Man of God

by Diaz, Debra

  Quintinius wrinkled his face resentfully but managed to state the order of creation.

  “And what did God say about those things he created?”

  The boy shrugged. “It was very good.”

  Alysia smiled, Quintinius looked pleased with himself, and his parents relaxed. The twins stepped forward and recited their verses together…an entire psalm of David.

  Rachel had waited until last.

  “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up. Teach me your way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of my enemies. Deliver me not over unto the will of my enemies; for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty. I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he will strengthen your heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.”

  Alysia’s breath stopped, and she glanced at Paulus, who raised his eyebrows slightly. But Rachel seemed unperturbed and sat down again, smiling at her mother. Paulus stood and began speaking, but Alysia’s mind raced. Why had Rachel chosen those particular verses?…She and Paulus had agreed not to tell her about the emperor’s renewed search for them, though they had reminded her to be careful when she went out, and not to answer questions from strangers. Had she heard something…was she afraid?

  Her attention was drawn suddenly to the woman who had accompanied Camillus and Lucia. She had straightened and turned as stiff as a statue, her veiled head lifted and her gaze completely fixed on Paulus. Alysia grew uneasy—who was she? Why didn’t she uncover her face? She’d thought at first it was modesty, or perhaps because the woman was not yet a believer and didn’t want to be identified as such. Only her eyes were visible, and they were in shadow.

  Paulus, too, seemed uneasy, not like himself, and his glance flicked several times toward the woman. He made an effort to concentrate on his audience.

  “What your children have done tonight is very important. We would all benefit from memorizing the Scriptures, not only to learn about God, not only to see for ourselves how the prophecies about Jesus have been fulfilled—but as protection. We are engaged in spiritual warfare, against enemies we sometimes can’t even see, and the word of God is a powerful weapon.”

  “Where should we begin?” asked an older man. “I don’t remember things very well, but I can at least read it.”

  “Quintinius had a good idea,” Paulus answered, with a nod at the surprised-looking boy. “At the beginning. Genesis, the first book of Moses. Almost every event is a symbol or prophecy of Jesus Christ.”

  “How can we know these things?” Horatius asked. “How can we recognize them when we read them?”

  “By asking God to open your mind and your heart, and to reveal them to you. Your real teacher is the Spirit of God…not me or anyone else. Always compare what anyone tells you to the Scriptures.”

  “Are you saying,” the veiled woman said, “that you could be a false teacher?”

  Her voice was low, and slightly breathless, yet there was something familiar about it. Alysia’s uneasiness grew, and Paulus had a strange look on his face.

  “I’m saying there are many false teachers, and we must always be on guard against them. God’s word is what we depend upon for the truth.”

  Others were trying not to stare at the woman. Something dark seemed to have come into the room, something inimical.

  “Could you tell us,” the woman asked, “what God says about divorce?”

  Paulus had always been adept at hiding his feelings, but knowing him as she did, Alysia saw that he realized something that was a shock to him, and it greatly alarmed her. Who was this woman?

  Her husband answered slowly; it seemed that he was somehow able to see into the shadowed eyes. “Jesus had some things to say about divorce, and marriage. I’ve already shared them here, and I doubt that you’re really interested.”

  “But is there any just cause,” the woman persisted, “for divorce?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Paulus said, “Rachel, the children would probably rather play games than listen to this…would you take them to your room?”

  People glanced furtively at each other as Rachel obediently led the children to her large bedroom. Camillus and Lucia seemed stricken, looking with dismay at their guest. A terrible suspicion had come into Alysia’s mind…but how was it possible? She sat as if frozen, staring at the woman, trying to judge her shape and size through the light cloak and head covering. Her eyes fell for a moment on Simon, and his face, too, showed both puzzlement and a kind of fascination.

  The silence, after the children left the room, was deafening. Alysia tore her gaze away from the stranger. Paulus looked sick; she wondered why he didn’t ask everyone to leave. But that would accomplish nothing. The woman had come here for a purpose, and she would fulfill it.

  Paulus exchanged a long look with Alysia, and it seemed to hold great regret, and sorrow, and not a little anger. Then he said, “The only just cause Jesus mentioned for divorce was—unfaithfulness.”

  “But I wasn’t unfaithful to you, Antonius. You could not divorce me, and yet here you are, living with this other woman.”

  The stranger pushed back her veil.

  * * *

  Alysia’s mind reeled; a wave of nausea rushed over her. Someone near put their hand on hers.

  Megara was alive!

  But she was dead, by her own hand, years ago…this was some cruel and unforgivable joke! True, Megara’s “suicide” had happened here in Rome while both Alysia and Paulus were in Palestine, but Paulus had a letter from Megara’s father telling him of it; Paulus had made inquiries, there had been a funeral. She had been presumed dead for years!

  The gathering of believers looked with horror from Megara to Alysia to Paulus. Alysia could only think that everything was ruined; these friends of theirs would see them as liars, adulterers—why should anything they said be true? Megara had gotten her revenge in a way even she could never have imagined!

  At last Paulus seemed to find his voice. “There was no need to divorce you, Megara, because we believed you were dead.”

  Megara looked around at their listeners. “I am his wife. We were married in our youth. This woman was a slave in his mother’s house. How old is that child of yours? She had to have been born before my so-called death!”

  Alysia closed her eyes for a moment. There was nothing to do now but confess everything. That was what Paulus’ look had meant…he had realized, in that instant, who this woman was and what she was going to do.

  Paulus looked at Megara, without the rancor he once would have held, but he was still struggling to control his anger. “Have you anything else to say, before I answer your accusations?”

  The woman gave a little shrug. “No.”

  His eyes turned to his audience…people who had trusted him, had believed him. Megara had irrevocably damaged something precious, with malice and full awareness of what she was doing. Utter rage pounded through Alysia’s veins, something she hadn’t felt in years, and she put her hand over her mouth before it could fly open and say things that would only add to the direness of the present situation.

  Paulus looked down for a moment, as if praying for words, for composure, and then he raised his head. His voice was even and clear. “First I would have you know that Alysia and I have not lied to you about anything. There are certain things we have not told, for what we believed were good reasons. When we first began speaking to each of you, we let you know that there was nothing special about us, that we were sinners just like everyone else. And we have made mistakes.”

  Alysia dared to glance around, and saw that everyone’s attention was riveted on Paulus. Every expression was almost the same…pained, and seeking reassurance.

  “Megara and I did not have a happy marriage, and after a while didn’t live together as man and wife. In those days, before my salvation, before meeting Alysia, I was unfaithful a number of times. It’s true that I purch
ased Alysia as a slave and placed her in my mother’s house. I fell in love with her, and she with me. I arranged for her to leave Rome. She went to Palestine, and a year later my—occupation—sent me there as well. She believed we could never be together and married another man. In the next two or three years, we rarely saw each other.”

  Again he wasn’t telling everything…but how could he? Alysia sensed it was bothering him. She almost wished he would tell it all, so there were no more secrets, nothing held from these souls they had led to believe in the Nazarene.

  Paulus went on, finding his way slowly over dangerous ground. “Alysia’s husband died. And then I received a letter from Megara’s father telling me that she had committed suicide. I had letters from various other people and all of them obviously believed her dead—no one had any inkling she was still alive. I would be very interested in hearing why she faked her own death, and how she got away with it.” He glanced curiously at his former wife, who merely looked scornful.

  “Alysia was, by this time, already a follower of Jesus. A year or so later I became one also, and we were married—in the city of Capernaum, by the Sea of Galilee.”

  Simon got to his feet and went to stand beside Paulus. “All of this is true,” he said, putting his hand on Paulus’ shoulder. “I was there. I know beyond any doubt that they both believed Megara was dead before they married.”

  His words were met with an acute but somehow welcoming silence, and then Megara spoke again. “What, then, of the child?” She looked at the faces around her. “I was in Palestine with my husband, and he sent me away. But I know for a fact that that child was conceived before I left!”

  “I have already said we made mistakes!” Paulus answered sharply, on the verge of losing his temper. “It was a sin we both repented of. Our daughter is dear to us, and I would hope that none of you will repeat any of this before your own children, so that she must hear of it from anyone but us.”

  After a pause, Camillus said, “There is no need for you to tell Rachel any of this. I know that I will never speak of it, and I don’t think anyone else will, either. We’ve all done something as bad or worse! I, for one, will not sit in judgment of you, nor have I lost confidence in either of you. You,” he added, glaring at Megara, “are a very evil woman.”

  “So you would judge me,” she replied calmly, “but not them.”

  “You came here with evil intentions,” Paulus said, “but God loves you, and his son died for you as surely as he did for everyone else, Megara.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to know! What I would like you to tell me, and everyone else, is whose husband you are!”

  CHAPTER VII

  Paulus’ answer came swift and straight as a missile from an archer’s bow, and Megara flinched as if struck. “I will tell you very plainly, and everyone else, that Alysia is my wife. You may not realize it, Megara, but when I sent you away, that was a divorce. That is all that is required by Roman law. Although I didn’t consider it a divorce at that time, and left it up to you. I didn’t know then if Alysia and I would ever be able to marry. And obviously it was no longer necessary when I heard you were dead. If you wish, I will write out a declaration dissolving the marriage. But as I said, it isn’t necessary. Alysia is my legal wife.”

  “I for one have heard enough.” Aquila stepped forward to stand beside Simon and Paulus. “This is an unfortunate situation, but I believe our friends have not meant to deceive us. What they have done in the past is their own private matter, and as he said, we are all sinful and in need of salvation. We will make mistakes, even after we become believers!”

  There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room. Aquila’s wife went unhesitatingly to Alysia and embraced her, her eyes full of tears. She was followed by Lucia, and all the women—except Megara.

  “Thank you Camillus, and Simon, and Aquila,” Paulus said soberly. “Indeed, I thank God for all of you. But there is something else I must say.”

  Everyone stopped moving, and looked at him again. “There are things that haven’t been told…the whole story is more complicated than what you have heard. We haven’t told it—to protect the innocent. All I can say is that Alysia and I have had good and sufficient reasons for doing those things that others might condemn us for. We are truly seeking to do God’s will.”

  He directed a look at Megara that meant: Go ahead and do your worst, if you’re going to do it. Aloud he said, “Do you have anything else of which to accuse us?”

  Megara raised her chin and remained silent.

  “Well,” said Horatius, “that’s good enough for me. I think we should all leave now, and come together at my house on the Lord’s day. Antonius, may I speak to you in private?”

  As the two men stepped aside, Lucia walked to Rachel’s thick wooden door and opened it, calling to the children. As everyone prepared to leave, there were smiles and more embraces and tears; there were both hard looks at Megara and compassionate ones. Lucia came back to Alysia and whispered, “I am so sorry. If only I had known what she really wanted!”

  “It isn’t your fault, Lucia—you mustn’t worry at all.”

  “She was so convincing. She said she’d heard through a mutual friend that we were believers and she wanted to know how she could become one. I couldn’t think…you know I haven’t been myself. I thought it would be good to bring her here. In fact, she specifically asked to come here, because she had heard about Antonius and you.”

  “Of course—in your place I would have done the same thing. Please, Lucia, do put it out of your mind! But, I would be grateful if you would let us know if anyone else…asks about us.”

  “Believe me, I will!”

  Horatius finished his conversation with Paulus, and soon everyone had left except Megara and Simon. Alysia was still too angry, and too aware of Megara’s hostility, to be relieved. Why had she not told what she knew?

  “Thank you, Simon, for coming to our defense,” Paulus was saying. “You have a right to know how all this came about. I think we’ll be much interested in hearing what Megara has to say.”

  * * *

  She still sat on the bench she’d claimed when she came in. She stood up slowly, removing her light cloak and the veil that now hung loosely around her shoulders. She placed them with exaggerated deliberation on the bench, and retook her seat beside them.

  Paulus and Alysia sat across from her, while Simon found a cushion on the floor as far away as possible, and sat cross-legged upon it. He appeared as angry as Alysia felt. Rachel had been asked to remain in her room.

  “Very well. We’ll begin with my ‘suicide’, then.” Her gaze shifted to Alysia. “You gave me the idea. Did you think you were the only one who could pretend to be dead?”

  “I did no such thing! I didn’t know the ship had sunk or that Paulus believed me dead.”

  “But it was very convenient, wasn’t it, since you were being sought for murder? And Paulus found you—so you must have written him where you were.”

  “No. Paulus was appointed to a post in Jerusalem. I was living in Bethany, but I was in Jerusalem when he found me.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Megara drawled, her eyes cold.

  “Neither do I,” Paulus interrupted. “Get on with your story, Megara.”

  Her gaze shifted to him. “As you know, Paulus, everything was in chaos by the time I got back to Rome—after you sent me away. Certainly I knew you could claim that as a divorce. I am not stupid! Sejanus had been executed and everyone was suspicious of everyone else. Some of my friends were visiting Tiberius at Capri, and so I went there, pretending to visit them. I wanted to find out what your position was with Tiberius. He was killing everyone that he thought might have supported Sejanus, and although it was well-known that you and Sejanus were at odds, I needed to know what Tiberius thought of you.”

  “You needn’t go into your interesting theory about how I could be consul, or emperor, or whatever you thought. I’m sure
you wanted to know if you were in danger, since wives are usually sentenced with their husbands.”

  “I knew that if you were condemned, you would either be executed or forced to commit suicide, and I would probably share the same fate. But Tiberius spoke well of you. You were much closer than you know, Paulus, to being named his successor, even if it was to be a joint rule with Caligula or someone else. Until you disappeared, that is.”

  “That’s nonsense, Megara. Tiberius wanted to destroy Rome in the end, and he thought Caligula was just the man to do it!”

  Megara looked suddenly drawn and old; she leaned the back of her head against the wall and sighed. “Caligula was there, of course, at Capri. There were dinner parties every night. One night I happened to say something against you—some criticism, I can’t even remember what it was—and Caligula took it to mean that I approved of something Sejanus had done. He made much of it; he could see that it frightened me to think he would report it to Tiberius. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. People had been killed for less than that…even for being seen in the company of Sejanus!”

  She paused, seeming to realize that her posture had drooped in resignation, and straightened herself. “I knew that you probably considered yourself divorced from me, although you hadn’t actually said it. I knew I had no chance of being…well, never mind. And I believed my life was in danger. So I decided to disappear as well.”

  There was a brief silence. Paulus took Alysia’s hand in his; Megara saw it and her mouth tightened.

  “How did you manage to fool so many people?” Simon asked.

  Megara stiffened. “Would you tell that slave not to speak to me?”

  Paulus looked as though he wanted to laugh at her absurdity. “He’s not a slave any longer, Megara, and I see you are as much a snob as ever. Please answer the question.”

  She glared at him. “You remember my slave, Tertius?”

  “If you mean the mute you used to have follow me, yes.”

  “He has been very useful to me. As have my other slaves. They do exactly as I tell them. I staged everything perfectly. I filled the bathtub with water and goat’s blood, and smeared the blood on my arms, so that when the slaves “found” me, they could show my body to my father. I knew he wouldn’t be convinced unless he saw it, and I knew he wouldn’t come too close. I left two letters. One gave the reason for my suicide. The other contained instructions about my burial.”