Daughter of Rome

by Tessa Afshar

  Its stinging bite sharpened her responses, giving Priscilla the power to move. In desperation, she threw her palla at the assassin, blinding him for an instant. She dropped to the ground and, before he could adjust his stance to her new position, rocked back on her bottom and kicked him in the knees as hard as she could, using both feet. He hissed and staggered. Regaining his balance, he raised the deadly steel, aiming it at Priscilla’s neck.

  Without warning, a small projectile hit the man on the temple. His head recoiled from the impact, blood spurting into his eye and cheek. He swore and grabbed his head. Priscilla saw Aquila running toward them, barely slowing to pick up another stone from the ground and taking aim. Rufus, who had managed to regain his feet, tottered toward them from the opposite direction.

  Unwilling to give up when his prey lay so close and helpless, the assailant aimed the sword straight at Priscilla’s throat and slashed down with all his might. The blood running into his eyes made his aim sloppy, and the metal’s edge scraped against the wall as it descended toward Priscilla. The tip, hot from the sun, sank into Priscilla’s skin where her neck joined her shoulder. She felt a sharp, shallow pain and held her breath, expecting the agony of torn muscles and broken bones to follow. But the pain never came.

  Another projectile had found the man, making him reel with pain, slackening his momentum behind the short sword. He roared with frustration, withdrew the weapon back to his side, and ran.

  Aquila fell to one knee. “You are bleeding!”

  Priscilla touched the wound and winced. Her fingers came away with a thin smear of blood. “He barely cut me, thanks to you. I am all right.”

  Aquila hauled her into his arms. “You have to stop this! You have to stop trying to get killed.”

  Priscilla huffed, weak laughter mingling with heaving breaths that hardly seemed to fill her lungs. With a gasp, she pulled away. “Rufus!” she said, her mind starting to work again. “He’s injured.”

  “Rufus?” Aquila turned.

  Their friend was leaning against the wall, hand on his lacerated chest, his skin unnaturally pale. “You owe me a new tunic,” he said before sinking to the ground in a dead faint.

  They brought Rufus into the synagogue and laid him carefully on the ground. Mary, noting the stain on her son’s chest, dropped by his side. “Mercy, Lord! Is he dead?”

  Rufus stirred. “I am not. Don’t order any graveclothes.”

  Benyamin, who had been examining the cut, straightened and laid a comforting hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Even though there is copious blood, it’s a superficial wound. He just fainted from the shock, I think. He’ll be on his feet in no time at all.”

  Rufus lifted his head and examined his torso. “It may not be deep, but it is long. No need to make me sound delicate because I lost consciousness.”

  “Indeed. Rufus saved my life at peril to his own,” Priscilla said.

  “You see? I am a hero.” Rufus grinned.

  Priscilla was relieved to see his color returning. Aquila insisted on pulling her aside and washing her own small wound, binding it with clean cloths that kept slipping, thanks to his unsteady fingers.

  The other members of the congregation had started to trickle in. Someone called the urban cohorts, reporting the attack. By the time the soldiers arrived, there was another heated argument in progress. Somehow, several of those present had arrived at the conclusion that the onslaught had happened as a direct consequence of their teachings on Yeshua.

  “This is what happens when you spread lies!” a man named Ezra yelled. “This is what comes of all this nonsense about Christus,” he added, using the Latin term for the Christ.

  Priscilla, still shaken by the incomprehensible events of that morning, watched in horror as several men came to blows right in front of the members of the urban cohorts.

  The soldiers had their hands full calming the heated altercation.

  “Who is this Christus?” a Roman soldier asked lazily.

  “He is the leader of these people. They are Chrestians,” Ezra said, mispronouncing the name.

  The soldier picked his teeth with the tip of his blade. “Where is this fellow, Christus? Can he not speak for himself?”

  “As a matter of fact, he can’t. He was last seen at the top of a Roman cross. He is a criminal. And these people follow him.”

  “He is not a criminal!” Elizabeth shouted. “And he was last seen alive and well by hundreds of people.”

  “You see?” Ezra said. “What did I tell you? You should arrest them all. They cause no end of trouble.”

  The cohort soldier twirled his dagger between dexterous fingers. “You are all troublemakers, as far as I am concerned. Your neighbors have been complaining about you and the unrest you have been causing the past few months. And if that isn’t enough, this is the second synagogue that has broken out into fighting over the past week. I will have to make a report of this business.”

  “And Festus does not like writing reports,” the second soldier said, shoving a finger into Ezra’s thin chest and pushing him back. “Not one bit.”

  Twenty-Two

  LIKE A LOOSE THREAD in an unfinished weaving, Priscilla’s well-ordered world unraveled by virtue of one capricious judgment. Following the attack at the synagogue and the report from the urban cohorts, Claudius issued a vicious and comprehensive edict that would change many lives forever. With a speed that left them reeling, he banished all Jews who were not citizens of Rome.

  His harsh backlash made no sense, for though an annoyance, the Jewish disturbance had hardly merited such a punishment. Hitherto, Claudius had shown himself lenient with the people of Israel. In fact, upon ascending the throne, he had reverted Caligula’s insistence that there be a statue of the emperor in the Temple of Jerusalem and permitted the Jews to observe their religious laws freely in all parts of the empire.

  Why such a small problem in the synagogues even found its way before the emperor remained a mystery. But once it did, it elicited an immediate and implacable response.

  The emperor’s edict did not affect the majority of Jews living in the city since most were Roman citizens. Descendants of slaves, many of them had been emancipated by Caesar Augustus over sixty years earlier. But those of Jewish descent who had no Roman citizenship, like Aquila, were required to leave Rome within forty-eight hours.

  Priscilla and Aquila approached Pudens as soon as they heard the news. Though concerned, Priscilla did not truly believe that such a decree could affect them personally. Aquila was married to the daughter of a celebrated Roman general, after all. Surely Claudius could be reasoned with to make an exception in their case.

  The senator could do nothing until morning, when he would seek an audience with Claudius. Husband and wife returned home, praying that by the next day their troubles would be resolved.

  As soon as the sun rose, Aquila and Benyamin left to deliver a tent, taking Marcus with them. Priscilla was surprised when Pudens arrived at her door two hours later, covered in sweat, holding the reins of his horse.

  “I have bad news,” he said by way of greeting. “Your name and Aquila’s are on the emperor’s manifest as noted troublemakers. You are to be expelled from Rome.”

  Priscilla’s legs gave way, and she folded down onto the nearest couch. “But why? What crime have we committed that we should turn Caesar against us?”

  “He received your names from a source he trusts, accusing you of rabble-rousing and worse. That same source brought the disturbance in the synagogues to his attention in the first place.”

  “Who?” Priscilla said, her voice a whisper. But she already knew.

  “His niece, Antonia. Claudius has a tendency to be fooled by women. I told you Antonia was trouble. But he trusts her. Why has she turned on you?”

  Priscilla rested her forehead on a shaking hand. “I know something about her that would ruin her standing with Claudius. She probably believes that I plan to betray her.”

  “I am sorry, my dear.” Pudens shoo
k his head. “You must leave Rome. Leave by tomorrow evening, or Claudius will set his hounds on you. In time, his anger may cool. For now, he grows irritated at the very mention of the name of Christus. I did not dare tell him that I myself follow the man, or he would no doubt have turned his wrath on me as well.”

  Priscilla flinched. “I understand. It is no longer safe for you.” She felt as if the ground beneath her feet had turned to sea, and she was sinking under the swelling waves. Trying to press past the confusion, she asked, “What happens to our house? Will it be confiscated?”

  “No. Caesar’s mandate only demands banishment. It mentions nothing about property. You will remain owners here. Do not worry about this place. I will take care of it, I promise you,” the senator vowed.

  Priscilla ran a tired hand over her eyes. “Will you have to sell it?” The question felt like a razor on her tongue. She did not wish to lose her home.

  “Not unless you want me to. Aquila has discharged all his debts to me. You need not worry on that score. God knows, the boy worked his fingers to the bone to pay me off.

  “I suggest we rent the house while you are gone. That way, when you return, it will be waiting for you. Houses like this are rare in the Aventine. I’ll send you the rent I collect so you can pay for new lodgings. Where will you go? Will you return to Pontus?”

  “I doubt it. In truth, I have no idea where we are headed.” Priscilla slumped forward. “It has not been a year since we settled here. Now we must begin afresh.”

  Pudens patted her hand. “You must be strong. For Aquila and Marcus. They need you.”

  Priscilla gulped down her tears and nodded. After Pudens left, she fell to her knees. She felt paralyzed by the enormity of what faced her. Leave their friends. Abandon the growing church. Walk away from their home. Desert those she felt called to help. Aquila had to forsake his growing business. They would have no means of finding justice for Marcus now, though at least, away from Rome, he would be safe from his uncle’s deadly plots.

  Oh, Yeshua, I am overcome. We are homeless! Where shall we go? I feel crushed between the sorrow of this hour and the dread that hangs over our future.

  Aquila arrived an hour later from Trastevere. Priscilla, already packing, rose up and, without a word, ran to him.

  He wrapped her in his arms. “Bad, is it?”

  She told him Pudens’s news, trying to hold her tears at bay. Aquila ran a soothing hand through her hair. Down her arm. Then he grew very still. “How did Antonia know about the disturbance at the synagogue? How was she able to report that incident to Caesar? I wonder . . .”

  “What?” She pulled away to stare at him.

  “The attempts on your life. Did they not start shortly after the first time you ran into Antonia and the emperor?”

  “You think she tried to have me killed?”

  Aquila nodded. “She tried a few times, I believe, starting with the attack at your brother’s house, followed by the wagon that almost ran you over.”

  Priscilla’s eyes rounded. “And then there was the man at the Forum. But, Aquila, there have been no incidents for months. If this is true, why did she stop? For that matter, why begin anew by sending another of her men after me at the synagogue? It makes no sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. She was shaken when she saw you that first time at Quintus’s feast and made her first attempts. How vexed she must have been when her assassins returned empty-handed, unable to overcome one helpless woman. Once we made sure you were never left alone, she ran out of easy opportunities. As time passed and you did nothing to threaten her, her fears must have been allayed. That’s why she left you alone. Then she saw you again.”

  “At the palace.” Priscilla groaned. “Seeking an audience with Claudius.”

  “Precisely. Of course, she assumed you were there to destroy her reputation.”

  “But why? I meant her no harm! I would never have betrayed her trust.”

  “She has no way of knowing that, my love. When you have dangerous secrets, they affect how you perceive everything. You see people and their motives through the lens of your guilt. And if, like Antonia, you are ruthless, you will act to protect yourself by any means you deem necessary. Failing to kill you at the synagogue, she chose the next best thing.”

  “She ensured our banishment.”

  “Her assassin must have hung around long enough near the synagogue to witness the events that took place after the arrival of the urban cohorts. His report would have given her the perfect weapon to use against us. Our expulsion from Rome means you will have no possible access to Claudius. It means she is safe.” He exhaled and stepped away. “There is nothing we can do to clear our names.”

  Priscilla felt a shot of white-hot anger. “Antonia has robbed us of all we have! We are losing everything. Everyone!”

  Aquila stared at her as if trying to decide how to answer. Without a word, he pulled her back into his arms. She struggled for a moment, writhing with indignation. The smoldering tide of outrage felt so much better than the grief that had nearly swallowed her whole.

  “For now,” he whispered against her brow, “we need to press on. Endure this. Carry our family safely out of Rome.”

  She shuddered hard, and a small whimper escaped her throat. Aquila caressed the nape of her neck, her cheek, her knotted jaw. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, a feathery touch, quieting her, muting the noise of anger.

  Lifting his head, he ran a thumb over her lips in a soothing gesture. “Hold on to Yeshua, my love,” he said.

  “I don’t know how.” Her voice emerged broken, like her heart.

  “Think of his merit. He is worth this loss. This pain. He is worth the hours we will spend sleepless and weeping. He is worth our good-byes and the friends we have to leave behind. Every sacrifice we make for his sake is worthy of the One who will accompany us every step of this journey.

  “Don’t let fear fool you. I promise, Yeshua has already chosen a house for us in another city. Claimed a place for us among new friends. Carved a new ministry and church.

  “We are not alone. We have each other. But most importantly, Priscilla, we have him. And he is worthy of every tear we shed now.”

  For years, Priscilla had felt a stranger, a castaway among her own kin. She had had no place she could truly call her own. Finally God had settled her in a family. He had established her in a home and given her precious friendships. She realized why her grief went so deep. It seemed to her that Antonia had robbed all that God had wrought. Like a sleeper coming awake, Priscilla was reminded again that the Father who had given her so much could give just as generously once more.

  Aquila gazed at her as if he could read her thoughts, his eyes steady, unwavering. “He, too, wept when he lived among us, you know? He understands our tears. And he is with us now. He will see us through today, and he will see us through tomorrow. He hasn’t abandoned us, my love. He has only called us to a new home.”

  “I quite liked this one.”

  He smiled. “On this long road, God will portion out what we need each hour. He will see us through what comes.”

  Priscilla exhaled. A thread of hope began to undergird the ache of loss. It wove through her grief, lifting its weight until she could breathe.

  They had little time to choose a destination. Rufus and Mary arrived in the afternoon, and everyone stopped the work of packing and cleaning to pray together, seeking God’s direction. They had twenty-four hours to decide the course of their future. After praying for some time, Rufus abruptly shot to his feet. “I think I know where you are to go.”

  Benyamin gave him an arch look. “I wished you would tell us.”

  “I saw a familiar face as we prayed: Stephanas of Corinth. He was an associate of my father’s and owns several warehouses in Corinth. Our family has worked with him for over a decade.” Rufus rocked on his feet, unable to hold still in his excitement. “He is a man of influence and wealth. A good-hearted man. He will be able to help you when
you arrive. Even refer new custom for your business and find the right lodgings.” He grinned. “Besides, I have prayed for that man for years! Now I send you to him as an ambassador for Christ!”

  Aquila turned to his family. “What do you all think?”

  “Corinth provides a good base for the leather business,” Benyamin said. “As one of the richest cities in the empire, it maintains a substantial array of shops and stalls, which translates into a constant need for tents and awnings.”

  Priscilla clasped Aquila’s hand. “Wherever Yeshua leads, I will follow.”

  Aquila straightened his back. “Corinth it is, then.”

  Rufus wrote a short letter of introduction to Stephanas and sealed it for good measure. By the evening, members of their small church started arriving at their door. A few of them who were not citizens would also have to leave Rome, though most were going to stay with relatives in different parts of the empire.

  The friends kept a vigil of prayer through the night, singing psalms to keep themselves alert when eyes started to droop with exhaustion. Some helped with packing; others were entrusted with last-minute errands the following day.

  Senator Pudens and his family arrived early the next morning. After settling practical matters regarding the house, they spent a little time reminiscing, lingering over cherished memories of the past months. The women shed no few tears and begged for frequent news. Aquila admonished the new believers to remain true to the faith and not depart from the paths of righteousness.

  Benyamin oversaw the stowing of their baggage onto one cart and settled Marcus and Lollia into another. Priscilla must have embraced Pudentiana and Sabinella a dozen times before she could finally bring herself to climb into the covered cart that would carry them to the port of Ostia. The senator, in his usual methodical manner, had arranged passage for them the previous evening.