Man of God

by Diaz, Debra

  “I see. Do you think your mother and I are going to leave you?”

  “Oh, no, Father! I didn’t mean to make it seem like that!”

  Paulus reached out and took one of her hands. “Listen to me, Rachel. All your life you’ve known that there are soldiers looking for your mother and me. Now I’m going to tell you why. Your mother, when she was very young, was attacked by a man who meant her great harm, and she defended herself with a sword and killed him. I’m sure she didn’t mean to kill him—only to stop him—but a sword is a very dangerous thing. At the time she was a slave…we’ve told you about that. And the man’s father was a man of wealth and influence. She would have been executed for that, Rachel. I helped her escape.”

  Rachel absorbed it all silently, her eyes wide.

  “I believe it’s acceptable to kill someone who is trying to kill you, or harm you. So never think your mother did some horrible thing. She only defended herself.”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t blame Mother for that!”

  “All these years they’ve been looking for her, and they know now that she’s been with me. So they are looking for both of us. God has protected us so far, Rachel, but he has a purpose for everything, and we don’t know what lies in the future. Your mother and I would give our lives to protect you, so you must never feel guilty if anything like that happens. We would have it no other way.”

  Rachel’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said gently. “We will take every precaution, but we will trust in the Lord, no matter what happens. You do, don’t you?”

  She nodded, unable to speak. He reached out for her, and she got up on her knees and put her arms around his neck. He held her tightly for a moment, and released her. “Look, Rachel,” he said very quietly, pointing across to the other side of the field. “How about stew for supper?”

  She looked up and saw the rabbit, sitting still at the edge of the woods and seeming to watch them out of one large brown eye. She knew what her father was going to say.

  “I can’t do it,” she murmured, hating to disappoint him. “Not yet.”

  He reached slowly for his bow and withdrew an arrow from the sling on his back, and raised up on one knee. Rachel watched him as he took careful aim…then she closed her eyes.

  * * *

  “Never mind,” Paulus said as they walked home; he put one arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her. In his other hand he carried his bow and the dangling rabbit by its hind legs. “Maybe you’ll never have to.”

  “I think I could shoot a man quicker than I could an animal,” she told him, as though giving away a confidence. “One that was trying to hurt me, I mean.”

  His voice changed, became taut. “I pray you’ll never have to do that, either.”

  After a moment she said, “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “It’s just that—little animals seem so innocent. It’s always bothered me…how the Jews have to sacrifice lambs and things.”

  “That was because God wanted people to understand how serious sin is—and how only the shedding of blood can atone for it,” her father said, “and to foretell what Jesus would do, on the cross.”

  “Paid—in full,” Rachel said, with a touch of awe. “You heard him say that!”

  She’d already been told about that day. Paulus, commanding officer of the Roman fort in Jerusalem, had refused to take part in the execution of Jesus of Nazareth. It had been carried out by the governor, Pontius Pilate, and the contingent he brought from Caesarea. But Paulus had been present when Jesus died. Both of her parents had seen Jesus alive afterward.

  “Mother says that Jesus held me when I was a baby—the last time he came to Bethany,” Rachel said. “I wish I could remember.”

  Paulus didn’t answer. She knew he didn’t like to talk about the crucifixion. It seemed to pain him greatly that he didn’t do anything to stop it…though there was nothing he could have done. At the time he hadn’t understood that what was happening…was supposed to happen. When he didn’t speak, she looked up at him.

  “What can I do to make Mother feel better?”

  He smiled again and squeezed her shoulder. “It makes her happy when you practice your music. And you have a very pleasant singing voice, you know.”

  Rachel refrained from rolling her eyes. “I’m not any good with the lyre.”

  “You are good enough, and if you would practice you’d be even better.”

  Rachel sighed. “Yes. Father.”

  * * *

  It was a rare occurrence, but Alysia had cried until she fell asleep the night before, not knowing when Paulus returned from his long walk. When she woke he was gone, and on the pillow next to her lay a single, wild rose, a dusky shade of pink, beautifully formed. “Paulus,” she whispered, and carried it with her into the kitchen to place it in a vase. She returned to the bedroom to dress, and twined her hair into a thick black braid that hung to her waist. She straightened the room and went back to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.

  She knew Paulus was right…right in giving Megara money, as due a former wife, and right in everything he had said. Alysia had allowed her anger with Megara to transfer itself to him, because she had wanted him to throw his former wife out of the house, and he hadn’t done so. Now she was glad he hadn’t, and reflected that she might as well turn her indignation into pity and be done with it. Nursing ill feelings would only harm herself, and that was what Megara wanted.

  She walked outside to draw water from the well, looking down the path she knew Paulus and Rachel had taken. It was their day for archery practice. Paulus had taught Alysia to shoot with a bow and arrow years ago, but she seldom went with her husband and daughter, letting them enjoy their time alone. Glancing at the cloud-laden sky, she went back into the house, lit the oven and began boiling eggs; she set out wheat bread and cheese and fruit. She poured water into the vase with the rose, and placed it in the center of the table.

  She heard them as they approached the house, and going to the window saw Paulus lay something, a rabbit perhaps, on a large block of wood; he withdrew his hunting knife from its sheath and drove its blade into the wood as he followed Rachel toward the house. Good, she would keep the oven lit and let the stew simmer for hours…it would be a welcome change from the vegetables they ate every day.

  “How did it go?” she asked, as Rachel came inside.

  “It was good…you should have come with us, Mother.”

  Alysia lifted her head and met Paulus’ solemn gaze. Without hesitation, she went to him and put her arms around his waist.

  “I was wrong,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Rachel ducked her head and hurried to her room to put her things away…but she was smiling.

  * * *

  Livias stared at the sketch before him. It was a good likeness of Paulus Valerius, drawn by a soldier who had known him well. Petronius had found the soldier, skilled at drawing and who hadn’t minded providing the sketch for a hefty sum. Livias wasn’t sure just yet how he was going to use it; he had to proceed carefully, lest word get to Valerius that he was being actively pursued. His inclination was to approach people who lived in the east and northeast regions of Rome and ask them if they had seen anyone who resembled the man in the drawing. Still, he would have to be careful not to arouse suspicion. He would also give a description of the woman…he had no drawing of her and no one knew what she looked like—except Valerius’ family, who all claimed they couldn’t remember any details except for the black hair and violet eyes.

  If he had no success he’d move on to the other sections of the city…but he had a feeling. Paulus Valerius was somewhere near. He might be living beneath the very nose of the emperor…a good place to hide because few would think to look for him there. It seemed strange, though, that he didn’t flee far into the country. He had to have a reason for wanting to live in Rome. That reason could be employment. What sort of employment would he seek? Acco
rding to his reputation he had excelled at everything Tiberius, or Sejanus actually, had assigned to him…but that involved both the military and administration, and he wouldn’t be looking for those kinds of positions. He was probably doing manual labor somewhere, perhaps working on construction projects.

  The woman might be working in a shop, although that was unlikely. She probably stayed at home with the child. The child would be left an orphan; she’d have to be sold as a slave…or something. Livias didn’t trouble himself about such details. And it was too bad that sly Egyptian had suspected he was being followed and had stopped going out at all. He’d been questioned, but it was difficult to get anything out of him. He answered in phrases Livias found all but incomprehensible, pretending to understand very little Greek or Latin, and he stared at Livias with such an enigmatic black gaze that he feared some strange Egyptian curse was being heaped upon his head. The other servants had not been helpful, nor had Valerius’ family…but that was to be expected. Besides, the man wouldn’t put them in jeopardy by attempting to contact them.

  Livias had tried to trace the money he knew Valerius had possessed, but that had disappeared, probably placed under another name long ago. Or he had hidden it somewhere, to stop the Treasury from confiscating it. His wife had been dead for years, so she couldn’t have taken it. Livias would try to pick up the trail if all else failed, but he hadn’t time for that right now.

  He slid the rough sheet of papyrus inside the front of his tunic and headed for the streets. His dark eyes gleamed with the thrill of the hunt. Paulus Valerius would be a rare prize indeed, to add to his list of achievements.

  CHAPTER IX

  Paulus stopped, sure that he recognized the woman walking some distance in front of him, after she had tossed a glance over her shoulder. She had a distinctive walk, with her shoulders thrown back and her nose in the air, her gait quick and carefree. The woman was fashionably dressed, perhaps too fashionably, in a bright red stola and a more than ample number of bracelets and necklaces. He thought she had seen him and had deliberately increased her pace, although he did, as usual, have on the hooded robe.

  He started walking again and in a moment overtook her. “Hello, Daphne,” he said, falling into stride with her.

  The young woman was beautiful, with large, almond-shaped black eyes framed by upward-slanting brows. High cheekbones emphasized her shapely, full lips, and a nose that was slightly pointed at the end, with small, flared nostrils. Her abundant, dark brown hair was threaded with deep veins of gold…and with jewelry. The olive tone of her skin made her teeth, in contrast, seem very white.

  She feigned surprise. “Oh, it’s you, Antonius,” she said, in a voice mature for her years. “I couldn’t quite see who you were. Why are you dressed like that on such a hot day?”

  “It’s not so hot—yet. We’ve been missing you at the meetings.”

  She looked away. “I’ve had—things to do.”

  Paulus was a little alarmed by her answer, and her demeanor. “Let’s stop by the fountain, if you don’t mind. I’d like to talk to you.”

  She gave a slight nod. The street widened to become an arcade of shops, with a fountain splashing in its center. A number of stone benches were spaced around it, but Paulus drew her into the shade of a canopy whose owner had apparently not yet opened for business.

  “Daphne, is anything wrong?” he asked, looking down into her face.

  She didn’t reply for a moment, then bit her lip and said, “Well, you’ll hear sooner or later. I’m no longer working for Gallus and his wife, and I don’t think I’ll be coming to any more meetings.”

  Now he was deeply concerned. When he and Alysia had talked to Daphne on the street and she had consented to come to their meetings, she had been open to the word of God. Paulus had talked to some friends who had agreed to hire her as a servant in their household, so she could quit her former profession.

  “Look at me, Daphne,” he said, and reluctantly she lifted her gaze. “Have you gone back to prostitution?”

  “It’s all I know!” she said in a rush, her eyes pleading and probing into his. “That is, not yet, but I intend to. It’s too hard, being a servant. I drop things, I can’t do anything right. Oh, they were nice enough, Gallus and Lydia, but it wasn’t working out. I’m sorry you went to the trouble, Antonius.”

  “There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me.”

  Daphne looked around the arcade as though hoping someone would come to her rescue. Passersby gave them barely a glance; she was obviously a harlot trying to elicit some business this fine morning, the first day of August…although usually prostitutes didn’t appear until sometime after the noon hour.

  “Why did you stop coming to the meetings?” Paulus asked quietly.

  “Because—they can’t let me forget! I know people, Antonius. I see the speculation in the eyes of the men…what has she done, how did she do it? Either men look at me the wrong way, or they won’t look at me at all, as if I might corrupt them somehow.”

  “I think you imagine these things, Daphne. Do I look at you that way?”

  “No,” she said irritably. “But others do. And their wives don’t trust me—I can see that as well. I know I’m a beautiful woman—I can’t help that. Perhaps they are right not to trust me.”

  “You don’t mean that, if you have changed your life.”

  “I haven’t changed. I’ve tried, and I cannot.”

  “Daphne, Jesus is the one who changes you, on the inside, and then enables you to change your feelings, and your behavior. You almost believed that. Why do you resist him?”

  “What you said about him—about his dying on the cross to take the punishment for sin—moved me very deeply. I began to hope, but—” she stopped and shook her head. “I could never explain it to you.”

  “Could you explain it to my wife?”

  “No. She wouldn’t understand, either.”

  “I wish you would go and talk to her. Camillus’ father is dying and they’ve asked me to come, or I would take you there myself. Alysia is at home alone today. Rachel has gone to visit a friend.” Paulus hesitated as a thought struck him. “We’ve decided to go and spend some time at Horatius’ villa in the country. Why don’t you go with us? That will give you time to think about things. We won’t try to make you do something you don’t want to do, Daphne. But it might help you. Please, before you go through with this decision you’ve made. You don’t realize how important it is.”

  Daphne looked into his face, and her own softened. “Perhaps I will.”

  “Go ahead and pack if you like, and take your things to my house. We’re leaving in a day or two…you can stay with us until then.”

  She smiled. “You remind me of a few soldiers I know. You’re quite good at giving orders.”

  “I used to be,” he said, and smiled back at her. “A long time ago. In my former life.”

  * * *

  Camillus’ father lived in a modest house on the Aventine Hill. A wealthy man, he adhered to the “old style” of simple accommodations and scorned anything overtly luxurious, which the “new Romans” loved. He was also a stern man, not given to displays of affection, and he and his son had never been close. But Camillus was there, with Lucia and their children, as Avitus began to breathe his last.

  Paulus shed his light cloak as he entered the vestibule, where the family and friends had gathered. He nodded when he saw Simon and Aquila, with a few others, and took Lucia’s hands in his.

  “Camillus is with him,” she said quietly. “He is pleading with his father to receive the Lord. Our friends here have been praying for him. Please go in at once, before it’s too late.”

  Paulus went into the room she indicated, where the shutters had been closed at the windows and the small bed in the corner was shrouded in gloom. A pungent odor of medicines came from a table near the bed. Camillus sat in a chair beside it. Paulus went to the chair on the opposite side, feeling the oppressive warmth, and sensing, in his spirit, the stubborn r
esistance of the dying man.

  Camillus looked at him helplessly. His father, gray-haired and gray-bearded, moved only his eyes toward Paulus.

  “I had a feeling you would come, Antonius,” he said hoarsely, drawing his breath with difficulty. “My son has been harassing me about this Nazarene of yours. I am sure you have already told me everything you know. There is nothing more to say.”

  “I have only one thing to say, sir. And that is when your soul leaves your body it will go to one of two places. To be forever with God, or to be forever separated from him in a place of torment, reserved for those who refuse to accept his son as savior, the one who paid for their sins.”

  “Rubbish! I have lived a good life. I have given to the poor. What more would the gods ask of me?”

  “There is but one God,” Paulus answered, silently praying for the right words. “The God who created the world, and you…the holy and just God who must punish sin. Avitus, have you ever told a lie, have you ever stolen anything, have you ever hated a man, dishonored your parents…have you ever lusted after a woman?”

  The old man lay still for a long time. Then a low, rasping laugh came from his throat. “Perhaps I have done those things, but I have done many good deeds. This God you speak of is too severe, Antonius. What great harm have I ever done to anyone?”

  Paulus leaned forward, his tone quiet and earnest. “The sins we commit show the condition of our hearts, Avitus. Would you call your heart pure? Would you call yourself perfect?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then how do you expect to go into the presence of a perfect and holy God, who by his very nature demands justice?”

  “Perhaps there is no such God!”

  “You know there is. The knowledge of him was in you from the day you were born, Avitus, and you have suppressed it. Just as your pride won’t allow you to admit you are a sinner, and just as your intellect does not want to accept so simple a fact that one man could die and rise again, and justify you in the eyes of God.”