I am glad you called me. All this time and no one thought to ask. No one. There are so many stories now, so many lies – yes, lies I say – about what happened that year. Like there were three men. Three! But look at what your book really says, ‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem.’ Wise men. No number. And on the next page, it says, ‘…and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh.’ It says nothing more of the treasures. So many gaps, so many omissions. But let me try and make some sense. To tell of things in order.
We came from the east. Of course we did. Ask anyone. Back then, if you wanted someone who knew about stars, who could follow a star, you needed a Persian astronomer. The best. We started in, well you would not recognise the name today. It used to be a town but Tehran has grown so much, so big, it has swallowed up many smaller towns. But let me say we came from Tehran; you will understand this. And you think there were three men? Crazy. Have you ever looked at a map? The journey we made was fifteen hundred miles. You do not do this on a whim. You do not do it with three men and camels. You need tents, food, guards – you are making an expedition. There were dozens of camels, many men, more men than I can remember to count. We made a caravan and then we began.
We followed the Silk Road to Baghdad then rested in Baghdad. Once we were restored, we began west again, once more on the Silk Road, to Tyre on the Mediterranean Sea. In Tyre there were trading opportunities; we were far from home, so we took them. Then we began south, through the lands of Galilee and Samaria to Judea, and after much time to Jerusalem, still following the star. We left Tehran in the month you would call July. We arrived in Jerusalem in the month you would call December. We were weary. We had seen wild beasts, bandits, deserts, cities, the western sea. Two of the men got sick and died. All the sheep we drove with us had been slaughtered and eaten. We were weary but the astronomers among us said we were not far. The little Jewish boy was not born yet, but soon. We were close. And then a messenger came, from King Herod, the King of Judea. This was not good. Everyone knew he was a crazy man, but I will say more than that. I will say a bad word, but you must forgive me for it is true. Herod was a bastard. There. A bastard! He knew the prophecy. Everyone knew the prophecy, it was not a secret. But Herod did not want a King of the Jews. He did not want this baby to live. Herod took money from his people, paid his taxes to Rome and the Romans looked the other way. You think things ever change here? But I am talking about then, not now. And about what happened, not politics. Maybe. But what I say of back then is true: he was ready to kill all the newborn boys of Judea to make sure the boy of the prophecy died. And he summoned our caravan. Herod was crazy but he was not stupid. A caravan in Jerusalem with Persian astronomers? Following a star? You have a saying I think: why keep a dog and do all the barking? So he commanded that we find the child then – immediately of course – tell him where the child was. This was hard. We were strangers, foreigners, and he was king. We had no protection, no recourse. Kill the Persians, sell the camels, steal the treasure. In Judea, who cares?
Our caravan made the last part of its expedition, to Bethlehem. We were quick. It took two days. The astronomers among us argued. What do you have now? Cellphones? GPS? Good maps? This was more than two thousand years ago. We had tired men sitting by tents outside Jerusalem, looking at the night sky, navigating not in the big way, the way that brought us west, but in details. The details were not easy, but in the end it was decided: Bethlehem. We were lucky. It was not far from Jerusalem. Like I said, two days.
You must also know that what happened next was unusual. Not the prophecy, not the boy, but a Persian caravan in Bethlehem. You ask me to make a comparison, I say it is like having a travelling circus in a village. There is wonder, surprise, curiosity, everyone notices. In your book, it sounds like three men slipped into Bethlehem at night, gave gifts, the opposite of thieves, then leave. No. Bethlehem had never seen such a sight. There were faces at windows, children staring, children laughing, women with stern faces, unsettled men. No one knew what we were going to do.
We made the tents outside Bethlehem then, taking care to look peaceful, no swords, no knives, we began to talk to people. It was a small place. It didn’t take long. A couple, the woman with child, also strangers. We found them on the night the boy was born. One of our men was chosen to go forward. Three? No. All the men? No. The prophecy talks of a saviour and you think his mother wants him surrounded by Persians when he is hours old? Persians covered in the dirt of the roads? No. One man went forward and gave the gold, incense and medicinal resin. I will also say he gave silks, carpets and a carved box with weights and measures, a chart of the heavens, also some goods we had traded in Tyre, goods from the far west beyond Rome.
And what does your book say next? ‘And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.’ Yeah, sure. A dream. We found the boy. We knew if we went back to Jerusalem Herod would ask us about the boy, then make us tell him about the boy. Torture? Of course. There were no dreams and no warning from God. We are not stupid. We knew we had to leave. We were grateful that security and intelligence in the time of Herod was not as good as it is now. Everyone in Bethlehem knew about the saviour and the Persians. In Jerusalem, Herod did not know. Not yet.
Could we go north to Tyre? Through Jerusalem? No. Crazy. Even if we passed Jerusalem by night, Herod would find out and send his army on the same road. We decided to disappear, the wrong way, east from Bethlehem. The impossible way, across the deserts to Baghdad. You want to know of a miracle? That any of us got home at all. That is the real miracle.
But now? I hear of your traditions. I see the mistakes in your book. I see pictures of children in the West, making entertainments at their schools at Christmas. Towels on their heads, three magi, no reflection, no thought, no knowledge of what it meant to travel the Silk Roads by caravan from Tehran to Tyre, through the Holy Lands, then back over the desert. So on your Christmas, remember the truth.
I try not to get angry when I see the lies. Most times I do not get angry. Sometimes I do. That no one ever asked, about the truth, asked someone, anyone, who was there, all this time – that makes me angry. You have a saying, ‘So angry you could spit.’ For me, that does not work. Camels spit all the time.

Which is a nice thing on a day like today. Thanks.

And there's me, a heathen. I think I have something festive in my eye. All the best to you and yours, and thank you.

Thanks very much.

Thanks very much.