by Diaz, Debra
Livias considered that he might be better off concentrating his search on the woman. Beauty stood out from the crowd, attracted attention…unless she kept herself covered all the time. No doubt they were both living under assumed names.
Well, it wasn’t much to go on…but he’d started out with less, and been successful.
* * *
Flavius, friend to Paulus Valerius, a believer, and centurion in the Praetorian Guard, resigned himself to one of Caligula’s “night flights” as Flavius called them, and began tying his newly sharpened sword into place. His prowess as a former gladiator had earned him his present position as a special escort to the emperor. Not only had Caligula been impressed with Flavius’ skill with the sword…he’d been envious of the gladiator’s fame and popularity. Caligula took him out of the arena (and out of the public eye), made him a Praetorian and assigned him as his personal bodyguard. Flavius usually accompanied him everywhere, which even the emperor’s private force of German guards was not allowed to do.
Fair haired and blue eyed, his once handsome face had suffered much abuse…his nose bore a distinct bump where it had been broken, and a vivid scar traced from the corner of his right eye to his chin. Other scars from stab wounds, cuts, punctures and even claw marks, covered his body. He wasn’t sorry to leave the gladiatorial life behind, but he was very sorry to find himself thus attached to the emperor. He had witnessed things too shameful to even speak of, which he found especially upsetting since Paulus had led him to become a follower of the Nazarene. Thankfully, much of it was done behind closed doors; still, it took little imagination to realize what was going on. He had, in the old days, been guilty of similar things himself…women had literally thrown themselves at him in the streets.
His new wife, Susanna, was a nurse to Caligula’s daughter, Julia Drusilla…named after the emperor’s sister, Drusilla, with whom Caligula had shared a definitely questionable relationship. (Caligula remained in a frenzy of mourning for weeks when Drusilla died unexpectedly, and proclaimed her a goddess.) Susanna and himself were, to his knowledge, the only believers in the emperor’s household, and he often wished he had the courage to tell others about the Nazarene, as it was clearly his mission to do. Somehow his boldness in the arena was not matched by his boldness as a messenger; he knew Caligula would not approve of his beliefs, for he had already expressed jealousy of the Nazarene and considered himself to be the Jews’ Messiah. Flavius had no wish to be tortured, and certainly didn’t want to think of that happening to Susanna.
He could, however, try to exemplify those traits worthy of a believer. He knew the other soldiers thought him odd, for he no longer swore or drank with them, or indulged in the sexual escapades he once had. Someday, he told himself, he would take a stand…someday he would begin sharing his faith as Paulus did. In the meantime, it was advantageous to be in the position he now held. He had heard and witnessed things that made it imperative for him to communicate with Paulus as swiftly as possible.
In fact, he had heard everything the emperor told Petronius. He had listened to conversations between Caligula and his uncle, Claudius. He’d even been the unwilling recipient of a long, rambling monologue in which the emperor had extolled Paulus’ virtues as a soldier and administrator. Caligula had been little more than a youth when he witnessed Paulus saving Tiberius from an assassin, but obviously had been so impressed by the incident that his interest was rapidly becoming an obsession.
Flavius had also heard and observed other things…a whisper here, a nod there, a look, a gesture. Certain members of the Praetorian Guard were not happy with Caligula, nor were certain senators. Especially the ones who bore the brunt of his anger for forgetting his birthday a year or two ago, and who were forced to run alongside his chariot one day, for miles, in their togas. It made him wonder if there was a plot afoot.
He was aware that Cassius Chaerea, a tribune in the Praetorian Guard, especially hated the emperor—who, for some reason, often made disparaging and obscene remarks about the tribune’s sexuality, and gave him humiliating watchwords to pass to the guards. He also forced Chaerea, with a few chosen others, to kiss his foot instead of his hand in greeting. It was very unwise, Flavius often reflected, to antagonize the Guard. And what should he do, as a believer, if an attempt were made to assassinate Caligula?
He walked out into the hallway of the imperial residence, and in a moment Caligula floated out of his bedchamber in a dazzling white robe studded with jewels. Well, at least he wasn’t dressed as Jupiter this time, in a bushy wig and pasted-on beard.
“Come, Flavius, you are the only one to accompany me tonight. I shall stand on the steps of the temple, and congratulate the rabble that they are in the presence of not a man, but a god.” And that was what he did, scampering barefoot across the walkway he had built between the palace and the Temple of Castor and Pollux. He ascended the marble staircase of the broad, columned temple and removed his dark cloak to reveal the splendorous robe beneath.
Obviously it had been pre-arranged, for the temple was brightly lit, and a small group of young boys came out to sing hymns to the emperor. Those hundreds who roamed the streets at night cheered and shouted praises. They might have a few doubts as to whether he was a god or not, but he did supply them with food and free admittance to the games. The boys stopped singing, and music from someone playing a cithara drifted out to the crowd. Caligula began to dance across the platform, with much whirling and pointing of toes.
Flavius shuddered and tried to think of other things. How had Rome come to this? He must pray more fervently; how these people needed a Savior! And it wasn’t, as they obviously believed, Caligula…
* * *
In the more exclusive part of town, Paulus entered the shop full of musical instruments of every description. Its owner, Horatius, was a believer and one of his most trusted friends…and for that reason he had arranged this as a meeting place with Omari, his mother’s servant, whom he also trusted with his life. Horatius knew of the arrangement; in fact, he had insisted upon it when he learned that Paulus needed to be in communication with Omari on a regular basis. They met on the ides of every month, if there was a need…if not, Omari simply did not come. It was always a risk, for both the servant and Horatius.
He could see the shop-owner at the far back of the room, talking to a patron. Paulus began to walk around, looking at the instruments…the flutes and reed pipes, the brass horns, lyres and lutes, citharas, cymbals and harps, drums large and small, even a water organ. They were all shining and polished, of the finest quality, made and shipped here from all over the Empire. Romans enjoyed listening to music, whether it was composed in Greece, or Egypt, or Persia, or even by the barbarian Celts; Caligula especially loved being announced by a fanfare of horns and drums.
Horatius’ trade had made him a wealthy man. The well-dressed slaves who aided him in the shop were accustomed to seeing Paulus and had been told to let him look at his leisure; they assumed he was someone important, perhaps an agent buying for someone else. He was, as a matter of fact, interested in buying another lyre for Rachel; she’d been taking lessons and the wooden one she had was not as fine as these, which were made of tortoise shell.
He wondered if Omari were waiting for him in the back of the shop, or if there had been no need for him to come this time. Paulus hoped for the latter, though it would be good to see him. He always felt better hearing that his mother and sister were safe, and hadn’t been affected by Paulus’ “desertion”. So far they had not been, though they had been questioned a few times. Both Tiberius and Caligula had seemed convinced they knew nothing of where Paulus was hiding. Someday Paulus would find a way to visit them, but just now that would only put them in danger.
Horatius caught his eye and pointed with his chin toward the back of the shop. Paulus nodded and made his way to the little room where orders were written down and accounts were kept. Omari was not there. He saw a folded sheet of parchment lying on a table with the name “Antonius” written
on it. It looked ominous, somehow; he broke the seal and began to read:
Have been visited by F. Gaius seeking both of you. F. says G. obsessed since hearing you were in Rome. Urges you to leave. Houses being watched again but all are safe. I am followed. Watched at banker’s bench and great risk to draw. Send word to me if you need money, otherwise will not. Will pass this to H. son and hope you receive. Good fortune to you.
Paulus frowned and read the message again. F would be Flavius, and Gaius was the emperor. Flavius wanted him to leave Rome. Horatius’ son, who would have received it directly from Omari in the street, had delivered the message. They would have accomplished this, hopefully, without observation…even though Omari was now being followed.
And there would be no more money. This was important but not critical; Paulus earned enough in wages to support his family...but Rachel wouldn’t be getting a new lyre.
He slid the parchment inside his tunic and sat down in a chair. Should they leave Rome? Was this God’s way of telling him? No, he didn’t believe that. His work here had barely begun. And yet, to remain meant increasing jeopardy for his wife and daughter…Should he tell Alysia? Yes, of course, for she must be on her guard, now as never before.
Horatius entered the room, short and rotund with waves of abundant white hair.
“Not bad news, I hope?”
Paulus stood up. “No—but not good news either, I’m afraid. Horatius, you have been a good and faithful friend. I won’t be coming back here for a long while. I think you will be quite safe to visit me, if you wish to do so, but I won’t put you at risk by being seen here in your shop. Neither will Omari come…unless, I suppose, there is some great need.”
“What do you mean?” Horatius asked, his brow furrowed.
“The authorities who are searching for me have increased their forces, and their determination. Omari is being watched.”
“I have told you, Antonius, that I am honored to share any danger with you and your wife. How can I not do what I know Jesus would have me do? I know in my mind and my heart that whatever you have done to cause this, it was not with evil intent.”
“No, it was not.” Paulus placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “But it was done, all the same, and legally they have a right to question me. I want to spare my family, Horatius, as long as I can. I thank you for your trust, and everything you have done.”
The shop-owner smiled. “There is a meeting at your house tomorrow night. I will be there, and so will my son, and his wife.”
Paulus returned the smile. “Thank you, Horatius. May the Lord bless and keep you.”
“And you. I will pray that God will keep you in his perfect will.”
CHAPTER VI
“No,” Alysia said hesitantly, “I don’t think we should leave Rome. I have not felt God calling us to another place.”
“Nor have I,” Paulus answered, much relieved.
“And yet, what if it is God’s way of warning us?”
“To be careful, perhaps, but not to leave. We will pray about it.”
Alysia walked slowly around the center of the ruin, cast now into deep evening shade. Insects whirred a grating song, and a balmy breeze stirred the vines and bushes. Paulus reclined within one of the grooves, his back against the side, legs stretched out and arms crossed.
“Do you still have that canvas bag packed with clothes and money, buried under the stone?”
“Yes, Paulus, and I pray we’ll never have to use it.”
“But it’s there, and if they ever come to the house, you and Rachel are to head out here and beyond…you do remember what I told you? If you bear right you’ll be heading for the Appian Way—that will be the easiest way to get out of the city.”
“Yes, I remember. You look tired,” she observed, pausing to sit next to him, against his legs, and placing her hands on his arms.
He didn’t answer, but reached out to touch her face. Then his hand moved to her hair and the back of her head, and he pulled her close and kissed her.
“We must get back,” she whispered. “I don’t like to leave Rachel alone, and her friends would have left by now.”
But she waited, crawling up beside him and laying her head on his chest.
“Temptress,” he said, with mock severity. “You would assail a man in his weakest moment, and ask him in that same moment to leave.”
When she didn’t answer he placed his hand gently on her forehead and made her look up at him. Even in the fading light he could see her tears.
“Alysia.” He turned his body and sat up straight, holding her against him. “Things are not much different than before. I don’t want you to be afraid.”
“I’m sorry, Paulus. It’s not that I’m afraid—I only wish, sometimes, that we could live a normal life.”
“And what is a normal life?” he answered quietly. “There are always things to worry about. We’re supposed to give our worries up to God.”
“Yes. I know.”
He asked, after a moment, “Tell me…what do you want to do?”
Alysia took a deep breath. “Why, sir, the same thing I told you those many years ago…to go with you to tell the world of Jesus Christ. No matter what the cost.”
His arm tightened around her and unexpectedly he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. “I don’t deserve such a wife.”
“I am but your slave, my lord,” she said teasingly, striving for lightness. They were words she’d once thrown defiantly in his face.
Paulus stood up, causing her to stand with him. He said as lightly, “Then let us go, temptress, before—tired or not—I decide to have my way with you!”
* * *
A service of worship was held in different homes on the first day of each week, but “teaching meetings” were held on other days at Paulus and Alysia’s house. Since their house didn’t have a courtyard, Alysia set out plenty of cushions in the wide hallway, and Paulus brought every bench that could be found to line the walls. All the lamps were lit, their flames fluttering in the slight breeze that swept through, from end to end.
Alysia enjoyed these meetings; she loved to hear Paulus speak on those things he had learned from Stephen and others, those men who had been closest to Jesus. And he was always studying the Scriptures, sometimes alone, sometimes with her; every night he read from some portion of it to herself and Rachel. They immersed themselves in it, and she was always astonished at how much they learned…how much there was still to learn. The flow of knowledge and wisdom that came from the ancient writings seemed never-ending.
People began to arrive, happy and expectant; the children were eager to recite what they had memorized. Horatius, who was a widower, came in with his son and daughter-in-law…though she had not yet become a believer. There were Camillus and Lucia with their children…only their youngest was a pupil of Alysia’s. They had brought someone with them, a heavily veiled woman, and Lucia whispered that the woman had been visiting them and expressed great interest in learning more about the “Nazarenes,” as believers were often called.
Alysia nodded. “Thank you for coming, Lucia. I know it’s difficult.”
Lucia smiled a little. “This does help me. I’m sorry I wasn’t more receptive the other day.”
Alysia would have spoken to the other woman, but she had moved quickly away and found a place on a bench near the corner. Someone else arrived and engaged Alysia in conversation; she must be sure to try and make the veiled woman feel welcome before the meeting was over.
Simon came, with his sons and their wives. Aquila and Priscilla were a newly married couple, who showed promise of eventually taking on a role of leadership. Aquila was a Jew; they lived in the Jewish section and worked in a shop making and repairing tents. Paulus had met the young couple in the forum almost a year ago, where they had been purchasing goat hides needed for their trade. Simon had grown especially close to them, and they were responsible for his being employed there, as well.
Several others arrived, some wit
h spouses and some alone…missing were Flavius and his wife, as Alysia had expected, and Daphne, a former prostitute who hadn’t come to the meetings for months. Paulus had attempted to find her several times, to no avail. Not everyone had so “colorful” a past as Daphne, but many of these had been immersed in following other gods, other philosophies, or had believed nothing at all. Some had confessed to Paulus of being dishonest in their business, some had torturous family relationships, a few admitted to sexual misdeeds that would have appalled anyone not as knowledgeable of Rome’s vices as Paulus…who didn’t particularly want to know the lurid details, but often people seemed to want to unburden themselves, perhaps seeking reassurance that God could really forgive such things.
The meeting began, and parents watched with pride as their children recited the verses they had chosen. Alysia, too, was proud of them as they stood still, their arms at their sides, and spoke clearly, as she had taught them.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you; I will help you; I will uphold you with the right hand of my righteousness.”
“But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”
“Create in me a clean heart, o God, and renew a right spirit within me…a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
The boy who had appeared sullen about being required to recite took his place, said very quickly, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth”, and sat down with an air of having made a great accomplishment. His parents looked somewhat abashed.
Alysia deliberated swiftly, and feeling confident the child could answer, said, “Thank you, Quintinius. Because the rest of that passage is so long, perhaps you could simply tell us the things God created.”
