“Within a few days,” Luke said. “He told me yesterday that he would not do anything to Peter until his return.”
“Then we have a chance. Galba, the chief captain of the prison in Jerusalem, is my friend. He hates both Herod and Geta. But we will need money for bribes.”
Luke told him of the chest of gold which Herod had given him and the emeralds for Thecla.
“Excellent.” Cornelius applauded. “We will use Herod’s own gold to thwart his purpose. You and Mark must rest now, Luke, while I make some preparations and order a chariot for tonight. We can be in Jerusalem in the morning, but I shall have to hide in the hills until Herod is gone, for he hates me. If he knew I was in the city he might even take Peter and the girl to Caesarea with him to make sport for the crowd at the games.”
“But Jewish law forbids such things as games,” Mark protested. “Would he dare to defy Moses?”
“Herod is a Jew only because he was born one, and it is convenient to give lip service to your religion,” Cornelius pointed out. “Underneath he is as cruel as Caligula or Claudius. He even revived the old Roman sport of lashing condemned political prisoners to young bulls and turning the lions upon them. And I am sorry to say that Caesarea, being a Roman rather than a Jewish city, approves of the sport.” Then, seeing the despair on Luke’s face, he put an arm about the young man’s shoulder. “But cheer up, Luke. We may be able to save your betrothed yet.”
IX
Cornelius hid in the hills outside the city while Luke and Mark made their way into Jerusalem on foot. There was no further news of Peter and Thecla, who had been swallowed up in the prison as completely as if buried alive. To keep from thinking of what might be happening to Thecla, Luke threw himself into the work at the surgery, which had accumulated during his absence. Dead tired at the end of the day, he slept through the night. Shortly after sunrise the news came that Herod Agrippa had departed for Caesarea and the great festival which he was staging there a few days later in honor of the return of the Emperor Claudius from his victorious campaign in Britain. When Luke learned that neither Thecla nor Peter had been in the train of the king his hopes began to rise a little. Mark went immediately for Cornelius, and everyone was full of hope again, but Luke could not get out of his mind the warning of Agabus that Thecla would bear him no sons.
When Cornelius returned that night, his face drawn with weariness, there was a look of satisfaction in his eyes.
“It is arranged,” he told them quietly. “Galba will assign special men to guard Peter tomorrow. At midnight he will walk out of the prison. All the guards will be so occupied as not to see him and therefore will be able to swear that they had nothing to do with his escape.”
“And Thecla,” Luke urged. “What of her?”
Cornelius turned to him, his face grave. “Thecla is not in the prison, Luke.”
“But she was taken there! Agabus saw her enter.”
“Herod has taken Agabus with him to Caesarea, but I learned that he told you the truth. Thecla was taken to prison with Peter, but she defied Herod when he had her brought to his apartment. The soldiers told me he was so angry that he sent her back to the prison, vowing to kill her by torture. Geta and a special group of guards took her away from the prison, but Galba did not know where they went.”
Stunned by the terrible news that Thecla was in the hands of Herod’s infamous torturer, Luke could only sit dumbly, unable to think, until Cornelius’s hand on his shoulder brought him from the momentary stupor. “All is not lost, Luke,” he said kindly. “Peter and Thecla were in the same part of the prison. Galba told me that. And when Peter is released tomorrow night, he may be able to tell us something more of the girl.”
“But what can we do?” Luke asked hopelessly.
“If we can find out where she is I will use some of Galba’s men and take your betrothed from Geta by force. Herod will be occupied in Caesarea, and before he can stop us, you and Thecla can escape by way of Joppa and a fishing vessel.”
With that small solace Luke had to be content, but the ominous words of Agabus still kept running through his mind, dimming any hope he might have had.
It was a grave but optimistic group who waited the next night at the home of John Mark for news of Peter’s release. Barnabas and Paul were filled with a quiet satisfaction, for they had finally gotten from James and the elders a decision approving the admission of Gentiles to the Christian faith. Now that there could be no preaching in Jerusalem until Agrippa ceased his persecution, Paul and Barnabas were anxious to return to Antioch and begin their missionary journey, while John Mark was to take Peter into the hills of Galilee after his release, where he would be safe from Herod’s soldiers.
Cornelius was at the prison, waiting to spirit Peter away as soon as he emerged from the gate, and John Mark had a cart ready to take the big disciple into the hills. But an hour before midnight a girl who had been helping Mary serve rushed into the house crying, “Peter is at the gate.”
“That is impossible,” Mark said. “He will not be released for another hour.”
“It is Peter,” the girl insisted. “I know his voice.” And when Luke went out to see, it was indeed Peter who stood there, calmly smiling.
Pandemonium filled the small house then. Everyone hurried to embrace Peter, and there were alternate weeping and laughing over his safe delivery from the hands of Herod Agrippa. In the excitement Luke was not able to ask about Thecla. Then there was a knock on the outer door, and he went to open it. Cornelius came in, his face grave. “A strange thing has happened, Luke,” he said. “Peter came out of the prison by another entrance about half an hour ago. Galba discovered it and came to tell me. But no one knows where he went.”
“Peter is here,” Luke told him.
“Thank God! I was afraid he had been spirited away somewhere.”
“How did he escape then?” Luke asked.
“No one knows, and I could not inquire closely. It may be that our plans miscarried and those inside the prison released him earlier than we had planned. I must question Peter about it.”
But Peter could not help, for to him the escape was a true miracle. His fetters had been removed earlier by the guards, and when he pushed the door of his cell it had opened, as had the other gates between him and freedom. Peter had simply walked out of the prison as if there had been no locks or bars.
“It is a true miracle!” Paul cried. “God has set you free, Peter, to show His power over Herod.” And not even Probus, who usually doubted miracles, offered to disagree. As Cornelius had said, a miscarriage of their plans could have released Peter earlier, or a miracle could really have happened. No one would ever know for certain.
When the hubbub finally quieted enough for Luke and Cornelius to ask about Thecla, Peter did have some news.
“The girl was brought before Herod,” he told them. “He offered to make her his concubine, but she spurned him. Our cells were close together, and she told me about it when she was brought back. Herod was so angry that he swore he would have her killed.” He hesitated, as if there were more that he did not want to tell.
“Go on, Peter,” Luke urged. “I want to know the worst.”
“I heard the guards talking when the torturer came for her,” Peter said then. “Thecla will be thrown to the beasts during the celebration at Caesarea. She was spirited away so that none here would know of Herod’s plans for her.”
Not even Luke’s worst fears had conjured up anything like this. His thoughts went back to that day in the amphitheater at Antioch, to the young man and girl standing there proudly facing death. Then he had been filled with horror, although the victims had been strangers. And Herod had even more barbarous ways of executing those he condemned, such as lashing them to bulls before turning the lions into the arena, so that the spectators could enjoy a greater thrill as the fear-crazed animal fought for its life with a helpless human victim upon
its back. Suddenly he could control himself no longer. “If God is just and all-powerful, as you claim Him to be,” he burst out, “how could He let Thecla be thrown to the lions?”
“Question not the will of God, Luke!” Paul shouted angrily. But Peter came over and took Luke by the shoulders. “I can understand your bewilderment, Luke,” he said gently. “But the ways of God are often beyond the comprehension of man, and we must simply trust that His will is best. If it be the will of God, your Thecla will be saved.”
Luke clung to Peter for a moment, like a child seeking assurance and protection from a parent. And as he did so he felt a new strength of purpose come into being within him. He raised his head then, his gaze clear and determined. “I am going to Caesarea tonight,” he told them.
“I will go with you,” Probus said at once.
“And I,” Cornelius affirmed quietly.
“What can you do, Luke?” Mark cried. “You would be helpless against Herod and the power of Rome.”
“If it is possible to save Thecla from Herod, I shall do it,” Luke said quietly. “And if not, then I hope to die with her.”
His determination heartened them all. Barnabas, Paul, Peter, and Mark all offered to go, but it was decided that Peter should flee at once to the hills of Galilee with John Mark as they had planned, the same hills from which many another rebel against the injustice had defied the Herods and Rome. Cornelius, Probus, and Luke, traveling by military chariot, could reach Caesarea before the games when Herod planned to satiate his bloodlust. Barnabas and Paul would travel the same road more slowly with Glaucus, who was still weak. “If you are successful, Luke,” Barnabas said as he was leaving the house, “go to the house of Philip near the water. He is one of the Seven and respected by all in that city. And if you fail”—the red-haired man’s voice broke—“I commend you to God.”
It was early morning before Cornelius could obtain a large chariot for them and two swift horses to pull it. As they left the city the sun was already gilding the tops of the mountains to the east. Travelers bound from Jerusalem to Caesarea sometimes went to Joppa by land and thence by water to the capital of the Roman province. More often they took the Central Highway leading northwestward from the Holy City to Antipatris, thence along the Via Maris, the ancient Way of the Sea between Egypt and Mesopotamia, as far as Pirathon, and again westward to Caesarea on the coastal road. It was customary for land travelers to spend the night at Antipatris, but since they reached that city before nightfall, Luke, Probus, and Cornelius pushed on along the Via Maris to Pirathon.
At Pirathon they found quarters at an inn, and Luke fell asleep as soon as he lay down, exhausted from the days of worry and traveling. All along the road they heard talk of the great festival which Herod Agrippa was holding in Caesarea. The games which would climax the celebration would be held on the day after the morrow, giving them about twenty-four hours after their arrival in Caesarea in which to try to help Thecla.
It was well after midnight when Luke was awakened suddenly by a strange sensation, a feeling as if a giant hand had lifted the floor beneath him and shaken it. The timbers of the building groaned, and somewhere in the inn a jar tumbled to the hard floor with a crash. Probus, who was sleeping beside Luke, sat up. “What is it?” he asked sleepily.
A dismal scene greeted them in the morning. As so often happened after earthquakes, rain was pouring in sheets outside, blotting out all vision more than a few yards away. While the innkeeper served breakfast he told them that the damage had been particularly great along the road between Pirathon and Caesarea. Already peasants were coming in to report that houses had been shaken down and stone fences broken part by the tremors. Cornelius went out to the stables after the meal but returned, shaking his head. “We cannot travel in such a storm,” he said gravely. “The horses would not be able to see the road, and we would go over the side of the mountains.”
“But we must get there,” Luke protested. “Tomorrow is the day of the games.”
“The games will not be until the middle of the day, and we are little more than a half day’s journey from Caesarea. If the rain lessens we can still get there before nightfall.”
Through the morning Luke watched the water pouring down, and his spirits grew lower and lower. But shortly after noon the sky lightened a little, and by mid-afternoon Cornelius was able to order the horses hitched to the chariot and they set out toward Caesarea once more. Progress was slow, for the road was badly washed, and a broken chariot wheel now would mean disaster. Besides, the road was clogged with travelers on horses, in carts and carriages, and on foot, for the games tomorrow were attracting a great crowd. It was rumored that Herod would scatter a vast sum in gold for the crowd in token of his pleasure at the return of his friend, Emperor Claudius, from the fabulously successful campaign in Britain, where elephants had carried archers and spearmen to break the ranks of the Britons and send them reeling to their deaths. And some said a beautiful young girl would be bound naked to a bull and sent to die under the claws of the lions.
Hourly the press of people on the road became greater. Finally there was no movement, and word was passed back that the road was blocked. Cornelius went ahead on foot, his uniform and commanding presence opening a way for him when the others would have been held fast by the crowd. When he returned, his face was glum: “The earthquake shook a mass of rock and dirt into the pass,” he reported. “Not even foot travelers can get through now.”
“When will the road be opened again?” Luke asked anxiously.
“They will work all night, but it will be at least early morning before we could get through.”
“Then we are beaten,” Probus said hopelessly. “God must indeed be working against us this time. Even if we got to Caesarea, it would be too late to work out any way to help Thecla.”
“I am afraid you are right,” Cornelius agreed. “If there were only some other road.”
“There must be paths across the mountains.” Luke was grasping at anything which seemed to offer a shred of hope.
Cornelius looked up at the towering crags. “I have lived in Caesarea many years,” he said, “and have traveled this way a number of times, but I never heard of another road.”
“But there must be,” Luke said stubbornly. “Someone in the crowd may know of it.” He climbed up on the rim of the chariot. A hundred or more people were milling about on the road immediately ahead and behind them, cursing, grumbling, or merely waiting patiently for the road to be opened again. “Does any among you know a way over the mountain?” he shouted. “I must reach Caesarea by morning on a matter of life or death.”
There was no answer, nothing except shaken heads from the crowd.
“A hundred sesterces to any man who can lead me over the mountain and set me on the road to Caesarea,” he shouted in desperation.
There were murmurs of interest from the crowd, nothing more. Then Luke saw an old man on a mule prodding his animal through the crowd. “Can you help me, good father?” he called.
“I know a way,” the old man mumbled. “But it is narrow and can be traversed only on foot.”
“Can I get horses on the other side?” Luke asked, his hopes soaring at this unexpected aid.
“Y-yes,” the old man said. “My son has mules at his farm on the other side of the mountain.”
Luke jumped down from the chariot and opened his purse. “Here are twenty sesterces,” he said. “The rest is yours when I reach your son’s house and the mules.”
“The way is rough,” the old man warned, “and you will need the feet of a mountain goat.”
“I will chance that,” Luke told him, and turned to the others. “You two can wait and come on through when the road is cleared. If I fail to make the city, you will find me somewhere along the road beyond the mountain range.”
“Two will have a better chance of getting over the mountain pass than one,” Probus urged. �
��Cornelius can come through in the morning with the chariot.”
“Probus is right, Luke,” the centurion agreed. “Only one of us can drive the horses; the difficult job is going to be climbing the mountain paths.”
And so Luke and Probus followed the old peasant off the road and along a path that wound up the mountainside. Sometimes it was little more than a narrow ledge, with yawning depths below them and only the bare rock wall of the crags to cling to. The going was hard, even for Luke and Probus, and the old man had to stop frequently to get his breath. During one of those rest periods Probus asked, “Have you formed any plan of action, Luke, once you get to Caesarea?”
“Nothing except to find Thecla and go with her into the arena. When Agrippa sees me there I hope he will stop the execution for fear of setting Theophilus and Petronius against him. If not, Thecla and I can die together.”
“It is a forlorn hope,” Probus said dourly. “Herod is swollen with power, and with Claudius back in Rome I believe he would dare almost anything.”
“Can you think of anything better?”
“Nothing very practical,” Probus admitted. “Herod will certainly not be expecting us, and the element of surprise will be in our favor, small as it is. I am sure we can both get into the amphitheater with the safe-conduct, and I might even get close enough to the throne to stab him in the back with this.” He took from his belt a long narrow dagger.
“But you would be killed by the guards.”
“Perhaps so, perhaps not. There would be quite a commotion.” Probus smiled wryly. “Having been in a few riots, I have learned to take care of myself.”
Luke shook his head. “I am resigned to dying with Thecla, Probus, but you must not endanger your own life because of me. You saved me once on the cliffs above Bithynia. That is enough to ask of any man.”
“God will give me what I deserve,” the apothecary said philosophically. “How better can a man deserve life than by trying to save another?”
The Road to Bithynia: A Novel of Luke, the Beloved Physician Page 23