Free Immortal by Glenn Beck Page B

return soon. “Soon?” the big man asked anxiously.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Agios told him. “Stay here. No one will bother you.”
    Krampus dropped his gaze. “Roman soldiers,” he muttered. “Whips. Chains.”
    It’s the most he’s ever spoken all at once , Agios thought, and the words are fear and bitterness . He asked softly, “Do you trust me?”
    Krampus nodded.
    â€œThen do as I ask, my friend. I will return.”
    â€œFriend,” Krampus said in a voice that broke Agios’s heart. He went to his pack and brought back a handful of his carvings. Krampus smiled at last, and Agios left him, taking with him a bag of the little figures he had made on the long journey.
    As they walked through the teeming streets, every time he saw a young boy or girl, Agios would reach into the bag and leave the gift so the child could easily find it. On a low fence, perched on the edge of a basket, tossed in the path. Some were representations of things he had seen in the desert: a scorpion, a lizard, a kind of hawk-billed bird. Others were more familiar animals: camels, lambs, even dogs and cats. Though small, the carvings were wonderfully detailed.
    Often before Agios had gone three steps the children discovered the gifts with delight. Agios pretended that he didn’t notice.
    Melchior turned and said, “Agios, hurry! You’re falling behind.”
    â€œComing,” Agios said, and he quickened his pace.
    Caspar quietly said, “You stand apart from mankind, but I think your heart softens toward children.”
    Agios said gruffly, “I once had a son.” His tone was so rough that none of the men asked anything more.
    They ran into more delay at the palace gate as the request to bring their translator with them was sent in to Herod. Agios imagined the process: The gate captain reported to his commander. The commander went to the guardsman in charge of the inner gate. That guardsman went to the commander of the king’s personal guard. That man asked the king’s advisor. The advisor asked the king. The king pondered and gave his answer, and then the whole thing had to be repeated in reverse. When men ruled over men, time was wasted and misspent.
    After perhaps an hour the answer came: Agios might enter with the others.
    A guard led them through corridors lined with pillars and hung with tapestries. In an inner sanctum lighted by a skylight, Herod sat upon a throne raised on a dais. It looked like gold, but Agios thought it was probably made of gilded wood. He had ordered three seats, low, to be placed before the throne, and on these he invited his royal visitors to sit. Agios, being a commoner, stood behind Melchior.
    While each of the scholars briefly introduced himself, Agios studied Herod’s features. He was a gaunt man, not old—surely not much more than thirty—but high-cheeked and with deep-set eyes that added at least a decade to his appearance. His hair was short and brushed forward in the Roman fashion. When the others had all spoken their greetings and introductions, Herod said quietly, “Welcome to you, travelers. I am Herod, tetrarch of Judea. Why have you come, men of the East?”
    Melchior became the spokesman: “Your Majesty, we are men who study prophecy and the stars. Our researches have shown that a great event is to take place in your kingdom—may already have taken place, in fact. We have come from far away to witness a moment that will change the world.”
    â€œAnd what is that?” Herod asked. He had a smooth voice, low and confident.
    â€œMy lord,” Melchior said, “a great king is to be born in Judea. One day he will be known as King of Kings, ruler of all good men. We have come to witness his coming, and we wish to worship him.”
    Herod stared. “Men are not to be worshipped,” he said sharply, then caught himself, and his voice took on its oily smoothness again: