I, Saul

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “And you’ll pay me immediately?”

  “Tomorrow.” Unlike you, my word is my bond. “But tonight, what do you have for my friend?”

  “No bread, but cheese.”

  “I need more.”

  “A handful of olives.”

  “Any fruit?”

  “A few grapes.”

  “And how will I get these?”

  “I shall bring them to you after my break. I’ll invent a reason to check on you and the prisoner.”

  Luke’s inclination was to thank Gaius, but he couldn’t muster the words.

  Inside he found Paul lying on the floor, the chain on his manacled ankle stretched to its length. “I’m just trying to get close to any hint of light, Luke. I can endure much, but not constant darkness. I don’t know how long I can carry on.”

  Luke promised to try to find a way to continue bringing his lamp. If they indeed covered the hole, perhaps he could then light it without the guards seeing. “And tonight I must wait to feed you until after the guards take their breaks.”

  “The one they call Gaius is not our friend, Luke.”

  “Have no fear. I have bought his favor.”

  Luke helped Paul to the stone bench. The older man said, “So, he will be guilty of the very thing he reported about Primus. Hypocrisy knows no bounds. I hate to see him prosper by my predicament.”

  “We both know he will not prosper in the end,” Luke said.

  “I will pray for him. Will you too, Luke?”

  “It won’t be easy.”

  “Was it easy for Jesus to pray for those who led Him to His death? He asked His Father to forgive them!”

  “May God grant me the same grace.”

  An hour later Gaius slipped nimbly down into the dungeon. “Approach, Doctor,” he whispered. “And speak quietly.” Luke reached for him in the darkness and accepted the food.

  “Do I also have to hold my tongue?” Paul said.

  “You should say nothing at all.”

  “Fearing what consequence? Can you mete out a punishment worse than execution?”

  “I could flog you, limit you to the gruel. Utter darkness will become your closest friend.”

  “I am able to endure all things for the sake of the gospel.”

  “I know, I know. Does saying that give you some sort of peace, make you feel better about yourself?”

  Paul spoke between bites. “I consider myself nothing compared to the matchless perfection of my Savior.”

  “I’ve heard this all before.”

  “Why may I not see your face?” Paul said.

  “You have seen me. I’ve been down here before.”

  “You’re the sandy-haired one, the one who never had anything good to say about your superior.”

  “Primus was not really my superior.”

  “No? He only outranked you and gave you orders.”

  “But where is he now? Even he had superiors. And they listened to me.”

  “I like to see the face of a man I’m speaking with. I need to ask you something, and I can’t do it in the dark.”

  Gaius sighed and moved back under the hole in the ceiling. “Hand me down a torch!”

  “We’re not allowed, Gaius! We were told—.”

  “Just do it! I will answer for it. I need to check conditions down here.”

  Luke and Paul covered their eyes until they grew accustomed to the light. Luke was stunned as the flame, so much larger than his lamp, illuminated Paul.

  The man had become a faded image of himself. His dark eyes seemed more piercing than ever, staring out from his bony, emaciated face. Luke wondered how long the manacle would be secure on such a skinny ankle.

  The physician was overwhelmed with memories of a young, vibrant Paul, traveling the world to visit the churches. He had never been a big man, but he had been muscled and wiry.

  “All right, here I am,” Gaius said. “What is it?”

  “I do remember you,” Paul said. “A handsome young man in the prime of life, lost in your trespasses and your sins.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Do not fight the truth, son. We’re all sinners. Isaiah said we had turned, every one, to his own way.”

  “Isaiah? You think I care what a Jew writes?”

  “What is your own way, Gaius? Do you believe in the gods?”

  “Of course!”

  “Worship them? Follow their commands? Oh, wait, they have no commands, no claims upon you. Do they care for you, forgive you, live for you? Would they die for you?”

  “Stop! You said you had a request of me, so get on with it.”

  “I want to prove to you that God loves you.”

  “Save your breath.”

  “Nothing can silence this message.”

  “Your execution will.”

  “Oh, no, there you’re wrong. This message will long outlive me. It is the story of forgiveness, redemption, salvation. I am merely a mouthpiece. The movement has begun and will never die, because it is all about One who conquered death.”

  “No one can conquer death.”

  “One already has. Surely you want to hear more about Him.”

  “I do not! I’m leaving.”

  “But my request ….”

  “Last chance. What is it?”

  “Promise to attend my execution.”

  “By the gods, I wouldn’t miss it!”

  “I don’t put any stock in their word, but if you tell me you will be there, that is good enough for me.”

  “I’ll be the one cheering the loudest.”

  “As long as you also listen.”

  29

  A Billion Euros

  PRESENT-DAY ROME

  SUNDAY, MAY 11, 3:45 P.M.

  “Sofia and I are going to look for Roger,” Augie said.

  “Suit yourself,” Dimos Fokinos said. “I’ll get my equipment from the car and start examining the parchments.”

  “I will have nothing for you until we find the manuscripts.”

  “But what about the one—? Listen, we—you’ve got to find this thing before the Art Squad does. Once they have it, you lose access. No looking at it. No studying it. No credit for uncovering it. No money.”

  “There’s no money in this, regardless,” Augie said. “Whoever finds it has to turn it over to the Art Squad.”

  Fokinos slowly closed and opened his eyes. “Are you seriously that naïve? We’ve—you’ve got to milk this thing for all it’s worth. Parcel it out, make them pay for the privilege of seeing it a little bit at a time.”

  “Put a ransom on it? We’d wind up in prison for the rest of our lives.”

  “They’re setting your friend up for that already! So use the parchments as bargaining chips. Trade information for immunity. This is the perfect antiquity to engender one huge reward. The last thing you want to do is to just give it up.”

  “Provided it is what we hope it is.”

  “I can determine that for you.”

  “Why would I show it to someone who encourages me to commit a crime? What would your employer think?”

  Fokinos seemed to fight a smile, then sat and rested his elbows on his knees. His tone grew earnest. “Listen, Dr. Knox. I don’t need to tell you the value of this find.”

  “That’s right, so spare me.”

  Fokinos held up a hand. “No, hear me. We’re not talking millions of euros.”

  “I know.”

  “Not even tens of millions.”

  “I’m aware. This is my field.”

  “Hundreds of millions, Augie—may I call you Augie? Maybe even a billion. I don’t mean to insult your intelligence, but you don’t seem to grasp the magnitude of the discovery.”

  “If you’d take a breath, I’ll tell you what I grasp.”

  “Please do, I beg of you.”

  “You’re implying that the dollar value supersedes ethics, even laws.”

  “I’m not implying it, Augie. I’m saying it outright. You’re not going to hurt an
yone or even defraud anyone. At worst you’re going to break a rule—an unfair rule that says antiquities found in this country belong to the government. Well, I prefer finders keepers.”

  “One word of this to my father,” Sofia said, “and you’ll be back to your old job.”

  Dimos spread his arms on the back of the couch. “So shortsighted.”

  “I know my father.”

  Fokinos snorted. “Actually you don’t. Do you really think he and I have not already had this conversation? Are you not aware that he and I have friends in the Art Squad and every other such agency around the world? That we protect ourselves by also knowing everyone on the black market, from the diggers to the middlemen to the financiers?”

  “My dad is the most ethical purveyor of antiq—.”

  “How do you think he maintains that reputation, Sofia? By keeping his friends close and his enemies—.”

  “Closer, yes,” she said, “I know the adage. But you have him all wrong.”

  “Would you bet Roger Michaels’s life on it? I’m here on a mission. While you and Augie—.”

  “He may be all right with you calling him Augie,” Sofia said, “but I prefer you address him correctly.”

  “Fair enough. While you and Dr. Knox pretend you are trying to keep your friend alive long enough to find out where he stashed the manuscripts—as if you don’t have them in hand already—I will be cultivating every contact I can find so we can maximize our profits once the goods are in hand.”

  Augie narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  Fokinos smiled. “You have no idea. I start with the Art Squad, placing my services at their disposal on behalf of my employer, who, with his compliments and best wishes, lends me and my expertise to help evaluate and protect the single most valuable artifact ever to surface.”

  Augie shook his head. “And with his gratitude and blessing, you gain access to anyone you need in Italy.”

  “You’re catching on.”

  Augie’s phone buzzed. He peeked at the readout and stood. “Roger!” he said. He went cold when there was no response, but couldn’t let on to Fokinos. “Yeah! We were worried about ya. Be right there.”

  “That’s a relief,” Sofia said. “Where is he?”

  “About twenty minutes north,” Augie said, inventing a location the opposite direction from Dimos’s and her hotel. He was desperate to keep Fokinos from mucking everything up. “And he’s hungry. Let’s all go and have a meal with him.”

  “Not smart,” Fokinos said. “Just get him back here and order room service.”

  “Come on. You need to meet him anyway.”

  “I’m staying as far away from him as I can. You want to risk it, feel free. I’ve got places to go.”

  “It’s Sunday,” Sofia said. “Come with us.”

  “The people I need to see don’t keep regular hours,” Fokinos said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  As soon as he was gone, Augie told Sofia his side of the conversation with Roger had been a sham, that the call and the silence meant trouble. “It was reckless of him to leave the hotel, but he’s a grown man. I can’t tell him what to do.”

  “Somebody needs to,” she said. “Augie, you need to know I said nothing to Dimos about our conversation about Roger’s soul.”

  “Or the first page of the manuscript, I hope.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You know what that means,” he said.

  “He must have seen our texts or overheard our calls. But your phone is secure, right?”

  “Guaranteed.”

  “Who would have even given him my number?”

  “I don’t want to think about it,” Augie said.

  “Oh, no. Dad wouldn’t.”

  “Who else?”

  “I’m calling him right now,” Sofia said.

  30

  Saul’s Decision

  FIRST-CENTURY ROME

  “He’s not here,” Primus’ wife whispered desperately when Luke arrived late that night. “He doesn’t want his mother or the children to know what has happened. He said he would meet you at midnight, and it’s almost that time.” She told him to wait in the back room of an inn not far away. “I hope you don’t mind meeting him there. They stay open late for men who enjoy their ale and mead. I know you are not one of those.”

  “No, but I know the place.”

  “Don’t let him stay out too late. Or drink too much.”

  Luke smiled. “Try not to worry. Your husband will survive this. Bless you.”

  Luke hurried through the streets, reminded that for the first time in weeks he felt he was actually making progress. His daily workload was becoming more manageable. The rebuilding of the city progressed slowly, but people were being gradually relocated. While they seemed grateful to have shelter again, many grumbled that the emperor himself had been behind the disaster. “It’s only fair he provide for me and my family,” one woman told him. “His fire put us on the streets.”

  As Luke made his way toward the inn, he wondered what the magnanimous Onesiphorus would think of how he was using the treasure the man had provided for Paul’s care. Luke assumed he would be in favor of whatever made Paul’s life better—even bribery.

  Luke slipped into the alley behind the inn and found the back door. The place was crowded with revelers, many already past their thresholds of strong drink. The proprietor handed a tray of decanters to a chubby woman and headed for Luke. “I didn’t expect to see you here after hours, Doctor,” he said, leading him to a small table near the bar. “I don’t imagine you’d care for mead or ale?”

  “No, thank you. Just meeting a friend. He might like something when he arrives.”

  The man leaned close. “I have some aged wine that few here can afford. I’d be honored to offer you a sample, with my compliments.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Luke said.

  “When your friend gets here, I’ll bring you each a cup.”

  Luke sat facing the door and waved tentatively when Primus entered. Someone broke into song, accompanied harshly by flute and lute and drums. People rose to dance with the servant girls. Primus appeared annoyed by the merriment. With his job in jeopardy and a family to support, Luke couldn’t blame him. The guard weaved through the revelers to Luke’s table.

  “Have you eaten?” Luke said.

  Primus nodded. “The children don’t notice the lack of meat, as long as they get their honey and bread.”

  The proprietor delivered the wine and refused Luke’s offer to pay. “I told you, my privilege.”

  Primus sipped. “It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted something like this. And I don’t expect to again soon.”

  Luke told him of his arrangement with Gaius.

  “You know you can’t trust him,” Primus said.

  “That is clear. However, I believe he will not testify against you. In fact, he may help you regain your post.”

  Primus looked dubious until Luke told him the man’s price.

  “You’d do that for me, Doctor?”

  “A hypocrite should never prevail.”

  “I’m no better. Until I got to know Paul, I thought nothing of accepting your gifts for ignoring what you were doing for him. I’m too much like Gaius to hate him.”

  Luke held his closed hand out to Primus and dropped several coins into his palm.

  “Oh, no, I can’t.”

  “You must. You can’t be expected to miss a week’s pay. Consider it a favor from Paul himself. A wealthy friend provided for him.”

  “If it weren’t for my family, I would refuse.”

  “I know you will use it wisely. Anyway, you deserve no less than Gaius. Paul will be pleased to know we have been able to help. When is your hearing?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  “We will be praying.”

  An hour later Luke sat in his room at Primus’ house. He was glad to have been able to help, but how it broke his heart to see both Paul a
nd Primus in such despair. It was a relief to lose himself again in Paul’s memoir.

  Father seemed to walk more slowly than ever as we trudged back to our lodging. “Those two headmasters wore me out,” he said. “Rabbi Enosh with his negativity, Rabban Gamaliel with his generosity.”

  We entered our chamber and sat on our cots.

  “We are strict Pharisees,” Father said. “That part of Shammai appeals to me”

  “Me too. But I also long to know more than the Law. I want to know God.”

  “If He is knowable,” Father said. “Be careful what you wish for. My fear for you studying at Shammai is that you might develop the same attitude as Rabbi Enosh.”

  “I didn’t notice it until we met Rabban Gamaliel. He is certainly compassionate.”

  “A man of character,” Father said. “I would never want to see you soften your view of the Law, but you could do worse than to develop a bearing like his.”

  “I would not come here just to have a good time,” I told my father, “but somehow I think studying under Gamaliel would be more pleasant.”

  “That should hardly be your priority. You must promise me that you will give yourself wholly to your studies for as long as you’re in Jerusalem. We are uprooting our whole family and moving far from our home just so you may get the best religious training.”

  I lay back on my pallet and intertwined my fingers behind my head. “Studying here is a gift I never imagined.”

  “You have been diligent. You have earned it.”

  “I want to study under Gamaliel,” I blurted, surprising even myself.

  Father turned and seemed to search my face. “Really? That would be your decision?”

  I nodded. “I know it’s not up to me, but yes.”

  “I don’t know what Rabbi Daniel will think, but I too lean toward Hillel. Naturally, you must tell me of any teaching contrary to orthodoxy. But I rather like the idea of your sitting at the feet of Gamaliel.”

  31

  Closing In

  PRESENT-DAY ROME

  SUNDAY, MAY 11, 4:10 P.M.