by Lynne Gentry
The old bishop shook his head. “I’ve had my time, my friend. The future is up to you.”
“Me? I can’t—”
“You can.” Caecilianus’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve taught you everything I know, but you, my dear Cyprian, have skills I cannot teach. An abiding strength and deep sense of purpose I do not possess. People will follow your leading. You are the future of the church, not I. Care for the believers with the same love you’ve given me.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not letting you do this.”
Caecilianus silenced his protest, then lifted Barek to his feet. He clamped a shaky hand on his son’s shoulder and presented him to Cyprian. “You are the only man I trust with my family.”
“If I’m the best you’ve got, then I’ve no choice but to keep you alive.”
56
LISBETH AWOKE IN TOTAL darkness, cold, naked, and certain she’d been beaten. A shroud of dank, musty air was all that covered the different aches of her ravished body. The putrid smells reminded her of the tunnels beneath the proconsul’s palace. Head throbbing, she raised her hand to her scalp and discovered a large goose egg. Who knew how long she’d been out?
Moaning drew her attention to her right, but she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, let alone tell who else was in pain. “Ruth?”
“Over here.” Ruth’s voice sounded weak and parched.
Lisbeth managed to roll to her hands and knees. Ignoring her fear of confined spaces, she blindly crawled across cool, damp stones, searching for her friend. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not dead yet.”
“Could have fooled me.” She found Ruth’s hand, and though it was cold, she’d never held anything that warmed her more. “I’m afraid I got us into a real mess this time, friend.” She clamped Ruth’s birdlike wrist for a quick pulse check. “What hurts?”
“Everything.” Emotion cracked Ruth’s voice. “Where’s my son?”
“Bringing the cavalry, I hope.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” The scuffling of boots sounded outside the door. “Shhh. We’ve got company.”
“Lisbeth, are you naked, too?”
“Yes.”
“God help us,” Ruth whispered.
The door flew open with a shudder, and a soldier bearing a torch entered their cell. “Up.”
The women were dragged through the tunnels. Water and filth squished between Lisbeth’s toes. When they arrived at some stairs, they were ordered to climb. Lisbeth went first, doing her best to keep from slipping, considering the slime on her feet. When she reached the top step, someone shoved her through an opening in the stone wall. Lisbeth stumbled over a thick carpet and landed face-first in an expansive room lined with soldiers’ boots, red patrician sandals, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Soldiers jerked her to her feet. Several men in purple togas turned to appraise the scuffle with scorn, but without a word of comment on her surprising entrance or her obvious state of undress. Lisbeth did her best to cover her naked body with her arms.
Seconds later, Ruth made the exact same entry. Lisbeth helped her up before the soldiers had an opportunity to manhandle her friend. The light streaming through the large windows gave Lisbeth her first good look at Ruth. Other than the hematoma where her head hit the cobblestones, Ruth had no other visible signs of injury. At least being unconscious had protected this fragile woman from the beating she’d taken.
Side by side, Lisbeth and Ruth did their best to cover each other as they digested the silent scene. Where were they? And what in the world was going to happen next? The raspy sound of an unseen throat clearing parted the sea of toga-clad men ogling them and exposed the one man Lisbeth had never wanted to see again.
“Aspasius.”
The proconsul sat behind a giant desk, drumming his fingers on the burled mahogany. A pleased sneer crossed his lips. “Well, I never expected the bodies of treason to be so … feminine.” He rose slowly, commanding the attention of every high-ranking politician in the room. One hand resting on the ledge of his belly, Aspasius swept around the desk and came to stand before Lisbeth and Ruth. “What a waste of such perfectly divine flesh.” He pulled a dagger from his belt. Sliding the blunt side across Lisbeth’s neck, he circled her slowly, reminiscent of the day he’d inspected her in the slave cell.
From behind, he leaned in and whispered in Lisbeth’s ear. “I may keep you to torture myself.” He slipped an arm about her neck and pressed the blade point to the fear pulsing through her throat. She could smell his last meal—a sickening combination of garlic and fermented grapes. “We have unfinished business, you and I. Remember?” He knew who she was. How? Who had told him?
“Let her go,” Ruth demanded.
Without releasing Lisbeth, the proconsul backhanded Ruth. “The wench of a Christian I can do without.”
Ruth stumbled but quickly regained her footing. She came at him with everything she had. “Let her go!” Two soldiers clamped on to Ruth’s arms and pulled her back kicking and screaming.
Raised voices outside the library’s closed door snapped Aspasius’s head in that direction. The door flew open, and the old bishop, dressed in a fine white cloak and toga, both edged in purple, stormed into the room.
“Caecilianus!” Ruth seemed relieved and terrified at the same time. She covered herself as best she could. “Go back.”
Fury shot from the old bishop’s eyes. He removed his cloak and tossed it to Ruth. “Release my wife and take me.”
“And me!” Cyprian marched into the room and took his place beside the bishop. Standing taller than anyone in the room, he commanded immediate attention in his election toga. He, too, sent his cloak hurtling in Lisbeth’s direction. She snatched it up and wrapped herself in its warmth and protection. The senators glanced at each other nervously, murmuring that this whole thing had gotten out of hand.
Lisbeth could understand why Caecilianus would give himself for his wife. They’d been married for years. They had a son. And most importantly, Caecilianus was a priest. History was full of men of God who sacrificed themselves for others. He was simply living up to those same expectations.
What she couldn’t comprehend was why Cyprian would offer himself for her. She knew he loved her, but they’d only been married a couple of weeks. As near as she could tell, she often drove him mad with her outspoken, hardheaded ways. Other than to patch him up after the boat explosion, she’d done nothing to earn this level of sacrifice.
Aspasius holstered his dagger. “Silence.”
“By what authority do you hold upstanding Roman citizens without trial?” Cyprian demanded, his eyes ringed in fire.
“Not that I have to explain myself to one not yet elected to our council, but so that there is no question as to my authority”—he paused and surveyed the room with a dare-to-challenge-me glare—“the emperor himself.”
“I want proof that Rome no longer grants its citizens a fair trial.” Cyprian’s voice rang above the murmurs.
“The illegal act of inciting citizens against the throne is punishable by death.” Controlled accusation laced Aspasius’s tone. “Christians will bring destruction upon us if they are not stopped.”
“Who said they were Christians?” Cyprian demanded.
Aspasius turned to Caecilianus. “Do you deny your treasonous faith? That you are, in fact, the leader of these troublemakers?”
“No,” the old bishop answered without hesitation.
“Soldiers started this, not us.” Lisbeth struggled to break loose of the two brutes cuffing her arms. “But you know that, don’t you?”
Aspasius eyed her carefully, as if he could see every naked inch of her beneath Cyprian’s cloak. “Since we have no witnesses, I will take your offer, Bishop. Your wife’s freedom in exchange for your life.” Something new rang in his voice. Something cold. Something even more evil. “Seize the old man and remove his head.”
The astonishing declaration scorched Lisbeth’s brain. What had sw
eet Caecilianus done to deserve death?
“No!” Ruth broke free of her guard and flung herself at the feet of Aspasius. “Take me.”
“Hush, my love.” Caecilianus stooped and drew her to his chest. He held her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Go to our boy.”
In the confusion of Ruth and Caecilianus being escorted from the room, Lisbeth stood spellbound, sucked into the vortex of an impossibly hard-to-believe moment.
The man who’d just given the execution order for the peace-loving patron of Rome returned to his desk. He smiled calmly, as if he’d ordered a tuna sandwich for lunch. “Now what to do with you, solicitor.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You housed the Christians; therefore you, too, are condemned for treason … unless”—Aspasius gave a nod, and soldiers seized Cyprian—“you can offer something in trade.”
“He has me.” Mama swept into the room, dressed in a stunning sea-green silk. “Take me.”
“No. Me!” Lisbeth screamed. “Take me.”
With a chuckle, Aspasius lifted the glass wine decanter on his desk and poured liquid the color of dark blood into a silver chalice. “My friend, it appears you have two women grousing for you. Such an unexpected and delightful entertainment. Perhaps it would profit me more to move this interchange to the arena.”
“By what right do you hold me?” Cyprian demanded in that commanding way of his.
“Letters given to me by the sacred emperor, letters that order every Roman to comply with our ceremonial worship practices.” Aspasius sloshed wine around in his mouth, then swallowed slowly. “Answer me this: did you know Christians lived in your home?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, do you bow to the god of the bishop or the gods of Rome?”
Dead silence weighted the air for an eternity. Cyprian and Aspasius locked in a death stare, neither of them willing to blink first. Lisbeth was too paralyzed to even take a breath. Little by little, the senators shook off their shock at the sentencing of Caecilianus, along with the challenge of what Aspasius had just put before their favorite solicitor. Quarreling among themselves started with a low rumble, then quickly escalated into a full-on debate of the merits of such unprecedented proceedings for the most highly respected barrister of Carthage.
“Quiet!” Aspasius ordered. “What is your answer, solicitor?”
Cyprian turned to Lisbeth, his eyes frantically searching hers. What did he want from her? Absolution for what she was certain he was about to do. She hated herself, but she couldn’t give it.
He squared his shoulders. “I am a Christian, sir. And the newly appointed bishop of the Lord’s church. A good that God knows cannot be altered.”
The senators gasped.
A pleased smile slid across Aspasius’s face. “Shall the record show that you persisted in your treason?”
Cyprian looked at her. “Lisbeth.”
With that one word, she knew. He had made the only choice he could. The love of her life would sacrifice his life for the lives of those scrappy little believers huddled in his house and scattered about the city. It was stupid, yet noble at the same time. And she couldn’t help but love him more.
A crippling ache cut her in half, and she screamed, “No!”
Cyprian turned a steely gaze back to Aspasius. “I know no other gods but the one and true God who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them. This God we Christians serve: to him we pray day and night, for ourselves and for all men, and for the safety of the emperors themselves.”
“You are then sentenced to the same fate as your old friend.”
“Let him go, and you can have me.” Lisbeth’s heart thundered against her chest. “You wanted me once.” She threw off the cloak. “Take what he robbed from you, and finish our business together.”
“Lisbeth, no!” Cyprian thrashed against his captors, ordering her to flee. But his efforts were useless.
She could not let the family she’d always wanted and was finally piecing together be destroyed. Keenly aware of the stench of her fear, she threw herself at the feet of Aspasius, offering herself in Cyprian’s place.
Recognition brought a roaring laugh from Aspasius. “The confessions of a slave girl. Oh, this is sweet.” Aspasius lifted her chin. “Yes, my beauty, we do have unfinished business.” Aspasius slapped her hard, and Lisbeth crumpled. “Still want the deal?”
Hot, metallic blood stung her tongue. “Yes.” She’d never wanted anything more.
Cyprian struggled to come to her. “No, Lisbeth. I can’t let you do this.”
“You have no choice.” Aspasius polished his ring on his tunic. “I keep her, and you go into exile.”
“Exile?” Lisbeth scrambled to her feet. “You sorry son of a—”
“Send him to Curubis.” Aspasius waved his hand, and soldiers started dragging Cyprian from the room. “One more thing, solicitor. Before I defile your wife”—he laughed as Cyprian lunged against the chains being slapped upon his wrists—“give me the names of the other Christians scuttling about my province.”
“By your own laws you have wisely forbidden informers, so I’m not able to reveal their names and betray them.” Cyprian lifted his chin in a final show of defiance.
“May your obstinate determination keep you alive on those lonely nights when all you have for comfort is knowing that I bed your wife.” Aspasius’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. He’d had enough. “Banish him.”
57
FELICISSIMUS GLANCED AROUND THE room to make sure no one was listening. “But I held up my end of the deal.”
“Not completely.” Aspasius twirled the end of his belt like a whip. “I want the names of every presbyter in my province.”
The slave trader wrung his hands. “Is littering the throne with martyrs a wise idea?”
Aspasius moved forward. “Who are you to question me?” He blew a cloud of sour breath over the weasel. At the first opportunity, he would part company with this one and see to it that he never caused him trouble again. “What I do with these traitors is my business.”
“And once you have them, then we’ll be even?”
Aspasius laughed. “We’re even when I say we’re even.”
58
EXCEPT FOR THE FEW times she’d prowled the secret tunnels, Lisbeth had never been inside an occupied palace, let alone lived in one. She and Papa had traipsed through plenty of ruins, allowing their imaginations to complete walls, add furniture, and fantasize about the lives of those who possessed such wealth. Childhood imaginings paled compared to the actual horrors she’d witnessed these past few days inside these ancient chamber halls.
Lisbeth’s sandals clicked against the cold granite tiles. Ironic that a brisk fall day so full of promise was also the day Cyprian would leave her hopeless. She pulled her wrap tightly against the chilly sense of abandonment that had once again found her after so many years. Curubis was forty miles away by ship. Mama had only been a water slide ride away. In truth, without a plan, both destinations were light-years out of her reach.
By the slant of the sun streaming through the shutters, she had little time. She intended to watch Cyprian’s ship sail from the harbor even if Aspasius followed through on his threat to kill her should she be caught anywhere near the balcony.
How had Aspasius known that she and Ruth would be in the marketplace? That their capture would bring Caecilianus and Cyprian running? And even more puzzling, how had he learned of their Christianity?
The sound of someone coming yanked Lisbeth from the questions that had plagued her since the day of Cyprian’s sentencing in the kangaroo court. She slipped behind a large pillar and waited for the man coming her way to pass. She held her breath, waited until he clattered down the hall, then peered around the column. She’d recognized that pompous strut anywhere. “Felicissimus?”
The startled slave trader halted and turned. “Lisbeth.” Sheepish embarrassment soon gave way to righteous indignation. “I see the red is fa
ding from your hair. Just as well, I suppose, since keeping your identity secret is no longer an issue.”
“You’re the traitor?”
“Not a traitor.” He patted his belly. “The rightful bishop of Carthage.” He whistled as he left the palace.
Waves of sadness battered Lisbeth’s stomach as she stepped onto the proconsul’s balcony. Felicissimus had betrayed Cyprian, and for what? Did he really believe Aspasius would allow the church to continue? Felicissimus would be the king of nothing, or he, too, would be dead. Even so, the truth of such deep deception would kill her husband. She wanted to strangle Felicissimus. But her desire to see her husband once more far outweighed her immediate need for vengeance. For now, she would do what she came for and trust God to deal with the traitor.
Trust God. Where was this God she’d grown to love? The thought played in Lisbeth’s mind as she scanned the multitudes gathered along the shoreline. Word of an official exile had brought the masses out in droves. If any of the onlookers had the measles, the close contact would speed the spread of the disease.
For once, she didn’t care.
An arm slipped around Lisbeth’s waist, and she jumped with a start. “Mama? What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t let you go through this alone.” She gave Lisbeth a little squeeze.
Lisbeth rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I love you, Mama.” The words rolled out from a place deep within her. They felt good in her mouth and tasted sweet on her tongue. Healing. Her mother had not left her on purpose, and neither had her husband. Both had given everything to spare her a painful future.
Suddenly someone in the crowd spotted the man they’d waited to see. The mob shifted. Cyprian, accompanied by his faithful deacon Pontius, strode through the people jostling to touch his snowy-white toga. One last in-your-face proclamation to the citizens of Carthage of just whom Aspasius was banishing that made Lisbeth smile.
