Man of God

by Diaz, Debra

  The funeral procession resumed with only three guards, who were now angry and fearful of what their punishment would be if the red-haired woman were not found. A short interval had passed when the soldier who had been walking directly behind Paulus began to notice certain things: the figure before him didn’t seem quite as tall as before, his shoulders not as broad, his stride not as long…

  He reached out and grabbed Aquila’s arm, whirling him around, and snatched the hood from his head. The soldier’s face turned white and he cried, “Where is Valerius?”

  * * *

  Rachel sat on the bed inside her windowless room and stared at the blank wall across from her. Her nightmare had worsened horribly, because now her mother was gone. Susanna had assured her it had nothing to do with her, Rachel, but that didn’t help very much. She was still in a state of disbelief…it just wasn’t real…somehow it was all a mistake! It was a bad dream. She was going to wake up with her mother gently shaking her arm and saying, “It’s late, Rachel, you must get up now.” She would open her eyes and watch her mother’s familiar figure leave the room; she would hear sounds in the kitchen, and her mother’s voice speaking low to her father…

  It had to be that way. Because, otherwise, she couldn’t stand it. These priestesses must have put her under a spell—was that possible for a believer? Or…maybe she wasn’t a believer, after all. She had recited one vow, even if it was only a rehearsal. Maybe God was angry and that was why he had allowed her mother to be killed. No, that wasn’t right—please, don’t let her be dead…

  At least her father was coming for her. If he could get away! She tried to pray about that, but she was so tired, so confused. Susanna had told her to act as if she were sick. That was going to be easy.

  Rachel heard the sound of footsteps approaching and quickly lay back upon the bed. One of the Vestals opened the door but didn’t come inside. She was younger, and had a kinder face than the other one that had been talking to her.

  “The woman from the palace has sent for a physician, Diana. He should be here soon.”

  Rachel nodded.

  CHAPTER XXV

  Paulus was only half running now, a painful catch in his side and his breath burning in his lungs. He passed the Temple of Vesta; now he could see the Senate House, known as the Curia Julia; it was a high, brick building plastered with white stucco. In front of its small portico he saw three horses, two of them with riders. There was no one else; the senators were attending the games, and most pedestrians were traversing streets closer to the Circus Maximus.

  Obviously relieved to see him, Simon called, “Paulus, thank God! Is everything all right?”

  He nodded, even as he ran an assessing gaze over the horses. He stopped.

  “Trousers, Daphne?”

  “Yes, and please don’t ask where I got them. I found them, that’s all. And I brought Rachel some tunics—we’ll have to cut them down to size. Here!” She tossed him a small bag. “Use this as a physician’s satchel. It had my brushes in it…it’s empty but maybe no one will look.”

  Paulus had to smile up at her. “You’ve thought of everything. Are you both familiar with Tuscus Street?”

  “I am,” Daphne answered. “I used to buy my perfumes there.”

  “If anything happens to me, follow it to where it intersects with the Palatine—turn right and you’ll see another road leading to the bridge. But if the way seems wrong, take another. Do what seems best—as God leads you. Daphne, remember how to control the horse—Tuscus is the most narrow street in Rome.”

  Daphne nodded anxiously and reached out to clutch Simon’s hand. Before either of them could speak, Paulus had thrown the black cloak over his tunic and was striding away from them, toward the House of the Vestals.

  * * *

  The white-robed woman led him down the wide central hall toward one of the six closed doors. This woman was young; he’d been afraid some of the older ones might recognize him, but the others were nowhere to be seen. The Vestal unlocked a door, went through it, and waited for him to enter.

  Rachel looked very small on the bed, and his emotions almost got the better of him. She lay with her face to the wall. He took a deep breath and hoped his voice would not shake.

  “Damsel, I am a physician. I’m here to examine you.”

  “Not with her in here,” came his daughter’s voice, sounding petulant.

  The Vestal remained stoic and swished from the room. “I shall await your findings, sir,” she said, closing the door softly.

  Paulus pushed back the hood of his robe, and went down on one knee as Rachel turned, jumped from the bed, and ran into his arms. “Shh,” he said, “don’t let them hear you.”

  “Is it true?” she whispered.

  He didn’t have to speak, or even to nod. She had only to look into his eyes.

  She pressed her face against his shoulder, and he held her, his head bowed over hers. How much he wanted to weep with her, to grieve with her…but there was no time. Gently he set her back. “We must hurry, darling. When we leave here, we’ll join Simon and Daphne on horses, and it will be a hard ride until we cross the river. Are you ready?”

  She nodded vehemently, wiping her face with her hand.

  “Is there any other way out of this room?”

  “No, sir.”

  He rose, walked swiftly to the door, and opened it. The priestess stood hovering nearby.

  “I need hot water, and cloths,” he said, in a stern voice.

  She nodded and fluttered down the hall. When she had disappeared around a corner, Paulus took Rachel’s hand and they left the room, ran lightly to the front door, and outside. He’d been surprised not to see any guards before; obviously the Vestals were considered inviolate. Seeing them, Simon and Daphne urged their horses forward, with Simon holding the reins of the one Paulus would ride.

  A sound like thunder came from the east, and Paulus knew at once what it was. They were already in view of a dozen mounted soldiers, bearing upon them at a speed they could not possibly surpass.

  Without hesitation, Paulus grabbed Rachel and lifted her up to Simon. There was no time for goodbyes, nor could he have uttered them. She didn’t know what was happening at first, and then she threw her arms around his neck. “No,” she gasped. “No, Father, don’t leave me!”

  Tears burned his eyes. He pulled her toward him and kissed her forehead, then disengaged her arms and stepped backward. “I’m very proud of you, Rachel.”

  “Let me stay with you, please! Please!”

  But Simon was already turning the horse. With a quick look back at Paulus, Daphne followed, tears streaming down her face. Paulus mounted the third horse, wheeled it around and rode toward the pursuers. As they drew near, he jerked on the reins and caused the horse to rear up in the middle of the narrow road, blocking their passage. The others began slowing their own horses, but quickly surrounded him. Reaching out, he wrenched the sword away from one soldier and pushed him off his horse, causing the man to scramble to his feet and race for the nearest building to avoid the oncoming stampede.

  Paulus knew it was futile and reacted instinctively, but it gave the others time they sorely needed…His sword rang against one blade after another, flashing with lightning speed around the half-circle before him, until one powerful blow drove it from his grasp. Still he struggled, trying to urge his horse through those surrounding him, but they pressed forward and forced him to a halt. He felt the point of a sword against his back.

  “Hold, Paulus Valerius!” came a commanding voice. “Centurion, take some of these men and ride after those other two horses.”

  A number of men broke away from the others. A soldier pressed close behind Paulus, leaned over, and roughly tied his hands behind him with a length of rope. Another one took the reins of his horse.

  The soldiers wouldn’t know which route Simon and Daphne had taken, and soon they’d be across the Tiber. And, he thought…if God wanted them to escape, they would. Paulus had done all he could do.r />
  * * *

  Flavius watched silently as Paulus was chained to the wall, waiting until the guards had left before he spoke.

  “What of Rachel?”

  Paulus lay down on the floor. His body throbbed from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. “They got away. I think.”

  Flavius settled back on his bench, a look of relief on his face. “Thank God!”

  He didn’t ask—what happened, why are you here? He didn’t have to.

  After a long time, Paulus asked, “What happens tomorrow, Flavius?”

  His friend answered slowly, “They’ll come for us at dawn. There’s a small, enclosed courtyard on the palace grounds, reserved for executions the emperor wants to remain—private. You may know of it.”

  “Yes. I’ve heard of it. Tiberius used it as well.”

  “At least, that’s what I think he will do. You have a distinguished family, and a reputation in Rome that has lasted all these years. I think if the senators weren’t so afraid of Caligula, they would put a stop to this. And though Caligula must kill you to save face, he doesn’t want to make a spectacle out of your death.”

  “Or of yours. You have earned much respect as a soldier, Flavius.” He paused. “Do you think he will try to make us fight each other?”

  Flavius shook his head. “No. He knows we would refuse—and cause him more embarrassment. After all, what more can he do to us?”

  “Much more than I like to think about,” Paulus said. “But nothing could make me raise a sword to you, Flavius. Besides,” he added, with a touch of his old humor, “it would be a very short match …at my expense.”

  His friend gave a wan smile. “You can still handle a sword, Paulus. But no, we will not fight each other.”

  They spoke no more. Paulus said a silent prayer of thanks to God, for Rachel’s escape, and received nothing…only emptiness and overwhelming desolation. Then, the alien voice came again.

  “So you think you are a man of God? You are dying for nothing! You have failed at everything! No one will believe anything you have said.”

  “Get behind me…Satan,” he muttered, and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  When he woke it was dark, and the lamps were burning. He thought again of Rachel.

  He had noticed that her hair had been cut short, and he hoped that was the extent of anything physical that had been done to her. How she had suffered, and was still to suffer…His heart ached for her; he told himself that she was strong in her faith, but she was only a child! He cringed when he remembered the desperate look on her face, the sound of her voice begging him not to leave her. If only he could speak to her, one last time…

  He called out for the guard. When the door opened and a soldier looked at him inquisitively, Paulus said, “May I write a letter?”

  Without reply, the soldier closed the door, but in a short while it opened again, and a slave hurried inside carrying sheets of parchment, and a pen and ink. Paulus sat cross-legged in front of his bench, placed the sheets on top, and had to strain to see in the dim light. He began:

  My beloved daughter…

  And then he stopped. He had no idea what to say. He didn’t know if or when she would ever receive this letter. He would give it to Susanna, for she had said she would come tonight, and he’d have to trust that—somehow—she would get it to the house of Lazarus, in Bethany of Judea. Again he lifted the pen.

  I write to you with a full heart from the prison, in which I am treated well, and expect tomorrow to meet the Lord, if he chooses not to spare me. I tell you this, Rachel, not to cause you sorrow, but to ask that you rejoice with me that I am privileged to give my life for him, and I hope that in my death I will bring glory to him.

  You are very young, my darling, and you have been given to endure a hard trial, but never doubt God’s wisdom. Never doubt his ability to bring good out of the evil that men do.

  Stand firm in your faith, always, and against temptation, and know that you are not alone. Because God lives in the realm of eternity, the prayers I now lift to him for you also live in eternity, and so they are before God even as you read this.

  Remember, Rachel, those things your mother and I have taught you. Expect to be persecuted for your belief. But also remember what Jesus said—“Blessed are those who are persecuted for my sake, for they shall see God.” He also said that we must do his work while it is still day, because the night is coming, when no one can work. I hope you will do this, until the day of his coming. Then, my darling, we will see you again!

  I know that you love God. I know that you love your mother and me, and that you miss us. Rachel, do you recall the passage from God’s word that you quoted a number of weeks ago? “Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and he will strengthen your heart.” Never forget these words. May God grant you his grace, mercy, and peace. Your loving father.

  He laid down the pen and sat for a moment, staring at the parchment. For the first time he let himself think about his impending death. He wished it didn’t have to be so, for Rachel’s sake, and for those God had placed in his care to lead—but God had allowed him to be captured, and he wasn’t going to question that. He might not look forward to it, but he was ready. Ready, most of all, to see again the Lord Jesus Christ, to see Alysia, his son, and his son’s namesake…there would be others, and he wondered if Rachel, and Simon and Daphne, might even be there before him.

  Susanna came, just as the men finished eating the usual, unpalatable fare. She nodded at Paulus and went on toward her husband…and Paulus turned his back.

  He could hear her soft weeping, the sound of an embrace. Then she seemed to pull back and he heard her say, “From now on I will make no secret of my belief, Flavius.”

  Her husband seemed to consider that, and answered, “The others need you, Susanna. Just as you have served Paulus today. You can do things no one else can do.”

  “God is able to accomplish his own purposes!”

  “Yes, but he often uses people to do so.”

  Susanna turned. “What do you think, Paulus?”

  Paulus faced them, and shook his head. “Like Esther, perhaps you were brought here for such a time as this…I don’t know what to tell you, Susanna. I can only suggest you pray, and follow his leading.”

  She spoke to him, standing within her husband’s arms. “I’ve heard nothing about Rachel, and the others. We can assume they haven’t been captured.”

  “And the woman—Megara?”

  “She has not been found, either. Caligula seemed angry at first, and then he said that he never liked her anyway. I don’t think he will even look for her.”

  Paulus suddenly remembered the letter he had written; he reached for it and held it out to Susanna. With a questioning look, she took it.

  “For Rachel…in the hope that she reaches Bethany. You know who to send it to—by whatever means, whatever trusted messenger.”

  “I will guard it well, Paulus—until such a time as I can send it.”

  “Thank you, Susanna—for everything.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  A moment went by, and he let his tightly reined thoughts turn at last to her. “And—Alysia?”

  Susanna lowered her gaze. “Lucia sent word to me by one of her servants. She is buried, Paulus, and the tomb closed. It’s a small monument, square, with a slanting roof. There is room for another, if Caligula releases your—well, who knows what he will do? Would you—like an inscription, for Alysia?”

  He slowly moved toward his bench, and sat on it. “One word,” he said. “Beloved.”

  There was a long silence. Paulus had to rouse himself from a very dark place.

  “What about Aquila?” he asked. “And the others—have they arrested anyone?”

  “No. I think they are safe, for the time being.”

  One of the lamps nearby hissed and went out, depleted of oil. They could barely see Susanna’s face as she turned it toward her husband.


  She said quietly, “I don’t know if he will let me see you…tomorrow.”

  “It’s no place for you. I don’t want you to come.”

  “I would like to be able to—bury you. I will plead with the emperor—for both of you.”

  “Do nothing to antagonize him, Susanna. It doesn’t matter what happens to our bodies.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Another silence fell. Susanna turned to go, and stopped.

  “We…are all meeting tonight. I won’t be alone, Flavius. And neither will you, or Paulus…God is with you.”

  “Yes,” her husband answered.

  Paulus said nothing. He was still “waiting on the Lord.”

  * * *

  The sun looked almost white, set against a thin bank of gray clouds faintly tinged with pink. The light broke in shafts upon the small courtyard, which was encircled by stone walls but open at the top. It was a dismal, abandoned-looking place, the walls covered with mold, the once fine mosaic floor marred by dark stains.

  Paulus and Flavius were brought in, and left. Both men wore military tunics. Flavius had been wearing his uniform when he was arrested; Paulus still wore the crimson tunic Susanna had brought him yesterday. It seemed like a hundred years ago.

  The executioner stood nearby…a large, muscular man, holding a sword in his right hand. He stared blankly at them, his eyes cold. The two prisoners looked at each other for a moment, wondering what they were waiting for.

  They soon had the answer. A rush of movement from inside the doorway came to their ears, and about twenty uniformed soldiers marched out to stand along the walls of the courtyard.

  “Praetorians,” Flavius said, under his breath.

  They were grave and stood stiffly at attention. Among them was Tribune Cassius Chaerea, whose countenance fully revealed his aversion for what was about to happen. After another short interval, two more men appeared—the emperor, and his uncle. Claudius’ face was somber, but Caligula wore a strange expression of avidity and expectation. He was dressed in the uniform of a general.