Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay)

by Lee Strauss

  “Lord Jesus, you are gracious and merciful and compassionate to all. A sparrow does not fall to the ground without you seeing it fall,” Saturus prayed. “Even Lord, the sparrow that fell to the ground this morning. Father even one close to Helena’s heart, you love her also and weep for her.”

  Felicity! How could he know? Impossible! I told no one, not even Cassius!

  “Even as you love Helena, you love the little sparrows, and as a mother hen gathers her chicks under her wing, you oh Lord, wish to gather your children under your wings.”

  I placed my hand on my abdomen where my baby stirred and, despite all of my sensibility, despite all the years of solid Roman indoctrination, suddenly I believed. Everything else I had placed my hopes in seemed shallow and shaky.

  I began to cry. First for the condition of my wretched soul, for I became acutely aware of my inadequacies and failures, and then for joy, as repentance brought the fruit of forgiveness. Peace.

  I would not have thought it possible.

  Later I wondered if it was all a dream and perhaps I would soon awaken and come to my “senses.” But it was not, and I did not.

  I, Helena Vibius, daughter of Rome, have become a Christian.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LUCIUS

  The ropes that bound Lucius’s wrists and ankles wore against his skin with every bump of the carriage. He wiggled his fingers and toes which tingled painfully in an effort to keep the blood flowing. Thick strips of vertical wooden branches stripped clean of bark created the cage where Lucius now found himself a prisoner. He leaned against them, but no comfort could be found. Bruises formed on his biceps where the Roman officers had gripped him in the struggle.

  He let out a long breath of frustration, silently cursing the gods. How had this happened? After knowing freedom for such a short time, now he was worse off than ever.

  And what had been his crime? He’d been framed by Hermus.

  A sour taste formed at the back of his throat when he thought of the man. To rob a man of his freedom over a goose—which was owed to him!

  Or was it because he had scorned his daughter? Perhaps that had been his offense.

  Either way, where were the gods of justice? Jupiter? Juno? Where were they now?

  Perhaps he had cursed them one too many times and this was his punishment.

  There must be a way to plead his case, to prove his innocence. He wished now he’d studied Roman law with Helena. She would’ve found parchments for him to read had he asked her.

  Oh, why did he have to think of her now? If only he could catch another glimpse of her. Even watching her from a distance as a freedman with no hope of ever speaking to her or touching her again would be better than the life he was heading for now. Being a prisoner of Rome would be a worse existence than death.

  His mind scurried, analyzing his situation. Was there possibly a way of escape? Besides the rope tying his limbs together, two Roman officers accompanied them, one positioned at the front of the carriage and one at the back, both equipped with body armor and swords. Escape was impossible.

  A groan escaped the lips of the man across from him. He had the strong body that belonged to a man who had worked hard all his life, but the wrinkles on his face and the looseness of his skin belied his old age. His ginger hair was streaked with grey and was so long it mingled with his beard. The man reminded Lucius of his own father.

  “Felix,” the man next to the old man said. “Are you alright?”

  The man grunted. “Yes, Titus, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  Titus, though far older than Lucius, was a younger version of the man Felix with red hair like copper reflecting the sun. Lucius saw the concern on his face and wondered if they were father and son, and if so, how awful to be arrested together. He thought of his own father, Quintus, who remained in the employment of Brutus Vibius, safe and content.

  He was thankful that Quintus couldn’t see him now. Once again his inability to hang on to his freedom for even a year brought him shame.

  The carriage moved off the cobbles onto a dirt road. The change brought relief from the bumpy ride, but in exchange, the prisoners were blasted with dust. Lucius coughed and pressed dust out of his mouth with his tongue. He would kill for a drink of water. His nosed itched and he tried to calm the irritation with his shoulder. Through the bars he could see the city of Rome grow small in the distance. The horizon had grown dark with an impending storm.

  The old man stared at him. “How old are you, son?”

  Lucius considered the man. Why should he tell him anything? Who was he to pry?

  But then again, who knew where they were going to end up, perhaps even in the same prison cell. It wouldn’t hurt to have friends on his side.

  “This is my nineteenth year.”

  The man huffed. “Damn, they’re taking them younger and younger.”

  Lucius wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but before he could inquire the man continued.

  “I’m Felix. This is my nephew, Titus.”

  “I am called Lucius.”

  They garnered the attention of one of the guards who shouted at them to be quiet. A flash of lightning lit the sky. It was followed by a roar of thunder.

  Felix muttered so only Titus and Lucius could hear, “The gods are angry.”

  With the next clap, the clouds unleashed their bounty and water fell from the heavens in sheets. The drops pricked like pins, but Lucius ignored the pain. He shut his eyes and held his head back, mouth wide open, drinking in as much as he could.

  The carriage tugged in the dirt, but the team of mules pulled on.

  The gods’ fury was short-lived, and the rain stopped almost as quickly as it had started. The dust on Lucius’s body turned to mud, streaming in streaks down his chest. His stomach lurched from the rough travel, and for the first time that day he was grateful his stomach was too empty to vomit anything.

  Finally, they turned onto a drive that led to a group of structures made out of wood and clay. Lucius raised his brow in question. This didn’t look like a prison.

  Then he saw the sign. Ludus.

  His heart sunk. He’d been brought to a gladiator school.

  Chapter Fifteen

  HELENA

  Saturnalia, a weeklong winter solstice festival to honor Saturn as the god of seed sowing, had begun. Throngs pushed and plodded their way to the temple of Saturn in the Forum where the sacrifices took place. Then later they engaged themselves in a public feast open to all the citizens of Carthage, where people gorged and imbibed freely.

  Not willing to conform to the many festivals of their pagan counterparts, the Christians of Rome chose such days for their own celebrations. Instead of worshipping the sun, they had for some years been celebrating their Lord’s birth during this time. They, too, incorporated such traditions as lighting candles and sharing gifts and goodwill.

  Helena’s conversion wasn’t one that happened over time and deep conversation. Her heart had led her before her mind had had a chance to consider her decision. For a few days afterward, she’d even wondered if she were different at all, if it had really happened. Life in the villa went on as usual, but somehow she knew it had changed for her. Other than Cassius, her parents and all the slaves and servants remained unchanged, their prayer rituals unchanged. Helena suddenly felt alone in a crowd. The foundation of the villa somehow felt like it had shifted on its footings.

  Cassius helped her to find her way. He taught her deeper truths and what it truly meant to be a disciple of Jesus.

  He also asked her if she’d changed her mind. They wouldn’t force her to remain part of the Christian community if she didn’t want to be.

  When he said that, she knew. She wanted them. And she wanted Him.

  Numerous times a day her mind went to Lucius, a man not her husband, and the only man she’d ever loved. She wondered how he had fared in his travels, if Rome had provided the opportunity he’d hoped for. Her heart still ached from his departure, but now she had
other things to fill her days and her mind. The pain in her heart was a steadfast companion she’d come to accept. She wondered if Lucius would ever return to Carthage and if he did, if he’d try to see her.

  Helena had just finished participating in a hearty meal of roasted fowl, poached eggs, and shellfish; assorted breads and cheeses; cabbage, parsnips, lentils and asparagus boiled and smothered with butter; and a large variety of pastries and tarts sweetened with honey, all washed down with warm spiced wine. And it was made so much better having shared it with Cassius, Priscilla and her family. Helena patted her bulging midsection. Her baby was excited too, kicking and squirming, doing somersaults.

  “I think he feels left out,” Helena said.

  “What makes you think the child is a ‘he’?” asked Cassius, laughing.

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Perhaps it is a she. It matters not to me.”

  Helena’s palm lingered on her belly. “If only Father…”

  She let her sentence hang. Brutus’s face had ballooned with fury when she and Cassius refused to join him for the Saturnalia. What would the people think, he demanded? What had happened to his son and daughter, anyway?

  They had discussed among themselves whether or not he should be told. Surely he could not deny the change in them. But the peace they sought would not come. He was pater familia after all, and could forbid them to leave freely to attend house church. He could effectively report them and have them arrested, even though no one believed that Brutus would turn in his own family, no matter how badly he felt betrayed.

  No, they agreed the day would come, but it was not yet.

  “Would you like another tart, sister?” Cassius handed a tray to Helena. “You’re eating for two now.”

  “Oh, no thank you, please. I am a stuffed pig and will surely explode if I take one more bite! Besides, I’m feeling tired. Perhaps it is time to head home?” Helena shifted uncomfortably and Cassius rushed to assist her.

  “We shall leave at once,” he said.

  Annia met the three of them at the door when they returned home.

  “What is it?” Helena asked, “Is there something wrong?”

  “I thought you would like to know. Word does travel through the servants; I hope not to anger you.”

  “You may speak freely. What troubles you?”

  “It’s Lady Tatiana.”

  “Tatiana?” Helena said. She had not seen her friend for many months, not since her own wedding. “Is it the baby? Did she deliver?”

  “Yes.”

  “How wonderful,” Helena stated, “Tell us, is it a boy or girl?” then considering Annia’s sorrowful countenance, added, “Is the child well?”

  “Lady Tatiana is well. The child was a girl. The Lord Ursus did not pick her up.”

  The seriousness of her statement washed heavily over Helena. According to Roman law, the father had full rights over his children, even in matters of life and death. After the birth of a child, it was laid at the feet of its father. If the child was picked up it was dedicated to Jupiter and named eight days later. If it was not, the child was exposed to the elements on the streets and left to die, or worse picked up by men who made their trade in prostitution. A few short years, and they made a handsome return on patrons who preferred children.

  Helena knew that Lord Ursus already had several daughters. He wanted a son, and heir. “I must go to her.”

  Helena had their slave Patrobius drive a carriage to Tatiana’s villa, just west of her own home. Though Patrobius was a careful driver the carriage still rocked and shooked over the rough cobbled roads. Helena gripped her abdomen tightly, wanting to keep her babe as still as possible. The child kicked. Helena massaged the lump in her side, the shape of a tiny foot, until it relaxed and eased away.

  She could breathe with confidence that Brutus would never leave her child to the elements to die, no matter the sex of the child. Her heart went out to Tatiana.

  Finally, the bumpy ride halted and Patrobius opened the carriage door to assist her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Wait here.”

  She hadn’t been to the home Tatiana shared with her husband. It was vast, almost as large as the house of Vibius. The sun shone brightly, ricocheting off the red tiles of the roof, and shimmering along the sides of the white walls encasing the property. Helena said a prayer and approached the front door, thankful there were none around to notice that she did not bless the gods of the property or the doorways or gates. No need to stir up extra consternation at the moment.

  A household slave acknowledged her knock. Helena stated her name and her request to visit Lady Tatiana.

  “One moment. I will see if she is available.”

  Helena waited, tapping her sandals on the tile floor, taking in the colors and sights of the atrium. Like many other wealthy Roman homes, the walls were covered with colorful murals, and like most, these paintings depicted scenes of everyday life in Rome; meals, hunts, the games. In each corner of the room was an elaborate marble or stone statue of some god or another. Helena recognized Jupiter, always the largest in any given group, as well as Minerva. She lost track of the many gods, and was not the only Roman guilty of this type of confusion, although since her conversion, she thought little of them.

  Soon she was greeted by Tatiana’s personal slave, Nesta.

  “Nesta, it’s so good to see you again!” she said warmly.

  Nesta bowed and expertly erased a flash of surprise from her face at Helena’s unconventional greeting to a slave.

  “Please follow me.”

  Helena followed Nesta to the tablinum where Tatiana was seated, stiff and unsmiling. The room had just a few candles burning and the only window had its wooden shutters loosely closed.

  “Tatiana,” Helena said softly, “I heard.”

  “Yes, well I’m sure the news has traveled beyond Carthage by now,” Tatiana replied tersly. “You know how Romans love gossip.”

  Helena noted her friend’s long, dark tresses were no longer shiny and well-groomed but pulled roughly into a knot at the back of her head. Her eyes, once bright and wonder-filled, were dark and brooding. The set of her jaw was hard, her smile thin and forced. She was no longer beautiful, and Helena wondered if it was a purposeful attempt on Tatiana’s part to repel her husband’s future advances.

  “I came by to see you, to see if you needed anything?” Helena settled into the lounge offered to her.

  “That is very thoughtful of you; such a kind friend you are Helena.” Her eyes dropped down to Helena’s round stomach, rested there momentarily before darting nervously around the room. “But I ask you, what could you possibly offer me that my own dear husband cannot afford to present to my disposal? Surely you are aware of his great wealth and respected position.”

  “It is true that he has material wealth. That cannot be denied,” Helena answered.

  “Is there another kind? And please, don’t go on about happiness and contentment and peace of mind. I couldn’t take it just now.”

  “I know this must be a hard time for you.”

  “How would you know that?” she snapped. “Has anything come hard for you? Will your father steal your baby from you? I doubt that. Your father jumped right in to rescue you from your disagreeable husband. You can be assured that mine will do no such thing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I don’t need your pity.”

  “I’m not here to offer pity,” Helena said. “I’m here to offer friendship. Support.”

  Tatiana, let out a big breath, practiced now at defeat. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m not a very good hostess. Nesta, get Lady Helena some refreshments.”

  She spoke again without looking at Helena.“How are you? It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long, and I’m sorry for that, Tatiana, really I am. We shouldn’t let the busyness of our lives keep us apart so much.”

  “Well, I should have some free time for a while now,” she laughed bitterly. “Ursus won
’t want to have another go at me until the blood stops flowing. I think I can drag that out for a few months.”

  “Oh Tatiana,” Helena said. “I wish there was something I could do to relieve your pain. I only have one thing, but it is not a small thing to offer.”

  “What’s that?”

  Helena waited for Nesta to set the tray of wine and fruit on the table, and back herself in the doorway.

  “Prayer.”

  “I get enough prayer, Helena. I venerate Fauna daily; I offer sacrifices morning, noon and night, together with my slaves.

  “That’s not the kind of prayer I mean.”

  Tatiana nibbled her lip, considering, then changing the subject said, “Where’s your slave, what’s her name, Felicity? I remember when your father gave her to you. When Marcellus died.”

  She paused, and Helena sensed that she wanted to stir up a painful memory for her.

  “Do you still have her?”Tatiana said.

  “She lives with me still, but I intend to grant her freedom.”

  “What on earth for? My gods, Helena what has gotten into you. You know, you’ve changed.”

  “I have.”

  Tatiana laughed again, not a pleasant laughter, but a gregarious cackle of one on the brink of insanity. “Well?” she demanded, “Let’s hear it.”

  Helena hesitated. Should she declare it? Would it help Tatiana, or cause the breech between them to widen. She decided to be bold in her declaration. She was not ashamed of her Lord, and she knew Jesus was the only one who could help her friend.

  “I’ve converted to Christianity.”

  “Ah ha!” Tatiana blurted, “I knew it! You’re sillier than I thought.”

  “You may think it silly, Tatiana. I think it is life.”

  “To each his own.”

  “Tatiana, Jesus the Christ can help you.”

  “Don’t!” Tatiana snarled. “Don’t say that name in my house.”

  “Why not? I mean no harm.”