Unholy Night

had a long ride ahead. If they pressed themselves, stopping for only a few minutes at a time and making camp in the open desert, they could reach the Egyptian border in two days.

Mary was in the next room, feeding the baby beneath her shawl, while Sela topped off their canteens, taking care not to spill a single precious drop. Joseph was praying again. Kneeling in the corner of the room, muttering to himself. Though his words were barely above a whisper, they’d slowly built to a crescendo in Balthazar’s ears. We have real problems. Real problems here in the real world, and he sits there and mutters to God. Finally, it was all he could take.

“Could you just… not do that?”

Joseph stopped muttering, though his eyes remained closed.

“You pace when you’re anxious,” he said. “I pray. Of the two of us, I’d say my method was less annoying.”

“Of the two of us,” said Balthazar, “I’m the one with the sword, so I’d shut up and go do something useful before I cut your tongue out.”

Joseph’s eyes opened. He rose to face Balthazar. “Why does my prayer bother you?”

“Because! It goes on and on and on and on and on and on! I’ve never heard someone babble to God so much in my life!”

“Well… I have much to be thankful for.”

“Like what? The fact that the whole world wants your baby dead?”

“Like you.”

Joseph’s answer had the desired effect of stopping Balthazar’s rant in its tracks.

“You rescued us in Bethlehem,” he said. “You led us through the desert, led us here. And you nearly gave your own life doing it. I thanked God for sending you, because if he hadn’t, we’d be dead.”

“In the future, instead of thanking God, you can save yourself the trouble and just thank me directly.”

Joseph smiled. “I know men like you,” he said. “Men who believe that God has forsaken us. That he’s grown tired of our imperfections. These men are burdened by sin. By weakness, and temptation, and guilt. And so they think all men must be this way. And if all men are this way, why would God want anything to do with man?”

“And I know men like you,” said Balthazar, “who believe that every drop of piss is a blessing from ‘almighty God.’ Men who spend their miserable little lives shaking and mumbling, reading their scrolls and setting their goats on fire — afraid they’ll eat the wrong thing, or say the wrong word, or think the wrong thought, and SMACK! God’s fist will fall out of the clouds and flatten them. Well let me tell you — and I speak from experience — God doesn’t care, okay? He doesn’t care about you, or me, or what we do or say or eat or think.”

“He cared enough to send me his son.”

This time Balthazar made no attempt to hide the roll of his eyes. You’ve got to be kidding me…

“Right, right — the Messiah. And let me ask you a question: Of all the thousands of years, of all the thousands and thousands of Jews he had to choose from, God chose a poor carpenter and a little girl to raise him? Why not a king, huh? Why not let him be the son of an emperor? Give him a real chance to change things?”

Joseph thought about it as the baby began to cry in the other room. In truth, the best he could manage was, “I don’t know. I just know that he did.”

“See?” said Balthazar with a smile. “That’s the problem with your God. He doesn’t think big enoug — ”

“BALTHAZAR… OF… ANTIOCH!”

The voice had come from outside, cutting off the rest of Balthazar’s insult. An unfamiliar voice, from in front of the house. Balthazar felt the strength leave his limbs. The blood in his fingertips froze, just as they had when he’d seen the Roman legions in Hebron.

They’ve found us.

Silence followed. A deathly silence as Balthazar and Joseph shared a look of dread, their argument already long forgotten, and moved toward the nearest window to sneak a look through the curtains.

Here were the empty houses of Beersheba. In front of them, standing in neat formation in the street, were Roman soldiers — led by a young officer atop a brown horse. Beyond the soldiers and empty houses, a long, dark cloud hung near the horizon, silent and still. Sandstorm, thought Balthazar. Big one.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” asked the officer. “‘Balthazar’?”

The baby’s cries were suddenly behind Balthazar’s ears. Mary and Sela had come running into the room, drawn by the commotion. As soon as they saw Balthazar and Joseph kneeling by the window, they knew. They’ve found us.

“Can we get out the back?” asked Sela.

“Doubt it,” said Balthazar.

He was smart, this officer. This time he would’ve taken care to surround them first. To make sure there was no chance of escape. These discouraging thoughts were still forming in his head when Balthazar spotted two men standing beside the officer’s horse. But these weren’t Roman or Judean soldiers. They were liars and thieves. Cowards and traitors.

Gaspar and Melchyor.

“I can see why you don’t use it,” the officer continued. “‘The Antioch Ghost’ is much more colorful, more menacing.”

Balthazar glared at his fellow wise men across the wide street. “How long?” he yelled. “How long have the two of you been working for these dogs? Is this how they found us in Hebron? Did you lead them right to us?”

“On my life,” said Gaspar, “we did not.”

“Your ‘life’? Your ‘life’ isn’t worth the spit in your lying mouth! You only have a life because I spared it! I saved you! Both of you!”

Here it was. Here was a vindication of everything Balthazar believed. Here was proof that men were dogs and that all hearts were empty vessels. It’s too bad I won’t live long enough to rub this in Joseph’s face.

“You have to understand,” said Gaspar, “they caught us in the market! They… they recognized us. We had no choice but to — ”

“Lies!”

Balthazar was right. Gaspar had been considering this betrayal for days — especially in the wake of their near-capture in Hebron. And when he’d watched the mighty Antioch Ghost get beaten senseless by a woman, the last of his faith in their fearless leader had evaporated. Better to strike a deal and live than cast their lot with Balthazar, whose luck had clearly run out.

“They offered us pardons,” said Melchyor, so stupidly and apologetically that it was hard not to feel for him.

This part, at least, was true. When Gaspar had approached the Romans, he and Melchyor had been offered pardons in return for the Antioch Ghost and the infant.

“They offered us pardons if we led them back to — ”

“Led them back to what,” cried Mary, “an infant? You’re no better than Herod’s men! Both of you!”

Melchyor looked away, clearly ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” said Gaspar.

“Go to hell,” said Balthazar.

As far as insults went, it left a lot to be desired. Especially since Balthazar didn’t even believe in such a place. But under the circumstances, it was the best he could muster. With an entire legion of Roman troops staring him down, surrounding the house. There would be no angry pilgrims to help them fight this time. This time they would either be captured or —

“Balthazar!”

Sela was looking out a side window, clearly distressed. Or at least, more distressed than everyone else under her roof. Balthazar and the others hurried to her and peered through the curtains and saw why.

They’re going to burn us.

A handful of Roman soldiers stood ready with flaming torches in their hands, awaiting the order. Their