Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay)

by Lee Strauss

  “Reach for my hand,” Cassius demanded. “Helena, I’ll save you!”

  Hearing his voice brought a moment of clarity. Pushing herself up, she extended her hand.

  Cassius pulled her out of the fountain, her arms and legs scratched and bleeding from the rough surface of the stonework, her tunic soaked and squished up under her armpits. She tugged the stubborn fabric down over her stomach.

  Helena had stared up at the mass of marble. Jupiter stood stoic with a rod gripped firmly in this left hand, all his muscles in his arms and chest bulging with strength and power. His hair and beard were wild and wormy around his eyeless face, like the mane of a lion. Those unseeing eyes sent shivers down her spine.

  “Do you think we angered him?”she asked with a quiver in her voice

  “Jupiter?” Cassius said.

  “Maybe he tried to drown me.”

  Cassius frowned. “We should keep this incident to ourselves. No sense making Father and Mother angry as well.”

  Where had that memory come from, she wondered?

  Now Cassius spoke softly. “I know you can hear me Helena, even with that silly pillow on your head. I must apologize.”

  Helena felt her jaw twitch. Cassius wanted to apologize?

  “My sin against you sister is that I was unable, even unwilling, to refuse for myself that which I demanded of you. For you see, I too have fallen in love with a commoner.”

  Helena thrust the pillow away from her face and glared at him.

  “We both know it was I who was the catalyst behind Father’s search for a husband for you. It was wrong of me. I acted in haste.”

  Helena squeezed her eyes together, pressing back the tears that threatened.

  “I’m sorry you are unable to marry the man you love. Forgive me.”

  Helena’s mouth opened, but was too dry to speak. She propped herself up on her elbows to examine him. Did he jest? No, his eyes were soft. He offered her a gentle smile, and then helped her with a sip of tea.

  “Brother,” she finally said, “I would not have been given my way, no matter what you did. The man I would’ve chosen would never have been approved by Father.”

  Helena fell back into her pillows. “So, who is she, Cassius, this commoner that you love?”

  “Her name is Priscilla. She’s the daughter of the produce vendor in the square.”

  “Well, I’m sure you can convince Father of her in time. It’s not unheard of for a man to marry down in rank.”

  “She’s a Christian.”

  “What?” Helena sat up fully this time and stared at him, disbelieving.

  “Priscilla is a Christian.”

  Helena burst out laughing, not joyfully, but sharp and bitter. “Oh, brother, you and I are quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  Chapter Four

  PRICILLA

  Priscilla had prepared the back room as instructed by her mother. The floors were swept, the foot carpets beaten and replaced; she lit the oil lamps, filling them fresh with olive oil, for the day’s warmth quickly cooled with the setting of the sun.

  Her home was the end unit of a brick and mortar townhouse, one street away from the Forum on the corner of Cardo V and Decumano Nassno. Next door was the weaver, and after that a goldsmith and a jeweler. Her family rented several acres of vegetable fields on the outskirts of the city. When the produce was harvested, they sold it on the street in front of their home.

  They were not rich, like the patriarchs and businessmen who lived east, towards Thurbo Minor, nor were they poor like the unfortunate souls who lived in the crowded apartment blocks or in the streets of Carthage.

  Her father, Saturus, arrived by the back entrance. He was a large man, robust, who towered over most, with large hands and, Priscilla knew, a large heart. He kissed both of her cheeks, regarding her affectionately.

  “Bless you, Priscilla. Are you well?”

  “Very well, Father. The Lord is good.”

  “Indeed, He is.”

  Saturus removed several parchments that had been concealed under his tunic.

  “Oh, Father! You have obtained copies of The Letters?”

  “One,” he replied. “Matthew’s.”

  The carpet panel that divided the back sitting room from the rest of the house separated, and her mother, Bithia, joined them. Priscilla looked like her mother who, though aging as one who labored hard, had the same sparkly blue eyes that still rendered her beautiful.

  “Mother,” Priscilla said, her voice breathy with excitement, “Father has one of The Letters, the one from Matthew.”

  “You must mean a copy.”

  “Yes a copy. Still, this is the Apostle Matthew, the one who was with Jesus, wasn’t he?” Priscilla asked. “Was he not a witness?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  Hearing the knock on the wooden door that faced the back alley, Priscilla opened it, and wordlessly several others entered the room.

  She watched as they too shared the excitement of having obtained such a precious gift.

  Along with Pricilla, her father, who was considered their leader, and her mother, there was a retired soldier who, after returning from duty in the army, now helped her father in the fields. He arrived with a black man from the house of Portus, who was yet a slave; a Senator, who was considered a deacon in this small house church along with his wife; and a girl with flaming red hair, who was once a temple priestess.

  Their activities were highly frowned upon for they claimed, like the Jews, that there was only one God who ruled over all. The Romans did not understand them, and because of this they feared them. And because of this they hated them.

  After they had bowed their heads to pray, Saturus opened the parchments.

  “The Kingdom of heaven is near,” he began in his low, tenor voice. “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give.”

  Chapter Five

  LUCIUS

  The carriage was over capacity, mostly with men like Lucius who hadn’t washed in days or possibly weeks. Between the stench of human sweat and the rough, jerky ride over a stone laden road, Lucius once again felt the urge to turn out the contents of his stomach. He wrapped an arm around his mid section tightly, suppressing a moan.

  With his other hand he fingered the small pouch of silver denarii in his pocket. Having lived his entire life on the Vibius property, Lucius had never been paid with money. His needs had been provided for in exchange for labor. And now that he’d experienced work outside of his former home, he recognized how kind and fair a man Brutus was. He owed it to him to stay away from his daughter. Coming to Rome was the right thing to do.

  He ignored the questioning looks of his fellow travelers who knew by his accent he didn’t originate from these parts, and stared out the open air windows. The landscape was lush and green, more so by far than the sun-burnt desert-scape of Carthage.

  He took a swig of water from his leather canteen, catching the eyes of two men who sat across from him. The large one with a pink complexion had a red sinus, fabric that draped over his left shoulder on top of his toga. The second man was dark as coal and wore a tunic similar to Lucius’s. He was probably a slave, Lucius thought.

  “How much longer to our next stop?” a fellow traveler asked the pink man.

  The fellow shrugged. “Not much longer.”

  Lucius felt light-headed and hoped he’d hold up until then. He needed to find a spot of shade to lie down in for a few minutes and fill his lungs with fresh air. Surely that would settle his stomach enough for the rest of the journey.

  In order to pass the time, Lucius let his mind wander. In an instant he was back home, in the grove with Helena. They were discussing literature and history. She laughed at one of his jokes. He stroked her cheek tenderly, leaning in to…

  The carriage jerked to a stop, pulling Lucius to the present. So much for leaving the master’s daughter alone.

  His legs felt weak as he exited the carriage. A pa
tch of grass under a laurel tree beckoned him.

  “Would you mind calling me, when it’s time to leave?” he asked the pink man with the slave. The man nodded, unsmiling.

  Lucius didn’t intend to fall asleep. When he awoke, the carriage was gone. As was his pouch of denarii.

  Angry, he kicked the tree. A blast of pain shot through his big toe and up his leg. “Curse the gods!”

  At least he still had his ticket. When the next carriage to Rome arrived, he hobbled to it and hopped on with a grimace.

  The carriage delivered him to a station in the middle of the city. From the moment he stepped off, he was assaulted by a cacophony of sounds, smells and bodies. The energy and intensity of the life of this city overwhelmed and mesmerized him. He’d been to the Forum in Carthage a thousand times and thought he’d seen everything, but Rome dwarfed it all.

  His stomach raged as he smelled the spicy aroma of cooked stews for sale in the market. His toe throbbed as he hobbled about, his mind scrambling as to how he could get work and find food.

  These thoughts were aborted the minute he turned a corner and the Coliseum came into view. He sucked in a breath. Words escaped him. Everything else suddenly seemed dull and muted in comparison to its size and grandeur. Never in his wildest imagination had he pictured a structure so massive and magnificent. Its elliptical stone architecture with row after row of archways—he counted—was four and a half stories high! How was it possible for man to build something so awe-inspiring? He felt like bowing down and worshiping it!

  He was compelled to go right up to it, touch it. The marble stones were cool to his roughened fingertips. When he looked up, the height of it made him dizzy.

  A poster with frayed papyrus edges hung nearby. It proclaimed the on-going games sponsored by Emperor Severus. Painted images of gladiators in fantastical costumes with names like Urbico and Rapido captivated his attention.

  One day he would go to the games. This would be the ultimate distraction from his troubles.

  At the moment, though, the most pressing trouble was hunger.

  He must find food.

  Lucius entered a narrow alleyway and was pulled along by the throng. Merchants peddled their wares–pottery, blankets, clothing…and food. He didn’t dare steal his meal; he couldn’t bear the thought of being arrested on his first day in Rome.

  No, he must use his wits.

  Presently, he came upon a young girl selling live chickens and fresh eggs out of the back of a cart, which remained tethered to a donkey. She had curly black hair that was held off her pale, rounded face with brass clips. She wore a green sinus over her toga that fell over wide hips. Her fleshy arms wiggled as she handed change to a customer.

  Compared to Helena, she was a barn animal, but Lucius considered she wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She had pretty eyes.

  He was so hungry, he could eat the eggs raw. The girl caught him eyeing the basket sitting on her small table.

  “Would you like to buy some eggs?” she said.

  Lucius flashed her a lopsided smile, not letting his eyes leave hers. He gestured around him. “What is such a pretty girl doing in an uncomely alley such as this?”

  She giggled. Good. It was working.

  “I’m new in town,” he said, moving in a little closer, keeping his eyes bright. “Can you suggest a good lodging establishment?”

  She giggled again. “There are plenty of shops with rooms for rent on the upper floors.” She told him of one just around the corner.

  “Great,” he said. He leaned on the table watching with satisfaction as a blush overtook the girl’s face. “I’m Lucius. What’s your name?”

  The girl couldn’t stop giggling. “Gaia.”

  Giggling Gaia. “Such a pretty name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m also wondering if you know of anywhere I could find work? Like I said, I’m new to town.” Lucius rubbed his stomach for effect. “It’s been a while since my last meal.”

  Gaia’s wide smile fell into a small o.

  “Well, you could come home with me and work for my father,” she told him. “He owns a brick yard. He’s always looking for workers. She glanced around from side to side, and then moved closer to Lucius, whispering, “I’m about to pack up.” She slipped him a couple eggs from under her sinus. “Help me and I’ll introduce you to my father.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Lucius said with a satisfied smile.

  After loading up the table and Gaia’s stool, and securing the chickens and the eggs, Lucius climbed into the cart beside her, keeping an appropriate distance between them.

  Gaia turned out to be very adept at persuading a donkey to do her bidding. She also turned out to be quite the tour guide, pointing out the Theater of Pompey, the Bats of Nero, and the extravagant Temple of the Divine Hadrian. The Forum of Trojan boasted every type of merchant and wares a person could imagine, but the heart and royal jewel of the city was, of course, the Circus Maximus. The Coliseum. The way the sun glistened off the marble, the massive building radiated white as if it was its own light source. Rome’s own personal sun.

  “Where are you from?” Gaia said through her incessant grin.

  “I’ve come from Carthage.”

  “Carthage!” she said. “In Africa?”

  “The same.”

  “That’s so exciting for you.”

  Lucius noted that they were leaving the city and wondered how far out they were headed. “I suppose.”

  “I’ve never been out of Rome myself.”

  “Maybe someday.”

  Gaia’s grin flattened out. “No, I doubt the gods would allow that.”

  Thankfully, Gaia turned off the main road toward a small farm where her father ran the brickyard. At least it was walking distance to the city and if he were lucky enough to get work and lodging, he wouldn’t be trapped there.

  Gaia pointed. “There’s my father.”

  Lucius squinted into the sunshine making out a husky man with grey, curly hair and arms like timbers.

  Gaia flapped her hand toward him.

  “Father!” she said. “I’ve brought a worker!”

  Was there really a shortage of laborers in Rome? Lucius wondered.

  The man approached as Lucius and Gaia dismounted the cart. Lucius reached out his hand. “Hello, sir.”

  The man’s eyes scanned him from his head to toe, considering, and Lucius feared for a moment the man would toss him off his property for accompanying his daughter unchaperoned.

  But Gaia’s father shook Lucius’s hand. “Hermus is my name.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lucius said.

  A gaggle of domestic geese squawked in failed attempts at flying as another figure approached. It was a woman, who from a distance looked just like Gaia. Her dark, curly hair was streaked with grey, and as she grew closer, Lucius could see that her hips were much broader.

  One thing was for certain, Hermus fed his family well. At that thought his stomach growled.

  “Gaia?” the woman spoke loudly. “Who is this?”

  Lucius couldn’t tell by her voice if she was angry or not. Her dark eyes studied him and then, thankfully, a wide grin took over her face.

  “A young man?” She glanced at Gaia with raised eyebrows as if this was the most surprising thing Gaia had ever done. “And a handsome one, too.”

  Gaia giggled again and Lucius stiffened. He suddenly understood what was going on. Gaia’s mother was scouting for a husband for her daughter.

  Fortunately, Hermus spoke up. “Gaia speaks the truth? You are willing to work hard?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Hermus turned to his wife. “Marca, give him something to eat.”

  To Lucius he said. “Gaia will bring you to me later this afternoon. You will sleep in the barn.”

  Lucius bowed slightly. Gaia and her mother each took one of his arms and led him toward the house, both giggling like school girls.

  But Lucius couldn’t be bothered by how uncomfo
rtable he was with that right now. He was about to eat. Perhaps he should thank the gods after all.

  Chapter Six

  HELENA

  Helena’s world was about to split in two as she walked, as in a dense fog, from one into the other. Her father’s house was an uproar of activity—slaves and servants arranging flowers, setting a banquet table, lighting oil lamps—all a declaration of joy and celebration that she herself did not feel. Sadness and trepidation tightened steadily around her heart.

  Helena was aware that she did not struggle with this dichotomy alone. Her mother’s eyes were hollow, not filled with laughter, unlike the eyes of the guests who had already imbibed deeply in the wine.

  She was certain her father felt he had done what was best for her. She understood he was reluctant to see her leave his house, which is why he allowed the betrothal to last as long as it did. But the marriage could not be put off forever. Brutus smiled widely for the sake of the wedding guests, and most importantly, for the groom and his family.

  They were a respectable lot, and Vincentius had agreed to his terms. Their marriage would not be an irrevocable confarreatio contract, nor would his daughter become the responsibility of the groom, in manu, but as had become increasingly common, the contract would be sine manu, whereas his daughter would remain the responsibility of the father, even while married. Vincentius and Helena would produce heirs for both families and Brutus would be favored in business by Vincentius’s family in Gaul.

  And most importantly, Vincentius would not take her from Carthage. He had purchased a villa only a few short miles away.

  In the light of what could have been, Helena acknowledged that she had done well. She hoped that she could come to admire certain qualities in Vincintius that she now quite honestly found repulsive. She prayed to the god of fertility, Liber, that she would conceive quickly. The thought of Vincintius touching her later that evening made her ill.

  How impertinent the thoughts of one so soon to be married! Helena chided herself. Soon she would be led to the courtyard and given to her groom with many guests, friends and family members watching. They would exchange far, the wedding cake of grain, and their marriage would be sealed.