by Angela Hunt
“Paul is doing well,” Luke said. He attempted to smile, but the last few days had drained him.
“Have some water and something to break your fast.” Priscilla hurried to dip water from a jug. “Then you can go upstairs and sleep.”
Luke took the cup she offered. He accepted a loaf and was about to climb the stairs when he heard a commotion at the gate. He looked at Priscilla, but she was already heading down to the courtyard.
Luke took a bite of the bread and moved to the balcony railing, curious about who would visit so early in the morning. He saw a man and woman standing at the entrance to the courtyard. The man had his arm around the woman and was earnestly speaking to Priscilla.
Priscilla glanced up at the balcony, took the young man’s hand in hers, and nodded. She pointed them to a shelter under a terebinth tree, then strode up the stairs.
“Friends of yours?” Luke asked as she hurried by.
She shook her head. “Runaway slaves. They are believers, and their master has threatened to beat them if they don’t renounce Christ. I will have to discuss this with Aquila.”
She went into their bedchamber while Luke thoughtfully chewed his breakfast.
The city of Rome was home to more slaves than citizens, a fact that made the free men anxious. Any slave foolish enough to kill his master would bring a death sentence on all slaves in the household, so few slaves attempted to rebel. But runaways were common, with slave hunters frequently hired to find and return an owner’s property.
He studied the couple in the courtyard. The man found water for the woman and was offering her a drink. Clearly they were a couple, though slaves could not legally marry. When the woman accepted the dipper, she lifted her arm, exposing a slight bulge at her belly.
Luke lifted a brow. Pregnant, most likely. No wonder they had run away. But while he understood their reasons, he could not say what Aquila should do. Harboring fugitive slaves was against Roman law, and Aquila would be severely punished if these two were found at his villa. On the other hand, being a Christian had become illegal, too, so what would it matter if he hid this couple?
He ran his hand through his hair, his concentration evaporating in a wave of fatigue. He would be more helpful to everyone after he’d had a few hours’ sleep.
After a morning nap, Luke came downstairs, intending to ask about the runaway slaves.
Priscilla must have read the question on his face. “Moria and Carmine,” she said, clearing a space on the bench at the table. She glanced at her husband. “Aquila says we might have to send them back.”
“You know the Roman law,” Aquila said. “But more than that, you know what Paul told Philemon.”
Priscilla shook her head. “This case is different. Philemon was a Christian, so he welcomed Onesimus back as a beloved brother, not as a slave. He would have freed him immediately.”
“Did he?” Aquila looked at Luke. “Will you ask Paul? What should we do with this couple—send them back to their master or keep them with us? Or perhaps you have an opinion of your own?”
Luke searched his thoughts and realized he had no ready answer. “I will ask Paul tonight.”
Priscilla and Aquila had greeted with enthusiasm Luke’s plan to write another book, yet Luke’s heart sank as he looked over the implements they had gathered for his use. Aquila had procured a set of fine brass pens, three stoppered bottles of ink, and several heavy rolls of papyrus. If, heaven forbid, Luke lost his grip on one of those rolls, the spindle might unfurl many feet of papyrus across the prison’s filthy floor, rendering it unusable.
He walked to the table where his hosts had happily displayed their contributions for the cause. “I am grateful for all you have done,” he said, giving the pair what he hoped was an appreciative smile, “but since I must slip in and out of the prison unobserved, it seems best that I carry very little in my bag.”
Disappointment colored Aquila’s face. “Is it . . . too much?”
“Perhaps.” Luke picked up one of the pens. “If I carried just one pen and one jar of ink, and sheets of papyrus instead of an entire roll—”
Priscilla pulled several cut sheets of papyrus from a woven basket. “I tried to consider every possibility,” she said, handing them to Luke. “I know these are quite large, but I’m sure Paul has a lot to say.”
Luke blew out a breath. “Remember how I must descend into Paul’s cell. I have to hold on to a rope while Eubulus lowers me. My hands are occupied.”
Priscilla did not hesitate. “Then you need a leather bag over your shoulder, like the saddlebags worn by a donkey or mule.” She nodded. “I will arrange everything, so do not worry. Tonight when you visit Paul, you will have all that you need.”
Luke caught Aquila’s eye as Priscilla rushed away. “She is a wonder.”
“Indeed she is,” Aquila said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched his wife descend the stairs. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“I was reared to be a Jew in all things,” Paul began, his gaze drifting toward some interior field of vision Luke could only imagine. “Circumcised on the eighth day, born into the nation of Israel and the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews. In regard to the Torah, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting Messiah’s community; as for Torah righteousness, found blameless.”
Luke nodded, urging Paul to continue. Though he already knew about Paul’s background, he also understood his friend’s penchant for thoroughness. This would be Paul’s last opportunity to tell his story, and he wanted to convey it completely.
Luke dipped his pen in the inkwell and held it above the papyrus he had spread on his knee. “Go on.”
Lying on his back, looking up at the column of dim light, Paul smiled. “I was born in Tarsus, where I attended a primary school taught by a righteous scribe. There I learned my letters backward and forward. There I studied Torah. When I was old enough I attended secondary school, where a rabbi taught us the oral Torah, the traditions of our fathers.” His eyes crinkled as he lifted his head to look at Luke. “I explain this because I know you Greeks did not have the same experiences in childhood.”
“I am almost jealous,” Luke replied, scratching notes on the papyrus. “While you were studying the Word of God, I was learning to read and to wrestle. My paidagōgos placed a great deal of emphasis on physical strength.”
“Yes, the stern slave that attends all well-bred Greek boys when they start school. I once tried to explain the Law as a paidagōgos, but my countrymen could not understand. They thought of the paidagōgos as the teacher, not a temporary nursemaid they should outgrow.” Paul shook his head. “At least I can rejoice that some of them realized the truth.”
Paul closed his eyes, and Luke waited, not sure if his friend was thinking or sleeping. Finally, he asked, “And after secondary school?”
“Ah.” Paul sighed. “My family moved to Jerusalem. I was happy about the move, while my sister hated leaving her friends. After we settled, my father apprenticed me to a tentmaker. His real purpose in moving the family to Jerusalem, though, was to allow me to study under the Sanhedrin. Even as a youth I was zealous for the Law and the traditions. My zeal attracted the attention of Gamaliel, one of the most esteemed rabbis, and he chose me to join his students. So when I was not learning how to construct tents, I was studying Torah.” A frown furrowed his brow. “Gamaliel emphasized the oral traditions over the Law. He said the oral traditions made the Torah Law easier to understand and safeguarded the Law.”
Luke lifted his pen. “You’ve lost me. Not having grown up with a religious education . . .”
Paul cast him a sympathetic glance. “The Torah says, ‘Remember Yom Shabbat, to keep it holy. You are to work six days, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Shabbat to Adonai your God. In it you shall not do any work—not you, nor your son, your daughter, your male servant, your female servant, your cattle, nor the outsider that is within your gates.’”
“Yes, I have read that in the Torah.”
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“Well, we Pharisees, who value the Law above all things, were not content with those words. What, exactly, was considered work? Could you walk around your house, or was that a violation of the Sabbath? Of course you had to move about in your home, so we defined how many steps you could take outside your home. If a man could take twenty steps before reaching his neighbor’s house, his movement would be limited to twenty steps on Shabbat. But what if he started walking and accidentally lost count? So we should not take more than ten steps. That way, if a man lost count and actually took thirteen, he would not transgress the Law, which allowed him twenty.”
A rueful smile crossed Paul’s face. “We took the words of God’s guidance in the Torah and fashioned them into cages in which we felt secure. For years we worried about tithing grains of salt and whether or not we could lie with our wives on Shabbat. So when Yeshua healed a man with a withered hand on the seventh day, the Pharisees immediately began to plot Christ’s murder.”
Luke paused in his writing. “It sounds . . . illogical when you put the matter into perspective.”
Paul chuffed. “They could not see the irony right in front of their eyes. They condemned Yeshua for healing on the Sabbath, but they saw nothing wrong with plotting his death on the same day.”
Paul stared into the darkness, an indefinable spark in his eyes. “One year I was at the Temple during the Passover feast. I was about twenty, filled with righteous zeal and self-importance, as I had been one of Gamaliel’s students for several years. Pilgrims filled the Temple courtyard, and I hated having to walk among them. I found myself resenting my own people because they disturbed my studies and created havoc in our ordinary routine.
“I was walking to one of the inner chambers when I noticed something unusual—an unbearded youth on the Temple steps. Ordinarily I would not have looked twice at a lad in such rough clothing. Clearly, he was one of those who had traveled from some obscure village to attend the festival. But this boy stood in the center of a group of priests and rabbis; they were conversing with him, and he answered their questions without hesitation. I could not hear his words, but I could tell he spoke with a confidence unusual for a grown man, let alone a youth. The priests listened, staring at each other as if they could not believe what they were hearing.
“While I watched, a man and woman pushed their way through the crowd, and from the worried looks on their faces, I realized they must be the youth’s parents. The father spoke firmly to the boy, and yet the lad did not flinch at the rebuke. He simply gestured to the building around him and smiled. The mother embraced the youth, wiped tears from her cheeks, and placed her hands on his shoulders. The priests did not try to stop them. Instead, they stood in silence as the boy and his parents left the Temple.”
Paul shifted his attention to Luke’s hand, which was busy writing down the words just uttered. “It was not until I read your first book, Luke, that I realized who the boy was. I had seen Yeshua as a child and did not realize whom I beheld that day . . . not that anyone else did, either. But He was confounding the experts and religious leaders with His knowledge even then.”
Luke lowered his pen and smiled. “His mother told me the story herself. She and Joseph were terrified when they discovered Jesus wasn’t with them on the journey back to Nazareth.”
“Some of those priests might have been terrified, too,” Paul said, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “If they had fully understood what they were witnessing, they would have behaved far differently when He confronted them later.”
Paul drank deeply of the water Luke gave him. The water from Aquila’s house tasted clean and sweet, nothing like the liquid the guards occasionally lowered in a rough wooden bucket. That water tasted of slime and dead things, and if the light had been bright enough to see clearly, Paul was certain he would see insects swimming in it.
He leaned against the wall and folded his hands, quietly rejoicing in unexpected blessings—the company of a friend, a new purpose, pure water. Even knowing the date of his death was a blessing, for it would bring an end to his pain. To everything, there was a season . . .
Luke, who had been making notes on his manuscript, abruptly lifted his head. “Aquila wanted me to ask you about something else.”
“Whatever it is,” Paul said, “the Lord will guide him.”
“He would still like your opinion. After all, there is wisdom in a multitude of counselors.”
“Ah. Did he ask you about this matter?”
Luke sighed. “Yes. And I said I would ask you.”
“I will not be with you much longer.”
“All the more reason to ask while you are with us.”
Paul nodded slowly. “What is his question?”
“Two slaves came to Aquila’s gate. They ran away from their master’s household because he threatened to beat them if they did not renounce Christ. And I suspect the woman is carrying a child. Should Aquila allow the couple to stay with the community, or should they be sent away?”
Paul closed his eyes. “Aquila may not agree with my answer.”
“He would still want to hear it.”
“Very well.” Paul leaned toward Luke. “The Lord has assigned a path to each of us. A man who was circumcised when he believed should remain circumcised. A man who was uncircumcised should remain uncircumcised. A slave who was called to believe is the Lord’s freedman, and the one who was called while free is Messiah’s slave. We were all bought with a price, so we are all slaves to Yeshua. Each one should remain in whatever situation he was called, unless the Lord provides a legitimate escape.”
Luke gave Paul an uncertain look. “So we should send this couple back.”
“How can they please their master by running away?” Paul spread his hands in frustration. “A slave who runs has stolen his master’s property. Slaves should obey their human masters with respect and reverence, with sincerity of heart, as they would obey the Messiah—not as people-pleasers but as slaves of Christ doing God’s will. They should perform their duties with a right attitude, serving their masters as they would serve the Lord. Whether we are slave or free, whatever good we do we will receive back from the Lord.”
“But their master wants them to renounce Christ!”
Paul closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Their master worries because they have become Christians, and he stands to lose his property if they are seized by the Praetorians. If this couple freely returns to their master, if they say they will not renounce Christ but will serve their master with the same zeal they serve the Lord, he may take them back without punishment. But even if he does beat them, how can a beating harm their souls? He will not kill them, for they are valuable, and a beating only hurts for a little while.”
“He would be beating a pregnant woman,” Luke added.
“Only a fool will beat a pregnant woman if he fears she could lose her child, because the child will be his property, too.” Paul paused, then let out a sigh. “We do not live in a perfect world, brother. We will face persecution and beatings, yet those things are nothing compared to the joy set before us. And who knows? Perhaps this couple’s righteous example will lead their master to Christ. One thing is certain—if they run away, they will make Christ into a stumbling block for that man.”
Luke tapped his pen against his knee. “I had not considered the state of the master’s soul.”
“Did Christ not die for the entire world?” Paul asked. “For the cruel master as well as for the innocent child? We cannot know what others will do, but we must be willing to lay down our lives for Christ just as He laid down His life for us.”
He leaned against the stone wall and watched as tiny particles of dust rose heavenward in the single column of light. “I am a free man, yet I am anything but free. I have made myself a slave to all so that I might win some for Christ. That is all that matters, Luke.”
As Paul slept, covered by a blanket from Aquila’s house, Luke squinted at his notes. Even though some of this material would have
to be cut, all of Paul’s stories were fascinating. Luke had never considered that Paul might have encountered Jesus at the Temple. The Temple’s three pilgrimage festivals—Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles—drew Jews from across the world several times a year. How many times had Paul and the religious leaders worshiped at the Temple and not realized they were in the presence of the Son of God?
He blinked when the light brightened. A torch appeared in the opening overhead, held by the guard Eubulus. “Physician?”
Luke thrust his head into the light. “I am here.”
“The prefect wants to see you.”
“He knows I am here?”
Eubulus snorted. “The prefect knows everything, eventually.”
The rope dropped.
Luke paused to take a deep breath and steady his quivering nerves. The prefect had learned of Luke’s trespass. He had also probably learned that Eubulus played a part in the situation. Luke could present the document from Arctos Peleus in his defense, which meant the esteemed senator might find himself awakened tonight by the Praetorian Guard.
Luke folded his notes carefully and slipped them into the saddlebags Priscilla had given him. After hiding his inkwell and pen in the chamber’s deepest shadows, he put the saddlebags on his shoulder and stepped into the loop at the end of the rope.
Five minutes later, he stood before the broad desk in the upper chamber. The prefect and his second-in-command, a stout-looking man called Severus, stood behind the desk. Their eyes probed Luke as if they had never before seen a Greek. Eubulus stood beside Luke, silent and as tense as a bowstring.
Mauritius cleared his throat. “You know, usually people want to escape this prison, not break into it.” He pointed to the leather bag hanging over Luke’s shoulder. “Eubulus tells me you are Paul’s physician.”
“I am.”
Mauritius transferred his attention to Eubulus. “You have friends with useful connections, Physician. Then again, I have always heard that Greeks make the best doctors, as they are clever.”
