From the Dark to the Dawn

by Alicia A Willis

  Jupiter aid him, he would have his revenge.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The room was dusky. The faint, warm glow of oil lamps bathed the occupants in a serene glow, softening their work-weary faces into peace. Like an indistinct whisper, the low murmur of conversation filled the air.

  Philip’s eyes flitted over each familiar face. Tired, yet tranquil, their beloved countenances reminded him of the words of Paul.

  We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed…persecuted, but not forsaken, cast down, but not destroyed.

  It was so very true. Most of the assembled people had experienced tribulation for their faith. Nothing was new to Christians: the hatred of family members, the constant fear of discovery, torture, imprisonment, the lash.

  Philip’s eyes rested on a youth sitting near his feet, a recent convert. The sturdy young believer was a German slave. At the last meeting, he had requested prayer for strength. His master had discovered his faith in Jesus and threatened him with flogging.

  How well he understood what the boy was facing.

  Philip crouched, brushing his hand over the boy’s shoulder. It was time for the meeting to begin, but he felt drawn to speak to the youth while it was on his heart. The boy looked up at him, his blue eyes a mirror of peaceful inquiry.

  “How goes it with you, Arswind?”

  “Well, Philip.”

  Philip paused a moment, considering his words. “And your master? Does he continue to oppose your faith?”

  Arswind’s eyes were steady, meeting his. “Yes. I expect he’ll tear me up pretty good tonight.” A quiet smile tugged at his mouth. “But I won’t give in, Philip. Nothing can make me renounce my Savior.”

  “I know what you are facing.” Philip’s hand gripped his shoulder. “I’ll pray for you, Arswind.” He again paused. “Just be certain you are walking in His strength, not your own. Remember, with Him, you can endure all things.”

  “I will, Philip.”

  “Good.” Philip squeezed his shoulder a final time, rising to his feet. “Remember to speak with me before you leave tonight. I’ll pray for you then.”

  Arswind nodded. Philip felt a slight lump gather in his throat. How willingly he would take the pain and disgrace for him if he could. The youth was so strong, so determined to be valiant for Jesus.

  Be with him, Father. Let this cup of suffering pass from him, if it is Your will.

  It was now more than time for the meeting to start. Philip cleared his throat. He stepped into the center of the assembled throng, the warm light falling onto his face. An instant hush fell over the believers.

  “My brethren.” Philip spoke clearly, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard. He couldn’t risk someone overhearing from outside. “In the absence of Daniel, I have been charged to speak to you tonight. I am certain my message will pale in comparison to what you are accustomed to, but it is my hope something in my words will bless you tonight.”

  He paused, again taking a quick survey of the room. Marcus, Moriah, Alexander, Diantha–the faces of all those dearest to him were quietly intent, their expressions expectant. How blessed he was to possess such faithful friends.

  He would never cease to thank God for the beauty of unity, for the unique love which made varying ranks come together. Even at that moment, a powerful tribune sat in humble expectancy before an ex-slave.

  “I will say little tonight, my brethren. I give you one thing: a charge.” Philip looked around the room. “We are blessed as few have been or ever will be. We have seen God’s glory; we have seen the power of His Spirit. We have witnessed the transformation of lives, have heard the broken-spirited sing. In all of history, who has experienced the privileges we have?”

  Deep inside, new fervor swelled in his breast. Give me Your words, Jesus. Make this Your message. “Some of us have lived and walked with Christ Himself. Future generations will not be able to claim as much. How then can we shrink back? We must press on, sharing the news of the One who has given us so much.”

  Across the room, Philip saw Diantha lean forward, her beautiful eyes alive. They shone encouragement, warming him. He heard his voice strengthen.

  “He is our Good Shepherd; He has laid down His life for His sheep. He has given His all freely. Can we do less? Darkness shall never prevail as long as we are the light He has called us to be. And so my charge is that we stand as men for His name. Many of us have been trained as warriors–let us be warriors for Him.”

  “Amen.” The soft whisper circulated, an echo throughout the room.

  Philip gestured. “Let us kneel. Hearts are heavy tonight; many of us face peril for our faith. Only through His strength can we resist temptation and heed the Spirit’s voice.”

  The rustle of clothing sounded through the room. Philip smelled the musky scent of alkaline and earth, used by the fullers to clean garments. In the closeness of the environment, a faint whiff of the Indian cologne the soldiers wore could be detected. Its sweet, botanical scent mingled pleasantly with the warmth of the burning oil and odor of close human bodies.

  With every believer in a kneeling position, Philip himself knelt. His arm rested around Arswind’s shoulders. They would all pray individually, but he wanted the boy to know his thoughts were with him even at that moment.

  The pounding of heavy fists on the door shattered the tranquility.

  Every head jerked upright. Drawn and tense, the believers shared expressions of sudden panic. Several of the women drew their hands over their mouths, stifling their cries.

  Alexander slipped from the room. In a moment, he was back, his face drawn. “It’s the city guard.”

  “Quick! Out the back!” The panicked whisper spread like oil fire throughout the room. Several of the believers stumbled to their feet, snatching their children.

  “No!” Marcus leaped to his feet. Stern and authoritative, his quick command stilled the terrified assembly. “Stay here. Keep quiet and be still unless I am arrested. Alexander, Quintus, Julius, come with me.”

  The three legionaries followed in quick obedience. Marcus led them out, disappearing into the dusky shadows beyond the inner chamber.

  With their departure, the atmosphere grew strained.

  Philip borrowed from Marcus’s authority, giving quiet instructions. “Return to your positions, every one of you. Pray earnestly for God’s protection.” The contagious fear of the others welled up like a cold dread in his breast, but he forced a comforting tenor to his hushed tones. In Daniel’s absence, these were his people, his flock. They look to me for strength. “Remember His power, His mercy. No mortal hand can harm us without His sanction.”

  Again, the believers knelt, some pressing their faces to the floor. Others sat with outstretched hands, their lips moving in silent petition.

  Philip’s heart thudded. He knew by long experience how to maintain an outward appearance of calm strength, but nothing could curtail what he felt on the inside. Flashing scenes of the arena flitted through his mind. Great Jehovah, spare these people. Surrender me, if it is Your will, but save them.

  Glancing over the believers, Philip saw that every eye was closed. Noiselessly, he stepped from the room. Relying on the somber shadows, he eased along the wall towards the door.

  It was not long until he heard the sound of Marcus’s stern, almost angry voice outside. Peering through a crack in the door, he saw the captain of the city guard standing before the irate young tribune.

  “Your explanation is pitiful to the last degree, captain. You expect a man of my prowess–a tribune of the Praetorian Guard–to believe you were sent here to arrest some filthy Christians?”

  The captain appeared flustered. “I am telling you the truth, sir. I–”

  “Oh, merciful Pollux!” Marcus gestured angrily, his invective a tingle to Philip’s ears. “Why don’t you admit you knew this place was used as a dice-house?” He moved nearer, fiercely threatening. “Admit it, captain. Acknowledge you and these miserable excuses you call soldiers w
anted a taste of filched wine!”

  “Noble tribune, your name is known and revered throughout Rome. I do not insult your suspicions, but I swear by almighty Jupiter I am telling you the truth. You must believe me.”

  Marcus eyed him, cold sarcasm cocking his brows. “So you say. Then I suppose you will continue to tell me there are Christians in that miserable hut?”

  “No, of course not, tribune.” The captain stuttered audibly. “Your word is–”

  “Yes, my word is sufficient. And it better be, you lout. You have offended me beyond forgiveness tonight. My men and I were very comfortably engaged before you and those blundering mice in scarlet uniforms disturbed us.”

  “Again, you have my apologies.” The captain drew his sword up in swift salute. “I will withdraw my men at once.”

  “Do so.” Marcus’s irritable snap was accompanied by a swift gesture to his gladius. “You might consider yourself fortunate. Had I not the good temper to stop and consider my intruders, I could have split you from head to belt. Those whimpering serving girls would have fared little better.”

  The captain’s face tightened, but his good sense provoked no comment. His swift order sliced through the evening air.

  “Company, fall in. About face; march out!”

  The heavy thud of marching feet reverberated against the grim stone walls. In swift unanimity, the city guard marched out. Offering a wary salute in Marcus’s direction, the captain followed them down the alley. The clink of their armor echoed back from the darkness long after they disappeared from sight, a grim reminder of their dangerous mission.

  Philip exhaled slowly, the sound strangely loud in the quiet entry. Relief surged through his body. He had not fully realized how nervous he had been. Swiftly, he slipped back into the crowded inner room.

  Every eye turned towards him.

  “They have gone.” Philip raised a quick hand, quieting the resounding exhales of relief. “But we must disperse quickly. They may return.”

  “Yes.” Behind him, Marcus’s voice was grim. Obviously, he had reentered the house with stealthy fleetness. “They will return. We will slip out by twos and threes to deter suspicion. Philip, you are our elder tonight. You must leave first.”

  “Marcus.” Philip felt a wave of protest, but he forced himself to observe a respectful tone. Indulging in contention would not profit his on-looking brethren. “Surely it is the place of the leader to endure the most danger.”

  “Don’t argue with me.” Marcus’s voice was sharp. “You have the most to reveal if they caught and tortured you.” His tones softened ever so slightly. “I don’t imply you would betray us, but even the strongest of men have been known to break under torture. And, in the end, you would survive only to adorn Nero’s private arena. You must go. Now.”

  Philip nodded in mindless submission. Listen to him. Marcus certainly knew more about these things than he. “I will go.”

  “Let me come with you, Philip.” Arswind sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing. “I will kill anyone who tries to harm you.”

  Philip opened his mouth to decline him. Somehow, he could not accept the offer of violence. Could he allow his enemies to be slain when Christ Himself had not fought His tortures?

  “Yes, Arswind.” Marcus prevented his speaking. Philip could fairly feel the burning heat of his eyes. “Go with him. And,” he drew the boy close, his voice a subtle whisper Philip could scarcely hear, “protect Philip as you have said. The Lord will bless your valiance.”

  “Yes, tribune.” Arswind drew a short dagger from beneath his cloak, its razor-sharp edge flashing in the dim light. “Let’s go.”

  Philip followed him, fighting his conscience. He did not allow himself to wonder where Arswind had acquired a dagger. God grant his master doesn’t discover it. The law required severe punishment or death for the offense of a slave or one of barbaric race bearing arms.

  Arswind was both.

  Entombed in the dark entry, Arswind opened the door a cautious crack. Philip stood behind him, praying silently. God forgive him if he was taking the cowardly way out. Everything within him screamed to stay until he was certain the others were safe.

  A swift, strong hand pushed the door open a little wider.

  “We are keeping watch.” Alexander’s voice was hushed. “Go out through the alley behind the house.”

  Philip stepped past him. The three legionaries could be mistaken for any loitering soldiers, spending their hard earned wages on a long night of dice and wine. But, for all their indolent demeanors, he knew their keen eyes were alert to any impending danger.

  Hugging the shadows, he broke into swift stride. He knew the alley well, even in the darkness. Behind him, he could feel Arswind’s hot breath and knew he kept close to his side.

  Despite his personal reservations about killing their persecutors, Philip felt a tinge of gratitude. Arswind’s loyalty was unquestionable. He knew without a trace of doubt the strong young German would sacrifice his own life to protect him.

  The small houses and apartments swept by like a blurred vision. Gradually, the darkness of the poorer district gave way to the lit streets that revealed their approach to the affluent section of the Vicus Jugarius. The chaotic noise of the Imperial forum could be clearly sensed, and its dazzling array of lights illuminated the night sky just beyond the domus-lined street.

  Closer to the wealthy section of Rome, they were at a lower chance of danger from thieves.

  Philip exhaled slowly. The jog had tempered his heartbeats to a steady rhythm. He clenched his fists, then opened them, releasing his pent-up anxiety. His mind flitted back to the small house they had just left.

  Had the others been as fortunate as he?

  A brush on his shoulder reminded him of the present moment. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. Even in the danger, he had to accept the touching humor of Arswind. The boy stood so close he doubted the width of a palm could pass between them.

  “You will be late arriving home, Arswind. Leave me now–I should have no danger from here.”

  “No. I am going all the way with you, Philip.”

  Philip increased his stride. “Your obedience to an older brother in the faith is commendable. The same for your loyalty. But you do not wish to offend your master any more than he is now.”

  “He is going to flog me no matter what I do, Philip. I might as well end this evening by serving you. Besides,” and a slightly roughish smile crept across Arswind’s face, “I should not like to face the tribune if I left you.”

  A chuckle rolled up in Philip’s throat. Somewhere behind it, however, was a deep pain. He is so courageous for You, Lord. Spare him suffering. “Don’t tell me you are afraid of Marcus.”

  “You could call it that. Alexander has told me of his strength. And I have seen warriors enough to know when a man is sound of mind and courage. Let’s say I am prudent enough to avoid his wrath.”

  Again, Philip chuckled. Arswind reminded him in so many ways of himself as a youth. He could relate to his circumstances. A similar heritage had sired and raised them, a mutual enemy had snatched them away from their homelands. Knowing all this, he could almost smell the tribal fires and feel the cool British breezes on his skin when they were together.

  “You are right when you say Marcus is strong and fearless. He is a natural leader and a good commander. But he is also compassionate. All things said, Arswind, I can think of no better example for you than he.”

  “If there was one,” and Arswind’s voice was low, “it would be you, Philip.”

  Philip’s steps slowed. What could he say to this eager young convert, this faithful brother? He was frank and loyal, a promising servant of the Kingdom. And his affection touched him deeply.

  The Aeneas domus was before them, standing out like a bright beacon of hope against the dark night sky. God had granted them safety. Again, the pang of concern gripped his heart. Protect the others, mighty Jehovah.

  At the foot of the steps, Philip turned. His ha
nds rested slowly on Arswind’s sturdy shoulders. “I am grateful for your service, my brother. Your concern for my protection was kind.”

  Arswind made no reply. Looking closely at him, Philip saw his throat tighten. His eyes were downcast as he finally spoke.

  “I am afraid to return home. I am ashamed to own it, but…but I am.”

  “Don’t be.” Philip squeezed his shoulders. “You have a right to dread your lord’s anger.”

  Arswind looked up, his eyes mirrors of fear. “What if I never see you again?”

  “You will.” An aching lump began to gather in Philip’s throat. So many believers were killed. Swiftly, he shook his head. I cannot dwell on that. He must strengthen his brother, no matter the terrible dread of uncertainty. “Please God, you will join Diantha and me to distribute food to the poor at the end of the week.”

  Arswind nodded. Quickly, almost with boyish impulse, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Philip.

  Quietly, Philip hugged him back. The boy’s sandy-colored hair brushed his chin, and he could feel a tremor in his strong young body. For all their mutual bravery, the dangers were too real to take lightly.

  Arswind stepped back, releasing Philip. His eyes sought Philip’s. “Will you pray for me?”

  “Yes.” Philip again rested his hands on his shoulders. “You have my prayers for your safety and the Lord’s will. And I give you my blessing, Arswind.” He clapped him on the arm. “Now, go. Lord willing, I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Arswind’s face relaxed. With a flashing smile, he lifted his arm in farewell. “Goodbye, Philip.” He broke into a swift jog, and Philip’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

  The night was humid and close. Philip glanced up at the stars. The hour was growing late, but he would have no rest until the others returned.

  He went inside. The atrium, as usual, was only faintly aglow. He untied his cloak and threw it lightly over his arm. A marble bench beckoned invitingly, and he stepped nearer. His muscles were weary from a long day of ministering.

  A sudden noise caught his attention. Turning, he saw Marcus and the veiled figures of his wife and sister slip into the room.