Daughter of Rome

by Tessa Afshar

  Aquila’s fingers became still for a moment. “Pontus is an ancient land that lies on the shores of a turquoise sea. My family live to the south, along the foothills of the Paryadres mountains. My father owns farmlands where we grow grain and orchards with cherries so sweet, they burst on your tongue like nectar. But most of his land is used for pasture and the raising of sheep. We have a few workshops dedicated to producing wool and a tannery for hides. The smallest workshop is for leatherworks.”

  “It sounds beautiful.” Priscilla tried to hide her confusion. What he described was a wealthy household. Rural landowners with the magnitude of holdings Aquila described were prospering greatly in an expanding empire that was in constant need of food and clothing. The son of such a household would not need to live so modestly, practically on the edge of Via Appia.

  “I see your own story is as convoluted as mine,” she said.

  “It is.” He grew very still. Then with a determined motion, he stepped off the stool and walked toward her. In the doorway, he halted, leaning a shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I had a different plan for my life. It did not include Rome or residing in three tiny chambers with my uncle, though I love him dearly. It did not include becoming a worker of leather goods. But I have discovered a strange thing as my cherished dreams have crashed and shattered around my feet.

  “The only way to peace is by learning to accept, day by day, the circumstances and tests permitted by God. By the repeated laying down of our own will and the accepting of his as it is presented in the things which happen to us.

  “But that lesson came to me at great cost, and I am still learning it.”

  Nine

  AQUILA DREW A DEEP BREATH and held it. He had never told his story to anyone, never unraveled the full humiliation of his loss. Many, including his uncle Benyamin, knew the facts. But none had heard the full account of the events that had culminated in his expulsion from his childhood home.

  He was not sure why he wanted to tell the story now. Reveal to this woman the ache that had clogged his soul, like a morsel in the throat he could neither swallow nor disgorge.

  Perhaps it was the knowledge that all her life she had been treated with disdain—her red hair and Germanic blood, marks of a defilement she could not cleanse. She had never fully belonged to her father’s exalted world. She understood what it meant to be unwanted.

  Moreover, Priscilla possessed an astonishing kindness; a benevolence that led her to give away what little she had and care for a sick man to whom she had no earthly obligation. A fidelity that made her hold his ladder even though such open support might expose her to criticism and ridicule from cherished friends.

  His story would be safe in her work-roughened hands. He would be safe in those hands.

  “I know what it is to be an outcast in your own home, Priscilla. My father disowned me.” He said the stark words simply, without trying to cushion them with excuses.

  Her eyes widened. Then compassion replaced shock, and her mouth softened as if with no words it pronounced a benediction over him. He felt his muscles, which had grown knotted with pain, start to unwind.

  “I was young when I became a follower of Yeshua, and for a few years, my father took no notice of my growing faith. He cared more for our standing before men than God. So long as I observed the right rules and won the respect of the leaders of our community, he did not care which rabbi I followed. As the eldest son, he entrusted me with the running of his workshops and the administration of his land.

  “Then news trickled into Pontus from Jerusalem. Those of us who had claimed the man of Nazareth as the rightful Messiah were accused of blasphemy. My faith now became a public embarrassment. My father demanded that I deny Yeshua.”

  “Which you would never do,” Priscilla said, sounding offended. He was astounded by her understanding. Esther had never grasped the importance of his faith to him. Even after such a short acquaintance, Priscilla knew more about his heart than Esther had after years of companionship.

  “Which I would never do,” he confirmed.

  After his refusal to recant, his father had stripped him bit by bit. Like a knife in a torturer’s hand, he had cut away the fabric of his life into small pieces, gouging out one small fragment at a time. First, he had removed Aquila from overseeing their vast farmlands and pastures, reducing him to managing the tanning business. When Aquila still refused to abandon his faith, his father had taken away the tanning business and given him the leather workshop, the smallest of their enterprises.

  Every loss had hurt, not because being diminished in worldly importance made him feel small. Rather, each demotion was a reflection of his father’s already-stingy regard dissolving, deteriorating. His elder son became a stranger to his heart.

  Had Aquila’s mother been alive, she might have exerted her softer influence and brought a measure of reconciliation between them. But she had died when her sons were still boys. Where there had once been a mountain of nurturing love, she had left a gaping crater in her absence.

  Aquila wiped the film of perspiration that had gathered on his forehead. “I was willing to pay the penalty my father demanded. But his punishment affected another life as much as my own. I had been betrothed since childhood to the daughter of my father’s closest friend. Esther and I were supposed to be married when I turned twenty.”

  Priscilla’s brows rose a fraction at that news. He watched the tide of color as it crept from her neck to her cheeks and something in him hummed with satisfaction. She was not indifferent to the news that once he had belonged to another. Why this should please him, he was in no state to ponder. He merely let the perception settle into him like a balm that soothed and relieved an anxious ache.

  “Esther delayed our marriage, saying she would not wed me unless I gave up this unseemly obsession with a false prophet.” Aquila tipped his head back and stared unseeingly into the dark shadows above. Esther had not developed any signs of religious fervor until Aquila had begun to lose his social standing. Funny how he had never thought of that. “Every time my father demoted me, she delayed the wedding another six months. When my father reduced me to a common laborer—” he brandished his hands, callused and red—“she had enough. She broke our betrothal contract. My father, usually an enthusiast for the binding nature of legal contracts, never even raised a brow.”

  A small, shocked sound escaped her throat. “She broke your heart?”

  “Not then. I still had hope, if you believe it.” Aquila pulled his hand through his hair and swallowed hard. “Uncle Benyamin, being a follower of Yeshua himself, was the only member of my family who stood by me through those years. Except for one other: my younger brother, Lucinus. He was my closest companion, the best friend a man could ask for. I trusted him with my life. So I was glad that everything my father stripped from me, he bestowed upon Lucinus. At least my diminishment meant his elevation.

  “When my life of ordinary labor did not produce the desired effect, Father gave me one last ultimatum. Repent publicly or leave his house. I tried to reason with him. Assure him of my commitment to the Law of our people. Nothing I said changed his mind. He would not be moved.”

  “Oh, Aquila!”

  “Do you know, the Christ once said that he had come to bring a sword. Not for war. But to divide families. Should I complain that he chose to apply that blade to me? Sometimes following him means severing precious bonds. And finding out in the end that he himself is the most precious bond in life.

  “That same day, I packed a chest full of memories and was about to leave the only home I had ever known when my father blocked my path. Without a word, he dropped a document at my feet and left. I broke the seal and my heart with it. To my disbelief, I discovered that he had disavowed me as his son and disowned me of all my inheritance. I never spoke to him after that.”

  The memory still slashed and stung. He suspected that for the rest of his life he would feel the pain of that moment, the sunderin
g of his bloodlines, like a limb lost in battle. At the same time, it was as if over the months, God had closed the gaping wound, sewed up the bleeding lacerations. In the empty places that longed for his family and the rolling hills that had once been his home, he felt the warmth of God’s consolation, deeper than the pain.

  Priscilla rose from her seat and walked toward him. She halted a step short, her hands twisted into a knot in front of her. Once again, as he had earlier that morning, he smelled the scent of rose and jasmine which clung to her hair and skin. Once again, he had an overpowering desire to draw her into his arms.

  It was a disconcerting sensation. He had never felt so strong a pull for Esther. Esther, to whom he had belonged. He tightened his crossed arms over his chest and leaned harder into the wall.

  “I am sorry, Aquila. Did you ever see Esther after that?”

  The innocent question severed the tight edge of attraction. He blew out a breath with relief and told himself that his feelings were merely the result of their intimate circumstances. His worry for Benyamin coupled with memories he had buried overlong. “The next day. Benyamin told me that Esther had become betrothed to my brother.”

  “No!”

  “That is precisely what I said. Even if she had agreed to such an arrangement, Lucinus never would! Knowing how I felt about her, he would not betray me no matter what my father demanded. I ran to my old home in search of my brother, only to find him holding hands with Esther.”

  “Did he ask your forgiveness?”

  “Not exactly. As I recall, his first words were ‘Congratulate me, Brother!’”

  Aquila felt nausea grip his belly as he remembered those words, remembered his brother’s gloating eyes and triumphant smirk as he spoke them. What a fool he had been not to see the seed of jealousy that had grown tall, tangling Lucinus’s every motive. Fool to have believed in his brother’s warm smiles and affectionate expressions.

  “He wrapped his arm around Esther’s waist and told me, ‘You made your bed; now lie in it. The better man won. Now run to your God and stop pestering us.’”

  Won?

  When had life ever turned into a contest with his brother?

  “Did Esther say anything?”

  “Only that it was my own fault. Had I been willing to obey my father and retain my rightful place as the eldest son, she would not have broken faith with me.”

  Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “In other words, if you had remained wealthy and admired by the world, she might have been willing to stay. It sounds like your brother was precisely the right man to be saddled with such a bride.”

  Aquila nodded, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I stayed in Pontus for a few more months, hoping for some manner of reconciliation. At first, I convinced myself that they would come to regret their actions. Eventually it dawned on me that they felt as much contrition as a lion devouring its prey. In the end, I only lingered because I wanted to make one final attempt at salvaging a tiny piece, a crumb of friendship. I didn’t want to leave in bitterness.”

  Priscilla’s eyes brimmed. Something in Aquila’s chest tightened and squeezed like a physical embrace at that sight. No trace of pity in those tears. Nothing to unman him. Nothing to proclaim him weak. Just a well of compassion and understanding so deep that, for the first time in months, he felt he could breathe without restriction.

  “Did you find it?” she asked in a whisper. “Did you find reconciliation?”

  “No,” he admitted. “On their wedding day, I hid behind an ancient oak outside the entrance to our home, hoping to speak to them. I watched Lucinus accompany Esther as they walked toward me. They looked like the ancient Greek legends come down from Mt. Olympus, dressed in gold-encrusted linen. Lucinus detected me and froze.” Aquila stopped, battling the knot in his throat. “My brother looked at me as if I were a mound of dung that might dirty his wedding shoes.

  “Noticing the lag in his step, Esther turned and saw me.” Again he paused, giving time for his wavering voice to steady. “She stared through me as if I were a stranger to her. As if we had not been lifelong companions who had once known each other’s deepest secrets. I had become a mere annoyance to her, and worse: I had become something to be ashamed of.”

  He drew a hand across his face, trying to wash away the burning humiliation of that moment.

  Priscilla took another half step, closing the small gap between them. With an insistent motion, she untucked his hand where it lay hidden in his armpit, and wrapped it in both of hers. “Aquila, I am sorry to say that you are related to some very foolish people. But fortunately, God had the foresight to separate you from them. If he had not, you would be a wealthy man, married to a silly woman who only wanted you for your position and the comforts of an affluent life. You are not the kind of man who would be happy with such a marriage. God in his mercy rescued you from that desert. He whisked you away halfway across this vast empire so you would be safe.

  “Instead of seeing yourself through their eyes, colored by a reproach that you have not earned, you should be celebrating. You were close to making an abominable mistake. Yet here you are, free to choose a life that will bring you happiness.”

  Aquila, exhausted from retelling the tale that had aggrieved his heart for so long, needed a little time to make sense of Priscilla’s words. His mouth tugged upward. A chuckle escaped him. Surprising them both, he started to laugh, mirth rolling out of his depths and flowing into the room, bringing long-sought relief.

  Priscilla joined him and the plain chamber, so bare of beautiful objects, became filled with the beauty of joy. Laughter washed over the young man like a cleansing salve, loosening and purging the dark hold of shame.

  He became aware of his hand, still wrapped tightly in Priscilla’s, and was again shocked by the unexpected sweep of desire that overcame him. He could tug on that hand, one hard pull, and she would tumble against him. His pulse thumped in his temple.

  Her eyes widened, turning the deep shade of a bottomless ocean. She took a long step back, then another, releasing his hand.

  Aquila turned in a half circle, trying to break the spell, allowing reason to restore the disorder of his mind. On the mattress in the far corner of the room, where Benyamin was supposed to be sleeping, he caught his uncle hastily closing his eyes. But no pretense of slumber could wipe the smirk from the old man’s lips.

  In the evening, after he had dropped Priscilla off at home and settled Benyamin in for the night, Aquila climbed the narrow outdoor staircase to sit on the roof. Rome lay under a dome of stars that night, glistening in their numberless majesty.

  And you know each one by name.

  When he had first started to lose his place in his father’s house, he had often battled waves of self-pity, resentful that obedience to God had brought him so much heartache. Over the years, he had learned to accept God’s will, day by day. Learned to find a measure of peace by repeatedly laying down his own will, even in the midst of his frayed dreams.

  Today he felt as though he had been scoured. Released from some of the shame that had made him feel so small.

  I have not been in the Valley of Achor without reason, he thought. He studied the fragile starlight, which pierced through the darkness of night. The moment itself turned into a prayer, a confession, a redemption.

  I am here because you will use this pain to forge me and shape me and complete me. I am here because you have begun a good work in me, and you are determined to complete it. This is not about the trouble I have known through the years, but about the God who is with me in the trouble. Yeshua. I am yours. Do with me what you will.

  Instead of the stars, an image of Priscilla’s face flashed before his eyes.

  Ten

  PRISCILLA SAT on a tattered cushion on the floor of her chamber, knees glued to her chest. The cushion had been repaired so many times that it no longer had enough fabric to cover the holes, and when she moved, a tiny feather floated to the floor.

  Her thoughts were full of Aquila.
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br />   He had told his story with cutting honesty, exposing what few men had the courage to reveal. Exposing weakness and fear. Exposing shame. Exposing monsters she knew intimately. But they did not belong to a man as good and decent as Aquila.

  She relived the feel of his hand in hers, the slight tremor in his fingers as he spoke of his brother and her own overwhelming desire to comfort him as he grieved. That desire had shifted quickly and morphed into a longing that had nothing to do with comfort.

  She hissed out a breath as she felt a traitorous tear course down her cheek and wiped it with her palm, only to have another follow in its path.

  She should have listened to her own counsel and avoided Aquila. Instead, she had returned, day after day, to help nurse Benyamin. The man who had appeared perfectly robust before the illness had surprised them all by not recovering as quickly as they had hoped. Though the fever seemed to have abated, the weakness had not, leaving him bedridden for several days and in need of care. Priscilla had returned to the cramped chambers near the Via Appia every day of that week. With the mounting hours spent in Aquila’s company, her attraction to him had grown and exploded into something she could no longer extinguish or deny.

  Thankfully, Benyamin had fully recovered. But it seemed too late for her. She found herself captured by feelings that would never be returned by any honorable man, least of all one determined to live as a devout Jew.

  Another hot tear trailed down her chin. She was becoming like the cushion she sat on, losing bits of herself. Losing her composure. Losing her heart.

  She thought of the God who had carried Aquila through so much loss. The God for whom he had been willing to give up everything. The door of hope he had found in the valley of his troubles.

  Benyamin had told her about the sheep pens in Israel that often had no door. “During the night, the shepherd has to sleep across that opening to keep the sheep safe. Nothing can have access to the sheep unless it goes through the shepherd first. He is himself the door. Yeshua said he was that shepherd to his sheep. And he was that door.”