Bread of Angels

by Tessa Afshar

  Lydia grimaced. “I’m not even one of his people. I don’t belong to him. He will probably ignore me.”

  Rebekah leaned forward. “There were many outside the lineage of Abraham who, in the end, came to belong to our Lord. Rahab. Ruth. Naaman. All of them Gentiles like you. Consider, Lydia, what might happen if you trust him with your prayers. With your heart. He might give you the bread of angels.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  You do not know what a day may bring.

  PROVERBS 27:1

  “YOU HAVE BEEN IN Philippi for over a year and a half. Still not joining the guild, Lydia?” Rufus asked as they walked slowly through the forum.

  Lydia forced her fluttering hands to still. “Not yet, Rufus. Perhaps next year.”

  Rufus cleared his throat. “If it is a matter of money, I could lend you what you need. Cover your dues for the year until you can repay me.”

  Lydia gave a small shake of her head. Accepting such a loan would change their relationship. It would place her too much in Rufus’s debt. And what if she could not pay him back in a timely fashion? She would have to repay him with merchandise she could ill afford to give up. They were barely surviving, she and Rebekah, on what they made now. It was too great a hazard. “I thank you, my friend. But I will wait. The time is not right. That is all.”

  “I understand. I wish you would consider me a true friend and come to me when you need help.”

  Lydia gave an impish grin. “I offer you the same.”

  Rather than laughing as she expected, Rufus nodded, his expression grave. “I will remember that, young woman. You have already proven yourself. My reputation once rested in your hand, and you preserved it.”

  Although Philippi was not a large city, it boasted more dazzling public buildings than a sprawling municipality. As a Roman colony with more than its fair share of wealthy, retired soldiers in addition to prosperous goldsmiths and the income of the rich mines nearby, Philippi had a lot of money floating about and many bored, affluent residents willing to spend it.

  The elegant theater in town, nestled at the foot of a hill, provided the most popular entertainment. Lydia and Rebekah could not afford to attend a play, but upon occasion, when their busy schedules allowed, they would climb the hill behind the theater and watch the actors perform from a distance.

  Rebekah, whose love for poetry combined with her extraordinary memory enabled her to learn most of the lines, would speak them later in perfect Latin and Greek. Some of the plays were too lewd for Lydia’s tastes, and Rebekah refused to attend them. Still, there were sufficient performances suitable to the two friends’ liking that they were able to enjoy a large variety of productions. From Plautus’s comedies to Seneca’s tragedies, each act held its own mesmerizing charm.

  Sitting on a gray slab of rock, surrounded by clumps of bushes while the voices of actors reverberated throughout the hillside, was like entering another world, where Lydia’s puny problems paled in comparison to the great tales of the age. It was her favorite escape. When the problems of life grew too overwhelming, she would pack a hunk of bread and cheese and drag Rebekah off to the theater.

  They never guessed that this simple pastime would change their lives.

  One evening, as she and Rebekah were getting ready to close the shop and prepare new merchandise for the following day, they heard a commotion outside the store. Because their neighborhood was not safe after dark, they tended to bar the door by sunset. This night they had lagged behind. Before Lydia could close and bar the door, a man stumbled into the shop.

  He staggered one way, then the other, and finally managed to steady himself. “Ladies,” he said, with a regal bow of his head. “I beg your pardon for this unssseemly intruuusion. I believe . . . I am quite lost. I mean that both prrrracticly and . . . metaphysically. But prrhaps at this moment, the practical is of greater importance.” His voice, slurred as it was, did not lose its rich, deep resonance.

  Spellbinding, Lydia had thought the first time she had heard it at the theater. She elbowed Rebekah in the ribs. “That’s Leonidas! The actor.”

  “At your ssservice,” the actor said with a bow. His knees wobbled, and he lost his balance and fell on his face.

  Lydia and Rebekah exchanged a glance before running to help him. “Here! Sit on this pile and lean against the wall,” Lydia said.

  “Most kind. I believe I ammm about to be sick. Violently. You . . . might wish to get out of the way.”

  Just in time, Rebekah managed to grab a basin and stick it under his chin. Lydia didn’t know whether to laugh or groan with vexation. On such a busy night, they did not have time to waste on an inebriated actor, regardless of his genius on stage.

  “Most abominable imposition,” Leonidas murmured after he had finished heaving. He accepted a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, though it took him three tries to find the right location on his face.

  “Where is this?” He seemed to have a difficult time focusing, and his gaze had a tendency to land somewhere between the two women.

  “You are in my shop.” Lydia named the street. At the blank look on Leonidas’s face, she named the larger street that intersected with theirs. Still no recognition. “You are in Philippi,” she said at last.

  “Oh, that is reassuring. I know where that is. Now, could you point me in the direction of home?”

  “Where is your house?” Rebekah asked, and when he responded, she sighed. “Clear on the other side of town.”

  Lydia exhaled a long breath. She could not throw the man out in his muddled state. “I don’t think you ought to try it, Leonidas. I fear since you are . . . unwell, it would not be safe for you to wander alone. You might be robbed . . . or worse. Were you accompanied by friends? Are they nearby? We could try to find them.”

  “I had some companions earlier in the evening. None that you would call friends unless you were exceedingly unfastidious. But I lost those several hours ago.”

  “Then perhaps you should consider staying here this evening, as our guest. I cannot in good conscience send you out on your own.”

  “That is the most charming offer I have received all day. All year, even. Just point me to a bed, and I shall take my leave of you.”

  Lydia made up her own bed for the man in the farthest corner of the shop, which was, in fact, not very far. After sending him to his bed, she sat at the new loom, weaving for several hours while Rebekah spun wool.

  “You will have to share your bed with me tonight,” Lydia told her friend, before giving in to a huge yawn.

  “It matters little. I could sleep on a hedgehog, I’m so tired. I can’t believe the great Leonidas is sleeping in your blankets.”

  “Passed out, more like.”

  “Perhaps we could sell the bedding at a special price. ‘Here slept the famed actor. You too can lay your head where he drooled.’”

  The sound of laughter filled the shop. Within moments, it was replaced by the sleep-softened breaths of two exhausted women mingled with the loud snores of their unexpected guest.

  THIRTY

  Commit your actions to the LORD,

  and your plans will succeed.

  PROVERBS 16:3, NLT

  THE SUN WAS AT ITS ZENITH when Leonidas finally awoke. He groaned for long moments before managing to open his eyes. “Have I died?” he asked.

  “I hope not,” Lydia said. “It would be hard to explain a corpse in my bed.” She handed him a cup of hot water sweetened with honey, along with a piece of bread.

  The actor took a sip of the water and made a face. “O goddess, why do you try to poison me? Have I wronged you in some unforgivable way?”

  “I am no goddess. My name is Lydia. I am a dyer of purple. And I thought I was helping you.”

  “Here is my advice to you, Lydia, dyer of purple. Never hand a man water first thing in the morning unless it is for shaving. Is that the sun I see beyond the door?”

  “You recognize it, do you?”

  “The moon and stars are by far my favori
te companions, I will not deny. Did I spend the night in your glorious company, my goddess?”

  Lydia snorted. “Not exactly. You slept here. Rebekah and I slept there.”

  “Then I am even more unfortunate than I thought. But it returns to me now. You gave me your sweet hospitality last night when I was lost and unwell. How rare to find goodness on this earth, and to have it flow from the hands of one so dazzling. That glorious hair like a river of flowing amber, and those are surely not eyes but jewels—Persian turquoise set with stars.

  “What are you doing working with dye? Such a face should be seen and admired by all men. Why don’t you join me on the stage? We are not so narrow-minded as in ages past. Women can enter the noble profession of acting now. You will be as bright as Juno.”

  Lydia looked at the dissipated, handsome face for a moment. “You should never write your own lines.”

  He dissolved into laughter. It was perhaps the first genuine sound that had come out of his mouth. “Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. As he rose, he gazed about him for the first time. He seemed dazed at the sight of a length of fabric that Lydia had just hung on the wall.

  “Did you make this?”

  Lydia nodded.

  “I take back everything I said about you working with dye. You belong on Mount Olympus. What are you doing working in this little hole in the middle of nowhere? Not even Rufus’s shop with all its splendor has anything so fine to offer. And how much, pray tell, do you want for this?”

  Lydia told him. “A bargain,” he said. Immediately, he pulled out his purse and counted out the money. “And here is a little extra for your trouble last night.” He folded the fabric and held it close to his chest as if he could not bear to part from it. At the door, he turned around. “You and your friend come to the theater tonight. I will have them save the best seats for you, O Lydia, my goddess of purple.” And he was gone as abruptly as when he dropped in, though he staggered less on the way out.

  Rebekah grinned. “Your kind heart certainly paid off. He bought the most expensive piece in the whole shop and didn’t even try to barter.”

  Lydia stared at the money resting in her hand for an arrested moment. “That’s not all. The extra coin he gave for our trouble last night? The sum is the exact fee we need for joining the dyers’ guild.”

  Rebekah’s mouth dropped open. “Bread of angels!” Her pronouncement burst into the room, loud with wonder.

  For a moment the women stood transfixed, unable to utter another word. Lydia hugged the coins to her chest. When she finally spoke, her voice shook with joy. “Praise God in his heaven. Our wait is over.” The gift of coins, so carelessly given by the actor, could change their lives. She began to dance around the shop, pulling Rebekah behind her by the hand.

  Out of breath and flushed with excitement, she came to a stop and counted the coins again. “And to think, if we didn’t like going to the theater, we would never have recognized him or offered to keep him here last night.”

  “The Lord mediates his provision by curious means. When you least expect it. Where you least expect it. Leonidas in our workshop! Who could dream of such a thing?”

  “You know, I’ve been praying for six months. Why didn’t God send Leonidas when I first made my request? Why make me wait so long?”

  “Because you were learning to put your trust in the Lord. Six months is not such a long time to pray. In any case, I think this is the day to give praise, not make complaint about his timing. He did reward your long wait with the best seats to a proper theater performance.”

  Lydia laughed, the sound carefree and full of joy. She was nineteen, she owned her own store, and she was about to become a member of the dyers’ guild in Philippi.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The LORD works out everything to its proper end.

  PROVERBS 16:4, NIV

  “YOU MUST MOVE FROM this dismal place,” Leonidas pronounced in his official actor voice as he wiped his brow with a piece of linen. “It smells of month-old refuse out in your street, a vile assault to any sensible nose. Do you know I have to drink three cups of undiluted wine merely to bolster my courage in order to visit this workshop?”

  “You have to drink three cups of undiluted wine merely to get out of bed,” Lydia said. “Besides, I always make it up to you when you come.”

  Leonidas had become more than a good customer and friend; he had grown into an irreplaceable asset. Within days of his visit, many of his friends started traipsing to the shop, making generous purchases. Their ranks included actors and philosophers and writers. Men who cared nothing about whether Lydia was a maid or married. They broke social rules every day and did so with relish. Her pool of customers grew to include a more sophisticated body of patrons.

  “It won’t do. You must move. And I know the perfect location,” Leonidas said.

  Lydia sat on an upturned basket. “Enlighten me.”

  “I have a friend. Filthy rich, with an abundance of rental property in Philippi. One of his shops has just become vacant. Used to be occupied by an olive-oil seller. Died in his sleep last week, poor fellow, leaving no one to manage the business. It’s bigger than this hole you call a shop, and in a better part of town.”

  “Which means I cannot afford it.”

  “You can. It will cost you a few pieces of purple. My friend adores the cloak I bought from you. I told him you would make a matching pair for him and his mistress if he gave you his shop at a lower rent.”

  Lydia straightened. “Does it have a marble shelf?”

  “Two.”

  The new store proved a vast improvement to Lydia’s previous accommodations, with two marble shelves as Leonidas had promised and a silver-colored wall sconce. They purchased a wider loom now that they had more room and were able to produce better lengths of fabric.

  The shop brought them an additional gift. The middle-aged woman who had worked for the olive-oil seller stopped by one day to see if they had found a shawl she had left behind. The new loom stopped her in her tracks.

  “Do you know how to weave?” Lydia asked, noticing the woman’s admiring gaze.

  “My father was a weaver. I learned as a child.”

  “Have you found new work since your master died?”

  She shook her head. “If you don’t want to work in a mine, jobs are scarce.”

  Lydia gestured to the loom. “Show me what you can do.”

  Two hours later, she hired the woman. This left Rebekah and her free to oversee the dye production. Within a month they had increased their merchandise twofold.

  Aemilia brought the general to the new store. She gazed about, her small eyes sparkling. “This is an improvement,” she said. “What do you think, Varus? Is it not a lovely store?” She ran her fingers over a piece of scarlet linen. Lydia hoped they weren’t stained with onion juice.

  “It’s on the small side,” the general said.

  “Small, but of exceptional quality. Have you ever seen such purple at these reasonable prices? And can you imagine? It’s all managed and created by women. I am shocked to my depths. What will women attempt next? Apply for political office?” The old lady stared at her son, her eyes wide with innocence.

  The general made a strangled sound in his throat. Roman women could not hold public office. They were not even allowed to vote. Words must have failed him. Lydia knew the feeling. Words often failed her when she was around Aemilia. “Would you like to see a few pieces, General?”

  Before he could respond, Aemilia spoke. “I would like to give a feast. A very lavish one, Manius,” she said, calling her son by his given name as only a family member could. “For my birthday.”

  “Your birthday is not for another nine months, Mother.”

  “How do you know? Were you there when I came into the world? I want a feast for my birthday, and I want it now. I might not live until the actual day decides to dawn.”

  The general tapped his hand on a marble counter. “Fine. Have a feast.”

  “I would like
to invite a lot of people. The two praetors and their wives, for a start. A few of your military friends. No vulgar people, mind. Tribunes and generals and the like. The consul, the legates. The owners of the gold mines. I suppose you should include those dreadful wives of theirs. I shall have a full list for you by this evening.”

  Varus raised a brow. “I see. In other words, you want every person of rank and influence in Philippi.”

  “Quite so, my dear Manius. It’s so reassuring to have an understanding son. Oh, and don’t forget these two,” she said, pointing a crooked finger at Lydia and Rebekah.

  Varus put his chin in his hands. “I see.”

  “And I shall need a new tunic. This lovely crimson will do.”

  Lydia winced. The old lady had picked the most expensive piece of cloth in the whole store. After giving away free cloaks to the landlord of her new store, and adding a linen tunic for Leonidas in thanks for his assistance, she could ill afford a half-price item of such value. Considering what Aemilia had done for her, however, Lydia could deny her nothing. “I will wrap it for you at once.”

  “Charge the full price, child. My son is paying for it. It is my birthday present.”

  Varus looked toward the heavens in resignation.

  On the way out, the old lady stopped. “Wear something appropriate for the occasion, Lydia. None of your old, fraying tunics. Make yourself a new garment worthy of the crowd I am gathering. And for pity’s sake, do something with your hair. For such a handsome woman, you have an odd lack of appropriate vanity.”

  Lydia dithered, as wordless as the general had become. Aemilia added in a whisper only she could hear, “When you come to the feast, stop in my chambers first. You and the Jewess. You cannot come to such an evening bare of jewels. I will loan you a few pieces.”

  Lydia’s head snapped up. “Jewels?”

  “I said we shall make you a success, didn’t I? This tiny shop, pleasant as it seems, is only a start. Wait until I am finished with you.”