by Diaz, Debra
“She’s inside. I’ll go and tell Susanna to send her out. There are guards everywhere, Paulus, including in her room. I’ll have to stay out here with you to avoid having anything look amiss. But I’ll give you your privacy.”
Paulus met his eyes and nodded. Flavius left, and he walked across the colonnaded balcony to stand looking down at the hazy glow of lights in the forum below. Sounds were muffled in a dense fog. This night had in it the quality of a dream, or a nightmare. The mist snaked its way about him, stirred occasionally by a current from an unknown source. He felt suddenly like a man who cannot comprehend some inevitable reality, a man who was as powerless to change the course of events as he was helpless to control the outcome of a dream.
“Paulus.”
He turned quickly, not having heard her approach. The torches on the terrace flared and seemed to be absorbed by the mist, giving out only a feeble glow. He went to her. Their arms were tight around each other, as though they stood fused together…in mind, body and soul.
He wanted to hold her forever, but time was slipping away, and there was too little of it. “Let me get you out of here, Alysia. Then I’ll go for Rachel—you know I won’t rest until she is safe.”
She stepped back, and managed to smile at him softly. “And with whose army would you do this, Paulus? I am too heavily guarded, and I know she is, too.”
“Flavius will help us.”
“He will kill Flavius. And if you and I escape, he may kill Rachel before we can get to her.”
Paulus didn’t answer, but drew her again into his arms. “My God,” he said, and couldn’t go on. This fate that had come to his wife and daughter was too terrible to contemplate…he hadn’t even considered what might happen to himself.
“God saved me once before,” she whispered. “I almost hesitate to ask him to do so again. But I will ask it, for Rachel, and for you. Pray for us, Paulus. There’s nothing else on this earth you can do.” She pulled away, but he held onto her hands. “We both know why Caligula is keeping me here. When I refuse him, he will probably kill me. And if by the grace of God you should escape, Paulus, promise me you will do everything you can to get Rachel away from that place, and from him.”
“You know only death would stop me.”
“Remember how God protected Rachel…that other time…and I must believe he will do it again. But I also believe, if there is an opportunity for you to save her, you must take it…because it could be an opportunity provided by him. I only know I cannot leave this place, with her in such danger.”
He knew she was right, he knew this was not the right time to attempt an escape. But something inside him rebelled…he couldn’t let this happen! He was a man of action, he had commanded armies, men had once hastened to do his bidding, and now he was completely helpless. A feeling of bitter resentment sought to rise within him.
“I must go,” she said, “before you are discovered here.” She leaned forward and put her hands gently on either side of his face, looking into his eyes. She kissed him, light as a feather but lingering for a long moment against his lips…then she slipped away into the mist-shrouded colonnade and was gone. There had been no backward glance, only a resolute going forward; the straight set of her shoulders was familiar and dear, and brought back a flood of memories.
He stood completely still for a moment, having forgotten Flavius’ presence somewhere on the terrace. Then he sensed that someone had come to stand behind him. He turned to face the other man.
“Are you coming?” Flavius asked.
Paulus knew what he meant, and felt that he was closing a door that would never open again. “Yes,” he said. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER XXI
Her summons came in the middle of the next day. A slave delivered what she was to wear…a purple gown…what did he mean, giving her the color of royalty, a color he reserved exclusively for himself? It was cut low in the front, with slits in the sides from waist to foot. She laid it aside and kept on her own clothes. She arranged her hair into a single braid, as usual; her palla had been left at home in the rush of their departure, so she couldn’t cover her head.
She’d prayed until she fell asleep last night, and a quietness of spirit came over her, a blessed release from the torment of her worry for Rachel and Paulus. God was in control. Whatever happened, his reasons were just and good, and he had some greater purpose in mind. She must hang onto that, no matter what…
Susanna had been a great help to her, pretending to bring her things that Alysia knew were already in the room…towels, a basin of water, a nightgown, a cushion for her head. She always had a word of encouragement, and her presence in itself was a comfort. But this morning, she had said in a low voice, “My husband won’t be able to help you. He’s been sent to the camp of the Praetorian Guard on an errand. We are all praying for you…”
The guards stared at Alysia as she returned from the dressing room to the bedroom. They had been stationed throughout the chamber all night…had witnessed her kneeling at the bed. She didn’t know what they thought, or if any of them might be believers. She didn’t think so.
The door to the luxurious apartment opened, and another guard motioned with his spear. “Come with me,” he said.
She obeyed him, walking down the long corridor until they stopped in front of a set of double bronze doors. The soldier opened one of them, and she found herself in a small anteroom. He stepped forward and tapped on a door leading to another room, and moved back to wait.
The door jerked open. Another man appeared before her, dressed in a transparent robe, his hair wet and sticking up in spikes. The light in the anteroom was so dim she didn’t recognize him at first, and then her breath caught in her throat. It was Caligula.
His eyes went over her. “Why are you not wearing what I sent you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Take your hair out of that braid.”
She didn’t move.
The emperor gestured to the soldier, who leaned his spear against the wall and took Alysia’s shoulders, turning her, and began to roughly unbraid her hair. Caligula watched, his eyes feverish, lustful. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders and he reached out to touch it, but stopped.
“Come,” he said, taking her arm instead. “We are having a—banquet.”
Alysia paused in the doorway, looking over the room. Red shades had been drawn over the windows, casting a hellish glow, and like fiends of hell the room was filled with writhing forms…she stepped backward, and slammed the door shut.
Caligula stared at her, amazed. “Do you know what you’re doing? You are foolish to oppose me.”
“I may be a fool,” she said evenly, “but I am resolved to die before I go into that room.”
“Those are strong words for someone in your position.”
“As your prisoner?”
“And as the mother of a prisoner.”
“Have mercy, Caesar! You are a father. Would you subject your own daughter to something like this?”
He actually seemed to think about it. For an instant, Alysia saw something looking out of his eyes, something not human, and a force began to well up in her until she felt compelled to speak.
“Look at me,” she said, almost fiercely.
He jumped, startled. “What?”
“Look at me!”
His eyes met hers, and she felt her skin crawl; likewise, he seemed to hate whatever he saw in her own. He looked away and moved backward.
“I command you,” Alysia went on, feeling a surge of power unlike anything she had ever felt soar through her body, “in the name of Jesus Christ…”
“Stop,” Caligula whispered, his hand at his throat. He said, louder, “Stop!”
“…to come out of him…”
The emperor screamed like a woman, then seemed to choke, his eyes bulging. “Stop her!” he panted, gesturing to the soldier.
A violent blow sent her reeling against the wall. Her concentration lost, she shook her head dazedly a
nd straightened herself, holding onto the wall for support. Caligula had recovered enough to take half a step forward.
“You are a sorceress!” he cried furiously. “You have dared to try to cast your spells on me! By all the gods, you will see who is the master of the world!”
He was slobbering. The thing looked out of his eyes again and he simpered, saying in a voice unlike his own, “Don’t you know this kind only goes out by prayer and fasting?”
Alysia took a deep breath, saying shakily, “Father in heaven, deliver us from evil—”
“You will die! To prison with her!” Caligula screamed, and thrust open the door to disappear…into hell.
* * *
Paulus had lain prostrate on the floor all night, praying for his wife and daughter. The chains were barely long enough to allow him to do so. He felt in his spirit that his prayers were heard, and answered, but no sense of reassurance came. He didn’t know how God was going to answer. He had to fight down panic, he had to stop himself from wishing he were Samson…able to pull down the entire building and destroy all the wickedness within.
Finally, sometime in the morning, he rolled over onto his back and fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
The outside of the Temple of Vesta far outshone the inside. Circular in shape, it was surrounded by columns; between the columns were decorative screens made of something that looked like gold. Above was a great bronze dome with an opening in its center, allowing for light to come in, and smoke to go out.
Yesterday, the Vestals had taken Rachel up the narrow steps of the portico and showed her the sacred hearth, which was being attended by two other Vestals, one a girl of about twelve, and the other a young woman. They didn’t even glance at her. There was not much else in the room, except a space hidden by tapestries that looked mysterious and forbidding. Then she was taken behind the temple to the House of the Vestals, where two other women, both middle-aged, cut Rachel’s hair to just below her ears. They made her put on a white tunic, like the ones they wore under their white stolas.
No one had spoken to her. She was taken to a room with a small narrow bed, and the lights were put out. She had shed no tears until then, not even when they cut off her hair, but she crawled into the bed and cried herself to sleep.
She had read, as part of her studies of the history of Rome, about the goddess of the hearth, Vesta. She was the guardian of Rome; in turn, the Vestal Virgins were the guardians of the eternal fire that burned in the Temple. If they ever allowed it to go out, Rome would meet with certain disaster. Girls were brought into the priesthood at an early age, and most of them served until their deaths…since not only were they thirty-six years of age, at the youngest, when they completed their service, but it was believed the gods did not approve of their marrying (should they wish to do so), and jealously caused the premature demise of their husbands.
The Vestals were very important to Rome, and were given great honors and responsibilities. Why the emperor wanted her to be one, she could not imagine. At first he seemed to be playing with them all, but then, when he learned they were believers, he had acted as if it were a punishment.
That morning one of the women brought her breakfast, and a sheet of parchment on which were written the vows she was supposed to take. A vow of chastity, a vow to serve the goddess for at least thirty years.
Rachel set it aside and fingered her cropped hair. She couldn’t get used to it. In fact, nothing seemed real. She didn’t feel real. It was as though she were sleepwalking, or had entered some strange, nightmarish world. The sight of her father bound in irons had shocked her so horribly that she didn’t think she would ever get over it. He was too good and fine a man to be treated so; he was strong and could handle any situation! Why had God let this happen?
The white-robed woman came back. Rachel stared up at her, her eyes bleak and red-rimmed. “I won’t take these vows,” she said.
At last the woman proved she could speak. “What did you say?”
“I said, I will not take the vows. I will not be a Vestal Virgin.”
“I have been told to tell you, Diana, that if you don’t take the vows, you will never see your parents again.”
“My name is Rachel. And if I become a Vestal, I would never see them again anyway!”
“Oh, yes, you would be able to see them, at times. I think the implication was…that if you refuse, they will be killed.”
* * *
Paulus woke at a familiar, rasping sound and sat up, the rattle of his chains loud in the stillness. They were bringing in another one. This was a woman…and his heart dropped as he recognized his wife’s form walking toward him.
The guard chained her next to him, but when he tried to touch her, his own chains would not extend far enough…nor would hers. She sat down on her bench; he sat on his.
“What happened?” he asked finally, after a terrible moment of suspense.
Alysia sighed and put her head back against the wall. “I refused. He became… enraged, and said—” She stopped.
“Did he harm you?”
“No.”
Paulus made himself ask, “And he said—”
“That—that I am to die.”
He sat for a moment without moving, and then he put his elbows on his knees and braced his hands around his face, staring down at the floor. He wouldn’t accept it…there had to be a way—
They both heard the voice of Flavius. “I have a message for the prisoners, from the emperor.”
The door opened; he strode slowly inside to stand between them, his face drawn and full of self-reproach. Paulus rose to his feet, and he and Alysia waited for him to speak, dreading his words.
Flavius strove to keep his tone even, mindful of the two other prisoners who listened quietly. “Alysia, he says that—you will be executed tomorrow, at the Amphitheater of Taurus. Late in the afternoon. Handbills are being posted, and given out to the public.”
He especially hated what he had to say next. “Paulus, you will be taken…and forced to watch.” His eyes implored Paulus’ forgiveness and he half-whispered, “There is nothing I can do.”
At last, Paulus nodded and sat down heavily on the bench. Alysia had not moved.
“And what of Rachel?” she asked, surprised that her voice didn’t shake.
“She is at the House of the Vestals. Susanna will find some excuse to go and see her. She is safer there, than she would be here.”
“Thank you, Flavius,” she said softly.
“Simon and the others know. They will be there—for both of you.”
He turned abruptly, walked down a space, and said to the other two prisoners. “I regret to inform you that you, too, are to be executed, at the same time.”
“How?” asked the official, in a choked voice.
Flavius shook his head. “I do not know.” He didn’t add that it would be up to the whim of the emperor. With great heaviness of spirit, he left the dungeon, not looking back.
* * *
Rachel shivered uncontrollably, here in this strange room with its high ceiling and dark, oppressive woodwork, its flickering lamps and smell of incense. She stood on a podium, facing a row of five women dressed in white stolas, exactly like the one she wore. They had white veils wound tightly around their heads and the upper part of their shoulders.
Even though this was only a rehearsal, her heartbeat felt like the banging of a drum; it thudded in her ears and pounded through the veins of her neck. Soon, although she didn’t know when, she would be expected to say the vows before the emperor, serving as high priest, or “Pontifex Maximus”—an office once secured by election that had been taken over first by Augustus, then reluctantly by Tiberius, and enthusiastically by Caligula.
Rachel stiffened her shaking knees, and made an effort to steady her voice.
“I, Diana,” she said, having memorized the words, “before these my sisters, and His Majesty, also Pontifex Maximus, vow to remain a virgin, chaste and pure, for a space of time
to equal thirty years, and beyond, if I so choose.” The Vestals didn’t know it, but she was directing her words to God, not to Vesta. Besides, her name wasn’t Diana, so that made a difference, didn’t it? “I relinquish my family and all earthly ties and free myself to the great responsibility which shall be given me.”
She paused, feeling sick. But if she didn’t go on, the soldiers would kill her mother and father.
“I vow—” The words stuck in her throat.
The women remained stoic, but the older one began, “This, Diana, is where you pledge to love and worship the goddess, and consecrate yourself to this holy calling. You must call her by name—”
“No,” she said, almost inaudibly, her face white. “I can’t say that. I will never say it.” Overcome with emotion, Rachel fainted.
* * *
“Alysia, come close to me…sit with your back to the wall and reach out your hand.” Paulus had done the same, and as she sat on the floor, her hand lay only a small space from his. If only there were two more links in the chain!
“We’ll pray through this night,” he said roughly. “God may yet save you.”
“Yes, oh yes. And I want to hear his word. I want you to say every passage in your memory to me, Paulus.”
Paulus leaned back slowly, and closed his eyes. An expectant silence fell. The other two men stopped their rustling; the lamps fluttered and smoked, giving only a faint light that failed to reach the dark, shadowed corners. He searched his mind for the right words, and they began to come to him…
“The Lord goes before you…he will never fail or forsake you. Don’t be afraid or discouraged.”
“Magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name. I sought the Lord and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears…the Lord redeems the soul of his servants, and none that trust in him will be desolate.”
“I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in him will I trust…”