Chasing the Lion

by Nancy Kimball

  “There’s the green eyes I remember.” She smiled and dabbed his brow with the damp cloth.

  “You tended—” A cough cut off a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

  “Shhh.” She set the cloth beside him and stroked his forehead. “The worst is past, but it is far from over.”

  “Where’s Torren?” he rasped.

  “In the city. Called away on some urgent matter and has yet to return.” A frown graced her full lips as she straightened. “That concerns me more than I want to admit.” She flinched, as if she hadn’t meant to speak her thought aloud. “Don’t tell him I said that.” She retrieved the cloth and wrung it into a bowl beside her. “I’ll have to mind what I say now that you’re coherent.”

  “How long?” he whispered.

  “Four days to purge you of the opium. You were in its grip much longer.”

  “What day is it?”

  “The twenty-ninth of Iulius.”

  Jonathan counted back, willing his mind to compute the numbers. “Seventeen days?”

  “Nineteen. Though with as much opium as that idiot medicus gave you, it might as well have been months.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. Nor do I wish to, though I’m certain he awaits an opportunity to cry to Torren somewhere.” A knock on the door, painfully loud, stole her gaze. “Come in.”

  A man entered, wearing a tunic but no armor, and carrying a bowl and pitcher. Caelina seemed to know him. “Set it there, and then have a slave bring me some blackberries and honeyed wine.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He departed, closing the door behind him.

  “Your servant?”

  “One of my bodyguards.” She rose from the stool and took up another bowl from the table beside her while casting him a sideways glance. “You bloodied the other’s nose the day before yesterday.”

  Did she jest, or he not remember?

  “Can you turn on your side for me?”

  Jonathan managed it with only a single wince and lay facing the wall. Caelina rubbed something on the wounds of his back. The coolness of the healing balm and the peculiar scent he breathed as Caelina worked, so different from Otho’s remedies, turned his heart in his chest. “You made Nessa’s paste?”

  “I found instructions on a scroll while looking for salt. It seemed promising, though I’ve never seen so intricate a combination before. I sent a servant to the city for the onion and aloe leaves. The scourge marks are nearly healed. The puncture on your shoulder and the gash on your thigh are taking their time. This paste quieted the fouling in them.”

  Jonathan lay there staring at the sand-colored plaster wall. Several times while drugged senseless, he’d been able to form a prayer begging God for help. He’d sent deliverance, this time through Caelina. In silent prayer he thanked God first. Then he turned his head to glance behind him as much as his neck would allow. “Thank you.”

  A long moment passed in silence as she continued to rub the paste over his back. “Don’t thank me. Forgive me for—” She breathed a long sigh. “For last time.”

  She could mean slapping him, trying to force him to lie, selling the truth afterward, or all three. It didn’t matter. Jonathan grinned, seeing Nessa’s round face in his mind. Seventy times seven. “I’d already forgiven you.”

  “How? I hadn’t asked yet.”

  Jonathan waited. The answer for that couldn’t be spoken toward the wall.

  She tugged his shoulder toward her. “I’m finished.”

  Lying back did not pain him as much as knowing that even hundreds of miles away, Nessa still cared for him through her paste. Father, protect her and Quintus. Guard her with warrior angels and a wall of fire Lord, and if it be Your will, please reunite us soon. Give me the words I need now to serve You.

  Caelina poured a cup of water and helped him drink most of it, though a good portion ended up on his bare chest because of the tremors passing through his hands. When he’d settled beneath his blanket and she on the stool again, he began.

  “I’d already forgiven you because forgiveness doesn’t depend upon a request or a confession of wrong. I have received it and must return it to those around me.” His voice grew stronger with every word. Thank you, God.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  He would have to show her the way Deborah had taught him as a boy—with a story. “Let me try to explain. There was a servant who owed his king ten thousand talents.”

  Her head dipped and her lips curled. “What kind of king trusts a slave with ten thousand talents?”

  “I don’t know but regardless, one day the king commanded the servant be sold along with everything he owned, even his wife and children, to pay the debt.”

  “Why had the king not done that before?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” God help him, was this a taste of what he’d put Nessa through all those years?

  She blanched at his tone, and he breathed deep to cover the sigh. “Apologies.”

  A rueful grin formed at the corner of her mouth. “I know. I’m always interrupting. Most men never seem to mind, at least not until after …” Her smile vanished and shame filled her eyes.

  All the more reason Jonathan needed to answer her well.

  Her mask of confidence returned as she stiffened. “What happened to your servant and his family?”

  “He prostrated himself before his master, begging more time and promising to pay the debt in full. The king was moved, and forgave the debt.”

  She opened her mouth, and then quickly reclosed it.

  Jonathan fought a grin and continued. “This same servant was owed a single denarius by a fellow servant. He sought the man out and demanded payment, and that servant too begged more time and promised to repay. But instead of forgiving this small debt, the man had his fellow servant thrown into prison. The king was told, and called for his servant, demanding to know why he did not forgive the debt as the king had forgiven him. Then the king delivered the wicked servant to be tortured, until all he owed was repaid.”

  She seemed to contemplate this, and Jonathan prayed while he waited, flexing his toes to try to stop the twitch in his foot beneath the wool blanket.

  “I understand your story, even if it’s absurd, but not what it has to do with you or me.”

  “Because I don’t want to be the wicked servant. I have been forgiven much, Caelina. Much more than I could ever repay.”

  “By Nessa?”

  “Her also. But I was speaking of God.”

  “Which god?”

  “There is only one God. The true God of all creation.”

  “What has this god forgiven you, Jonathan?”

  Murder. Pride. Rebellion. He was silent for a long moment. “Many things.”

  Her brow arched and her stare gained strength. “And Nessa?”

  He’d said Nessa’s name earlier, but the way Caelina asked, and stared at him now, implied she knew more. “How do you know of Nessa?”

  A knock interrupted and her servant entered with a wooden bowl and a large clay cup.

  Caelina took them and set them on the table beside them. “These are grapes.”

  “There are no more blackberries, my lady.”

  “Has Torren returned?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “You and Octavius may retire for the evening.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The man departed, but not before taking a long glance at Jonathan.

  Caelina returned to the stool beside him. “You should try to eat something.”

  Jonathan took the small cluster of grapes she handed him and worked one free of the stem and into his mouth. He crushed it between his teeth and the spray of juice tasted wonderful, but didn’t distract him fully from the unease of a moment ago. “How do you know of Nessa?”

  Her mouth tightened and she turned to reach for something among the bowls and towels cluttering the table near them. “I read this.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes as Jonathan
took the small roll of parchment in his hand. He uncurled the stiff papyrus, and even with the fine tremor in his hand could read the script. The name at the bottom quickened his pulse. Quintus Blasius.

  Jonathan,

  Germania is a rugged place, but Nessa and I have settled into army life quite well. She has befriended several of the local village families, and when her duties here allow, she spends time with the children. The legion does not advance, but the patrols are attacked on occasion, and we had a small skirmish with a large group of raiders three days ago. Many were wounded, but not a single soldier was lost. The general was pleased. I learned he would be sending dispatch to Rome and hope this message reaches you. Nessa has worked beside me without sleep or complaint for two days, so excuse both of us if this is difficult to read or I do not copy her words to you exactly. I will try, and hope you are well.

  Beloved, God renews my strength daily as we are parted. This is a beautiful place, and in the trees and mountains I see so clearly the work of our Creator. The children here bring me so much joy, and several of them have become followers of our God. I pray their faith grows stronger and spreads to others. I asked the Lord for a sign you are well, and the following morning a beautiful rainbow filled the sky. I will trust Him and His mighty right hand that in His time I shall see you again.

  She blushed so red here I could see it by the light of the lamp. She wants to say I love you but I have known her since she was ten years old, and she’s embarrassed to ask me to include it. She loves you, Jonathan. I hope you are able to earn your freedom and join us. Rome could use your sword.

  Quintus Blasius

  Jonathan read her words to him over a second and third time before allowing the scroll to reroll in his hand. He clutched it to his chest and stared at the ceiling as he thanked God for her safety and for the letter.

  “You must truly love her.”

  He turned toward Caelina with a twinge of guilt at having forgotten her presence. “I do.”

  She leaned toward him, resting her crossed arms on the edge of his bed. “Enough to wait for her?”

  “Enough to die for her.” He willed his eyes not to drop below her chin as her posture begged. “I almost did. Several times.”

  “How?”

  “My lanista before Torren threatened to kill her if I ever failed in the arena. The only reason I pledged my life as a gladiator was to protect hers.”

  She stared at him a long moment, searching his steady gaze. Abruptly she straightened, putting distance between them. “I would give anything to know that kind of devotion.” Her lower lip trembled and she looked away. “To have the love of a man so powerful he would give his life for mine.”

  She rose from the stool but before she could turn away, Jonathan reached for her arm. His touch stopped her and brought her gaze back to his. “You already do.”

  “Torren loves only his coin and you—” Her gaze turned hard and unflinching. “You love another woman. A slave no less.”

  Why did it matter to her that he loved Nessa unless… understanding flooded through him, and he released her arm. He’d been a fool not to see it before, and that only made him long to comfort her all the more. “Not the love of men, Caelina. Not Torren or me, but Jesus the Messiah. He loves you, and He did die for you.”

  “I do not know this man of whom you speak. And he does not know me.”

  “But He does know you, and you can know Him in return. Do you remember the story I told you about the servants?”

  “Yes.”

  “God is the king. We are born owing a debt we can’t pay on our own, that we increase the longer we live in darkness and embrace our own way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When God created the world, and the first man and woman, He set them in paradise, but they chose to believe a lie. They chose their own way over God’s, and God had to send them from His presence, because they were no longer holy. Every man and woman born since has carried that mistake that separated us from God, and will for all time.”

  Her pale brows furrowed as she frowned. “That hardly seems fair.”

  “Perhaps, but I have lived long enough, known enough of men and women, both good and bad, to know any one of us would make the same mistake they did. We still make it generations later, choosing our own way over God’s.”

  “What does it matter? Your God sent us away in the first place.”

  Her expression told him he’d only confused her. How could he help her understand the most important of truths when all she knew was coin and buying and selling? Including herself?

  And like manna from Heaven, there was the answer. “Your two bodyguards, you provide for them, do you not?”

  “Of course. They serve me.”

  “And they answer to you and you only?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if one day you discovered they’d stolen all your jewelry? Every last strand of pearls and all the gold and emeralds you possess.”

  “They’d never do such a thing. If they need anything, I give them coin for it.”

  “All the more reason you’d be angry. Maybe someone lied to them, and told them you’d been cheating them. Or maybe you didn’t know them as well as you thought. What would you do?”

  “I’d have them flogged and demand it back.”

  “What if they couldn’t give it back? What if they’d lost it all and hid from you?”

  She swallowed. “I’d send Torren after them, to demand they make it right.”

  Thank you, Lord. He studied her in the lamplight as he continued. “Say you did and they killed Torren because they didn’t want to hear him, even though they knew they were guilty. So you sent others, trusted servants or friends, and they beat and killed them too. What would you do then?”

  She shifted to lean her hip against his bed. “I don’t know.”

  “They could never make that right again, could they? Even if they brought you all the riches in the Empire, which they couldn’t, is there anything they could ever do to make that right again?”

  “No.”

  “And if they had children, and their children had children, would those childrens’ inheritance include that unpaid debt to you along with the lands or riches of their father?”

  “Yes.”

  “But even if your guards were found remorseful, if they returned what they’d stolen and begged your forgiveness, swearing to never betray you again, they’d still be deserving of death by then, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze darkened. “A slow, painful one.”

  Jonathan had been anything but Christ-like the last ten years of his life, but he prayed God would understand and grant him grace as he continued. “But what if I offered you my life in exchange for theirs? The highest priced gladiator in all of Rome, yours to send to fight, or to sell, whatever you wished, as long as you pardoned them in exchange.”

  She scowled and shifted again, this time to face him more fully. “You would pledge your life for two murderous, thieving guards as you did for Nessa?”

  “If I did, they would be foolish not to take such an exchange, wouldn’t they?”

  “As would I,” she added, her gaze turning pensive.

  “Do you understand now that all of us—Torren, me, you, even Nessa— that we were born the thieving guards? On our own we could never do enough to pay God back for what the first man and woman did in turning away, or what we add to that every time we ignore Him and choose our own way and worship gods of wood and stone—or coin—instead of the One true God that created us and everything our eyes can behold?”

  “Then what does your God want from us, if not coin, or bulls and goats like the others? Especially if He can never be appeased?”

  “He wants us to believe in Him, and in His son Jesus, who gave His life for ours. Only His life was still without fault before God, and only His sacrifice, trading His life for ours, restores us to God when we accept it and call on the name of Jesus as Lord.”

  “Thi
s Jesus you speak of, was He not the Nazarene executed in the Judean province of the empire two generations ago for inciting rebellion against Rome?”

  “Yes.” And here was the difficult part. “But He rose from the dead.”

  She pursed her lips for just a moment. “If you believe that, Jonathan, the opium has done more damage to you than I thought.”

  Her insult meant she’d at least heard him and considered his words enough to frame a reply. He stifled a grin as he formed a reply of his own. “Who was the first emperor?”

  “Augustus Caesar. Everyone knows that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “How do you know?”

  She frowned and stepped closer to him, then touched his forehead with her hand. He took hold of her wrist, tightening his grip through the tremors in his fingers. “Answer me. How do you know?”

  “Because.” She pulled free and took a small step back. “The historians wrote about it. He has statues and monuments that remain today, and the people still talk about all he did while he reigned.”

  “So from stories and writings handed down from the people who saw for themselves?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s exactly how I know of God, Caelina. And of His son, who did come to earth as a man, who performed many miracles before dying in our place and rising from the dead. He offers us life eternal with Him if we will but call on His name and follow Him. Repent and be baptized.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Jonathan swallowed, knowing he must tell her the rest, no matter how difficult. “Then when you die, you’ll spend eternity in a place of torment forever separated from God.”

  “I don’t believe in the afterlife.”

  “That won’t matter once you’re in it.”

  Her eyes widened, and she stood silent a long moment, staring at him. Jonathan prayed fervently she would understand and come to repentance. She opened her mouth to speak but then bit her lip and sighed. The questions were there in her eyes, but the sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention to the hall beyond the chamber. The wooden door flung open. Torren stomped in, a blood-soaked wrap high on his arm. More splattered his ripped and soiled tunic.