving on a parallel course to Caspar, and when night came, both caravans stopped, setting up camp.

Caspar called a servant. Carry greetings to the travelers to the south, and issue an invitation for wine, and invite them to my fire.

Bowing, the servant soon seemed an ant crawling across the terrain toward the second caravan. Caspar strained his eyes to discern when his servant entered the other camp, and soon he observed two figures returning, slowly moving closer until they became men.

The man returning with Caspar’s servant was an old man, heavy and tall. His beard was white, reminding Caspar of his father’s beard. He wore a silk robe, and would no doubt command attention wherever he went. One would expect such an old man to be stooped, but this man stood tall and proud. Obviously a man of superior position, thought Caspar.

The servant bowed. Master, I bring Melchior to your fire. He is also a Magian Prince, and is a Chaldean.

Caspar extended his hand to Melchior, who grasped it tightly. Melchior’s hand was immense, and stronger than Caspar had anticipated. The eyes of the men met questioningly. Caspar spoke first.

Welcome to my fire, Melchior. One gets lonesome traveling alone, even with servants. I have yearned these two days for another man with whom I could talk.

Smiling, the old man responded, I know the feeling. When I was a young man, I sought the pleasure of company during a journey, but as one becomes old, he is often satisfied to be alone, for he learns to know himself. However, I’m glad to have your invitation this night, for I have come far, and would welcome conversation.

Caspar inspected Melchior as he was seating himself by the fire. He could tell that the man was wise, for there was depth to his eyes, and Caspar’s father always said, You can tell a man by his eyes. Study a man’s eyes, and they will reveal his innermost secrets.

Where do you journey, Melchior? Melchior’s eyes did not turn from the fire. Long moments passed, and Caspar thought the old man hadn’t heard him, but just as he was about to speak to him again, Melchior turned abruptly and looked directly at Caspar. His cheeks were red from the fire’s heat, and his forehead was flushed. He answered quietly.

I don’t know exactly where I’m traveling. He paused as if uncertain how he should continue. His huge hands wiped tiny drops of perspiration from his wrinkled forehead. I’m following the star of Jacob.

Caspar recognized the look that flashed in Melchior’s eyes. He had seen the same look in his father’s eyes when he stared into the sky. A chill passed over Caspar as he turned his eyes from Melchior’s steady gaze.

And what do you expect to find at the end of your journey?

Without hesitation, Melchior answered, The scriptures say there will be a newborn child, the King of the Jews. I believe I shall find him. Melchior looked intently at Caspar. Caspar could feel the stare, but he didn’t raise his eyes again to meet those of the old man. And where do you journey, Caspar?

Caspar could feel the penetrating gaze, but still he didn’t look up as he answered softly, I, too, am following the star. My father believed in it.

The night was quiet, and neither man spoke immediately. At length Melchior asked, Do you believe, Caspar?

Caspar didn’t want to look up. For some reason, he felt foolish, and he feared his lack of faith would show in his eyes, just as an undeniable faith showed in the eyes of his guest. Finally Caspar answered truthfully, I don’t know.

Immediately, Melchior responded, And why don’t you know, Caspar?

Because I DON’T! Caspar blurted, My mind tells me this is all a made-up story, but my heart has to read the final page!

And you follow the star for your father? Why isn’t he making the trip with you?

My father is dead. Coldness crept over Caspar as he said the words. Words he hadn’t spoken before and they seemed to explode in the thin air and slice knifelike through his brain. The words hung ominously over the camp, hovering, cold and harsh. Edging closer to the fire, Caspar was glad of the light from the star, because he didn’t like darkness when disruptive thoughts surfaced.

I’m sorry, said the old man apologetically, It was presumptuous of me to ask such a question, and I lacked good taste in doing so.

Lifting his eyes to meet Melchior’s steady gaze, Caspar answered, You haven’t offended me. It’s only natural you’d ask.

The men sat quietly, sipping their wine. Each seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Understanding silence settled over the camp. Melchior thought, There is strangeness about this lad. He is so young in his ways. Making a journey of great expense for his father, yet he doesn’t believe in his father’s faith, and maybe not even in himself. Then aloud Melchior said, Once, when I was a mere boy, I didn’t believe in the star of Jacob. Caspar’s eyes darted to the elder man’s face. I thought those who believed in its message must surely have their heads up there… . he waved his huge arm toward the star, . . . up there where the star shines. He smiled a little as if he were not sure that he should continue.

Why did you change your mind? urged Caspar.

Melchior rose as if to go. Wrapping his cloak tightly about his body, he strode to the edge of the camp and turned. I became a man, Caspar. When I matured in mind as well as in body, I realized that unless a man finds something in life greater than himself and his mortal mind, he remains nothing. Without a soul that is dedicated to something intangible, a man is but a body without life. God is life. He paused, extending his huge hand to Caspar and said abruptly, I must go now, Caspar. Farewell.

Caspar watched the huge bulk as it began the tedious path of return, inching across the land. Suddenly, he felt he couldn’t stand to be alone. He needed the security of this man who had come to him from out of the wilderness.

Melchior, wait! Running to the old man, Caspar extended his hand once more. Please join your caravan to mine. I… I don’t want to be alone. Caspar was surprised at the frankness with which he spoke to this stranger. I sound like a little boy, don’t I? Afraid of…

Melchior smiled with deep understanding. Resting his huge hand on Caspar’s shoulder with unexpected gentleness, he said, Admitting that you are afraid is one of the first steps to manhood, Caspar. Only a real man is strong enough to say, I’m afraid.’

Returning to the circle of the camp, the two men dispatched the servants for Melchior’s belongings. The caravans would be joined in the morning. Caspar slept soundly for the first time since his father died, and the journey seemed more bearable as he and Melchior rode together, for he found strength in the big man. The same kind of strength his father had, but that he had never been able to share. When the companies combined, they presented a huge assortment of peoples and animals edging across the wide expanse, following the star. In the days that followed, the two men spoke of many things. One day Caspar decided to tell Melchior about the pouch with the gold. He made it himself, he explained, handing the pouch to Melchior. It was to be his gift to the king, but he didn’t live to deliver it.

It’s a lovely thing, this pouch. Strange what tenderness came from Melchior’s large, strong hands as he held the white sack. It has a depth of whiteness that is matched only by a newborn lamb. Gold is a symbol of kingship, you know. Your father chose his gift well, Caspar. Returning the pouch to Caspar, Melchior added, I also have a gift for this king. He reached inside his flowing robes. I brought a silver jar filled with frankincense. Handing the jar to Caspar, he smiled.

It was a plain jar bearing no inscriptions or symbols; rather the silver was beaten sleek and smooth. As Melchior raised the silver lid, the pungent odor of frankincense seemed to penetrate through the night air, and Caspar inhaled deeply.

My frankincense is as white as the moon, Melchior went on. I took it from the tree myself. If it’s taken too early in the year, or too late, its color is pink. I took this at exactly the right time, and it’s as white as the whitest lily.

It’s potent, smiled Caspar.

Yes, agreed Melchior, It’s a symbol of deity, and it reminds me of the odor in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Frankincense is an ingredient in the holy oil used to consecrate the priests.

Suddenly, shouts from the servants disrupted the men’s conversation. Look! Look! It’s the holy city! The walls of the city are in sight! Caspar and Melchior had been so engrossed in their conversation that they had failed to notice the thin black line threading across the distant terrain. Straining their eyes now, they watched as the black thread elongated and rose, slowly turning into a stone wall as they neared the city.

I’ve never been to Jerusalem, mused Caspar. My father always wanted to make the journey for the Feast of the Passover, but somehow we never did. We had the family Seder Meal at home, but he longed to see Jerusalem. I wish he had. It’s overwhelming!

Yes, agreed Melchior. And the streets are thronged with peoples from all over the world. Jerusalem has been called the melting pot of the universe. The gate to the holy city was closed when the group reached the wall. The sentry instructed them that they could go through the Needle’s Eye, but it wasn’t large enough for their