He set off, the sharp coolness of the Galilee water at his feet.
…He had several brothers and sisters, and also some half-siblings (from Joseph’s previous marriage). One of His brothers, James, bore a remarkable similarity to Him, and would go on to lead the Church (at any rate a strand of it) after Jesus’ death. Jesus was apprenticed to His uncle Joseph of Arimathea — not as a carpenter, but a builder. He spent much of His late youth and early manhood in the city of Sepphoris, five kilometres north of Nazareth. Sepphoris was a major city — the largest in Judaea, in fact, apart from Jerusalem and the capital of Galilee. There was a great deal of work for builders, masons and architects in the city at this time, for Sepphoris had been largely destroyed by a Roman action against a Jewish uprising in the year 4 B.C. His time in Sepphoris was significant for Jesus. For here, Jesus became cosmopolitan. He was exposed to Hellenic culture, for example through Greek Theatre, and — most significantly — to the Pythagorean tradition of number and proportion. Jesus even attached Himself, for a time, to a Jewish Pythagorean group called the Essenes. This was in turn part of a much older tradition that spanned Europe — it had, in fact, reached as far as the Druids of Britain. Jesus became, not a humble carpenter, but a craftsman in a highly sophisticated and ancient tradition. Joseph’s trade would lead the young Jesus to travel extensively throughout the Roman world. Jesus’ life was full. He married. (The Bible story of the marriage of Cana, with water turning into wine, seems to have been embroidered from an incident at Jesus’ own wedding.) His wife died in childbirth; He did not remarry. But the child survived, a daughter. She disappeared in the confusion surrounding the end of her father’s life. (The search for this daughter of Jesus, and any descendants living today, is one of the most active areas of WormCam research.) But Jesus was restless. At a precociously early age He began to formulate His own philosophy. This could be regarded, simplistically, as based on a peculiar synthesis of Mosaic with Pythagorean lore: Christianity would grow out of this collision between Eastern mysticism and Western logic. Jesus saw Himself, metaphorically, as a mean between God and mankind — and the concept of the mean, particularly the Golden Mean, was of course the subject of much contemplation in the Pythagorean tradition. He was, and would always remain, a good Jew. But He did develop strong ideas about how the practice of His religion could be bettered. He began to cultivate friendships among those His family deemed definitely unsuitable for a man of His station: the poor, criminals. He even forged shadowy links with various groups of lestai, would be insurrectionists. He argued with His family, and He left for Capernaum, where He would live with friends. And, during these years, He began to practice miracles.
Two men were walking toward him.
They were shorter than he was, but stockily well muscled, each with thick black hair tied back behind his head. Their clothing was functional, what looked like one-piece cotton shifts with deep, well-used pockets. They were walking at the edge of the sea, careless as small waves broke over their feet. They looked forty, but were probably younger. They were healthy, well fed, prosperous; they were probably merchants, he thought.
They were so immersed in their conversation they hadn’t noticed him yet.
…No, he reminded himself. They could not see David — for he hadn’t been there, on that long-gone day when this sun-drenched conversation had taken place. They were all unaware that a man of their remote future would one day marvel at them, a man with the ability to make this everyday moment come alive and run through, again and again, utterly changeless.
He flinched as the men collided softly with him. The light seemed to dim, and he no longer felt the stones’ sharpness beneath his feet.
But then they were past, walking away from him, their conversation not disturbed by so much as a word by his ghostly encounter. And the vivid “reality” of the landscape was restored, as smoothly as if he had adjusted the controls on some invisible SoftScreen.
He walked on, toward Capernaum.
Jesus was able to “cure” mind-mediated and placebo diseases such as back pains, stuttering, ulcers, stress, hay fever, hysterical paralysis and blindness, even false pregnancies. Some of the “cures” are remarkable, and very moving to witness. But they were restricted to those whose belief in Jesus was stronger than their belief in their illness. And, like every other “healer” before or since, Jesus was unable to cure deeper organic illnesses. (To His credit, He never claimed He could.) His healing miracles naturally attracted a great following. But what distinguished Jesus from the many other hasidim of His day was the message He preached with His healing. Jesus believed that the Messianic Age promised by the prophets would come — not when the Jews were militarily victorious, but when they became pure of heart. He believed that this inner purity was to be achieved not just through a life of outer virtue, but through a submission to the terrible mercy of God. And He believed that this mercy extended to the whole of Israeclass="underline" to the untouchables, the impure, the outcasts and the sinners. Through His healing and exorcisms He demonstrated the reality of that love. Jesus was the Golden Mean between the divine and the human. No wonder His appeal was electric; He seemed able to make the most wretched sinner feel close to God. But few in this occupied nation were sophisticated enough to understand His message. Jesus grew impatient at the clamouring demands for Him to reveal Himself as the Messiah. And the lestai who were attracted to His charismatic presence began to see in Him a convenient focal point for a rising against the hated Romans. Trouble coalesced.
David wandered through the small, boxy rooms like a ghost, watching the people, women, servants and children, come and go.
The house was more impressive than he had expected. It was built on the pattern of a Roman villa, with a central open atrium and various rooms opening off it, in the manner of a cloister. The setting was very Mediterranean, the light dense and bright, the rooms open to the still air.
Already, so early in Jesus’ ministry, there was a permanent encampment outside the house walls: the sick, the lame, would-be pilgrims, a miniature tent city.
Later, a house church would be built on this site, and then, in the fifth century, a Byzantine church that would survive to David’s own day — together with the legend of those who had once lived here.
Now there was noise outside the house: the sound of running feet, people calling. He walked briskly outside.
Most of the inhabitants of the tent city — some of them showing surprising alacrity — were making their way toward the glimmering sea, which David glimpsed between the houses. He followed the gathering crowd, towering above the people around him, and he tried to ignore the stink of unwashed humanity, much of it extrapolated by the controlling software with unwelcome authenticity; the direct detection of scent through WormCams was still an unreliable business.
The crowd spread out as they reached the rudimentary harbour. David made his way through the crush to the water’s edge, ignoring the temporary dimmings as Galileans brushed past or through him in their eagerness.
There was a single boat on the still water. It was perhaps six metres long, wooden, its construction crude. Four men were patiently rowing toward the shore; beside a stocky helmsman at the stern was a piled-up fishing net.
Another man was standing at the prow, facing the people on the shore.