Child of the King

by Debra Diaz

  “This is—beautiful.” Daphne touched the papyrus gingerly, staring at the drawing. It was a sketch of a man’s head, the lines and planes of his face expertly rendered…as lifelike as if he would speak. His eyes seemed to look directly into the eyes of the beholder. It was Metellus.

  “How gifted you are! I had no idea.”

  “I know that the Jews disapprove of such things, so I’ve kept them hidden.”

  “May I see the others?”

  Rachel hesitated, and pulled out two smaller sheets. The papyrus was older, and the ink faded. Daphne caught her breath, for they were perfect renderings of Paulus and Alysia. She stared at them until her eyes filled with tears and she set them down, looking as though she had been dealt some harsh and unexpected blow.

  “Those are not very good,” Rachel said. “I did them years ago. I—I was afraid I would forget what they looked like.”

  “Do you mean you did these as a child? They are—exquisite.”

  “Thank you—what is it, Daphne?” Rachel began to stack the papyrus sheets and put them away in a cedar chest at the end of her bed.

  Daphne brushed her hands across her face and took a deep breath. “I’ve come to tell you that Benjamin is here and—and wants to speak with you.”

  Rachel’s head jerked toward the other woman. “I won’t see him, Daphne! Why didn’t you tell him?”

  I—I couldn’t. He told us—that is, he has something to tell you, Rachel. You must see him.”

  “I don’t see why. I’ve already told him that I won’t marry him. More than once!”

  “It makes no difference. I think you had better see him this time.”

  Rachel began to stride angrily from the room, but Daphne caught her arm. “Wait, dear. Your hair…”

  Sighing, Rachel reached for a mantle, draped it over her head and drew it around her neck and shoulders. “You are coming with me?” she asked, looking at Daphne.

  “Simon and I will be with you,” Daphne said. She was not smiling, and Rachel felt a sudden clench in the region of her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Daphne shook her head. “I can’t…just go!”

  Woodenly, Rachel walked into the front room of the house, where Simon and Benjamin stood waiting. Simon looked uneasy, and Benjamin was very serious. As always, he was perfectly groomed and dressed in a fine robe and cloak. His short black hair was damp from the drizzle outside, but he stood tall and self-assured, his dark eyes in his narrow face fixing on hers as she approached him, with Daphne close behind her.

  “Hello, Rachel.”

  She greeted him, with a lack of the warmth that filled his own refined voice.

  “I have something to tell you, and I hope you will forgive me for bearing this news to you. I bring it with a heavy heart, knowing that it will cause you grief.”

  Now Rachel’s apprehension was overwhelming. “What is it?”

  “I went to the fortress in Jerusalem today, to speak with the tribune. That is, the former tribune, Metellus Petraeus. He was not there.”

  Rachel waited.

  “I was told that he had left, permanently. He has gone to a place he owns on the island of Cyprus. He made it very clear to the commander that he was not coming back.”

  Behind her, Daphne moved closer and put her hand on Rachel’s shoulder. Simon took a step forward, and stopped.

  Rachel’s hand went unconsciously to her heart. “It means nothing,” she said, at last. “I know he will come back.”

  “I think—” Simon began, but Daphne moved away from Rachel and went to him swiftly.

  “Let us leave them alone,” she said. “They must talk.”

  Rachel was barely aware of them leaving the room. Benjamin stepped toward her, and she backed away from him.

  “Won’t you sit down, Rachel?”

  “No,” she said, raising her eyes to his. “I understand why you thought I should know this. Thank you for telling me. But it changes nothing.”

  “My dear Rachel,” he said, and there was something intense and magnetic in his gaze, so that she could not look away. “You must see that your—your union with this man was not meant to be. I am a Christian, and if you will pardon me, a wealthy man, who loves you. I am satisfied in my heart that nothing—inappropriate—happened between you and the tribune.”

  “And if it had?” she asked bluntly, her voice thick with tears she refused to shed in front of him.

  He looked startled, and at last gave a subtle shrug of his shoulders. “I would still want you. I know you believed yourself married to him.”

  “Sir, please try to understand. I love Metellus. I belong to him as completely as if I had lain with him a hundred times!”

  Benjamin’s jaw dropped. “You must not speak in this manner!”

  “Metellus and I are very frank with each other. He did nothing to dishonor me, but I can tell you that—” Rachel turned away, her eyes cast down. “I am not unaware of, or ungrateful for, the honor you have shown me. But marriage to you is impossible.”

  “Rachel, he has chosen not to be with you, because he cannot accept our faith. It is as simple as that. He is not coming back.”

  “Then I shall never marry,” she answered, again meeting his gaze.

  “Never is a long time,” he said quietly. “You said that once before, and married this tribune.”

  “It was forced upon us,” she told him. “It was later that I came to love him.”

  “Perhaps it eased your conscience, to make yourself believe that you loved him.”

  “My conscience is clear, sir. I know how I feel!”

  He reached out and caught her hands before she could move away. He held them tightly and looked into her eyes. “Rachel, you are very young—young and beautiful and full of life. There used to be a sadness in you, but now it’s gone and you are so very, very—” He couldn’t seem to find the word he sought. She was perfectly sure he wanted to say “desirable”, for he had almost a feverish glint in his eyes and she felt his hands tremble over hers.

  “You don’t know me,” she said softly. “You cannot possibly love me.”

  “Marriages are usually arranged by parents, or guardians,” he answered. “And at an early age. Love has little to do with it. That comes later. You experienced that yourself, didn’t you? I know that you can grow to love me.”

  “Not as long as I love another man!”

  “God will help you to forget him.”

  The words struck her like a slap in the face. What if God did mean for her to forget Metellus? She kept stubbornly saying that she would have Metellus or no one, but had she really given her will up to God? Had she really sought his face…oh, yes, she pleaded with him every day to save Metellus, but was she prepared to accept the possibility that God did not mean for her to be with him?

  It was unthinkable. She drew her hands away from Benjamin’s and said sharply, “Please go.”

  “Your guardians have asked me to stay for supper. No, I won’t go away, Rachel. I will keep coming back. You will see how loving and compassionate…and patient…I can be.”

  “I shall be sorry for you to waste your time.”

  “I am seeking God’s will,” he said. “I assume you will do the same. You must not let your emotions interfere.”

  She answered, as she left the room, “And you mustn’t let yours!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  The days following Metellus’ arrival in Cyprus were marked with a busyness that amounted almost to frenzy as he set about surveying his property, drawing plans, hiring freedmen…carpenters, masons, house workers, stable hands. There was a small house and barn already on the property but they were in poor condition. He set about making the house repairs himself, with one or two helpers, as the more skilled workers began building the villa he had envisioned. He forced himself to take an interest, for he had also envisioned Rachel living here with him, and it was not to be so. He went mechanically through the days, tearing out rotten wood and replacing it, plast
ering fresh stucco on the walls, putting new tiles on the roof. He would live here until the villa was finished; later this house would be used by the manager of his new stables…which were still in the planning stage. He seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for raising horses.

  The land given him by the emperor was outside the city of Paphos, where Metellus’ old friend and governor of the island, Sergius Paullus, lived. He would call on the governor one day, when he was in a more amiable frame of mind. The land stretched over a plateau that descended gradually to the ocean…he would build the villa directly into the face of the cliff. A path overgrown with trees and shrubs meandered downward to the rocks and sandy coastline below. There were more than enough cedars and oaks for his own use; he would sell the timber, and the income produced by his copper mines, also a gift from the emperor, would be more than adequate for him to live on until he had acquired more horses for breeding. There were no monetary worries, there was nothing to plague him…but he was miserable.

  He began to drink every night after the evening meal, and by midnight was usually so wine-sodden that he could hardly stagger to his bed. It brought him no comfort, other than the temporary numbing of his misery, and after several weeks he grew so disgusted with himself that he emptied all the wine and other large casks in the cellar. He had always equated heavy drinking with men who were weak, and he refused to think of himself as such. And he couldn’t help but remember Rachel’s words whenever he woke in the morning with a blinding headache and a sick feeling in his gut. Poison, she had called it. What else had she said? Something about his drunken condition making her feel lonely…

  Loneliness—that was his problem! He was accustomed to the routine and discipline and teamwork of the army, and he was missing it. From now on he would work himself senseless every day so that at night he would fall into bed and not wake until dawn. Whenever the villa neared completion he would begin visiting the city and meeting people…he would invite them to his new house for dining and drinking…just enough drinking to take the edge from this sense of emptiness that, someday, would surely disappear.

  And eventually, he might even seek a wife.

  * * * *

  Autumn passed in a swirl of yellow and red leaves, and winter set in…and still the villa was not finished. It was not huge, but neither was it small, and the man overseeing its construction sought perfection in all things. Metellus did not feel in a particular hurry to have it done, and with the house and barn repaired to his satisfaction, he began to ride about the countryside on either Samson or Sheba. He met several of his neighbors, all of whom lived within a three mile radius of his own property, and took advantage of one mild winter’s day to enter the city. It was full of pilgrims visiting the shrines and temples built in honor of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love and beauty, who had risen from the sea at Paphos, and whose sculpted symbols could be seen everywhere—dolphins, seashells, swans…as well as statues of the goddess in fleeting garments that did nothing but emphasize the lack thereof.

  Such reminders failed to lighten his mood, and Metellus did his best to put a pleasant mask upon his face as he rode to the governor’s palace. The guards readily allowed him entrance after he identified himself. He was shown to a reception room, and after a short wait was joined by the governor.

  “Metellus! I had heard you were building a villa nearby and wondered why you had not called on me!”

  “The work has only just begun to slow and I had to sneak away, lest they batter me with questions.” Metellus looked with affection at the friend with whom he had shared a tutor in their youth. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since the emperor’s triumphal procession, following his conquest of Britain.”

  “No, I came here straight after that—and what a time that was! I am embarrassed to recall it.”

  Metellus thought that a strange remark and looked more closely at his friend. Sergius Paullus was several inches shorter than Metellus, with a slight frame…he was a man of superior intelligence and had no difficulty asserting himself when it came to the administration of his province. He also had a keen sense of humor and had instigated many pranks during their school days.

  “You look different,” Metellus said. “I think life here has agreed with you.”

  “Indeed it has,” Sergius agreed, his toga rustling as he walked toward one of the wide, arched windows. Outside, the bustle of the city could be heard in a steady drone of movement and voices. “You know they recalled me to Rome for a while, but I asked to come back. It is a beautiful island, Metellus. Such potential—”

  “Potential?” Metellus asked, when the governor grew silent.

  “For improvement. I have already gotten rid of the temple prostitutes, here in the city. I would like to destroy all these infernal shrines to the goddess, but that would take a far greater power than my own.”

  “And why do that, Sergius? The visitors who come to worship Aphrodite are probably responsible for half of your treasury.”

  Sergius glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be dining in an hour, Metellus. Stay, won’t you? I’d like to hear all about what you’ve been doing since you left the army.”

  Metellus stayed, and over wine and a meal of vegetables and fruit gave a short account of his mission for the emperor, not mentioning anyone by name. But Sergius had already heard.

  “You realize there are very few secrets in Rome,” the governor said, smiling. “I know that it involved a letter from Paulus Valerius. You were in the Guard when he died, were you not?”

  “Yes,” Metellus replied, with a look of surprise.

  “I have often wondered…they say he died defending his God. Is that true?”

  Metellus gave a brief nod.

  Sergius met his eyes with sudden intensity. “Tell me.”

  “There is not much to tell. Caligula tried to make him renounce his God, and he refused.”

  Sergius bit into an apple. “Paulus was a distant relative of mine. I’m sure he died bravely.”

  “Yes. I could not see his face, but there were some who said that he had—a certain look. A radiance about him.” Metellus paused. “I’ve never said that to anyone. It seems—a strange thing to say.”

  Sergius grew quiet. A servant came in, bringing a plate of dates stuffed with honeyed almonds. “Many strange things have happened—in the last few years. But Metellus, don’t tell me that you are going to live in your new villa alone! Have you married yet?”

  Metellus shook his head. Sergius seemed to sense something in his manner and probed no further, but said, “I do miss my wife. She chose to remain in Rome, but I continue to pr—to hope that she will come here to live.”

  Metellus shot a quick glance at his friend. What had he almost said…was it possible that even he…

  “Where is that advisor of yours?” he asked, reaching for a pitcher of wine. “The astrologer who was never far from your side? What was his name—Elymas, wasn’t it?” He looked up quizzically as Sergius stopped him, placing his hand over his own.

  “Don’t drink anymore, Metellus…you don’t look well. There is water, flavored with lemon—it’s very good. I’ve been wanting to tell you something, and now that you have mentioned Elymas, I have the perfect opportunity to do so.”

  Metellus gave him his reluctant attention, and grudgingly permitted the servant to fill his chalice with water. Sergius sat back, folding his hands upon the table.

  “I have a strange story to tell you, Metellus. Have you heard of the Christians?”

  At Metellus’ slow nod, Sergius went on. “There were some men who came to Cyprus, a few years ago. Their names were Barnabas and John Mark. Barnabas was a native of Cyprus, though I did not know him. He was from Salamis, at the other end of the island. They had another man with them, named Paul. Paul of Tarsus.”

  Metellus gave no indication that he had ever heard of Paul.

  “They went to Salamis first, preaching about Jesus of Nazareth. They eventually made their way here, to the main synagogue of the city
. It is the Jews’ custom, as you know, to allow learned men to speak in the synagogues, and Paul apparently gave a very impressive speech. Some of the Jews were outraged…there was quite a disturbance, and so I asked that the men be brought here.”

  Metellus shifted uncomfortably. The governor glanced at him, but didn’t comment on his guest’s obvious unease.

  “Elymas was with me. I regret that I ever had anything to do with him. You should have seen him, Metellus. He was filled with utter loathing for these men—he practically foamed at the mouth! He wouldn’t let them answer my questions, wouldn’t even let them talk! He kept urging me to send them away, and then Paul turned to him and spoke. I have never forgotten his words. He said, You child of the devil—full of deceit and fraudulence, you enemy of all righteousness, will you not stop perverting the ways of the Lord? And then, Metellus, he caused Elymas to become blind!”

  This, Metellus had not expected to hear. “Blind?”

  “Paul said, Behold, the hand of the Lord is upon you…you shall be blind, and for a time shall not see the light of day.”

  “Perhaps he frightened Elymas so badly he only thought he was blind.”

  “No, Metellus. I knew the man well. He was not frightened, but he immediately became blind, and had to be led away. He regained his eyesight some time later, but he left Cyprus and I have not seen him since.”

  “It seems rather a harsh thing for a Christian to do,” said Metellus. “If he did, in fact, do such a thing. I don’t see how it is possible.”

  “I don’t pretend to know how or why he did it…perhaps it was only to stop Elymas from interfering. Because one good thing came of it.”

  “What is that?” Metellus asked cautiously.

  The governor looked him in the eye and said, “I have become a Christian.”

  There was silence, and then Metellus laughed. “You had me following your story, Sergius, until now! You always loved a good joke.”

  “I am not joking, Metellus. I was a witness to something that could not happen, but did happen. And then Paul and Barnabas told me about Jesus, and I believed.”