Thief of Corinth

by Tessa Afshar

  Papirius gave an unpleasant smile. “If you wish to discuss your private matters here where anyone can hear us, I have no objection.”

  A shiver went through me, like a warning. Best to find out what lay behind his innuendos rather than be left wondering. “Come,” I said. “I will take you to my father. But my brother will join us.”

  “I hope you will not regret his presence. I aim to speak freely.” He dropped my prized pink and white roses on the ground and rose to his feet.

  “I keep no secrets from my brother.” Exchanging an uneasy look with Dionysius, I led the way up the stairs toward Father’s chamber. We found him awake, though clearly he was as ignorant of Papirius’s identity as we were.

  Papirius took the only chair without being invited to do so, folding his long limbs onto the thick cushions, making himself comfortable. “I have the advantage of you, for though we have not met, I had the opportunity of observing both of you for some time. A most entertaining evening, thanks to you, Galenos and Ariadne.”

  I felt like a mouse sitting between a cat’s paws. He was playing with us. Playing as someone who had power. My stomach clenched.

  “Speak clearly, man,” Father barked.

  “Allow me to share a diverting story with you.” Everything about the man was thin, even his red tongue as it slithered out to wet narrow lips. “One cloudy night, I sat in the shadows of a street in upper Corinth, pondering a personal dilemma. To my bewilderment, I saw a figure slink into view, moving like a ghost. It seemed like one of the gods, for it could climb walls with its bare hands and feet. Up it went, until I lost sight of it.”

  Nausea clawed at my throat.

  Papirius wet his fleshless lips again. “A few moments later, another figure came into view. It, too, began to climb the wall until it reached the top. There seemed to be an exchange between the two, though I could not hear their words from where I sat. The second figure backtracked, trying to descend. It slipped, suspended in the air for a moment, before plummeting into the street below.”

  I knew where this story was headed. My mind ran ahead, trying to concoct a cover. Any excuse that would protect Father and me from Papirius’s accusations.

  The thin man leaned forward, his face glowing with perverse delight. He was enjoying playing with us, dragging us through this cruel suspense. “The first figure scaled down in pursuit. It was a wonder to behold, that climb, as if a vertical wall held no mystery to its hands and feet. By now, the household had been roused. The intruders barely had time to hide in a doorway. A servant emerged from the villa and looked about, seeking the source of the disturbance. He had a lamp, which he placed in the nook next to the door, and giving up his search, he returned within.

  “That lamp.” Papirius smiled his razor-thin smile. “That lamp was my friend. For now when the mysterious intruders returned to the street, I could see they were no gods, but human. An ordinary man and a woman who had disguised herself as a man. I did not recognize them, but I intended to remedy that deficiency.

  “I followed them. It was not hard, for the woman had to carry the man, as he had clearly been injured by his fall. Slowly, they came here, to this very house. The home of Galenos and his daughter, Ariadne. Ariadne, who has won a garland of victory in the Isthmian Games.” He pointed at me and Father. “The man and woman I saw that night, breaking into Grato’s house.”

  I crossed my arms and stood like a beam. “What of it?”

  “You are thieves. Not ordinary thieves, mind. You are the Honorable Thief. One of you or both of you together. I do not know. I do not care.”

  I could feel the blood drain from my face. “What mischief is this? I wished to play a trick on my friend Grato; that is all. Father thought it in poor taste and came to fetch me. The rest is nonsense you have made up in your own mind. You cannot prove it.”

  Papirius laughed. I had never thought the sound of laughter could be a thing of horror. A viper’s bite, nipping at your heart. “In fact, I can prove it,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You dropped a letter while you were helping your father. All that bending and shuffling and heaving and lifting. It must have come loose from wherever you had stuffed it. I saw it fall in your wake and collected it. So thoughtful of you to have left it behind.”

  My heart sank as fast and deep as the Paralus. In the excitement after Father’s accident, I had utterly forgotten about the letter. The letter I had written, signed as the Honorable Thief. The letter I had meant to post at the bema once I finished robbing Grato.

  I sagged against the wall. Unbidden, an image of Jesus, hung on a cross between two thieves, flashed before my mind. The thief Christ had forgiven was still crucified. He did not escape the consequences of his actions, though he received an eternal reward. What had made me think that I could elude payment for my crimes?

  Papirius wagged a finger at me. “Take my advice, young woman. This is not the life for you. I do not question you have the courage, the impudence, the sheer physical stamina and grace for it. But you lack the complete ruthlessness it requires. You are too soft.” He shook his head. “I, on the other hand, have more than enough ruthless resolve. Alas, my body will not comply.”

  “What do you want from us?” Father asked gruffly.

  “I merely wish for your assistance. A simple exchange. I will give back your letter if you retrieve a box of documents for me.”

  “Retrieve them from where?” my brother said, his voice hard.

  “From the house of a man named Spurius Felonius. His home is near Grato’s villa.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath. Now I understood. “That is why you were there that night. You were trying to find your way into Felonius’s villa.”

  Papirius shrugged. “I was merely looking. There is no law against that.”

  “It is impossible,” I said, crossing my arms. “If you have studied the place, you know it is a fortress. I have been inside that villa several times. It backs into a rocky hill more vertical than a wall. No way to breach that rock. The front is guarded day and night. Felonius has not left a single crack in the defenses of his house. Do you take me for an eagle that I should descend inside his villa from the skies above?”

  “You will find a way.” Papirius smirked. “I am giving you excellent motivation to succeed.”

  The man set my teeth on edge. “Love your enemies,” Jesus commanded. Did God expect me to love this slimy insect? To be kind to him? Patient with him? I clearly had a long way to go in order to grow like Christ if that was his expectation.

  “My father, as you see, is laid up with a shattered leg. He cannot even descend a flight of stairs, let alone scale a wall.”

  “I saw what you did at Grato’s house. A girl as talented as you does not need her father’s assistance. You can do this alone.”

  “Impossible,” my father declared.

  Papirius gave him a venomous look. “Then prepare for the bliss of prison, you and your daughter.”

  I made a conciliatory gesture. “Where does he keep these documents?”

  “I do not know.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “You must be mad. How am I to find them? Do you know how many documents any man of business keeps in his home? How do you expect me to recognize what it is you want? Even if miraculously I make my way inside, I need to know where to search.”

  Papirius thought for a moment. “He showed them to me once. They are kept in a distinctive box made of ivory and onyx. A ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg decorates the top.”

  A vague memory stirred in the back of my mind. Where had I heard something about a box? It nagged at me, as if I were missing an important detail.

  “Where is this box kept?” I asked, distracted.

  “You shall have to discover that yourself.”

  I scraped my hands over my head. “You give me too much credit. I cannot see through walls.”

  “You are resourceful. I trust you will find a way.”

  I made him describe the box and its measurements more exactly,
and shook my head. “It is too large for me to carry.”

  “I don’t need the box. The scrolls and letters within are what I am after.”

  “What do these scrolls contain?” Dionysius asked. “Why do you want them?”

  “That is my business,” Papirius snapped. “Get them for me, or I will destroy you.”

  I could see from his manner that this was no empty threat. I gave him a sharp look. Under the layers of confidence and cold derision, I sensed a shivering apprehension. The man was not merely greedy. He was desperate.

  That put a new face to my enemy. I wondered what documents Spurius Felonius held in his box that could bring a man like Papirius to his knees.

  CHAPTER 28

  “IT IS AN ODD REQUEST,” Dionysius said. We had sent for Justus and told him about Papirius’s threat. Now we had gathered in Father’s bedchamber, the four of us trying to make sense of how to go forward.

  “He does not ask for treasure or money. He does not even care if he receives a valuable chest containing a jewel that must be worth a fortune,” Dionysius continued. “Papirius is after documents, which on their own could be worth nothing. Even if they are deeds, he cannot claim them. They will bear Felonius’s name.” He shook his head, puzzled. “What manner of man is Spurius Felonius? What does he do for a living?”

  “He is wealthy,” I said. “I do not know the source of his wealth. He drinks too much and has a temper. He threw my friend Claudia out of his house . . .” I stopped, arrested. “I remember!” I cried.

  “What?” the three men said together.

  “When Papirius described the box that contained the documents, I had a nagging feeling that I knew something pertinent, but could not recollect what. Just now, I remembered. My friend Claudia came upon Felonius riffling through the contents of that very chest. A black-and-white box, she said. That must be it! If he has not moved it, I know where to find that box.” I came to my feet. “Whatever it contains, he guards it jealously. When Claudia saw him with it, he had her thrown out of the house.”

  Dionysius rubbed his temple. “Did she see the contents?”

  “Not enough to read them. She said it was a chest filled with scrolls. Nothing out of the ordinary. But Felonius flew into a rage because she had seen them. He has not allowed her to return.”

  “Is she not his sister-in-law?” Justus asked. I nodded. “He threw out his wife’s sister because she accidentally saw him with a box of documents? I grow more curious about these scrolls.”

  “Whatever they may be, Papirius is desperate to lay his hands on something within,” I said.

  “I have heard of this Papirius,” Justus said. “He is a minor official in Cenchreae, but an important one. Everything that comes into the port goes through his office for tariff estimations.”

  “That office can be a gold mine for the right man.” Father grimaced.

  Justus nodded. “I have a friend called Stephanas who owns several warehouses at the harbor of Cenchreae. He told me once that this Papirius has a shady reputation and warned me to be careful around him. No one has proved anything, but supposedly he has made a sizable fortune in bribes and illegal favors.”

  “Stephanas?” Father’s brows rose. “I have met him at Priscilla and Aquila’s house. He and his household were the first to follow Christ in Corinth. He is a sound man. I trust his judgment.”

  Justus twirled a stylus between restless fingers. “If someone had evidence of Papirius’s dishonesty—if they had a document that proved he had accepted a bribe, say, or violated his position for personal gain—he would lose his post. That would be the end of a lucrative career. And the door to similar appointments would close permanently.”

  “You think Felonius has such a document? One that proves Papirius’s shady dealings?” I asked.

  Dionysius leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “And if so, why has Felonius not brought such evidence to the right officials? Why keep it hidden?”

  Father smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand. “Papirius is being blackmailed by Felonius. That would explain his eagerness to get his hands on the document. If that is the case, then we are caught in a battle between two corrupt men. Lord, help us.”

  I choked. “You mean we are being blackmailed by a man who is being blackmailed? Perhaps we can blackmail someone to rob this box for us.” My voice wobbled with hysterical laughter.

  “Or rob him ourselves, as Papirius demands.” Father looked like he might be sick.

  Dionysius held up a hand. “This is conjecture and hearsay. You cannot convict a man’s character based on flimsy evidence. Even if Felonius is a blackmailer, it does not give you the right to rob him. ‘You must not steal,’ the Lord commands. He does not say, ‘You must not steal from good people, but the evil are at your disposal.’”

  I felt like I had swallowed a stone. It was very well to receive miracles from God, to accept his mercy and experience his undeserved grace. But there was a price when you belonged to him. You could not live your life on your own terms any longer. You could not explain away the wrong you did. Protect yourself with a web of placating lies. “You must not steal.” To obey that command, Father and I would ourselves have to face imprisonment. A pall fell over the room. We could see no way out.

  Dionysius took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “We think we have no choice but to give in to Papirius’s demand. I say we should trust in the Lord. Commit our way to him, though we do not understand how he will save us. Ask him to open a way out of this predicament, one that is righteous.”

  Justus had turned the color of ash. He pulled me into his arms and held me as if afraid I might be snatched from him that very moment. No one spoke. No one could offer a solution. We had reached an impassable wall.

  It seemed mad, but in the place of planning, we began to pray. My words were broken, my faith desultory at first. But as we pressed through the initial uncertainty, I found myself growing in strength.

  I thought of Paul’s urging that we do everything with love. This Jew and his God were going to kill me! Do everything with love? How was I to deal with a man like Papirius with any measure of love? Men like him only understood sharp weapons and forceful measures. How was love to solve anything?

  Then I realized that I had already fallen short of Paul’s charge. I had removed myself from the immediacy of God’s presence by calling him Paul’s God. The Jewish God. Had I so quickly forgotten that I was his daughter, and he my Father? I would not bow to such lies. I would bend my will to the outrageous truths of the Kingdom of God, rather than conform to the practical whispers of my own mind.

  If that meant prison, poverty, public shame, then let it be.

  I still had no solution. No scheme that would answer both Papirius’s demands and God’s commands. Other than a vague notion that I should get myself invited to Felonius’s house, I could think of nothing after our earnest prayers. Even this ill-defined idea was an arrow shot blindly in the dark.

  “We need Paul’s help,” I said after we finished praying.

  “He is still lodging with Priscilla and Aquila.” Dionysius gave me directions to their home and Justus accompanied me there.

  Paul’s friends lived in a two-story building near the agora. The ground floor housed a vaulted shop selling leather goods—tents, booths, awnings, cloaks. Inside, the shop was bright and orderly, with samples of leather stacked neatly on two marble shelves.

  Absently, I fingered a square of dark-brown leather and found it surprisingly soft. The workshop was separated from the public store by a gray curtain edged with fine green and pink embroidery. Through a narrow opening in the fabric I could glimpse three men occupying benches, a large length of leather on their laps as they worked.

  A woman approached us. “Welcome. I am Priscilla. How may I help you?”

  She had dark-red hair piled on her head in a simple coronet of braids. A few tendrils escaped their severe captivity to curl about her face, glinting where the sun’s rays hit them.
Had I been a sculptor, I would have wanted to carve that face. Striking rather than pretty, it was a face with prominent bones, delicate lips, and skin that seemed too sheer to be real. She spoke with the elite accents of a highborn Roman but had the hands of a servant, calloused from working with a needle and awl. I remembered that Priscilla was the diminutive for Prisca, a noble name belonging to a well-known Roman family.

  She was altogether a paradox. That bright hair and the blue eyes that accompanied it did not look Roman. The hands belonged to the lower classes, the accents to the higher.

  I collected myself, remembering why we had come, and after cursory introductions, asked for Paul.

  “You are Ariadne! Paul speaks highly of you.”

  I could not imagine why.

  “He prays for you often.”

  That, I could understand.

  “I am afraid Paul is not here. But if you come upstairs, I will give you a letter he left behind for you.”

  “For me?”

  Priscilla nodded. “Before he left early this morning.” She beckoned us to follow as she climbed the narrow steps to the second floor, which housed their private living quarters. She invited us to sit on a faded brown couch, offering us new wine and water, before going to fetch the letter.

  I unrolled the letter and began to read.

  Greetings from Paul, servant of God, to Ariadne, my daughter in faith,

  Grace and peace from God the Father and Jesus our Lord.

  I am needed elsewhere for some days. But as I prepare to leave, I feel you heavy on my heart.

  My shoulders slumped. I had hoped Paul would offer us a miracle. But he was gone. I forced my eyes back to the letter.

  I wish I could come to you, but circumstances prevent me. I do not know the nature of your need, only that you face danger. Whatever your circumstances, my child, do not grow weary in doing good. Be steadfast and immovable. Don’t let life shake you! Remain watchful and stand firm in the faith. Be strong. Do everything in love. Remember that God will comfort you in all your afflictions. I will rejoin you as quickly as I can.