The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  “So there’s no need to buy anything? I had to buy the lamb and pay a bunch of fees. ‘Votive offerings,’ they call it. When you bring a request, or when your vow is fulfilled, you have to give something valuable.”

  “I know how it works. The standard prayer made to your gods is, ‘I give so that you might give.’ But our scriptures say, ‘God demonstrates his love to us in this, that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ See the difference? The giving goes the other way in Christianity: from God to us. You don’t have to bribe him first.”

  “Then how do your priests pay for everything if you don’t have to buy your way in?”

  “Oh, Christians definitely pay money! But it’s not a required fee. It’s a freewill offering. We come up and leave it on the table, and the deacons use it to buy food and clothes for the poor. One of the main purposes of our meetings is to gather money to be distributed to the needy. That is the essence of love.”

  “Love?” Rex waved his hand. “Love is just a feeling. It isn’t something real.”

  “Yes, it is. Love becomes real when the feeling becomes an action.”

  Rex didn’t reply. He seemed lost in thought as the pair walked toward the gate of Tibur. Suddenly he gripped Flavia’s arm. “Hold up. There’s some kind of commotion on the road ahead. Let’s not get involved.”

  “Can we hide in the bushes?”

  “That would be even more suspicious. Let’s just pass by quickly with our eyes down. The gate isn’t far ahead. Stay close by me.”

  Flavia took Rex’s arm, feeling a little guilty for enjoying it yet considering the gesture necessary in this case. As they approached the troublemakers, she was surprised to discern the wail of an infant amid the shouts and raucous laughter. Three husky ruffians were harassing a much smaller, thinner man. One of the thugs held a wailing baby upside down by the ankle, as if it were a toy doll.

  “I will gladly pay you double the cost of a new slave if you’ll just hand me that infant,” the slender man said to his harassers. “Name your price and it’s yours.”

  A tall fellow with long strings of greasy hair stomped over to the man who had made the offer and shoved him hard in the shoulder. “Shut up, runt!” he roared. The tiny, naked baby dangled from his fist as he held it up. “You don’t have enough money to buy this little sweetheart from me.”

  “I can obtain your asking price. Name it.”

  “You don’t understand nothin’!” another man cried. “It’s not just about a sale right now. It’s a lifetime of income! She’ll work every day until she’s forty and bring in good silver the whole time. Why would we give that up for a few coins now?”

  “C’mon, boss, I’m thirsty,” said the third man. “Forget this guy and let’s get back to town. I don’t know why people have to leave their babies so far outside the gate! Just drop it close and run along, why don’t ya? It’s so annoying.”

  Instinctively, Flavia tightened her grip on Rex’s arm as she discerned the meaning of the rough banter. A female baby had been abandoned on the roadside by a desperate mother. Three pimps had come out to claim it, and a brave passerby was daring to contest their horrific plans. However, he was too small to do anything.

  “Just keep your head down and walk on by,” Rex said, edging to the far side of the road. “Brisk pace, but don’t act scared.”

  The shouting continued as Flavia and Rex hurried past the conflict. A burst of guffaws made Flavia glance over her shoulder. The three bullies were arranged in a triangle around the would-be rescuer, and now they were tossing the baby back and forth in a twisted game of keep-away. Tears sprang to Flavia’s eyes, and she bit her knuckle to stifle a cry at the cruel spectacle unfolding on the road. Lord God in heaven, do something!

  Rex halted midstride, though he did not turn around. “We shouldn’t get involved,” he said in a flat voice.

  “I know, Rex. We really shouldn’t.”

  Flavia put her hand to her mouth again—this time not to stifle a cry but to hide the smile she could not contain. She knew everything had just changed. The uncivilized barbarian whose arm she clutched was about to unleash some serious justice.

  “Go, warrior,” she whispered. And so he went.

  “You there!” Rex shouted to the pimps. “Hand me that child right now, and I won’t break any of your bones.”

  Flavia took a few steps back, realizing that Rex was headed into this thing at full speed. Clearly, this altercation wasn’t going to be ended by a few coins and a mutual parting of the ways. The stakes were too high.

  The greasy-haired man whirled toward Rex, his scowl nasty, his fists raised. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?” he snarled.

  Rex moved so fast, it seemed he wasn’t a man at all but some kind of wild creature—like a ferret darting toward its prey. He spun Greasy around and bent him at the waist. His oily locks dangled beside his cheeks as he stared at the pavement. The man’s arm was pinned against Rex’s chest, held there so tightly that even the tiniest pivot on Rex’s part could wrench the limb out of socket. Greasy screamed for help, but before the other two could assist, Rex barked, “Give the man that baby!” When no one moved, he put a twist in his captive’s arm that drew an even louder screech. “I said hand over that baby! Now!”

  “Do it!” Greasy bellowed. “Hurry! It hurts!”

  When the slender man had taken possession of the infant, he retreated toward Flavia and left Rex to face the three pimps. Rex swept Greasy’s feet from under him and dropped him prone on the road with a knee pressed into his back. At no time did Rex relinquish his grip on his opponent’s arm. “You two start walking that way,” he ordered, nodding toward the distant temple. “Once you’re out of sight, your friend can get up with his arm still attached.”

  “Maybe we might come at you,” one of the pimps threatened, taking a step forward with his fists clenched.

  Rex gave Greasy’s arm a hard twist. There was an audible pop as his shoulder was dislocated. “Argh! Get moving!” he wailed through gritted teeth, and his men quickly retreated. Only when they were long gone did Rex finally stand up. His enemy remained facedown on the ground, moaning a little, all the fight wrung out of him. Rex backed away and left the man writhing on the pavestones.

  “That was scary,” Flavia said as she came to Rex’s side.

  “Not really. Those lowlifes don’t know how to fight. Let’s get into Tibur now and disappear.” Rex gently took Flavia’s arm and began to lead her away from the scene of the conflict.

  “Where to? The inn?”

  “No, it’s too public.”

  “Where else, then?”

  A voice broke in before Rex could answer. “I can give you shelter.”

  Flavia and Rex turned to face the man who had rescued the baby. He cradled the infant in his arms. The little girl was asleep now, exhausted from her ordeal.

  “You should know, my friend, that to shelter us could get you in trouble,” Rex said.

  “Nevertheless, I am willing to help you, if you are in need.”

  Rex started to reply, then fell silent. The afternoon sun beat down on the empty road as the three travelers considered their next move.

  “Why did you do what you did back there?” Flavia asked the stranger.

  “Should this little child, created in the image of God, face a life of prostitution just because she was found by those sinful pimps?”

  “No, she shouldn’t. Your deed was brave. And if I judge you correctly, worthy of Christ.”

  The man’s eyes darted to Flavia’s. “You are a believer too?”

  “Yes, brother, I am,” she said, then turned to look at Rex. “I think we should go to his house.”

  Rex was motionless for a long moment. Flavia watched his face, trying to read his expression. She thought he might consider the home of a Christian an unwise refuge in these tumultuous times. Instead, Rex surprised her and agreed.

  “Follow me, then,” the man said.

  “What made you sa
y yes to him?” Flavia whispered to Rex as the threesome began to walk back into town.

  “I think it was his love,” Rex said simply.

  Flavia’s mouth fell open. “I thought you didn’t believe in love! You said it was just a feeling!”

  “Lady Junia, don’t you know anything?” Rex shot back with a grin. “Love becomes real when the feeling becomes an action.”

  Senator Neratius Junius Flavianus was a man with needs like any other. At least that is what he told himself as he grabbed the chambermaid by the wrist and pulled her into an amorous embrace.

  “What’s the matter, Daphne?” he breathed in her ear as she squirmed in his arms. “Don’t you love your master?”

  “My lord, please, no!” the girl cried, turning her face aside as Neratius nuzzled her. “It isn’t right!”

  “Of course it is. All men do it.”

  “Not those of our faith!” Daphne countered, breaking free from Neratius’s grip. She stared at him, wide-eyed and breathing hard. Clearly, she was scared. Even so, her face was defiant. For a girl of only thirteen, Daphne had a lot of spirit.

  Neratius started toward her again, but Daphne whirled and snatched up the chamber pot. She clutched it against her chest. “My lord, I’m afraid I’ll spill it if you come closer!”

  “Put it down, child, and come here to me.”

  “But the mistress! She will be angry!”

  “Never mind her,” Neratius said as he lunged at Daphne.

  Uttering a little squeak, the chambermaid jumped backward. Some of the pot’s foul contents dribbled down the front of her dress—whether by accident or intention, Neratius wasn’t sure. Either way, it was repulsive. He wrinkled his nose and turned away.

  “I’m soiled now, lord. I must be gone.” Daphne bowed, then hurried out of the bedroom.

  Neratius crossed to a wheeled cart and unstopped a glass bottle. Pouring himself a cup of white wine sweetened with lead, he gulped it down and poured another. Absently, he used a poker to stir the embers in a charcoal brazier on a stand, warming his hands in the heat. Maybe I shouldn’t harass Daphne, he thought as he sipped his wine. God might punish me. But she’s such a pretty little thing!

  Sharp words from outside drew Neratius to the doorway. He cracked the door and gazed down into the rear garden of the home, which was centered on a deep cistern and enclosed all around by a lovely peristyle. Sophronia was there, speaking sharply to Daphne, who hung her head in shame. Yet even as Neratius watched, it became apparent that his wife was growing less angry at the chambermaid and more angry at him. He withdrew just in time to avoid being seen by Sophronia, whose disgusted gaze flicked up toward the second-story bedroom. Daphne was urgently protesting her innocence: gesturing to her stained dress and mimicking how she had wrestled with her master. At last Sophronia put her hand on the servant’s shoulder and dismissed her with a gentle nod. The girl gratefully fled to some other corner of the mansion. It was an annoying scene, and Neratius turned away from it in disdain.

  He was seated at his desk two hours later when the doorkeeper, Onesimus, returned from the errand on which he had been sent. The slave stood at the door of the study with a parcel in his hand, a small box tied with strings. A droplet of wax, impressed with a signet, sealed the knots.

  “You may enter,” the senator said.

  “I found something lovely for the mistress of the house. I think you will be pleased.” Onesimus set the package on the desk, along with a bill of sale. Neratius untied the strings and opened the box to reveal a gold necklace decorated with what looked like green gemstones. Fortunately, the glass blowers at the foot of the Aventine were so skilled, they could make bits of colored glass look enough like gems that no one could tell the difference. Neratius checked the receipt and verified that he had indeed been charged only for glass and not emeralds.

  “Very good, Onesimus,” he said. “Now go summon the mistress and tell her I would like to see her immediately.”

  A short time later, Sophronia appeared at the doorway. Although the ornatrix had tried to hide it with makeup, Neratius could tell his wife had been crying.

  She’s sad now, but not for long, he thought as he reached for the jewelry box. He held it up, beaming with pride. “I have purchased something expensive for you,” he declared.

  Sophronia inclined her head respectfully as she entered the study. She opened the box, but upon seeing what was inside, she seemed far less pleased than Neratius had expected. He wondered if she could tell the gems were actually glass.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I like gifts from the heart. I do not like to be placated with trinkets.”

  “Gods, woman! Most wives would be overjoyed to receive something like that.”

  “All I have ever wanted from you is your love and fidelity, my lord.”

  “You have all that, plus great riches.”

  “Do I?”

  “Look around! Is this magnificent house not rich enough for you?”

  “It is sumptuous indeed. But do I also have your fidelity?”

  Neratius wasn’t in the mood to play games. “I suppose you are referring to the servant girl?”

  “Yes. Daphne says you have been pressing her. Today she only barely escaped.”

  “It happens in every mansion in Rome. The slaves are there for the taking.”

  “But this is a Christian home, Neratius. It should be different.”

  “It is different! Do I whip them? Starve them? Sell them off and break up families? No! What harm is done if one of the girls takes a fancy to me and I bed her?”

  “The harm is done to your wife, and to an innocent virgin, and to your own soul. What do you see in a mere child that you do not see in me?”

  Neratius sighed, exasperated by his wife’s inability to comprehend the desires of a man. She had mirrors in her bedroom. Could she not see that she had grown old? Daphne, however, was so cute. She was fresh and nubile in a way Sophronia was not. It was hard to imagine that his wife could not understand this. Yet perhaps she truly did not know how much of a toll the years had taken on her.

  “The truth is, Lady Sabina,” said Neratius, addressing his wife formally, “you have aged. It is inevitable. Just accept it—that is my counsel. It happens to all women. You cannot expect a man’s interest to be held in one place for so long.”

  “My lord, I am only thirty-five. That is not old. I am just now coming into my best years.”

  “It is very old,” Neratius replied, then snapped the jewelry box shut as if to emphasize his point.

  Sophronia came around Neratius’s desk and leaned against it while he sat in his chair. She looked down at him for a long while. Unexpectedly, she reached out and caressed the gray locks that ringed the back of his head, smoothing them with her hand. “My husband, we should not live like this,” she said softly.

  “Like what?”

  “As two strangers cooperating in the maintenance of a household. I want to be more to you. And you to me.”

  “What do you lack, Lady Sabina? We are one of the richest families in the empire. You have everything you could dream of.”

  “Everything but what I really want.”

  “And what is that? Name it, and it shall be yours.”

  “A husband.”

  Neratius rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “Is that not what I am?”

  “Perhaps legally,” Sophronia said. “But emotionally? Spiritually? I think not.”

  “What do you mean? Do I not attend the church that meets in our house? I give a sack of coins each week for the care of the poor! Is it baptism you desire of me? If it can be arranged in private with the bishop, I might consider it.”

  “Baptism is an outward washing that signifies a cleansed heart. So, Neratius, I ask you: is your heart clean in the Lord Christ?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then will you do something for me?”

  Though Neratius said nothing, his arched eyebrows indicated that his wife coul
d make her request.

  “Stay away from little Daphne.”

  “Fine!” Neratius spat, flicking away the request with the back of his hand. “She means nothing to me!”

  “But do I?”

  “I married you, didn’t I? It was a fine union, a Sabinus and a Junius, two great clans merged in a single household.”

  Sophronia took Neratius’s hand in hers, clutching it tightly. “Two hearts merged as well?”

  “Yes! Two hearts merged.”

  “And not so long ago—two bodies.”

  Removing his hand from his wife’s grasp, Neratius stood up from his desk chair. He looked her in the eyes and spoke firmly. “There is no need for that. We have one daughter already. I do not wish to divide my estate further. Nor is it likely that you are fruitful enough any longer to produce a son. It seems we must be content with what Juno has already given us. And Jesus too. Juno and Jesus together. Or only Jesus, I suppose. Yes, what Jesus has given us—a daughter.”

  Though Sophronia’s face was crestfallen, fortunately, she did not start to cry. All she said was, “So be it, my lord.” She turned to go.

  At the door to the study, Neratius called to her. “Sophronia?”

  Slowly, she turned.

  “Could you send Onesimus back in? This necklace was costly, and I believe I can still return it to the jeweler.”

  For some strange reason, the simple request caused Sophronia to burst into tears and flee the room.

  Who can really understand the ways of women? Neratius wondered. He smiled to himself and shook his head at the craziness of female antics. Then, with a little sigh, he turned his attention to the stack of contracts that awaited his signature.

  The small Greek man with black curly hair who had rescued the baby on the road—his name, Rex had learned, was Alexamenos—handed the baby to her new parents, a hardworking shepherd and his seamstress wife. By combining their skills, the couple had established a nice little business in Tibur selling woolen garments. Together they could provide for their six children—or seven, now that the family included Charis, the latest addition picked up from the side of the road. Three of the couple’s children were naturally born, while four had been rescued from life in the brothels. The family received a weekly stipend out of the Christian coffers to aid in their upkeep. A deacon came with money every Moon Day after the church had met on the day of the Sun. In this way, the whole Christian community contributed to the raising of orphans. The same thing also happened for their widows. It was a financial distribution system unlike anything Rex had ever seen.