by Randy Singer
She sagged back down, her energy spent. Nero’s soldiers stood there speechless. Perhaps they wanted to laugh. Theophilus knew this much—Flavia’s dying insult fueled his own resolve. It was her way of saying that they had nothing to fear from this man. The emperor could destroy the body, but he couldn’t lay a finger on Flavia’s indomitable spirit or incorruptible soul.
Without warning, Nero grabbed the torch from the man next to him and lit the flame himself.
“Nooo!” Theophilus cried out. He twisted violently and strained against the nails holding him to the cross as if he could somehow break free. Pain pierced him.
In horror, he saw the wood of Flavia’s cross light instantly and act like a candlewick, setting on fire the linens wrapped around her body. Theophilus turned his head, unable to watch as Flavia suffered. He would not look at her again in this world. The next time he saw her, she would be as she once was—radiant, flawless, totally at peace.
He shut his eyes but could not block out the sounds. She screamed in agony. He felt the heat and smelled the burning flesh. Her cries became muted as she choked on the smoke. But then he heard a gasp and words forming again.
“Look. . . . He is risen!”
She must have regained her strength even as the flames consumed her. “It’s real, Theophilus!” she cried. And then she shrieked in pain.
There was another anguished yell, nothing Theophilus could decipher, and then her voice softened almost to a whisper. It seemed that perhaps the pain was gone.
“It’s real,” Theophilus heard her say again.
CHAPTER 101
Flavia’s death fueled Theophilus’s own commitment to die well and at the same time extinguished his will to live. For him and the others, it wouldn’t be long now.
He struggled for breath as he had on another cross so many years ago. He watched Nero walk down the length of the track and disappear out the doors that led to the stables. The stadium stilled as the crowd waited with anticipation for the moment to arrive. The only sound came from Theophilus and the other Christians straining to breathe. Some moaned in pain; others sobbed quietly.
One by one, the soldiers covered the oil torches. The entire stadium complex turned black, the light from Flavia’s cross the sole exception. Theophilus knew that in a moment his cross would also be lit, and his life would soon be over.
He hung there, his thoughts muddled by the horrific pain radiating from the nerves in his wrists and ankles. He tried to remember the example of Jesus. Hanging on the cross at the place of the skull, the Nazarene had prayed that God would forgive those who killed him.
Theophilus couldn’t bring himself to do the same. Instead, he hung his head and prayed for Nero’s punishment. But as he prayed, his heart was convicted of his own role in the death of Jesus. He remembered the Nazarene’s eyes of compassion even in the midst of his trial, the look that told Theophilus he was loved.
Tears streamed down his face as he somehow found the will to pray for Nero. Convict him, Lord. Convert him to your cause or raise up another who will take his place and lead all of Rome to you.
His thoughts and prayers were disrupted by the sound of a disjointed chant. Whose voice started it, Theophilus couldn’t say. But the familiar words were picked up by the others. First one prisoner, then another, hoisting themselves up and carrying on the jagged refrain.
“Now to him . . . who is able . . .
To do more . . . than we ask . . . or imagine . . .
According to his power . . . at work in us . . .”
The words, breathless and forced as they were, reverberated in the darkness of the stadium. A few patrons booed, but the prisoners could still be heard.
Theophilus lifted himself up and added to the refrain. “To him be glory in the church!”
“And in Christ Jesus!” somebody else added.
They never finished. A light erupted at the far end of the stadium as the stable doors opened. On cue, the soldiers simultaneously lit two hundred crosses, and each burst into flames.
Nero came thundering out of the stables, riding down the gauntlet of human torches, his chariot drawn by four white stallions.
The tongues of fire climbed up Theophilus’s cross and lapped at his legs. Within seconds, the linens they had wrapped around him ignited. He gasped for breath and inhaled black smoke. The blaze seared him and consumed him, every inch of his skin on fire.
There were a few seconds of suffocating pain as Nero flashed by. A bright-white light exploded and Theophilus cried out, a prolonged scream of unbearable agony, and then . . .
It was over.
Instantly, there was peace.
Calm.
Silence.
A radiant white light.
The tender face of the Nazarene.
Flavia was there as well, smiling. So was Marcus.
“Well done, good and faithful servant.”
The Nazarene held out his hand and welcomed Theophilus. And in that moment, the advocate knew that all of his Savior’s promises were true. Every word he ever spoke.
As were the words of Seneca that had followed Theophilus throughout his life.
What we have to seek for, then, is that which is untouched by time and chance. And what is this? It is the soul that is upright, good, and great. . . .
A soul like this may descend into a Roman equestrian or a freedman’s son or a slave. . . . They are mere titles, born of ambition or of wrong. One may leap to the heavens from the very slums. Only rise and mold thyself into kinship with thy God.
EPILOGUE
IN THE THREE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIRST YEAR OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST
The commission went out from Constantine, the first Roman emperor who had converted to the cause of Christ, the same ruler who had abolished the ancient punishment of crucifixion. He wrote the letter to Eusebius, the bishop of Caesarea in Palestine, a respected leader in the church. The emperor needed the bishop’s help.
I have thought it expedient to instruct your Prudence to produce fifty copies of the sacred Scriptures, the provision and use of which you know to be most needful for the instruction of the Church, to be written on prepared parchment in a legible manner, and in a convenient, portable form, by professional transcribers thoroughly practiced in their art.
Eusebius started immediately, assembling the books that had proven most useful in the instruction and encouragement of the church, the books that had shown themselves to be inspired by the Holy Spirit. He enlisted the most diligent scribes to copy the sacred pages. They wrote each word carefully on new parchment, counting the letters and words on each page, dividing the pages into three or sometimes four columns. They bound the books with sturdy leather and inscribed the cover with gold letters.
The sacred Scriptures.
Four years after their delivery, Eusebius and the other bishops were called to Constantinople to deal with a heresy being espoused by Athanasius of Alexandria. During his time there, Eusebius was granted a private audience with the emperor.
He was pleased to see that Constantine had kept a copy of the Scriptures for himself and even more pleased when he learned that Constantine had read every word. The emperor had some vexing theological questions about the divinity of Christ and other weighty matters that had troubled the church. Eusebius answered as best he could.
But the emperor had a practical question as well. It was about the books written by Saint Luke.
“Who is this man Theophilus?” the emperor asked.
“Nobody actually knows, Your Excellency. His identity has been lost to history. There are some theories, however.”
Constantine waited, and Eusebius took it as a cue to continue.
“Some say he was a generous benefactor of Luke. Others suggest he may have been an investigator for Nero in preparation for Paul’s trial. Still others believe the name is a code word for Nero himself.”
Constantine seemed to consider this, though his expression soured with the thought that the notorious Nero mig
ht have been Luke’s intended audience. Like every other Roman, the emperor was well aware of Nero’s infamous reign and cowardly death. Repulsed by the people, condemned by the Senate, and hunted by the Roman legions, Nero had struggled to even muster the nerve to take his own life. When he finally did, with the help of a servant, his last words were fittingly narcissistic: “What an artist dies in me!”
Following his death, the Senate had issued a damnatio memoriae, condemning even the memory of the man, erasing his name and visage from all public documents and places.
It was no wonder that Emperor Constantine recoiled at the thought of such a man being the intended recipient of Saint Luke’s writings.
“What is your thought on the matter?” Constantine asked Eusebius.
The bishop mulled the question for a moment. “The name Theophilus means ‘lover of God,’” he eventually replied. “In that respect, it may be that the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles are general epistles, addressed to every believer who loves our Savior.”
The emperor walked to his desk, opened the sacred volume, and read the words again. “‘Most Excellent Theophilus,’” he murmured. He looked at Eusebius, pinning the bishop with his incisive eyes. “Is that the view to which you subscribe, Eusebius?”
“Yes, Your Excellency, though it’s difficult to prove such a thing. Still, it’s my belief that there is a small part of Theophilus in all of us.”
Author’s Note
I have never felt more indebted on a book than this one. Five years is a long time to work on a project, and I’ve required more than the usual help along the way.
My team at Tyndale has been beyond patient. We delayed the release of this book a few times, even completing a contemporary legal thriller while I continued to work on this one in the background. I am so grateful for Karen Watson, Jeremy Taylor, Jan Stob, and the rest of the team who believed in this book and helped make it exponentially better than the raw manuscript I first submitted. In addition to that, a team of advance readers and transcribers, including Mary Hartman, Robin Pawling, Mike Garnier, Jana Hadder, Alisa Bozich, and my wife, Rhonda, (the ever-fastidious teacher of grammar) weighed in with helpful thoughts and feedback.
I have newfound respect for authors of historical fiction. Learning how to speak, write, live, and think like a first-century Roman has not been easy. To the extent this book feels authentic, I owe enormous debts to the sources and people who helped me understand what the world was like when the Son of Man chose to invade history.
The seed for this book was sown when I read Paul on Trial, a nonfiction book by a friend and fellow lawyer named John Mauck. In it, John argues that the books of Luke and Acts are written like legal briefs that were intended as evidence in Paul’s trial in front of Nero. I took that premise and ran with it, developing the fictional story of Theophilus, the intended recipient of those two books of Scripture.
I am a former history teacher, and the historical details are both fascinating and important to me. Unfortunately, space does not allow me to sift the real from the fictitious here. Suffice it to say that I attempted to remain true to the historical accounts to the extent possible. I have put a full list of my sources, along with detailed notes about what is real and what is fictional, on my website. However, a few of the more prominent sources bear special mention.
This period in history came alive through two main sources. The first was a wonderful tour guide I had in Rome named Cinzia Cutrone. She was a first-class historian who patiently answered every question, never injecting her own opinions but always taking me back to the original sources.
The second is an author named Ann Wroe, who wrote a magnificent nonfiction book titled Pontius Pilate. Her vibrant writing made the events surrounding the trial of Christ leap off the page and helped me see the first-century world through a Roman’s eyes. In particular, scenes in my book where Theophilus visits Nicodemus and where Procula, the wife of Pilate, is healed in the temple of Aesculapius were inspired by Ann Wroe’s descriptions of that temple and by her vivid imagining of a possible meeting between Pilate and Nicodemus. She also did an excellent job describing the details of Pilate’s life, the politics that confronted him, and the quotes from Roman philosophers like Cicero and Seneca that would have helped him process the trial of Jesus, all of which impacted my story. I believe I used no fewer than five historical quotes that I first discovered in Wroe’s book, including a quote from Seneca that played a large part in the life of my fictional Theophilus and is the concluding quote for his story.
On the life and times of Nero, a book of the same name by Edward Champlin was most helpful. His insightful writing helped me understand the events during Nero’s reign and see the ruler as an actor trapped in an emperor’s body as opposed to just a one-dimensional persecutor of the early Christians.
In the same way, three sources brought to life the epic fire that destroyed most of Rome. The Flames of Rome by Paul Maier, The Great Fire of Rome by Stephen Dando-Collins, and The Apostle by Sholem Asch all contain gripping accounts of what that tragedy was like. These accounts formed the basis of my own description. Also, the novel Imperium by Robert Harris did a wonderful job describing what life was like for an advocate in ancient Rome—in particular for Marcus Cicero, a hero of my book’s protagonist. I relied on several of Mr. Harris’s insights when I wrote about the training of Theophilus and when I described the role of an advocate in the Roman legal system. For example, the life of Theophilus at the School of Molon and the description of the Asiatic School instructors as “dancing masters” were based on Mr. Harris’s book. In a similar way, I am indebted to Jeffrey Barr for his insightful analysis of the episode where Jesus was asked about paying taxes, an analysis I relied on in this book.
I tried to stay true to the original historical sources, and you can be the judge of whether I succeeded. I started with the writings of Luke and the other New Testament books including, of course, the letters of Paul. I also found great value in the ancient historians—Tacitus, Josephus, Suetonius, Cassius Dio—and in the writings of Seneca, who waxed eloquent on a great variety of topics.
I’ll end my thanks with the man who has guided my writing career for most of the past decade—my former agent, Lee Hough. I’m pretty sure there was nobody more excited about this book than Lee. After a long and courageous battle with brain cancer, he passed away just before the manuscript was submitted. Nevertheless, this book has his fingerprints all over it. They are prints of encouragement and persistence and faith.
And as good as Lee was as an agent—which was pretty darn special—he was even better as a friend. I miss him a lot. And I hope this book will make him proud.
About the Author
Randy Singer is a critically acclaimed, award-winning author and veteran trial attorney. He has penned more than ten legal thrillers and was a finalist with John Grisham and Michael Connelly for the inaugural Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction sponsored by the University of Alabama School of Law and the ABA Journal. Randy runs his own law practice and has been named one of the top 100 lawyers in Virginia by Super Lawyers magazine.
In addition to his law practice and writing, Randy serves as teaching pastor for Trinity Church in Virginia Beach, Virginia. He calls it his “Jekyll and Hyde thing”—part lawyer, part pastor. He also teaches classes in civil litigation at Regent Law School.
The Advocate is Randy’s first work of historical fiction. His fans will enjoy Randy’s trademark legal suspense in a first-century setting.
Randy and his wife, Rhonda, live in Virginia Beach. They have two grown children.
Visit his website at www.randysinger.net.
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