by Bryan Litfin
Alexamenos had brought his new friends to his modest villa outside the walls of Tibur. Though he normally lived in Rome, Alexamenos had saved up enough money to buy a few acres of arable land and some apple orchards in the countryside. A handful of resident servants ran the farm, generating sufficient profits to fund—what else?—the church that met in the farmhouse. And to Rex’s delight, there was going to be a church meeting at sundown, once the worshipers were freed from their daily labors. Rex had heard so much about Christianity in recent days, yet he had never seen it up close. He was intrigued to learn what had drawn Flavia to this religion, along with so many other believers across the empire. When these people committed themselves to the god Jesus, they weren’t afraid to die. The rituals of the Christian faith must be extraordinary indeed. It would be an interesting spectacle, if nothing else.
Though the shepherd and seamstress had been the first worshipers to arrive, more began to trickle in as soon as the sun went down. They came in small numbers so as not to attract attention; for while the persecution had ended in Italy, the habit of keeping a low profile was ingrained in the Christians, giving the meeting an aura of clandestine activity.
Alexamenos welcomed each new arrival, making sure to introduce Rex as an honored guest and Flavia as a catechumen. Rex asked her about the term. “It means I believe in Jesus but have not been baptized,” she explained. Apparently, baptism was a big event for a Christian. The catechumens had to study the teachings and moral precepts of the religion before undergoing the rite of washing. It was an immense responsibility to live according to the ways of God. The Christians insisted that their people must know what they were getting into, so a long period of instruction was needed.
Rex took a seat at the rear of a pleasant patio behind the villa. A vine-covered trellis overhung the area. Although the moon shone through the leaves, its meager light was augmented by the warm glow of oil lamps on high stands. Strangely, Alexamenos did not seem aware that some of the guests were respected businessmen, while others were slaves in ragged tunics. In many places, the slaves sat closer to the front than the free men. On one bench not far from Rex, a barefoot herdsman even sat beside a distinguished aristocrat wearing a town councilor’s toga—as if the two men were actually equals. Clearly, the Christians didn’t have much understanding of proper social distinctions.
The priest of the community was not Alexamenos but a former imperial scribe who now lived in the farmhouse. Since the man was literate, he was able to read from the group’s sacred writings. The holy scriptures of the church were kept in a locked cabinet, which held several texts in codex format instead of scrolls like the Jews used. Today the priest read the story of a patriarch named Noe who saved his family from a worldwide flood by enclosing them, along with all the animals of the world, in a giant box that could survive the waves. The priest went on to explain the allegorical meaning of the narrative: only the sturdy wooden chest of the church could save its inhabitants from the demon-infested waters of the world.
When the speech reached its end, the whole community offered prayers in response to the priest’s exhortations. They stood and faced east for this part of the service. Although Flavia had remarked that the urban congregations were more ritualized than this country church, even so, the people seemed to know when to make certain acclamations, such as “Amen!” “Lord, have mercy!” “Hosanna!” and “Thanks be to God!” At one point, they sang a hymn with the words Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of armies. They also kissed each other in a chaste expression of affection. Since the kiss was exchanged even between men and women, Rex was glad he wasn’t sitting by Flavia, because the awkwardness of that surely would have been noticeable.
At last it was time for the most holy ritual of the Christians, the so-called Eucharist of bread and wine. Rex was uncertain what to think about this, and he even found himself feeling a little nervous. He knew the magic involved here was especially profound, so he could only imagine what kind of heavenly incantations the priest would use to bring the savior god into the food, as the Christians always claimed.
However, as the community began to proceed inside the farmhouse to gather in a private room, one of the householders stopped Rex as he crossed the threshold. “I’m sorry, my friend,” he said gently, “but you cannot witness the holy mysteries.”
“Really? Why not?”
“It is only for the baptized,” Flavia explained. “Even I cannot go. We maintain the discipline of secrecy in our faith. I myself have never partaken of the Eucharist. The Lord Jesus becomes present in that bread and wine. Such a holy thing is to be received only by the fully initiated.”
Though disappointed to miss a ceremony that surely would have been remarkable, Rex accepted the limitation since it was common for mystery religions to bar the followers of other deities from their most arcane rituals. He and Flavia waited politely on the moonlit patio for the service to end. When at last it had finished and the people had been dismissed, Alexamenos joined the pair beneath the trellis. A deacon brought a tray of olives, cheese, bread, and the salty fish sauce called garum. Cups of vinegar, flavored with herbs, made a tangy complement to the foods on the tray.
“So what did you think of the Christian gathering?” Alexamenos asked. He popped an olive into his mouth and waited for an answer.
“Very different from what I’ve experienced before. It’s upright and respectable. I can see why people are drawn to it.” Rex though for a moment, then added, “Probably not the religion for me, though.”
“Why not?”
“Like I’ve told Lady Junia, it’s too peaceful and kind.”
Flavia cocked her head and looked at Rex. “Didn’t you say you admired the love you saw in Alexamenos on the road?”
“Absolutely. There are few men who would have done what he did out there. And the people tonight showed love like no one I’ve ever seen.”
“Yet that’s not a religion for you?” Flavia pressed. “Not ever?”
Rex could sense she earnestly wanted him to believe, though he wasn’t sure why. “I think Christianity is something for me to appreciate in others,” he said honestly. “But how can I kill men in battles and show love at the same time? I have to choose one or the other. Which will it be? The way of love, or war? Clearly, I am a man of war. So while I can be grateful for all the loving people in our society like you Christians, I must fight under the patronage of mighty Hercules.”
“I notice your amulet is not Herculean,” Alexamenos remarked, extending his finger.
Rex glanced down to his neck, where the cross pendant given him by Constantine had worked its way outside his tunic’s open collar. He held it in his palm for a moment, staring at the tau-rho, then glanced up at Alexamenos. “You are a longtime Christian, sir. Maybe you can explain this to me. Is the cross a talisman of victory? Or a mark of shame and defeat?”
“It testifies to shame and defeat, but the defeat was followed by victory three days later.”
“What kind of victory? That word can mean many things. Are we talking about staying true to your convictions all the way to the point of death? Merely a moral victory? Or is it the kind of victory I need most—my enemy flat on his back with my blade in his chest?”
Alexamenos sighed and did not answer right away. “I work in the imperial palace, you know,” he said at last. “I train the page boys who serve on the Palatine Hill. So in that way, I am part of the apparatus that runs this empire. Even if it’s a small role, my job contributes directly to the conquest and subjugation of foreigners for the glory of Rome.”
“And yet you are a disciple of Jesus. Aren’t those two things at odds with each other?”
“Did you hear our hymn tonight?” Alexamenos asked. “What was God called in it?”
“I noticed it. You sang, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of armies.’ I’ve discussed this with Lady Junia as well. The God of the Jews was a fighter of wars. That same God is worshiped by Christians. Yet Jesus was a peaceful man. So ther
e seems to be a conflict in your religion.”
“Is it really a conflict? Maybe not. It’s true that while on earth, Jesus wasn’t a warrior. Yet he interacted with soldiers and did not tell them to give up their profession. He even said to render to Caesar what Caesar is owed. And listen to this.” Alexamenos rose and went to the church’s book cabinet. He returned with a volume that he called the Book of the Revelation of John. Holding it beneath the lamplight, he selected a passage and read it aloud: “And out of his mouth goes forth a sharp sword, that with it he might strike down the nations. And he will shepherd them with a rod of iron. And he treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty.”
“Is that talking about Jesus?” Flavia asked.
Alexamenos nodded and closed the book. “Indeed, it is. Remember, my friends, Jesus is the son of King David. And David was nothing if not a great man of war. It might sound strange to you both, but in a world full of sin and violence, warriors are needed to protect good citizens until the true Judge of the nations returns. What if some barbarians cross the Rhenus to pillage Roman lands? Should we not defend our people? If the legions stopped fighting, the whole empire would soon fall.”
“But wait, Alexamenos,” Flavia objected. “It might be necessary for pagans to fight. But surely it cannot be right for a Christian to shed another man’s blood?”
“It is a difficult matter. There are many church leaders who agree with you. But many Christians serve in the army. The catholic church does not have a unified position on this.”
“And what is your position, sir?” Rex asked, intrigued by the debate.
“I believe sometimes the most loving thing a man can do is to draw blood from evildoers for the achievement of justice and peace. If no one stops unjust aggression, the innocent will perish. It is therefore proper to defend them. What is wrong, however, is to exert power for your own selfish gain. Yet warfare for good purposes could be holy—or at the very least, it might be the lesser of two evils. That is why the blessed Paul says in his letter to the Romans that he who bears the sword is an instrument of God.”
Rex was considering those words when the theoretical discussion suddenly took on real-world significance. The deacon who had brought the food hurried across the patio. “Sir! Riders are approaching! And from the sound of them, they wear mail!”
Rex leaped to his feet. “Soldiers coming at night? That can’t be good!”
“Follow me to the stable,” Alexamenos said. “You can hide there until the men are gone. Lady Junia, stay close to Rex at all times. Hurry!”
The threesome crossed the farmyard to a stable near an apple orchard. They had just slipped inside when eight torches appeared on the lane that led to the villa’s front gate. Moments later, the soldiers were hailing the house, demanding entry. The deacon came out, remaining calm even as the eight Praetorians badgered him for information and rattled their swords. A ninth man remained in the saddle, keeping back from the fray.
“Rex, look at that!” Flavia whispered through gritted teeth. “It’s that stringy-haired pimp from the road. He led them here!”
“I saw him,” Rex said as he tightened the girth strap on the horse he was saddling. “We’ve got to get out of here right away. Get ready to ride.” The soldiers had hold of the deacon now, threatening him with their torches. Though he squirmed in their grasp, one of the Praetorians stretched out the deacon’s arm. Another man got in his face. “Where are those fugitives? Tell me!” he demanded.
“I have no idea!” cried the deacon.
“Maybe fire will help you recall.”
A blood-chilling cry pierced the night as a torch was thrust beneath the deacon’s forearm. “Stable! The stable!” he screamed.
“Oh no,” Flavia muttered.
“Come on! Let me help you up! It’s time to go!” Rex grasped Flavia’s waist in two hands and vaulted her into the saddle, then swung up in front of her. “Hold on tight!” he said. She slipped her arms around his chest and interlocked her fingers.
Alexamenos opened the stable’s rear gate. “Take the path across the meadow into the deep woods. And whatever you do, go left at the fork in the trail!”
“You there!” shouted one of the Praetorians. “Stop where you are!”
“The God of armies be with you,” Alexamenos said, then slapped the horse hard on the rump. It bolted from the stable and began to run.
“There they go! Catch them!”
Rex and Flavia raced across the moonlit meadow with eight soldiers galloping behind. One of the pursuers was an archer, and he loosed a few arrows, though they didn’t come close. At the tree line, Rex guided his horse onto the trail. He hoped his superior horsemanship in the dim light of the tangled forest would help him outdistance his enemies.
The Praetorians, however, began to gain on their quarry, for they were riding singly instead of carrying a double burden. One rider, clearly a skilled cavalryman, drew near on Rex’s left flank. Rex leaned out and grabbed a branch, which snapped off in his hand. The pursuing soldier had pulled close enough to use his sword. He slashed Rex’s horse across the hindquarters. The terrified beast let out a squeal as it charged down the trail.
“I’ll cut you, girl!” the man growled, swiping at Flavia.
She twisted in the saddle, hanging off the right side. “Get away from me!”
Rex swung the branch around in a wide arc and smashed the attacker in the face. He bellowed and immediately fell back. Rex kicked his heels and urged more speed from his injured mount.
“That was the left fork!” Flavia cried. “We just passed it!”
“I couldn’t make the turn! We’ll have to see where this path leads!”
The thunder of many hooves pounded behind Rex and Flavia as they broke into an open field under the pinpoint stars. The mountain meadow offered a broad view of the Roman lowlands in the distance. Up ahead and to the left stood the mighty temple of Hercules Victorious, perched on its rocky crag. The meadow’s far edge was undefined, merging with the distant horizon. A feeling of dread gathered in Rex’s mind as he began to discern the lay of the land.
The Praetorians fanned out now, like a predator trying to snap its jaws on its prey. Rex could only keep churning ahead at full speed. Even so, the enemy was closing the gap.
“What’s that sound?” Flavia asked, her voice tinged with fear.
Raw terror seized Rex. He could no longer deny where this branch of the trail was headed: to the top of the roaring waterfall that tumbled over the sheer bluffs of Tibur. He muttered a curse as his predicament became clear. Nothing lay ahead of the fugitives but the edge of a cliff for several miles in either direction.
An arrow whizzed past Rex’s ear. Out in the open, the archer’s aim was much better. He wouldn’t keep missing for long. Rex slapped his horse’s neck, demanding every last bit of effort from the exhausted animal.
“Do you pray, Lady Junia?” he shouted as the drop-off came into view.
“Of course I pray!”
“Then now is the time! We’re going over the edge!”
“Rex, no! We’ll be smashed on the rocks!”
“We’re dead either way!”
The rim of the cliff lay just ahead. The horse strained toward it, snorting and tossing its mane, driven mad by pain and fear. Nothing could stop it now.
Flavia let out a long, terrified shriek. “Aaaaah! Rex! Don’t do it!”
“Hang on to me! Here we go!”
“Jesus!” Flavia screamed as the horse leapt over the precipice and into nothing but moonlight.
Do I tell her I love her before I die? Rex wondered. And then the plunge began.
8
OCTOBER 311
Now that her death had arrived, Flavia embraced it willingly. Yet who could have guessed it would be such a slow and peaceful event? As the horse leapt over the cliff and the ground plunged away beneath its hooves, Flavia’s terror was replaced by an unexpected calm. Time slowed to a crawl. She seemed to watch her demise from an
outsider’s perspective.
Gliding gently downward, she found herself afraid only for Rex. He would descend into the gloomy underworld and be lost forever, while she would be with God. In the final moments of her life, Flavia mourned the end of a brief friendship that had so much potential. How sad that the friendship will go no further than this!
She could hear the horse squealing, though its panicked cry was muffled and faint, as if from far away. Moonlight cast a soft glow across the treetops that surrounded the base of the cliff. The vista was beautiful, indeed captivating. Flavia was admiring the scenery when she felt strong arms wrap her in a tight grip. Were they the arms of an angel? Or maybe Christ himself? It was hard to say. Yet Flavia knew she was in the care of someone who loved her.
The protective arms pulled her from the horse’s back and tugged her onto a new trajectory. She felt two legs encircle her as well, pinning her tight. Immobilized now, she relaxed and accepted the embrace, for what else could she do? The angel was taking her to the city of God.
Strangely, her guardian’s body, pressed against her own, felt much harder than she would have imagined for a celestial being. The angel rolled in midair to give her the top position. Flavia could see the pale moon and the churning waterfall and the pagan temple on the clifftop. All was as it should be.
And then the fist of Satan punched her in the face.
In an instant, everything went cold and wet and terribly black. The devil’s hard blow knocked the air from her lungs, and no sooner had it escaped than an icy poison rushed in to take its place. Frigid water flooded her nose and mouth, causing her throat to clamp tight in defense. Confused and distressed, Flavia sank deeper into the hellish world that was now her eternal home. How can this be? Jesus has sentenced me to the torment of Hades!