When he finished, supper had finally been served, indeed was almost over. Moodily watching the last dishes being cleared, Elah realized that it was time for him to go to register. As one of the most important men in the district and a close friend of Ammon the publican who, besides occupying the position of local tax collector, was now acting as the chief census teller, Elah had no need to scramble with the common herd but could go privately after the official hours. Ammon indeed owed him many favours: a bag of flour here - a cask of wine there, delivered from the inn after dark, had created a solid understanding between them, and Elah well knew from his experience in the past that he would receive a highly favourable treatment under the new tax levy.
The prospect of this visit and, even more, the thought of quitting the inn came to him with relief. He was soon ready and as he set off into Bethlehem he hoped that the change of scene, together with the movement of his limbs, might lift the cloud that hung upon him. But it was not so. The faster and the farther he went the more spiritless his thoughts became. In the town, adding to his oppression, he found that the star-struck shepherds had gone before him, still in an exalted state, and were even now parading the streets, singing their crazy hymns, proclaiming tidings of great joy for all people, crying aloud that light has come into the world, that the glory of the Lord was around them.
Avoiding these madmen, Elah spent an hour in close and confidential communion with Ammon, then he called on another acquaintance, ordered some stores to be delivered next day, but all the while he was not himself, there was no relish in his bargaining, nor in his most profitable meeting with the publican.
When he got back to the inn the windows were darkened, the hubbub of the long day was stilled. Now perhaps he might find some peace. But when he threw himself upon his bed his sleep was fitful and disturbed. He rose unrefreshed and met the morning with the sullen frown. Indeed, all that day, and during the days that followed, there lay upon the innkeeper a fearful indecision. Though now he made no move to interfere, covertly, with a brooding disquiet, he watched the comings and goings of his wife in her ministrations to the mother and the child. And all the time the great star drew nearer. He felt he could endure it no longer. Then, late one night, as he took his keys and went the rounds of his establishment, preparing to lock up, a sudden sound of hooves made him spin round. Three horsemen, richly dressed and of dark complexion were entering the courtyard, urging their mounts to a canter, as though at long last they saw their destination before them.
Expert from long experience in appraising the social order, Elah perceived at once that these were men of the highest rank, perhaps even - from the jewels they wore, their swinging scimitars and richly hued turbans - potentates from the East. Instinctively, as they drew up, habit and the thought of gain drove him forward, bowing and scraping, servilely offering hospitality.
"Welcome, good sirs… your excellencies. You have ridden far I see. Permit me to take your horses. You shall have the best my house can offer."
Did they understand him? Did they even hear him? To his chagrin they ignored him - a passing glance, calm and detached, was all that he received. Then, one said, with an air of high authority, but using the words awkwardly and with a foreign accent:
"We do not stay. Only see that no one disturbs us while we are here."
Dismounting, they unstrapped their saddle bags and shook the dust from their garments, then as Elah stood, mortified and dumbfounded, they looked upwards towards the star which now was stationary, shining directly above them, spoke a few words in low tones amongst themselves, and entered the stable.
Now, indeed, the innkeeper could hold back no longer. A fearful curiosity bore down his stubborn resistance, overcame his fear of discovering, in the unknown, something which of its very nature would hurt and humiliate him. Slowly, step by step, as though drawn by some unseen and irresistible force, he followed the three strangers and, taking his stance at the half open doorway, peered within.
The interior was dim, lit only by a shallow vessel of oil in which a wick of plaited rushes flickered, casting soft shadows into the corners of the cave and amongst the bare beams which held the osier roof. Yet the scene was plainly visible, vivid and distinct, as though limned by the brush of some great master. Mary, the mother, reclining upon a pallet of straw, held the Child closely in her arms, while Joseph, having risen to greet the visitors, now stood back, withdrawn, shrouded in his grey cloak. Behind, the ox and the ass lay peacefully in the dimness of their stall. All this Elah might have anticipated, though he could not have foreseen its simplicity and beauty. What struck and stupefied him was the behaviour of the three men of rank, these rich and powerful rulers from the East. There, with his own eyes, he observed them step forward, each in his turn, kneel reverently on the earthen floor and offer homage to the newborn Child then, having made obeisance, each humbly proffered a gift. Craning forward, Elah caught his breath as he discerned the rare nature of the offerings - myrrh, frankincense, and gold. All these Mary, the mother, received in silence, simply, timidly, and with a kind of awe, as though submissive to a ritual not yet perhaps fully understood but for which in her heart she knew herself predestined. The Babe, resting close against her breast, also seemed conscious of the ceremony enacted before Him, for His gaze, lingering upon the three visitants, followed their movements with a strange and touching solemnity.
All this, to the innkeeper, so passed comprehension he began to question its reality, striking his forehead with his knuckles as though to dispel a mirage of self-delusion. Was he drunk or was he dreaming? A beggar child, chance begotten in this stable, venerated, yes, worshipped, by three high-born kings. He could not as a rational man find reason in it. Ah yes, he clung to the phrase… a rational man… like a swimmer in deep water overcome and reaching for support. Was he not practical, sensible and shrewd, a realist steeped in sound logic, a man of the world whose skeptical eye had many times pierced a bogus scheme or a concocted story? It was madness to shout of glory and great joy, of a light to lighten the world, when some sane material reason must exist, and would be found, to explain this mummery.
But suddenly, as he rejected all the mystery of this mysterious event, the songs of the shepherds, the visitation of the kings and the portent of the star, the child in his mother’s arms moved slightly and turned its gaze full upon him. As that single glance from those innocent and unreproachful eyes, filled with such tenderness and grace, fell upon the innkeeper, he could not sustain it. A shock passed through him, his own glance fell to the ground. Instinctively he turned away and, like one intent only upon escape, went back across the yard as though pursued.
The inn was quiet now, servants and guests alike had retired for the night. But in an anteroom, as Elah entered, one light remained unextinguished and there, seated alone, was Malthace. She wore a loose robe, ungirded, her cheek was flushed from some hot and pungent brew and her dark hair, unbound, fell across her shoulders. The smile with which she greeted him was warm with invitation.
"Where have you been? I had begun to fear you would not come. And after such a day when I have had but the barest word with you." She stretched her arm towards him. "Come, sit and drink with me. Tell me I am kind to wait for you. Then speak to me of love."
Dazed by the light, the unexpected sight of her and above all by the turmoil of his thoughts, Elah passed one hand across his eyes and with the other supported himself against the lintel of the door.
"Why? Are you not well?" Then she laughed meaningly. "Is it the need of me that turns you so weak?"
He did not answer. She was the last person he had wished to see. In the revulsion of his feelings she was at this moment repugnant to him. But he dared not, from very shame, expose his weakness to her.