by Lynne Gentry
Cyprian’s face did not reflect the night of mental torture he must have endured after her refusal to stand by his side. Instead, his eyes were peaceful, the corners of his lips lifted in a satisfied smile. She remembered the butterflies in her stomach the night of their wedding. Cyprian, who was just as frightened as she at the unknown outcome of their marriage, had displayed the same courage at the altar. His chin was lifted proudly. His bronzed shoulders were draped in a brilliant white toga. His air of absolute certainty was indisputable.
Fighting like a salmon swimming upstream, Lisbeth shoved toward her husband, forcing her voice to rise above the roar: “Wait!”
Cyprian’s eyes locked with hers. He broke into a grateful smile. The clock she’d been fighting for years stopped ticking in her head. For a breathless moment it was just the two of them, hand in hand beneath the stars, their hearts entwined by a love so deep nothing could sever it.
“I love you,” she mouthed.
He swallowed and rewarded her with a nod.
“Mom!” Maggie had caught up with her.
“Maggie, go back!” Lisbeth shouted, but her daughter shook her head and pointed across the arena.
Maximus had assumed his place in the royal box. “State your name, prisoner of Rome.”
Lisbeth held her breath along with the spectators who had their eyes trained on the man standing among the ashes. She felt Maggie’s fingers lace with hers. Lisbeth squeezed tightly. They held on to each other, neither of them breathing.
“Caecilianus Cyprianus Thascius.”
“Are you the leader of the Christians?”
“I am a follower of Christ.” His bold proclamation was followed by a distant rumble of thunder.
Maximus rose to his feet, as if elevating himself in the eyes of the populace. “As their ringleader, you shall pay for their heinous crimes against the state.” The crowd erupted. “So that no one is seduced to follow your example, I order you beheaded.”
Stunned silence blanketed the arena.
“Blessed be the one God!” Cyprian’s whisper floated in the rising wind.
“Do you have one willing to stand with you and hold your patrician garments?”
“He does!” Barek shouted from somewhere in the bleachers. Everyone watched as the handsome young man sprinted down the steps. “I’ll not only stand with him, I’ll take his place.”
“Barek, no!” Maggie screamed.
Barek arrived at the stage, his chest heaving. “My father was the rightful bishop of Carthage. As his heir and successor, it is I who should perish for any perceived wrongs committed by my people.”
“I’ll not let him do it.” Cyprian clasped Barek’s shoulders. “God has other plans for you. For Maggie.”
Barek slowly backed down. His chest heaving, he held out his arms to accept Cyprian’s garments. Maximus signaled for the execution to commence. Lisbeth pulled against Maggie’s hold, desperately wishing she was worthy to take Cyprian’s place.
Cyprian removed his toga, folded the garment neatly, and then handed it and a small pouch to Barek. “Pay my executioner his twenty-five-aurei fee.”
Barek nodded, tears streaming from his eyes.
Cyprian raised his face and looked at Lisbeth. Peace had ironed the lines of defiance from his brow. A contented smile played at the corners of his lips. His eyes had been washed clear of all hate.
His lips began to move as he seemed to be coaxing sound from deep in his throat. A hushed whisper at first, his voice gained confidence and carried to the highest seat in the house: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
From proconsul to peasant, everyone heard his unflinching declaration. Cyprianus Thascius would sacrifice everything for the future. Lisbeth’s included. She didn’t deserve his gift any more than the world deserved what Christ had done at the cross. It was love so freely given it swelled her heart to bursting.
Cyprian folded his handkerchief and tied the cloth across his eyes. He knelt on one knee and then bowed before his executioner.
Grief drove Maggie to her knees.
Thunder boomed and summoned a mighty wind. Ashes rose from the rubble. Howling squalls crashed against the harbor walls.
In a flash of the sword . . . the moment Lisbeth had desperately tried to stop for nearly twenty years was over.
Cyprian was dead.
White-hot lightning ripped apart seething black clouds. Torrents of fresh warm rain poured forth and washed over Lisbeth as if heaven itself wept for what had just happened in this place.
Lisbeth stood with her face to the wind, her hands outstretched to God. Water slipped through her fingers and pounded her until she could stand no more. She joined Maggie on the ground and wrapped her in her arms. They clung to each other and wept.
Strong hands reached through the storm and gently lifted Maggie from Lisbeth’s grasp. Lisbeth raised her head to see Maggie securely enfolded in Barek’s arms.
Metras stood before her, the rain sliding down his nose. He offered Lisbeth his hand. “If one person falls . . .”
“A friend can help them stand,” she said through rivulets streaming down her face.
Metras pulled Lisbeth to her feet. One by one, Christians surrounded her and carried her forward.
Epilogue
LISBETH SAT BESIDE HER father beneath the arches of the pergola where she and Cyprian had made love. Smoke rings from Papa’s pipe drifted on the pink streaks of dawn. Maggie, Barek, Mama, and Laurentius splashed about in the harbor shallows. A breakfast of leeks rolled in curly cabbage leaves and swimming in olive oil steamed over the fire Papa had built for one last church picnic on the harbor walls. Once the sun had completely risen, Christians not on duty at the hospital would soon join them for a time of worship and prayer.
Since Eggie’s return, things had changed for the followers of the one God. While the emperor’s grandson had arrived a week too late to save Cyprian, the ill-fated timing of the news he brought was sobering. Valerian was dead. Eggie’s father was the new emperor of Rome. Gallienus had been so impressed by what Eggie told him that he’d declared it illegal to persecute Christians. The church no longer had to meet in secret.
History or God’s plan? Lisbeth wasn’t sure there was a difference.
The new emperor had stripped Maximus of his title and ordered him to return to Rome. Tempting as it was to wish Maximus executed, Lisbeth was shocked and saddened when Titus told her the proconsul’s body had been discovered swinging from the last standing column in the theater.
Lisbeth had agreed with Titus: Carthage was in good hands now that Eggie had assumed the office of proconsul.
Speaking of Titus, because of the land merchant’s generosity Cyprian’s house had been purchased from the state and remodeled to expand the church’s ability to care for the sick. More beds meant more work, but under Lisbeth’s direction the tireless efforts of Pontius, Metras, Candia, Arria, and even Quinta were beginning to put a dent in both disease outbreaks. Lisbeth’s chest threatened to cave in upon her every time she thought of leaving this selfless team to fight this battle without her and Mama’s expertise.
Clutching Maggie’s cell phone, Lisbeth stared out at the water lapping the stone wall. Spring winds snapped the scarlet sails of the imperial freighters returning to Rome. They were loaded with only a portion of the grain stores from Titus Cicero’s silos. Gallienus had ordered the rest left behind to feed the African provinces until the harvest. A new day was coming to Carthage.
So why did the rusty grind of lifting anchors and the shouts of restless sailors anxious to leave the stench of smoldering funeral pyres fill her with such dread? History had proven it was a river that would not stray from its banks. For now, the empire would survive. But would she?
Maggie’s squeal drew Lisbeth’s attention to the beach. “I can’t believe you just did that.” Her curls were wet from the water Barek had poured. “You know I’ll get even.” She chased him into deeper water, where he pulled her into his arms a
nd then promptly dunked her. When she came up sputtering, Lisbeth couldn’t help but remember the times she and Cyprian had flirted on this very same beach.
“See, Laurentius,” Mama said, encouraging him to wade in past his knees. “You just spit the water out and everything is fine.”
While Mama had spent these past few weeks acquiring the stamina necessary to withstand the rigors of time travel, Lisbeth had spent hours in the pool teaching Laurentius how to use nose plugs and hold his breath. She hated that her half brother was still terrified of water, but she didn’t know what else to do. If they were all going home, then Laurentius would have to come too. She could only hope her promise of a shopping spree at an art supply store would eventually convince him to take the plunge into the well.
Papa’s days had been consumed with scurrying from one historical site to the next, scribbling copious notes in his journal.
And then there was the church.
Cyprian’s letter outlining the details of Barek’s appointment as bishop had been delivered by the centurion the night of Cyprian’s death. Titus had easily convinced Lisbeth her support would go a long way in helping the church make the leadership transition. Barek had been leaning against a shadowed pillar, pressing his back to the cold stone when Titus herded everyone into the garden. Without much fanfare, the land merchant announced Cyprian’s wish for the son of Caecilianus to assume his father’s place. Barek had straightened his back and stepped from the shadows, giving everyone full access to what little he had to offer. At one time Lisbeth would have doubted this boy could shuck his churlish attitude and take his father’s place. But Barek had proved her wrong again and again, and the day he held her husband’s toga and boldly offered himself in Cyprian’s place, she knew Barek had become the man of his mother’s dreams.
Lisbeth had prepared to oppose any dissenters. But there had been none. No hostile looks. No concerns voiced. No other candidates put forth.
The clapping had started in the back. One after another, hands went together in a show of support that traveled through the crowd. The church was also in good hands now.
So what was impeding Lisbeth’s ability to pick a day for their trip through the time portal? Why was she stalling?
Maggie.
Lisbeth watched her daughter’s graceful strokes slice through the water. The impetuous girl had become a disciplined young woman these past few weeks. It was as if she’d grown up right before Lisbeth’s eyes. Maggie had suffered a great loss with Cyprian’s death, but she seemed to put her pain second to Lisbeth’s grief. In an ironic turning of the overprotective tables, Maggie had even offered to live at home and finish college in Dallas.
Maggie stumbled onto the sand. “Are you going to let a girl beat you?”
Barek was only two strokes behind her. “Don’t think you’ve won.” He chased her down the beach. They disappeared behind the lighthouse pillars, where Lisbeth guessed a few quick kisses would most likely be stolen.
Lisbeth’s chest constricted. “Did I do enough, Papa?”
He took a long draw on his pipe, then gently laid his hand upon hers. “That’s a question for the ages, Beetle Bug.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “The past is a desert wind.” His lips formed a circle, and another smoke ring floated on the breeze. “It can rise very unexpectedly and bury every trace of beauty deep within the earth . . . deeper still in our hearts.” They sat in silence, watching the tiny smoke ring expand as it drifted toward the sun. “But after finding your mother I know this: if you’re not afraid to excavate the ugly layers, beauty can be discovered again.” He turned and smiled. “Don’t be afraid to dig deep. There is love yet to be discovered beneath these ashes.” He kissed her cheek. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, your mother promised Laurentius and me one last stroll through the Tophet.”
Water filled the footprints Papa, Mama, and Laurentius left in the sand as they set out hand in hand.
Lisbeth wiped a tear from her cheek and powered on the phone. The battery bar was nearly empty. She went to the camera roll and quickly scrolled to the image of Cyprian, Maggie, and herself. She stared at the picture, comparing Maggie’s features to Cyprian’s, until it faded to black. She pressed the button again, but the power was gone. Without a way to charge the drained battery, the family she’d worked so hard to put together would be forever lost. Or was it?
The truth was a pill she could hardly swallow. To rewind the clock and return to the twenty-first century would be like pulling threads in the tapestry of her life. Which one was she willing to remove? Her mother’s plunge through the time portal? Then she would never have known her father. What about her decision to study medicine? Lisbeth couldn’t imagine another profession more suited to her than healing people. What about her father’s summons to the Cave of the Swimmers? If Lisbeth hadn’t fallen through the crack in time, she wouldn’t have met the bravest man she’d ever known. If she hadn’t fallen in love with Cyprianus Thascius and his people, her beautiful daughter would never have been born. And if Maggie hadn’t painted that little swimmer family on Ruth’s urn, Lisbeth might not have ever discovered the true meaning of family.
All her life she’d limited the term to those with the same DNA. Lisbeth believed her happiness was dependent upon her ability to assemble all of her blood relatives in the same time period. But in her quest to reunite those physically related, Lisbeth saw that her failure had brought her an entirely unexpected family. The care the church had given her these past few months had shown her the truth: family was more than blood. Anyone willing to love someone more than he loved himself was family. These people had been that selfless. Leaving them now would be like amputating a cherished body part.
Lisbeth’s gaze drifted up the beach to where Barek and Maggie had just emerged from behind the pillars, their faces flush with love. Behind them came Metras, Quinta, Pontius, Candia, and Arria.
Lisbeth clutched the dead cell phone. Somewhere deep inside she’d always known that she would never grow old with the bishop of Carthage. And yet, despite everything she’d lost, she did not feel robbed. The moments she’d had with him had changed her life and given her a group of people who loved her. She would be forever grateful.
Lisbeth watched Maggie lean into Barek, the water swirling around their ankles. Their love was a tender seed, a new beginning destined to ensure that Cyprian’s legacy of faith and generosity would live on.
“Mom?” Maggie’s voice cut through the roar of the waves. “You okay? You seem a million miles away.”
The question wasn’t whether Lisbeth was finished with the past. The question was whether she was willing to believe God was directing her future.
Lisbeth smiled. “For the first time in my life, I know I’m exactly where I belong.”
In the amber light of dawn the decision was made. Lisbeth walked toward her beautiful daughter and the handsome young man who was destined to become the next bishop of Carthage. She waded out to them, the phone in her outstretched hand. In one freeing move, she pulled back her arm and sent the last of her doubts sailing into the sea.
Their good deeds will never be forgotten.
—Psalm 112:9 NLT
Acknowledgments
A STORY IS ALWAYS BETTER when it is shared. I treasure the time you’ve taken to share this epic adventure with me.
I wrote this story for you. But I also wrote it for me.
A few years ago I felt betrayed by those in the church. Their hurtful actions changed my life forever. The injustice shook me to the core and dumped me out at a crossroads of faith. I had to make a decision: Give up on God’s plan for the church. Or cling to the promise that His love endures through every circumstance.
While wrestling with my decision, I was also researching our hero, a third-century martyr who faced this very same dilemma. Cyprianus Thascius also found himself at the crossroads of faith. He didn’t deserve the betrayal he suffered at the hands of his little church. He had options. He could have recanted or fled and left the church
to fend for itself. But he didn’t. His decision to stay and remain faithful to his calling cost him everything. Why did he choose the more perilous fork in the road?
Simple. Cyprianus Thascius believed in the power that comes from joining hands with God and with other believers.
So many people joined hands with me to bring me to a place of healing. Many of them worked to help me bring this story to readers, and I am forever grateful. The numerous works of early church scholars and historians sparked my imagination. Gary Tucker helped me wade through Roman trial procedures. A young doctor tried to steer me away from having a character perform brain surgery with a tent stake, but when she saw the historical evidence for this procedure, she helped me drive the stake through the skull with the least amount of damage. The fabulous, hardworking team at Howard Books, especially my crackerjack editors, Jessica Wong and Katie Sandell, championed and polished. My ever-supportive husband, children, and tribe of writing friends cheered and celebrated. And a huge thank-you goes to my new online friend the Carthaginian Wanderer, who lives only eight miles from the fascinating ruins of Carthage. This brilliant young local whose hobby is passionately re-creating the lost art of making purple dye has enthusiastically become my eyes and ears into that ancient world.
So by now you’ve probably figured out I’ve chosen to continue on the path of faith. You see, when I joined hands with the perfect Christ I also became part of his imperfect human family. No longer can I walk this earth and ignore the plight of my fellow man. While I’m alive, there will be struggles and disappointments, but when I die I will go to a place not bound by the confines of time but a place of perfection. And I feel compelled to take as many with me as I can. My prayer is that you too will join hands with the Savior and those who love him and set a course for this timeless world.
