by Bryan Litfin
When the ornate carriage drew near, Sophronia stepped onto the ancient cobblestones of the Appian Way. “Great Augustus,” she cried. “I am an old friend of yours! I seek a word!”
The vehicle kept rolling. Sophronia watched it go, unsure if her chances would be helped or hurt by running after it. Abruptly, the carriage came to a stop. A man emerged from the cab, clearly some kind of palace functionary. He signaled to Sophronia that she may approach.
Although Sophronia kept her eyes down, a quick glance from beneath her brows allowed her to spot the emperor in the depths of the carriage. He had a thin beard now but otherwise looked much the same: sallow, morose, and haughty.
“Lady Sabina Sophronia,” came his smooth, regal voice from the cab. “Let me have a look at you.” The emperor paused for a moment, then remarked, “You still have all the womanly charms of your youth. I only pray you have not retained so much sophrosune.” His use of the Greek word for chastity was both a pun and a proof of his high culture. A little titter of laughter emanated from the carriage.
Sophronia switched into Greek. “I greet you, Augustus, with all the modesty and chastity suitable to a noble Roman matron like myself. Though I hesitate to stop you on the highway like a common brigand, nonetheless, my business demands it. I wish to give you a petition regarding a grievous matter that must come to your attention.”
“Very well,” Maxentius replied in equally fluid Greek. “Hand it to my servant, madam, and I shall read it. But I cannot delay for long.”
After handing over the scroll, Sophronia waited anxiously for a reply. One simple prayer tumbled through her mind, prompted perhaps by just having spoken in Greek. Kyrie eleison, she prayed again and again. Lord, have mercy! Though it wasn’t the most eloquent prayer she had ever offered to the heavens, it was all she could manage right now. She thought God wouldn’t mind.
The crumpled parchment flew from the carriage and fell to the cobblestones. “Lady Sabina, you disappoint me,” Maxentius said. “Treason against your emperor is never excusable. Perhaps I should have you come visit me sometime so I can make sure your love for your lord is as fervent as ever.”
“Your Highness, I—”
“Onward!” Maxentius shouted, and the driver immediately snapped the reins. Sophronia could only watch from the middle of the highway as the gilded carriage rolled away toward the city.
Disconsolate, Sophronia returned to her own vehicle and climbed in. Now she knew where she needed to go. All of her supporters and allies had failed. No politician, no powerful husband, not even a bishop had been able to avert the disaster that awaited Flavia. There was only one group of patrons who could help now—one group of friends who would rally in fervent prayer to turn aside the terrible course of events. God alone would be Flavia’s protector! Sophronia intended to usher a prayerful host of her fellow Christians into the throne room of the Almighty. It was exactly the privilege the Risen Christ had made available to true believers. Now, in her moment of greatest need, Sophronia decided to avail herself of that privilege.
The carriage stopped a short distance up the road. Sophronia stepped down and passed through an archway whose gate stood wide open. Another door took her deep underground. By the light of a single lamp she located the grave of Eusebius. After setting the oil lamp on the marble lid of his tomb, she knelt before it.
A deep silence descended, surrounding Sophronia in its holy embrace. And there, in the gloomy darkness that mimicked Flavia’s dungeon, the terrified mother asked the saints of all the ages to add their voices to the groanings of her soul.
The Milvian Bridge marked, so it seemed to Rex, the outer limits of Rome. It was an old bridge that carried the Flaminian Way across the Tiberis. The ancient and famous Tiberis! There it was beneath the arches—a muddier and more turgid river than one would normally imagine for such a great city, but historic, nonetheless. Rex felt that having crossed the Tiberis, he had now officially arrived at the capital. From the bridge he could see the city walls only two miles to the south, stretching west and east with no visible end in either direction. The circumference of those walls was beyond comprehension. Rome was more vast than Rex had ever imagined.
Aratus reined up next to Rex on the road. “First look at the Eternal City, eh? I remember being stunned the first time I saw her too. I had thought Athenae was magnificent. And Antiochia impressed me even more. But Rome? It’s no wonder this city rules the world. So many people gathered in one place can’t be stopped.”
“Let’s see if Rome’s women are as impressive as its walls,” Geta said. A little kick of his heels goaded his horse into movement, and the others followed him.
Two miles down the highway, at the Flaminian Gate in the Aurelian Walls, the road became an urban street called Broadway. The three speculators left their mounts with the hostlers at the imperial post station and traveled by foot into the city. Rex thought the smells and sounds were much like he had experienced elsewhere, but the sheer scale of them was dizzying. The buildings themselves seemed to hum and throb with frenetic energy.
Broadway offered a straight shot from the outer gate to the original defensive ring of the city, the ancient but now defunct Servian Wall. Here the street terminated at the foot of the Capitoline Hill. Rex couldn’t help but stare at the temple looming above him on Rome’s highest peak. Its polished marble columns and golden roof gleamed in the morning sunlight like celestial beacons. Surely a god who occupied such a powerful and commanding site must be worthy of his name: Jupiter, the Best and Greatest.
“Let’s go up and take in the view,” Aratus said. “Remember to act like provincials. Wide-eyed and amazed. Frontier yokels coming to the big city.”
Geta chuckled. “That won’t be hard. That’s pretty much what we are.”
“Hoods up, men, and don’t make eye contact.” Aratus pulled his own cloak over his head and started up the Capitoline.
The view from the top was worth the ascent. Rex could see the vastness of the city spread in every direction, reaching almost to the horizon. “See there? That’s the Palatine,” Aratus said, pointing to the next hill over. It was surmounted by one glorious building after another. “The emperors live there. Down below is the Forum, the beating heart of Rome. Senators speak to the masses from that platform, the Rostra. The Senate House is beside it, to the left.”
“What’s that building at the far end of the square?” Rex asked.
“The Temple of the Divine Julius Caesar. It marks the spot where his body was cremated after his assassination on the Ides of March. His soul ascended into heaven as a comet.”
Rex turned to his centurion. “You really know a lot about Rome, sir. I’m impressed.”
“Every good Roman knows this stuff. Get used to it—this is your new home.”
In the distance, a roar arose from the Flavian Amphitheater. Rex turned to a slave passing by with a handcart. “Games happening today?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“Just some mimes and clowns for the early arrivals right now,” the slave said as he hurried on. “The beast hunt starts in three hours. People are saying fifty fierce lions have been brought in from Africa.”
“Fifty lions!” Geta exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to see a lion.” He turned to Aratus. “We should go. What do you think?”
“I think frivolous entertainments might deter you boys from your mission.”
Rex shook his head at this. “Sir, nothing on this wide earth could deter me from my mission.”
After a moment of contemplation, a slow smile spread across the centurion’s face. “Alright, boys, I guess it won’t hurt. We should go see the spectacles. After all, we’re Romans now.”
Romans now, Rex mused. I could get used to that.
Day and night were irrelevant. There was only the cruel darkness of the Tullianum—oppressive, indifferent, and unrelenting.
Flavia couldn’t remember the outside world anymore. Her will to live was gone. She sat silent and numb, leaning against a wall so she cou
ld at least have a sense of space in the total blackness. A warped and twisted man was down here too, or maybe he was some kind of demon from the underworld. From time to time he spoke, and he had even grabbed her leg at one point. A hard kick had silenced him. The rattling of metal indicated he was chained. He seemed too weakened by hunger to move around much. Most of his incoherent babbling had to do with food—although sexual lust was mixed into his rants too, which made Flavia very glad for the chain.
Hours passed—or maybe they were days? When a circle of light suddenly pooled on the floor, Flavia had a hard time recognizing what it was. “Woman!” a voice shouted from above. “Seat yourself on the board if you want up!”
Though her mind was fogged and disoriented, Flavia still had enough sense to realize she was being offered release from the dungeon. She straddled the board and was hauled through the hole into the upper chamber of the Carcer. Compared to the pit, it seemed like a palace.
“Don’t get too happy,” one of the soldiers said roughly. “By noon you’ll be in another dark hole—only in bite-size pieces!” The joke made the other Praetorians burst into laughter.
A spark of defiance rose up within Flavia—a renewed burst of strength that she could only attribute to the Holy Spirit. “My father will be intervening soon,” she declared, “but if not, I will be received into the arms of my Savior. I am not afraid of death. Many will see my faith and believe. The blood of Christians is seed.”
“The blood of Christians is great entertainment,” the guardsman replied. “People love to watch it gush into the sand. Now get going.”
The man gave Flavia a hard shove toward the door of the Carcer. She was led out into the Forum by the soldiers. Though she had to squint and shade her eyes in the early morning glare, she could still see the looks of horror on the bystanders’ faces. Some covered their mouths and retched as they backed away. Others gawked and pointed. Flavia knew she must have looked like a corpse dredged up from the Great Sewer by the watermen.
“Take her to the House of the Vestals,” the jailer ordered. “Prefect Pompeianus said to make her look recognizable as a senator’s daughter. Pay the virgins to fix her up, then escort her to the amphitheater.”
Flavia was marched across the Forum to the mansion where the priestesses of the goddess Vesta lived. Supposedly they were the pure, virgin daughters of Rome who tended the sacred hearth fire for the entire city. In reality, they were privileged elitists who wielded a lot of power and would lead comfortable lives when their thirty-year term of service was over.
The House of the Vestals stood next to the round temple that mimicked the huts built by Rome’s original settlers. A lone guard took Flavia into an oblong courtyard centered on a lovely pool. Though the priestesses themselves were nowhere to be seen, a few female servants were busy with their work. One of them, obviously high-ranking, stopped the Praetorian in his tracks. “Don’t take another step, guardsman!” she barked. “No vile man should ever peer into this sacred house, much less enter it!”
The soldier swallowed and shifted his feet. “Pardon, lady,” he said. “The Praetorian prefect wants this girl cleaned up. He asks that you wash her off and put her in a decent robe, then bring her back to me. He will compensate you generously.”
The servant frowned but nodded her agreement. Two girls came forward and escorted Flavia to a small bath facility. Hurriedly, yet without apparent revulsion, the girls scrubbed her body with sponges, oiled her skin, and scraped away the filth with a strigil. A rose-colored tunic of good wool was brought, which Flavia gladly slipped over her head. She found herself alone in the bathroom with a stout, olive-skinned girl whose expression was crafty.
“Where are they taking you?” the servant whispered as she tied on Flavia’s sandal.
“The games. Wild beasts.”
The girl glanced over her shoulder and looked about. “I unlocked the door on the far side of the courtyard. It leads up the Palatine. The alleys are like a maze up there. You could disappear.”
“You would do that for me? Why?”
“People like us have to stick together. We can’t let the arrogant win.”
Flavia’s heart began to beat rapidly. This is my deliverance!
“Wh-when should I go?” she asked.
“I’ll make a disturbance. Be ready.”
Flavia nodded, and the girl disappeared out the door. A few moments later, there was a loud crash and a shout, accompanied by the barking of a dog. “Catch that stray mutt!” a female voice bellowed.
God help me, Flavia prayed, and bolted from the room.
Strolling through the Forum, Rex imagined himself a senator in a purple-striped toga, having just delivered a great speech that won him an elected office. Though he knew it was a silly fantasy, it was fun to pretend, nonetheless. Rome’s glory was too bright and splendid not to indulge in a little wishful thinking.
The three speculators jostled their way through the crowds along Sacred Street, taking in all the eye-popping sights at every turn. Just like Aratus had suggested, so many kinds of people clogged this city that a blond, long-haired barbarian drew no special attention. Rex sensed he and Geta were going entirely unnoticed. After passing the Temple of Julius Caesar, they stopped in front of a huge government hall that was currently under construction.
“That’s the New Basilica of Maxentius,” Aratus announced. “There’s going to be a colossal statue of him seated in the apse.”
“Look at the size of that place! The statue will be huge once they put it in. I hope I’ll still be here to see it,” Geta said.
“No you don’t,” Rex countered. “We hope the statue will be of Const—”
“Quiet, soldier,” Aratus said sternly.
Rex nodded dutifully to his commanding officer. “Sorry, sir. Forgot.”
A little farther on, Sacred Street ran under the Arch of Titus. Rex walked beneath its high, curved vault. A frieze on the right side depicted downcast captives being led away with their treasures—among which was a seven-branched candlestick.
“Jews?” Rex asked, having seen the same image on a synagogue wall.
“Aye. Conquered by Emperor Titus in Hierusalem. They were brought here as slaves to build the Flavian Amphitheater.”
“Let’s get there quick,” Geta said. “I’m starving. I want to find a seat and get something hot to eat.”
The three men turned to go when a commotion arose behind them. Shouts could be heard above the general din, and people were being shoved out of the way. Soldiers were running after a fugitive—a woman in a pale pink tunic. She was dark-haired and slim yet curvaceous. As she drew near, Rex could see she was young, probably still in her teens. The cruel soldiers were gaining on her. Rex found his gaze transfixed by the young woman and her desperate plight.
Aratus pulled his men back into the crowd. “Stay quiet,” he said. “Keep a low profile.”
The woman had just reached the arch when one of the Praetorians finally tripped her from behind. She went sprawling, coming to rest near Rex’s feet.
“Thought you could get away, did ya?” The guardsman put his boot on his captive’s back and pressed her down while he clamped a manacle on her raw, red wrist.
“Who is she?” Rex whispered to a bystander.
“Senator’s daughter, Lady Junia Flavia,” the man said. “She’s been convicted of treason. It’ll be the wild beasts for her!”
The soldier raised Flavia to her knees and started fiddling with her second handcuff. She held her head high, still noble and defiant despite the harsh mistreatment. At the same time, Rex could sense her desperation too.
“She’s gorgeous,” Geta murmured.
Flavia’s determined gaze scanned the faces in the crowd. Each person looked away as she sought an ally or friend. But when her attention came to rest on Rex, they locked eyes for what seemed like a very long moment. At last she said simply, “I am an innocent woman. Help me!”
“Shut up, wench!” snapped one of the soldiers—and t
hen he did something Rex would never forget.
Raising his hand above his head, the huge man brought it around in a swift arc that caught Flavia square on the cheek. The sound of the slap was noticeable even above the hubbub of the crowd. A cry burst from Flavia’s lips, and she tumbled to the pavement, her hands fastened behind her back. The other soldiers cheered.
As Rex started to move forward, Aratus grabbed his forearm. “Stand down, Rex,” he muttered. “That’s an order.”
“But the girl needs my help—”
“So what? You’re on a mission.”
“I want to help her. Someone has to. There’s no one else!”
“What are you talking about, soldier?” Aratus hissed. “You said nothing on this wide earth could ever deter you from your mission!”
Rex paused, gathering his resolve.
He wrenched his arm from his commanding officer’s grip. The woman’s crisis had touched something inside of Rex, something primal within the soul of every man. I am one of the most proficient warriors in the empire! I can stop this travesty if I wish. And right here . . . right now . . . for this woman . . .
I wish.
At last he looked straight at Aratus. “I just found the one thing that can,” he declared.
He bent down to Lady Junia Flavia and helped her to her knees. Her brown hair dangled in her eyes, but a flick of her head revealed her delicate face. One cheek was red where she had been slapped. Rex stared at her, and the woman looking back at him with hazel eyes was undoubtedly the loveliest creature he had ever seen. Though she was frightened, she was tranquil too—somehow peaceful even in the midst of adversity. “I am Brandulf Rex,” he told her quietly as the soldiers began to yank her away, “and I’m going to get you out of this.”