(AN: Here we have come to the final chapter of this story. Some thoughts on the "massacre of the innocents" before we begin. The Protoevangelion of James lists two separate massacres: one where they hide baby Joshua in the manger, and the second where they flee to Egypt: I go with only one. But said "infancy gospel"does give us an end for one secondary character who has appeared before [spoilers].)

(As far as the historicity of this event, the Roman writer Macrobius [a pagan, and therefore one with no incentive to defend Christianity] recognized the massacre of the innocents as a historical event. Why it was never recorded outside of his Saturnalia, James' and Matthew's Gospels is anyone's guess. It might be reading too much into biblical language on my part, but the Protoevangelion of James makes mention of "murderers", which could lead some credence to what I postulate in this story: that it was an under-the-table job that word of which sort of leaked out over time.)

Exodus

The old king Herod listened to the report from his spies, a grim look on his face as his dark eyes intently stared at a piece of the mosaic floor of his palace hall. He did not bother to look the soldier in the eye until he learned what was of interest to him. But, as the soldier's story continued, it seemed that he had found very little. Seven days had passed since the wise men had left Jerusalem, and they had not returned. More than this, scouts had seen a caravan departing eastward out of the land of Judah.

Herod turned to the soldier, not uttering a sound: his lips quivered in fury and his eyes stared at him, burning holes into him if they could have done so. Surely a king was entitled to roar, to rant, and to rave, if his plans were thus thwarted. But Herod was not a raving madman like Saul or a roaring lion like David; on suspicion of treason, he had ordered the deaths of his wife, brother-in-law, and several sons. Therefore he suspected every one of his courtiers, and even his family, of treachery and treason: a misspoken word could mean yet another conspiracy plotted against him. He hadn't come to power by letting his emotions master him, even in the most dire straits.

"They are gone?" he asked, his words measured but simmering with barely restrained wrath.

"Yes, your majesty," the soldier replied.

Stunned silence filled the palace hall. Nearby the king's throne stood Chuzah, his trusted servant; a tray was in his hand and the king's cup was upon it, bearing warm wine for the king this night. With a wave of his hand, Herod struck the tray out of Chuzah's hand and set it crashing down onto the steps below the dais: the sound like the roar of cymbals and the crashing of heavy bells. The intensity of Herod's wrath filled the room with a great uneasiness, an invisible haze that made the very air foul and hideous to breathe.

"Do these wise men seek to mock me?" Herod asked, still attempting to master himself after his sudden outburst. "We shall see what becomes of their Messiah now." The king rose from his throne and, with Chuzah following on behind him, left the palace hall.

Down into the dungeons went the king, with Chuzah following after him, torch in hand to light the way. Into the hallway between many dark, filthy cells walked King Herod; the prison guards stood at attention as he approached them. He made his way to the jailer and gave him a command. The man looked at the king in surprise, but did not question: people knew better than to question King Herod. One by one, the cells were opened and guards dragged prisoners out of the cells. These were no mere petty thieves or zealots, the radical patriots who opposed Herod and his Roman masters: these men were hardened criminals, murderers, men who feared neither God nor His Torah. One by one they were assembled before Herod, who stared each and every one of them down with his intense, dark eyes. They defiantly met his gaze, thinking that they had seen the ugly side of life and this potentate knew nothing of what they knew.

"You are all condemned men," the King said to them. "By your hands, many mothers have been robbed of their children. Now, your King commands that you do your duty once again...save that your prey will be slightly younger than you are accustomed to. Each of you will go into Bethlehem and kill every child you find: male or female, from newly born to two years of age. Do this, and you will earn the gratitude of your King...and perhaps more. Now make haste and do not return to me until you have done this deed!"

With that, the guards began ushering the criminals out of the dungeon and through the halls that would lead them outside of the palace. Chuzah was horrified to hear what had been ordered. Not since Athaliah bat-Ahab ruled in Jerusalem as queen had such a horrible deed been done in Judah; more than this, it hearkened back to the time of the elders and sages of blessed memory, when the male children were put to death by the order of Pharaoh of Egypt.

But Herod was not done; from the dungeon he returned to the throne room and had Chuzah summon the captain of his soldiers. In short time, the captain stood before his king sitting upon the throne.

"Captain," Herod said. "I have a task for you. Take your men and go to the regions outside of Jerusalem and around Bethlehem and kill every child that you find: male or female, from newly born to two years of age."

The captain of the guard bowed and left the room. Years of service to King Herod had broken any qualms this man may have had about killing babies. Yea, the people of the east had no greater qualms about killing children than their Greek or Roman counterparts: conquering armies slaughtered man, woman, and child with reckless abandon. Yet even as the captain departed on his grim task, the aghast Chuzah dared to ask this one question of his king.

"Your Majesty," he said. "Far be it from your servant to question your orders. Only, well, if I am correct, the One you seek is in Bethlehem. Wherefore is the need to go into the other areas around Bethlehem?"

"Surety, my dear Chuzah," Herod replied. "If the wise men were mistaken, or if they secreted the child to a nearby town, then we will be thorough in our slaught..." With that, he winced, placing his hand upon his stomach. At first, no more to his mind than a mere issue of indigestion, not uncommon among the rich diets of nobility. But in truth, as time would tell, it was the first sign of the punishment of the God whose Son he sought to destroy, as well as retribution for all the others who would die.

In the little han in En-Karim, the sleeping Elisabeth was awoken by a very troubled-looking Zechariah. He was already dressed and bore a lamp in its hand, lit and casting shadows upon his face.

"Wake up, my love!" the old man urged.

Elisabeth sighed, tossing in her sleep. She was old, and welcomed sleep: when she married Zechariah many years ago, she had longed to have children. Now that she had a son, she longed for sleep: raising a child was hard and tiring work, especially a crawling two-year old babe.

"Wake up!" Zechariah urged. Elisabeth rolled over, her eyes creaking open wearily in the blistering light of the lamp. She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand and her eyes with her other hand.

"What's wrong, Zechariah?"

"Take John," Zechariah ordered. "Go into the mountains and hide there."

"Hide? What? Wait, Zechariah, what is all this?" Elisabeth asked.

"King Herod is going to kill him and all the children of a certain age!" Zechariah replied. Elisabeth cried out, covering her face with her mouth and silently weeping. Zechariah approached her and placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Weep not, my love. But make haste, and take John with you! Go into the mountains!"

"Where will we go?" Elisabeth asked.

"Do not tell me where you go," Zechariah replied. "They will surely come for me, looking for the child, and when they do, I will be able to answer truthfully before HaShem that I do not know where he is."

"And where will you be, my love?" Elisabeth asked, rising up and reaching for her clothes.

"In the streets of En-Karim," Zechariah replied. "Perhaps I can reason with these soldiers and save some of the children of this town."

"No!" Elisabeth exclaimed. "They will surely kill you!"

Zechariah placed the lamp in an alcove on their wall, then wrapped his arms around Elisabeth and kissed her forehead. Instinctively, she cradled her face against his neck, feeling the coarse, curled hair of his long, gray beard.

"My love," Zechariah whispered. "I have loved you from the moment we were bonded in marriage before HaShem. All of these long years, I have cherished you more than ten sons. And you have given me a son from HaShem, to prepare His people for the Messiah. No man could love you more than I." As he spoke, there were tears in his eyes as he could begin to fathom what his next decision would mean. He would never see John take his first steps, or speak his first words, nor would he beam with pride as he read from the Torah on his bar-mitzvah, and on every Sabbath he was called to read, nor would he be there when he came to manhood and began his mission of heralding the Messiah.

"But I am a servant of HaShem, and the keeper of His flock. And as the shepherd lays down his life for his flock, so must I defend the innocent from the wolves."

With that, he parted and, walking over to the baby's crib, lifted John up out of his sleep. He held his son for a moment, then planted a kiss upon his cheek, before turning about and placing him in Elisabeth's arms. Elisabeth finished dressing herself and wrapped her shawl around John, so that he was concealed. Zechariah then rushed her out the door and into the night. Even as she left, he sent up a prayer to the God of his fathers for her safety and the protection of her and the child.

The dawn had finally broken. Chaos had befallen the town of Bethlehem. Blood was in the streets. The death cry was everywhere. Joseph was suddenly awoken to the sound of horrified screaming. As his eyes opened, he saw a horrifying sight: Miriam lying on the ground, her face bloody, and a wicked-looking man leaning over the stone trough they had in their house to feed the donkey. From the midst of that trough he could hear a baby's voice crying. His heart dropped as he saw the wicked man had in his hand a sword that was being brought down to the manger. He tried to move, but found that he could not: he could only look on as the child was put to the sword. How could this be! The Son of God, put to death in a house in Bethlehem!

Even as the blade approached the trough, a strong hand seized the wrist of the wicked-looking man. Joseph immediately recognized the face and voice of the bearded man, whose very appearance seemed to blaze with fire as he spoke.

"Joseph, son of the house of David," said Gabriel. "Arise, take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt." To Joseph's relief, the angel threw the wicked-looking man aside as if he was made of straw. But his piercing eyes remained focused on him, Joseph. "Herod seeks to destroy Him. Now go, and remain there until I bring you word."

With a jolt, Joseph awoke on his mat. It was still dark. His breath came in ragged, relieved gasps. The night was still lying upon the little town of Bethlehem; he had to concede that it was only a dream. A dream, like the one he had had before, where this very angel appeared before and told him to take Miriam as his wife. That dream had come true, and surely this one would too. He rolled over on his mat and saw Miriam lying there, sleeping soundly: even her breath was intoxicating. In the dark, he got up and felt for the cradle he had made for baby Joshua; it was still there, and a little warm body was lying fast asleep, wrapped in His blanket. He was tempted to dismiss this as nothing more than the terrors of the night: but the fear still lingered inside him, refusing to leave his heart and mind.

"Joseph?" Miriam asked. "What is it?"

Suddenly the same protective spirit that had guided Joseph from that night in Nazareth to this very moment returned to him, fueled by the terror of the dream he had just witnessed. He reached for his clothes in the darkness.

"We have to go," he said. "Get dressed as soon as you can."

"Go?" Miriam asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Egypt," Joseph replied.

"Egypt!" Miriam exclaimed. "That's so far away! I thought we were..."

"There's no time to talk about this," Joseph replied. "Take Joshua, make sure He's hidden."

"Joseph, why are we going to Egypt?" Miriam asked.

"I've just had a dream," Joseph explained. "The angel of HaShem appeared to me, and told me to take you and Joshua to Egypt: King Herod seeks to kill Him."

With a sudden cry, Miriam leaped off of the mat and instinctively wrapped her arms around Joshua, as if to shield Him from the darkness and the cruel intentions of their king.

"Not my son!" Miriam wailed, clutching the baby to her body.

"No, Miriam!" Joseph explained. "That's not going to happen, because we're going to Egypt. Now come, get dressed! I'll make sure to pack anything we need."

It took Miriam a while to register that Joshua was not about to die before she let Him go long enough to begin dressing herself for the journey: there was still upon her heart and mind the temptation to regard Joshua as 'her Son', as if she had some kind of control over the Son of the Highest. So it had been for these past several months, and now that set of mind was challenged. She knew who she was, and who Herod was: she knew that she could no more stop Herod than she could stop Rome, or keep the sun from rising every morning. She would not be able to save Joshua with her own power: only the power of the Most High God could save them. And now that power had given Joseph a dream warning of the danger to come.

Miriam now made haste to dress herself and prepare for the journey ahead of them, even as Joseph hurried to prepare himself as well. They would leave the rented house as it had been left the previous day: cleaned and empty. But as they prepared to leave, Miriam turned to Joseph with a look of shock on her face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We can't make it to Egypt," she said, concern in her voice. "We barely have enough food fit for a long journey!"

"Take what we can," Joseph said. "Leave the rest. There's no time!"

"But how will we provide for ourselves on the journey?" Miriam asked. "Oh, if only the land moved beneath us and a pillar of fire went before us, as it did in the days of our fathers long ago!"

Joseph suddenly had an idea. Fumbling around in the dark - they had lit no lamps, for fear of what was to come - he found one of the three gifts the wise men had given them. He opened one, and quickly closed it when he smelt the frank incense; the second one he opened and pulled out a soft, cold metal coin, which he brought to his mouth and bit.

"Gold," he told her. "We can pay for the journey with this gold."

"Praise be the God of our fathers!" Miriam exclaimed.

Frantically, they prepared to depart the house. The commotion awoke Joshua, who began crying. Miriam at once began gently singing and muttering "sav lasav" to Him to calm Him down, while Joseph loaded what they would need for the journey onto their hardy beast of burden. The gold he insisted be taken out of the chest and placed hidden among themselves: three ornate chests would entice the attention of robbers on the road from Bethlehem of Egypt.

When everything was packed and loaded, Joseph led the animal outside of the house, then helped Miriam onto the donkey's back: she cradled Joshua in her arms, whispering softly to Him. They closed and locked the door of the rented house one last time, then turned and made their way into the darkness. Songs of praise and prayers to the God of their fathers were upon their lips as they hastened on the swiftest path that would lead them south out of Bethlehem, and westward along the old Philistine road down into Egypt. In the world outside, the murderers were already on their way through the town of Bethlehem, breaking into every house and seeking out children of between the ages of two and newborn for the slaughter. In the surrounding regions, the soldiers of Herod did their own foul business without remorse: Zechariah's protests would indeed earn him the sword and a martyr's death.

But even as the human king, wracked with the beginning pains of the sickness that would, in three years time, finally kill him, put into motion his plan to eradicate the Messiah before He came into His own, an Eternal King was watching over the grand plan that He had put into motion since before the beginning. The families of the earth had suffered long enough: salvation was to come unto them, and no force of flesh and blood or of the enemy would stop the coming of the True King and His herald. So it was that, even as the One True God, Jehovah in the Highest, the God of the Name, the Eternal, had brought His chosen prince Israel into Egypt and called him forth after his warfare and bondage were complete, He now led His only begotten Son, Joshua the Anointed, into Egypt, to one day call Him forth to live and grow, and to bring in the Kingdom prepared from the foundation of the world.

(AN: And there we go, the end of the beginning. That was a nice little story. I hope you all enjoyed it: I'm certainly sorry to end your Christmas on such a grim note.)