“All right. If you change your mind, though, you know where to find me.”
“In the meantime, I have some other information that might help you.”
“With what?”
“If you decide you don’t want to stay here as keeper of the prison, this might be of interest to you. There’s no guarantee it will work, though.”
After hearing Decimus’s news, Quin strode toward the western stoa, resisting the urge to sprint. At the entrance to the basilica, a slave halted him.
“Quintus Valerius, for the duovir.”
The slave disappeared and Leonidas met him at the door.
“Welcome, Quintus. Come in. I’ll see if he has time for you.”
Quin followed the Greek to the magistrate’s door and waited until he was escorted in.
“Magistrate.” His heart beating wildly, he bowed. What would he do?
Gallus quirked a brow. “Why the sudden display of respect?”
“I have been shown I was wrong to disrespect you. I apologize.”
“Interesting.” He sipped from his silver goblet. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have an arrangement I’d like to propose.”
“What arrangement is that?”
“I understand you are dealing with Patroclus the broker to sell my land.”
Gallus nearly choked on his wine. “Th-that is not true.”
“You can deny it if you want. I know it’s true.”
“Why are you here exactly?”
“I’m here about Elantia.”
Gallus grinned. “You want the girl.”
Quin wanted her safe. He wanted her free. He wanted her at peace. But this was something Gallus’s twisted mind could not grasp, so he would leave it at that. “Yes. I want Elantia. So here is my proposal. You can keep my land.”
Gallus allowed a half smile.
“But you give Max 30,000 sesterces. I figure that’s about two years’ income, at the height of her earning power. Two sesterces per customer, twenty customers a day, every day, for two years. And that’s being very generous. We all know it probably wouldn’t keep up for that long. The oracle in Delphi doesn’t cost that much.”
“And if I do this, you’ll keep quiet about what happened earlier this week?”
“About everything. I get her, free, and my job. You keep your lucrative career, my land, and your reputation.”
The shorter man thought a long moment.
Quin rubbed his hand down his face. Was Gallus really going to risk everything to keep 30,000 sesterces? Quin wouldn’t really go to Vespasian, but did Gallus know that?
He finally turned back. “Agreed.”
“Very well. Please send the letter of manumission to Lydia’s by the end of the day.”
“I don’t know if Max—”
“Oh, he will.”
Gallus sneered. “This girl better be worth it. You’re giving up a lot.”
“She is. I’m giving up nothing.”
30
“[Paul and Silas] met with the brothers and sisters and encouraged them. Then they left.”
Acts 16:40
It had been over nine days since the quake. Quin ran his hands down the new doors in the prison—the city had done a good job of repairing both the jail and his home. If he didn’t know better, he would swear they’d never been damaged at all.
Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the bodies of Paulos and Silas. Their backs were covered in stripes going in all directions. The wounds were closed now, any danger of bleeding passed. But they were far from totally healed.
“Stolos, I’m leaving now.”
“Yes, Domine.” The man grinned. He had taken over for Alexios as second-in-command, and the prison had run much more smoothly since. Quin had convinced Gallus to allow Alexios to retire rather than be sent to the mines. After all, he had kept the magistrate well-informed of Quin’s movements. And he did try to keep Quin from leaving that night.
Even Pandaros was well-behaved, though still late more than Quin liked.
After leaving Stolos in charge, Quin trudged up the steps and entered the atrium of his home. After tossing his cloak on the floor of his room, he made his way to the culina.
He poked his head in.
“Something smells good.”
Charis smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
“Where’s Epaphras?”
“He went to get some more wood. He’ll be right back.” She answered quickly, waiting for Quin to respond.
“All right.”
She relaxed.
Epaphras strolled in, an armful of wood.
“May I speak with you both a moment?” asked Quin.
“Of course.” He nodded and dropped the load into the container in the corner.
“I’ll be in the dining area.”
Quin waited on one of the two couches that were placed up against the wall. A small table sat in the middle of the floor. It wasn’t a triclinium where diners reclined while eating, but it was good enough.
Charis brought a plate of food—just enough for Quin—and set it on the table.
He gestured to the opposite lectus.
She sat down, and Epaphras followed a moment later.
Quin leaned forward, his arms on his knees. “Do you two like working there? In this house?”
Epaphras nodded. “Very much.”
Charis nodded. “Yes.” Her word was clipped.
“Charis, I don’t know what happened to you before, but I have never hurt a slave.” He sighed. “I can’t free you. I would if I could, but you don’t belong to me. You belong to Philippi, to serve whomever is keeper of the prison. Even if I saved up enough to buy you, or Lydia or Loukas did, they’d bring someone else in here and I don’t want that.”
“Neither do we,” said Epaphras.
He sat up and raked his hand through his hair. “We’re brothers and sister now, in Christ, and I can’t have you as slaves. I can’t have anyone as a slave. Not anymore. My family in Rome is wealthy. We had a lot of slaves, maybe a hundred. My father treated them well. My tutor was a Greek named Attalos. I loved him more than my own pater. But I rarely thought—until I came here, and met Tia—about the life he had before he was captured by the Roman war machine. I can’t live in a house with slaves. Not anymore.”
“So are you telling us we have to go?” Charis’s voice was almost inaudible.
“No, of course not. You can work for me, you just can’t be my slaves. I can pay you, a little”—he laughed—“and we can share everything. Just don’t tell Gallus.”
Her face melted into relief, and she smiled. The first real smile he had seen from her. He laughed.
“All right then. I have one more question.”
“What?” Epaphras said.
“Do we have room for one more?”
Tia dried her hands on a towel. “Someone’s here for me?”
“Yes. I think you should come quickly.” Epaphras’s face was as bright as the fire under the cooking pot. She touched Syntyche’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
Lydia was at the front door talking to a messenger when Tia entered the atrium. “I can give it to her.”
The man’s face was set as stone. “I was told to put it directly in her hands. Only hers.”
Lydia beckoned her. “Tia, this man has something to give you.”
In the center of the room, she froze. Was it an order to return to Max? No, they would just come take her. What could this be?
The messenger frowned.
She willed her feet to move. One step at a time.
He handed her the parchment and strode away.
Lydia guided her to a lectus.
Fingers shaking, she untied the ribbon. Broke the wax seal. Stared at the document in her hands.
“I can’t read Latin.” She handed it to Lydia.
Lydia skimmed it quickly, her face breaking into a wide smile. “It’s a certificate of manumission. Max has set you free.”
Th
e word settled into her soul. Free. She was finally free. Legally.
She’d been free ever since she asked Yeshua to forgive her sins. That was when her life changed. Even if she’d had to return to Max and Cassia, she would have been truly free.
But now her heavenly Father had given her what she hadn’t asked for. Earthly freedom.
“But how?”
“I think Quin had something to do with this. He had some land when he first came here, but Gallus stole it from him. My guess is he traded it.”
“For my freedom?”
“He can’t marry you if you’re a slave. Now that you are both following the Way . . .”
Oh, Quin.
She raced to the peristyle and found him waiting for her, standing tall in the center of the room, in a new linen tunic. Did he already know? She hid the parchment behind her back.
Moving toward one of Lydia’s rose bushes, he plucked a blossom and twirled it between his fingers. “Was something delivered to you?” He grinned.
“You gave up your land for me?”
“I told you I would give my life for you. Why not a square of dirt?”
“But what will you do now? Where will you live?”
“Paulos said I should remain the keeper of the prison. He said I could be very useful there.”
She brought the parchment from behind her back, played with the seal and ribbon attached to the bottom.
“I need your help, though.”
“My help? What help can I give you?”
“You can pray for me. Gallus and I have an . . . uneasy peace, but I’m not sure how much I trust him. He could still turn against me at any time. And I’m not sure how much Vespasian could do, even if I did go to him.” He stepped nearer.
“Quin, I’ve been praying for you. I’ve never stopped.”
“I need you beside me. All the time. I want to marry you.”
Her heart raced, and she searched his face. “You do?”
He cupped her face. “Of course. Te amo.”
“Carami te,” she whispered.
“And now that you’re free, it’s possible, legal, very desirable . . .”
He pulled her close, lowered his head. His lips met hers in a soft kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, rising up on her toes.
He deepened the kiss, and the parchment fell to the floor at their feet.
Quin looked around him at the group assembled on the riverbank. The women who had met before, the God-fearers, had come to hear Paulos one last time, as well as a few others who had decided to follow the Way since the quake.
Paulos stood before them. “Saints of Philippi. I call you saints, for that is what you are. You are the saints of God, His holy people. You are holy, because He has redeemed you. You have been bought with His blood. And because you are His, He calls you to be separate from the world around us. We still live in this world, but we follow His Way, we live according to His holy laws.”
He walked back and forth before the group, his gaze meeting each person.
“We had a little incident here, didn’t we?” He smiled and uneasy laughter rippled through the crowd. “It will undoubtedly happen to us again, and it may happen here again. You may think I would say ignore the rulers! Follow God! But that cannot be the way we live. Unless God’s laws contradict the laws of the rulers of this world, we must still submit to the government and its officers. There will come a time, and I believe it will be soon, when we have to choose between the emperor and Yeshua. Then, of course, there is no choice. Until then, we are to be obedient whenever possible. Otherwise, what do we make Yeshua look like to the world? A troublemaker? We will have enough to answer to that is true, without bringing trouble on ourselves.”
Paulos clasped his hands in front of his chest. “I’ll be leaving you soon, much sooner than I had planned to.” His voice began to crack. “You will always have a special place in my heart. Take care of each other. Love each other. Pray for each other. For you are the beginning of the church at Philippi, the first church in all Macedonia. And with God as your rock, you can endure anything. If I survived that”—he pointed beyond the walls to the forum—“you can endure, you can prevail over anything the Jewish leaders, the Roman government, or anyone else sends against you. As long as you do it together.”
Quin looked at the people around him once more. Was anyone here a citizen? Other than him? Maybe the grain merchant. No wonder Paulos didn’t claim his privilege loud and strong before Gallus laid a finger on him. He had to show everyone here they could survive as well.
Quin almost hadn’t. He pulled Tia closer and kissed her temple. Thank You, Yahweh, for a strong wife to walk beside me. One who had found true freedom.
Attalos had been right. Great things had been waiting for him in Philippi. He had come to Philippi to wait for the truth. And he had found it. Not where he expected, or how.
But it was a deeper, more powerful truth than he could ever have imagined.
Epilogue
“I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy . . .”
Philippians 1:3-4
Philippi was the first church established by Paul in Europe, and he maintained an unusually close relationship with them for the rest of his ministry.
When Paul was under house arrest in Rome from 59–61, the church sent a gift with Epaphroditus. Epaphras nearly died, and when he was recovered Paul sent him back with a letter in which Paul repeatedly tells the Philippians how much he loves them.
We know the jailer became a follower of the Way, but we know nothing beyond that, and nothing of what happened to the slave girl. We do know is that the care for Paul and his ministry that began with Lydia and the jailer continued until the end of his time on earth. The church remained faithful until the city was destroyed by an earthquake in 620. Today, only ruins remain.
Philippi is a testament to the power and glory of the gospel—the good news that changes men and women, rich and poor, free and slave with the love of Christ.
My thanks to . . .
I must first thank Jesus Christ, the ultimate Author and Creator. Without Him, there would be no story.
My family. Thank you for allowing me the time and space to craft this novel. Your patience is unbelievable.
The Women’s Bible Study at First Alliance Church, Silver Spring, Maryland. Your insights into Philippians were invaluable, as were your prayers.
Edward Hatfield, my language expert—for your help with ancient Latin and Britonnic, especially for Elantia’s beautiful name. All mistakes are mine alone.
My beta readers—Rita Schuh, and Dr. Sue Pankratz, who also provided medical guidance. Your support means so much to me.
My editor—Natalie Hanemann. Thanks for your gentle, expert guidance.
And to you—Thank you for reading. May my words bring you closer to Him.
About the Author
An unapologetic Californian, Carole Towriss now lives just north of Washington, DC. She loves her husband, her four children, the beach, and tacos, though not always in that order. In addition to writing and picking up kids’ shoes, she binge-watches British crime dramas.
Visit the website for discussion questions and other resources.
For more information:
caroletowriss.com
[email protected]
If You Liked This book . . .
Deep Calling Deep is the story of Paul, Timothy and Luke in Rome. You’ll also meet Sextus Burrus, who was the Praetorian prefect from 51–61 A.D, and thus likely had a great deal of contact with the Apostle Paul while he was under house arrest.
CHAPTER ONE
“And when we came to Rome, the centurion delivered the prisoners to the praetorian prefect, but Paul was allowed to dwell by himself with a soldier that kept him.”
Acts 28:16, JUB
Rome, month of September, 61 A.D.
Praetorian Prefect Sextus Afranius Burrus had imagined the scene s
pread out before him, but his worst nightmares weren’t even close.
Lucius Secundus, the former city prefect, had been murdered by one of his slaves. Following an ancient law, the senators had called for the execution of all four hundred of the slaves who had worked for him.
The Praetorian Guards had been called out to quell the resulting riot.
The new city prefect and his cohortes urbanae were an astounding picture of Roman efficiency. All three cohorts, five hundred men each, gleefully took part in the bloody vengeance. Some of the urban guards pounded stakes into the ground along the Appian Way just outside the city’s walls. Others guarded the remaining slaves, and still others confiscated wood from anywhere they could find it.
Sextus had seen teams of soldiers leaving the Secundus estate. Apparently, they’d razed the slaves’ quarters, tearing down doorways and roof supports.
The all too familiar metallic scent of blood permeated the air. Sextus wiped sweat from his brow as he walked along the oldest of Rome’s wide stone and cement roads. Crosses of all shapes lined the highway on his right and left—crossbars at the top, the middle, wherever. The victims’ feet hung only a cubit or so above the ground, their anguished faces easier to see, their tormented cries easier to hear.
The Guards had started with the men. Obviously wanting to eliminate as much resistance as possible, the youngest and strongest were first to be nailed to the posts, staked at regular intervals along the Via Appia. Most of those had already been crucified by the time Sextus arrived.
The clanging of hammer against nail clashed with the screams of women watching husbands and sons writhe in agony. The noise grew so loud, Sextus’s ears hurt. He rolled his shoulders, trying to dull the pain as he trudged south.
The condemned waited in a loose grouping on the east side of the Via surrounded by armed and angry guards.
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