by Debra Diaz
* * * *
If Lucius were just an irritation, like a mosquito that’s only noticed when it’s buzzing around, Paulus would have dismissed his stepbrother from his mind and left him to his own foolish devices. But he continued to be a danger to Alysia, and now he had focused on the followers of the Nazarene. He would have to be dealt with; Paulus would have to expel him back to Rome and with a good enough reason to convince either Pilate or the governor of Syria to agree with him…not to mention Lucius’ high-ranking friends in Rome. Why Lucius liked Jerusalem so well was a puzzle, or maybe not, now that he thought about it. There were enough Roman influences here to please any urbane young man. And there was Salome, Herod’s stepdaughter, with whom Lucius spent many obviously enjoyable hours.
He also happened to know that Lucius had often been seen in the company of Servius, one of the legionaries who had kidnapped Alysia three years ago. They frequented the same gambling and drinking halls, and other places of ill repute. Paulus had sent Servius to work in the salt mines for six months as punishment; Servius had objected to this unfair treatment and hated Paulus accordingly. Lucius was probably using him to keep up with Paulus’ comings and goings. They were quite a pair…one, intelligent and shrewd, the other not so intelligent but loyal to any authority figure who might pay him a bit of attention. And both unscrupulous enough to be dangerous.
But, Lucius was right in saying Paulus had something on his mind. There were many things that drove and distracted him…and the main quandary was not Lucius and, surprisingly, not Alysia. It was the Nazarene.
* * * *
The autumn moon showed its ghostlike face through a bank of clouds. Its rays reflected palely off the stone houses and chalky dust of the streets, barely lighting Paulus’ way as he rode his horse aimlessly over the city. It had become a habit, this nocturnal ride of his, that took him always the same way…from the Antonia to the house of Caiaphas, with its cedar trees lining the driveway and its gates grown over with yellow henbane, then northward again, and finally to the gate that led to Golgotha.
Usually, at that point, he returned to the fortress. But tonight he was more restless than usual, his nerves drawn tighter, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He went through the gate, its watchman staring at him silently, and turned his horse in an easterly direction, steadily climbing hills and crossing bridges until he found himself in the enclosed garden known as Gethsemane.
What a lovely, tranquil place it was, this forest of twisting olive trees. It sloped gently upward; there were thick groves of palm here, and myrtle bushes and pine trees. In the places void of trees there were benches and large grassy areas where pilgrims put up tents during holidays and festivals…when there was not a spare room to be found in the city.
Paulus dismounted slowly, not sure why he did so. It was dark now, the moon hidden in the clouds. His eyes discerned something huge and misshapen as a large boulder; it could have rolled down from the hills a hundred or more years ago. Paulus could envisage the Nazarene praying there, before his arrest, as Peter had described that night in Bethany.
He took a step toward the great stone. Suddenly it seemed as if a shout rang through the trees: “I have betrayed innocent blood…innocent blood…innocent blood!” So loud were the words in his own mind that Paulus looked around, half-expecting to see someone slumped on the ground in misery. Where had he heard those words before?
Then he remembered. They had been spoken by Judas, the betrayer.
Paulus’ heart pounded. His breathing became labored and uneven. Looking back, he could see the northeast corner of Jerusalem, strangely still and quiet, as though it waited for something. Between was an undulating length of the Kidron Valley. The Nazarene would have been able to see the flickering torches of those who were coming for him, long before they reached the garden.
There was only one conclusion. Paulus had resisted, he had denied, he had tried not to think, he had called himself a fool.
No living person had broken that Roman seal in the very presence of armed soldiers. No living person had moved that massive stone out of its groove and set it against the wall of the cliff. Nor had the Nazarene somehow survived the cross, spent three days in a guarded, airless tomb and walked out, managing to convince his disciples that he had miraculously risen from the dead. He wouldn’t have been able to crawl or croak, much less walk and talk.
Paulus’ mind groped reluctantly on. The disciples were no longer afraid. Something had changed them, and for that “something” they were willing to suffer, even die. There were eyewitnesses, people who claimed to have seen the Nazarene alive. Paulus himself had spoken to many of them. They had no reason to lie.
And the priests! It occurred to him for the first time that the priests had never asked him to find the dead body. That had been Pilate’s idea. They had never expressed any interest whatever in the body, once it was reported to be missing. Because they knew! They had seen firsthand the terror of the guards; they may have even looked into the tomb and seen the man-like beings called angels. And yet, perversely, they denied the truth and were determined to stamp out any vestige of the Nazarene.
Paulus took another step toward the great rock, unmindful of the rain that was now falling from the black sky, gradually increasing in intensity until the raindrops slapped into him like needles. He fell to his knees, and his hands reached outward. This was where he had knelt. His hands had touched the roughness of this stone, just as Paulus’ did now. The touch was one of awe and reverence, because he knew that he, too, had seen him…
Ever since that night in Bethany, something had been gnawing at him. Someone…he couldn’t remember if it was Peter or Lazarus…had mentioned a certain road. The road to Emmaus. Jesus had been seen there.
Paulus had been on that road. He remembered several men walking together, the tallest in the midst of them. The tall man’s head had been covered, but now he remembered the white hair, barely seen beneath the mantle. The man had looked directly at him. He remembered being struck by a sense of familiarity; he had felt some sort of pull, a magnetism he had ignored.
What did it all mean? If Jesus of Nazareth had risen from the grave as he had said he would, then it stood to reason that everything else he had said was true. That he was the son of God…that he had come into the world for the purpose of dying for it.
No, he could no longer deny it, ignore it or reject it. For weeks he had tried to convince himself he was mistaken, that it couldn’t be, that all the disciples and followers were either liars or lunatics. But there were too many of them. He had heard their stories and seen their faces. They believed. Alysia believed…she had not only seen him but had talked with him.
He had to give up, he had to surrender, or he would have no peace…in this world or the next. His heart ceased its wild thumping, and he could breathe again. He fell prostrate to the ground, his hands balled in fists beneath his forehead, the rain surging over his body. “Forgive me,” he said out loud, “for I have betrayed innocent blood.”
Something broke inside him, something he had held rigid for so many years that the breaking of it was a long and painful thing. It ripped him, laying him open so that the tears coming out of his eyes felt like blood flowing out of his heart. It was the first time he had allowed himself to weep since his childhood. A sense of emptiness, an old, familiar restiveness, began to leave him, and he was filled with peace…and an unshakeable assurance.
“What is truth?” Pilate had asked. And refused to admit that the truth stood before him.
* * * *
The man entered the room slowly, glancing back when the guard closed the door behind him. He was lean of build, with dark hair and a voice that was deep and clear. He looked at Paulus, who stood quietly beside the window.
“Stephen, you may not remember me. I met you a few months ago in Bethany.”
The man appeared wary but unafraid. “Yes. I remember you. Though you looked different then. Longer hair, and a beard.”
“
My name is Paulus Valerius. As you probably know by now, I am the commander of this fort. I am not trying to spy on you, or harm your cause. Though I have listened to you speak, without your knowledge. You seem to have a greater understanding…” Paulus seemed unsure how to continue, and finally said, “I want you to tell me, how I can become one of you. That is, one of his.”
The man’s surprise was so evident that Paulus had to restrain a smile. “I thought you would speak to me more freely than the others. There are things I need to have explained to me.”
“I—I hardly know what to say, sir. Tell me, please, how you came to believe in Jesus.”
“Yes. Would you like to sit down?”
Stephen moved across the room and sat in a chair. Paulus leaned back against the window, still not sure how to proceed. Then it seemed as if an unseen force prompted him, and he began by telling Stephen how he had become interested in the Jewish religion, after he’d been mysteriously saved from death, and how he’d studied the history books and prophets. He told all he knew of the crucifixion, and the empty tomb.
“The evidence for his resurrection has been too strong for me to deny. I’ve read the prophecies concerning the Messiah, and have seen how he has fulfilled them. But even conceding all of this, it wasn’t until I—” Paulus stopped for a moment and cleared his throat. “It wasn’t until I confessed to him that I believed, that something happened to me, and changed me forever. It’s as if…he has come to reside within me.”
Stephen was staring at him. “Sir, you are one of his.”
“Do you mean…the only requirement is belief?”
“Yes, belief in the full sense of the word, which connotes action. Acting on your belief. You will need to be baptized, sir, which Jesus commanded for all believers. If you will allow me, I will be happy to baptize you.”
“Of course. And then what?”
“There is much for you to learn. You need to learn Jesus’ teachings, and follow them, so that you may tell others. That is our cause…to tell others of him so that all might be saved.”
“Saved from what? Hades, the underworld?”
“Saved from eternal death, to eternal life. Saved from that place we call hell, separation from God, to that place of glory where Jesus dwells, and where God will wipe away every tear.”
“I want to be of use to your cause. That is why I’ve decided to resign my position. Persecution is coming to your people, Stephen, and Rome will be part of it. Now, it’s only Caiaphas, and possibly Herod. But eventually Rome will become opposed to the idea of this new kingdom. I can be of no use here. If it becomes known that I’m a follower, it would be either prison or death…and then I would be of no use anywhere.”
“Where will you go, sir?”
“I don’t know…yet.”
“I agree with you that the danger to us is increasing, rather than lessening. The danger to you, a person of importance, will be even greater.”
“I can never do enough for him,” Paulus said earnestly. “Even to die for him would be poor payment for what he’s done for me.”
“You could never earn what he has freely given.”
“Tell me, Stephen…tell me why Jesus had to die. Why could he not come and simply set up his kingdom on earth?”
Stephen didn’t answer for some moments, gazing beyond Paulus as if into some distant place. “That’s a question we all asked ourselves. Jesus tried to tell us, but we didn’t understand until it was all over.”
He paused again, and Paulus nodded for him to continue. “Say what you will, but every man is born with knowledge of a creator. He only suppresses it, or ignores it, or calls it something else. Sir, there’s not a man alive who hasn’t sinned…broken God’s laws. And even if we are ignorant of God’s laws, there is our conscience, to tell us some things are right and some things are wrong. And almost always, when we do wrong, we do it willfully.”
Stephen waited to see if Paulus was following his words. “Go on,” said Paulus.
“We were created with spirits, as well as bodies, spirits that will live forever…somewhere. And there’s no way that we, being sinful, can enter into the presence of a holy God. God will not co-exist with evil. It must be punished, eradicated.”
There was a long silence. Then Paulus said, “And he took the punishment. He was the offering, because he never sinned. The lamb of God.”
“Yes. But, there is more to it…than just dying. God turned his face from him. Those hours of darkness…I believe that was when God laid the sins of the world upon him. From the smallest act of rebellion, to the most horrific crime you can imagine…all laid upon a guiltless man who offered to do that very thing.”
Any lingering doubts Stephen might have had about the legate’s conversion disappeared when he saw tears in the Roman’s eyes. “Death and hell were the price he paid for us, sir. God’s justice demanded it…yet God wept for his son. I have no doubt of it. And never forget what he went through in Gethsemane. I believe that is where the greatest battle was fought.”
“Do you mean…he could have decided not to go through with it?”
Stephen’s own eyes lit as though with some inner fire. “Jesus could have, at any point before his death, summoned ten thousand angelic warriors to his aid! The entire host of heaven would have been ready. Even all the legions of Rome could not have stood against him, had he decided to fight. He had only to say the word, and he could have wiped man off the face of the earth!”
“What it must have cost him,” Paulus said, as if thinking aloud, “knowing he could do that, and not doing it…why would God love us so much? Why not just destroy mankind, since we are so rebellious, and have made such a mess of things?”
“I don’t know how to answer that, sir, except to repeat what a friend of mine said…that mankind was created to be a companion, if you will, for the Son of God. That was the intent from the beginning. You see, Jesus has always existed, and he knew before the first man and woman were created what he would do to redeem us.”
“Redeem,” Paulus repeated suddenly. “That was what he meant when he said…it is finished.”
Stephen nodded. “There is a mystery involved in all this, sir, that we may never completely understand.”
“And what about those who died before Jesus came, or those who die without hearing of him? Have they no hope of heaven?”
“God is just,” Stephen answered. “We can trust him to deal justly with everyone.”
A stillness fell over the room, and both men grew quiet. Paulus felt overwhelmed by what he had heard. Finally Stephen spoke again. “I can arrange to meet with you, to teach you. There are others…Peter, John, James. Any of them. And Lazarus as well. We will help you in any way we can.”
“Thank you, Stephen. You have already been of much help. I am grateful.”
Stephen turned to go, then seemed to hesitate. He looked again at Paulus. “This road will never be easy, sir, whether persecution comes or not. The old nature will always struggle with the new. That’s why…only the innocent blood shed by Jesus the Christ can save us. We cannot save ourselves, no matter how hard we may try.”
“I think…I understand that.”
“I knew, sir, that night in Bethany, that you were seeking something. I’m glad you found it.”
“It wasn’t what I expected, Stephen. But I found it.”
* * * *
Paulus looked up as Simon entered the room. Slowly he laid aside several sheets of papyrus on which he’d been writing.
“You sent for me, sir?”
“Yes.” Paulus leaned back in his chair, handing the documents to his slave. “I have something for you.”
Simon took the sheets, scanning them, and his puzzled expression changed to one of disbelief. “What—” he began and stopped, staring at Paulus.
“It’s perfectly obvious, Simon. A record of manumission, and a letter, to help you find employment. And a little money…think of it as back wages.”
“I am—free?”
> “As free as I am.”
Simon was speechless. When he found his voice he could do little more than stammer his gratitude.
“There is no need to thank me, Simon,” Paulus said soberly. “I should have freed you long ago, when you first came into my possession. I’m sorry. But you were also a friend to me…I became used to your companionship. Of course, you can stay and work for me. I will pay your wages. Or you can return home…or do anything you like.”
Simon still had a look of stupefaction on his face. “I will go back to Cyrene,” he murmured. “Back to my wife and sons.”
Paulus was grave. “You realize, Simon, that things change. People change. If things are not what you expected, feel at liberty to come to me. I’ll help you in any way I can. I’m not sure exactly where I’ll be, though. I may be difficult to locate.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Paulus got up slowly from his desk. “I’m resigning.”
“But—how can you do that? I thought the emperor gave you this appointment.”
“The emperor won’t know…until after I’ve disappeared. I may have to go into hiding.”
Simon stared at him, looking into his eyes as if he’d never seen him before. “You—are a follower of the Nazarene?”
“What makes you think so?”
“You look…different. Like them. I’ve seen them, heard them talk. I don’t know what to say, sir. I had not expected this of you.”
“I’m not ‘sir’ any longer, Simon. Call me Paulus. And you know almost everything about him that I know. I believe in him. I hope that someday you will come to believe in him as well.”
If Simon was confounded before, he was doubly so now. “But this is nothing but a myth! I agree that he was a remarkable man, perhaps even a great man, but a god? There are no gods! He was just a man…who died the death of a common criminal, and you would worship him?”