Man of God

by Diaz, Debra

“No! I won’t go without you!” Rachel cried, as the door was flung open and a soldier marched into the room.

  His stare went over each of them; Petronius knew instantly which were the fugitive, and her daughter. “You are under arrest,” he said, “by order of the emperor. The child comes, too.”

  Cassia was clutching her daughter and pressing, terrified, against the wall. “Who are you?” Petronius demanded.

  “I—I—”

  “She brought her child here to study…I am a teacher,” Alysia replied, her heart thudding fast and hard. “They know nothing of this.”

  “Get out,” said Petronius.

  Cassia was only too happy to oblige. “Marcella,” Rachel said quickly, sliding her hand into her mother’s. “I’m sorry about the fish sauce.”

  Marcella, whose wiry black hair no longer reeked, merely gave her a bewildered look as her mother herded her out the door.

  Petronius stared at Alysia. She was indeed a beauty, still youthful-looking, but with the stronger, more refined features of a mature woman. No wonder Caligula wanted her, he thought—unaware that the emperor had never actually seen her.

  “May we take anything?” Alysia asked. “Clothes?”

  “What do you need them for?” Petronius said brusquely. “Out to the carriage.”

  She wondered why they weren’t looking for Paulus…why they hadn’t even mentioned him. A heaviness came over her soul.

  She and her daughter walked outside, underneath the watchful eyes of a dozen or so mounted soldiers, and climbed the incline to get into the carriage. Alysia couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Megara sitting there, elegantly clothed in an emerald-colored stola, and her hair vibrantly red.

  “Megara,” she gasped, “how could you do this?”

  “How could I not?” Megara answered.

  Petronius began to close the door, and Megara said through the narrow window, “May I go home now?”

  He ignored her, shut the door and called out, “To the palace!”

  Megara’s jaw tightened and she glared at Alysia, as though it were her fault she was being inconvenienced. Her gaze fell on Rachel, who looked solemnly back at her. The child was very much like Paulus… dark blue eyes with a cast of green, brown-gold hair, long and caught in a band at the nape of her neck. She waited for the familiar bite of jealousy and was vaguely surprised that it did not come. She had never wanted children.

  A strange thought came into her mind. Why am I the way that I am? She didn’t know…she’d never known. Once Paulus had asked her that. She’d thought at the time it was a ridiculous question. Her friendships had always been on a superficial level, and cultivated only if she believed they would be advantageous to herself. She had no sense of humor. There was nothing she cared passionately about, other than her own welfare and ambition. Except…except there was something about Paulus. As if she had loved him once, or come as near to loving him as she could anyone.

  Deep inside, she knew there was something about her that needed “fixing”. Paulus and Alysia claimed they had the answer, that the power lay in the hands of that Jewish carpenter who had been crucified, and…as they absurdly believed…had risen from the dead. A sudden longing for release came upon her—release from this abysmal loneliness, this discontent, this lack of peace.

  Her eyes moved to Alysia’s troubled face as she stared out the window, her daughter’s hand clasped in hers. Megara’s heart hardened…no, she wasn’t going to do anything they said! She wasn’t going to humiliate herself by revealing how she felt, or by asking questions about this Jesus. She was just upset; she would feel better once she was away from here.

  Rachel glanced up at her mother. “Don’t worry,” she said, in a little over a whisper. “Father will rescue us.”

  * * *

  Susanna flattened herself behind a tree as the carriage sped by in a cloud of dust. The soldiers on horseback thundered past; she pulled the edge of her palla over her face to avoid choking. She had just met Cassia and Marcella walking hurriedly toward the city, and listened with horror as Cassia told her in a high-pitched, hysterical voice what had happened. Now Caligula had them both, and Rachel, too. What would he do with such a child? She shuddered to think of it.

  It was obvious that Cassia wouldn’t be seeking help, or prayer, from the other believers… the woman was going straight home to cower in a corner. Susanna would have to see that the others were told.

  When the soldiers had completely disappeared from view, she followed.

  CHAPTER XX

  The two horses pulling the carriage labored up the hill until it flattened at the summit, and drew to a stop. Alysia felt a vague surprise that they were being taken to the front of the palace, rather than by some side door used for prisoners. A marble stairway fanning upward from the floor met their eyes as they were led through an entrance hall filled with pillars and plants and nude statues. Frescoes and tapestries adorned the walls; here and there fine Persian carpets lay across the mosaic tiles.

  Followed closely by several soldiers, the three of them were escorted into an adjoining room, where a great marble chair sat atop a small platform. Soldiers were there, too, guarding another prisoner, and Alysia caught her breath. Paulus met her eyes, his expression strained. He stood tall and straight, with his hands shackled behind him. Rachel let out a small cry and almost ran to him, but Alysia caught her arm. Megara merely raised her eyebrows and looked away.

  Petronius left Alysia’s side and went to stand beside Paulus. A stirring came from an arched doorway behind the marble chair, and out walked the emperor, followed by his uncle, and his chief bodyguard. Frowning, Flavius looked briefly at Paulus and Alysia in turn, his face betraying nothing of his apprehension. They glanced at him, too, taking care to show no recognition. Claudius limped to the edge of the platform, as his nephew seated himself.

  “Pa—Paulus Valerius. It’s been many years. I remember you well.”

  “Name of the gods, Uncle, don’t talk to the prisoners! Next thing I know you’ll be taking them for a stroll in the garden. Paulus Valerius, you have been a hard one to catch, but you are caught at last. Captain of the guard, you may go.”

  Petronius, who had expected at least a commendation, if not a reward, looked startled. “Your Majesty—”

  “You’re the one who let him get away in the first place.” Caligula jerked his head at one of the other soldiers. “Take him away. And give him a shave.”

  Petronius squared his heavy shoulders and stalked forward, turned smartly, and allowed himself to be escorted from the room. Caligula’s eyes went to Paulus, but then moved across the breadth of the room to Alysia. His face lit with appreciation.

  “Ah, the beautiful slave. And her beautiful child.” His gaze went further. He blinked, frowned, and blinked again. “I know you,” he said, and the light dawned. “You are supposed to be dead!”

  Megara arranged her face in placating lines. “I was forced to pretend so, Your Majesty, out of fear of Tiberius.”

  “Next time you should go to your grave with less pomp! My feet hurt for days, and all for nothing. Just because you are married to a Valerius!”

  “I am deeply sorry, your celestial Majesty.”

  It was her use of the word celestial that earned her temporary forgiveness. He turned his attention to Paulus and laughed.

  “So now you have two wives! One of them, I suppose, will have to be done away with. Which one will it be?”

  Paulus didn’t answer. Megara turned a pale green, and Alysia felt Rachel grip her hand so hard it hurt.

  “I know which one it should be. Tell me, slave, why you killed Magnus Eustacius.”

  “I lifted his sword to protect myself, when he was about to rape me. He fell upon it.”

  “Knowing Magnus, I don’t doubt your story. But didn’t anyone ever tell you—you had no right to defend yourself? You are a slave!”

  “She is no longer a slave.” Paulus spoke for the first time. “I gave her her freedom, many years ago
.”

  “And you, Paulus Valerius, helped her escape. You are an accessory to this murder.”

  “It was not murder.”

  Caligula looked slyly at his uncle. “You are very learned in the law, Clau-Clau. What do you think?”

  Claudius considered. He spoke almost without stammering. “As a slave, she should not have raised the weapon. But it sounds like—an accident. If Paulus Valerius believed so, then he cannot be blamed for trying to—spare her life.”

  “You are being generous because you like him. Valerius, I have never forgotten the thrill of seeing you save my granduncle from assassination. Pulled the old man right out of his seat! That arrow could easily have gotten you! I would like you as head of my bodyguard. Flavius, you will be second favorite bodyguard.”

  Caligula looked at Alysia, from head to torso…to long legs hidden beneath her gown. “What is your name? No one seemed to know—even your owners, or so they claimed! I think they were putting me off, to protect Valerius.”

  She told him.

  “Alysia, you will remain here in the palace, until I decide what to do with you. And you Megara, will also remain, as my guest.”

  There was silence in the room, until one of the soldiers ventured to clear his throat. Flavius exchanged a look with Paulus. Everyone knew what the fate of both women would be. Megara, trying to seem pleased, instead looked as though she were going to be sick.

  “And the child.”

  Alysia held her breath as the emperor stared at Rachel.

  “What is her name?”

  When Alysia didn’t speak, Paulus answered, “Rachel.”

  Caligula grimaced. “What kind of name is that?” His eyes wandered to a statue somewhere behind them. “Henceforth she will be known as Diana.” He turned to his bodyguard. “Where is your wife, Flavius? Is she back from wherever she ran off to today?”

  “She has returned from her errand, your Majesty.”

  “Send for her.”

  Flavius nodded at one of the legionaries, who immediately left the room. As they waited, Caligula got to his feet.

  “I have an idea for the child. She would make an excellent Vestal Virgin. I believe there is a vacancy.”

  Rachel knew what that was, and before Alysia could stop her, said, “I cannot do that, Your Majesty. I serve the Lord Jesus Christ.”

  And would I really have stopped her? Alysia thought. How beautiful were her words, and Paulus, too, bore a look of mixed anguish and pride.

  Caligula became so still he might have been a statue himself. “What did that child just say?”

  Rachel seemed to have lost her nerve and clutched her mother around the waist. Paulus answered for her.

  “She said she serves the Lord Jesus Christ, as do her mother and I. She means that she will not worship a pagan goddess, or serve in her temple.”

  Caligula’s face grew red with fury. “Do you mean to say you are all members of this—Nazarene cult?”

  “Not I,” Megara said quickly.

  Susanna hurried into the room and stood waiting, exchanging a quick look with Flavius. Caligula glowered at Rachel and pointed at her. “Susanna, examine her for blemishes, and come back and report to me.”

  “Come, dear,” said Susanna.

  Rachel looked first at her mother, then at her father.

  “A V—Vestal V—Virgin must have two living parents,” Claudius reminded his raging nephew.

  “Only at the time of her appointment!’ Caligula retorted. “And her parents are alive today! By the gods, I am Pontifex Maximus, and I choose her!” He paused for breath and glared at Rachel. “If you don’t go with that nurse this minute, I will relieve you of both your parents!”

  At once Rachel slipped away from her mother and went to Susanna, who led her from the room. Alysia put her hand over her mouth and looked at Paulus, whose light nod seemed to say, “It’s all right. For now.”

  “Tell me,” Caligula said, seeming struck by a new thought. “There are many kings and ambassadors here in Rome, and we have been discussing this cult. One of the kings from the east tells the story of a magical linen cloth, which bears the imprint of a crucified man. Where is it, Paulus Valerius?”

  “I do not know, your Majesty.”

  “So—you admit it exists?”

  “Yes, there is such a cloth. But there is nothing magical about it.”

  “I want to see it!”

  Paulus shook his head. “That is impossible. It has always been kept hidden, and only a very few know where. I believe it must be far from here—but no matter, I have no knowledge of it.”

  “Perhaps you will suddenly remember, after a while,” Caligula said ominously.

  “I cannot remember what I do not know.”

  The emperor had no answer for that, and an uncomfortable silence fell. Susanna returned to the room, her eyes downcast.

  “Well?” Caligula said.

  “She is without blemish, your Majesty.”

  “Send her away, then, to the house of the Vestals.”

  Susanna was unable to hide her despair, and Flavius touched her arm as she walked slowly from the room. Alysia strove for self-control, knowing that Rachel would refuse to do as she was told. One of the punishments for wayward Vestals was being buried alive…She began to pray feverishly in her mind, and felt the hand of God on her heart. Be still, he seemed to say, and know that I am God.

  Paulus was watching her anxiously; she met his gaze and he relaxed somewhat, but his hands were still clenched tight beneath the iron shackles. Megara, too, watched her, with an avid expression that puzzled Alysia, but she couldn’t think about Megara now…

  Caligula appeared deeply disturbed, and resumed his former topic. “You then believe that this cloth is proof of the dead Jew’s resurrection?”

  “There is proof enough without it. Hundreds saw him. Men and women are dying rather than refute what they know to be true.”

  “Valerius, I cannot believe that you have subscribed to such superstition. You have ruined my birthday! If you have any thought for your own life, and that of your wife and daughter, you will admit that I am your Lord and king!”

  Paulus’ answer came with no hesitation, as though he had been expecting such a demand. “You are my king…but not my Lord.”

  There was not a sound in the room. Caligula stared at him, his face flushed and distorted. Claudius shifted uncomfortably, and the rustle of his toga was like a thunderclap.

  “You are not fit to guard the person of the emperor! Both of your wives will serve me, in whatever way I desire—until I tire of them—and your daughter will become a Vestal Virgin or she will die!”

  Paulus moved slightly forward, and the sound of men’s hands moving toward their weapons rippled through the room.

  “Take him to prison! Think long and hard, Paulus Valerius. I can make life very comfortable for you, and your family, if you come to your senses!”

  Caligula whirled and stomped from the room, followed by his uncle. Flavius walked toward Paulus.

  “I will take him,” he said to one of the officers. “Find suitable apartments for the women.” He made a show of prodding at Paulus, who preceded him through one of the side doors.

  “This might be your only chance,” Flavius said urgently, “if you want to hit me and get away. Perhaps then you can find a way to rescue Alysia and Rachel.”

  Paulus shook his head. “I don’t know, Flavius…now that we’ve all been separated. Can you arrange for me to talk with Alysia?”

  “Yes. Caligula means for you to go to the dungeon below the palace—not the Tullianum, thank God—you know it is little more than a cesspool. You have not been condemned…yet. Forgive me, but I’ll have to lock you up until I can make the arrangement. It will have to be done quickly, before everyone around here becomes aware of what is happening.”

  “Do what you have to do, Flavius. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  Flavius put his hand on Paulus’ shoulder, and then briefly embr
aced him. “God be with you,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He turned to lead the way to the dungeon.

  * * *

  Somehow Flavius was detained; Paulus waited hours in the dimly lit rooms of the small prison. Far below the palace, it was accessed by a long corridor ending in an iron door, with grillwork in the middle that enabled the guards to speak to the prisoners. Inside, a wall with an arched opening divided the dungeon into two sections. The walls were of stone, with chains attached, and near each set of chains stood a wooden bench. A thin layer of straw covered the stone floor. At intervals, lamps hung from rafters in the ceiling, filled with a cheap oil that issued only dull flames and foul-smelling smoke.

  There were two other prisoners chained nearby, who looked at him dully when he was brought in. They didn’t speak at first…then as the hours went by he spoke to them, asking their names and why they had been incarcerated. One was a servant of Caligula’s; another was an official on his staff. The servant had brought the emperor an egg that was underdone. The official wasn’t quite sure what he had done to offend.

  At last he heard Flavius’ voice through the opening in the door.

  “The emperor wants to see the prisoner—Valerius. I will return him here in an hour’s time.”

  “Yes, Centurion.”

  A key grated in the lock; the guard entered and released Paulus from the chains. He replaced the shackles on Paulus’ wrists.

  “The key,” Flavius said from the doorway.

  The guard gave him an odd look but handed over the key to the bracelets. Paulus followed Flavius, passing several other guards who stared at him as he passed. Flavius’ short mantle swirled out behind him; his sword rattled. They ascended a stairway, steep and so narrow they had to turn practically sideways.

  “I’m sorry—Caligula set me on an errand,” Flavius said, when they were alone. “Alysia has been taken to a set of rooms—Susanna looks in on her occasionally. He has not—harmed her.”

  Paulus said only, “Thank you, Flavius.” He could think of nothing else to say.

  He saw, through the windows, that night had fallen. His friend led him up more stairs to a wide corridor, and opened one of the many doors stretching down its length. It was a huge, empty bedroom, opening onto a balcony that adjoined another room. He unlocked Paulus’ shackles and removed them.