Valley of Decision

by Lynne Gentry

  Cyprian’s brows rose. “I’m sure there’s more to this story.”

  “He’s cocky and can really get on your nerves, but deep down he’s a good guy,” Maggie said. “And because of the kindnesses the church has shown him”—Maggie wiped at her cheeks—“he’s going to tell Valerian about how wonderful Christians really are. How wonderful you are.” Maggie was begging now. “That’s why we’re here. We have to delay your trial until Eggie can return with a new edict.”

  “There will not be a new edict, Maggie,” Cyprian said gently. “War presses the empire on every border. Even if Valerian wanted to humor his grandson, the emperor needs capital to finance his armies. What better resource than the properties of people not given to war?” Cyprian pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I can’t allow this to continue. Someone has to stand up and say ‘Enough.’ ”

  “People do horrible things when they’re scared,” Maggie argued. “Giving up is one of them.”

  Cyprian took her by the shoulders. “More innocent people will die if Maximus does not consider the score settled. I cannot let that happen.” Before Maggie could protest, Cyprian turned and placed his hands on Barek’s shoulders.

  “After your father’s execution, I thought it was my duty to take the weakened believers by the scruff of the neck and bring them back in line. I made mistakes. Being hard on you was one of them.” He released Barek and took a step back. “When your mother asked me to lead the church, we both knew my term as bishop was to last only until you were no longer a storm-whipped reed. I knew when you risked your life for mine in the alley you had become a man of strong conviction. A man not easily deterred. A man I trust with the future of the church.”

  “No, not me—I . . .” Barek stuttered.

  Cyprian silenced him with a raised palm. “You’ll become the leader your mother always thought you would be.” Then Cyprian turned to Maggie.

  “Maggie, I regret I won’t see you marry”—he took Maggie’s hand, and Maggie’s gaze darted to Barek. Lisbeth’s heart dropped. Her daughter was in love. Did Cyprian see it too? How could she ask Maggie to leave this world now?—“but you deserve to have a man who would die for you as I would for your mother. I’m counting on you to find that man.”

  “Daddy, please . . .”

  Cyprian joined Maggie’s hand to Barek’s. “Promise me you’ll take my daughter to safety.” He kissed Barek’s cheek. “I need a moment with Maggie’s mother.”

  “I won’t go!” Maggie cried.

  “You will,” Lisbeth said.

  Disbelief scrolled into resignation on Maggie’s face and for once she didn’t argue. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “One picture, please?”

  “Not now, Maggie,” Lisbeth said.

  “Now is all we’ve got, Mom.”

  Lisbeth folded her arms across her chest in an effort to keep her heart from breaking. “You’re right.”

  Maggie showed Barek how to press the button on her phone. She waved Lisbeth over to stand next to Cyprian, then she squeezed between them. Their family together at last. The Christmas card photo Lisbeth had always dreamed of, minus the terrified stares.

  Maggie looped her arms around Lisbeth’s and Cyprian’s waists. “On the count of three, everyone say ‘Free.’ ”

  The light flashed. Cyprian flinched. None of them made an effort to move.

  Barek started to hand back the phone. “Maggie, are you all right?”

  Cyprian pulled his daughter to him, but it was too late. When Maggie realized she was hugging her father for the last time, the sobbing became more than Lisbeth could bear. Cyprian reluctantly handed Maggie off to Barek, who wrapped his arm around her heaving shoulders and led her outside.

  Lisbeth waited until they were alone before she allowed the acid flooding her esophagus to erupt. “Die for me? Don’t make your decision to die about me.”

  “Lisbeth, you should know better than anyone that the future depends upon—”

  “I know you have to do this, no matter the future. Dying a martyr’s death is part of who you were meant to be.” Her words choked to a whisper. “So why isn’t this easy? I thought I could come here, get our daughter and my mother, and go home. End of story. And then I fell in love all over again. Not just with you, but with these people. I can’t keep doing this and you can’t avoid death forever.”

  Cyprian’s Adam’s apple rose and fell under her disappointed gaze. He had no words, no smooth oratorical explanation. He had only his conviction. From the set of his jaw Lisbeth could see he would never let faith go. And she couldn’t help but love him all the more.

  Cyprian moved toward her slowly. His fingers skimmed her arm from shoulder to wrist. Her involuntary shudder tightened the invisible tether between them. She could stomp her foot and try to shake free. It would do no good. They were bound, heart and soul. For better or worse.

  “You’re cold,” Cyprian said softly. He lifted a scarlet cloak from the hook on the wall and wrapped her snugly against him. Encircled in the warmth of his musky scent, Lisbeth felt her resistance melt. She molded to his body, the one she’d always known had been created to fit perfectly against hers.

  Cyprian buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. “From the moment I saw you standing upon the slave block,” he whispered, “I knew God had sent you here for a purpose.”

  Lisbeth lifted her chin. “To torment you?”

  An attempt at a smile wrinkled the corners of his mouth. “To teach me how to love.” His hands cupped her face. He lowered his lips to hers and whispered, “You never gave up on me.”

  His salty kiss proved Lisbeth and Maggie weren’t the only ones who’d shed tears. She’d said good-bye before, but in the back of her mind there had always been that tiny seed of hope that they would somehow be reunited. This time it was different. This good-bye was final.

  This time she would not be the one traveling into the unknown. Cyprian was the one being sent ahead. Not to the twenty-first century. But beyond the boundaries of time. Beyond even Lisbeth’s comprehension of the future. His decision would send him to a world neither of them knew, a world where those who dwelt with God were so happy that time no longer mattered. As enchanting as an eternity in heaven sounded, it was still a world she couldn’t quite comprehend.

  And from the quiver of his lip, Cyprian was as shattered as she at the prospect of not going together. Would they be able to find each other in this timeless place? Would they know that once upon a time they had loved each other despite all odds?

  Lisbeth choked back tears. All she knew for certain was this: once Cyprian passed through death’s portal, she could not press her hand to some long-forgotten image and follow him . . . not until the Lord opened the gate that separated them. Until then she would have only her memories.

  “You’re so beautiful.” Cyprian’s thumbs rubbed her wet cheeks. “I’ll love you forever.” His kiss, gentle at first, pressed harder. His hands slid slowly over her shoulder and down her back. His fingers anchored at her waist. As they grasped each other, she twined her fingers in his hair and shuttered the chants of the demanding crowd.

  This was their last moment, the last time they would ever touch, and Lisbeth intended to savor every second with this man. A man who cringed at her sharp tongue but respected her quick mind. A man of impeccable honor, yet a soul so humble he was willing to forgive those who failed to live up to his standards. A man whose inner strength was as beautiful as his strong body.

  Lisbeth banished despair and allowed the warmth of his arms to thaw the chill in her bones. The thumping of his heart against hers declared she had loved not a dream, but a real man.

  Cyprian’s hold tightened. “When it’s over, take your family and go home.”

  But she couldn’t . . . no, she wouldn’t.

  Tomorrow was September 14, 258.

  Shortly after sunup, the man she loved, the man born to carry the weight of his calling all the way to the foot of the cross, would die.

&nbs
p; Lisbeth laid a hand upon his chest and pushed away. “I’ve risked everything for you.” Uncontrollable shudders shook tears over her lashes. “But I won’t watch you die.”

  She kissed him hard, then fled, refusing to let him see her total meltdown. Because her tears would tell him what she could not.

  She lacked the courage to wait for eternity.

  55

  MORNING RUMBLED IN WITH a distant clap of thunder and put an end to Cyprian’s sleepless night. He rose from his mat and opened the window. A brisk, northerly wind carried the scent of rain and the hope that Carthage could somehow be washed clean.

  Craning his neck, Cyprian searched the sliver of space between two tall buildings for one last glimpse of the sea. Black clouds swirling over blue water had churned the mix into a gray mist. Keeping his spirit from sinking into the fog would be a challenge.

  In an effort to clear his mind for prayer, Cyprian dunked his hair in the washbasin. He raised his head and let the water trickle into the bowl. Using his flattened palms, he battled his wet curls into submission. The image of Lisbeth’s disappointment, however, refused to be pushed aside. All night he’d wrestled with his decision to relinquish his family’s hope in Eggie’s persuasive powers. Maybe in Lisbeth’s future world rulers listened when a sound case was made for mercy. But in this world, the world his God had called him to serve, there was only one way to make a point: unflinching sacrifice.

  Lord, give me the strength. Not just to finish, but to finish well.

  Cyprian was so deep in prayer when his host came to deliver the solemn news that the time had come he had to be shaken into awareness. He finger-combed his damp hair, donned his tunic, then reached for the letter he’d written when sleep would not come.

  He handed the commander the note. “Could I trouble you to see this is delivered to . . .” He hesitated, for if his death did not accomplish its purpose he did not want anything he’d penned to bring retribution upon Lisbeth before she could reach the time portal, nor upon the church she would leave behind.

  Understanding filled the officer’s eyes. “I’ll see it discreetly delivered into her hands.”

  Cyprian could express his gratitude with only a pained nod.

  The multitude of people had grown throughout the night despite the commander’s attempts to send them home. News of this gathering of support for Cyprian’s release had prompted Maximus to issue a full cohort to march the prisoner from the Saturn quarter of the city to the Praetorium.

  Cyprian passed through a living hall of spectators who lined the route and perched on gnarled tree branches. He scanned the crowd for one last glimpse of Lisbeth and Maggie, but their beautiful faces were missing from those staring at him now. Relieved, he set his eyes on the path before him.

  Though the air was brisk, perspiration trickled down Cyprian’s back as he climbed the steps of the Praetorium.

  Two solemn-faced guards yanked open the heavy doors to the senatorial chamber. The stink of damp wool, smoking braziers, and condemnation assaulted him one last time.

  56

  AREN’T YOU GOING?” MAGGIE’S hands trembled with strained hope as she held out a pair of shoes, an undertunic, and a beautiful gown she’d borrowed from Titus’s wife. “Barek said he would take us.”

  Lisbeth stared at the tattoo on Maggie’s wrist. DAD. She was willing to give her daughter space, even the opportunity to make her own mistakes. But this time she couldn’t give her daughter what she wanted most: one more try at saving her father.

  Lisbeth wrapped herself in Cyprian’s cloak and crawled into the bed they’d shared under the eaves of Titus’s villa. “I can’t.” She drew the hood over her head and breathed in her husband’s scent in a desperate attempt to burn his essence into her memory.

  “What do you mean you can’t? I’ve seen you face down a Roman soldier and order him to turn himself over to a bunch of Christians for healing. If anybody can stop this, it’s you.” Maggie peeled back the cloak and drew closer until they were nose-to-nose. “You’ve wanted our family together your whole life. I can’t believe you’re going to stop now.”

  “What do you expect me to do, Maggie? Your father told us to go home.”

  “I don’t know. Challenge Maximus to a duel. Cause a riot.” Maggie paused. “Be there for Dad.”

  Lisbeth lowered the blanket and stared at her bossy daughter. “When did you get so grown up?”

  Maggie offered her hand. “With God’s help we’ll get through this. No matter what happens. And we’ll do it together.” Maggie’s eyes locked with hers, pleading for her to do something.

  The terror squeezing Lisbeth’s chest loosened a millimeter. She let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Give me five minutes.”

  Maggie tossed Lisbeth a washcloth and instructed her to scrub the tears from her face. “That’s better.” She dropped the soft linen undertunic over Lisbeth’s head and wrapped her in the silk stola. “Cover your head with this scarf, just in case the redhead’s friends are still looking for us.”

  According to Maggie, she’d helped her grandmother tend the soldier who’d chased them with such malicious intent, and she was pleased to report that this morning he was both contrite and on the mend. “But I’ve got to tell you, Mom, this loving your enemy stuff isn’t easy.”

  “No, it is not.” Lisbeth clasped Maggie’s hand.

  When they entered the atrium, Titus, Pontius, Candia, the senator’s wife, Metras, and Papa were dressed and ready to go. “I can’t let you risk your lives,” Lisbeth told them.

  “If a man falls alone, he’s in trouble.” Metras waved his cane. “You won’t be alone.”

  Mama stepped forward, the stethoscope Lisbeth had given the soldier wrapped around her neck. “Laurentius and I will help my friends hold the fort.”

  “Mama, what if I can’t stand it?”

  Her mother kissed her cheek. “Sometimes in this life we are forced to part from those we love, but God never leaves us. He’ll give you the strength for whatever comes.”

  The misty air was thick and oppressive with the threat of rain. Distant thunder rolled in closer and closer, as if heaven were sending an army to take on the injustices of Rome.

  Had everything led up to this horrifying test of her love?

  Lisbeth’s first trip to Carthage had been one of accident and ignorance. It was only because of the kindness of the church that she had survived. Her second trip had been well planned. Relying on her knowledge of what had happened before and what was yet to come, Lisbeth had been certain her second journey would be different, that she could control the outcome. Yet she’d failed to factor in the possibility of Maggie making a sudden plunge into the portal and then contracting typhoid. If Barek hadn’t stood in the gap and fought off the soldiers so she and Maggie could get away, they would have lost their lives.

  Now here she was once again with her back against the wall. Only this time the world was in collapse. Was Lisbeth really going to insert herself into history armed with nothing but love and a ragtag little group who were no match for the swords of Rome?

  Lord, help me.

  Lisbeth and Maggie followed Barek, Titus, and Metras. Candia, Arria, Pontius, and Papa brought up the rear. Her little posse of friends fell in with the masses headed to the burned-out theater where it was rumored Cyprian had been taken after the kangaroo court condemned him in the Praetorium. According to Titus’s sources, a guilty verdict had been issued in less than five minutes.

  “Hurry, Mom.” Maggie tugged on her sleeve. “Eggie could be inside.”

  “Maggie, don’t—”

  “Eggie’s coming. I know he is.”

  For a split second, Lisbeth grabbed hold of Maggie’s hope. The crowd jostled her, and she realized they’d lost sight of the rest of their party. She held firmly to Maggie’s hand and pushed past the long lines of people making their way to the theater. After several reprimands and rude shoves sent them stumbling toward the back of the line, she spotted Metras.

  “This
way,” the old man said.

  Lisbeth and Maggie followed him through a small gap in the shrubbery that acted as a thorny hedge to keep any nonpaying customers from the entertainment. Scratched and bloody, they emerged at the top row of the theater’s seating, so high above the orchestra pit that here the flames that had destroyed the stage and backdrop left only a few singe marks. From this vantage point, Lisbeth searched for Eggie. He was nowhere to be seen. Help would not come. Not from Eggie. Not from the proconsul’s change of heart. Not from the Lord.

  As Lisbeth’s gaze settled on the blackened space where the elaborate stage had been, a gasp escaped her.

  Cyprian waited in the center of the ash and rubble. Though his hands and feet were bound, he stood tall, unafraid, and ready to sacrifice his life for the cause of Christ. From the contented smile on his face, Lisbeth could see he knew his sentence had actually been cast long ago—on the day he happened into a little dye shop and met a man who told him the life-changing story of the one God.

  His head slowly turned as he searched the crowd for someone . . . not just anyone . . . he searched for her.

  Be there for him.

  The dread that had gripped Lisbeth for so many years dissipated. Her purpose had never been to change Cyprian or his circumstances. Her purpose was to love him, and that she would do until her life came to an end. “Cyprian! I’m here.” She jumped up and down, waving her arms. “Cyprian!”

  A guard shoved him toward a soldier holding a long sword.

  Lisbeth’s shout did not carry over the din of a thousand clamoring spectators. “I’m sorry, my love.” Her frantic hands slid from the sticky air and hung limply at her sides.

  “Go to him!” Maggie pushed her forward. “Now!”

  Her daughter’s order snapped Lisbeth into action. “Stay with Metras. Do you hear me?” Lisbeth wiggled through anxious spectators, all of them cranky from a night of sleepless waiting. Darting left and right, she worked her way to the nearest aisle. She reached the top landing. The stairs were a river of people climbing to the cheap seats. Lisbeth rose to her tiptoes and craned to see the man she loved. She prayed that if she fastened her line of sight on his, her husband would somehow feel her love.