by Carol Ashby
The head of the band seized the packhorse’s lead and sliced the tie ropes with his dagger. Everything tumbled to the ground. Grabbing the wooden box first, he jerked it open. Scrolls and codices! There must be something else valuable inside. He dumped the contents out. Finding nothing, he tossed the box aside with a string of curses. The rest of the pack contained only clothing and provisions.
The words rolling from his tongue would have made even a brothel slave blush. There should have been a Roman payroll. He’d lost five of his band and only had seven dead Romans and a few horses to show for it. When he saw the sword wound on the tribune’s stallion, he cursed again. The best horse wasn’t even worth taking. He mounted the second-best horse and called to his men.
“Get their horses and let’s go. Leave that black one. It’ll only slow us down.”
With each one clutching his share of the loot, the remaining robbers mounted the Roman horses and rode away to the south.
Chapter 4: His Life or Hers?
Valeria started down the hill where the rocky outcrops made it easy for robbers to hide.
She glanced at Rhoda beside her. The tribune had spooked Placida, but with his troop ahead of her, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about the robbers who’d killed the silver merchant.
Her breath caught as the clang of metal on metal rang in her ears, and she pulled back on the reins. Then came savage cries from men celebrating the end of battle. Her stomach knotted as she listened to the blood-curdling yells. Whoever was fighting, it didn’t sound like the Romans had won.
Rhoda trembled as tears pooled in her eyes. “Is it the raiders? Are they going to kill us?” Her whisper sounded like a shout as Valeria’s ears strained to hear what the robbers were doing.
Valeria held her finger to her lips, and Rhoda fell silent. Valeria flicked the reins and guided Placida off the road to a spot behind some thick bushes.
Oh, God! Please don’t let them see the cart if they come up this way.
She released the shafts from the harness to free her mare. Then she led Rhoda and the mare into an area of rocks that hid them from anyone passing on the road. Hid them…unless whoever killed the Romans saw the cart and decided to hunt for its owner.
Rhoda wrapped her arms around Valeria and buried her face in her sister’s dress. She clung to Valeria’s waist, sometimes shaking as she shed silent tears. Valeria longed to encircle her with comforting arms, but she needed to hold the halter and stroke the mare’s neck to keep her calm and quiet. How ironic that Gaius had named the skittish little mare Placida.
They remained hidden among the rocks, still as death, praying and listening to the sounds of the robbers celebrating. Valeria shuddered at the laughter as they stripped the bodies of valuables. Vile cursing followed as they discovered there was no payroll money in the box on the packhorse. More cursing as they gathered up the horses. At last, the sounds of voices and horses’ hooves faded away as the robbers headed down the road, taking the Roman horses with them.
After several minutes, Rhoda’s frightened whisper shattered the silence. “Do you think they’re gone? Can we go home now?”
Valeria forced a smile to comfort her sister, but did her eyes betray her own fear? “Let’s wait a little longer. Another half hour should make it safe.”
She had no idea if that was true, but she didn’t want to scare Rhoda. The risk of running into the robbers was too real, but it would be dangerous to wait too long where they were. She had to get them home before nightfall. She hadn’t brought a lantern to light the trail. In the dark, a cart could fall into the ravine where the path narrowed at the sharpest curve. Galen would be terribly worried if they didn’t return before sundown and with good reason.
The normal sounds of the forest had returned: squirrels chattering, birds chirping. The robbers were gone, but would they return and reset the trap if she waited too long?
Valeria placed one finger across her lips and kissed her frightened sister’s forehead. Then she shifted her grip from halter to reins and led them all back to the cart.
With Placida back between the shafts, Valeria slapped the reins to start the mare down the road toward the gap. If only she had asked Galen to grease the axle before their trip today! Its quiet squeaking sounded horribly loud to her now. If the robbers were anywhere nearby, they couldn’t fail to hear it.
They approached the narrow cut through the last rock outcrop before the valley floor.
Valeria swallowed hard. Oh, God! Please protect us…I’m so scared they’re going to find us. If they do, at least get Rhoda away safe.
She whispered to Rhoda, “Close your eyes and don’t look until I tell you to open them. Just keep praying.”
Then she guided the cart around the last curve and through the narrow passage.
A nightmare sight awaited them. She didn’t want Rhoda to see the dead men lying there, bloody and mangled by sword and ax. She didn’t want to see them herself, but she had no choice if they were going to get home. As they emerged from the passage into full view of the carnage, the little mare balked at the smell of blood and death. Valeria flicked her several times with the reins. She snorted but remained frozen in place. She was not going to walk past the dead on her own.
“Keep your eyes closed.” Valeria’s whisper felt like a shout as she scanned the surrounding forest for lurking robbers. “I’m going to lead Placida and clear the path. Remember, don’t look until I say.”
After handing Rhoda the reins, she climbed down to lead the horse. She leaned her forehead against the mare’s cheek. “We can do this. Come on, girl.”
Taking the mare’s halter in hand and stroking her neck to calm her, Valeria began to lead her past the dead. The little horse shuddered and then relaxed as they moved forward.
Three bodies lay across the wagon track. Before they could pass, she’d have to move them.
Placida snorted as they stopped just short of the first Roman.
“Nothing to fear, girl. You can do this.” Valeria’s soft words and three stokes of Placida’s nose settled her down.
“I’m letting go of the halter, so you’ve got her,” whispered Valeria. Rhoda nodded without looking up. Valeria took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
I can do this. She swallowed to clear the lump in her throat. Help me do this, God.
When she gripped the ankles of the dead Roman, she focused her gaze on his feet. She couldn’t bear to look at eyes that stared but saw nothing. Tears blurred her vision, but she flicked them away. No time for weakness.
I can do this.
She dragged the body aside.
A shudder convulsed her shoulders before she dropped his ankles. One down, two to go.
Rhoda’s father, Gaius, had been training Valeria to be a physician like himself when he was murdered by the raiders. She’d seen and touched death before, but this was so horribly different. Tears began to well up again. She shook her head, trying to shake off the fear…and the pity. No one in the village liked the Romans, but no one deserved to die like this.
Taking hold of the halter once more, she led the horse forward until the way was blocked again. The next man on the track was one of the robbers. A shiver slithered up her spine as she pulled him out of the way, saying a prayer for his soul. Gripping the halter again, she moved down the road to the last body blocking her path.
The final Roman sprawled across the full width of the track.
Her breath caught as she stared at the corpse of the tribune who’d bought her berries. He’d been a commanding presence, sitting his horse with such confidence. He’d been magnificent in his red cape and red-crested helmet. Now his purple-striped tunic was red with his blood. The aura of power was gone, leaving only an empty shell.
His body looked heavy. It would take all her strength to pull it off the path so the cart could pass.
“Hold the reins, but still don’t look. We’re almost through.”
One more body, an
d she could drive away from the horror around her. She reached down, seized the dead tribune's ankles, and began to pull.
A crimson rivulet trickled down his calf and splattered into the red puddle on the ground below the deep gash in his leg. With a gasp, she jerked her hands back, dropping his feet. Bright scarlet swirled into the dark red.
That was fresh blood.
How could he still be bleeding? Dead men didn’t bleed.
He lay face down with a jagged wound on the back of his head. His hair was matted with dark, clotted blood. He couldn’t be alive.
Her palm covered her mouth, and her breathing accelerated. Maybe the blood only looked fresh because she’d lifted his leg enough to free what had pooled in the deep wound. With so much blood on him and the ground, surely he must be dead.
Valeria sucked air between her teeth. What if he wasn’t?
She knelt beside him and picked up his hand. It was large and sinewy, and she was certain the dried blood on it wasn’t his own. She searched for a pulse, as Gaius had taught her. At first it was hard to find. His artery felt squishy, like it wasn’t full, but finally her fingertips felt something. His pulse was weak and too rapid, but it was there.
There was no doubt. This Roman was alive, but he would die soon…unless she helped him.
Valeria bit her lip as she stared at him.
Alive―he shouldn’t be alive. The bloody wound on the back of his head should have killed him. So much blood from the five-inch gash on his left leg. How could he lose so much without dying?
Her fingertips lifted his dark brown hair aside to expose the cut in his scalp. It was still oozing a little fresh blood, but mostly the blood had clotted. The wound wasn’t as deep as it first appeared. The ax hadn’t cut into his skull.
As she knelt beside him, she rolled her eyes at the sky. Oh, God! Why does it have to be the tribune who’s alive?
She couldn’t just leave him to die by the road, but helping him would put her whole family in mortal danger. This man wore the wide purple stripes of a senatorial tribune. He was second only to the legion commander. How could a man of his rank fail to enforce the governor’s decree? That was the duty of every Roman soldier, but this was the man who sent them out to hunt for Christians.
Saving the tribune’s life might mean sacrificing her own. And what about Rhoda and Galen? She’d be putting them in grave danger if she brought the Roman home to care for his wounds. If he recovered, he might arrest them all.
She stared at his handsome profile. God, do I have to try to help him? He’s probably going to die, no matter what I do.
She’d never seen a living man so deathly pale. And even if his skull hadn’t cracked, was his head injured beyond healing? Even Gaius had never treated a wound like that.
He’d seemed bigger than life as he relaxed on his fidgeting stallion in the village. Up close, he seemed even bigger. She was small, even for a woman. How was she going to get such a large man into the cart? Rhoda was only nine, too small to help much.
The robbers might return and catch them if she and Rhoda stayed long enough to get him loaded. They would finish him off, and it would all be for nothing. She sucked her breath through her teeth. What would they do to her and Rhoda for trying to help him?
There were so many reasons to just drive away, but were they really only excuses?
Jesus’s parable of the Good Samaritan echoed in her mind as she weighed her options. Just like this Roman, the Jew had been jumped by robbers and left to die. The Samaritan spared no effort to care for the Jew who thought he was scum.
Jesus wouldn’t want her to leave the tribune there…but she was afraid of him and for good reason. He wasn’t simply a man in need who considered her beneath himself. He truly was her enemy.
Both hands cupped her face as she bit her lower lip.
Jesus’s command to love her enemy―what if she obeyed and the tribune recovered? Like an injured wolf who’d been released from a trap and tended, would he turn and kill her when he was well again?
As Valeria slowly shook her head, she sucked another deep breath through her teeth.
She’d heard too many stories about the cruelty and callous hearts of Roman soldiers. This man had stopped the other officer...maybe he would spare the people who rescued him. But he was a tribune, and Roman power was never merciful.
Valeria glanced over her shoulder at Rhoda, sitting in the cart with her eyes squeezed shut. She pressed her palms against her cheeks as she turned her gaze back on him. What kind of man was this tribune? Would he put duty above all else? Would he arrest her whole family even though she’d saved him?
To avoid execution, they’d have to deny Jesus as their Lord and offer sacrifice to Caesar. Her brother, her sister, her…none of them would do that.
But if she refused to help her enemy, wouldn’t she be denying her Lord anyway?
She shook her head again as she stared at him. This Roman desperately needed her help, but at what cost? Her life for his? Could she willingly make that sacrifice? Maybe, but it wasn't just her life in the balance. Whatever she chose, she dragged Galen and Rhoda along with her. If the tribune showed her no mercy, they would all die.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jesus, please! I want to be faithful, but I’m afraid of what might happen if I take him home. Not just for me, but for Galen and Rhoda. Please show me what I should do. She opened her eyes and stared at his motionless body. Whatever that is, give me courage to do it.
As she finished her prayer, the tribune stirred, then lay still.
Her shoulders slumped, then straightened. No more excuses masked as reasons. There really was no choice. She would have to risk her own life and those she loved to save her enemy.
Chapter 5: The Rescue
Valeria stood and gazed down at him as she took one more deep breath and slowly blew it out. If this is what You want, Lord, then I’ll do it.
She walked past the mare and laid her hand on Rhoda’s arm. “The tribune is alive. We can’t leave him here to die without trying to help him.”
Rhoda’s eyes popped open. “Like the Good Samaritan. We’ll care for him, and God will make him better.”
The near-smile on Rhoda’s lips told Valeria she didn’t understand the risk, but now was not the time to tell her. Plenty of time for that later if he didn’t die on the way home.
“First I have to check all the others. Then we'll load him into the cart.”
Valeria walked among the bodies, checking the eyes or pulse to see if any still lived. None did.
Back beside the tribune, Valeria rested her cheek in her palm as she stared at him. God, how am I supposed to do this?
Even with his deep tan, he was paler than some corpses. By God’s mercy, he was still alive, but could she keep him that way?
He bled a little simply because she lifted his foot. When she tried to lift him into the cart, would the clotted wound reopen? That would kill him.
His red cape had been cast aside by whoever took his armor. She tore several strips from it and bandaged the gash in his leg.
She slipped her hands under his armpits and dragged him to the side of the wagon track. He’d looked big on his horse; he felt enormous as she strained to move him. If only Galen were there to help lift him into the cart! How was she ever going to manage that with only her and Rhoda?
God, if You want me to do this, You’re going to have to tell me how.
She led Placida forward until the back of the cart was just past where he was lying.
“He’s too heavy for me to lift alone. Come help me. I’ll lift his shoulders. You lift his legs. Be as careful as you can with the one with the cut on it.”
Rhoda dropped the reins and climbed down. The little mare stood like a statue, somehow calm as they prepared to load him into the cart.
“God, give us strength to do this.” whispered Valeria. “And please keep Placida from moving the cart.”
Each
picked up her own end and sidestepped to carry him past the cart. He was so heavy they had to set him down and rest before trying to hoist him up and onto the bed.
Valeria arched her back to stretch her muscles. “I’m going to kneel down and lay his chest across my shoulder. Help me lift him enough so I can get under him. When I start to stand up, hang onto him so he won’t slip off.”
Her gaze shifted from the tribune to the cart bed and back. “If we can get his chest resting on the cart, I think I can pull the rest of him in. Let’s pray that we don’t hurt him more doing that.”
Pushing upward with all the strength her legs could muster, Valeria lifted him. She staggered under his weight but managed to struggle to her feet with him draped across her right shoulder. She stood for a moment with her feet wide-spread, his weight bearing down on her. She wrapped her arms around his torso, fighting to keep him balanced so he would stay on her shoulder when Rhoda let go.
“Back the cart up against me and then we can push him off.”
Rhoda ran forward to the mare and backed her up until the end of the cart was right next to Valeria. Together they got him off her shoulder, leaving his chest resting on the cart bed.
Valeria flexed her shoulders before she ran her fingers through her hair and pushed the strands that had fallen across her face back behind her ears. “Halfway there. God, please give me strength!”
She climbed in past him and sat down. She braced her feet against the sides of the cart, placed her hands under his arms, and pushed hard with her legs, sliding herself and him backward into the cart. One more time, and she had most of him in as far as she wanted, leaving room for her to sit between him and the seat.
She sagged against the front wall of the cart and closed her eyes for a moment. “We did it. I wasn’t sure just the two of us could get him into the cart. It’s a good thing Galen will be there to help us take him out.”
Rhoda’s brow furrowed as she stood at the end of the cart and nodded her agreement. “We got him in…but is he going to die?” Her voice quavered as she stood as if frozen, staring at him.