by Carol Ashby
This month traveling together should have nurtured a deeper friendship; it hadn’t. Decimus remained polite but aloof, unwilling to talk about anything personal. Something haunted his son, something that made their intimate conversations impossible.
He could only assume it had something to do with the ambush, but Decimus wouldn’t talk about that, either. Tiberius had no way of knowing what was wrong, so he couldn’t even try to fix it.
In two days, they would reach Rome. Perhaps being home in the capital of the Empire would restore his son to what he used to be. Perhaps spending time together in the familiar places of Decimus’s childhood would give them a chance to become real friends.
Tiberius stood at the door to his tent, once again watching his son stare at the night sky. What could he possibly be looking at or, more likely, looking for?
Valeria was working in the garden when Adolf rode out of the trees. She straightened and waved at him. Although Baldric had dropped by often in the month since Decimus left, Adolf hadn’t been with him. Why the visit today?
She stepped out of the garden and closed the gate behind her as Adolf tied his horse to the rail.
“It’s good to see you, Adolf. The mare your father gave me is with foal.” She waved her hand toward the stable. “I’ll get to use the stable you helped build soon.”
Adolf grinned “I’m glad I was here to help. Your Roman was right about needing grown men to frame the roof.”
“Yes, there are many things that are easier when there’s a man around.” Valeria couldn’t quite keep the wistful note from her voice. There were too many places in the farmyard where images of Decimus slipped into her mind when she looked at them. The stable was the worst.
“Send Galen for me when you need one. I’ll always be glad to help.”
Valeria offered a smile. “Your whole family are such good friends to us. Thank you.”
Adolf stared at his feet and kicked at the dirt. Then he turned his gaze on her.
“Actually, I came to ask you something.” He looked past her toward the trees.
“What is it?
His gaze settled on her again. “Father told me the Roman asked you to marry him before he left. He said you refused because he didn’t worship your God.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m glad you refused, but I can’t help wondering. Why was that so important? I wouldn’t let a woman not worshiping my gods stand in the way of marrying her if I wanted her for my wife.”
His head tilted as his eyebrows scrunched. “Your Roman didn’t care that you were a Christian, even with the governor declaring it a crime. So why do you care so much?”
“Did Baldric send you to ask, or do you really want to know for yourself?”
“Father didn’t send me. I want to know...for me.”
Valeria gestured toward the cottage. “Come sit a while, and I’ll tell you about Jesus and what he did for me.”
As they walked side-by-side toward the porch, Valeria’s smile slipped out and broadened with each step.
Chapter 45: Searching
Decimus was eagerly anticipating his stay at the family villa near Rome. Not because of the beauty of the marble columns and perfectly manicured gardens or the luxury of a good library and sumptuous food, but because Graecus was there. As faithful steward for the house of Cornelius Lentulus for many years, Graecus had been there for Decimus through his teen years when his father never had time for him.
Graecus was waiting in the stable yard as the cavalcade arrived. Decimus dismissed the troops for them to proceed to the garrison. Then he rode to where the steward was standing before dismounting. Graecus’s eyes lit with pleasure as Decimus swung his right leg over the horse’s neck and slid off.
“It’s good to see you again, Master Decimus.”
Decimus placed his hand on the steward’s shoulder and beamed at him.
“It’s much better to see you, Graecus. It’s one of the best parts of returning to Rome. I look forward to us talking later.”
He slapped the steward’s arm before leading his horse over to the stable slave for his rubdown.
Graecus was skilled at concealing his thoughts, but the greeting from the young man he loved like his own son broke through the servant’s mask. A broad smile lit his whole face. Decimus had been affectionate as a boy, but Graecus had expected his years in a position of power to make him more aloof, like his father was when other people were present. It was sheer delight to see that at least one of the best characteristics of his young master had remained unchanged.
The next morning, Decimus ordered his horse to be saddled. He had a problem to resolve, and for that, he needed a true friend he could rely on.
Titus Claudius Drusus had been his best friend since they were young boys. Of all the men he ever knew, Titus was the one man he could trust with his most intimate secrets. If there was anyone with whom he could discuss his dilemma over the Christian faith and the woman who followed it, it was Titus.
Titus had never been on the fast-track to political importance. He was serving his ten years as an officer in the military as expected of a man of the equestrian order, but he had no ambitions beyond completing the required service. His loyalty to Decimus was greater than his loyalty to Rome, so there was no risk in telling him about Valeria and her faith and her rejection of him because of it. If Titus was near Rome, he’d finally have the person he could trust to help him sort it all out.
When Decimus arrived at the Drusus house in the elite Fagutal section of Rome, it looked exactly as he remembered it. When he knocked, the door was opened by a house slave he didn’t recognize. The slave only opened the door halfway and stood blocking entrance.
“I’ve come to see Titus. Tell him Decimus Lentulus is here.”
“My master Titus is not at home.”
“Where is he? I want to meet with him as soon as possible.”
“That will be difficult, Master Lentulus. Master Titus is serving in Perinthus in Thracia. He hasn’t been home for more than three years, and we don’t expect him within the next year.”
Decimus ran his fingers through his hair. Then a smile tugged at his lips. There might be an even better person for discussing at least part of his problem: Titus’s father, Publius. In fact, if there was anyone in Rome who might be able to answer his intellectual questions about the Christian faith, it would be Publius. He was a historian and philosopher of some fame in scholarly circles.
More importantly, Publius was the man to whom he’d always brought his ethical quandaries. Publius was not a politician like his own father; he always judged based on moral rightness rather than political expediency.
Publius had always been ready for leisurely talks with Decimus and Titus about the meaning of life and how to make the right choices. His own father never had time for such discussions, so he’d learned to rely on Publius as his pole star when navigating the difficult decisions of young adulthood. If anyone could help him now, it was Publius.
“Is Publius Drusus at home today? I would speak with him instead if he is.”
The door slave’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. He peered into the atrium before answering.
“My former master doesn’t live here anymore.”
Decimus’s shoulders drooped. The death of his own father couldn’t have hurt more.
“When did he die?”
The door slave cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at the atrium again. Footsteps were followed by a grey-haired man passing the doorway of the vestibulum.
Decimus knew at once the slender form of the Drusus steward. “Malleolus.”
“Decimus Lentulus!” Malleolus strode into the vestibulum and turned to the door slave. “Admit him. I’ll attend to this business.”
The door slave bowed to Decimus and swung the door wide open so he could pass. Malleolus motioned for Decimus to follow.
Upon entering the atrium, he turned into a small
room to the right. Malleolus indicated with a flick of his fingers that Decimus should follow him to the far corner of the room, where he stood with his eyes fixed on the doorway. Then he spoke in a voice that was barely audible.
“I am so glad to see you, Decimus. Terrible things have happened this past week. My old master is no longer here, but he is not dead yet. I hope you can convince him to change his course so he will not be killed.”
“What’s happened?” Decimus whispered his question.
“Master Publius has become a Christian and is now in the cells at the Flavian Amphitheatre. He is waiting to be killed during the games this week. There is no one in Rome more loyal to Emperor Trajan than my new master Lucius. Because of that, he made the difficult choice of honoring Caesar instead of his father. May Rome have many more such patriotic citizens. He reported his father’s treasonous rejection of the Roman gods. When my old master was charged with being a Christian, he would not perform the sacrifices to Caesar and was sentenced to die. In gratitude for his loyal service to Rome, the family estates were awarded to Master Lucius instead of being confiscated.”
Decimus heard all Malleolus’s words of praise for Lucius and his treachery, but they were only words spoken in case someone was listening. The pain in the old steward’s eyes matched his own.
“What can I do?”
“Master Publius has always loved you like his own son. If he will listen to anyone, it is you. If you could go to him and convince him to deny the Christian god and return to the worship of the gods of Rome, he could be spared. That is all it would take.”
Malleolus’s eyes were pleading as his voice almost broke. “For more than thirty years I have served him. No man could be a better master and friend. I would do anything to save him, but I can do nothing myself. Even getting in to talk with him takes more influence and money than I have.”
Decimus rested his hand on the old steward’s shoulder. “I’ll go speak with him this morning. Are you sure he’s already in the cells at the amphitheater?”
Malleolus took Decimus’s other hand in both of his as a look of intense gratitude overspread his face.
“Yes. I overheard Master Lucius tell one of his friends last night.”
“I’ll do all I can, but I may not be able to convince him. The loyalty of Christians to their god is beyond what I understand. They’ll sacrifice what they love most to him, and nothing can turn them from that decision.”
The memory of Valeria’s tear-streaked face as she told him she loved Jesus even more than him tore at his heart again.
A trace of tears glistened in the old steward’s eyes. “It is enough that you even try.”
Decimus squeezed the old man’s shoulder.
“I’ll go right now. I will try, and we will see.”
Malleolus escorted Decimus back to the door, and the door slave let him out.
As Decimus stood in the street outside, utter amazement flooded his mind. He’d come looking for his friend to have a listening ear as he tried to sort out his life. He was leaving knowing the perfect person to answer every question he had about the Christian faith and those who would follow it to their death. Publius, of all people, the one man he trusted most for guidance in this world.
Valeria would say it was her god’s hand directing all this. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Maybe she was right, maybe not. Would he know after he talked with Publius?
He headed home to don his uniform to ensure easy entrance to the cells and to get enough money to pay a bribe to get Publius out, if that was what it would take.
Chapter 46: The Logical Choice
Decimus had been to the amphitheater many times, but it had always been to sit in the premium seats close to the arena that were reserved for the senatorial order. He’d never walked through the passages beneath it, so it took him some time to locate the entrance.
He’d judged correctly that a tribune would be admitted without questions by the guards at the entrance. Finding his way to the cells where the condemned criminals were held was almost as easy. The first person he asked had volunteered to escort him, and he gave the man a sestertius, enough to be appreciated but not enough to be a topic of discussion.
The atmosphere in the cellblock repelled him. The passageways were dark and damp, and the cells reeked of human waste. The thought of Publius imprisoned in such a foul place was gut-wrenching, but an observer would never know it. He kept his face impassive, but he was reaching the limits of his skill.
He approached the guard station. “You have a Publius Claudius Drusus here. Take me to him.”
The guard snapped a salute and lifted a torch off a wall rack. After lighting it, he led Decimus down a narrow passage to a tiny cell. The guard unlocked the cell door and swung it open. Decimus took the torch from his hand and stepped inside.
“Call when you wish to leave, tribune.” The guard snapped another salute before he closed the door, leaving it unlocked.
Decimus’s eyes swept the putrid darkness as he stepped deeper into the cell with the torch raised. His breath caught when something moved. Publius was sitting on the filthy floor with his back resting against the cold, damp wall. Decimus slid the torch into a ring on the wall and strode over to help his friend to his feet.
“Decimus!” A joyful smile overspread Publius’s face. “I thought you were in Germania.”
“I escorted Father back to Rome. He’s finished his term as governor. I’ll be returning to the province soon.”
Publius pulled Decimus into a fierce hug before holding him at arms’ length.
“I didn’t expect to see you before I died. I thank God for this chance to say goodbye to my fourth son. How did you know I was here?”
“I went to your house to see Titus, and Malleolus told me. He sent me to persuade you to worship Caesar and be pardoned.”
“He’s a faithful servant and a good friend. I’m sorry my death is causing him such grief, but I won’t change my course. I die gladly for my God. I can never deny Jesus to please Caesar.”
Decimus looked first at the ground, then at Publius’s eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t. That’s part of why I came. You’ve always guided me in everything that’s truly important, and I’m facing the most important decision I’ve ever had to make.”
Decimus paused, not quite certain how to continue. Publius placed his hand on his shoulder.
“What is it, son? Let me help you.”
Decimus took a deep breath and blew it out.
“I’m in love with a Christian woman, and she loves me, too, but she rejected my proposal because I don’t love her god. She loves your Jesus more than me, more than her own life, more than anything. I need to know why you’re both willing to give up everything for him, and I need to decide if I can follow him, too.” His voice broke. “Help me understand so I can decide.”
The love and compassion in Publius’s eyes mirrored Decimus’s memories of Valeria. “Tell me all about it, and maybe I can tell you what God needs for you to hear.”
Decimus told him about the ambush, how she risked her life to save him because of Jesus’s command, about the miracles of him not dying from mortal injuries and of his sight returning. He told him about how they made him part of their family, how he read their scriptures and heard their prayers, and how much she wanted him to believe like they did. He told of how he fell in love and asked her to marry him, and how she loved him too but rejected him because she thought marrying him would mean denying Jesus.
“And now I’m back in Rome, and I find that the man I love and respect most in the world, the wisest man I’ve ever known, has made the same choice she did―to give up everything else for the love of Jesus. I must know why. How is it possible to love a dead man who claimed to be god enough to give up everything for him?”
Publius listened and nodded as Decimus poured his heart out. When he finished, Publius rubbed the back of his neck.
“Let me tell you how I came to my
decision. Maybe then you will understand. It began as a problem with the philosophers I most admired. Aristotle. Plato.”
Decimus crossed his arms. “I remember. You spent uncountable hours telling Titus and me about them.”
A wry smile tugged at Publius’s lips as he shook his head. “I bored you two sometimes, but I thought Aristotle and Plato so wise then. I was foolish to think that. They fail to explain how the world really is.
“I thought Aristotle the best of all philosophers. He taught that everything has an effective cause. When I looked deep enough or far enough back in time, I could see the causes of almost everything. He also taught that everything changes over time, that nothing lasts forever. I could see that, too.”
Decimus’s brow furrowed. “But that is how the world works. Why do you say he failed?”
“His failure lies in the contradictions. He taught that the universe was eternal and had no effective cause. But how could the universe as a whole be the opposite of all the parts within it? That wasn’t logical. So I began my search for a philosophy that taught that the universe had a beginning and something that started it. I found it in the Jewish scriptures. They tell how God created everything from nothing, how He is the effective cause of the whole universe.”
As Decimus’s head tilted, his eyebrow rose. “I see your point.”
“But there’s much more. Consider the nature of man. Plato taught that we could be ruled by philosopher-kings: intelligent, self-controlled men who ruled based on wisdom and reason, for the good of the kingdom and not for their own desire for power and wealth. But such rulers don’t exist now.” Publius shrugged. “I doubt they ever have.”
He pursed his lips. “Emperor Trajan is as good a man as has ever ruled an empire. By the standards of Rome, he’s a shining example. He’s ordered that orphans be given food and education in Italia, but what about the rest of the empire? He sends his legions out to conquer, enslaving and killing, making new orphans who will starve. He lounges in the imperial box, happy to watch the lions rip apart small children who’ve done nothing worse than call Jesus their Lord.”