Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay)

by Lee Strauss

  “Okay. I’ll do as you wish.”

  He closed his eyes, and spoke aloud, “Jesus, the God of Saturus and Priscilla, if you are real and alive as they claim, show yourself to me.”

  He breathed in and exhaled. There, it was over. His friends were silent, but he submitted to the wait. Soon they would ask him if Jesus spoke and he could say no and go home.

  Then, in an instant, Cassius was flat on his back as if struck by lightning. He could hear the prayers of Priscilla and Saturus, and was mortified that he had somehow lost his balance. He pressed his hands against the floor in an effort to lift himself up, but to no avail. His arms and legs were like cedars he could not lift them! Every effort to move failed, and the air surrounding his body grew heavy. He struggled like a man whose neck had been broken, and he was afraid suddenly that he had been hit somehow and was suffering from paralysis. He strove to call out for help, but, like in a dream, his tongue felt thick and heavy and would not move.

  His heart pounded, blood raced through his veins; he had not died, he assured himself, for a moment had flashed when he thought he had entered the other world.

  He felt a rush of peace, unlike anything he had experienced. Though it seemed like only minutes, Cassius learned that he spent more than two hours plastered to the floor, creating a puddle with his tears.

  And when he finally arose, he was a new and different man.

  Chapter Eleven

  GORDIAN

  Gordian had arrived at his father’s house for a visit shortly after his sister returned to live there. He scoffed at the news of her separation from Vincentius, although it had been obvious to him at the wedding feast that Vincentius was a homosexual. He was therefore forced to consider his father an opportunist. It seemed he was indeed willing to sacrifice his own beloved daughter for financial advantage.

  That he now claimed to have been duped by Vincentius was ludicrous.

  Restless and bored with the tediousness of life at his father’s villa, Gordian intended to make a trip into Carthage. Perhaps he would visit a temple prostitute. However, his choice to cut through the fields at the back past the well provided another suitable opportunity to satisfy him.

  He spotted the slave girl Felicity. There was something enticing about the way the sun shone off her long dark braid, and the way she glided when she walked, her long white tunic smooth over a tall, slim body, a leather belt tucking in a narrow waist.

  He didn’t think twice about taking her. She was just a slave after all, and hadn’t he raped dozens of women when they had rampaged through villages in battle? Women were nothing more than livestock, simply put on this earth by Jupiter to satisfy the needs of men. But still, he was careful not to bruise her in any place that would not be covered by her tunic.

  Chapter Twelve

  HELENA

  Where was Felicity? Helena watched for her in the fields as she made her way back to the villa. She called out for her once inside. None of the kitchen staff had seen her. When she inquired of her mother, Virina complained harshly that Annia had not remained with her long enough today, and no she hadn’t seen Felicity either.

  It was unlike Felicity to be unavailable to her. Helena could not think of one time when Felicity had not been in the shadows waiting to be called upon, or had not known with some kind of sixth sense that she was needed by her mistress.

  The fact that she was missing caused Helena a good amount of concern. She scouted the grounds in her view from a second floor balcony, looking vainly for her familiar form.

  Finally, she went directly to Felicity’s quarters, where she lived with Annia and Protobius. Her knock was answered by Annia whose face, normally bronzed by the sun, was white and drawn.

  “Is something wrong, Annia?” Helena asked.

  She nodded, “Yes, my lady.”

  “What is it? Is it Felicity? Is she ill? Why has no one informed me of her condition?”

  “She is not ill, she is, uh, injured.”

  “Injured? Well, what happened? I wish to see her.” Helena pushed passed Annia, into a small, dark, yet impeccable room.

  Annia hesitated, which perplexed and angered Helena even more. “Lead the way.”

  She followed the elderly woman to an even darker smaller room at the back. The shutters were drawn.

  “Felicity?” Helena could see her slave’s silhouette curled up on a mat in the corner. She heard a muffled sob, and the girl covered her face with her arms.

  “What happened? Did you fall? I can’t see you in this light.” Helena took two swift strides to the window and threw the shutters open. “There, that’s better. Now let me look at you.”

  The slave refused to look in her eyes. Helena noticed straw and wild grass stuck in Felicity’s hair, and a bruise forming on her forearm. She was shivering.

  “Is there not a blanket to be found?” Helena called out.

  When she saw the blood, small red patches staining the white tunic that was pushed up between her legs, she suddenly knew what had happened.

  “Oh, to the gods, who did this to you?”

  Felicity, shivering, curled into a tighter ball, but remained silent.

  “I demand that you tell me. Annia?”

  Helena turned to look again into Annia’s face. Her eyes were large and sunken. “Do you know who did this?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Well, then tell me. Who?”

  “Master Gordian.”

  Helena’s jaw dropped. Gordian? She breathed deeply, shutting her mouth firmly, and said nothing. It would not do to show disapproval of a family member in front of the slaves. As a Roman citizen, Gordian had legal right to do whatever he wished with any slave in his Father’s house. But Felicity belonged to her.

  “See to her Annia. I will send over a nurse.” She left as abruptly as she had arrived. She was furious with her brother yet helpless to do anything about it. He would just laugh if she confronted him; brush her off as he stuffed his face, feasting after his latest conquest. Her father would be disappointed in his son, and not for the first time, but he would not require retribution. What was done was done. As a slave, Felicity had no rights.

  Helena had disliked Gordian for many years, but as of today she simply loathed him. Now she could only pray to the gods that his seed would not take.

  Helena couldn’t stand to remain home, or chance another accidental meeting with Gordian. She blessed the gods of the doorway and exterior gates, then acknowledging the imprudence of walking to the city alone, reluctantly returned to acquire a slave to escort her.

  Finally, she was on her way with a tall, dark Egyptian, who carried a large palm to shade her. She could have taken one of her father’s carriages and a driver, but she needed to walk off her anger.

  She fussed and fumed and carried on animated conversations in her head of all the terrible things she would like to say to her brother, and yes, Father, for not siding with her. If worse came to worse, she would have to seek out an abortion for her slave, and unfortunately for Felicity, marriage was no longer an option. She had no idea how to discreetly find a suitable physician who could perform the operation. However, it was likely that Tatiana or her mother could help her with that.

  Gradually she slowed her pace. She was now well within the bustle of the city, and only blocks from the Forum.

  When the crowds became too heavy, the tall Egyptian moved ahead of her to make way, and the people separated as if for royalty. Helena had become accustomed to the respect shown to her because of her father, and chose to ignore the whispering that picked up behind her back on account of her short-lived marriage.

  Through the throngs she thought she glimpsed someone she recognized.

  “Cassius!” she called out, though her voice blended with the city noise, and he could not hear her.

  Oh, how she longed to unload her grievances with someone, and she knew that Cassius shared her black opinions of their older brother.

  “Cassius!”

  Still he could no
t hear her. She instructed the slave to move in his direction. Then she saw with whom he was speaking. It was the temple prostitute she had often spotted at past festivals and sacrifices. How could anyone mistake that red hair?

  “Oh, not him too,” she thought to herself. Hadn’t he shown himself to be different than the others? Had she been wrong about him all these months?

  “Cassius!” Finally, he heard her voice and turned around. Seeing her, he spoke softly to the girl and she left him.

  “Helena.”

  “Brother. I thought you at least would show enough propriety and respect for your father to do the things that should be done in private, in private.”

  “It’s not like that, Helena. It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, come on. Her plain manner of dress is little disguise. You play me for a fool.”

  “You are no fool, Helena.”

  She paused, surprised by the respect she heard in his voice. Yet she challenged him. “Is she not a temple prostitute?”

  “Was.”

  “Was?” she replied incredulously. “Once a prostitute always a prostitute.”

  “That’s not always true.”

  “Tell me how. What power is there so great it could change and redeem someone like her?”

  “There is a Power greater than anything you have yet to experience, sister. One who is able to change, redeem, and forgive.”

  “You talk in riddles.”

  “I wish to speak plainly, but this is not the place. I can take you somewhere quieter, if you wish to hear.”

  Helena paused to gaze into her brother’s eyes. They were so different from Gordian’s or Father and Mother’s—even from her own—for they were calm and without torment. Curiosity, and yes, envy caused her to nod her head.

  She was amazed further, when he took her to the home of Saturus, the produce merchant.

  Although she had often made purchases from the various merchants in the Forum, and from the vendors off the side streets, she had never in her life had occasion to step into a private dwelling place belonging to one of them.

  This end unit row house was a stark contrast to the vastness she was accustomed to. Helena’s eyes darted across the small room, which was clean and well lit, but by her standards sparse. Most notably there were no idols or paintings of the gods of Rome to be seen anywhere.

  A large man had answered her brother’s knock, and once inside, they embraced like father and son. This act alone sent shivers down her back, for she had never witnessed such intimacy between Cassius and Brutus.

  “Welcome!” The burly man said, “You are early.”

  Helena perceived he would have said a lot more, but was exercising caution because of her.

  “Greetings Saturus,” said Cassius. “Please forgive me for coming so soon. I did not realize I would meet my sister in the Forum. I desire a quiet place to talk with her.”

  “Certainly,” he said, tilting his head toward her, a sparkle in his eye. “You will introduce us?”

  “Of course! Forgive my rudeness. Saturus, this is my sister Helena. Helena please allow me to introduce you to my dear friend, Saturus.”

  “It is my pleasure to meet you,” he said.

  “Likewise.”

  “I will leave you two alone,” Saturus said, and then to Cassius, “if you need anything from me, please call.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  When his host had left them, Cassius sat down, motioning for his sister to join him.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand,” she said.

  “That’s fine with me.”

  “Cassius,” she said with a flutter, “I’m confused. Why did you bring me here? Who are these people? Why do you know them so well? They are obviously beneath our class.”

  Cassius held her gaze then said, “Helena, I have converted to Christianity.”

  “Oh.” So that was it. He had been persuaded by his love, Priscilla.

  She found herself seated suddenly despite her intention not to.

  Willingness to associate with the lower classes was a commonly known practice among the Christians, and a highly ridiculed one by those who were not. She found herself terribly disturbed by her brother’s apparent friendship with these people.

  “Cassius, surely you know you can have the girl of your choice without taking on her beliefs? Don’t we have plenty of gods and mysteries to satisfy your desire for the divine?”

  “Have they satisfied your desire for the divine, sister?”

  She sat back. Did her gods satisfy the deep longings of her heart? Could they fill the gaping hole left in her soul by Lucius? No, they did not. But instead she pouted, defensively, “Don’t answer a question with a question, Cassius. Besides, what can these people offer you that you cannot find in your own father’s house?”

  “The truth, Helena. And peace.”

  “Brother, you shock me!”

  “I’m sorry, I shall not lie.”

  “I don’t understand.” She was on her feet again, pacing in small circles. “Who is this Christ? Was he not a man, like yourself, and a Jew on top of it?”

  “He was, but so much more. He was God come in the flesh, Helena. God, one true God, who created everything we see, everything we know. He came to save us.”

  This was insane. Helena stood and walked to the door. “Answer me one thing, Cassius. How can a dead man save us?”

  “A dead man can’t save us. But Jesus is no longer dead. He rose from the dead. He is master over death. In Jesus Christ, even death has no power over us! Don’t you see? In Christ we live, free from internal bondage in this world, and forever with him in the next.”

  Helena stopped pacing, locking eyes with her brother. It was true. His eyes were peaceful. She had noticed this before. And Christianity, she had to admit, had made a better man of Cassius, than Severus’s army had made of Gordian.

  “They say Christians are a Jewish sect, rebels against Roman law.”

  “Christians may be Jewish or gentile. We keep the laws of Rome, insomuch as we do not have to break the law of grace written on our hearts.”

  “They say your refusal to worship all the gods of Rome will stir up their wrath, and that the gods will turn against Rome and the Emperor, bringing ruin.”

  “We insist on worshipping only one true God, that I cannot deny. However, I believe it’s more upsetting to those who rule Rome, than to the gods of their imaginations.”

  Helena ignored her brother’s insubordinate attitude continuing, “They say Christians plot secretly to overthrow Rome.”

  “We only desire to spread the good news of Jesus Christ. We are after souls, not seats in the senate.”

  “Does Father know?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you not tell him?”

  “I wait until the Lord tells me it’s time.”

  “And this lord, told you it was time with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Well, I am not so easy to convince, Cassius. But I can see it has been of benefit to you, so I am willing to hear more. But I am not prepared to convert. The price would be too great.”

  “You will find it worth the price.”

  “We will see.”

  “There are more than two thousand Christians in Carthage, with conversions happening daily.”

  Helena nodded. Carthage boasted a population of more than 500,000, but two thousand Christians in the mix was admirable. She hadn’t thought about the fact that many Roman’s were daily giving up their pagan beliefs to follow a dead Jew. She had to wonder why.

  Cassius continued. “We meet in small groups throughout the city, to escape unnecessary detection.”

  “They say Christitians do abominable things in secret. They say they drink blood.”

  “I will tell you for certain that I have never drunk blood, nor has anyone in my company. We do celebrate the gift of blood that Christ poured out for us, but we use wine to symbolize that.”

  Cassius smiled at He
lena gently. “There is a meeting scheduled for later on this evening. Why don’t you stay? See for yourself what it is that Christians do in secret.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  HELENA’S JOURNAL

  201 AD

  My life has been entirely altered. Even as I write this I am like one who has narrowly escaped tragedy—a survivor of a carriage wreck, or one who has had the good fortune to recover from a terrible sickness.

  When Cassius convinced me to remain at the gathering of Christian believers, it was my determined intent to observe only, and that I did in the beginning. My first impressions were not so impressive, as the group who arrived was a mixture of people who knew wealth and education and those who did not. I was not surprised, in fact, for this I had expected, but I did not realize that I would find it so disturbing, particularly when that red-headed prostitute (they introduced me to her as Didia), and a slave, were included as equals.

  However, my foundations have been thoroughly shaken, for not only did their kindness to each other and to me cause me to doubt my own goodness, the strength of their belief in Jesus Christ overwhelmed me. I did not believe in anything so fervently as they.

  And this I had secretly longed for something, anything to be passionate about in this life. Something that would dull the pain in my heart, help me finally to put my dreams of Lucius aside.

  But not Jesus, not a Jew.

  Then they began to pray, first Saturus, then the man Revocatus, and the slave who was called Secundus. Even the women prayed including the pretty girl Priscilla, and Didia. They loved their Lord, there could be no denying it, and I found myself enjoying their pleasure.

  How could I know I was about to be changed forever?

  Saturus began to pray for me. At first I protested, reminding him that I was there but to observe, and not as a participant. He looked at me with such gentle eyes, and said, “Do not be afraid, Helena, the Lord loves you.”

  Unbelievably, I could not resist. The whole group of them gathered around me to pray. They began to speak in many languages, tongues I could not understand, and despite Saturus’s intention to comfort, I felt afraid.