by Lynne Gentry
“Or one woman determined to control the future.” He moved from behind the desk and took a step toward her. “Before you go, I think we should talk about what happened or didn’t happen last night.”
Much as she wished he would make a move to close the gap between them, he did not. He stood his ground, keeping himself an excruciating arm’s length away. His drawn expression communicated his contemplation of whether continuing this conversation would result in the undoing of his resolve. If she let this opportunity pass without telling him everything, her own undoing was the only certainty.
Lisbeth took a breath. “You can’t imagine what it was like for me to walk the streets of a thriving Roman city for the first time. I’d grown up watching my father reclaim crumbling bits of ancient civilizations from the earth and try to piece them together.”
Whether or not it was wise to point out their differences at this critical moment, she believed it foolish to pretend they both weren’t fully aware of them. “While Papa carefully catalogued pottery shards, I assigned my own imaginings to the partial remains. I could never have guessed this.” She waved her hands to take in the grandeur of his home. “To actually experience something like an occupied villa, or the Colosseum in all its splendor, whole and operational, was breathtaking. To hear the lions roar beneath the floor or to watch gladiators duel to the death … all of it was shocking.”
She half expected him to say something about how her protest at the games had nearly gotten both of them tossed to the arena floor. But when he didn’t interrupt, she took a chance and reached out to lightly touch his arm. “Horrible as that arena experience was, meeting you made it bearable. When I saw your people, dying simply because they refused to recant their faith, and I saw how much you cared, something inside me changed.”
His face puzzled. “Changed?”
“Your people became my people. And your God my God.”
“How do you know our holy words?”
She waved her hand over the stack of parchments. “In the future, all of these different scrolls, plus a few Caecilianus didn’t manage to acquire, get combined into one book, and …” She could see that he wasn’t grasping the concept. “Anyway, it’s all packaged in a handy leather carrying case, so to speak. It’s easy to read. Anyone can see for themselves what God has to say.”
“Anyone?”
“Anyone.”
“Including you?”
“Okay, you caught me. Sue me. Something about all of this Do unto others as you would have them do unto you Ruth and Caecilianus not only preached but also lived intrigued me. It didn’t make sense. Then I started reading and …”
“They lived their life in a way that was hard to ignore.” The hard lines etched at the corners of his eyes slackened. “And so?”
In that moment, she wanted him to see her for the generous, trusting person she was desperately trying to become. “I believed.”
His defensive posture melted. “You are a believer?”
“I may not always be the best example of a Christian, but yes, I am.”
Her confession did not bring him rushing into her arms as she had always imagined it would. His eyes were once again impossible to read. “Did you become a follower for me?”
“I did it for me.” She made a bold move and closed the gap between them, her chest lightly brushing his.
He flinched at the physical contact but did not back away. His quick breaths warmed her cheek. She could feel the thrum of his heart struggling to match hers. In the tense silence, she could hear the sorting of his thoughts.
“I didn’t understand how much this church meant to you until …” She let her fingers skim the length of his arm, soaking in the heat of him. “I saw how easily you opened your home to them and saw you working with them. I couldn’t help but love these people even more.” When her hand met his, she felt his fingers relax and slowly take hers in. This small gesture of acquiescence encouraged her to say the hardest part of all. “You’ve been more than generous. But I don’t believe you have to die to prove you love them.”
“Don’t you think I’ve asked the Lord if there is any other way?”
“Did it ever occur to you that I may have been sent here to help you find another option? If you let me stay and help you, I think the church can avoid losing you before your time.” The emotional boundaries she’d set in place since her arrival disintegrated. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and fished out the paper. “Let me read this to you.” She opened the page. “History records that if you continue on this path, traitors will arrange for your gruesome death. You will be martyred. But you already know that.” She pointed at the last paragraph. “What you don’t know is what it goes on to say. What the church did after your death, and how successful their actions were at turning the tide of popular opinion. So I was thinking, what if we implemented those tactics earlier rather than later?”
Cyprian extricated his hand from hers and took the paper. He folded it without looking at the paragraph she’d highlighted in yellow. “The difference between us is not a span of time. The difference is that I know we all die. How we die is up to God, and I am resigned to his will. You, on the other hand, live like one who believes if you claim Christ as savior, you can tell him when, where, and what you’re willing to die for.”
“That’s not true. Doctors see deaths every day that they can’t stop.” Images of the still body of the young mother who’d taken her daughter to Disney World flashed in Lisbeth’s mind. “Let me tell you something: there’s nothing like staring at a life snuffed out too early to make you come face-to-face with your own mortality. All of us die. Even Aspasius. But I take comfort in knowing that when that jerk leaves this world, he’ll go out the same way the rest of us do … with nothing.” She could still see the wedding ring on that young mother’s left hand. Her Disney T-shirt hanging in the tiny hospital closet. Her toddler crying in the hall. All of it had been left behind. “Two thousand years from now, if some archaeologist cracks open the proconsul’s tomb, everything that monster has fought so hard to keep will be right where he left it.”
Cyprian frowned. “If you know all of this, why do you live like you will do the deciding on when and how death comes to you or to those you love?” He pressed the paper into her hand and closed her fingers around its sharp edges. His breath, although warm against her neck, sent a chill down her spine. “What good is it if we save our own bodies but the church loses its soul?” He released her. “You have your work, and I have mine.”
She wasn’t the only one who’d returned from exile a changed person. He was more hardheaded than ever. “I’m saying we can do both. If we join forces, keep the church unified like the early believers in Philippi, we can apply the tactics of the early church and shut Aspasius down.” She lifted her hands and smiled. “We both win.”
“This is not about winning or losing.”
Lisbeth paused. She stood at the crossroads of decision. Was it her knowledge of the future or her need to control outcomes driving this train? Should she keep silent or tell Cyprian the truth? She thought of the cancer rotation she’d done during her internship, how she’d watched each patient’s face as the attending broke the devastating diagnosis. “How long?” was always the first response. She’d decided then and there that numbered days deserve the truth. While everyone may not know the exact number of their days, she knew Cyprian’s days ended on September 14, 258 AD. It was already spring. He had six months at best.
If Cyprian heard nothing else, she wasn’t leaving until he heard the whole story.
“Felicissimus is trying to get you killed. If you won’t let me help you, the least you can do is cut your ties with him.”
“Felicissimus?” His brow crinkled in disbelief. “What does the slave trader have to do with my future?”
“Everything.”
“You’ve held a grudge against him from your first encounter.”
“Not easy to love someone who pins your face to the
filthy floor of a rank little cell block. But what he did to me is nothing compared to how he has betrayed you and continues to betray you.” She hooked Cyprian’s arm and kept him from walking off. “Felicissimus was the one who set the trap that day in the market. Ruth and I were the bait; you were the prey.”
He stepped back. “And you have proof of his treachery?”
“Am I on trial now?” Lisbeth snapped. “No, I don’t have proof.”
“Then it’s your word against his.”
“Look, just because I never liked the guy doesn’t mean I’d lie about him. On the same day you sailed for exile, I saw Felicissimus sneaking out of Aspasius’s office.” She could see Cyprian processing, searching his memory for clues, signs of disloyalty he might have overlooked.
“Why would my friend betray me?”
She shook her head. “Why does anyone stick a knife in someone’s back? Money. Power. Revenge. Hurt feelings.”
Cyprian scowled. “Feelings?”
“Maybe you didn’t listen to his ideas, or perhaps he wanted to be in charge, or maybe he’s just a greedy son of a gun.”
“Gun?”
“Much nicer word than I was thinking.”
“When I came back, I was in no shape to take on the leadership of the church. I tried to dump the responsibility in his lap … and he refused. Explain that.”
“Caecilianus chose you. For Felicissimus to blatantly step in and take over now that you’re back from exile could ruffle a lot of feathers. He’s smarter than he lets on.”
“How could you forget what he did for you? He saved you from Aspasius. If Felicissimus hadn’t told me of your arrival on the slave block, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Lisbeth looked down. She was certain the backstabbing slave trader would carry through on his threats to harm Maggie if she said more. She hesitated for a moment, then boldly went on. “All I know is what this piece of paper says.” She swallowed. “The proconsul of Carthage is going to kill you, and I think someone on the inside is helping him.”
“Mommy!” Maggie pushed open the door. “Filly saved us.”
Felicissimus stood in the doorway.
He had one arm around Barek’s shoulders, another around her daughter, and a very pleased smile crawling across his sleazy face.
42
OVERNIGHT, SPRING MELTED INTO summer. Sweltering temperatures matched Lisbeth and Cyprian’s steamy attitudes.
It didn’t help that hot air had pressed in from the desert and turned the villa into an oven and the sea into a boiling stewpot. The added patrols Rome had sent to quash the “dangerously unruly” Christians had become lethargic in the rising heat. Small patrols sought patches of shade and sat doing nothing while the stench of rotting bodies made it nearly impossible to breathe. It seemed the fly population had doubled since the sun came up. By sundown, their dirty little feet would speed the spread of typhoid across the city. Frightening as fighting two epidemics at once could be, it scared Lisbeth far more to see Cyprian dig in and refuse to believe he had a wolf in the flock.
She watched from the balcony as the harbor gates creaked open. The scarlet sails of the imperial fleet unfurled, and all seaworthy ships lifted anchor. Hundreds of oars slapped the water in a rhythmic cadence that could be heard throughout the city. The royal triremes resumed their patrols of Rome’s ever-expanding borders, and in less than an hour, the entire fleet had rowed out to sea.
If she could have been allowed to conduct a cursory inspection of each ship, Lisbeth was certain she would find measles and typhoid stowed away in the bodies of sailors with hacking coughs or upset stomachs. They were too late to shut down the sea routes, and that meant two extremely contagious and deadly diseases would be carried by flies and ships to every nook and cranny of the empire.
Her gaze followed the ships disappearing into the horizon. With the change of the winds, it would be only weeks before Aspasius’s ship would return to the harbor without the man they’d been commissioned to retrieve from Curubis. Knowing the day of reckoning loomed near would have filled her with terror if she wasn’t certain that day had already come. Felicissimus had too much to gain not to have already alerted Aspasius to Cyprian’s current whereabouts.
Lisbeth stepped into the oppressive heat of the measles hall. Naomi waited nervously beside Mama for her first round of medical training. Lisbeth held out a small vial. “Douse your mask with lavender oil. It will help with the smell.”
She’d thrown herself into dealing with the two plagues, which was just as well because she was not making any headway with Cyprian. Since the slave trader had saved Cyprian’s children, he was now a hero. She suspected Felicissimus had somehow arranged the whole chase scenario through the Tophet so he could swoop in and save the day. Make himself look good in the eyes of Cyprian and the church. Cyprian had given her a look that said Maggie’s safe return was all the proof he needed of Felicissimus’s trustworthiness. So while Cyprian was thinking the guy deserved a medal, she couldn’t help but wonder what treachery Felicissimus planned next. Would he be like Judas and lead the soldiers to their door, then betray Cyprian with a kiss?
Urgent pounding rattled the front door. Low, hostile voices accompanied the scuffle of feet and the authoritative ring of soldered metal.
“I’ll get it,” Naomi offered. “You two stay out of sight.” Naomi cracked the door. “We have the sickness.”
The soldiers pushed in, knocking Naomi to the floor. Lisbeth broke free of Mama’s death grip.
“Hey, buddy!” Lisbeth shouted, causing the brawny leader with the drawn sword to turn. Wiry red hair peeked from beneath his helmet. Spotty whiskers populated his jutting chin. He was really no more than an oversize boy sent to do a man’s job. Had the sickness reduced Rome’s military? “Didn’t you hear her? This house is filled with measles and typhoid.” Lisbeth stepped between the soldier and Naomi, her balled fists upon her hips in hopes of intimidating this boy with ambition written all over his face. “Breathe too long in here, and you’ll be begging for relief in a week.”
The soldier pointed the tip of his blade at Lisbeth’s throat while his worried eyes made a reconnaissance run over the premises. “Are you the healer?”
Her warning had his pimpled friends backing toward the door, but this young foot soldier appeared determined to earn his stripes. She’d have to rein in her galloping heart and work a bit harder to convince him to leave them alone. “Who wants to know?”
“Aspasius Paternus.”
Lisbeth gasped.
Mama boldly stepped out from behind a column. “I am the healer you seek.”
“No!” Lisbeth placed herself between Mama and the soldiers. “I’m the healer.”
Naomi came to stand side by side with them. “I’m the healer.”
Confusion sanded the young soldier’s bristled bravado. He moved the point of his sword from throat to throat. “We’ll take the old one.” He thrust the tip toward Mama. “Come with us.”
“I’ll need my medical bag and help packing it.” Mama inched Lisbeth away. “Don’t cause a scene,” she whispered in English.
“No. You’ll come as you are.” The soldier reached for Mama. “Aspasius said you were a sly one.”
Mama calmly lifted her chin. “Young man, I can assure you the proconsul does not want me without my supplies. I’m assuming he’s not well and needs my healing potions, the ones I keep in my medical bag.”
The soldier weighed his options. “Stay within sight.”
“I just have to step into this room. You’re welcome to come, but I must warn you, the sick in this room suffer bloody runs for days and then their bodies convulse and give out.” Mama smiled at how quickly the soldier backed down. “Come, Lisbeth.”
They hurried into the hall where Vivia was spooning broth into an improving Diona’s mouth. “What’s wrong? I heard voices.”
“Aspasius has discovered my whereabouts.” Mama began gathering her surgical equipment. “If he’s contracted o
ne of these plagues, Diona’s sickness was not a fluke. The plagues are officially moving out of the slums.”
“Titus,” Vivia roused her husband from his nap. “You must do something.”
“No.” Mama settled the man struggling to sit up. “There may come a day when I will need the influence of Titus Cicero to save my children. This is not that day.”
“When that day comes, he’ll be there.” Vivia kissed Mama’s cheek. “You can count on us.”
Lisbeth pulled Mama aside and whispered in English, “If you think I’m going to let those Roman thugs take you without a fight, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Plague is hardest on those who have lived soft lives. Aspasius will not do well. I, on the other hand, know hardship, and I am not afraid.”
Guilt prickled Lisbeth’s skin. If she’d somehow prevented Mama from leaving their desert tent years ago, Mama wouldn’t have fallen down that blasted hole at the Cave of the Swimmers. Papa would have bagged a few archaeological trinkets, penned an award-winning journal article, and carted them off to a far less dangerous site. None of them would have ever discovered the life-changing secret of time travel. None of them would have suffered the heartbreak they all lived with now.
Shame on her if she allowed Mama to walk into danger again. “I’ll go.”
Mama dropped third-century operating tools into her bag, refusing to take the modern tools in case Lisbeth needed them. “Trust me. It’s best if I go quietly.”
“I promised Papa I’d bring you back to him. Don’t you want to go home?”
“Yes.” Mama stopped her packing and put down her bag. “Very much. But it seems my work here is not yet finished.” She took Lisbeth by the shoulders. “Sometimes all you need to be happy is to know that you matter enough that someone would come for you.” She cupped Lisbeth’s cheek. “And you did, baby. You already did.” A tear trickled across the scar carved by the cruel hand of a monster.