His fingers relinquished their grip. Dropping his head, Marcus wept.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The plaintive wail of a newborn cut through the air. Its welcome sound eased the tense atmosphere. Marcus exhaled softly, his eyes closing in momentary prayer. Thank you, Lord.
He squeezed Moriah’s hand, willing his strength to spill over to her. Her face was weary and covered in perspiration, but the expression of relieved joy that washed over her features was unmistakable. The sorrowing labor of the last few hours was over.
From his peripheral vision, Marcus could see the midwife wrapping the little one in warm blankets. His main concern was for Moriah, but the question still escaped him. “The child? Is it all right?”
“He’s strong and healthy. You have a son.”
Marcus’s heart thudded. “A son?” His voice cracked. He could not contain the overwhelming emotion. It flooded him with joy so strong he could scarcely stand it. “I have a son?”
The midwife beamed at him, holding out the little bundle. Slowly, Marcus released Moriah’s hand and rose to his feet, aching from his cramped position of so many hours at her side. According to Roman tradition, he must hold the child, signifying he accepted him.
Custom aside, the desire to touch his son was strong. He wanted to hold him.
The warm bundle was laid in his arms. The strong scents of blood and medicinal potions were quickly overwhelmed by the sweet odor of new life, striking Marcus’s nostrils in an overpowering rush. He looked down into the red little face, made beautiful by the knowledge that the child was his.
My son!
The baby squirmed, a hungry wail escaping his lips. Marcus softly touched his cheek, his fingers brushing the baby’s velvety skin. Then, gently, he laid his hand over his tiny head.
“May God Almighty bless and keep you, my son. May He watch over you and give you peace. May you come to the acceptance of Him and grow into a strong warrior of our faith. Amen.”
Marcus turned. On the couch, Moriah’s eyes were shining at him. He knew her desire to hold her baby was even stronger than his had been. Gently, he laid the baby beside her.
Uttering a soft coo, the child squirmed, then, began to nurse. For several minutes, there was perfect silence as mother and child bonded. Moriah played with its silky hair, murmuring indistinct assertions of love and tenderness that only a mother could.
Marcus looked on. Somehow, even in the midst of such a beautiful moment, his heart twisted. There was someone he would give anything for if he could be with them, witnessing the first moments in his son’s life.
Moriah seemed to read his thoughts. She looked up at him, her voice soft. “It is strange to think it has already been a year since we lost him.”
“Yes.” Marcus resumed his kneeling position at her side. His heart throbbed, as it always did when he thought of Philip. “It-it is difficult not to be bitter, especially now.” He forced a smile to his lips, squeezing her hand. “But God knows best. And we have already seen fruit.”
“Four souls were saved last week.” Moriah looked down at the nursing baby. “One of them is a slave. He heard Philip’s story, and now it is said he does not cease witnessing to his master.”
“Others have been inspired to do the same.” Marcus exhaled slowly. It was hard to live without Philip. For him, it was a daily struggle of learning to adjust to the absence of one who had been so close. “I heard one brother say he has been convicted to give up his all for Jesus, as Philip did. He only recently went abroad to witness to the Greeks in Macedonia.”
“So we see,” and Moriah’s eyes shone behind a soft mist, “that God has ordered all things for good. He is using Philip’s testimony to bring hundreds, maybe even thousands into the fold.”
Silence fell over the chamber.
Again, Moriah stroked the baby’s silky hair. At last, she looked up at Marcus. “What will you name him?”
Marcus was quiet a moment. In his heart, there was but one name for his son. But, behind his personal feelings and the selfish desire to do exactly as he wanted, love for Moriah was uppermost in his thoughts. She should have a part in naming their son.
“There is only one name I could wish, Moriah. But you must have a part in naming him. He is your son also.” He kissed her softly. “Whatever you decide.”
Moriah smiled. Lifting the baby up, she kissed his soft head. “Then we will name him Philip. I could not think of a more fitting name for the eldest son of Tribune Marcus Virginius Aeneas. We will want our child to be a brave warrior of the cross.”
Marcus fought the swelling lump in his throat. It only intensified, bringing the mist to his eyes. “Thanks, dearest,” he said, husky. “You have read my heart’s desire.”
His eyes drifted downwards, taking in every feature of his son. The child was so delicate, so perfect. His fingers crept forward, touching the tiny soft ones. With a quick flailing motion, baby Philip grasped onto his father’s strong hand and held it.
Emotion rolled over Marcus.
“My son.” The desire to weep was strong, but he curtailed it. Everything within him was an aching prayer for his son. “Your namesake is in heaven, but God saw fit to bless us with you in return. I pray you too will be such a witness for Him.”
A little while later, Marcus stepped out into the cool gardens.
His cheeks were hot, flushed with the closeness of the room and emotions of seeing his child come into the world. Still, he would have stayed there forever. It was not until the midwife had insisted Moriah needed sleep that he had finally consented to leave her side.
“My lord tribune.”
He turned in time to see Alexander stride towards him, making the military salute. The young man extended his hand, warmth clear in his green eyes.
“I wish you a thousand joys, tribune. The Lord’s blessing be upon your child.”
“Thank you, Alexander.” Marcus gripped his hand. Since Philip’s death, Alexander had become closer to him than ever. He had not known before what a quiet tower of comfort the young man was. “I am grateful you came.”
Alexander seemed to hesitate. “I assume the child and Moriah are asleep?”
“Yes. I would introduce you, but they must rest.”
“Agreed.” Again, Alexander seemed to linger over his words. His green eyes were strangely diverted. He lapsed into a long, awkward silence.
Marcus looked keenly at him. There was something oddly embarrassed in his manner. Alexander was always open, candid. “Is there something you wish to discuss with me, Alexander?”
“Yes. That is…” Alexander paused. He finally looked up, meeting Marcus’s gaze. “There is something I have long desired to speak to you about. I-I think you may already know what about.”
Marcus felt a tinge. A bittersweet suspicion of the truth began to settle around his heart. “Continue.”
Alexander’s green eyes worked with emotion. “Marcus, I love your sister. I think I always have. I don’t know when it first began, but…I wish to marry her.”
Marcus’s mind flew back to the past. I can have no greater joy than in having you for my brother. Had it really been a year since he had uttered those words to Philip? His heart swelled, smarting. He had known this day would come, but had not expected the torturous pain of loss it would recall in his heart and mind. Everything within him ached, longing for Philip.
Alexander seemed to read through his silence. “I know I am not the man Philip was.” His voice was husky, and he shook his head. “He would have been a far better brother to you. I am nothing compared to him. But, I do love Diantha, Marcus. I–”
“You will be a good husband to her.” Marcus stopped him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Alexander’s belittling opinion of himself was painful in its unfairness. His throat ached unbearably, but he forced himself to speak. “I loved Philip as perhaps I will never love a friend again, Alexander. But I care deeply for you also. You are a godly man.”
“Thank you, tribune.” Soft and hu
sky, Alexander’s voice warmed. He straightened, making a visible effort to curtail his nervousness. “Then-then I have your consent?”
“If my sister loves you, I cannot refuse.” Marcus forced himself to smile. How little he had thought he would be giving Diantha to anyone other than Philip. Your ways are not our ways, Lord. But, behind the pain, he knew he was grateful. Jehovah had not left Diantha hopeless.
He stepped to the edge of the garden. Just inside the atrium, he could see Diantha sitting next to the pool. Her fingers were busy, folding tiny tunics for the baby.
Marcus’s swelled, seeing the soft smile which parted her scarlet lips. There had been a time when he had never dreamed he would see her smile again. He called softly to her.
“Diantha.”
“Yes, Marcus?” Diantha looked up. Her smile widened. “My dear brother, when may I see the child? I am going half-mad, waiting here.”
“All in good time, sister.” Marcus smiled at her impatience. He beckoned. “First, there is someone else you must see.”
Diantha arose, laying aside the baby clothes. She flitted towards him, grace in her every step. Marcus looked at her for a full moment before resting his hands on her shoulders, drawing her against his chest.
“Diantha.” He murmured her name, her hair soft against his chin. “Dearest sister, you know how much I love you. And your happiness means more to me than anything.”
“As yours does to me, Marcus.” Diantha lifted her head, and Marcus caught the turn of her gaze as she looked past him. Her dark eyes warmed and filled simultaneously. She dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Is-is he here for the reason I think?”
“Yes.” Marcus pulled her back, tilting her chin. “Diantha, he loves you. I think you’ve known it for some time. Are you willing?”
Diantha’s eyes met his without hesitation. “Yes, Marcus.” Her chin trembled and her eyes filled afresh, but she continued. “On that terrible day Philip went home, I never thought I could love again. But, Marcus, I think God brought Alexander into my life to comfort me. He has done much in healing my heart.”
“Then you love him?”
“Yes.” The pretty color came into Diantha’s face. “But there is more to my heart than the love I bear for him. I know it is the will of my Savior that I marry him.”
Marcus felt a quiet tug on his heartstrings. He knew she was right. During the last few months, he had seen the blossom of love that had softly sprung up between the valiant young legionary and his sister. In all their pain and loss, Alexander was God’s way of comforting them.
He turned, beckoning. For once, he didn’t care who saw the mist in his eyes. Your plan is vast, unsearchable, Lord. And I thank You for it. Though he doubted he would ever understand why God had taken the friend destined to be his brother, he knew he trusted Him.
And that trust was enough.
Alexander came forward. Marcus smiled at the tender, fervent way he looked at Diantha. Her own gaze was locked into his, blushes sprinkled across her face. He took Alexander’s hand and placed Diantha’s in it, fighting the emotion welling up within him.
“Alexander, you have her heart. And you have my consent to wed.”
A single look into the young couple’s faces was enough to ease Marcus’s pain into rejoicing. Inhaling deeply, he rested his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, causing the young man to momentarily tear his gaze away from Diantha and look at him.
“Legionary.”
“My tribune?”
“It has been on my heart to make the necessary adjustments for your promotion.” Despite formalities, Marcus could not keep the warmth from his voice. “Of tomorrow, I am approving your transition to centurion of the Praetorian Guards.”
“Tribune.” Alexander’s apparent loss for words was thanks in itself. His laugh hid a deep well of mixed emotions. “I cannot know what to say. I never expected such an honor.”
“The time is right.” Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”
“I thank you.” Warm and grateful, Alexander’s green eyes met his for a full moment before they dropped to the sparkling dark ones beneath him. Diantha’s entire countenance shone with pride and love, a wordless tribute to his promotion.
Marcus saw their desire to be alone. Inconspicuously, he slipped from the garden into the atrium. There, he lingered by the fountain.
He looked into the depths of the water. Calm. Tranquil. Always moving, yet encompassed by the strength of the stonework holding it. Could it be its sparkling peace was a mirror to his own heart?
“Yes, Lord.” Marcus breathed the words. “You have brought me to peace. Thank you for your sustaining strength.”
Behind him, a familiar step echoed through the room. “Marcus.”
Marcus turned. Cleotas stepped towards him, his smile warm, wide. It seemed to fill the atrium. He felt the corners of his own lips twitch. His father’s joy was contagious.
“I have seen the child.” Cleotas nearly wrung his hand off with shaking. “He is beautiful, my son. The gods favor you.”
Marcus laughed heartily. It felt good, a rush to his pent-up emotions. “Cletoas, the child and his mother are supposed to be resting.” Then, with new huskiness, “But I am glad you have seen him. My Philip will be a tribute to his Lord. And to…his namesake.”
The welling mist that sprang unbidden to his eyes was a surprise. But Marcus felt no shame. His gaze drifted back to the calming water, feeling all it represented encompass his very soul. How could grief be so mingled with overwhelming joy, with the peace he could not understand?
“You miss him.” Cleotas’s voice was low, reverent.
“Yes.” Marcus turned to him. “But I would not call him back, father.”
Somewhere deep within, a well of praise stirred his heart. He wanted to worship, no matter the loss, the things he didn’t understand. Behind it all was the overwhelming knowledge that God was with him.
And, whatever the future held, He would always be with him.
Marcus exhaled softly, the bittersweet mist aching in his throat and eyes. The words rushed from his throat, unstoppable. “Cletoas, God used him to teach me and countless others the truth about His love. I know now that nothing, neither height, nor depth, nor any other creature shall separate from His love. And I know that is the kind of the love that can turn darkness into a new dawn, stretching farther and brighter than anything we can imagine.”
He paused. “So you see, I can let Philip go. His dawn has come. And mine…” The smile deepened, tugging on his lips. “I fear mine is only a glimmer when compared with his. But by Christ’s grace, my darkness is gone. And the dawn of our faith is one that will illuminate the world.”
Epilogue
Marcus’s words were strikingly prophetic. The glorious light of the gospel did illuminate the world. Trials and tribulation continued, but the good news of Christ’s abundant salvation traveled across continent and ocean until the world was encompassed with the message of faith and hope.
Two months later, Alexander and Diantha were married. The joyous event was marred, however, by the execution of Paul. The death of the faithful martyr was a crushing blow to the brethren. But, while many wavered under the shock, many more were encouraged in that he had run his race and finished his course with strength.
In the turbulent years that followed, Marcus and Moriah went on to have five children. Raising a family among the political unrest and civil dispute that followed Nero’s suicide was difficult, but it is reported that each of them embraced Christianity. While each of their stories are not known, it is certain that the eldest son became a pastor. Philip Virginius Aeneas served faithfully in the catacombs of Rome for many years before he was martyred under Emperor Trajan.
Little is known about the fate of Cleotas. Most say he lived and died a true Roman, loyal to his country’s gods. Still, a choice few say he accepted Christ two months before his death. All agree he remained an affluent, popular patrician.
Thallus Quinc
tia went on to have a successful career and eventually became a chief friend and advisor of the Emperor Domitian. Some say, too, that it was under his diabolic influence that Domitian launched one of the greatest persecutions of the believers in history. Nothing further is known.
Daniel labored among the Christians in Rome for many years. Two years after the fall of the temple in Jerusalem, he returned to his country. There, he served among his own people, preaching the good news and forgiveness of the Savior they had rejected.
Rowland Virginius is reported to have gained exorbitant wealth until his early death in 72 A.D. While the particulars of his death were shrouded in mystery, some say he adopted the Roman idea of honorable suicide. Little is known of his life up until then. Those who knew him claim he lived in bitterness, resenting the Christus-followers who had deprived him of his children.
Philip’s memory was never forgotten. His testimony lived on in the hearts of those who had known him and also in those who had not. There were countless individuals who, upon hearing the story of his faithful love for his Savior, surrendered to the Holy Spirit in salvation. Among them was patrician Julius Calussa, master of the young martyr Arswind. He, along with innumerable others, went on to preach the story of sacrifice and redeeming love to a hurting world.
Thus it was that the sting of death was swallowed up in victory, as men, women, and children came to know Christ’s wonderful love and forgiveness. Truly, the darkness of sin was wonderfully transformed into the dawn of new hope and eternal salvation.
The End.
Glossary of Terms
Throughout this book, you will experience many new words, as well as some Latin and Iceni phrases. Many of them will be italicized. This glossary was designed for your clarification.
Augur - Augurs discerned the future and omens through the intestines of animals and birds. The animals had to be without blemish and were purchased at great expense.
From the Dark to the Dawn Page 40