Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay)

by Lee Strauss

  “Thank you for coming,” Helena said, taking hold of Cassius and Pricilla’s hands. “It’s dangerous for you to come, I know.”

  “We wouldn’t think of leaving you here without coming to offer you our support. Cassius’s eyes had gone red, and Helena didn’t want him to shed tears for her.

  “I am in good spirits now that I have seen both of you, and especially since we could share the Lord’s table one more time.” Helena forced a brave face. “Please do not worry for me.”

  It was a bittersweet goodbye, and Helena found comfort in the company of her fellow captives.

  Until they were unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of Brutus. Felicity took Antonius to her chambers, and the men removed themselves as well to give them privacy.

  “I will not be humiliated in this way by my own daughter,” Brutus said, bypassing normal greetings. “I am an old man, held in high esteem in this city. The people are talking!” He stabbed the tile floor with his cane as if to emphasize his position.

  “I imagine they are,” Helena said softly.

  “I insist that you denounce this, this… This is ridiculous, Helena! You are discouraged because of your marriage. I am to blame for that, and if this is a way to seek your revenge, to get back at me for… for that oversight, then you have succeeded.”

  “Father, please sit down.” Helena motioned to a nearby couch. It pained her to see her father so distressed. He declined her offer and remained standing, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “I do not blame you Father, nor do I seek revenge,” Helena said. “I merely found my own way. I have a mind and I can think. I’ve come to believe in the One True God.”

  “I’m well aware of your ability to think, Helena. Have I not spent many of my own hours instructing you?”

  He waved his arm impatiently. “This is a phase. Of course, you are searching for the divine—we all are—and you have been misguided. But you are young, and this is all understandable. You must, at the very least, acknowledge that you need more time to be certain of your choices and not let your life be taken so early. For you know what they plan…”

  “I am aware of my fate. And I can assure you that this is no phase. Though I am young, I am not stupid, and I am convinced that Jesus is the only way to eternal life.”

  “Helena! Please, not so loud,” Brutus’s eyes shot to the door. He lowered his voice. “They may be listening.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Helena tried to think of a way to make her situation clear.

  “Father,” she finally said, “do you see this clay jar?” She pointed to the wine decanter that remained on the table with the unwashed goblets. “Is it to be a beverage pitcher, or is it something else?”

  Brutus replied, “It is a beverage pitcher. What is your point?”

  “Can it be called by any other name than what it is?”

  “No. It is what it is.”

  “Neither can I call myself anything else than what I am, a Christian.”

  Brutus dropped to his knees at his daughter’s feet. “I am pater familia! Will you blatantly defy me?”

  “Father, please. My affection for you is unchanged,” Helena said tenderly. She dared to stroke his hair, as she had done when she was a child. “It is not my desire to cause you grief.”

  “Then don’t. I beg of you, Helena. For the sake of our family’s reputation and for the love of your mother. We could not bear the loss of another child.”

  In that moment Helena was tempted. She felt tears welling up as she considered his request. Could she turn her back on her new beliefs for the sake of her father?

  No, she must remain true to herself and to her new love.

  She shook her head gently.

  Brutus sprung to his feet faster than a crippling old man should, eliciting a guttural roar. His gaze landed on the table where the clay decanter sat with the six abandoned goblets, a mangled loaf of bread in the center. His eyes widened with understanding. He raised his cane, whipping it through the air into the pottery. Helena jumped back, gasping in shock. Shards of clay flew across the room, landing loudly across the tile floor. Wine from the decanter hit the wall, running down in narrow streams like blood.

  She couldn’t stop staring at it. Blood will be shed. Drink this in memory of me.

  Brutus’s lower jaw slackened, as if he couldn’t believe that he was responsible for this vandalism.

  “Father,” Helena said. “I bid you good night.”

  She left him standing there, quite certain that she would never see him again this side of heaven.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  LUCIUS

  They were held prisoner on the ship until nightfall. Lucius could see nothing of Carthage beyond the yellow glow of the torches carried by the horse and riders pulling their locked and barred carriage to the holding place. He guessed that a gathering of torches in the distance was the Forum, but he couldn’t make it out. For sure he did not see the Vibius property in this darkness, and any hope of catching a glimpse of his family was lost.

  “Is it good to be back?” Titus whispered to Lucius.

  “I can’t tell that I am back.”

  They entered the arena grounds through a back gate. At least his feet hadn’t fallen asleep and Lucius could walk with dignity from the carriage to the heavy wooden door with massive iron hinges. It was held open by one of the guards, but ahead he could only see darkness.

  The forward guard held a torch, and Lucius could tell by the slant of the cobble floor that they were going underground. It smelt dank and musky with a lingering scent of manure. The animal holding cells must be nearby. The hallway was narrow and low and some of the taller men had to duck to avoid clipping their foreheads. Lucius felt a wave of claustrophobia. He took in a deep breath and focused on the torch flame.

  Eventually they came to a cell with a door made of iron bars. The guard took out a ring of keys and after fiddling for one, stuck it in the padlock and opened it.

  It was a bunkhouse and dining room combined. The guard holding the flame lit the wall-mounted torches while another one instructed the men to pick a cot. They were locked in for the night, two of the guards remaining on shift to stand watch.

  Lucius couldn’t tell if it was morning or not when they were awakened next, since the cell didn’t have windows. In fact he didn’t really know what day of the week it was or for that matter the month, so it was a complete surprise when Tullio arrived after breakfast to announce the imperial games had started that day.

  “You will choose a breastplate and helmet,” Tullio said, gesturing to the plainly clothed men who rolled carts filled with defensive wear into the cell. “Weapons will be assigned to you as you enter the arena.”

  Lucius chose a breastplate with large capped shoulders. It made him look larger, more intimidating. He still didn’t know who or what he would battle. A bear? A lion? A gladiator?

  Once again he wondered if Helena would be in the crowd. Would she be with her new husband? He wondered if married life had changed her. Perhaps he would find it difficult to recognize her.

  He came to the helmets and selected one. At first he thought he’d want the crowd to see his face, to recognize their own son of Carthage. Then he worried they wouldn’t know him and wouldn’t care if they did.

  And he felt something akin to shame. Did he really want Helena to know how far he had fallen? Better to let her believe he was making his fortune as a free man somewhere in Italia. He was glad now to have the disguise.

  “You are here to entertain the emperor and his family,” Tullio said. “How will you greet them?”

  The men chanted in unison, rehearsing, “We who are about to die salute you.”

  Tullio applauded, his feeble clapping deadened by the small and populated room.

  “The gods have smiled on you today, as your task is simple. Your job in this grand play is to chase the Christians around the arena. Create a show, men. Do not kill them all at once. Pace yourselves.”
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  Tullio seemed almost giddy as he skipped to the door. “And to add variety to the crowd’s entertainment, you will each be given a different weapon with instructions on how you are to kill your target.”

  Heavily guarded, Lucius and the others followed Tullio to the gate they would use to enter the arena. The stomping of boots reverberated through the tunnel. Finally, they saw the light of day.

  Time felt like it had slowed to a crawl. Lucius just wanted to get this spectacle over with. He had no respect for Christians and they, with their simple foolishness, deserved the end that was coming for them. Even so, he didn’t enjoy the thought of actually killing one of them and the sooner they got on with it the sooner they could return to the cell and hopefully engage in a rewarding meal.

  Finally, they were called forward. Each man was given a weapon and instructions on how to use it.

  “A dagger,” Tullio said as another man handed the long-bladed knife to Lucius. “Across the throat. Make sure the target is facing the royal family.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  HELENA

  Antonius’s cries woke her in the night. Helena pulled herself out of bed and lifted the child, bouncing him on her hip, sticking her finger in his mouth over the swollen tooth buds that were causing him discomfort.

  Awash with fatigue, Helena almost called Felicity to hand the child over to her. But Felicity wasn’t her slave any longer and this child was her responsibility. For now. Soon Cassius would come to claim him as his own, for today was the beginning of the imperial games, and she and the others with her at Thurbo Minor would be taken away in preparation for their deaths.

  An icy thread of fear snaked down her spine. How was she to die? Would it be terribly painful? Would she be frightened?

  The babe cried out, his little face red, his eyes pinched together in pain, tiny tears rolling down his cheeks.

  Helena felt nothing. She was a terrible mother. How could she not have any love for her own child?

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t any affection for the boy, but it was no more than she would have for a neighbor’s child—not real motherly love.

  Did she inherit this trait from her own mother? Was this why Virina was virtually absent from the lives of her children?

  Or did it have more to do with who the father of this baby was? Vincentius. Recollection of her husband still caused her stomach to tighten. It was all she could do not to despise him, and it was only with the help of prayer that she managed a little.

  She wondered once again, if she would feel more for her child if Lucius had been the father, if Antonius had shared his facial characteristics and potentially his personality instead.

  But that was not the case, and she must cast all such thoughts aside. Once the baby calmed down, she lay him back in his cradle and then fell to her knees at the side of her bed, asking the One True God to forgive her.

  Later that morning, Cassius arrived. He greeted and blessed Secundus, Revoticus and Felicity in turn, inquiring to their state of being, and after being reassured, he entered the dining room with Helena for privacy.

  “Tell me, Cassius, how is my family?”

  Cassius straightened his toga, refusing to meet her eyes when he answered. “They are well.”

  “Please, brother, the truth.”

  “They are troubled, Helena. This is to be expected.”

  They sat together on the couch. Helena inquired, “And how is Father?”

  Cassius closed his eyes as he let out a heavy breath. “He has denounced us, Helena. His public declaration is that he is the father of one son.”

  “Gordian must be enjoying this,” Helena said.

  Cassius nodded. “Indeed. Gordian’s head has never been so inflated. As for you, my sister, he says that if you weren’t sentenced to death, he’d come and kill you himself.”

  “Then am I glad to be imprisoned.” Helena grabbed Cassius’s hand. “And how are you?”

  Cassius smiled. “Pricilla and I were married yesterday.”

  “Married! How wonderful.” Helena smiled, but sadness remained in her eyes. She was sorry she had missed her brother’s nuptials.

  “Just a short quiet ceremony at Priscilla’s home. We had thought to wait until these troubling times had passed, but who knows if they will ever pass. And with the child…”

  “I’m so grateful that you are willing to take him.” Legally, the child belonged to Brutus, but her parents weren’t able to care for him. She hoped Brutus wouldn’t make it difficult for Cassius and Pricilla to raise the child.

  “Of course. With Antonius, we still will have a part of you. Every time he smiles, I see you, Helena.”

  Helena couldn’t conceal her shock. “You think he resembles me?”

  Cassius smiled. “Yes, he does.”

  Helena shook her head. “I only see…”

  “It’s true there is his resemblance there,” he squeezed her hand. “But you are part of Antonius as well.”

  The guard called out. The time of Cassius’s visitation must end. Helena retrieved the baby, handing him over to her brother.

  “Fatherhood suits you,” she said. An enormous lump grew in her throat. It was time to say good bye. She’d intended to remain strong, but the tears that pressed against her eyes burst through. A huge sob escaped her lips.

  Cassius pulled her into an embrace. “Peace my sister,” he said, his voice cracking. Helena felt his body tremble as he stroked her hair and gently kissed her cheek. “Our Lord is with you, Helena, and one day we will meet again in heaven.”

  They were transported to the holding cell in the belly of the arena in the early morning hours of the next day. The guards were heavily armed and walked with intimidating forceful steps that rang loudly through the narrow maze of tunnels. Helena sought Felicity’s eyes. They were wide with fright, mirroring hers, but she found comfort in her presence. Helena hoped that she provided Felicity with some ease of mind as well.

  They were thrust into a crowded cell. Helena wondered if these people were fellow believers. The guards distributed plain white tunics, instructing them all to change clothes.

  Their lack of privacy was the empire’s attempt to demean them before execution.

  Felicity shielded Helena with her body while she quickly pulled the white tunic over her head and discarded her toga. Helena did the same for Felicity. She noted that everyone in the room made a concerted effort to keep their eyes to the ground until the others had changed.

  Shortly afterward, the crowd separated into small groups and soft murmurs filled the emptiness.

  “How do you think it will happen?” Felicity said quietly.

  Helena shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  Helena considered Felicity. Her former slave had lived through much, modeling courage to Helena in so many ways.

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” Helena said. “I’m afraid also.”

  Would their death come by beast? Or fire? Or man?

  Helena prayed that, however she may end up showing her passion for Christ, it would go quickly. For all of them.

  It was hard to grasp that this was her last day on this earth. Eighteen years didn’t feel long enough. But it was her allotted time and soon she would be in heaven where there would be no more tears or sadness. No more death. Her only regret now was that she never had a chance to say goodbye to Lucius.

  Secundus tapped Helena on the shoulder and then pointed towards the barred and locked doors. Saturnus stood on the other side.

  A guard beckoned their small group.

  “Saturnus?” Secundus said. “How did you get down here?”

  “By the grace of God they let me in to offer encouragement,” Saturnus said. “I only have a short time. Let me pray for you.”

  Helena pressed in against the bars. Saturnus reached through them and placed a hand on her shoulder. The strength of his grip brought her much comfort.

  “I wish they would permit me to go in your stead
,” he said.

  They both knew they would simply add him to the group, and not allow a replacement. “You are needed here,” she said. “To lead the others.”

  Saturnus’s eyes filled with a soft sadness as he accepted her words.

  He began, “What can separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?”

  They were prodded like cattle to the gates at the base of the arena. The gate was lifted and they were pushed out onto the sand like slop for swine.

  The crowd seemed unmoved by their arrival. Helena scanned the ring of seats that surrounded them; flags of every color decorated the circumference, horns blared, people chatted and laughed. The crowd was eating and drinking like nothing of great consequence was happening. Their voices echoed through the stadium, and Helena was awed by the size of it. She found it ironic that this was how she was to first witness the games after all those times of begging Brutus to go.

  The group huddled in the center, their combined nervous energy and fear pulsating through Helena’s veins. They waited but nothing came at them. No gates were lifted.

  In the stands people were coming and going from their seats and it occurred to Helena this must be some kind of intermission. They were to be the opening act of the second scene.

  She scanned the crowd for familiar faces wondering if Brutus had come and hoping he hadn’t. Was Gordian here? Vincentus?

  Her eyes settled on the Emperor’s box. It was covered with a purple awning trimmed with gold tassels. He sat in a throne-like chair, his chest and face beefier than Helena recalled from the only other time she had seen him. Beside him sat Julia Augustus, who had also grown rounder. Her face was puffed out like an autumn gourd. A tower of yellow hair sat on her head just like the wig Tatiana wore that last time she’d seen her in the Forum that day.

  On the other side of Septimius Severus sat his son, Geta, whose birthday they were celebrating.

  Suddenly, a gate opened. A massive bull with silky black fur and dark ferocious eyes bounded toward the group scattering them across the sand. Helena’s heart exploded, and her feet seemed to move on their own accord as the bull charged. Her life was spared for the moment, but one man she didn’t know was not.