The momentary stopping of the bull gave Luke the opportunity he needed. Swinging the bloody battle-ax in both hands, knowing that the animal must be felled with one blow if he were to make full use of the momentary advantage which had been give him, Luke drove the blade with all his force into the bull’s skull between the horns, splitting the bony case. The animal crashed to the sand, and while the body still quivered in death, Luke worked desperately with the blade of the ax, slashing the ropes that bound Thecla.
Thecla had fainted, and with her body limp against the ropes, it was only a few seconds’ work to free her.
Dropping the ax, Luke lifted her in his arms. Already, however, the slaves had recovered their wits and with the guards, were converging upon him. Desperately Luke glanced around for something to hold them back, to give him time enough to escape through the corridors with Thecla.
Then his eye struck the lever that controlled the cages and, seizing it with one hand, he let his own weight and that of Thecla bear upon the lever. Hinges groaned as the barred gates of the cages were lifted, freeing the animals. Then the lions plunged from the cages, some to rush upon the body of Herod Agrippa, some to tear at the still quivering body of the bull, while the screams of the guards and slaves fleeing in terror filled the arena.
Luke wasted no time watching the effects of his quick thinking. With Thecla’s limp body across his shoulder he raced through the corridor toward where the death cart waited, the horse still tethered to a ring in the wall. Placing Thecla in the cart and covering her with his cloak, Luke quickly untied the reins and leaped upon the seat, urging animal and cart toward the Death Gate.
No one blocked their way as the cart rumbled from the amphitheater into the bright sunshine, for the gate was unguarded. In the street outside Luke slowed the cart to a more sedate pace so as not to attract attention. But he had little fear now, for the streets were almost deserted and the pandemonium back in the arena would keep the guards busy for a while trying to prevent a riot.
Thecla was already beginning to stir and warm color was returning to her cheeks. Luke had time now to feel a surge of elation, for with Herod dead and Thecla safely out of the hands of Geta and his soldiers, Cornelius could protect them and smuggle them out of the province, perhaps by means of a coastal vessel, as he had suggested. One thing only marred his happiness, the uncertainty about what had happened to Probus and Agabus.
They were almost to the house of Philip when Luke saw a chariot being driven furiously through the streets behind the cart. For a moment he feared it might be pursuing them, but when the vehicle came nearer he could distinguish the tall figure of Cornelius at the reins and beside him the familiar form of the apothecary. When the chariot pulled up beside the cart he saw the old prophet sitting on the floor with a bloody bandage wound about his head, apparently little the worse for his experience at the hands of Herod Agrippa. Death had cheated Herod in the end, for it had been his own body, not Thecla’s, which had been mangled by the lions in the arena.
XI
Paul, Barnabas, and Glaucus arrived from Jerusalem the next day, and there was much rejoicing at the house of Philip when they found that Thecla had been saved—miraculously, it seemed—from the horrible fate to which Herod had condemned her. The death of Herod forced the Roman authorities to assume the reins of government until the emperor could name a new king for the Jews, and with Cornelius in charge of the Roman guard at Caesarea, there was no longer any danger to the Christians. Paul immediately began to preach, and soon great crowds were following him to hear him speak of Jesus and the imminence of His return to earth.
Paul seemed to take the dramatic death of Herod Agrippa almost as a personal triumph, a sign from God that the new venture of carrying the teachings of Jesus to the Gentiles had divine approval. Luke did not object, but Paul’s bland assumption of credit to divine interference irked Probus, and during one of the evening discussions at the home of Philip the controversy flared into angry words. “Herod’s death was not a miracle, Paul,” Probus insisted. “It occurred from natural causes.”
“Mock not God’s work, Probus!” Paul snapped. “You might suffer the same fate as Agrippa.”
“Agrippa died from plethora,” Probus said wearily. “Luke warned him in Jerusalem that it might happen at any time.”
Barnabas, always a peacemaker between Paul and those who were antagonized by his positiveness, stepped into the breach. “Let us hear what Luke has to say about it,” he suggested.
“Herod was suffering from a severe plethora,” Luke said, “and I did warn him in Jerusalem that he might die suddenly at any time.”
“But you bled him and removed the danger,” Paul objected.
“Relief by bleeding is only temporary,” Probus countered promptly. “Thecla heard Luke tell Herod that, too.”
“Yes,” Thecla agreed. “Luke did warn Herod that the condition would return.”
“But why would Herod die at just that moment,” Paul demanded, “unless it was the hand of God which struck him down?” He turned to Luke. “Can you prove that Herod’s death was from a natural cause, Luke?”
“No,” Luke admitted. The question was unfair, of course, for such a thing could not be proved, but there was no use in prolonging the argument.
“Then I shall go on preaching that God struck Herod down for his sins,” Paul said. “Those who stand against Jesus will always fail.”
“You give in too much to Paul, Luke,” the apothecary complained when Paul had left the room with Barnabas. “First it was your bleeding that saved Apollonius at Tarsus, but you let Paul claim the credit. And now he is taking the death of Herod as a personal triumph. What right does Paul have to consider himself the personal representative of God on earth? You know that what he experienced on the road to Damascus was nothing but a hallucination.”
“I don’t think I understand, Luke,” Thecla said, frowning. “Didn’t Paul really see and hear Jesus on the road that day?”
“We have no way of knowing for certain, dear,” Luke explained. “As Probus says, people sometimes imagine things like that so vividly that for them it becomes a reality.”
“And the death of Herod? Do you really think it just happened?”
“You saw Herod’s face after he struck Agabus, Luke,” Probus said. “It was stark fear that killed him, or rather an attack of apoplexy brought on by fear for his own life when he thought Agabus was dead.”
“Herod did say he could not die as long as Agabus lived,” Thecla agreed thoughtfully. “But that means Paul could be wrong, that we all could be wrong, even about Jesus.” The agony of doubt was in her voice.
Luke took her hands in his. “You must not lose your faith, Thecla,” he said gently. “Probus and I see things differently from people like Paul. Sometimes I think God puts these doubts in our minds so that our convictions will be stronger when we have overcome them.”
“How would you explain what happened?” she asked.
“I have been thinking about this whole question of miracles,” Luke said. “And I am beginning to believe that God works more often through the hands and minds of men to accomplish His purposes than He does by direct intervention.”
“Just as He used you to save the scroll when Stephen was stoned?” Thecla suggested.
“Yes. And as He used Cornelius to effect Peter’s release from prison.”
“But Paul acts as if he had caused the death of Herod himself,” Probus said.
“Does it make any difference who gets the credit?” Luke asked gently. “The important thing is that we were able to save Thecla. And you were just as much responsible for that as I was.”
Probus threw up his hands. “You have one fault, Luke. You think too much of other people and not enough of yourself.”
“Thecla answered that for me in Jerusalem, Probus. She said that only by giving up concern for self and self-pride can the spirits
of men rise above the limits of their bodies to a higher plane of peace and happiness.”
“You can carry humility too far,” Probus grumbled. “But I will at least promise not to argue with Paul any more about it.”
“I knew you would,” Luke said warmly. “For all his faults, Paul is very important to the world because he has the gift of making men believe the things he believes in. And the way of Jesus can certainly never hurt mankind, no matter who teaches it.”
Since the threat of Herod no longer hung over the Christians in Jerusalem, Peter returned there immediately from Galilee. Mark came on to Caesarea, for he was very anxious to go with his uncle Barnabas and the others back to the new church at Antioch, where such great things were being accomplished.
They reached Antioch without event, and Luke took Thecla and Glaucus with him to the palace of Theophilus, where they were received warmly by the Roman jurist. Neither Thecla nor Mark had spent much time in Antioch before, and there was much for Luke to show them in his home city while they waited for the ship which would take Luke, Thecla, and Glaucus another step on their journey to Iconium.
As usual, Paul worked during the day at his trade of tentmaking and spent the evenings going from house to house, preaching to small groups. Against Luke’s advice he continued to drive himself mercilessly, so eager was he to tell the story of what had happened to him on the road to Damascus and the dramatic events in Jerusalem and Caesarea.
If Paul’s spirit was strong, however, his fever-weakened body was not. Two days before Luke was to sail Paul was carried to the house of Barnabas from one of his evening sermons in the grip of a terrible rigor and half unconscious. His teeth were chattering and his body was blue with cold in spite of the blankets and warm stones with which Luke immediately surrounded his body in the bed.
“Is it the old fever?” Barnabas asked anxiously.
“I think so,” Luke agreed. “But it may be several days before we can tell.”
The next day Paul was still seriously ill, and although Luke was fairly certain that he was merely suffering from a severe recurrence of his old fever, there was no way to be sure that something more serious had not occurred. Thecla herself raised the question which was troubling Luke that evening. “You cannot leave him, Luke,” she said, “if he is still this sick tomorrow.”
“Perhaps Thecla and Glaucus could delay sailing until Paul is better,” Barnabas suggested. “Then you could go with them, Luke.”
Luke shook his head. “The storms will be coming soon. This may be the last ship leaving for Perga in several months. Thecla and Glaucus will have to go on, regardless.”
Thecla put her hand on Luke’s arm. “We all know how important Paul is to the work of Christ, Luke, and you are the only physician whom everyone trusts.” Her voice broke. “I—I want us to be together as much as you do. But Christ’s work is more important even than our love. You must stay here and look after Paul.”
Luke somehow managed to smile, although his heart was heavy with the thought that it might be months before he saw Thecla again. “We are young, dear,” he agreed. “And I can always come on to Iconium by land when Paul is out of danger.”
But as he watched the carriage bear Thecla and Glaucus away to Seleucia and their ship, Luke could not help remembering the dream on the mountaintop that night when he had watched two figures walking happily down the road toward Bithynia, only to see the way crumble before them and Thecla’s body go plummeting down to the rocks below. Almost echoing this scene was the warning voice of Agabus, “The girl will bear you no sons, Luke of Antioch.”
Book Four: The Travelers
A vision appeared to Paul in the night. A man of Macedonia stood and pleaded with him, saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.”
(Acts 16:9)
I
Paul recovered slowly from the attack of fever which had come so near to ending his life upon his return from Jerusalem. The apostle was not a willing patient, and if Luke had not held a tight rein over him he would have overtaxed his strength again and again, as he had done on other occasions.
Some of the loneliness Luke felt for Thecla was alleviated by the strong bond of companionship which grew up between him and John Mark. They were more nearly of the same age than most of the others who were active in the church at Antioch, and both were intelligent, sincere, devoted to the teachings of Jesus, and eager to show others the Way. From Mark, Luke learned many things which had not been in the scroll. He heard again the story which Peter had told in Jerusalem, how he had denied Christ on that night of agony. And he heard, too, the story of the crucifixion of Jesus as witnessed by Peter and the others and how Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary, the mother of James, had found the tomb empty on the third day. Mark knew nothing of the present whereabouts of the women who had come to the tomb except that Mary was said to have returned to her home in Magdala at the time of the first persecution of the Christians in Jerusalem and the stoning of Stephen.
When Paul was finally strong enough to travel they decided, upon Luke’s advice, to go only a short distance on the first missionary journey. And since Barnabas had come from Cyprus, which lay some eighty miles off the coast of Syria, that large island was selected as their first goal. They were influenced in this decision by the fact that Luke’s old friend, Sergius Paulus, was now proconsul of Cyprus.
The trip was uneventful, and they came in time to the city of Paphos, where the headquarters of the Roman government for Cyprus was located. From the start Paul had been noticeably cool toward Mark. Nor was there any longer the close bond between Paul and Luke which had existed prior to the trip to Jerusalem and his betrothal to Thecla. Instead Paul seemed to have withdrawn into himself. Barnabas attributed it to his illness, but Luke was fairly certain that the change was closely related to his betrothal to Thecla and their plan to marry in Iconium.
Paphos was a flourishing city and an important center for the worship of the pagan goddess Aphrodite. Here, as in many other places in the empire, the Romans had found it expedient to work in close cooperation with the hierarchy of priests who controlled the temple and through the worship of the goddess exerted a strong influence upon the people. There were, however, many Jews in Paphos and several synagogues. And since a brother of Barnabas was influential in one of these, Paul first began to preach there. As usual, after preaching to the Jews he went out into the streets, and soon great crowds of Gentiles followed him everywhere, moved by this new faith and its promises of eternal life through belief in Jesus and the resurrection.
Soon after their arrival in Paphos, Luke and Probus went to the palace of the proconsul to pay their respects. Sergius welcomed them warmly and asked them about their mission to the island. “I remember your speaking of the Nazarene, Luke,” he said when they mentioned Jesus. “Tell me more of Him.”
“You should talk to Paul,” Luke said. “He is far more eloquent than I.”
“An intelligent man is moved more by simple truths than by eloquence,” Sergius reminded him. “Leave the orators to those who are guided by their emotions rather than by their minds.” Then his face grew more serious. “But be careful how you teach a new religion here in Paphos. Aphrodite is very strong, and the priests do not encourage other beliefs. Even Mithras has never gained a strong foothold on this island.”
A slave brought refreshment and they talked of other things, of the near disastrous expedition to the border of Bithynia and the miracle which had saved Apollonius in Tarsus. Presently there was a knock on the door of the audience chamber and a strange figure entered. The man was tall, his height accentuated startlingly by a high conical cap and a robe that fell to the floor around shoes pointed up at the ends in the manner of Persian magicians. Both robe and cap were ornamented with astrologer’s symbols and signs of the zodiac. These, plus a swarthy face, beaked nose, and pale blue eyes, gave the visitor an oddly macabre appearance.
“My astro
loger, Elymas,” Sergius introduced the newcomer. “This is Luke of Antioch, a physician, and Probus, an apothecary.”
Elymas bowed. “The stars control the health of men,” he said in deep tones. “So physicians, apothecaries, and astrologers have much in common.”
“Except that horoscopes never cured gout, and even magicians sometimes need the healing knife of the surgeon,” Probus reminded him.
The magician shrugged and turned to the proconsul. “Forgive me for interrupting, O noble Sergius. I must bring a matter of grave importance to your attention. Certain proselyte Jews arrived yesterday from Antioch and have been creating a disturbance by preaching an alien faith, the worship of one Christos.”
“Do you mean the sect of the Nazarene, Jesus?”
“It is the same,” Elymas admitted. “The leading Jews of the synagogues have requested me to ask that you refuse these people the right to speak here.”
Sergius lifted his eyebrows. “Rome guarantees freedom of speech to its subjects so long as they introduce no new religions and do not seek to overthrow the empire. It is my impression that Jesus advocated neither.”
“But one of these newcomers, a man named Paul, preaches that Jesus will return from the dead and reign as King of the Jews.”
Sergius turned to Luke. “Is Paul preaching such things?” he asked.
“The confusion is over the meaning of Jesus when He spoke of His kingdom,” Luke explained. “It is of the spirit and not of the body.”
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