SIGNS FROM THE STARS

Three philosophers from the Eastern lands are in search for an answer to a vision in the skies

The three astrologers had set up camp for the night. It was dark, so dark they couldn't even see their own jewelled hands in front of their faces, but in times when the best light at night away from home, when the skies were overcast and the moon was hidden, consisted of a flickering flame and the wobbly shadows it cast, that didn’t matter so much.

They'd only met the day before having bumped into one another as a consequence of one of those coincidences that speckle history. Their very bearing shouted that they were, indeed, all learned men, and after discussion they discovered that not only were all three of them renowned scholars in their different countries, but they'd all been drawn this way by similar interpretations of patterns in the night sky. This might sound odd to those from a much later age but back then it was almost normal. The night sky was their only true book, and they read it carefully.

“Darlings, I am convinced a royal birth has lit the world with joy,” purred Balthazar, an Arabian scholar with sodomite tendencies. But at least, thought his two new acquaintances, he smelled sweetly of perfumes known in his land.

“There's no need to call me darling!” muttered the Persian, Melchior. “I've met your sort before and you'll get nowhere near my pert bottom, not even in the worst of storms and if the signs are all for your kind of naughtiness, so be warned.”

“Darling!” protested Balthazar. “So you've made your temperament quite plain, and for your information I merely use the word darling as an excuse for forgetting names! I can't remember what dear people are called, not half the time anyway, so I call them all darling, you included, my love. Not that I would object if … if … you understand? But no. Say no more.”

“Well I don't!” snapped the irritable Indian Caspar. “All this talk of bottoms, and all I want to do is greet the little one foretold by Venus in conjunction with Jupiter and then go back home where people are less … sodomistic!”

“I spied that too!” exclaimed Melchior. “It has long been foretold amongst the scribes and scholars of Persia that such a conjunction foretells the birth of a mighty warrior in this forlorn land! Why, I predict royal smiths will be forging a special weapon for him even as we speak, and the Romans will be put to battle by the time the babe is six!”

“The King in these parts doesn't seem to know anything about it,” purred Balthazar. “I went to him, darlings, and he was rude to my face until I mentioned the words powerful king. Then he was a little more … sweet … and told me to have an extra glass of his divine wine and stay the night with the sweetest little soldier I ever did see, a rippling boy in his teens... but never mind about him! When I left the next morning...”

“He asked you to return?” grinned Melchior.

“That he did, darling! Now I detect that you have the power to foretell as well as I!”

“There’s no power or foretelling or anything like that involved. He was the same with me,” sighed the Persian. “I got the distinct feeling that his intentions are not as honourable as they might be. I decided to go nowhere near his palace again when I return to my own land, but skirt it by quite a margin.”

“Wise thoughts,” sighed Caspar. “So what do our collective brains make of what we have seen in the Heavens?”

“Darling, a child has been born...” began Balthazar.

“Children are always being born,” pointed out Melchior.

“But kings?” asked Caspar, “especially kings that the local puppet knows nothing about? I have studied these parts and I know that many deep thinkers and philosophers are predicting a great warrior who will rescue them from the agony of Roman domination in a battle to end all battles.”

“Sweetheart, how butch!” purred Balthazar.

“Don't you bloody sweetheart me!” growled Caspar. “If I have sweethearts they’ve got tits!”

“But this birth is there in the stars,” sighed Melchior. “Now, fellow seekers after the truth, I'm going to settle down for the night if the Arab in our midst promises to keep his hands to himself, and get some sleep before dawn wakens us with the trials of a new day!”

“You need have no fear of me,” sighed Balthazar. “I will sleep like an infant myself, lost in my own sweet dreams. Your delightful bottom will be safe enough, darling...”

It was at that point that all three of them heard the sound of hooves approaching, slowly, almost wearily. It was a strange sound to hear at the dead of a black night like this, where no man out and about would be able to see anything, let alone the road before his horse’s hooves.

“What's that?” asked Caspar, sitting up.

“A horse...” breathed Melchior.

“Maybe my soldier boy...” hissed Balthazar. “Come to save me from sin!”

“Anyone there?” demanded a fresh voice. “Who do I hear whispering and plotting in the night? Speak now, or I will run you through with my blade!”

“Darling!” squeaked Balthazar, “that is no way to address three philosophers and astrologers from distant lands!”

“We come from our own warlike nations in search of a new born king!” added Caspar. “We bear gifts for him!”

“A golden coin,” squeaked Melchior.

“Sweet Frankincense in a silken pouch,” added Caspar.

“And Myrrh, a balm to aid sinners find their Heavens,” purred Balthazar, and “darling,” he added.

There was a moment's silence, then: “You will find an infant in a humble stable, lit by a great light, and being attended by shepherds,” said the voice. “I, one time a soldier of the mighty Roman empire, know this, for I have witnessed it for myself! Go, come the morning, to the town of Bethlehem and you will find him there in humble circumstances. I cannot say whether he is destined to be a king or not, but strange tales have been mooted, about angels and virgins, and they must mean something.”

“Mighty omens indeed,” muttered Caspar.

“Signs from the gods,” agreed Melchior.

“Do you need a cot for the night, stranger, darling?” asked Balthazar.

The other’s voice laughed. “Not this night,” it said, “but maybe some other, when the moon shines brightly and I can see to whom I speak and with whom I will lie!”

“That's a date, darling!”

“Will you great thinkers visit the stable, then?” asked the voice. “Will you go to greet a king?”

There was a general assent, and it was followed, to Balthazar's regret, by the sound of hooves fading into the distance as an ancient steed carried the crippled Roman soldier away, into the darkness of night.

© Peter Rogerson 22.11.12 revised 28.11.16