by Tessa Afshar
Every day, when she opened her eyes, fear chased her through each wakeful hour. Now, with Antiochus’s threats hanging over her, that old enemy had grown sharper than ever.
FORTY-TWO
The enemy said, “I will pursue, I will overtake,
I will divide the spoil, my desire shall have its fill of them.
I will draw my sword; my hand shall destroy them.”
EXODUS 15:9
“WE NEED YOU BELOW STAIRS,” Rebekah said as Lydia emerged from Chloris’s cubicle.
Lydia winced, reading trouble in her friend’s expression. “What now?”
“There is a problem with the indigo.”
The particular purple they were currently working on began with indigo, a dark-blue dye extracted from the leaves of a species of plant that grew in the faraway Tamil country. Other plants, harvested closer to Philippi, could produce indigo. But Lydia considered this species superior to the rest. Using their own ancient techniques, the indigo producers of Tamil processed the leaves into a paste.
Lydia purchased indigo paste from a merchant who brought the dye by caravan all the way from Tamil, navigating through tough terrain much of the way and relying on established trade routes for only part of his complicated journey. She had found the merchant to be a reliable man, one she had counted on throughout the years. Never before had she encountered a complication with one of his deliveries.
“What problem?” Lydia began to walk rapidly below stairs, Rebekah in her wake.
“The color is wrong. We have tried several batches. But none of them work.”
Lydia began to run toward the workshop. They had a large order of fabric due in Corinth in two weeks. There was no time for problems with the dye. There was no margin for a crisis of any kind.
The dye master stood when Lydia came into the chamber. One glance and Lydia knew the gravity of their problem. Instead of the opaque, almost-black color you would expect from indigo, the liquid in the vat was a weak blue.
“Start another batch,” Lydia said. She watched every stage like an eagle, trying to catch a mistake. There were no mistakes. The indigo was faulty.
Pale with tension, Lydia knelt over the vat holding the indigo paste and examined it closely. She detected nothing wrong at first, until she sniffed the paste. Hit by a pungent smell, she drew her head back. “What is that smell?”
The dye master shook his head. “I don’t know, mistress.”
Lydia smoothed some on her palm. A mild tingling turned into a small fire. Hastily she washed her skin and dried it on a fresh towel. Bunching the towel into a ball, she said, “I have never had a problem with this dye. Rebekah, when this batch was delivered, did we conduct a test before making payment?”
“Yes. As we always do. We detected nothing unusual.”
For hours, Lydia and Rebekah and the dye master worked on the indigo. First they soaked the paste in water. Then they tried a solution of wine and water. By the time midnight arrived, they had made no progress, and they were exhausted.
A loud banging on the front door caused the three to pause.
“Excellent. New trouble. I was growing weary of this one,” Lydia said before heading for the courtyard. Epaphroditus, who slept in the shop, had already opened the door when she arrived.
“Antiochus! I might have known.” Lydia turned around and headed back to the workshop. “Come back tomorrow. I might be able to dredge up some patience for you then.”
“Whassa matter? Bad day?”
Lydia stopped midstep. She took a deep breath and turned. “Have you been drinking?”
“Celebrating.” He weaved where he stood.
“I don’t have time for this. Go home.”
“Don’t you want to know what I was celebrating?”
“No!”
Antiochus grinned. There was a great stain on his toga, which had become twisted on his shoulder. He pointed a finger at Lydia and turned it round in a circle. “The beginning of your demise.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Now get out. I am busy.”
“Having trouble with your indigo?”
Lydia turned cold. She walked up to the man, her nostrils flaring. “Did you ruin my indigo? What is that stench that clings to the paste? What have you done?”
Two large hands flew into the air, looking like fat scales. “What am I, one of the gods? How would I ruin your indigo? If you are struck down by calamity, don’t blame me. I have just come to enjoy your anguish.”
“Get out,” Lydia said through gritted teeth.
Antiochus bowed, almost toppling over his feet. He began to laugh uproariously. “Day seven, Lydia. Day seven is here. And you have not given me what I wanted. So I am giving you what you don’t want. Consider it a first payment.” He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Or you could always give me the girl and we stop here.”
“You can’t have her.”
“Then enjoy your ruined dye. I may not know your formula for your pristine purple, but I do know you can’t make it without good quality indigo.”
Rebekah came to stand by her friend, placing a protective hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “You have delivered your message, Antiochus. Leave now.”
Lydia slumped when the door was barred. “You heard?”
Rebekah nodded, her visage grave. “I don’t understand. Did he sneak into the workshop? I am certain the dye was fine upon delivery. It must have been tampered with while under our roof. Has he planted one of his spies in our midst?”
“Or bribed one of our own people.” She leaned against a column. “We can no longer even feel safe in our own home. As long as we remain blind to the source of this mischief, we cannot protect ourselves against another incident.”
“Let us consider one thing at a time. First, we need to contend with the damage he has already wrought. The indigo is ruined beyond repair?”
Lydia nodded. “We did everything I could think of. This shipment of purple cloth to Corinth cannot get there on time unless I can secure a large amount of indigo within the next two days. Where am I to find so much indigo at a decent price? I will have to pay full market value for it, which will reduce our profits to practically nothing. We were counting on that money, Rebekah.
“And if we wait on a new shipment of indigo, it will delay the delivery of the fabric by weeks. Our clients will never place another order with us again. Not with so many other merchants vying to win their favor. They are among my best customers, and they expect a reliable transaction.” She rubbed her forehead. “It’s like the week from the bowels of hell. Will it never come to an end?”
Rebekah squeezed her arm. “Chloris lives. Appollonia perseveres. Demetrius can look forward to a contented and prosperous future. And Antiochus has not won yet.”
“Are you never afraid, Rebekah?”
“Of course I am. But then I remember the bread of angels. God will send us his provision for this trouble. Tomorrow is the Sabbath. We will go to the river and pray.”
FORTY-THREE
The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners.
ISAIAH 61:1, NIV
DAWN INVADED THE night all too soon. But it came bringing with it the gift of a day of prayer. Still bleary-eyed from too little rest, Lydia donned her clothes in haste and stopped at the workshop one final time to check for any breakthroughs with the indigo. There had been none.
“Shall we leave?” Rebekah asked, already wrapped in her cloak. A drowsy Chloris stood curved against her, sucking on the pad of her thumb.
Lydia raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“She claims she will explode if we force her to stay in bed another day. It will be good for her to enjoy some fresh air.”
The air was crisp and dry as they walked, and with e
very step, sleep lost the last vestiges of its hold on the weary women. Green ruled in this part of Philippi: thick, verdant bushes, gurgling water the color of jade, and a few trees with delicate leaves and crooked trunks.
Over the final bend of the road, before they arrived at the place of prayer, Lydia could see a group of women already gathered by the water. She had managed to walk ahead of the others and stopped for a moment to study the scene. Five or six women sat together. There was not a single man among them. The two Jewish families who resided in Philippi and often joined them on the Sabbath were away visiting family.
“We shall be a small group today,” she told Rebekah. “Just women.”
Her friend smiled. “It will be a quiet day.”
The river Gangites was not wide here, flowing with a soft murmur that soothed Lydia. She settled herself on a blanket near the water, and Rebekah and Chloris joined her.
They began the morning with prayer. Lydia found it hard to focus. Her heart was weighed down with the indigo problem and the bigger challenge of Antiochus’s threats. She worried for Chloris’s safety. If Antiochus had managed to get his hands on her dye, then clearly he had found a way into her household. What if he managed to snatch the girl by the same means?
Upon occasion, one of the women would stand and quote a passage from the Jewish Scriptures. Lydia tried to quiet her racing mind by focusing on the words of the Law. They had no scrolls to read from and depended entirely on the treasury of their memories. Most of them quoted short passages, sometimes a mere line or two. Then Rebekah, her dark hair covered modestly with a blue veil, stood up. Her voice was soft and pleasant, like music from a stringed instrument; her Greek would not have shamed a scholar. She quoted from the prophet Isaiah:
The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners—
Lydia sat up. She needed good news. If there was someone in this world who could release her from the darkness of fear and the prison of danger, she wished they would show up.
Rebekah continued her proclamation:
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.
They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated.
Lydia listened with care, deeply moved by the promises Rebekah quoted. “Who is the man the prophet speaks of, Rebekah? Who is the one who binds up the brokenhearted and comforts all who mourn?”
“This passage foreshadows the Messiah, the Promised One of Israel who will set us free from our captivity and lead Israel back into the paths of righteousness.”
“Sisters,” a man’s deep voice interjected. “Allow me to interrupt.”
Lydia nearly toppled over with shock, startled by the interruption. In the shadow of a clump of trees a few cubits away sat five strangers. She had not noticed them approach or sit, too caught up in her thoughts. “Who are you?” she asked.
A short, wiry man with unruly hair came to his feet. He had a kind smile that contrasted with the sharp intelligence of his gaze. She noticed an air of intensity about him, like a storm held back. “My name is Paul, and I am from Tarsus. These are my friends. Here is Silas, a true follower of God, and that young lion next to him is called Timothy. Near me sits my friend Luke, who is a physician. And this handsome fellow is a Roman architect and engineer, Marcus Cornelius Marcius.”
Lydia saw a blur of faces. Turning back to the man who called himself Paul, she said, “I am Lydia, a seller of purple. And this is my friend Rebekah.”
“Forgive our intrusion,” Paul said. “We are visitors to your city. We wished to join the prayers for the Sabbath and heard the faithful gather here. When we arrived, you were already in prayer. We did not wish to encroach. May we join you?”
Lydia glanced at her companions for approval. “This is a place where we worship the Lord. You are most welcome.”
The men came forward and settled closer. Paul addressed Rebekah when he had sat down. “How well you spoke the words of the prophet! Better than a scribe in the Temple. Not a single mistake in that long oration. I should know, for I was trained as a Pharisee in Jerusalem under the honored teacher Gamaliel, and I come from a long line of Pharisees.”
“A Pharisee, you say?” Rebekah took a step forward. “We are not often honored by men of your distinction in Philippi.”
Paul waved a hand. “I am not here as a teacher of the Law. My friends and I have traveled a long way that we may impart glorious news to you on this fine Sabbath, for I know the man about whom the words of the prophet were written. You might even say that I have met him.
“His name is Jesus, and he is the Messiah.”
FORTY-FOUR
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned—every one—to his own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
ISAIAH 53:6
LYDIA WAS INTRIGUED. Here was a Jewish teacher of the Law, traveling with a Roman and a Greek. To the best of her recollection, Pharisees did not keep company with Gentiles, whom they considered “unclean.” More provocative still was this man’s willingness to sit with a group of women and hold discourse. That in itself was an extraordinary breach of Jewish custom. She concluded that this was no ordinary company of men. Smoothing her amethyst-colored tunic, she addressed them.
“Master Paul, I am not a Jew, but I am what you Hebrews call a God-fearer. I notice that some members of your party are not Jews either, and yet I assume they believe in this Messiah, or they would not be here. Please, sir, tell us about this man. Tell us about this Jesus.”
Paul slapped his thigh and stood. “I hoped you would ask, for he is the fulfillment of the very Scripture that Rebekah quoted earlier. There are many prophecies about the Messiah in the Bible. Is that not so, Rebekah?”
“Yes, master.” Her tone was cautious.
Paul nodded. “Some are hundreds of years old. Others, thousands. They foreshadow the coming of a savior.”
Lydia tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “A savior for the Jewish people.”
“Ah.” Paul’s thick brows shot up. “I am glad you raised that point. The forefather of the Jewish people is a man called Abraham. His name means ‘the father of nations.’ In fact, he could not father any children. God made him a promise that in spite of his advanced age, he would indeed have a son. And that through his descendants, every nation on earth would be blessed.
“The Jews are the children of God’s promise, the seed of Abraham. It is from us that his salvation comes. But from the start of our history, the Lord intended to bless all the nations through us. Greek, Roman, Persian. It is of no consequence. This gift is for everyone.”
Lydia leaned forward. “So I don’t have to be born Jewish to have salvation?”
“You do not.” Paul clapped and smiled. Then the smile vanished and his expression grew grave. “But you have a greater problem than that of your birth. One far more influential on your destiny than your mere heritage.”
“What is that?”
“The problem of sin. None of us are free of it. We are born enslaved to sin, bound to its temptations and twists. It bends us from the inside out, even the best of us.”
Lydia felt spellbound. “How, then, can one be set fre
e?”
“Not by one’s own efforts, I can promise you.” Paul pulled on his beard. “The Pharisees make a minute study of the Law of God. They break it apart, tear it into small compartments, and create hundreds of rules in order to ensure the Law is upheld properly. Follow these statutes, and you can be righteous, they claim. Do not break these regulations, and you can avoid sin. But it is a useless practice.”
Rebekah gasped. Silas covered a smile with his hand.
Paul continued. “How can a man rule his heart? Tell his heart not to hate or bear resentment or feel jealousy? How can a man demand that his whole soul love God and force his mind into perfect obedience? I tried for years, and still I could not perform even one little command from Solomon. To trust in God with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. Every chance I had, I ‘leaned.’ And I don’t think I am alone in this struggle. All humanity shares in it.”
Lydia could not argue with that. She was a great leaner herself.
She noticed Rebekah shifting her cloak and sinking deeper into its folds. “I have always understood that to be the reason we offer sacrifices. The blood of the sacrifice covers our sins, washes them clean as if they never existed.”
Luke smiled. “She is clever, isn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed.” Marcus nodded. “I had to learn all this like a child, from the beginning. She is two steps ahead of you, Paul.”
“Let us see if I can catch up.” He nodded at Rebekah. “You are right indeed. And yet, how long after offering each sacrifice do we remain pure? Clean of every moral offense? We would have to traipse over to the Temple by the hour with an unblemished sacrifice to keep up with our transgressions. The world population of cattle, pigeons, and turtledoves would soon dwindle and disappear from the earth.”
A faint chuckle escaped Rebekah’s lips. She swallowed the sound, forcing her mouth into a flat line. She was not one to be bent by the force of a good argument, Lydia knew.
“Our God is a good Father, brimming with compassion and mercy. He is patient with us in the midst of our failures, slow to anger, desiring to reason with us in spite of our wandering ways.” Paul looked into the distance. “But God is also holy. Who can come into his presence?”