Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay)

by Lee Strauss

  “I have to get back to work,” he said. His limp was more pronounced than before, Helena noted. Brutus’s bushy eyebrows raised in question. “Cassius?”

  Cassius handed the baby to her and followed him.

  “I think I’ll retire to my chambers for awhile,” Virina said. She called the servants to clean up and then lumbered up the stairs.

  Before Helena could decide how she would best like to spend her afternoon, there was a knock on the door. A servant answered it then summoned her.

  “Revocatus!” Helena remarked surprised by the unexpected arrival of Secundus’s slave.

  Never had a member of their small Christian community visited their home before, much less uninvited. All meetings took place in homes where the pater familia was a believer.

  She noted the consternation on his face, and instinctively understood that he was the bearer of important and possibly terrible news.

  “What is it, Revocatus?” Helena asked, “Is there something wrong? Is someone ill?”

  “No one is ill. There has been an announcement. Severus has pronounced an edict against all Christians condemning the practice of Christianity as illegal. They have started persecution in Rome.”

  Helena felt as if someone had poured cold water over her head. Persecution had always been a possibility; she had known this when she converted. But they had enjoyed such a long period of peace. She felt her eyelids flutter as she tried to make sense of it.

  “Why? Why now?” she finally said.

  “There is apparently a shortage of criminals for the games.”

  Helena nodded. Christians were to become part of the emperor’s sport.

  Revocatus continued, “Saturus wants to meet as soon as possible for prayer.”

  “Of course,” Helena said. “I’m afraid I don’t know the whereabouts of Cassius. He just left with my father.”

  “We will find him.”

  “Good. I will collect Felicity. We will join you shortly.”

  Chapter Twenty

  LUCIUS

  He still had his ticket to the games at the Coliseum; the date had long since passed. On the second day after his arrival at the ludis they had returned his personal items, including the pouch that held this ticket. Lucius had stuffed it into his belt for good luck.

  Lucius had lost count of how many days had passed by; they had been a blur of battle exercises and animal kills. Just yesterday he’d gone face to face with a wild boar. Its dark eyes were crazed, it had been provoked by the handlers beforehand, and it breathed in heavy bursts through its snout. The beast stormed at Lucius following an unbridled instinct to gore him in the gut with its long horns—a certain death.

  Lucius had, of course, hunted in the past, but never was he in a situation where he in turn was being hunted.

  His spine still tingled when he recalled the fear. His good reflexes had saved him as he stabbed the wild beast through the heart with his spear.

  The spectators had cheered, but Lucius wasn’t certain it was because his own life had been spared. More likely it was because it meant meat for supper and stew for today’s lunch.

  The men fell into a seating pattern based on where they’d sat on the day they had arrived. Such creatures of habit, Lucius thought. Felix and Titus sat across the wooden table from him. Lucius was glad to see that Felix had recovered from the lashing he’d earned on the first day. Titus’s demeanor had grown harder. Lucius could tell he was working hard to protect his uncle during the exercises.

  “Son,” Felix said between spoonfuls, “You never told us how you got into trouble.”

  Lucius relayed the story about Hermus, his gambling habit and inability to pay and how he’d sent his daughter to do his dirty work for him. The retelling reminded Lucius of his anger towards the man who was responsible for sending him to this place worse than Hades.

  “I tried to tell them I was innocent, but they must’ve had some kind of agreement with Hermus. They wouldn’t listen to anything I said.”

  “Ah,” Felix started. “I fear your only crime was being a loner. I’ve heard they’re after strong men with no family connections. A gladiator’s life is a short one. They have to keep training men.”

  “What about you?” Lucius asked. His stew was growing cold with all his talking. Their turn now.

  Titus cleared his throat. “We’re not innocent, I’m afraid. Well, at least, I’m not. Felix is guilty by association.”

  Lucius glanced up, curious.

  Titus squirmed. “Let’s just say it’s not a good idea to get involved with a senator’s wife.”

  Lucius nodded, then wiped his bowl clean with a piece of bread. Getting involved with a woman you shouldn’t was a problem he understood.

  The afternoon exercises started out in the usual manner. All the men were given wooden swords and teamed up. Tullio had instructed them thoroughly on the technique of hand to hand battle.

  Lucius had been matched up with Titus.

  They started off slowly, sparring, neither one intent on hurting the other. They picked up their intensity when Tullio was watching, Lucius jabbing, Titus blocking.

  Titus couldn’t keep from sneaking peeks at his uncle. This was Lucius’s advantage. When Titus’s concentration faltered, Lucius moved in, stabbing him in the heart with enough force, Titus lost his footing and fell to the ground.

  Tullio applauded. “Nicely done.”

  A smarmy grin crossed the instructor’s sweaty face. “I know how we can increase the entertainment value. Lucius and Felix, come to the center of the ring.”

  Lucius’s stomach dropped. His worst case scenario was to fight against Felix. The elderly man looked equally dismayed. They had no choice but to obey. They came together before Tullio, regarding each other with respect.

  “The oldest against the youngest!” Tullio declared. “How about that for fun?

  Titus spoke out of turn. “How is that fair?” His hands formed white knuckled fists at his side. Several guards jumped forward, grabbing his arms. Titus spouted, “How could that possibly be an entertaining fight? A boy against an old man?”

  Tullio’s face twisted. “All fighting is entertainment! It’s not about your life or your death, only how you entertain!”

  He turned to his assistant. “Swords!”

  Tullio grabbed the wooden weapons from Lucius and Felix. His assistant returned.

  “Now you will entertain us.” He handed Lucius and Felix each a metal sword. Lucius’s head started to spin.

  Tullio smirked, pleased with his own ingenuity. “To the death.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  HELENA

  The wooden shutters were pulled tightly closed, darkening the room and preventing detection from passersby. Two large candles cast the only light. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Helena made out the forms of Saturus, Bithia and Priscilla; Secundus and Revocatus were there, along with Didia. Felicity sat beside her, holding Antonius.

  “Is it true that persecution has begun in Rome, or has the bird gotten larger than its wings?” Secundus asked softly. “The last martyrdom in Carthage occurred at least twenty years hence.”

  Helena hoped the rumor was false. She held her breath waiting for their leader’s answer.

  “I believe the accounts, Secundus,” said Saturus. “The word we have received has traveled through the Church. It is not merely propaganda circulated by pagans.”

  So, it was true, she thought. They were in real danger.

  “How then should we respond?” Cassius inquired. “Some say persecution is from the devil, yet others, like Tertullian, say that it is a gift from God Himself.”

  Helena spoke up. “How could persecution be a gift?” She couldn’t help but shiver at the thought.

  “I have a copy of Tertullian’s teaching on the subject right here,” Saturus replied.

  “When persecution strikes, the Church is mightily stirred; then the faithful are more careful in their prayers and humility, to mutual charity and love, to
holiness and temperance. Men have time for nothing but fear and hope. Therefore, it is clear that persecution, which works for the improvement of the servants of God, cannot be blamed on the devil.”

  Saturus paused, taking a moment to catch the eye of each one. He broke the quiet, saying, “It is a sobering thought.”

  “Indeed,” acknowledged Cassius, “but what greater proof of love and devotion can we give our Lord than to remain faithful to Him and His word, even unto death, since He too, died for us.”

  “That cannot be argued,” agreed Saturus.

  “We must remember others who have gone on to experience the passion bravely before us,” said Secundus, “such as Justin.”

  “He was persecuted under Marcus Aurelius,” Saturus reminded them, “through his Prefect Rusticus who commanded him to approach the alter and sacrifice to the gods or be tortured without mercy.”

  Helena’s chest constricted, she found it difficult to take a deep breath. How would she hold up to merciless torture? Would she remain strong and faithful to the end?

  “In fact,” Cassius jumped in, “it is reported that the other martyrs with Justin told Rusticus to do as he wished, for they were Christians and would not sacrifice to idols.”

  “This I have heard also, Cassius,” Saturus said. “Under the orders of Rusticus, they were scourged and beheaded. They consummated their martyrdom confessing their Savior.”

  “Does that mean we should offer ourselves freely?” asked Helena. “Is it wrong then, to hide or even defend ourselves?”

  “This is an issue each one must wrestle with in his or her own heart,” said Saturus. “I, for one, think it unwise to seek out persecution.”

  “But if it comes to you,” Secundus responded, “it is a gift.”

  “Exactly. For now we must continue to conceal our identities and whereabouts as much as it is possible to do so without denying our faith,” Saturus replied. “Let us turn our hearts to the Lord and pray for strength and courage to stand in times of trial and testing.”

  Secundus opened the letter from Matthew and began to read.

  “Do not fear those who kill the body, but are unable to kill the soul; but rather fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.”

  What would become of them now? Helena wondered. Would she be called upon to honor her Lord through death?

  And for some reason, her thoughts turned to Lucius. Would he ever return to Carthage? Would she see him again before the end?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  LUCIUS

  Sweat trickled down Lucius’s back, snaking between his shoulder blades and pooling along the crease of his belt. The steel sword Tullio had thrust into his hand felt like a hundred knives, heavy and dangerous. Across from him was Felix, his stance uncertain, his blue eyes narrow and runny.

  A crowd had gathered—the men of the school, old and new, and spectators from neighboring towns grouping together in the stands—a primal instinct drawing them, sensing that blood was about to be shed. They began to chant, fight-fight-fight!

  Lucius moved his feet circling Felix in an awkward dance. He’d never killed a man. He remembered the beast he’d stabbed the day before, how it felt to thrust his spear into its flesh— the sickly gurgle as air oozed from its lungs, its final shudder.

  Could he do that to this man?

  Even if he did, he wouldn’t be safe. He’d just be called to fight again. To kill again. And again. Someone’s death in exchange for his life.

  A blistering pain seared his shoulders—he arched back, crying out in pain.

  “Fight you imbecile!” Cedric shouted, his face red with fury. His arm held the whip that was raised as a threat. “Or I will beat you to a pulp and you’ll wish to the gods you had.”

  The crowds roared with approval. Young blood with the benefit of agility and vitality versus the strength and experience of an old work horse.

  Felix raised his sword. Lucius countered, the clash of the steel blades rang in his ears.

  “Kill him, Felix!” Titus shouted, even as he struggled to free himself from the guards. “Kill him!”

  Another strike. The energy of the blow vibrated through Lucius’s whole body. The sun baked down mercilessly; Lucius used his free arm to wipe his brow.

  Perhaps he should let this old man kill him. Should he give himself over to the underworld now, and let the man live?

  Until Felix was called on to fight another man, someone more ruthless than he.

  Death was every man’s destiny.

  The tip of the old man’s sword was at his throat so fast. How did that happen? The sharpened tip poked the skin of his neck. He felt the prick of pain and the flow of blood trickling down. So this was it; this was his day to die.

  Felix leaned his head in and whispered fiercely, “Fight me!”

  “Why? We are all bound to die.”

  “But not all of us today. I am old, I’ve lived my days. I’m begging you, Lucius. It’s my turn.”

  He stepped back, leaving Lucius gasping. The crowd booed. The chant switched from fight, fight, fight to kill him, kill him, kill him!

  Cedric whipped the ground, sending up a dust cloud of sand. “The crowd is waiting! Entertain them!”

  And as if to provide incentive, he added, “The winner will accompany my team to Carthage to participate in the games given by the emperor in honor of his son’s birthday!”

  The cheer of the crowd was deafening, but Lucius only heard one word. Carthage. An opportunity to see his home one last time before he died serving the emperor. And if the gods would show him a small mercy, a final chance to see Helena before passing to the underworld.

  “Felix!” he called out. “I’ll do as you wish.”

  The old man nodded and raised his sword. Though they knew how it would end, they would give these people a show.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  HELENA

  Helena and Felicity moved surreptitiously through the throng in the Forum, pausing to examine the wares in the market. Their objective was to reach the back door of the produce vendor’s home undetected. Antonius was wrapped to Helena’s chest, and she was grateful that the motion of walking had lulled him to sleep.

  Everywhere they heard the people talking: The Emperor is coming to Carthage! The Emperor is coming to Carthage! The news filtered down through the ranks; from General Hilarianus to his highest-ranking officials to the Senate, to the business community to the plebeians, rich and poor.

  There was new work for everyone—the arena was to be cleaned and prepared, animals were to be brought in from the far reaches of the kingdom, vendors preparing enough clothing and pots and sculptured images of the deities to sell to thousands, and food was being imported, prepared and sold to hungry participants and observers of the games.

  Posters and paintings were created to announce the holy Emperor’s arrival, and not just Severus but his wife Julia and son Caesar Geta whose birthday was to be celebrated in Carthage. In Carthage, bless the gods! Their good fortune was too good to be true. Roman denarii would flow abundantly and there would be plenty for everyone who worked hard.

  Carthage would sparkle, a worthy rival to Rome.

  Celebration and gaiety throbbed through the heart of the city, pumping through her streets like blood to all her vital organs. The sensual high was contagious and all were inflicted with anticipation for the city’s most prestigious event in decades. Hardly a soul could wait for the day they could venerate the royal family, and earn their favor.

  “Bless the gods,” declared a familiar voice, “Is that you, Helena?”

  “Tatiana!” Helena hardly recognized her childhood friend. She was completely transformed from their last meeting. Her naturally dark locks were now blond and formed a small tower on her head, but curls still framed a young and pretty face. “How are you?”

  Tatiana’s eyes darted from Helena’s face to the round head of the babe in her arms, “Well enough,” she said. “Isn’t it all so terribly exciting, the
emperor coming to Carthage. Can you image how fun the games will be?”

  “Not at all,” replied Helena.

  “And this,” she said with a conspiring whisper, moving closer, and pointing to her head, “is real hair, right from the barbarians’ heads. Can you see all these blond wigs?” She motioned to the crowd. “They are the rage since Julia Augusta started wearing them.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” said Helena. Tatiana’s attention had reverted back to Antonius who’d begun to squirm. “You’re looking better, Tatiana. Happier?”

  “Sure.” Tatiana was transfixed, her eyes locked onto the soft face of the child.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Helena said gently.

  “No!” Tatiana spat the word out like bad lard had gotten in her the mouth.

  Helena cringed. She no longer knew her friend or how to show kindness to her.

  “I’m sorry,” Helena said. “I just thought, since you were looking at him.”

  Tatiana stroked her wig. “Just a curiosity. Nothing more. I must be off now. Can’t keep Ursus waiting,” she said mockingly. “Keep well, Helena.”

  “Keep well.”

  Finally, with her shawl wrapped and tucked under her arm, Helena and Felicity slipped through the doorway of Saturus’s home unnoticed.

  Those who had arrived before them were speaking in urgent whispers.

  “Hilarianus has his men scouting the streets.”

  “What are they looking for?”

  “There is a shortage of victims for the games. They are after thieves and criminals.”

  “They are also looking for Christians.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Cassius noticed his sister’s arrival. “Oh, Helena, good, you are here.”

  “Is it true?” Helena asked. A cold fear coiled in her chest. “We are being sought out?”

  “There is talk. These are the most important games Hilarianus has sponsored so far. He will do everything he can to impress the emperor.”