博客來I was poring over a scroll in the library when he came; dressed in my most faded, old clothes; my hair breaking free from its plaits as it so often did. There would have been ink on my fingers and frown-lines on my forehead as I tussled with language, religion and bad penmanship.
He had to say my name twice before I heard him. Then, as I looked up, shock drained all the colour from my face. There was no doubt who it was, even if more than a decade had passed since our last meeting and, although I had half been expecting him for almost as long as I had lived in Alexandria, it had become an unspecified event which would happen some day. Not now. Not here. Not standing in front of me when I looked such a mess.
Confident, arrogant and certain of his rôle as leader of the new Christian movement, Paul of Tarsus comes to Alexandria to meet the cousin of his saviour. It should have been a formality; a courtesy, no more.
Deborah’s knowledge came from direct experience of Jesus’ teaching; Paul’s from revelation on the road to Damascus. Could these two proud and volatile people work together and make a union that could change the world or would it tear both them-and the new faith-apart?
