Child of the King

by Debra Diaz

The woman nodded and preceded him down the corridors, her back very straight and her hips barely moving. By the time he had convinced her to tone down the festivities…either acrobats or jugglers but absolutely no dancers, light music…at least an hour had gone by. He decided blue was Rachel’s favorite color. He tried to think of what foods she liked, and Theodora wrote steadily in a little book of papyrus sheets. She was looking at him strangely when they finished, but she said only, “Thank you, sir,” and strode with self-assurance from the kitchen.

  He made his way again to the other side of the palace, nodded at the sentry, and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he waited a moment, then turned the brass knob and went inside.

  He could see at once that she wasn’t there. The curtains around the bed wafted in the breeze, and he also saw that she was not on the balcony. An alarm seemed to go off in his head.

  He walked swiftly back to the sentry. “Where is she?”

  The young man widened his eyes. “She must be in there, sir. I mean—sir.” He seemed confused as to Metellus’ authority.

  “Well, she isn’t. How long have you been on duty?”

  “Not long. I just relieved the other guard. He said no one had been around except for the Vestal Virgin.”

  Metellus speared him with a look. “The Vestal left immediately after her visit with the emperor—I saw her go out the front entrance.”

  “But—he saw her walking down the hall. He said she must have been visiting the young woman.”

  Metellus went back into the bedroom. He looked in the closet and saw the sea blue gown she had worn earlier that day. He strode swiftly to the balcony and looked over the balustrade, but could only see a portion of the streets in either direction, for the view was mostly of the Circus Maximus.

  He stood there, thinking. Where would she have gone? He turned and looked toward the table where he had seen the letter from her father; it, too, was gone.

  She was going to read it somewhere…a place that would hold meaning for her…He thought back over things they had talked about during the long journey, and remembered how, on the ship, she had asked him how Rome had changed in the last ten years. She had mentioned the house she had lived in, and wondered if it was still there, and if anyone lived in it. There had been something about the tone of her voice when she talked about it; there had been a look in her eyes…

  He would search the rest of the palace first, and ask if anyone had seen her, but he was practically certain where she had gone. At least, it was a place to start. And he knew exactly where it was. Before Caligula had called off the pursuit of the child Rachel, he had sent a company of men to search her house. Metellus had been one of them.

  * * * *

  The house was smaller than she remembered. Rachel could tell that it was deserted…the grass grew high, the windows stared blankly at her, there were no sounds of people. Behind it, the forest seemed wilder and taller and completely uninviting.

  She was both relieved and disappointed…she had wanted to be able to enter the house, but it struck such sadness in her heart, to see it this way. It was as though no one had ever lived here. Pushing the mantle back from her head, she climbed the steps of the portico. One of the door hinges had collapsed, causing the door to hang drunkenly. Slowly, her heart pounding, she pushed it open.

  The house had been stripped bare. She stood for a moment in the central hallway, and almost tiptoed forward. Everything was gone—the furnishings, the clothing and personal things, even the dishes from the kitchen. Cobwebs laden with dust hung gloomily from the ceiling, and every time she moved dust swirled in the air, making her cough. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the latticed windows, and there was a moldy, musty smell.

  Memories long and deeply buried rushed into her mind. Like ghosts, she saw her mother and father everywhere. There her mother had sat and taught the children of their church, there her father had taught the adults. Her mother in the kitchen, cooking…her father in the dining room, with scrolls spread out before him on the table. Numbly, Rachel walked to the doorway of her bedroom.

  She had been happy in this house.

  A sob caught at her throat, and she put her hand over her mouth. Suddenly she could bear it no longer; she rushed forward and went out the rear door of the house, and there was the well…there was the little stream with the rocks lining its bank. The rocks were smaller, too, somehow. The woods seemed closer to the house, and there were rustlings within it, and the sound of birds hopping in the leaves.

  Rachel pulled the smothering mantle from around her shoulders and spread it on the ground, next to one of the rocks by the stream. She sat down on it, cross-legged, pulling her gown up to her knees. Her hair fell around her like a cloak, and she brought it over one shoulder and, very deliberately, began plaiting it until it hung in a single thick braid. She tore a small piece from the mantle and tied it at the end of the braid. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable.

  Finally, carefully, she opened the leather case. A piece of parchment lay inside. She pulled it out. The ink was faded, but legible. Her father’s handwriting…she remembered it well. A vision came to her, of her father in prison…after he had given himself up to save her…even then, thinking only of her, not of himself.

  Rachel drew a deep, shuddering breath, and began to read.

  I write to you with a full heart from the prison, in which I am treated well, and expect tomorrow to meet the Lord, if he chooses not to spare me. I tell you this, Rachel, not to cause you sorrow, but to ask that you rejoice with me that I am privileged to give my life for him, and I hope that in my death I will bring glory to him.

  You are very young, my darling, and you have been given to endure a hard trial, but never doubt God’s wisdom. Never doubt his ability to bring good out of the evil that men do.

  Stand firm in your faith, always, and against temptation, and know that you are not alone. Because God lives in the realm of eternity, the prayers I now lift to him for you also live in eternity, and so they are before God even as you read this.

  Remember, Rachel, those things your mother and I have taught you. Expect to be persecuted for your belief. But also remember what Jesus said—“Blessed are those who are persecuted for my sake, for they shall see God.” He also said that we must do his work while it is still day, because the night is coming, when no one can work. I hope you will do this, until the day of his coming. Then, my darling, we will see you again!

  I know that you love God. I know that you love your mother and me, and that you miss us. Rachel, do you recall the passage from God’s word that you quoted a number of weeks ago? “Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and he will strengthen your heart.” Never forget these words. May God grant you his grace, mercy, and peace. Your loving father.

  She began to weep, silently at first, then she half turned and laid her arms upon the rock behind her. She put her head upon her crossed arms and began choking with great wracking sobs that tore upward from her belly to her throat, until she could hardly breathe.

  “Mother…Father,” she moaned, her head twisting from side to side. The soft cry seemed to go into the woods and fade away.

  How disappointed they would be in her! She had tried for so many years to harden her heart against the pain of their loss, that it really had hardened. She didn’t know if she could ever make it soft again—like a normal person…did she really want to, and have it shattered all over again? She had hardened her heart against God, too, and her parents would have been devastated to know such a thing.

  The last words her father had said to her played in her mind…“I’m very proud of you, Rachel.” But he didn’t know what she had done…

  Her body went limp, and she didn’t care if she ever left this place.

  * * * *

  Metellus broke into a run, as soon as the house came into view. A sense of urgency had fallen on him, as though Rachel might be in danger. The front door hung askew, and he rushed through it, his eyes going quickly over e
ach room, but she was not there. The back door was also open. He walked swiftly toward it, and stopped.

  For one awful moment he thought she had killed herself, for she was lying half over a rock, unmoving, her face turned away from him. But then, she slowly straightened and dipped her hands in the stream, letting the water run over her face. She seemed unaware of his presence, until he said quietly, “Rachel.”

  Startled, she leaped to her feet and turned toward him. He descended the few stone steps and stood looking at her ravaged face and swollen eyes.

  “How did you find me?” she asked, as if she didn’t really care.

  “Rachel,” he said again. He didn’t know what else to say. He saw a piece of parchment lying on the dark mantle spread beside the rock. So, she had read the letter.

  “I don’t know who I am, Tribune Metellus,” she said, in that same, uncaring voice. “Am I Rachel, or Diana? Christian, or pagan? Today, the Vestal Virgin tried to remind me of what I did. As if I needed reminding!”

  There was, then, a hint of life in her voice, though it was painful for him to hear it.

  “What?” he asked quietly. “What did you do?”

  She turned her back to him, gazing unseeingly over the little stream. He could barely hear her.

  “I made a vow before God. They said my parents would be killed if I didn’t. And, then, they were killed anyway.”

  “Why should they make you vow anything before your God?”

  “They thought I was making it to Vesta. But I had to say the words, so in my mind, I spoke to God, and not Vesta.”

  “What was the vow?”

  For a long moment she didn’t answer, and then she seemed to repeat words which had been branded into her brain. “I, Diana, before these my sisters, and His Majesty, also Pontifex Maximus, vow to remain a virgin…” She stopped, her voice fading away, and she said flatly, “Until I’m too old for it to matter.”

  Unexpectedly, he wanted to laugh, but he dared not. It was a ridiculous vow, something she should never have taken seriously. But she had carried this with her since childhood, and it could not lightly be thrown aside.

  “Pontifex Maximus—do you mean Caligula was present when you made this vow?”

  She shook her head. “It was really a rehearsal. But you don’t say words to God and not mean them! And worse than that, I said—that is I could never remember if I actually said this part, but I was supposed to pledge my love and devotion to Vesta, and consecrate myself to her.”

  “Rachel, you were only a child! What meaning could that have had for you?”

  “I knew what I was doing!” Her shoulders began to shake, and she put both hands over her face.

  “Darling,” he said, reaching out to touch her, but she turned on him fiercely.

  “Don’t call me that—my mother and father called me that!”

  He took her shoulders in his hands. “Darling…Diana!” he said impatiently. “I’ll call you anything it takes to get your attention! You were a mere child, speaking those words under duress. And you are still a child—you’ve never permitted yourself to grow up, to rid yourself of this false guilt that no child should have had to endure.”

  She lowered her head and shook it. “I said those things. I meant them, because I thought if I did, they wouldn’t kill my parents.”

  “They made you believe that. No God worth your worship would have accepted such a vow, given in those circumstances.”

  Rachel became very still, but did not lift her head.

  “You said you don’t know who you are,” Metellus went on, quietly. “Tell me, what do you believe, Rachel? About God.”

  Slowly, she pulled away from his hands, but she raised her eyes to his. Unnoticed by them, the sun had lowered until only a faint glow showed on the horizon.

  Her words were barely audible. “I believe that the Son of God came to earth as a man, and gave himself a sacrifice for the sins of man. That he rose from the dead, and ascended to stand at the right hand of God, and that soon he will return for those who believe in him.”

  “Then that,” Metellus said, “is who you are.”

  Again, she shook her head. “How can it be that simple?”

  “You have made it something insurmountable in your own mind. I don’t believe your God would ever accept such a vow.”

  “How can you talk about God, when you don’t believe in him?”

  “One thing I know…if you are to live again, you must let it go.”

  To live again. She did feel as if she’d only been pretending to be alive. She’d felt like a shell, whose inward parts had washed out with the tide. Until…until she had met Metellus.

  She moved away and bent down to retrieve the letter, sliding it carefully back into its casing. She lifted the mantle from the ground and shook it.

  “It’s dark,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “We’d better go back to the palace.”

  “Wait,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. “You will probably never come here again, or see this house. You should make peace with your parents, before you go.”

  She stopped. “How can I—if I haven’t made peace with God?”

  “Then do it now, before we go.”

  “I can’t with you here—and there isn’t time!”

  “You needn’t make a drama out of it,” Metellus said. “Why can’t you simply talk to him?”

  Looking back at him, Rachel’s gaze was caught by the rocks next to the stream, and in her mind’s eye she saw her father sitting there, holding her in his lap as she wept over what had happened to Daphne. How she longed to sit in God’s lap, and cry against his shoulder, and hear his words of understanding and comfort! But she couldn’t do that now—she didn’t know how to begin, what to say to him.

  “I can’t,” she said again. “Not now. But—thank you, Tribune Metellus.”

  He waited a moment, then took the mantle out of her hands and draped it over her shoulders. “The moon on that white gown will draw the attention of every man on the street,” he said lightly. “And I’m not inclined toward another fight in your defense.”

  His heart seemed to give a leap as she actually smiled at him. He started to lead her toward the lane, but she said, “Please, wait for me at the front.”

  She went inside the house, closing the door, and he walked to the front portico. In a moment she came through the front door, closing it gently behind her. Neither of them said anything, as they began to walk.

  CHAPTER X

  Rachel slept until almost noon the next morning, as if she’d been very, very tired and hadn’t known it. Some new, unfamiliar feeling touched her as she ate the light breakfast Alda brought, and she tried to define it to herself. It was—hope, she thought suddenly. Where once she had been hopeless, she now had hope. It was almost like being a small child again; there was mystery in life, and the anticipation of some adventure waiting to begin.

  She thought about Metellus. What would have become of her yesterday, if he hadn’t found her? It was as if God had sent him to her, and perhaps he had…God could use even people who didn’t believe in him. The fact that Metellus didn’t believe disturbed her greatly, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She was a poor witness for her own faith!

  Sounds of cheering and yelling drew her to the balcony, and she saw there were chariot races again today. She watched for a while, until the door opened and Theodora came in, walking straight toward her closet and rummaging through the gowns. She selected one and draped it over a chair, opened a cedar box, and withdrew several ribbons the same bright yellow color of the gown.

  “The banquet is being held in your honor, as the daughter of the emperor’s friend,” the woman said tonelessly. “Do not be late.”

  “When am I to be ready?”

  “The emperor will rest after the games. But he will want his supper before nightfall.”

  She left the room and Rachel paced nervously, sometimes stopping to watch the races, until Alda came to see that she was bathed and p
erfumed and properly gowned. She didn’t want to be the guest of honor! Who would be there, and what would be expected of her? Where was Metellus? She wanted him to take her away at once, back to Bethany! Never mind she’d told him she was going to ask for another escort—she hadn’t really meant it! She could not imagine anyone else in his place.

  Alda twined Rachel’s hair around hot curling tongs, expertly avoiding any singeing, and pinned it at the back of her head to fall in subtle, luxuriant curls to her shoulders. She wound the yellow ribbons throughout, and they stood out in contrast to the deep veins of gold in her hair.

  Again, the chosen gown was modest but flattering. Rachel felt strange in it, but what else was she to wear…her own clothes were certainly not suitable. But that shouldn’t matter; why should she care what anyone thought of her clothes? The remembrance of the light in Metellus’ eyes yesterday when he saw her in the sea blue gown decided her. She wouldn’t mind seeing that look again, and if that was vanity she couldn’t help it!

  Night had fallen by the time she was summoned. Again Theodora came for her, and again two guards followed them. They walked quickly down several passageways to a different wing of the palace, and Rachel was almost breathless with exertion and nervousness when they arrived at a huge, arched opening that led into a room filled with tables and cushioned chairs. Claudius no longer reclined while dining, due to his indigestion.

  Theodora and the guards disappeared. Rachel stood within the opening, and unwittingly became the object of everyone’s attention. There were twenty or more people in the room…there was Metellus, now clad in a tunic of dark crimson, edged in black. He moved toward her at once, and she couldn’t even enjoy the look of appreciation he gave her because everyone else was staring.

  “Rachel, I would like you to meet…” He began introducing her to senators and knights, and their wives, as well as to the wife of the emperor. Her name was Agrippina and she was a tall, blonde woman with sharp features and cold eyes. Her nostrils were so deeply flared she looked as though she were perpetually sneering. She also wore a yellow gown, but it made her complexion seem dull, although her cheeks were heavily rouged, and her hair had the appearance of straw. A youth stood next to her, who had rumpled dark hair and red bumps on his face, but no one introduced him and he looked mostly at the floor…when he was not looking at Rachel.