Each door on either side stood open. Every cell empty. Thank the gods the prisoners had all been locked in the inner cell for the night.
Every muscle in his body taut, he forced himself toward the stairs. The light dimmed with each step along the circular staircase until everything was a cloudy gray.
The torches had burnt out. There was just enough light from the stairwell for him to see the enormous door was split in two, the pieces lying on the stone floor as if a giant animal had head-butt it from the inside.
His vision narrowed to that empty cell. His blood pounded in his ears, his chest heaved. They would execute him. There was no way around it. If he let six prisoners escape, especially Paulos and Silas, he would be beheaded. After whatever other punishment they decided to inflict on him.
His knees hit the cold stone, his head fell into his hands. It was over.
At least he could die like a Roman soldier. Proud, before they humiliated him.
God, help me.
He sat up on his knees and felt for his short sword. Wrapping his fist around the hilt, he slid it from its sheath. He carefully placed the point just behind his collarbone, aimed toward his heart. Eyes closed, Elantia’s face flashed though his mind.
Carissima, forgive me.
“Quin, stop!”
He jumped. Paulos? What a cruel trick for his mind to play on him.
He gripped the blade more tightly.
“Quin!”
He opened his eyes.
“Paulos?”
“Don’t do this. We’re all here. No one has escaped.”
He let out a breath, squinting, trying to see something, anything, through the darkness. “Why not?” he croaked.
Silas chucked. “They wanted to hear about the freedom Yeshua can offer.”
Quin struggled to stand. “They’re all in there?”
“Every one of them,” said Paulos. “And your guards. There’s no need for you to die.”
Tia prayed as the hammering on the door echoed the pounding of her heart. Should she hide? Run?
No. She wouldn’t spend her life in fear. Father, give me strength.
“Come in and calm down.” Lydia led a young man and woman, slaves by their dress, into the room. “Now sit down and start again.”
Father, thank You. Tia breathed out all the tension. He had protected her yet again.
Lydia steered them to a lectus, and Syn immediately appeared with goblets of watered wine.
The two of them talked at once, words tumbling out on top of one another. Tia doubted she would understand even if her Latin was perfect.
Lydia held up a hand. “Epaphras, you first. Slowly.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “You felt the earthquake?”
“Of course.”
“The dominus was quite upset—”
“At the shaking?” Tia couldn’t help interrupting. Who wouldn’t be upset if their house began to shake?
“Well, no. We’ve all felt that before. Although this one was quite powerful.”
Lydia shrugged. “I don’t know about that . . . A few bowls fell, but—”
“There’s a huge crack in the atrium wall. And in the ceiling of our room,” the young man said.
Lydia’s arm swept the peristyle. “Not here. Look around you. It frightened Tia. They apparently don’t have earthquakes in Britannia. But other than some tremors, no damage. Still, I can’t imagine even that upsetting your dominus. He must have been through far worse.”
Twin lines appeared between his brows. “That wasn’t it. It was what might be happening next door. He ran out. And . . .”
The girl grasped his hand, whether to calm him or herself was unclear.
“What? Epaphras, you must tell us.” Loukas entered the peristyle from the staircase, Timos close on his heels.
“He took his weapon.”
“Doesn’t he always wear his pugio?” Timos asked.
“Not his dagger. His sword.” Epaphras paused a long moment. “The doors of the prison were wide open.”
Lydia sat as her hand went to her throat. “Oh, my.”
Everyone seemed to be in on some enormous secret except for her. Tia grasped Lydia’s arm. “What? What’s happening? Is this man going to hurt someone?” she whispered harshly.
Lydia clasped her hand in both of hers. “Oh, Tia. You don’t know who these people are, do you? Who their dominus is?” She pointed to the pair. “They are Epaphroditus and Charis. They serve Quintus.”
“Oh, she’s the one—”
“Shh!” Lydia hissed at Epaphras.
Tia rose slowly, holding to the end of the lectus to remain steady. She took two steps and halted. Quin wouldn’t harm anyone. So why would he take his sword? She slowly turned back to the group, her thumb and fingers to her forehead. “But . . .”
“What might be happening below . . .” Suddenly Epaphras’s words made sense. She felt the blood drain from her face. If she didn’t ask, maybe they wouldn’t tell her. But she knew. She’d seen his face. Felt his pain. Knew what such a failure, a lack of honor, would do to him. There was only one way for a warrior to end this. “I have to see him.” If it wasn’t already too late.
Lydia pulled her close. “No, you mustn’t. What if you are seen? You’ve already risked it once. The guards will all be there by now, and they know your description. If you’re seen, you will be returned immediately to Max.”
A thousand horrible scenarios spun through her mind. What if she never saw him again? Or worse, what if she could have stopped him and didn’t even try? “I have to see him. Please, Lydia. I beg you.”
Charis stood. “She doesn’t look so different from me. Put her in my clothes. No one would think twice.” She gestured to the slave beside her. “We’re always together.”
Epaphras’s eyes widened for a moment.
“If we’re caught, you’ll be punished for helping me, Charis. Are you sure?”
“We’re sure.” Epaphras rose. “We all love him. Go.”
No one had escaped? Not a single one? Quin could see Paulos and Silas staying, but the other five?
Granted, the three youngest above were only in here because they were being taught a lesson. They would have been released as soon as their parents came for them. Still, perhaps at least one of them . . .
He rose. “No one left? You’re sure?”
“We’re all here. You’re safe.” Silas beckoned. His feet free, the man had backed away from the stocks. Silas stood, but Paulos, still obviously weakened from the beating, remained on the floor.
Clutching his blade, Quin stumbled toward the cell. “Stolos, get some torches down here.” They didn’t really need them. But Quin needed time to compose his thoughts. He’d also rather Stolos not be around for a few moments. Or anyone else, but there wasn’t much he could do about Philon and the boys.
Quin sheathed his sword, the weight of a thousand battles fallen from his shoulders. Had the God of Paulos and Silas done this? Saved his life? Saved . . . everything?
Such a God deserved worship. Far more than the gods of Rome ever did. This God . . . was real.
And Quin wanted to know Him. His composure shattered, he fell at the feet of Paulos and Silas. His eyes burned with hot tears. He wept silently, his body nearly convulsing. He hadn’t cried like that since . . . the night he had first killed a man.
Paulos seemed to instinctively know when the storm was nearing its end, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Quin sat back. He scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing his tears. Head still down, out of the corners of his eyes he could see Philon sitting silently, staring. The trio of troublemakers huddled against the far wall. He dared not look at them.
He raised his gaze to only the two old men before him. “Domini, what must I do to be saved?”
“We are not domini. Please don’t call us that again.” Silas frowned.
Quin scrambled to his feet, casting a glance at the bemused prisoners surrounding them. “Let�
�s get you out of here. Come on. Up.” Quin slipped an arm under Paulos’s bicep and pulled him up.
In the outer room, he looked from one to the other. “Now, tell me.”
“You must believe in Yeshua the Christ, and you will be saved,” Paulos said.
“Believe what?”
“Believe that Christ died for your sins, as was foretold in the Scriptures, that He was buried, and that He was raised up from the dead on the third day as was also foretold.”
It was the rising from the dead part that still had him bothered. He pinned Paulos down with a stare. “Did you see Him after He rose?”
“I did. Years later. As I’m sure Loukas told you, I persecuted Him mightily. I am the least of the apostles, the chief of sinners, but He came to me, and asked me why I was doing such a thing. And He told me I was chosen to take the news of His death and resurrection to all those outside of Israel. To people like . . . you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, think about that. He sent me here, perhaps into this very prison, just for you.”
Stolos returned, a flaming stave in his hand.
Could God really have sent Paulos to prison just for him? Quin’s throat burned again. He needed to get out of there, where he could think. Where he could talk to Paulos and Silas, alone. “Stolos, take the others to a cell upstairs and secure them somehow. Wait . . . where’s Pandaros?”
Stolos scoffed. “He ran out of here at the first rumble, like a scared rabbit.”
“All right, I’ll deal with him later. For now, take care of these four. You two, come up to my domus. Let me tend to your wounds. Get some food in you before you collapse.”
One corner of Silas’s mouth turned up. “Paulos, let’s go. You really do look even worse than you did in Lystra.”
“Thank you, my friend. I can always count on you to encourage me.” He chuckled weakly.
With Paulos leaning heavily on him, Quin made his way up the stairs and across the stone floor of the jail. Aside from the wooden doors, the stone building was relatively undamaged.
Remarkable, after the violent shaking they had experienced. Before they could exit, Alexios, a torch in hand, blocked the doorway.
“Alexios, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off for the rest of the night.”
“I should ask you the same question.”
“I’m taking them upstairs for a while. I need to tend to his wounds. You don’t want them dying, do you?”
“I really don’t care whether they live or die, as long as they stay here.”
“I’ll bring them back. But he’s about to collapse. Let me through.” Quin took a step forward.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. They are prisoners of the Roman Empire. They must remain here until the magistrate says they are released.”
“Look, Alexios. If they had wanted to leave they would have done so already. They not only didn’t escape, they persuaded everyone else to stay.”
“That’s not the way I remember it.” The smirk on his face sent a chill down Quin’s spine.
“Remember it? You weren’t even here.”
“I do remember the wine, though.”
A sickening realization flooded him. “You want my position.”
“Yes. And Gallus wants me to have it. I’ve been watching you since you started.” He laughed. “So again, you can’t leave.”
“But we can.” Paulos’s voice was raspy, weak.
“Who are you to question me, old man? A Jew, no less?” Alexios spat. “Get back into your cell.”
“I may be a Jew, but I am also a Roman citizen.”
Alexios’s eyes grew wide. “A-a cit—”
“So am I.” Silas spoke more forcefully than Quin had ever heard him.
Quin suppressed the surprise—and frustration—that built within him. Citizens? Why hadn’t they said so? They could have avoided all the suffering and pain they had endured. With just five little words. “Out of the way, Alexios. We’ll be upstairs. In fact, why don’t you go back home now? Your watch is over.”
The guard huffed but marched across the Via toward the forum.
They climbed the stone steps to his house. The door hung open. Quin lowered Paulos onto a couch by the pool and went to the culina.
Searching through the supplies that had all been knocked off the shelves, he found a large bowl still intact, several cloths, and some honey to take to the men.
“The kitchen is quite a mess. Everything is on the floor. I did manage to find some honey, though.” Quin scooped up some water from the pool and began to wash their backs. “Now, tell me more about Yeshua.”
26
“At that hour of the nightthe jailer took them
and washed their wounds . . .”
Acts 16:33
Elantia scurried across the forum, the hood of Charis’s cloak pulled low over her head. The chill of the stone soaked into her bare feet and moved all the way through her body.
Epaphras grabbed her hand. “Hurry!” He kept them close to the east edge, then turned west.
She would have preferred to run straight across, but there was no need to expose herself any more than necessary. In moments they arrived at the jail.
“Wait here. Let me see if I can tell what’s going on.” He tucked her beside the stone wall that rose far above her head. “Don’t move.” He glared at her for good measure.
The moments stretched out. Where had he gone? She crept to the edge of the wall and peered around it—and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Epaphras moved around her and pulled her farther back along the wall. “What are you doing? I told you not to move!”
Who was he to order her? “You were gone too long.”
“From what I overheard, Quin took them to his house.” He yanked on the hem of her hood and grabbed her hand. “I’ll watch to see when the guard isn’t looking, and you run past the door.”
They crept around the corner. His hand on her shoulder, Epaphras peered into the space between the door hanging ajar and the jamb.
Tia’s heart pounded against her chest. If the guard saw them . . . She pushed the terrifying thoughts away.
“Go!” Epaphras’s hard whisper sliced though the silence.
She bolted toward the domus. She nearly slammed into the wall, stopping herself with outstretched palms, then dropped to a crouch. She looked behind her.
Where was Epaphras?
Once again, time seemed to go on forever. Finally, she caught a glimpse of his brown wool tunic as he darted in front of the light spilling out of the prison.
Epaphras joined her a moment later. He looked back at the prison, and when no one followed, he stood. “Come on.” Grabbing her hand again, he walked around to the front of the domus and climbed the steps, Tia following.
Hesitating, she stood in the doorway. Quin knelt before Paulos, washing his striped back. Her heart broke. So much dried blood for someone not a warrior.
Epaphras gestured to her.
Quin turned at the movement. Setting the bowl aside, he hurried to her and pulled her close.
She’d forgotten what it felt like to have his arms around her. For the briefest moment, she was back in Lydia’s peristyle, before the earthquake, before the beatings, before life had become so abysmally complicated.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
She pulled back to meet his gaze. “I had to know you were safe.”
“I am. For now.”
For now? What did that mean?
“Paulos has been telling me about the Way.”
“About Yeshua?”
“Yes. I want to know all about Him. Come, sit.” He pulled her inside, then again tended to Paulos.
She moved to the other side of the impluvium. Dipping a cloth into a second bowl, she began to cleanse Silas’s back. “Is he serious? About the Way?”
“I believe so.”
“This . . . this isn’t because of me, is it?” She rinsed out the cloth.
<
br /> “I don’t think so. He hasn’t stopped asking questions since he arrived at the jail, and not one of them has been about you. And notice, you’re here, and he’s not with you.”
“I noticed.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
Silas chuckled.
“I’m thrilled, of course I am. I’ve just been so worried about him.” She blotted the angry stripes, trying not to open them again.
“I know. You know, though, even if he decides to follow Yeshua, this is not over.”
Her hand stilled. “What do you mean?”
“We have no idea what will happen tomorrow, or later today, actually. How the magistrate will react.”
“But no one escaped. Everyone is still here.” She dunked the cloth in the crimson water.
“Exactly. We are here, not in a cell where he ordered we stay.”
Too many scenarios ran through her mind as she drew circles in the scarlet liquid with her finger. “What will happen to Quin—?”
Noise at the door drowned out the rest of her question.
Loukas entered the room, medicine box in hand and a grin on his face. “I thought you might have need of a physician.” He stepped nearer to Paulos, and his nimble fingers skimmed over the older man’s back.
Timos followed him in, carrying a large bundle. “We were concerned about you. All of you. And Lydia sent new clothes.”
Quin set aside his bowl and cloth. “No need to worry. All is well. In fact, I want to be baptized.”
“Me too.” Epaphras spoke up.
“You do?” Paulos asked.
“I’ve been talking to Timos. And I believe.”
“And me.” Charis slipped her arm though the young Greek’s.
“Charis? You weren’t even here.” Tia stared at her.
“I heard Paulos at the river. And at the house, Lydia and Loukas were praying and . . . I believe Yeshua died for me too.”
Loukas clapped his hands together in front of his chest. “Marvelous. We can do it as soon as—”
“No, now.” Quin stood.
“Now?” Loukas’s mouth hung open.
“In the middle of the night?” Silas asked.
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