by Carol Ashby
As Calantha seated herself, her eyes were drawn to Leander’s laugh. Determined to be useful―that described him well. But useful wasn’t the first word that came to mind when she thought of him. Faithful fit him better. Faithful to his god and what his god commanded. Loyal to her, even when she hadn’t deserved it, because he chose to forgive.
His head turned, and his gaze met hers. His eyes warmed as his mouth curved into the smile of a friend. Then he turned back to respond to Sextus.
Her gaze lingered on him. After Father freed him, she’d miss the warmth of his smiling eyes.
Chapter 49: The Unexpected Scribe
Morning of Day 32
Leander hummed to himself as he plucked another caterpillar off a grape leaf. He tipped his head back and let the sun’s rays warm his face. As long as he didn’t move too much, he could forget he’d had a blade in his shoulder and arrow in his leg. It felt good to be alive.
The braying of one of the mules drew his gaze to their corral. Beyond it, a man on a trotting mule topped the low rise and raised his arm.
Leander returned Publius’s greeting and turned back to the vines. The hoofbeats drew closer, then stopped behind him.
“Good morning, Leander.” Publius slid off his mule. “I see Gaius has put you to work, but I hope you’ll have time to do something for me as well.”
“If I can. What is it?”
“Lucillia tells me Calantha said you can read and write.”
“Only Greek, not Latin.” Leander shrugged. “Calantha is teaching me, but the way I write with this sling…” He tapped his right arm. “She says it looks like a chicken walked across the plate of dirt she has me practice on.”
“Even bad handwriting is better than none at all, and I can read Greek. My eyes are always open for opportunities, and when I see one, I seize it. You present an opportunity I never dreamed we’d have.”
Leander’s brow furrowed. “How?”
“When God blesses us with a man who has the writings of John and Luke and Paul in his head, that’s something too good to waste.” Publius lifted the strap of his shoulder bag over his head and handed it to Leander. “I have papyrus, pens, and ink in here. Will you write down what you know for us to have after you leave?”
Leander flipped back the cover, peered inside, then handed it back to Publius. “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”
Gaius joined them. “To have the Lord’s words and teachings even after you leave would be a great blessing. You should start right now.”
He slapped Leander’s good shoulder. “Marcella will be out any moment to tell me you’ve worked more than enough. Let’s surprise her by you quitting before she makes you.”
Gaius handed Leander the crutch, and he and Publius matched Leander’s slow pace as they started toward the house.
When Leander tried a step without leaning on the crutch, his jaw tightened. Not quite ready to free up his second arm, but it wouldn’t be long.
“What would you like first, in case there isn’t time to write it all before we must return to Rome?”
Publius stroked his lip with his thumb. “What do you suggest?”
“The writings by Apostle John. He wrote so many things that Lord Jesus told His disciples in private. It’s almost like being one of the blessed who sat at His feet and listened.”
Publius’s usual smile broadened. “Then that’s what I want.”
Marcella and Mistress Calantha were weaving when Leander walked through the doorway.
The mistress’s brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”
Gaius chuckled as he stepped inside. “Would I let him do something to hurt himself? Marcella said to be careful with him, and I have been.”
Marcella left her loom to hug her husband. “It’s a wise man who listens, and I married one.”
Publius set the bag on the table. “Leander is going to write down the gospels and letters he knows.” He placed his hand on Leander’s shoulder. “We have our own walking library here.”
He patted the bag. “If this isn’t enough papyrus, I can get as much as you need. I also have some fine leather we can use for the cover.”
As soon as Leander settled into a chair, Marcella took his crutch to its place against the wall.
Publius took three ink bottles from the bag and pulled the plug from one. He unwrapped a cloth that held three pens. Then he placed a single papyrus sheet in front of Leander.
“Now you can write the words from God.” He patted the sheet. “I’d like to watch, but I need to get back before the lunch customers come.”
“And I need to remove more caterpillars before they lunch on my grapes.” Gaius followed Publius out the door.
As the women returned to their looms, Leander slipped his arm out of the sling. He could rest his arm on the table and only move his fingers to write on the plate of dirt, but dipping a pen into the ink bottle meant lifting his hand and reaching. The sling held his arm too close to his body.
Pen in hand, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. As they had so many times before, whether nestled at his mother’s side, chained in the stinking hold of the slave ship, or lying on his pallet at the Crassus estate, the beginning words of Apostle John’s gospel filled his mind.
He dipped pen in ink and began to write. In the beginning…
He hadn’t finished the first sentence before he had to dip the pen again.
…and the darkness has not overcome it.
Barely five sentences, and his shoulder was protesting.
Mistress Calantha placed her shuttle on its shelf and came to stand beside him. “Your Greek letters are better than your Latin cursive.”
He tipped his head to look up at her. “But that doesn’t mean my Latin teacher isn’t as good as my mother was. I’ll get better with practice.”
She swept some hair off his forehead. “I see your face when you dip the pen. It hurts to do this.”
“Not much. But even if it does, I’m going to do it anyway. I might not finish before we leave if I wait.”
“But I don’t want you hurting. So…” She pulled out the chair next to him and lifted the pen from his fingers. “You’re going to recite like you do on Solis, and I’m going to write down what you say.”
Her smile turned teasing. “Your Greek letters are better than your Latin ones, but no one would ever hire you as a scribe.” She scrunched her nose. “I, on the other hand, have been praised many times for the beauty of my letters.” Her hand rested on his arm. “Let the writing be my small gift out of gratitude for all we’ve been given here.”
Leander opened his mouth to say he could manage, then closed it. Publius always seized an opportunity, and God had just given him one.
When she’d asked what sin was and how another man’s death could buy his freedom from it, he’d wished she had Apostle John or Apostle Paul to answer her questions. Who would have thought that the truth of God captured in the apostle’s words, spoken through Leander’s mouth, written by the mistress’s own hand, might become the path to lead her to God?
“As you wish.” He slid the papyrus in front of her.
Before she wrote the last word from Apostle John, surely God would claim her as His own.
After lunch Calantha got the plate of dirt from its storage place in the corner. “It’s time for you to write instead of me. I think we can finish the cursive alphabet today.”
Leander rose from his chair and took three halting steps to where the crutch rested against the wall.
As she walked past him, she shot him a fake glare. “You should have let me get that for you.”
His reply was a sheepish smile.
She led him to the table and waited for him to sit before sliding onto the bench beside him.
It took half an hour to show him the remaining eight cursive letters and have him review all the letters she’d taught him before.
She rose. “I think that’s enough for today. It�
�s time for you to rest under the tree.”
He tipped his head to look up at her but made no move to rise. “I’m not tired. I’ve healed enough I don’t need the rest.”
“How you think you feel isn’t the point. It’s whether I think you need to rest, and I’m sure Marcella would agree with me.” One corner of her mouth turned up. “I’m not certain you’d tell me if you were tired, even if you were about to drop, because you don’t want your head in my lap.”
He opened his mouth as if to answer; then closed it into another sheepish smile.
She handed him the crutch. “Besides, I have some questions about what I wrote this morning, and sitting under the tree is our usual place for such conversations.”
He followed her to the carob tree and lowered himself beside her.
His head settled into her lap. “What are your questions?”
“You said the Word came from God, that he was God, and that he became the man Jesus. That Jesus is both the son of God and God himself. That confuses me.”
Leander drew a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I’ve wrestled with that, too, and I don’t have a good answer. I try to understand the things of God, and some of them I do. But I’m only a man. When I was a child, I didn’t understand many things my father said, even after he explained them.
“I don’t know how it works, but I do know what Lord Jesus said. Soon you’ll write down what I’m about to tell you. He said, “I and the Father are one,” and later He said He was in the Father and the Father was in Him. He told His disciples the night before His crucifixion that since they’d seen Him, they’d seen the Father. They should know that was true because they’d seen Him do the Father’s works. So somehow the two are different and yet the same.”
“I still don’t understand. What does it mean to be in each other?”
His eyebrows lowered. “I’m not sure, but Lord Jesus said something else I do understand. If I obey His commands, He’ll ask the Father to send the Spirit, and the Spirit will be in me.”
“I’ve seen how you obey his commands. Did he do what you just said?”
He looked past her, as if someone stood behind her. “Oh, yes. And sometimes I feel wrapped in a love so perfect, a peace so overpowering, that…well, I have no words to describe it. Gaius and Marcella have felt it, too.” The start of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Women are better with words than men. Maybe she could explain it.”
The glow on Leander’s face―she’d seen the same on the others when they sang on Solis. And sometimes she felt a presence when they prayed together in the evening.
She swept some hair off his forehead. “Maybe I’ll understand better after I hear more of what John wrote about Jesus. My questions can wait until then. Now, close your eyes and try to sleep a little. And when you awaken, you can recite more for me to write.”
He obeyed, and even though he’d told her he wasn’t tired, his breathing slowed as soon as his eyelids closed.
His eyes twitched; he was dreaming. His smile broadened, then relaxed. He looked peaceful, like her younger niece when she napped.
She rubbed her lower lip as her gaze rested on the distant hills. Overpowering peace and perfect love. Would the spirit of his God give the same to her?
Day 33
Leander finished writing the cursive alphabet, each letter in order, and set his stick down. He’d helped Gaius some before beginning to recite midmorning. Calantha wrote fast, so by lunch time, they were more than half way through the gospel of Apostle John. A good lunch, some practice at writing Latin, and now it was time for her questions.
It was also time to change where she asked them.
Mistress Calantha rose. “A few questions for my teacher, and then you can rest.” She handed him the crutch.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay at the table for your questions. Each day I’m less tired, and a man heals faster when he’s up and doing something worthwhile. I don’t need a nap.”
“Answering my questions isn’t worthwhile?”
His ears heated. “That’s not what I meant. Anything you want me to do is worthwhile.”
“Except resting in my lap.”
“That’s not something a―”
“Slave should do with his mistress. But you forget, while we’re here I’m Calantha, not mistress, and you’re the lion who protects me, not my slave.”
“Yes, but―”
She patted his arm. “It’s all right, Leander. I won’t make you do something you really dislike if you don’t need the rest.” Her eyes teased. “But I’m going to watch to make sure you don’t, and if I think you do, then you’ll do it without arguing.”
“Yes, Calantha.”
She moved from their shared bench to the empty one beside it. With her elbow on the table, she cradled her chin in her palm and focused on his eyes. “So, my first question is this.”
Before she could ask the question, a gust of wind ruffled his hair. And as he brushed it back, part of him wished the fingers touching his forehead were hers.
Chapter 50: Rough Waters
Ludus Bruti, Day 33
When Marcus rode through the stable gate of the Ludus Bruti, his jaw clenched. Rufus’s chestnut stood saddled beside Africanus’s bay. Marcus had sent his own over-tired stallion back to his mother’s estate and had a spare stallion of his father’s brought back for Aulus. But Brutus’s arrogant slave had presumed he’d be unable to supply his friend.
The stable slave bowed before taking Marcus’s reins. “Master Brutus awaits you in his office.”
With Aulus beside him, he walked down the hallway that led to Brutus. When they entered the office, Africanus sat at the desk opposite Brutus, playing tabula.
“You boys have come in good time.” Brutus leaned back in his chair. “You should reach Ostia early enough to have no problem booking passage for your trip up the coast.”
Marcus moved close to Africanus and stood looking down at him. The gladiator rose and took his appropriate place by the wall.
After Aulus dropped into one chair, Marcus took the one vacated by Africanus.
From a side drawer of the desk, Brutus took a purse and pitched it overhand to the gladiator. “Africanus will take you up the coast to Luna. I have some hope Callidus will have already signed a contract with the ludus there. It’s three and a quarter days one way by ship, so sailing early tomorrow should get you there mid-morning on Saturni. You should find Callidus at the ludus.”
“What do we do if he won’t tell us anything when we get there?” Aulus rubbed his neck.
Brutus tipped his head toward Africanus. “That’s why my best man is going with you.”
“When we find him, I’m sure he’ll tell us what he knows.” Marcus stood. “I’m ready to run our quarry to ground, and nothing will keep us from learning what we need.”
After sweeping the tabula game pieces into an ivory-inlaid box, Brutus rose. “If you don’t find Callidus in Luna, Africanus will buy some horses. Then you can work your way back to Roma, checking every ludus you pass.”
Aulus blew his breath out through pursed lips. “But what if we don’t find him?”
Brutus patted Aulus’s arm. “Don’t look for trouble before it finds you on its own. I think you’ll find him.”
He pointed at Africanus. “And I’m sending Africanus with you to make sure you do.”
As Africanus’s mouth curved into a smile, Marcus’s shifted toward a frown.
Brutus returned to his desk and opened the wax tablet from the top of a tall stack. “May Fortuna smile upon you and bring you back knowing where Julia is.”
Africanus straightened. “First stop, Ostia. Let’s go.”
He strode down the hallway ahead of Marcus and Aulus. When he reached the stable yard, he stopped six feet from Marcus’s spare stallion and crossed his arms.
Marcus’s jaw clenched as the gladiator appraised the horse. Then Africanus
ran his hand down the horse’s foreleg before slapping its shoulder.
“Only fifteen milia today. This one should be fine.” He turned to the stable slave. “Rufus’s horse can go back to his stall.”
Aulus gathered the reins, seized the mane, and jumped to swing his leg over the black stallion’s rump. “He belongs to Marcus’s father. I bought a young one with the same sire. Niger isn’t ready to ride yet, but when he is, I’ll bring him for you to see.”
One corner of Africanus’s mouth curved. “A good man deserves a good horse.”
He mounted. With a flick of his hand, he headed out the gate with Marcus and Aulus behind.
Ostia, port of Rome
After four days of riding more than thirty milia, the fifteen milia from Rome to Ostia seemed like nothing to Aulus.
As they entered the city along the Via Ostiensis, Africanus dropped back to ride beside him.
“We’ll leave the horses with Master Brutus’s wine agent. You can rest while I go to the docks to arrange passage tomorrow morning. We’ll spend the night at Galbius’s house.”
Marcus nudged his horse to ride on the other side of Aulus. “It’s only late morning. Can’t we find one leaving this afternoon?”
“The coastal ships unload cargo at several ports along the way. Many don’t sail at night. The ones that do leave early. With night sailing, we’ll be there midmorning of the fourth day.”
Africanus led them into a stable yard through an archway wide enough for large wagons. Teams of mules were harnessed to several wagons filled with brown amphorae. He tipped his head toward one with cream-colored amphorae. “Master Brutus’s private vintage from Liturnum. He mostly keeps it for himself and his close friends. He sells it only to a select few willing to pay his price. If your fathers are among them, you want to try it.” His eyes warmed. “It is extraordinary…a taste fit for Hadrian or the Roman gods, if you believe in them.”
Aulus turned to Marcus to find him frowning. “We can ask Gallio and Malleolus when we get back.” A wry smile pulled at the corner of Aulus’s mouth. “I’m not certain Gallio would give me a taste even if I begged right now, but your father’s steward probably will.”
