But no harm had come to him.
The patrician leaped from the chariot. Passionately, he shook Marcus’s hand, his pallid features flushing with new warmth and relief. “A thousand thanks, my brave young man! By the gods! Your courage shall not go unrewarded.”
Marcus struggled to regain his breath. “No reward is required, senator. I was pleased to serve you.”
“So you recognize my occupation. That is well. But,” and the man looked quizzically at him, “do I not know you? By Bacchus, I swear I have seen you before. What is your name, young man?”
“Marcus, once the son of Rowland Virginius.”
The man slapped his thigh, raising his hands in appeal to the gods. “Truth! I remember you. I know Rowland well, though we have not spoken in some months. But how do you say you were once his son? Is he dead?”
“No.” Marcus felt the color rise in his cheeks. What a promising introduction. “I have been disinherited.”
The senator stared at him. He raised his brows, then, broke into a ringing laugh.
Marcus felt his temper burn. What right did this man have to mock him? Had he not saved his life? Shortly, the anger high in his face, he turned away.
The senator’s hand immediately found his arm. “No, no, my young friend, do not be so ill-tempered. By the gods, I meant no offence. Come, we will go into a wine-shop together.”
“I have no desire to be mocked, senator.”
“And you shall not be.” The man waved his hand. “By Hercules! I swear I will behave well. You cannot refuse me.”
“Then let it be as you say.” Marcus forced a measure of courteous pleasantry to his tones. Clearly, the senator was not giving him a choice. “Lead and I shall follow.”
The senator nodded shortly. Turning to a bystander, he tossed him a silver coin. “Take that idiot home and throw some water over him.” Then, by afterthought, “And see that my chariot is driven home and my team watered. They will need refreshment after that race, by Jupiter!”
Having given his orders, the senator motioned for Marcus to follow him. In turn, Marcus snapped his fingers at Philip. In single file, all three took the few paces to the nearest wine-shop.
Inside, the senator seated himself, motioning for Marcus to join him. They were quickly served a jug of spiced wine. Having swallowed a deep draught from his mug, the senator surveyed Marcus with an open, candid expression.
“As I am certain you know, I am Cleotas Aeneas. And, concerning that wild ride you saved me from, it was entirely the fault of my new driver. The insolent braggart was far from as competent at the reins as he boasted.”
“Allow me to express the hope you will secure a better driver before trusting yourself behind those steeds again, Cleotas Aeneas.” Marcus’s tone was dry. “I doubt I will be present to rescue you again.”
“Truth.” Cleotas took another sip from his mug. “And you are frank, Virginius. I admire that. Do tell me why Rowland Virginius would disown a dashing, well-favored young man such as you.”
“I am a Christian.”
Cleotas leaned back, surveying Marcus shrewdly. “A son of Rome and a Christian! A fine state of affairs. A hot-headed fanatic you must have been for Rowland to have disinherited you.”
“I think not. My father had merely gained the knowledge I am a Christian when he disowned me.”
“Interesting.” Cleotas peered into the ruby depths of his mug. “So it was shame and not devotion to your religion that evoked your father’s displeasure? Well, there is nothing unusual in that. He was always a proud man. How long have you been a member of this mysterious sect?”
Marcus shifted. “About a week.”
“A week.” Slow disgust flitted over Cleotas’s fine-featured countenance. “And your father did not have the patience to let this frenzy come and go, as all the wild ideas of young men do. A loving father!”
Marcus looked contemplatively at Cleotas. The man did not seem to care that his rescuer was a hated Christian. “Are you unfaithful to the gods of Rome, my lord?”
“No, certainly not.” Cleotas waved his hand impatiently. “But I am not such a fanatic of worship that I cannot tolerate the zeal of a new convert. Ah, do not gainsay me. I know your spirit bounds at the chance of experiencing new revelations and mystical ceremonies.”
“My apologies, Aeneas, but I must differ. I think you do not take a correct view of Christianity.”
“Perhaps so. But I did not say I dislike members of your sect, did I? From what I have seen of your worship, the followers of Christus are hard workers who pay their debts on time. And they are pleasant enough in disposition.”
“If there is anything good in us, senator,” and Marcus chose his words carefully. He was still so new to this. “It is because our Savior grants us the grace to live our lives according to His will.”
Cleotas was silent. When at last he spoke, new seriousness overshadowed his careless demeanor. “I do not pretend to agree with your religion, Virginius. I have studied its teachings and am content to remain a Roman in all things. Still, I like your boldness. You seem a truehearted and resolute citizen.”
“I am gratified, my lord.”
Cleotas laughed unexpectedly. “Oh, come, Marcus! Lay aside your restraint. I know you think I flatter you, but I meant what I said. And I cannot allow your good talents to be wasted, as Rowland would see them.”
Marcus allowed a hint of a smile to play about his mouth. He bent his head ever so slightly. “My lord, you are generous in your compliments. Sitting here with you has indeed been an honor worthy of risking my life for.”
“Now you flatter me. But, by Hercules, I am not indisposed to receive it. I am not one of those boors who fritters his life away in search of self-improvement. Tell me, where are you lodging?”
Marcus felt amusement welling up within him. This man Cleotas Aeneas was as careless and dashing as any street-side peddler. Charm fairly radiated from everything pertaining to him, from his demeanor to his pleasant countenance. Handsome, richly-attired, and eloquent, it was little wonder he had won such favor in the Senate.
And, beyond the natural elements of a wealthy Roman, Cleotas was fashionable. His fine brown hair was cropped short, while his short beard curled down beneath his jaw-line and chin in the fashion Nero had made popular. He exuded strength and good health, as energetic as any man in his prime could be.
Marcus forced himself to forget his host’s charisma and focus on his question. “I am staying with a friend, my lord. A bread-maker.”
“That will never do.” Cleotas slapped his hand upon the table. “You must stay with me.”
“Your offer is generous, my lord. Yet, I promised to return to my friend tonight. I cannot in all politeness break my word.”
Cleotas stared at him. “You do not understand me, young Virginius. I did not just mean for tonight. I want you to dwell with me permanently.”
Marcus blinked. For an instant, he wondered if Cleotas was mad. Or was it the heat? “I beg your pardon?”
“I see you still do not understand. I will explain.” Cleotas leaned forward, again overtaken by seriousness. “Marcus, I have no wife and no son to carry on my name and inherit my estate[5]. You please me well and are exactly the sort of young man I would expect my heir to be. What better reward for saving my life than that you become the inheritor of my wealth?”
Marcus laughed uncomfortably. “Cleotas, I did not save your life for any reward! I should be ashamed to have done so.”
“Which is precisely why I admire you, young man. Marcus, if you accept my offer, you will be immediately reinstated to the lifestyle you were accustomed to living. You will live in my home, dwell in my company, and enjoy all the benefits the son of Cleotas Aeneas could have.”
Marcus looked searchingly at him. “I will not deny my faith, Cleotas. Surely that would be a problem.”
“Not at all. Provided you keep your fanatical views to yourself and do not associate me with them, I have nothing to say about it. Now,
what say you?”
Marcus’s mind whirled. Surely he was dreaming! It was impossible that he–a disdained outcast–was being offered the position of a son by Cleotas Aeneas himself.
Father, is this Your will? Is this the life You wish me to lead?
Cleotas’s hand twitched in impatience. Marcus looked slowly up at him.
“I cannot say your offer does not tempt me, Cleotas. It is generosity in itself. But, I must have time to consider this.”
“Take the night.” Cleotas rose to his feet. “Send your slave to my mansion with your answer in the morning. It lies by the Vicus Jugarius. He will know the place by the great fountain upon the portico.”
“Yes, my lord.” Marcus stood. “I promise I will consider your words carefully.”
Cleotas laid several silver denarii on the table, cutting Marcus’s protest short. “We may not meet again, young Virginius. The gods forbid it, but, if the fates are not with me, I wish you to have some reward for your services.” Then, with a light salute, “Farewell, Marcus. I will fervently await your answer.”
“God be with you, senator.” Marcus bent forward, then, signaling to Philip, strode from the wine-shop.
In the open air and humid sunshine, Marcus paused. Reality struck him like a pilo, its keen edge sinking into the depths of his heart.
A new life was before him.
Glancing sidelong, Marcus saw Philip’s countenance was alive. His blue eyes flashed, excitement sparkling in his pupils. “He is watching, Marcus. He has not left you destitute!”
“Then you are of the opinion I should accept his offer.” Marcus brushed aside his masterly pride. He was ready, even desirous, to speak about personal matters with his slave. Philip’s broader experience with things of the faith was certainly a thing to be consulted.
Philip seemed to recognize his own boldness. He quickly melded into subservience. “I cannot advise you, my lord.” He paused. “But I can say my heart is for this.”
Marcus surveyed him contemplatively. “As is mine.” He turned, striking a brisk mannerism. “But I will make no decision until I have prayed. And Daniel must be consulted.”
That evening was the longest night of Marcus’s life.
Hot and humid, the room he slept in was stifling. Insects hummed beyond the single casement, producing an atmosphere of drowsiness.
In the darkness, Marcus lay on his sleeping mat and stared into the dusky shadows. His eyelids were heavy, but sleep fled from him. He tossed and turned, but movement brought him no relief.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet. Striding cautiously across the dark room, he lit one of the tall oil lamps in the corner. Flickering light spread across the chamber, and he turned back to his mat.
It was then he saw Philip. He had thought his slave was sound asleep on his own mat, but a closer inspection revealed his arms were outstretched and his lips moved noiselessly. Marcus’s heart was stirred. He knew Philip was praying. And, somehow, he sensed those petitions were for him.
A pang struck his conscience. He had prayed several times during that evening, but not with the fervor he now saw in Philip.
A lump grew in his throat.
Seconds later, Marcus found himself on his knees beside Philip. He stretched himself out on his face, extending his hands in a wide angle.
The prayer he offered was unlike any petition he had ever offered before. In the temples, he had made bargains, offering a sacrifice in turn for a granted request. Now, he fervently besought God for wisdom; for strength; for His will to be made known.
With the coming of dawn, Marcus had his answer.
He rose to his feet, stretching his aching muscles. Almost simultaneously, Philip arose. A single glance revealed his slave had come to the same answer as himself.
Crossing the room, Marcus seated himself at a humble desk. Dipping his pen in ink, he scratched out his message on a piece of parchment and sealed it with wax and his signet ring.
“Take this to Senator Cleotas Aeneas with my greetings, Philip.”
“Shall I wait for his answer?”
“Yes.” Marcus paused, seeing inquiry in Philip’s eyes. A slow smile played about his lips. “I have decided to accept his offer.”
A flashing light illuminated Philip’s countenance. Half-smiling, he bowed and left the room.
Marcus leaned back, quietly contemplative. It was assuring to know Philip shared his feelings, however odd it felt to consider a slave’s personal feelings. Having considered slaves mere objects for so long, it was difficult to accept the fact Philip was real, a breathing, feeling human being. Somewhere, in the back of the callousness and traditions of Rome, he supposed he had always known slaves were as human as himself. But it had taken Christ’s love to awaken him to the fact they were equals.
It was humiliating, in one sense. He and an Iceni slave were equally important. But, then, in the light of all he had done, perhaps it was beautiful. God loved him, a murderer, as much as he loved a faithful slave.
Thank you for loving me. Marcus swallowed against the ache in his throat. It seemed to haunt him so often these days. But, oddly, he didn’t care. Thank you for caring for me, Jesus.
Two hours passed. Each minute dragged with painful lethargy, overwhelming Marcus with impatience. At last he joined Daniel in the shop, hoping work would relieve his mind.
Fully-assured of his Lord’s will, the desire to become Cleotas’s son strengthened with each passing moment. He was still overwhelmed by his father’s rejection, but his new prospects lifted much of his burden. He would have his career, his high social standing.
And God had not left him destitute.
“Thank you, my Savior.” At the bread counter, Marcus murmured the words. “I did not believe You would bring me unscathed from this trial, but Your promises are true. They are true.”
Mindlessly, he laid the fresh, crusty loaves in neat stacks. Aiding Daniel made the time slip away faster, but impatience still welled up within him.
Surely, Cleotas had not changed his mind. The possibility was too overwhelming. But, God had brought this new joy into his life.
He could remove it.
Unexpectedly, the door swung wide. Philip stepped into the interior, sunshine streaming in behind him and casting his shadow upon the floor.
Marcus stepped forward, none too patient. “You were gone long, Philip.”
“Senator Aeneas took his leisure making his reply, my lord.” Philip handed a sealed document to Marcus. “It is here.”
Marcus took the parchment and quickly broke the seals. Spreading it out, he quickly scanned the short epistle. “He writes that he is pleased I have accepted his offer. He wants the adoption ceremony to take place as quickly as possible.”
Daniel moved from behind the corner, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. “Does he say when?”
“Yes; tonight. He has commenced preparations for the banquet and ceremony. He adds he will have many guests present and bids me invite whomever I will.”
“He is a prompt man.” A hint of a smile covered Daniel’s bearded face. “Adonai has truly blessed you, Marcus.”
“He has.” Marcus folded the parchment, trying to sort through his thoughts. “And I do not deserve it. I cannot begin to understand this strange mercy.”
“No mercy is strange when coming from our Savior, Marcus.”
“Truth.” A fleeting pang struck Marcus’s heart, recalling Delicia. Why did he think of her now? He quickly brushed it aside. “And perhaps more of my trials will reveal their true blessing. Who can tell what God has in store?”
Fleeting silence settled over the room.
Marcus looked up at Daniel. “It would please me if you would accept my invitation to the ceremony, Daniel.”
Daniel returned to his counter, forming a long loaf. “A former slave and Christian Jew would not be welcome, Marcus. I do not want to mar this event.”
“You will not mar it. Jew or Roman, you are my friend. You are welcome.”
Daniel smiled slightly, shaking his head. “No, Marcus. It is better you begin this new life in good standing.” A kindly, quizzical expression settled over his features. “You will wish to visit the Baths before tonight?”
“You wish to be rid of me.” Marcus chuckled good-naturedly. “Yes, I must go. Before I do, though, I must thank you. Your hospitality has been very kind.”
“It has been my joy, Marcus.”
Marcus hesitated. Everything within him wanted to recompense Daniel for his lodging, but he sensed he would only bring offense. Daniel’s kindness was not a thing to be repaid with denarius. He decided to say nothing of payment.
“We will not be present at the meetings tonight, but I hope to rejoin them as soon as I possibly can. If the Lords wills it, we will see you soon.”
“As you say.” Daniel bent slightly, crossing his hands on his breast. “Peace be with you, brothers.”
Marcus signaled to Philip. Together, they left the shop, Philip bearing their few possessions.
At the Baths, Marcus completed his usual hygiene routine. Dried and dressed in a white tunic, he stood still as Philip draped the toga around him. Perfumed oils completed his attire, and Marcus led the way from the Baths.
The afternoon was already well into its middle point. The hot sun glistened off of the marble columns of the temples, casting colossal shadows of the gods upon the cobblestoned streets. Smoke rose continually from the Temple of Vesta, mingling with the rising humidity.
A company of augurs brushed past Marcus, their heads shielded by tightly-fitting skullcaps. In a small cart, they drew two perfect goats, destined to sacrifice.
Marcus remembered the last time he bought the services of an augur. Sharp and pitiless, the sacred knife had slit the animal’s belly and revealed perfect innards. The omen had been sure: he, Marcus Virginius, was destined to a powerful career.
It might be true.
Only, it would not be by the will of his namesake, Mars. Now, Marcus knew, there was no fate to decide his fortune. He had something far better: the blessing of One who constantly interceded for him.
From the Dark to the Dawn Page 22
