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with them.
    Though Aramaic was the common language of Judea, Silas could speak and write Hebrew and Greek as well as Latin. He spoke Egyptian enough to get by in conversation. Every day, he thanked God that he had been allowed to use what gifts he had to serve the Lord’s servants.
    “What was it like to walk with Jesus?”
    The boy again. Insatiable youth. So much like Timothy. “I did not travel with Him, nor was I among those He chose.”
    “But you knew Him.”
    “I knew of Him. Twice, I met Him and spoke with Him. I know Him now as Savior and Lord, just as you do. He abides in me, and I in Him through the Holy Spirit.” He put his hand against his chest. Lord, Lord, would I have the faith of Peter to endure if I were nailed to a cross?
    “Are you all right, Silas? Are you in pain again?”
    He shook his head. He was in no physical danger. Not here. Not now.
    “How many of the twelve disciples did you know?”
    “What were they like?”
    So many questions—the same ones he’d answered countless times before in casual gatherings from Antioch to Rome.
    “He knew them all,” Patrobas said into the silence. “He sat on the Jerusalem council.”
    Silas forced his mind to focus. “They were strangers to me during the years Jesus preached.” Jesus’ closest companions were not people with whom Silas would have wanted contact. Fishermen, a zealot, a tax collector. He would have avoided their company, for any commerce with them would have damaged his reputation. It was only later that they became his beloved brothers. “I heard Jesus speak once near the shores of Galilee and several times at the Temple.”
    Curiatus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “What was it like to be in His presence?”
    “The first time I met Him, I thought He was a young rabbi wise beyond His years. But when He spoke and I looked into His eyes, I was afraid.” He shook his head, thinking back. “Not afraid. Terrified.”
    “But He was kind and merciful. So we’ve been told.”
    “So He is.”
    “What did He look like?”
    “I heard He glowed like gold and fire poured from His lips.”
    “On a mountain once, Peter, James, and John saw Him transfigured, but Jesus left His glory behind and came to us as a man. I saw Him several times. There was nothing in Jesus’ physical appearance to attract people to Him. But when He spoke, He did so with the full authority of God.” Silas’s thoughts drifted to those days before He knew the Lord personally, days filled with rumors, whispered questions, while the priests gathered in tight circles, grumbling in Temple corridors. It had been their behavior most of all that sent Silas to Galilee to see for himself who this Jesus was. He had sensed their fear and later witnessed their ferocious jealousy.
    Epanetus put his hand on Silas’s shoulder. “Enough, my friends. Silas is tired. And it is late.”
    As the others rose, the boy pressed between two men and came to him. “Can I talk with you? Just for a little while.”
    Diana reached for him, cheeks flushed, eyes full of apology. “You heard Epanetus, my son. Come. The meeting is over for the evening. Give the man rest.” She drew her son away.
    “Could we come back tomorrow?”
    “Later. Perhaps. After work . . .”
    Curiatus glanced back. “You won’t leave, will you? You have words of truth to speak.”
    “Curiatus!”
    “He wrote all those scrolls, Mother. He could write all he’s seen and heard. . . .”
    Diana put her arm around her son and spoke softly, but with more firmness this time, as she led him from the room.
    Epanetus saw everyone safely away. When he returned, he smiled. “Curiatus is right. It would be a good thing if you would write a record.”
    Silas had spent most of his life writing letters, putting down onto scrolls the encouragement and instructions of men inspired by God. The council in Jerusalem, James, Paul, Peter. “For the most part, I helped others sort