True Freedom

by Carol Ashby

  A stable slave approached, and Africanus swung his leg over his stallion’s neck and slid off.

  “These three will need to be stabled until we return. Seven days, maybe more.”

  The man tipped his head. “Yes, Africanus.”

  Africanus summoned Aulus and Marcus with a flip of his hand. “Come. First a word with Galbius about spending the night at his house. He’ll have someone escort you there. I’ll join you after I book our passage.”

  Brutus’s agent entered the yard with a raised arm and a smile directed at Africanus. As Africanus stepped forward to meet him, tension drained from Aulus’s shoulders. No matter what awaited them in Luna, Brutus had given them the right man to handle it.

  On the Mare Nostrum

  As the rowboats pulled the ship away from the pier, Marcus leaned on the railing. He was more than ready to escape the faint odor of dead fish that had plagued him since they boarded. The bundle of blankets that Africanus had carried aboard promised three nights on deck with little rest. Why the gladiator didn’t find a ship with a cabin for wealthy travelers…

  Aulus stood beside him, that contented smile on his face. His friend’s hand shot out, pointing at the ship docked just upriver. A bay stallion dragged the slave back down to the pier after the third attempt to walk it up the gangplank.

  “That horse is going to hurt a leg if they’re not careful. Niger is still too wild to ride, but our stable slave can get him to follow anywhere like a puppy.” His smile dimmed. “They say horses are good judges of character, but I don’t believe it since he helped kidnap Julia.”

  Marcus patted Aulus’s arm. “As soon as we find Callidus, we’ll learn where they took Julia. When you get that slave back, you can see how well he handles lions on the sand.”

  When the ship was pulled past the lighthouse and out of the Tiber into the Mare Nostrum, the waves lapping at its sides grew larger. And with the larger waves, the ship began to rock. Slow and gentle, but a strange sensation started in Marcus’s stomach.

  The rowboats released the towropes and moved away. The sail on the central mast dropped, and the small sail opened on the angled mast at the front. The sails billowed as the wind filled them, and the ship leaped forward.

  And as the ship rose and fell on the waves, Marcus’s stomach leaped, too.

  He swallowed hard, and the first rising of his stomach contents settled back into place. He took slow, deep breaths, willing the gyrations in his gut to settle. But as the ship picked up speed, the wild dance in his midsection spiraled upward, and he lost his breakfast over the side.

  Aulus stepped back, his nose scrunched.

  Marcus closed his eyes and breathed deeply. That only made the up and down sensations worse. With elbows leaning on the rail, he clasped his head. And the next time the ship rose, his stomach rose with it.

  He felt rather than heard Africanus move beside him, and Marcus glanced at him.

  “Many get nauseabundus on their first voyage. I’ll get something that should help.”

  Marcus’s lips tightened at the sympathy dripping from the gladiator’s deep voice.

  “It will pass. I’ve celebrated with too much wine. This is no worse.”

  Africanus’s eyebrow rose. “Once, and it’s over when you drink too much. This won’t end quickly.”

  Marcus flicked his hand to send him away. Africanus shrugged and moved off.

  Eyes closed and more deep breaths…but still his stomach churned.

  “Marcus.” Africanus’s voice drew his glare. “Take a sip or two of this.” He held out a cup.

  “What is it?”

  “Half wine, half water. A little might help, but not more. Go to the middle of the ship where it moves less. Lie down on your back. Or stay at the rail, but keep your eyes on where the water meets the sky.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows lowered. “How do you know? You’re no physician.”

  The corner of Africanus’s mouth turned up. “No, but as I told you, I’ve been up and down the coast of Italia more times than you’ve ridden twenty milia from Rome. You’re not the first I’ve seen with this.”

  The bow tipped up on a large swell, then dropped, slapping the water as the swell passed.

  As Marcus’s stomach heaved again, his forehead broke out in a cold sweat.

  And he reached for the cup. Two sips, and he gave it back to the gladiator with a nod and a slight smile. The smile Africanus returned mirrored his own before the big man walked away.

  With his gaze locked on the horizon, Marcus began counting the hours until his feet could be on steady ground once more.

  Port of Castrum Novum

  As soon as the captain ordered the gangplank lowered to the pier in Castrum Novum, Marcus hurried down it and up the ramp from the pier to the road. At least for the hour or so it took to offload some cargo from Rome and load some that waited on the Castrum Novum pier, he’d have his feet on solid ground.

  Another two full days and part of a third on that accursed sea lay ahead of him. His gaze settled on Aulus, still leaning on the railing and watching the slaves carrying cargo. Only a friend like Aulus was worth that much misery.

  Africanus strode down the gangplank and up the ramp toward him. With a nod but no words, he continued past and disappeared into the crowd. In less than a quarter hour, he returned and boarded the ship.

  Too soon, the captain signaled Marcus to board. His stomach had settled, but would everything start swirling and tossing as soon as they returned to the sea?

  After the rowboats pulled them out of the harbor and the sails unfurled, the pitch and roll had Marcus clutching the rail again, eyes riveted on the horizon as his stomach heaved.

  Africanus appeared beside him. “Here.” He held out two fat roots. “Ginger root. Suck on it, and it should help. And licorice root. In case the ginger doesn’t work.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows rose as he took the roots. “Perhaps a new job awaits when you tire of killing people. You can ask Brutus to let you heal them instead.”

  Africanus’s mouth curved into a full smile. “Master Brutus values more than my skill on the sand. If I wanted that change, he’d give it to me.”

  As Africanus walked away, he moved in unison with the ship. Marcus’s eyebrows dipped. The gladiator seemed to know what to do, no matter where they were or what was happening. It was a good thing Brutus had sent him with them, but Marcus would still rather have his own slave, not Brutus’s favorite, as bodyguard in the hunt.

  Chapter 51: One of God’s Own

  Gaius’s Farm, Day 34

  Calantha watched Leander as he followed Gaius out to the vineyard. Each day he moved a little faster. Soon he wouldn’t need the crutch.

  She turned back to her loom and stroked the fabric she’d already woven. It wouldn’t be long before she could present the cloak to Leander. A smile leaked out. She already knew what he would say: “That’s not something a mistress should do for her slave.”

  But he couldn’t be more wrong. He deserved more than everything she could do for him, and the cloak was just the beginning.

  Marcella joined her at the looms. “You do nice work. He’ll enjoy wearing it.”

  Calantha flashed a smile. “After I convince him I made it for my own pleasure, not just for him. He doesn’t realize how much I enjoy helping him.”

  “It took me years to teach that to Gaius.” Marcella made the first pass of the shuttle through the warp yarns. “I’m so glad you’re helping Leander write everything down. It will be so good to be able to hear the Lord’s words even after you two leave.”

  Calantha’s brow furrowed. “May I ask you something? Something very personal.”

  Marcella’s head cocked. “Of course. What is it?”

  First Calantha looked at the floor. Then she raised her eyes to Marcella’s smiling face. “Petronia said you only became a Christian about ten years ago. Why did you decide to do that?” She glanced away, then back at her friend. “
It’s against Roman law, and you could die for it.”

  Marcella’s eyes softened as her smile broadened. “I was dying on the inside before I did. I only came alive again when I accepted Jesus as my Lord.

  “I was mourning the deaths of both my sons in the Dacian war.” She shook her head. “They’d been so eager to enter the legions to see the world. They didn’t want to stay on the family land and be farmers like their father and grandfather. They wanted travel, excitement, the feeling that they were part of something bigger than themselves. Gaius’s uncle had been a legionary, and he told the boys so many stories about army life.”

  Her mouth turned down. “But only the good things. All about victory and marching in a triumph behind the emperor in Rome. Nothing about watching his friends cut down beside him or the smell of death so thick it made him gag.”

  A sigh escaped. “They pestered Gaius until he gave his permission to enlist in the IV Flavia Felix. They wrote us with cheerful stories about Moesia Superior. And then came the Dacian war, and both my boys died in the first assault on Sarmizegetusa.”

  She tightened her lips. “Killing and dying for the glory of Rome…what was that worth? Nothing! Everything seemed so pointless.”

  Her lips relaxed into the start of a smile. “Then a few months later, I went to the bath just down the road from Lucillia’s taberna. I’d seen her there many times, but we never spoke. But that day she came and sat beside me. She said I looked too sad and asked if I wanted to talk about it. I don’t know what came over me, but I told her both my boys had been killed and started to cry. She put her arm around my shoulders and asked me to come home with her to try a new herb bread before she served it to customers.

  “I felt so desperately lonely that I would have done anything just to have someone to talk with. Gaius had pulled into a shell like a snail with his own grief, and my girls lived too far away in their husbands’ homes.”

  “We sat at her table, and she just listened as all the pain came gushing out.” Her smile broadened. “And when I finished, she took my hand and asked if she could pray for me.”

  Marcella closed her eyes, and when they opened, their warmth drew a smile from Calantha. “And when she prayed to God in the name of Jesus, it was like a bucket of cool water on the burning pain in my heart. I’d heard all the bad things about Christians. I wanted nothing to do with them, but when God poured His peace over me…Lucillia spent the rest of the afternoon telling me about Jesus, and I decided to follow Him, too.”

  “But that’s so dangerous.” Calantha massaged her neck as her gaze stayed locked on Marcella. “Weren’t you afraid you’d be killed for your faith?”

  “I’m in no hurry to die, but it’s like Leander told you. Death isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of eternal life with Jesus.” Marcella shrugged. “I’d never forfeit that just to live a little longer on earth.”

  Calantha bit her lip. “I can’t explain it, but as Leander is telling me what Jesus said, it feels as if he’s calling me to follow him, just like he called his disciples.”

  “He is calling. That’s the Holy Spirit drawing you toward Him.”

  Calantha’s mouth turned down. “Part of me wants to answer that call, but part of me is afraid of what that would cost. My father…he’s Tiberius Julius Secundus.”

  “Wasn’t he a consul a few years ago?” Marcella’s smile vanished.

  “Yes, and he’s governing Sicilia right now. We’re waiting for him to return to Rome before I can go back home.”

  Marcella drew air between her teeth. “That’s a big problem.”

  “I know. I’m expected to marry a senatorial son who’ll follow the cursus honorum to someday govern a province, too. That kind of man can’t have a Christian wife. There are so many acts of worship of the Roman gods that I’d be expected to take part in, and Leander tells me God demands his followers worship only him.”

  Calantha cradled her face in both hands. “I love Father, and he loves me dearly. I don’t want to hurt him. And if I become a Christian, I’ll hurt him badly. But God is calling louder and louder, and I want to say yes.”

  Marcella wrapped an arm around Calantha’s shoulders. “I didn’t want to hurt my husband, but I couldn’t say no to God calling me. Gaius was angry when I became a believer because he didn’t want me killed, too. But I got him to talk with Publius, and then he heard God calling him as well.”

  “What did your father say? As paterfamilias, did he approve?”

  “He was already dead. But it wouldn’t have mattered, not after I chose to follow Jesus and the Holy Spirit came.”

  Calantha’s shoulders slumped as she sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I can see how much I’ll lose, but when I look at you and Leander, I can see how much I’ll gain.”

  Marcella pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have many more days before you’ll be leaving us. You don’t have to make your choice today. I’ll be praying for you, and you’ll know what to do before it’s time to leave.”

  She gazed out the open door. “It’s probably time for you to check on Leander. Men are no good at knowing when they’ve worked enough.”

  “I’ll fetch him. He can rest while he tells me what to write.”

  As Calantha headed out the door, she longed for rest. But it wasn’t the kind of rest that would speed Leander’s healing that she wanted. It was rest from the turmoil in her heart.

  Leander leaned back in his chair and blew out a deep breath. “That’s the end of the gospel Apostle John wrote.”

  Mistress Calantha added the final papyrus sheet to the stack and straightened the pile. “You were right when you said it was almost like sitting with his disciples, listening to Jesus himself.” She placed her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. When she pulled her fingers down so he could see her eyes again, they swam in tears.

  “I wonder how many crucifixions Father has ordered.” She sighed. “Once the Jewish leaders said Pilatus was no friend of Caesar if he didn’t execute Jesus, he really had no choice. It was Jesus’s death or his own. I’ve read the histories. Emperor Tiberius was killing so many good men he thought were his enemies. He killed my great-grandfather’s brother.” She wiped at the corner of her eye.

  He leaned forward. “Jesus’s death or my own―that’s true for everyone. Without Lord Jesus dying to pay for my sins, I’d spend eternity in hell instead of eternal life with my Lord.”

  “To watch him die, like John did…” The first tear trickled down her cheek. She flicked it away. Her lips quivered; then they curved into a smile. “But when he saw Jesus alive again, and he knew for certain that everything Jesus had said was true…” She sniffed, but her eyes lit up with her smile. “I’m glad we’ve written it all down.”

  “Salve and God’s peace to you.” Sextus entered the cottage, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Marcella said you were doing some weaving, so I brought some fleece for her to replace the yarn.”

  He sniffed the savory aroma of the stew that already filled the room. “Gaius should thank God every day that Marcella is such a good cook. If he didn’t work so hard, he’d look like Publius. Not that Publius is fat, and maybe a taberna owner should advertise how good his food is by eating plenty of it.” His eyes lingered on the stewpot. “Favonia made such delicious stews.”

  Gaius entered and slapped Sextus’s arm. “She did.” He patted the bottom of Sextus’s bag. “What have we here?”

  “Wool for Marcella and Calantha.”

  Marcella emerged from the storeroom and set a pitcher of wine on the counter. “Why, thank you.” She took the bag and hugged it. “We’ll put it to good use.”

  Leander freed his arm from the sling and rested his elbow on the table. He was eating right-handed again, but the mistress still tried to help him more than he liked. With Sextus joining them, he’d have a less interfering neighbor beside him.

  Or so he’d thought.

  Sextus took the chair beside
Marcella, and Calantha sat beside him.

  Mistress, not Calantha. With her writing down what he said for hours each day, too often he slipped into thinking of her with the name Marcella used. One gospel written, one to write, and then the letters of Apostle Paul―they were maybe a quarter of the way through. Another week and a half should finish it.

  His eyes followed her as she helped Marcella carry the bowls of stew and platter of salad to the table.

  Watching the mistress write perfectly formed letters so quickly and then nod for him to speak the next sentence…he could stand another week and a half of that.

  He closed his eyes when Gaius began the prayer, and his smile broadened as they finished. Another good meal in the company of believers―what more could a man ask?

  With a full stomach and enough conversation with friends to satisfy any man, Leander closed his eyes as Gaius ended their meal with prayer.

  “We thank You, Lord, for this blessed time together. Keep us in Your peace until we gather again. In our Lord Jesus’s name, we pray.”

  Even Mistress Calantha said amen with feeling.

  “Leander.” Sextus leaned forward. “Before I walk home, give me something to think about tonight. Something about being with Jesus, like Favonia is.”

  When the mistress leaned forward as well, Leander rubbed his lip. What would God choose for both of them to hear?

  “When I was a child, our sheep didn’t graze in a field by our house, like yours do. A shepherd took the sheep of several families to roam the hillsides. Sometimes he let me go out with him. When I tried to drive the ewes, they scattered and circled around behind me, back to where they’d been. But even when there were several flocks in the meadow, all he had to do was call, and his whole flock came. When he walked, they followed him.