“I’ll help you both,” Primus said, offering a meaty forearm. Luke grasped it with both hands and dropped into the black cell.
“Luke!” he heard as Paul sat up, chain rattling.
Luke lit his lamp. “I’ve brought a surprise. Your cloak.”
“Don’t sport with me, Luke.”
The doctor joined Paul on the stone bench and pointed up at the hole. The old man squinted, then started as—Plop!—down came a large bag, then dangling feet.
“My friends have come?” Paul rasped.
“One has,” Luke said, as Timothy dropped into sight.
Paul stood and tried to approach the younger man, but the chain quickly reached its limit, and Luke leapt to keep Paul from falling.
“Timothy, my son! Come to me!”
They embraced and Paul pressed his face, tears streaming, into the taller man’s chest. “I knew you would come! I knew it! And Mark?”
“Maybe in another week,” Timothy said, his voice thick. “Wonderful! And you brought my things?”
“Only your cloak, Paul. Mark is hoping to bring everything else.”
Paul pulled back and looked both Timothy and Luke in the eyes. “The parchments—.”
“We know,” Timothy said, digging out the cloak and wrapping it around the old man. Paul hummed with pleasure as he found his way back to the bench. Luke was stunned anew at how much weight Paul had lost.
“Timothy, son,” Paul said, “come sit with me. Tell me everything of the brethren.”
9
Sofia
TEXAS
WEDNESDAY, MAY 7, 7:00 P.M.
Augie found himself nervous calling his beloved. Though they were engaged, the diamond was on layaway. He hoped to give it to her in Athens late in the summer at the most romantic place he could find. Neither wanted a long engagement. He hoped they could be married during his fall break, then he would bring her to live with him in Texas.
She answered immediately, her fluent English beautifully laden with the consonant-rich Greek accent.
“Oh, Augie,” she said, “I wish you were here. I’m so worried.”
“I’d ask you to meet me in Rome, but I don’t know what I’m getting into.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I won’t leave Europe without seeing you.”
“You’d better not.”
He loved the longing in her voice. But he had to bring her up to date on his father. She asked about how he and his mother were doing.
“Fine, just worried about leaving now, but there’s nothing I can do here.”
“I need to get your new number to Roger, and your ETA.”
He recited it and told her he should arrive in Rome by eight Saturday morning.
“I don’t like living apart, Sof.”
“I don’t either. And I’d love to talk with you all night. But let me get back to Roger and let’s talk tomorrow. Give Marie my love.”
Augie felt light-headed as he made his way back down the hall. He’d never known anyone like Sofia, never loved anyone this way. After so many years of texting each other, the day had finally come when she joined another of his tours. She had tried to make that a surprise. But after replacing his father as the tour leader, Augie made it a practice to know the name of everyone in the group.
He was taking just over sixty tourists into Egypt and Jordan, ending at the famed red-rock city of Petra. He had seen her name and those of her parents on the manifest and found himself strangely excited about seeing her again after six years. He was thirty-six and she twenty-eight.
The tour group met in Cairo, and after a few days in Egypt flew to Amman. Her parents had greeted him with appropriate enthusiasm, her mother adding, “And you remember our daughter.”
Augie reached to shake her hand. “Yes, your name again?”
Sofia had punched him. “Helen of Troy,” she said. “How are you, cyber pen pal?”
“You failed your assignment, Dr. Knox,” Mr. Trikoupis said, smiling.
“You were to get Sofia to see the light and join my business. But she’s happy, and that’s all I care about.”
Augie and Sofia had sat with each other at a meal here and there, and he noticed her rapt attention when Roger answered a question from one of the tourists.
“Impressive, isn’t he?” Augie said.
“Fascinating,” Sofia said. And when she smiled Augie melted inside. What a wonderful person she seemed to be, and so magnetic.
“These trips are all about emotion,” Roger told Augie for the umpteenth time. “Move the people, inspire them, give them memories, and always save the best till last.”
On this trip, that meant Petra.
On the final day, Augie found a heavy-eyed Sofia in the seat behind her parents near the back of the bus. Mr. and Mrs. Trikoupis appeared to be napping, so he slid in next to Sofia.
“Wait till you see Petra,” he said. “Roger knows this place like the back of his hand.”
“He knows every place like that,” Sofia said, and Augie noticed their bare arms touching, yet neither pulled away.
“I probably won’t see you till dinner tonight,” he said, “but I hope you come to love Petra as much as I do.”
“I’ll save you a seat and let you know.”
Petra had the desired effect on the entire group, which Roger insisted was due to its beauty alone. “This is one place where the guide is mostly in the way,” he told them as they gathered at the eastern entrance to the long, narrow gorge that eventually spills into the city carved in stone. He quickly outlined the history of the place a famous poet once called “a rose-red city half as old as time.” Inside, Roger told them, they would see the treasury, the monastery, a Byzantine church, a temple, rock-cut tombs, a street of facades, and dozens of other breathtaking works of architecture, all cut directly out of the rock.
“You can climb all the way up to what they called the high place,” he said, “but I recommend that for only the most fit. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Before they all split up to explore, Augie chose to tell the story of his own spiritual journey, recounting how he had gone from an angry teenager to a man who had come to love the Land of the Book, the Book, and the Author of the Book.
Roger went over his heat- and sun-avoiding tips, pulling a gadget from his pocket that told him the temperature was already well over 110 degrees. “Dangerous,” he said. “Hydrate. Take frequent breaks. And enjoy.”
Augie caught sight of Sofia here and there throughout the day. Once, when she was shopping at a trinket stall, she said, “I want to climb to the high place and see the altar.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Augie said. “You’re in shape, but this is as hot as I’ve ever seen it here.”
“I won’t forgive myself if I don’t do that. When would I ever come back here?”
“Tell you what,” Augie said. “Promise you won’t do it this afternoon and I’ll personally climb it with you later.”
“Seriously? When? After this it’s the pool, dinner, and bed.”
“Not for you and me,” Augie said.
She seemed to study him. “All right,” she said slowly. “Let’s see if you’re a man of your word.”
Back at the hotel Augie wanted just one dip in the pool before dinner. As he climbed out he was surprised to see Sofia stretched out on a chaise lounge. He knew she was trim and in shape, but he had not expected the spectacular body he found shaded by a huge umbrella. It was all he could do to keep his eyes on her face.
“Remember your promise,” she said.
10
The Message
FIRST-CENTURY ROME
Luke was impressed that Paul was so warmed by Timothy’s visit that he ignored the bread and cheese Luke put into his lap. While the old friends reminisced about their experiences on Paul’s missionary journeys, Luke busied himself pawing through the bag Timothy had brought, sorting trinkets and gifts and a scarf. It pleased him to hear Paul and Timothy laugh, recounting thei
r years of adventures. Luke found himself cheered by Paul’s enthusiasm. “You act as if you haven’t seen each other for ages! It’s been only a few months.”
“It seems like years,” Timothy said.
“It does,” Paul said. “Now, the work at Ephesus ….”
Timothy brought him up to date, asked advice on conflicts, thanked him for his letter—”which, with your permission, I would like to copy for several of the other pastors”—and said it was a gift he would always treasure.
Paul seemed to puzzle over the suggestion. “I suppose it’s all right. But it was intended for only you. I’ll trust your judgment.”
Eventually Timothy got to the question Luke knew was coming. “What is so crucial to you in your parchments?”
“I do pray Mark finds them and can bring them,” Paul said. “When might we expect him?”
“A week or so. Unfortunately, I must be in Corinth when he’s here.”
“But he knows where to look.”
“If they’re there, he’ll bring them. You know he still feels bad about the falling out between you two.”
“Oh, please, no! We have been over that and over that! It was so long ago. And he has since proved himself so many times.”
“But he feels he was wrong.”
“He was wrong! But that is not the point. No one has been wrong as many times as I, yet the Lord is patient and forgiving. How can I be otherwise?”
Timothy chuckled. “You weren’t patient at the time.”
“That was not the time for patience. He had to face his error. But we must not revisit painful pasts. I have never held it to his account.”
“So, the parchments ….”
“Merely personal things, Timothy. Forgive me.”
Timothy leaned close. “You know that makes me only more curious.”
Paul threw an arm around him. “I know, beloved. But listen, my fate is sealed. The brothers I have mentioned in my parchments must be allowed to choose for themselves whether they are willing to die for the cause of Christ. I dare not expose them to the Empire through my writings.”
Later, at the entrance to Flavia Sabina’s excuse for an inn, Timothy whispered, “You will be with him at the end, Luke?”
“How could I not?”
Timothy nodded. “His biggest fear is dying before—.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. As you might imagine, he has made that quite clear.”
Timothy grinned through his tears. “Perhaps looking forward to Mark’s visit will help.”
“No question. And your having been with him has likely been the best medicine.”
“I assured him all the churches are praying for him, but of course that prompted him to ask where the other brothers have been. He wanted to know, could not anyone else have found their way to him? ‘Only Luke, Onesiphorus, you, and soon Mark.’”
Luke saw Timothy off a few days before Mark was expected and found himself so eager to finally see Paul’s writings that he could barely sleep. The next time he visited his friend, he said, “Your writings won’t embarrass Mark, will they?”
“There’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about,” Paul said. “He had to see, to learn, to grow.”
“To repent.”
“Well, yes. And Timothy’s report that Mark still regrets it shows he fully learned his lesson. If you were so worried about his embarrassment, why did you mention our differences in your own account of the first days of the church?”
Luke’s writings, including his account of the Christ, based on extensive interviews—mostly with Peter—were being copied and starting to make the rounds of the churches. His recounting of the earliest acts of the apostles included a summary of Paul’s falling out with Barnabas—Mark’s cousin—over having Mark rejoin them in their efforts. Paul refused, and he and Barnabas parted company over it. Though they never ministered together again, Paul often spoke kindly of Barnabas. Luke’s account included Paul clarifying his objection to Mark, so no reader was unaware. If Paul’s own memoir shed more light on the subject, including how they reconciled, so much the better.
At long last a message arrived from Mark that he had reached Puteoli. “Greet Paul with my sincerest affection and all blessings in Christ, and assure him I will get his belongings to him. I pray you are both well and eagerly look forward to seeing you.”
Paul seemed barely able to contain himself. “My parchments! But you know what I most look forward to beyond those? Having Mark read to me his own record of Jesus. Like Matthew, he was there.”
“You have read it! We have delivered copies all over the world.”
“Yes, but to hear it from his own lips, and to be able to ask questions … How is Mark able to afford to get here?”
Luke told him of the gift from Onesiphorus, which made Paul immediately tear up. “Is there no end to the tenderness of that man’s heart? God bless him and his household!”
“I don’t know that he intended the money for such a purpose, but if you—.”
“Knowing him,” Paul said, “he would want me to use it in any way I see fit.”
“Mark will be eager to get out of that smelly port city. What is it about that place?”
Paul shook his head. “It makes even this place smell like a garden. Whether it’s all the wells or the mineral springs, I don’t know. Many have no choice, but how anyone would choose to live with all that sulfur ….”
Four days later Mark sent word to Luke that he had arrived at military stables a few miles outside Rome. Luke hired a carriage and, after embracing his old friend, explained why he had gone to the expense. “It’s too far to walk, and I’ll not be carrying you.”
“There’s a denarius in it if you do,” Mark said, his bag over his shoulder and a long walking stick in his other hand.
“I charge five denarii per mile for such service.”
“You’re a mean-spirited doctor.”
At Panthera’s home, Luke and Mark sat at the table as the guard’s wife busied herself at the oven. “I’m sorry there’s no room for a guest in your quarters,” she called out.
“There is if I sleep on the floor,” Luke said.
“Then he is most welcome, as is any guest you bring. I just want you both to be comfortable.”
Mark said, “I’m happy to pay for the inconvenience.”
“No!” she said, setting a hot pan of food between them. “We don’t charge.” She laughed. “If you want to stumble over each other, what is that to me?”
When it was time to leave for the prison, Mark immediately rose and began stuffing his bag.
“Take your time, friend,” Luke said. “And I can help carry some things.”
“You have enough with all the food,” Mark said.
When they finally reached Primus outside the prison gate, Luke made the introductions. Primus lit a small torch and led them into the building, Mark following with his walking stick.
“How has the prisoner been?” Luke said.
“Quieter than I ever recall. Lonely, I’m sure. I slipped him a lamp at the start of my watch the other evening, but someone confiscated it” “So he’s been in the dark the rest of the time.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Luke noticed Mark holding his nose as they passed the commoners’ cells. More bodies had been stacked, awaiting disposal. As they neared the end of the cell block, Luke was startled by Mark’s cry as he dropped heavily to the filthy floor.
Luke and Primus whirled, and as Luke bent to help Mark up, Primus handed him the torch and reached through the bars to retrieve Mark’s stick. A prisoner had thrust his hand out and snatched it. Now he was trying to keep it from Primus.
Luke had never seen the guard so furious. His face turned a deep red and his veins bulged in the flickering light as he reached deep into the cell. The other prisoners tripped over each other to avoid his massive arm. He spoke quietly but with such ferocity that Luke feared he would hurt someone.
“Make me unlock this cage and come in
there,” he said, “and you’ll not see midnight.”
The prisoner with the stick appeared gleeful, as if any attention was better than none. The others watched with what appeared fascination and fear, as if unable to believe their cohort had done something so rash.
The prisoner edged one end of the stick toward Primus’ hand, touched his fingers with it, and pulled it back again. Primus stood to his full height and began pawing at the keys on his belt.
“Here! Here!” the prisoner said, poking the stick out through the bars.
Primus wrenched it away so fast that it flew from his grip and clattered to the floor. He grabbed it and now wielded it like a club. Luke ducked and covered Mark as the guard swung it full force at the bars.
With a loud clang and crack, the whole cage seemed to move. The prisoners fell back as the wood splintered. “What did you want with a stick anyway, slave?” The prisoners filling the cell scrambled to the wall and squatted on their haunches, terror in their eyes.
“I’ll execute your sentence right now!” Primus hollered, keys in hand again.
“No!” Mark cried out. “Forgive him! He was just curious!”
Luke rose and whispered to Primus, “He’s not long for this world anyway, friend. Look at his eyes. It’s all right.”
The man’s eyes nearly glowed yellow. Whatever was killing him would not be remedied in here. “It’s your lucky day, scum!” Primus hissed.
The prisoner was on his knees now, hands clasped before him. “Thank you! Thank you!”
The guards surrounding the hole had emerged to see what was going on. Now they backed away from Primus, who still looked as if he wanted to take off someone’s head. “Now I’ve gone and damaged your stick, Mark. I’ll find you another.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mark said, peering into the hole. “I won’t need it down there anyway.”
“Mark!” came the weak scratchy voice from below. “Is that you?”
I, Saul Page 7
