by Diaz, Debra
Simon followed them into the house, leaving the baggage inside the coach. He helped Alysia light the lamps; soon the wavering beams fell upon the polished wooden floors and stucco walls. The wide, main corridor opened into several rooms: two large bedchambers, a kitchen, a dining room. The furniture was plain but comfortable, the ceilings high; there were many latticed windows, over which the shutters now stood closed.
Alysia ushered Rachel into her room and told her to wash and put on her nightclothes. Then she went back into the wide hallway.
She whispered, “Oh, Simon, every time something like this happens, I never know if I will see him again.”
“It all depends on the guard,” Simon replied in a low voice. “He thought he recognized Paulus, but he can’t be sure, after such a long time. He may be wondering whether to put out an alarm, or wait and tell his superiors in the morning that he saw a man who resembled Paulus Valerius. Or he may say nothing at all, Alysia.”
“Simon, you know very well he knew it was Paulus, and of course he’ll know Paulus has never been found.”
“Your husband can take care of himself.”
She glanced at him. “But against how many, Simon?”
When he didn’t answer she dropped her gaze and looked toward the kitchen.
“Oh, forgive me—you must eat—especially if we have to—” Alysia stopped abruptly and swept into the kitchen, removing the palla from around her head and letting it fall across her shoulders.
This was the largest room in the house, with a brick oven, a table for cutting meat, and a separate one for mixing ingredients in preparation for baking. A long, high counter stretched across the front. A clay vessel, more broad than tall, held water that was brought from the well outside. There were storage cabinets and shelves on the wall, holding pottery and clay dishes. Quickly she set out bread and cheese, and found some stuffed dates in a jar. She poured a cup of wine mixed with honey.
“Aren’t you going to—” he began, and she shook her head. “Not yet.”
Simon sat on a bench and partook appreciatively of the small meal, confident of Paulus’ safety, but Alysia moved restlessly back into the hall and paced its length several times. Rachel came out of her room and sat down in one of the cushioned chairs, her worried eyes on her mother.
Half an hour, he had said. How could she bear to leave this place without him?
Suddenly a knock sounded on the door at the front of the house. At once Simon set aside his plate and stood up, gesturing for her to remain where she was. He went to the door and called out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Paulus.”
Simon glanced at Alysia with a smile and unbolted the door. Her husband came striding in, removing the hooded robe and dropping it across a chair. Rachel ran to him, her arms tight around his waist. He put one arm around her and the other around Alysia.
“You weren’t followed, and I’m reasonably certain that no one followed me.”
“All the same, I think I should be the one to return the carriage,” Simon offered.
“Thank you, Simon, but not tonight—you must stay with us and rest. The man will be more than happy to have me pay for an extra day’s lease.”
“Very well—I am more than happy to stay.” Simon grinned and clapped Paulus on the shoulder before going back to his plate of food.
Paulus smiled reassuringly at Alysia. “Let’s all have something to eat.”
* * *
A lack of privacy had accompanied them ever since they left Jerusalem. Rachel had been a baby and they had left hurriedly, traveling during the day and staying at night some distance off the roads, in a large tent Paulus had purchased. Rarely did they stay at wayside inns, for most were nasty and infested with vermin. Later, as they began to enter villages, towns and cities—and to speak to the people there of what they knew of Jesus—they were invited to stay in homes and apartments. When they stayed for a long time, they rented a house.
Paulus, seeing the need for more stability now that Rachel was older, had bought this house when they’d first come to Rome. They were fortunate in the matter of money, for Paulus had always been in contact with his mother’s trusted servant, Omari. The Egyptian had not yet become a believer…though they prayed for him every day. His association with Paulus went back many years; he was loyal and highly intelligent, and did not feel the need to report to his owners when he went about doing errands for Paulus.
Paulus was wealthy, of senatorial rank, and had only to write a letter to Omari to have funds exchanged from one banker to another, anywhere in the Empire. He felt a certain amount of guilt about this, since most of their fellow “messengers” depended completely on charity…but he saw no reason not to use his resources, and he gave much of it away. When his money grew low and he could not immediately obtain more, he worked at various positions, wherever they happened to be: carpenter, stonemason, field worker. He was successful at most of these…but there was one occupation at which he considered himself a dismal failure.
“I think,” Alysia teased, “you are a better shepherd of men than of sheep.”
They had many a laugh over the fact that whenever he tried to tend sheep they refused to obey him, and usually ran when they saw him coming. It gave him a whole new appreciation for David, the long-ago shepherd king of Israel.
The house was perfect for them, away from the city, in a clearing surrounded by woods…except for the road leading to it. In the back stood a well; on the east side rushed a small stream, fed by water from underground springs. The former owner of the house, a reclusive man who wrote and sold poetry, had recently died; none of his relatives wanted the house and placed it on the market. Paulus heard about it in the forum, and Omari had helped with that business matter, as well.
But though isolated, it was within walking distance from the center of town, and was often full of visitors…people who were eager to hear more about this Nazarene who had risen from the dead, people who were hurting and needed counsel, who were sick or grieving and needed solace, who were unlearned and needed teaching. Often it had been trying for them, but they had learned to love with the same compassion Jesus had shown, and they were sincere in their desire to help others. They’d always been taught something by those they sought to teach, had always received something back…though it hadn’t been without failure, or loss, or trouble and heartsickness …
* * *
Alysia opened her eyes to the dawning sun to see that Paulus had already risen and was putting on his clothes. “Let’s go,” he said, catching her hand and pulling her out of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” She grabbed the gown she’d worn yesterday, pulled it over her head and belted it at the waist.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just, let’s go.”
She caught the look on his face and knew where they were going. She smothered a laugh as they slipped out of the house, nearly tripping over Simon, who slept soundly on a pallet near the door—as though he were still a slave, protecting his master. They ran down a path they knew well, deeper and deeper into the forest, until they came to a glade, shimmering in a mist that hovered over the crumbling stone and monuments of an ancient ruin. Once, in the distant past, it might have been a house, or a temple. They’d found it one day walking through the woods…Probably few people knew of it; no one ever came here, children would have been forbidden to play near it for fear of falling stone or bricks. There were no houses nearby…their own house was the last on the lane, and the woods beyond it extended to the city wall.
Forgotten and deserted, the foundations of the ruin had stopped the encroachment of trees and bushes, but the walls that remained standing were overgrown with ivy, and tendrils of other climbing plants. Shrubbery and a curtain of drooping vines hid the entrance almost completely. Deep recesses in the walls proved excellent places for sitting, and within their confines the ground was soft, covered with leaves that had fallen months ago; the whole place smelled sensuously of rich earth and wildflowers. They had made it th
eir own sanctum.
Pushing aside the curtain of vines beneath the arched lintel, they entered the center of the ruin, open to the sky. Fragile rays of light threaded their way through the branches of the nearby trees, and were absorbed into the hovering mist. Paulus picked her up and swung her around with abandon, set her down, and kissed her until her pulses throbbed like a drum.
“You are a seal upon my heart,” he whispered, “and a flame that no flood can quench.”
“How seductively you speak the words of Solomon,” she whispered back to him, and quoted, breathlessly, as they sank to the ground, “I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me…”
The sun rose higher, banishing the mist; small animals made rustling sounds in the woods, and birds trilled in the branches over their heads. Later, they settled opposite each other in one of the niches in the wall, their legs intertwined.
“How thankful I am to be home,” she said, her eyes glowing and drinking in his familiar face. “To be safe, to be with you.”
“Not as thankful as I,” he answered, reaching out to caress her ankle. He watched, amused, as she demurely adjusted her skirt…as though he were only a suitor who might take advantage.
“Simon will be awake by now, and wondering where we are.”
“He won’t wonder for long. And he knows how to cook.”
“Really, Paulus,” she said. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”
“He would be much annoyed to hear you call him a guest, Alysia.”
“Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? I wish he could find someone very special to marry.”
“She’s already taken…Now, I’d like to hear about Bethany and Jerusalem, and our friends.”
She wriggled further back into her corner and smiled at him. “Lazarus is well. His wife is such a fine person, Paulus. She’s going to have a child.”
He said nothing, but took her hand and held it tightly.
“And Martha is completely white-haired now, but as busy as ever. She didn’t want Rachel to go, but of course I wouldn’t think of leaving her.”
“How are they—about Mary?”
Alysia shook her head, tears filling her eyes. Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary, had taken her in and cared for her when she was in trouble, and she had grown to love them as if they were her own family. Mary, the much younger sister, had been especially close to her.
“They said it was a malady of the lungs. She couldn’t survive the winter. Mary was so good…not meant for this world. But they are reconciled.” Alysia was quiet for a moment, and added, “It is well that they live some distance from Jerusalem. There is much persecution there, worse than before we left. But we knew that, because of Stephen.”
She saw the fleeting look of pain cross his face and put her hand up to his cheek. “I spoke with his family. They said to send you their greetings, and good wishes.”
Stephen had been like a brother to Paulus, and she’d never seen him so deeply affected as when he’d learned of his friend’s death a few years ago…except for that one other time, and she wouldn’t think of that now.
Paulus asked softly, “And the others?”
“Peter and James are leading the believers in Jerusalem. There are so many of them now! They and the other disciples are being thrown into prison, yet God has always rescued them…It makes one wonder, about Stephen—”
“Stephen was too good for this world, too,” Paulus said, a little roughly. “I only hope…”
“No, he didn’t suffer greatly. His last speech to the priests was so full of passion and truth that they couldn’t bear it—they were beside themselves with rage. His father said that he barely seemed to feel the stones, and he died quickly. He saw Jesus…before he died.”
Paulus’ eyes went to hers and she went on, “They said his face shone like that of an angel, and—he looked up into the sky and cried out that he saw Jesus standing at the right hand of God. Then, as they were stoning him, he asked God to—forgive them—and he died.”
Her husband did not speak, and she didn’t look at him. “Do you remember what we heard—about the man who seemed to be in charge that day? A man who was rounding up believers and having them executed? He has been converted, Paulus. Not long after Stephen’s death. And he has become a great teacher.”
“Yes,” Paulus answered. “His name is Saul.”
“I heard that he has changed his name to Paul.”
“What does Peter think of him?”
“He is convinced of his sincerity. He says that he believes Paul will one day surpass anyone preaching the word of God.”
“Perhaps he will come to Rome. We need him. I can tell others about Jesus…I can share what I know and answer questions, but I’m no preacher. I feel, Alysia, that we are just laying the groundwork for someone else. And I feel—honored—to do so.”
This time she laid her hand over his. “And I feel honored to do so, with you.”
* * *
The woman stood confidently in front of a great bronze mirror hanging on the wall. She studied her reflection with pride, noting the cool beauty of her face, the pale and unlined skin rare for a woman two score years of age. She no longer dyed her hair red; its natural color was an ash blonde, lacking the warm, golden tones of…Selena’s, for instance. It added to a certain look of coldness, and diminished the sheen of her topaz-colored eyes.
Her features were somewhat less firm and chiseled than they had once been, but this was their only concession to age. Her cheekbones stood out prominently and a stubborn chin had become softer and more rounded. These slight changes, combined with her cool blonde hair, made her appearance markedly different from what it had once been. She felt safe now to venture farther and farther from the city that had become her home.
In fact, this time she would travel quite some distance; she dreaded the voyage but it would only last a few days. Then, to fulfill her purpose—oh, it would be worth it! Worth any amount of risk and discomfort to see their faces when they realized what had happened…not to mention the monetary gain that had become a pressing necessity.
They would be ruined. She alone had the power to put them in their place, to speak the damaging, damning truth, to let people know what they really were. Oh, yes, it would be a scandal. Not by Rome’s standards, but by theirs.
CHAPTER III
In order to accommodate his favorite horse, Caligula had completely refurbished the imperial stable. Incitatus occupied a stall sheathed in ivory, and his eating trough was made of gold. Fresh hay was laid upon the floor every hour, and groomsmen hovered over him anxiously day and night lest he catch cold or become injured somehow, for they knew such a catastrophe would cost them their heads…if not first their limbs and major organs.
Petronius found it humiliating (as he was expected to) that Caligula had summoned him to the stable, and in the middle of the night at that. Why not to the palace court, or even a reception hall, as befitted the captain of the night watchmen? His boots clinked as he walked across the marble floor, escorted by a Praetorian as if he himself were suspect! Torches flared on every wall, making the entire, ridiculous structure seem to be on fire. He spotted the emperor far down the corridor, standing outside a stall and apparently talking to its occupant. As he drew closer he thought, What in the name of Aphroditus is he wearing?
It could only be called a nightgown, made of sheer purple silk that fell in flowing lines to the emperor’s bare feet. He gave Petronius the barest glance as he approached, then continued stroking the nose of the handsome animal behind the gate.
“You are not being very priestly today,” he said in a peeved tone to the horse. “I shall have to defrock you if you’re not careful. Jupiter told me you haven’t been saying your prayers and he is most displeased!”
The horse snorted.
Petronius stood at attention, vaguely surprised and filled with a strange sense of hilarity mixed with disdain. It was only the second time he’d spoken with the emperor—but he had heard things. He had
thought the soldiers were joking, or at least exaggerating. Caligula turned away from his unrepentant “priest” and minced toward one of the many windows that lined the corridor, giving a languid gesture for the captain to follow. The moon was exceedingly bright, and for a long time he stared up at it, his expression rapt.
Finally he said in a low, almost soothing voice, “You are the officer of the night watchmen?”
A shiver of unease crept over Petronius’ entire body. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Why were they not told?”
“Told what, sir?”
The emperor’s head whipped around and his face in the flickering red light was full of fury—a ghastly sight that would have rendered a lesser man paralyzed with terror. But Petronius…short, stocky and tough…was determined that this silly creature was not going to intimidate him.
“Paulus Valerius was seen in Rome more than a month ago! And now I get word that he was actually at the gate, and rode away without anybody lifting a finger to stop him! Why were the watchmen at all the gates not told that I wanted him found?”
“But—” Petronius paused delicately.
“What?” snapped the emperor.
“You never gave the order, sir—Your Majesty. You never actually told us to find him. We were told to watch for the woman.”
“You should have known! It was perfectly obvious. And why didn’t your guards even look at the woman? It sounds as though you are running a very slipshod operation, Petronius.”
“My Lord, this woman was well-covered, and in his surprise the guard did not think to detain them. It has been many years since Tiberius Caesar had men looking for Valerius, and most have forgotten it. But if you will allow me, I will pledge to Your Majesty that I will find the man before the month of the divine Augustus ends.”
The staring eyes fixed on him curiously. “How will you do that?”
“If he is in Rome, I will find him. It must not be an obvious search that would send him deeper into hiding. We know in which general direction he traveled. He may have been trying to mislead us, or perhaps he guessed we would think that, and went toward his original destination. Nevertheless, I believe that with the use of certain—resources—he can be quickly found.”
