The Multitude
across the decorative marble tiles of a hallway, and into a lounge where servants, guests, and soldiers lay scattered about, all having been rendered fast asleep. She and Herod stepped around those who’d collapsed to the bare floor. Upon reaching a glistening pool in the center of the room, she awakened him.While the king splashed water on his face, Gabriella admired the great artwork surrounding them. Intricate clusters of circles, squares, and curlicues adorned the floor and walls. An Egyptian fresco had been painted across the high ceiling to please the eyes of guests awakening from their naps. The eastern décor reflected the influence of Cleopatra, the lover of Herod’s best friend, Marcus Antonius.
Eventually, the king turned from the pool and gasped at the sight of those lying senseless at his feet.
The time had come for the game to begin. Gabriella came up behind him. “They say you are the king of the Jews.”
Herod spun around, reaching for the dagger sheathed beneath the folds of his robe. But the panic in his face evaporated at the sight of her.
Gabriella had arrived wearing a 1940s skirt and blouse—a wildly provocative outfit for this biblical time. And the king loved young flesh. His second wife, Miriamne, had been but fourteen when they married.
If Herod’s bulging eyes were any indication, Gabriella had his rapt attention. But could she hold it? History remembered the king as a madman for good reason. She found only chaos and bursts of uncontrolled laughter echoing within his head. There would be no reading his mind.
“What maiden dares address a king?”
She folded her arms, pressed her lips together, and glared. When playing the role of goddess, one must show a king who is boss. She strolled to a cushion and settled onto it.
“My name is Gabriella, and I come from on high. Perhaps you know my homeland as Olympus.” While she couldn’t tell a direct lie and refer to an actual goddess’s name—the inability to fib is a cross all angels had to bear—she’d always been able to misdirect with ease. Roman and Greek mythology included countless gods and goddesses. The king couldn’t have kept up with every one of them.
“Gabriella, you say.” Herod moved his hand to his chin.
She nodded.
“I know of no such goddess.”
She shrugged.
After a long staring match, he motioned across the room. “You struck down these others?”
“Only you are worthy to cast eyes on me, Herod. They’ll awaken after I depart.” She patted the cushion beside her.
The king sat and wasted no time petting the flesh above her knee.
Gabriella brushed his grubby fingers away. “I’ve come from the future.”
“What manner of goddess can do such a thing?”
“Think of me as a messenger, if goddess doesn’t suit you. Where I come from, we have a revered book called the New Testament, and within that treasure, the scribe Matthew tells of you.”
“Ah, history remembers me.”
“Not fondly, I’m afraid.”
Herod gripped her leg.
She swatted his hand. “Matthew spoke of a plot you uncovered.”
“A plot?”
“Yes, involving a pretender to the throne. The locals claimed a new king of the Jews had been born, and according to Matthew, you sent three trusted men to determine the infant’s location.”
Herod returned his hand to his chin and looked past her with cunning in his sharpened eyes. “Tell the rest of this Matthew’s story. Do I succeed in killing the child?”
“His reference to the three Magi was accurate?”
“A goddess from the future should know.”
The king would have been shocked by Gabriella’s limited store of firsthand knowledge. During Christ’s years on earth, she had lived in Ethiopia, oblivious to the events unfolding in Judea. But she did know the Bible. “According to Matthew, someone advised the three Magi to remain silent. You haven’t heard from them, have you?”
Herod burst off the cushions. He paced in front of her, muttering to himself. Back and forth, back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ll send my soldiers to hunt the pretender down!”
“You won’t find him.”
“I’ve heard he was born in Bethlehem. We’ll kill every infant in the village.”
“Herod.”
“We’ll search Jerusalem, too!”
“Please sit with me. I’ve come to help.” She patted the cushion again.
The king returned. Muttered some more. Quieted. He kept his hands to himself, the threat to his throne having trumped his lechery.
Gabriella met his simmering eyes. “The Magi were warned in a dream. Only an angel could have provided such a signal. Angels are God’s messengers.”
“Which god?”
“The only God. In any event, I no longer believe the angel acted on His behalf. Perhaps she misinterpreted His intentions.” Gabriella suppressed an involuntary shudder. That particular knife could cut both ways.
Herod caressed his beard with spindly fingers. “The gods want me to be king.”
“We can right this wrong.”
“How?”
If she answered his question, she’d be denying the world its messiah.
But the dancing butterflies had pantomimed a clock spinning backward, and Asura had spoken of boulders.
God wanted this.
Didn’t He?
What was she doing? What was she doing? What was she doing?
Gabriella took a deep breath. “Send your soldiers to Egypt. I’ll draw a map of the region where Joseph, Mary, and the young pretender are hiding.”
* * *
Next stop: New York City, August 6, 1945
Gabriella again used the World of Mortal Dreams for passage, returning to the proper date on the calendar. What would she find in the Americas? Would the region even be settled yet? Her heart thumped in her ears.
Perhaps God would reward her. Maybe she’d find the gates of heaven within the forested island, which might not be known now as Manhattan. He might favor her with a seat at His right side. Oh, what a joyous blessing that would be. She’d whisper counsel to him. So many ideas floated in her head. She might even—
Wait.
The World of Mortal Dreams waystation at the end of her trip back from Judea, the sleeping mind she now stepped out of, belonged to a vagrant on a bench within a well-known but completely impossible and desperately unwelcome financial district.
She stood in the middle of Wall Street! The towering