by Diaz, Debra
Paulus leaped to his feet. At once the guards standing behind him lowered their weapons to point them at his back. Caligula glanced at him. “Take your seat, Paulus Valerius—lest you die at once on the point of a spear!”
“Let me go down and die with her!”
“I have better things in mind for you—and you have much to account for.” He added slyly, “There is your daughter to deal with, as well.”
It was only the mention of Rachel that urged Paulus back into his seat. His eyes went to the lions, which were roaring and moving frantically in a circle.
“What’s the matter with them?” Caligula demanded.
“Perhaps it is the blinding color of her gown,” suggested Agrippa. “I have never seen such a pure whiteness.”
“Then take it off of her!”
There was a loud “harrumph” and a pluck at his sleeve. Caligula whirled to stare at his uncle.
“Has your Majesty forgotten the decree that women are not to be executed—naked?” ventured Claudius.
“What do I care for antiquated decrees? Soldier, send someone down there to remove that gown!”
“The gods—” Claudius began, ending with a gulp as Caligula glared at him.
“What about the gods, you stuttering fool?”
“Your divine Majesty, do you risk offending your fellow deities? The gods reserve such pleasure for themselves only, and you would display this woman’s beauty before commoners?”
It was obvious Caligula was affected by his uncle’s words, though he struggled with his desire to publicly shame the prisoner. Finally he said peevishly, “Then leave it. Tell someone to slash her arm—perhaps blood will attract those cowardly beasts!”
Paulus barely heard the exchange, puzzling at why the lions had not attacked. For a moment his hopes soared…perhaps God was going to spare Alysia’s life! But no sooner had the thought gone through his mind than several soldiers entered the arena, slowly, carrying shields and armed with javelins. They eyed the lions with much trepidation, but the animals made no move toward them. One of them ran the point of his sword down the outer side of her right arm. She cried out as blood streamed from her arm and soaked into the sand, as the soldiers rapidly retraced their steps to safety.
“Sit down, Paulus Valerius, you are obstructing my view!” Caligula poked his head around the back of his chair and spoke to the appalled dignitaries. “I must apologize for the poor performance of my lions!”
In spite of his sarcasm, there was an air of uneasiness about the emperor that communicated itself to Paulus, even in his own state of acute anxiety. Too overwrought to pray or even think clearly, his eyes scanned the scene around him. It would not be difficult to wrest a dagger from one of the guards and hold it against the throat of the emperor. But what purpose would it serve? Neither he nor Alysia would escape with their lives.
The lions began to snarl and rise up on their hind legs, their mouths dripping. It seemed that, whatever had held them back, was about to let go. The fluttering of the huge banner caught Paulus’ eye, and without a moment’s hesitation he leaped forward, grabbed it, and swung. He didn’t know or care if it would hold his weight; one way or another he would reach the ground. His body seemed to float downward and then his feet touched the sand. Soldiers ran toward him and he heard Caligula’s voice, shrill with excitement: “Let him alone! Let him feed the cursed creatures as well—if they can figure out what they’re supposed to do!”
CHAPTER XXIII
The crowd was on its feet; even those furthest away had gone wild, yelling and gesticulating. The emperor’s eyes glowed…this was a rare show!
The astonished soldiers standing around the passageways of the arena did not try to stop him as he ran toward one of them, grabbing his sword and spear. He hadn’t handled a sword in years, but the feel of it was as familiar as his own hand. He saw Alysia give him a swift look of horror. A movement caught his eye and he saw a man—Flavius!—running toward her, his own sword drawn. Paulus didn’t know where he’d come from…but he’d probably just sealed his own death.
Whatever the lions had seen or sensed that prevented their attack…was gone. Paulus had never fought a wild beast, other than a few experiences while boar hunting. A single qualm of fear snaked through him, but was forgotten in his determination that Alysia not be torn apart before his eyes. While Flavius guarded Alysia, Paulus raced away from her, trying to draw the lions toward himself. All three sprang after him.
The former gladiator proved his worth, slashing out with the edge of his sword and cutting two hides simultaneously. Paulus faced the third lion as it charged at him. Feeling more confident with the sword, he dropped the spear and braced himself as the lion went up on its hind legs, dug in its claws and tried to take his entire shoulder in its mouth. Its legs skidded in the sand but it continued to press forward. Paulus grabbed a handful of mane with his left hand and jerked hard, causing the animal to open its mouth incredibly wide, with such a fearsome roar that the audience grew quiet with awe.
Paulus wrestled with it, amazed at its strength in so starved a condition, amazed at his own strength…which must be coming from God. He managed to pull back his sword far enough to plunge it into the animal’s gut. It let out a deep-throated cry and dropped, thrashing, to the ground. The people cheered his victory.
He ran toward Flavius, who had wounded both lions, but they were too much for him; he was about to fall beneath them. Paulus thrust his sword into one, just as Flavius swiftly advanced upon the other. To their surprise it suddenly seemed to sag all over, tail and ears drooping, and whirled to run, aimlessly darting here and there until it found a passageway and disappeared into it. A concerted hiss went up from the masses. The other two animals lay unmoving in the crimson sand.
Both men stood still for a moment, bleeding, panting. They looked at each other and Paulus said quietly, “May God reward you for what you have done this day, Flavius, my friend, for I fear you will find no reward on this earth.”
Flavius nodded, saying nothing.
Caligula was on his feet, shouting, ”Bring out that bull that kills everybody!”
Paulus’ body tensed; pain shot through it as he became aware of the wounds on his shoulder and chest. He glanced down and saw that he was bleeding freely through the torn cloth of his tunic. He still grasped the sword, and ran across the arena to retrieve the spear. Flavius edged away from him, waiting, looking toward the gates at the opposite side of the arena. With a sound like thunder the enraged bull barreled toward them. Again the crowd rose, shouting, to its feet.
Seeming confused by the noise and movement, the bull charged round and round, running and stopping again. It snorted furiously and pawed the ground, its eyes rolling. A dwarf ran out, his purpose to direct the animal’s attention to the prisoner. He clumsily tied a scarlet sash around Alysia’s waist, as she stood with her eyes closed, her lips moving silently. The great animal watched the dwarf run in terror, flailing his arms, and overtook him in one leap. People shouted and screamed, eager for the full, gruesome spectacle. His body soon lay mangled and covered with sand. Distracted by a swiftly approaching figure, the bull swung its great head, made a sound of fury, and charged at Paulus.
Paulus leaped aside and turned to run after the animal, which had locked its legs and was sliding to a stop. It was already beginning to turn when Paulus reached it, and he barely had time to sink the sword into the bull’s flank when, bellowing with rage, it lunged again. Paulus threw himself to the ground and rolled, forced to drop the spear from his left hand. Rising up, he tried to retrieve the sword from the rock-hard muscles of the animal’s back, but it was running at such speed that he was unable to grasp it. The bull seemed hardly affected by its wounds, and the earth shook with its movements. It snorted heavily, mucous dripping from its flaring nostrils.
Flavius had grabbed the spear. He tossed his own sword to Paulus, aimed the spear, and threw it with all his might. It drove deep into the animal’s chest, causing it to haul back
ward and drop clumsily to its knees. Without hesitating, Paulus raced toward the bull, now thrashing about and threatening to crush him. With both hands he brought the sword down, almost decapitating the dying animal. It gave a huge shudder, and moved no more.
Again, the people cheered with delight. Caligula watched, thrilled by the exhibition, but hiding it beneath what he must assume to be a stern expression. He seemed unaware that he had risen. Paulus and Flavius waited for him to speak. Paulus glanced back at Alysia, who had opened her eyes and now looked directly at him.
The emperor gestured for them to walk forward. The two men advanced…slowly, painfully.
“Flavius,” Caligula intoned, moving his arms as though making a grand speech, “I am indeed disappointed to lose so worthy and skilled a soldier! But in aiding this malefactor you have decided your own fate. Tell me, how did you come to know Paulus Valerius? Are you one of these contemptible Nazarenes as well?”
“I am, Your Majesty, and not ashamed of it!”
“By the gods, I trusted you with my life, Flavius! For your deception, you, gladiator, shall die like one! After you’ve suffered a few more days…back to prison with you!”
Having approached silently from behind, two soldiers stepped forward, each taking an arm. Paulus met his eyes, and Flavius, limping, marched resolutely beside the soldiers. Paulus’ gaze flew upward to Susanna, who sat with her hand over her mouth.
“And you, Paulus Valerius—it would be a shame to deprive you of such a fine head in the afterlife, and so you, too, shall die as a gladiator. But not until we have seen justice done here this day!”
An uproar went through the spectators. Turning, Paulus saw an archer poised with his bow, and felt something hurtle past him. Desperately he ran toward Alysia, but this time he could not stop the thing that threatened her. The arrow found its mark. He caught her as she sagged against the post, raised his sword and cut the rope that bound her. As though in reflex, she clutched the arrow and pulled it out. It fell from her hand; her eyes closed. He lifted her and sank to his knees, holding her against him, his face against hers.
“Alysia…” There was a faint breath in his ear, and then nothing.
A hush fell over the theater, as he held her for an eternal moment. “Alysia,” he said again, knowing she would not answer, but unable to let her go.
At last he turned and looked toward the emperor, who stared at them, enraptured, as though he were watching a play. Paulus got slowly to his feet, Alysia limp in his arms, her head against his shoulder. He carried her forward, and stopped.
He said clearly, “You have only taken her out of this world and sent her to a better one. This empire of yours is nothing…it lasts but a day in the eyes of God. The prophet Daniel has said that the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that will never be destroyed…it will crush all other kingdoms, and bring them to an end…but his will endure forever.”
Caligula leaned sharply forward. “Take care how you speak, lest you be accused of treason. Claudius has been pleading in your behalf, that I spare your life. You shall see that I can be gracious, that I can show more mercy than your god showed to that dead woman in your arms.”
The visiting potentates seemed struck with wonder by Paulus’ words. One of them called out, “Who rules this kingdom that never ends?”
Paulus gazed up at them, and his voice carried far. “Jesus of Nazareth, son of God, born of a virgin, living without sin, dying on a Roman cross. He rose from the dead on the third day and now is at the right hand of God. He died as a penalty for your sins and mine, even for the monstrous acts of Gaius Caesar, and one day he will return for those who belong to him. He will judge those who remain, he will destroy the wicked and reign over all the earth—is this treason enough, Caesar, or shall I go on?”
Caligula glanced around him, noticing the expressions of the officials and senators, even the guards, all of whom stared at Paulus as if mesmerized; he saw the white, sorrowful face of his uncle—the fool! Fools all!
“It is enough,” he answered at last. “I hereby affirm my decree that you shall be placed under arrest, and that noonday tomorrow you shall be executed for the crimes of sacrilege and treason.”
“M—my Lord,” Claudius protested. “Allow him to bury his wife, as a reward for his bravery.”
“Reward him? You are out of your mind! And she deserves no burial—I shall feed her to that wretched lion!”
A murmur of disapproval rippled through the senators, and the visiting sovereigns. Encouraged, Claudius went on, “Surely you can be that mag—mag—”
“Magnanimous,” Caligula snapped. “It has already been established that I am always thus.”
Conscious of the attentiveness of his audience, Caligula strove to wipe the scowl from his face; he tried to smile and succeeded only in a grimace that sent a shudder through everyone close enough to see it. The people, too, waited…most of them didn’t know what was going on; they didn’t know this man, but any show of courage impressed them, as did a show of grief…of which he was obviously in the deepest throes.
“I’ll give you three days,” the emperor announced. “You will remain at the palace, except for the time necessary to attend your wife’s funeral. Three days to either come to your senses and repent of your defiance, or die.”
“Then allow me to leave her with a man I know, who will see to the preparations.”
“You may do so. Guards, escort him and then return him to the palace.”
Without another word Paulus turned away, and began walking toward the arched opening that led out of the arena, aware of little else but the unbearable, throbbing impalement of his soul. How light she was, how small a burden.
As he passed out of sight of the emperor, many of the soldiers saluted him.
* * *
“Wait here,” said one of the guards. “I’ll arrange for a litter.”
Paulus nodded. Because the masses would soon start pouring from the amphitheater, he walked to a building across the street, climbed the marble stairs of the portico and sat on the first step, deep in the shadows. This was some pagan temple…but it didn’t matter. The rest of his guards took their places at some distance, allowing him to sit alone with Alysia cradled in his arms, a deep red stain marring the flawless white of her gown.
Silent tears coursed down his cheeks. He prayed desperately for help, for some relief from the pain, but God did not speak to him. He rested his chin on the top of her head, trying to block the scene from his mind…the arrow, the strike…but it was burned into his memory for as long as he lived. He must somehow put it aside for now; he must think of Rachel.
“Paulus!” He heard someone calling from the street below.
“Here, Simon!”
His friend ran up the steps and stopped, his face full of sorrow. He approached Paulus slowly, and sat down next to him, not speaking at first, and then he said, “Let’s take her to my house. We’re all going—the women are already there. They’ll take care of…her.” Simon’s voice broke and he laid his hand for a moment on Paulus’ shoulder.
“They’re bringing something to carry her on,” Paulus said. “Thank you, Simon.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Camillus knows of a tomb near that of his own family, on the Appian Way. It’s never been used—the man who built it has left Rome. Camillus says he will purchase it, if this is agreeable with you.”
“Yes. There is money at my house, if you can get into it. Or there was.”
“There is no need for it. Camillus wants to do this.”
“You remember that day, Simon, at the Antonia. God gave her to me for seven years. I must be thankful for that.”
Simon couldn’t answer.
Two soldiers started up the steps; one of them gestured at Paulus and said. “We have it.”
Simon stood and waited as Paulus got to his feet, lifting Alysia as effortlessly as before, and carrying her slowly down the stairs. Four slaves waited on the street with a curtained litter. Simon took Alysia’
s feet as Paulus held onto her upper body, and they laid her inside. Paulus straightened her, and smoothed out her gown; he laid his hand for a moment alongside her cheek.
“Simon,” he said, in a low voice, “I need time. You know what for. Can you arrange the funeral for the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes. I stand ready for whatever you decide, Paulus.”
Paulus drew the curtains around the litter. “Take care of her. I’ll not look on her face again.”
* * *
It was dark by the time he was returned to the palace. The guards opened the creaking iron door and he walked inside, followed by a soldier who wrapped the chains around his wrists. Flavius was there…also in chains.
Paulus said, when the door had closed again. “I am deeply sorry, Flavius, as well as grateful.”
His friend smiled ruefully. “I didn’t like hiding my belief, Paulus, even though it seemed I had sound reasons. I know my wife understands. I regret leaving her, but she has our friends to see to her needs. I don’t think Caligula will even ask if she is a believer—he will not want to know. Susanna is the only one who can manage his daughter, and he’ll not risk having to condemn her as well. At least, that is my hope.”
“Does she know anything of Rachel?”
“She is safe, for the moment. As you know, the Vestals concern themselves with various business matters as well as religious ones, and they know Susanna. It won’t seem strange if she visits Rachel…they will think she does so on the emperor’s bidding.”
“When did she see her last?”
Flavius sat awkwardly down on his bench. “This morning. The Vestals believe Rachel is ill. She is pale, and refuses to eat. Susanna suggested they send for a physician, but they have confidence in their own abilities…I’m not sure if they will do so.”
Paulus felt new alarm at this, and after a moment went to sit on his own bench, half-slumped with exhaustion. His wounds burned like fire and his head pounded, but he paid them no mind. He had to think of a way to get her out of there…and she needed to be told about Alysia…Dear God, will I ever see my daughter again?