by John Hagee
“You may need it more,” Sergius said, refusing the weapon. “Go now.”
Plautius said nothing but kept working intently on the iron fetters.
Antony hated to leave the others behind, but Sergius was right. Rescuing Victor came first.
Replacing the dagger in his belt, Antony took the child from Sergius and said, “God be with you.” The benediction, which once would have sounded strange coming from the lawyer’s lips, felt almost natural as he spoke it. The brothers would need divine aid if Damian returned and found the baby gone while they were still trying to help the woman escape.
As he turned to leave, Antony heard Plautius grunt. “Loosen, in Jesus’ name,” the blacksmith ordered.
Later, Antony would wonder what had prompted Plautius to issue a command to an inanimate object, but at that moment the only thing that struck Antony was the sound of the iron chain as it suddenly snapped open.
“Got it!” Plautius shouted.
Sergius helped the woman up, Plautius dropped the rusty tools to the floor, and before Antony knew what was happening, all of them were scrambling through the door and running toward the horses.
When they made it outside, Antony quickly handed the baby to the nurse, lifted her onto his horse, then jumped on behind her. He made sure she had a firm hold on Victor, then he goaded the horse into a run.
Plautius and Sergius caught up with them and the animals galloped, three abreast, toward the heart of the city.
As the road started to climb, they allowed the horses to slow a bit, then they merged into a single file in order to pass some travelers who were partially blocking the road ahead. Antony cautiously watched the roadside as they neared the scene. Surely it couldn’t be Damian; he would be riding in the other direction. Besides, there were three travelers: two men were struggling to help a third man climb onto a horse.
As Antony and the others drew alongside, they heard the large man groan as the other two finally heaved him over the saddle.
Plautius, who was in the lead, suddenly reined in his mount. “Verus?” he asked.
Antony stopped, now close enough to get a good look at the travelers. It was indeed Verus who stood by the horse and rider, along with Marcellus. The horse was the one they’d seen tied at the edge of the thicket earlier; the rider, who was covered in dirt from head to toe, was unrecognizable. Yet there was something familiar about him . . .
“J-Jacob?” Antony finally stuttered. “Is that you?”
The man who was supposed to be dead grunted in acknowledgment, then slumped over the saddle.
12
PETER STOOD AND STRETCHED, then walked around the large desk he shared with Quintus and out onto the dock. He had been distracted ever since Antony and Rebecca had left the previous morning in pursuit of Jacob, who had followed Damian away from Ephesus. After their carriage departed, Peter had come to the harbor office as usual, but he had found it difficult to work.
This morning it was no easier. A small mountain of paperwork demanded his attention, but Peter couldn’t seem to concentrate. He alternated between worrying about his kidnapped nephew and stewing over his sister’s involvement. Why couldn’t Naomi have conceded gracefully and gone back to Rome? Why did she have to do something so diabolical?
And why, Peter wondered, did he have to suffer from the physical limitations of a deformed ankle? For a few minutes he watched the boats in the harbor and indulged the wish that he could have joined the others in the attempt to rescue Victor. I feel so useless sometimes, Peter thought.
After a while he reminded himself that there was something useful he could do, and that was to take care of business. With a reluctant sigh, Peter turned and limped back to the office. There was plenty to do, even though commercial shipping had ceased for the winter. Just two days ago, one of their ships, the Valeria, had made harbor with its final load. Its cargo, along with what remained in their warehouse, would be delivered over land. Quintus would oversee the inventory, while Peter’s primary job was to handle the year-end accounting. Judging from the preliminary figures, it appeared his father’s business had enjoyed another prosperous year—an accomplishment Peter took pride in, although the credit for their success, he acknowledged, was due primarily to Quintus’s careful stewardship.
An hour later Peter was still at the desk, matching shipping manifests with invoices and receipts, when Quintus interrupted him. “You have a visitor,” Quintus announced in his deep voice, his tone customarily serious. But when Peter looked up, he saw Quintus trying to stifle a smile.
The visitor was Helena’s youngest child. Peter was fond of the precocious eight-year-old and was glad to see her now. As she breezed into the room, Peter couldn’t help thinking that Priscilla was the exact image of her mother, a fast-moving blur of dark honey-colored curls, with the same hazel eyes and heart-shaped face as Helena. But the little girl had also inherited a quick, logical mind, and in that, Peter now realized, she resembled her oldest brother, Antony. There was another brother in between the two, but he’d left home several years earlier and Peter had never met him.
“Where’s your mother?” Peter asked. He looked around, expecting another flurry of activity to announce Helena’s arrival, but Quintus left and no one else appeared in the doorway.
“She’s at home,” Priscilla said matter-of-factly. “She got sick yesterday, and she was still too sick to get out of bed today.”
“You came all this way by yourself? Where’s . . .” Peter paused to think for a moment. “What’s her name? Your housekeeper.”
“Calpurnia’s daughter is having another baby, and Mama let her leave to help with the delivery.” Priscilla sounded slightly insulted as she added, “And it’s not all that far from our house to the harbor.”
“Who’s taking care of your mother while Calpurnia is gone?”
Priscilla looked puzzled. “I am. I always take care of her when she gets sick.”
“I’m glad you came to tell me,” Peter said. “I’ll send someone to look after Helena right away.”
“That’s not why I came,” she said. “It’s just that with Rebecca gone, and now with Mama sick, there’s no one to make their visits to the congregation. I’m worried some of the children will go hungry.”
“I’ll see about finding someone else to take care of the relief work for a while.” Peter stopped to think who might be available to help, then he started to wonder what was wrong with Helena. “Is your mother very ill?” he asked.
Priscilla paused before answering. “She seems worse this time, I think.”
“This time? Does she get sick often?” He could remember a few times Helena had missed attending church, but he didn’t know whether she had been ill or if family duties had kept her away.
The little girl nodded soberly. “Not often, but it happens sometimes. Especially when it’s cold.”
Peter started to ask what was wrong with Helena but then decided it would be impolite to ask.
“I think Mama’s working too hard,” Priscilla continued. “She’s been getting sick more often since she took over your mother’s work last year. But this is the first time she’s been in bed for more than one day.”
“Has she consulted a doctor?” Peter asked. Abraham had not set much store by doctors, but Elizabeth had taken Peter to see one when he was younger. To her dismay, there had been nothing the doctor could do for her crippled child. But perhaps a doctor could help Helena. If Marcellus had been there, Peter would have sent him to see her, but the medical officer had gone with the others to find Victor.
Priscilla’s curls bounced as she shook her head. “No, but she doesn’t need to. Mama says God will heal her. We prayed again this morning.”
Peter repressed a twinge of bitterness. At one time he had thought God would heal him too. The church regularly prayed for the sick, and Peter didn’t know why others had been healed yet he was still lame. To be honest, it bothered him, and Peter’s infirmity had led him to question God at one time. He had e
ven felt ashamed; some church members had implied Peter hadn’t been healed because he didn’t have enough faith. Eventually he had come to terms with his disability, but occasionally he still wondered if, for some reason, God didn’t love him very much.
“Peter, is it all right if I ask you for a favor? That’s really why I wanted to see you today.”
Priscilla’s question brought Peter back to the present and he guiltily thought for a moment that the youngster knew exactly what he had been thinking. That was preposterous, of course. The eight-year-old was not a mind reader, although Priscilla did often amaze people with her astute observations.
“Of course,” he said, suddenly intrigued by the notion that something besides getting help for her sick mother had prompted Priscilla to come see him.
“I want to use part of your warehouse,” she said.
“My warehouse? Whatever for?” He would have laughed, except Priscilla looked completely serious. The little girl sitting across the desk—a child whose feet didn’t even reach the floor—spoke as intently as if she were making an important business proposal.
“It would make Mama’s work easier,” she patiently explained.
Peter didn’t see the connection but he said, “Go on.”
“She and Rebecca spend a lot of time collecting things from other people to give to the poor, then they have to take it all to the families in need. So if we had a warehouse, all the church members could bring whatever they wanted to donate here, and you could store it. Then Mama and Rebecca wouldn’t have to make so many trips across town. Right now they have to work almost every day, and they’re still not able to get everything done.
“And not only that,” Priscilla continued, “but we could keep big things here.”
“Big things? Like . . .”
“Like furniture. You know the family in our church whose apartment burned down?”
Peter nodded. The fire had occurred a few days earlier, when one of the neighbor’s children had overturned a burning oil lamp. Half of the tenement had gone up in flames before the blaze was put out. If the building hadn’t been so close to the waterfront, the entire structure would probably have been lost.
“When they find another place to live,” Priscilla said, “they won’t have any furniture at all.”
Peter’s amusement at Priscilla’s proposal turned to amazement. “Using the warehouse is an excellent idea,” he said. “People always have a table or chair or bed they’re not using, and if they brought those items here, then we would have whatever the family needs for their new home, right in our warehouse.”
“And the other families that lived there too,” Priscilla said, beaming at his approval of her suggestion. “Even though they’re not believers, shouldn’t we try to help them?”
Out of the mouths of babes, Peter thought. He remembered something Helena had said once. She believed she’d been driven by prophetic inspiration when she had decided to name her only daughter after the woman who had been so influential in spreading Christianity across Italy, Greece, and Asia. Over forty years earlier, Priscilla and her husband, Aquila, had started the first church in Ephesus in their home, working with the apostle Paul and his pro-tégé, Timothy. A woman of considerable scholarly attainment, Priscilla had expounded Scripture to some of the notable leaders of the fledgling movement, including Apollos.
Peter didn’t know if this Priscilla would rise to the same prominence in the church, but she certainly had a wisdom beyond her years and a heart for ministry. No matter how mature she was for her age, however, an eight-year-old child had no business having sole responsibility for her mother. With Calpurnia gone, and not knowing when Antony would return, Peter decided to make it his business. He would move Helena and Priscilla to the villa for the time being.
“We’ll discuss your idea in detail later, but now you need to get back to your mother. How would you like to ride home in my litter?” All of their wagons were out making deliveries and Peter had sent the carriage with Antony and Rebecca, so the litter was the only means of transportation he could offer the sick woman at the moment.
Priscilla’s eyes lit up, then she quickly turned serious again. “That’s not necessary,” she said. “I don’t need it, but you can’t get around without it, Peter.”
“Neither can your mother right now, and I think it would be a good idea for the two of you to stay with us until your brother comes home. The litter can return to the harbor to fetch me after you and Helena are settled at the villa.”
When Helena woke the next morning, she wanted to cry from the pain but was too exhausted to make the effort. Her elbows and knees were red and swollen, and hot to the touch. Her shoulders and hips and feet ached unbearably. She hurt so much, she could not stand for anything to touch her; even the light pressure of the bedcovers seemed to sear her skin and seep into her bones.
The ride in the litter had been excruciating. Priscilla had piled cushions all around her, but being carried through the hills had jostled Helena’s aching joints until they burned like fire. Now her pain was worse, and she didn’t think she could move at all. With Priscilla’s help, however, she made it out of bed to use the chamber pot. Then she hobbled back to bed, stopping a moment to hold her hands over the charcoal brazier, hoping the heat would relieve the cramping and unbend her frozen fingers.
“I’ll go get you some breakfast,” Priscilla said when she had resettled her mother, lightly spreading only the sheet over her.
“I can’t eat,” Helena said.
Priscilla patted her mother’s hand. “It’s all right. I’ll feed you.”
“I meant, I’m not hungry.” She wasn’t hungry, although if she had been, Priscilla would have needed to feed her. Helena didn’t think she could lift a spoon to her mouth if she were starving.
“Maybe you will be in a little while. I’ll go to the kitchen and ask the cook to prepare something for you.”
When Priscilla left, Helena closed her eyes and tried to pray, but the pain made it too hard to concentrate on the words. This was the worst episode she had ever endured. The horrible pain and stiffness struck her from time to time, but it usually subsided after a day or two of bed rest.
Helena had overdone it the day Victor was kidnapped, going up and down the stairs all those times after walking completely across the city that afternoon. The next day she’d been unable to get out of bed. Two days later Helena had not improved, and she didn’t know when she would be able to get up and resume her normal activities. It was disheartening, but at least she didn’t have to worry about taking care of Priscilla now that Peter had moved them to the villa.
A few minutes later she had the opportunity to thank him personally when he knocked on the bedroom door. “I thought I’d come and check on you before I left for the harbor,” he said when she had called out that it was all right to come in.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I have everything I need, thanks to your help, Peter.”
“This room is tiny.” Peter frowned as he surveyed the small room in the servants’ quarters where Helena and Priscilla had spent the night. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in Jacob’s room?” he asked. “I can have someone carry you upstairs; it’s no trouble.”
“No, this is much more convenient, in case I need anything. Priscilla can watch out for me right here, and I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet, and back in my own home, soon.” The words were much more optimistic than she felt, but she told herself to trust God to raise her up quickly. He had always brought her through these sick spells before.
“Speaking of Priscilla, did she tell you about wanting to take over my warehouse? She has visionary ideas for it.” Peter grinned as he spoke. “I was quite impressed, and she won Quintus over to the idea at dinner last night.”
Helena listened as Peter began to outline the plans they had made to expand the relief efforts. “A small warehouse adjacent to ours is vacant,” he said, “and Quintus and I had already been thinking about expanding into
it. Last night we decided to go ahead and lease it, and we’ll use it for the ministry. We won’t really need any additional warehouse space for the shipping business until the spring, anyway. And I’m going to assign some of our dock workers to help with the project.”
Peter’s enthusiasm for the charitable work touched Helena. She was proud of her daughter’s initiative, relieved that she would have more help, and yet a little disappointed that the ministry seemed to be growing beyond her ability to oversee it.
She also felt left out. Helena was used to being right in the middle of things, and she hated being helpless like this. If only she could get out of bed and do something . . .
At the moment, however, she hurt too much to even think about it. Perhaps tomorrow would bring relief to her aching body.
“Before I go,” Peter said, “I have to tell you something else Priscilla said last night. I couldn’t help laughing.”
What has the child done now? Helena wondered, at once both curious and apprehensive. Priscilla could be far too outspoken around adults, and many people weren’t used to it.
“When Quintus first joined us for dinner,” Peter said, “he was even more reticent than usual. When he finally spoke up it was only to complain about something that had happened at the office. Priscilla let him finish, then she smiled sweetly and said, ‘Quintus, what you need is a wife. It would improve your disposition considerably.’”
Helena was embarrassed but not surprised by her daughter’s impertinence. “Please apologize to Quintus for me,” she told Peter. “Priscilla is too quick to speak her mind.”
“He wasn’t offended,” Peter said. “Quintus actually smiled and told Priscilla she needed to grow up very fast, before he got too old to marry her.
“‘I don’t think you can wait around that long,’ she told him. ‘You’d better look elsewhere.’”
Helena smiled as she pictured her daughter engaging the dour Quintus in a bit of verbal repartee. To be fair, she thought, Quintus wasn’t dour. He was serious-minded, and his long face sometimes gave the impression he was a stern man, but he was actually kind and considerate. She wondered why Quintus, who must be around forty, had never found a wife. He seemed to have been married to Abraham’s business all these years.
