by Diaz, Debra
* * *
Simon’s small house was northeast of the Circus Maximus, easily accessible to his friends and fellow believers…many of whom lived in the surrounding area. This afternoon its reception room was full of visitors…Aquila and Priscilla, Camillus, Horatius and his son, Simon’s own sons—Alexander and Rufus. Susanna and several older women, who had no children to keep them at home, were also present.
“I have felt a strong burden to pray for Antonius and Alysia,” Simon told the group; they were all standing because there were not enough places to sit. “I feel they are in more danger now than they have ever been.”
“I, too, have felt it,” Horatius answered.
One of the older women said, “I wasn’t there the night his former wife appeared. I don’t know what all of this is about. Why are the authorities looking for Antonius? A man stopped me in the street one day and asked about him, but the Lord told me not to talk to him.”
“I cannot answer, without asking permission of Antonius. But suffice it to say that things happened before he and Alysia became believers that affect them to this day. They haven’t told any of you for your own protection.”
Another woman said, “Could what happened to Daphne happen to any of us? Are we in danger?”
“I don’t know. I only know that they are in danger.”
“What does Flavius say?” asked Camillus.
Simon glanced at Susanna, who replied hesitantly, “He thinks we could be taken… for questioning. Everyone must be on guard. Avoid these men who are asking questions.”
“Speaking of Daphne,” Camillus said, “how is she, Priscilla?”
“Like many of those we see who make such a complete change—she loves the Lord very much. He has given her strength. She seems to be doing well, but we must continue to pray for her.”
“Then let us pray—for all of them,” Horatius said. “Simon and Aquila, will you lead us?”
* * *
Claudius loved to putter about his garden; the slaves had filled it with flowers and herbs, exotic plants, and various small trees. There were statues and a fountain—gushing water out of Jupiter’s mouth—and plenty of stone benches. He was limping around its meandering pathways when he heard a commotion inside his house, and then the emperor strutted forth from the doorway, followed by his German bodyguards.
“Here you are, Uncle! It is sad I must come to you on my birthday! Had you forgotten it?”
Claudius blinked. “But today is the thirtieth day of August, your Majesty.”
“Ha! You should have seen the look on your addled face! Yes, you have one more day to think about what you’re going to give me. Where is Messalina?”
And perhaps you would like her for your birthday, Claudius thought, having seen the way Caligula looked at his wife. And Messalina spent a lot of time at the palace. She had no morals, no scruples, and, in Claudius’ opinion, no sense; it was too bad, he often reflected, that he had such a weakness for women, because in spite of all this he adored her.
“I don’t know,” he answered glumly.
“Well, it’s late in the day…she is probably getting ready to go—out.” Caligula smirked, as though he knew something Claudius didn’t. “Sit down, Uncle, you make me nervous, fidgeting about.” He plumped down on a bench opposite Claudius, arranging his toga about his legs.
“I’ve had some excellent meetings with these kings and noblemen who have come to see me. A day or two before the great games in honor of Jupiter begin, I am going to stage an exhibition in the amphitheater in which I will dispatch a few criminals. Let them see how we deal with insurrection, of any kind. We’ll have some gladiators, too—I know you like to watch them. I expect you and Agrippa to be there.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Did you decide what to do about the new c—cult?”
Caligula acquired that strange, wide-eyed expression. “The council advised tolerance, for a while. Unless these fools get to be a nuisance. However, they had better not defy me! Let one of them refuse to pay me homage when I require it, and they will rue the day they ever heard of this Nazarene charlatan!”
Claudius hesitated, but he wanted to know. “And what is the latest news on the—ca—capture of Paulus Valerius?”
The emperor stuck out his lower lip. “Tomorrow at midnight Petronius will be looking for his head. I’ve sent for him, but he isn’t to be found. He’d better not be trying to hide. But if he finds Valerius—all the better. That would be quite a birthday present, Uncle—a gift from my fellow gods!”
* * *
Tertius had searched all day in the areas he’d seen the strange-looking man…the man who was seeking his mistress’s former husband. He hadn’t found him. But by the gods, he wasn’t going to go back and let her know that he’d failed! He’d taken many a lashing from her sharp tongue over the years; it was probably a good thing that he could not speak. He’d also taken a few beatings about the head with a cane rod, when she was in a particularly bad humor. He would find some place to spend the night…and start again tomorrow.
* * *
Early in the morning Paulus dressed and ate the large breakfast Alysia had prepared. He would return to the aqueduct today; he’d put it off long enough. There had been plenty of other things to see to…fellow believers who needed help, money, counsel…running a scythe over the grass around the house…making new arrows for Rachel. He sensed that Alysia didn’t want him to go. He never spoke of the headaches and dizziness that had grown more, instead of less, persistent…but she knew.
He was finishing the meal when Rachel walked into the dining room, yawning.
“And what are the plans for the day?” he asked, drawing his daughter toward him and kissing the top of her head.
“Cleaning in the morning, lessons in the afternoon,” she answered, without enthusiasm.
“Oh? Is Marcella coming?”
She gave a solemn nod, sitting down in front of her plate.
“What are you going to say to her?”
“Don’t worry, Father, I have a speech all prepared!”
“What do you mean—exactly? I don’t know that making a speech is quite the thing to do.”
“Don’t question her, Paulus,” Alysia said quietly. “She will know what to say.”
He answered, after a moment, “Yes, I think she will.”
Rachel didn’t eat much and returned to her room. Her parents went to the kitchen, where Alysia filled a small satchel with food and (to his enjoyment) untied his belt and slid the looped satchel onto it, and slowly retied the belt. “Take care today,” she murmured, her head bent.
He put his hand under her chin, raising it gently. “I will,” he said, and kissed her.
It was just another morning…like hundreds of others. But for some reason, as he was leaving, he stopped and turned at the door. Alysia was about to go out the other end of the house, to draw water for beginning the day’s chores. Sensing his sudden stillness, she too, stopped and turned. Their eyes met, for a timeless moment, across the wide expanse of the corridor.
“I love you,” he said at last, smiling, and before she could answer…opened the door and left.
CHAPTER XIX
There he was! Tertius couldn’t believe his good fortune. The man he was looking for stood outside a tavern, talking to a soldier. Several other legionaries lingered nearby; he could tell from their uniforms that they were regular army and not Praetorians, which was unusual—but with Caligula anything was to be expected. . He wondered if he ought to approach the man in their presence, and edged forward so that he could listen to their conversation. There were many pedestrians milling about at this early hour and it was easy to skulk among them, unnoticed.
“First, I will make certain it is indeed Paulus Valerius,” the man was saying. “You will not show yourselves until I have done so. You can be waiting around the corner of the buildings, and I will signal you.”
“I had almost given up on you, Livias,” Petronius said, his relief obvious. “I was abo
ut to question the prostitute again, and take her to Caligula if I had to—although Flavius said to leave her alone. Sometimes I wonder about him… but he said he was having her watched. And I’ve just sent some men east of here, beyond the city. A man matching Valerius’ description was seen speaking in the bazaar near Tibur.”
“Well, if that was Valerius he’s no longer there. I’m already as certain as I can be…without seeing him. I’m on my way to the aqueduct now.”
Tertius stepped forward, his determination immediately drawing the men’s attention. The soldier’s hand went to his sword. Tertius made a quick, conciliatory gesture and handed the letter to the man named Livias, who stared at him for a moment, then unfolded the letter and began reading. His brows drew together.
“Stop!” he called, as Tertius began to hurry away. This time the soldier drew his sword and Tertius halted instantly.
Livias continued reading, and then stared at Tertius. “Who wrote this?”
His heart pounding, Tertius made another gesture, drawing his hand across his throat and shaking his head.
“He’s mute,” said the soldier, unnecessarily.
“Are you the slave of the person who wrote this?” Livias demanded.
Tertius nodded slowly, nearly panic-stricken. Now he was in serious trouble!
“Petronius, the writer of this letter states that he or she knows where Paulus Valerius lives, and includes a detailed description of how to find his house. I think some of your men had better follow this slave and make the writer accompany them to this house—so there can be no mistake.”
“Then we have the woman, too!” Petronius exclaimed. “I’ll send for more men to go with the slave. Livias, the gods have smiled on you, today—and on me.”
“We will have to wait and see,” Livias said. “But I think, Petronius, you are probably right.”
* * *
Paulus made sure he left the wooden structure before the other engineers arrived; he didn’t know any of them but always tried to avoid unnecessary encounters. Martinus liked for him to look over the orders and plans for the day, and had grown almost dependent on his advice…which, Paulus knew, was not a good thing. But somehow it had worked out that way, and perhaps it was meant to be so. He had learned that God put people and circumstances in his path for a reason.
Secundus, for instance…He saw the younger man trundling a handcart full of bricks. He’d been talking to him for weeks about the Lord; Secundus hadn’t accepted it, but at least he was still listening, still asking questions. There were other men, too, who had become believers, or seemed to be on the verge of doing so.
Paulus went to load another cart full of bricks, mingling with a dozen or so others. Work had resumed full force now that the summer’s heat was lessening. Ignoring the throbbing in his head, he continued to pile bricks into the cart and, out of the corner of his eye saw a man who seemed to be walking toward him. He was short, dressed in a plain but well-made tunic, with silver hair still showing streaks of black. Paulus straightened and kept his eyes on the man as he approached.
“I’m sorry, sir, to bother you,” Livias said smoothly, letting a habitual glaze fall over his dark eyes and forcing his mouth to remain firm, in spite of a strong desire to smile in triumph. He had seen Paulus several times, years ago, and knew this was the man he sought.
“It is no bother,” Paulus replied. He saw, over the man’s shoulder, that Secundus was watching them and looked as if he wanted to say something. He began to get an odd feeling.
“I was looking for someone, and Martinus thought you resembled my description of the man.”
“I’m sorry…I don’t believe we’ve met. I hope you find him.”
“But the resemblance is striking.” Livias permitted a thin, sinister curving of his lips. He placed his right hand on his own left shoulder; it was almost like a signal. “Perhaps you know him. His name is Valerius.”
Paulus froze, and saw that Secundus was staring at something behind him, with his mouth open. He turned to see a company of soldiers rushing toward him. Horses bearing more soldiers galloped from the opposite direction.
A dozen thoughts surged in an instant through his mind. His greatest instinct was to escape and somehow get a warning to Alysia; perhaps there was still a way, with God’s help, to avoid capture. There was an alley directly behind him and he knew exactly where it led…but perhaps it, too, was blocked by soldiers. Besides, what would these men think—Secundus and the others, if he fought, and ran? Seeing with their eyes, he would be reacting with violence and cowardice…they wouldn’t know why he ran, though he could scarcely be blamed for wanting to avoid arrest. And they would wonder what he had done to deserve arrest.
He thought dismally that his witness was again compromised; any good he had ever done here was being undone. He knew how Alysia had felt when she feared they would look like hypocrites…it wasn’t that as much as how it would reflect on their message, and the God they represented. What made it worse was that some of these had not yet made a decision—they’d been waiting and watching, even as they now watched to see what he would do. He forced himself to stand perfectly still.
“Secundus,” he said, in a calm, clear voice, “Everything I have told you is true. I have done nothing to warrant arrest, except avoid questions from the authorities, and neither has my wife. She is guilty of defending herself, nothing more. Remember that, no matter what you might hear, and tell the others.”
Looking awestruck, Secundus stared as the soldiers surrounded Paulus, grabbing him roughly and clamping iron bracelets on his wrists. Livias had stepped back, watching with undisguised exultation. Paulus could only wonder who he was, and what part he had played in his capture.
Men were murmuring, stopping their work. Someone had gone to tell Martinus, and the contractor stalked out to address one of the officers.
“What is the meaning of this!”
It was Petronius who answered. “This is Paulus Valerius, a known fugitive. He will no longer be working for you.”
A wagon enclosed in wood rolled to a stop in front of Paulus, pulled by a mule and driven by a legionary…a common mode of transport for criminals. He was shoved inside and the door closed; he heard the shooting of a bolt. Men on horseback surrounded the wagon, and behind it the soldiers on foot formed a line of two abreast.
They were taking no chances that this prisoner would escape.
* * *
Flavius strode swiftly down the corridors of the palace. He had just heard that Petronius had called for a contingent of soldiers—something only one thing gave him the authority to do, and that was the arrest of Paulus Valerius. He stopped at the bedroom of the emperor’s daughter and went inside without knocking. The child had just gotten out of bed and Susanna was helping her to dress; obviously the child did not approve of her ensemble, for she had thrown all her clothes into a heap on the floor.
“I have a message for you,” he said. He and his wife walked to a corner of the room while Drusilla eyed them suspiciously, her mouth set in petulant lines exactly like her father’s.
“I think it’s happened,” he told her. “And I don’t know that there’s anything I can do about it. But someone needs to warn Alysia.”
“I’ll go—I’ll take care not to be seen. Someone else can tend to the little brat for an hour or two.”
Flavius glanced at the glaring child and tried to say lightly, “Is that any way to talk, my dear wife?”
“Oh, husband,” she said, rolling her eyes and sighing deeply, “if only you knew!”
* * *
Megara braced herself inside her carriage as it careened through the streets. People scurried to get out of its way…and to avoid the soldiers on horseback that followed it. Once again Tertius had foiled her plans, and she cursed him heartily. She had never been so shocked as when the soldiers had rushed into her reception room, demanding to know who she was, and how she knew Valerius. They were forcing her to accompany them to Paulus’ house…something s
he decidedly did not wish to do.
Well, she would have to make the best of it. Surely they would not hold her, once they had Paulus and Alysia in custody; she would return to her house, hurriedly pack her belongings, go to Ostia and stay at an inn until the day her ship sailed for Alexandria. She considered leaving Tertius behind—the great oaf!—and let him fend for himself for the rest of his life, but she still needed him. When she was settled in her new home, with the prospect of a good marriage in sight, she would sell him to some unscrupulous slave merchant who would see to it he was made a field hand on a farm somewhere. Although that was better than he deserved.
* * *
Girls were often overlooked when it came to education; perhaps that was why Marcella had not been able to learn, but it was obvious she was far behind Alysia’s other students. She needed a tutor, and Alysia didn’t think either Marcella or her mother would take kindly to that person being Rachel, especially since Rachel was two years younger. Perhaps Quintinius…the boy’s attitude seemed to have improved and he had always done well in mathematics.
The other children had taken their departure and Alysia was about to broach the subject to Cassia (who had stayed all afternoon to “observe”), when the rattle of a carriage came to their ears through the open windows. It was highly unusual for a carriage to be on the road in the daytime. At once Rachel went to look, saying, “I don’t know whose—” and then she turned, her face draining of color.
“Mother,” she said, with a wild look at Alysia…and Alysia heard the quick staccato of hooves as men on horses surrounded the house. Trapped, nowhere to hide…no way to run to the secret place, grab the satchel with money and clothes hidden under a rock, and try to escape through the woods…
She whirled around. “Cassia, please, take Rachel with you when you go, as if she were yours. Paulus—I mean Antonius—will come for her, or—or Simon...” She knew she wasn’t making sense.