Williams Niall - John

'Greetings, strangers. Be most welcome to Ikaria.'

The disciples stop.

'God be with you,' says Lemuel, his blue eyes smiling.

'And with you, strangers,' the man says, and makes a shallow bow, laying forwards his arm in the air and drawing it back as though he rolls out before them an invisible carpet. 'I am Cenon. This is my dwelling. You have travelled from Patmos?'

'We have,' Lemuel answers. 'We are Christians come from exile to bring the word of our Lord Jesus Christ.'

'You must be hungry, Christians? I have food,' Cenon says. He places his hands on the amplitude of his hips and rocks gently in his sandals. 'Come in and eat.'

They are hungry, it is true. Momentarily they stand in the street shadow before the large figure, given pause by the surprise of generosity. Is this how the world is to be? Is this the sign of the coming times when the hungry shall be fed and the weary given rest?

'Come, come inside. The old man looks weary. Come sit in the cool shade and rest yourselves,' Cenon offers, and turns sidelong as though he obscures the attraction of the entrance. He takes two steps towards it, holds out his hand, smiles back at them. His eyes are small as dark beads.

When the Apostle does not speak, Lemuel answers for them. 'We will, with thanks,' he says.

They enter a stone house for the first time in many years. The straightness of the walls, the carpets, the cushions of lambswool, carpentry of table and stools, all such are as marvels. So, too, the sudden quiet. For, inside, they no longer hear the sea.

'Sit, sit, Christians,' Cenon says, and indicates the best places, the scented water bowl where they may wash. The room is dim and smells sweetly. 'I have figs from Thessalia,' he tells them.

When they are seated, there falls a hush in which the disciples feel lost. It is so long since they have sat in the company of others, they have forgotten.

Roundly Cenon chews a fig, offers the bowl. Fat-fingered, he scratches at the brown curls above his ear.

'So tell,' he says. 'You have been in exile on Patmos?'

'We have,' Lemuel answers and beams, as though in telling it now there is only humour.

Cenon nods. 'There is no cruelty like Roman cruelty.' When this brings no response, he says, 'Drink, drink your fill. You must thirst after the voyage. I have berry wine. Old sage, will you drink wine? Here, give this beaker to him.'

'I would drink water,'John says, 'with thanks for your kindness.'

'Water, here, water first. Drink your fill.' He pours it. He stares at the blind apostle. 'You are a great age, O wise one.'

'This is John, the beloved apostle of our Lord Jesus Christ,' Papias says. He has said it before he realises he shouldn't. He has said it before he sees Eli and Danil shake their heads.

'Indeed?' says the large host. 'I am honoured.' He rolls a hand over thrice in front of his chest, as though spreading a fragrance. 'My house is honoured.'

Papias looks down, his face burning.

Cenon presses his great weight forward. 'You were with him in Jerusalem? What wonder! What miracle your own enduring! I have heard from travellers' tales of this great prophet, this Jesus. They say he could make water wine, turn rocks to bread. O mighty prophet indeed!'

'The message of our Lord is love,' Papias says, thinking to recover himself.

'Love, indeed love. Noble message, young traveller. Love, O that we love one another. I am myself a servant of love. Have loved long and wide, am known for love. Ask any. Indeed a noble message. Drink, more berry wine; these olives are without parallel. I offer them in love.' Cenon bows slightly, chin pressing fat folds forward. 'So you were exiled to Patmos?'

'We were.'

'Bare nothing. Verily a rock, nothing more.'

'It was where we held our community,' Meletios says. His soft-spoken manner is suited to kindness, to the sympathy of this stranger.

'Of so few? Did you suffer plague? They say there is pestilence on Patmos? You are all. .' He does not say 'clean'; he says '. . well?'

'We are,' Danil replies quickly, the berry wine strong. 'We bring nothing but the good news.'

'A wonder. A marvel. Verily I thank my good fortune in encountering you. Blessings upon us all.' Cenon draws a fig, pulls back its flesh with his top teeth, turns it in his cheek. 'But you, O sage,' he says, swallows, 'you in truth are the marvel. You have been at the right hand of Jesus of Nazareth?'

John does not answer directly. There opens a brief unease, but Cenon is quick to dispel it. 'O a mighty prophet,' he says, 'a most excellent prophet. Here, I have roasted goat meat crusted with herbs. Christians, help yourselves. Be welcome. Be welcome.'

Unfamiliar with charity, the disciples are unsure. They look to one another for consent, for guidance. Hunger turns in the empty bowls of their stomachs.

'We thank you,' Danil says, and goes to where the meat is laid. Eli and Meletios and Lemuel join him. Papias stays by John's side. They hear the commencement of a prayer of thanks.

'Shall I bring you some meat?' Cenon asks. His breath is sweet. 'There is plenty for all.'

'Water is food enough for me, my thanks,' John answers.

'You are a wonder, Ancient one.' The large host considers the others eating his food behind them, then he leans closer still to the old disciple. 'I know,' he whispers. He looks back; the others have not heard. Papias, although present, is ignored. Cenon brings his mouth to the Apostle's ear, hotly whispers again: 'I know. I have heard of you. I have heard tell there was one, an ageless sage who remained. I have heard he, too, did miracles and wonders. Cured the sick, made whole the infirm.' Cenon turns his tight eyes back to the others. 'There is sweetbread with honey,' he calls. Then he whispers again: 'I know your Jesus made more than water into wine or rocks to bread. What use of wonder are these? I know he made stones to gold and silver, too, and why would he not, being able to? And is this what he taught you, O sage? To Patmos did you bring a wealth, or did the Romans take it from you? It matters not. You have the power still. You come back to make the golden temples to your Lord, and praise be to him. Praise indeed! But for my kindness, for my welcome, something small.' Cenon draws the bowl of olives and places it in the blind apostle's hand. 'Make these to gold, it will suffice.'

The disciples have noticed the intensity of the exchange and have come forwards. They stand close.

John holds the olive bowl a moment only, passes it to the side. The anger in his voice is apparent at once. 'Our Lord Jesus Christ is the Son of God,' he says.

'O indeed, I doubt it not,' Cenon answers quickly. 'The Son, the greatest of the prophets, a spirit of almighty powers! Hail to him! I am a believer like you, like all of you. And ask only a little reward.'

John stands, Papias with him. 'Blessed are they who give and seek nothing.'

Cenon blocks their way. 'A bowlful of olives. No more. Just this,' he asks. 'So that I might spread the word of your master,' he says to the disciples.

But already they are moving to the entranceway.

'Stop, stop, reward a believer!' Cenon calls, and when it is clear they will not, he puts down the olives and cries out, 'You have eaten my food! You have taken my generosity! And given nothing!'

The disciples come out into the sunlight with the fat host hurrying behind them. At the rear, Meletios stops. 'We have no coins,' he says. 'We give you our thanks, we have some seeds.' He offers a handful. Cenon slaps them into the air.

'Seeds for wine! Seeds for meat! You are robbers all of you! Christians are thieves and beggars as they say of you!'

The disciples move away. They do not look back. Behind them Cenon roars and curses. He picks from the ground stones of hand size and throws these after them; his aim poor, they land short and thud into the hardened dust of the street. But a boy, watching, serious and intelligent, lifts a smaller stone and offers it. 'Fire it! Go on! Fire it! Thieves and beggars!' Cenon cries. Briefly the boy stands, perplexed with the licence to wound, then he flings the stone overarm. It whizzes through the air and catches Danil in the back of his head.