Healer of Carthage (40 page)

The astonishing declaration scorched Lisbeth’s brain. What had sweet Caecilianus done to deserve death?

“No!” Ruth broke free of her guard and flung herself at the feet of Aspasius. “Take me.”

“Hush, my love.” Caecilianus stooped and drew her to his chest. He held her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Go to our boy.”

In the confusion of Ruth and Caecilianus being escorted from the room, Lisbeth stood spellbound, sucked into the vortex of an impossibly hard-to-believe moment.

The man who’d just given the execution order for the peace-loving patron of Rome returned to his desk. He smiled calmly, as if he’d ordered a tuna sandwich for lunch. “Now what to do with you, solicitor.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“You housed the Christians; therefore you, too, are condemned for treason . . . unless”—Aspasius gave a nod, and soldiers seized Cyprian—“you can offer something in trade.”

“He has me.” Mama swept into the room, dressed in a stunning sea-green silk. “Take me.”

“No. Me!” Lisbeth screamed. “Take me.”

With a chuckle, Aspasius lifted the glass wine decanter on his desk and poured liquid the color of dark blood into a silver chalice. “My friend, it appears you have two women grousing for you. Such
an unexpected and delightful entertainment. Perhaps it would profit me more to move this interchange to the arena.”

“By what right do you hold me?” Cyprian demanded in that commanding way of his.

“Letters given to me by the sacred emperor, letters that order every Roman to comply with our ceremonial worship practices.” Aspasius sloshed wine around in his mouth, then swallowed slowly. “Answer me this: did you know Christians lived in your home?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, do you bow to the god of the bishop or the gods of Rome?”

Dead silence weighted the air for an eternity. Cyprian and Aspasius locked in a death stare, neither of them willing to blink first. Lisbeth was too paralyzed to even take a breath. Little by little, the senators shook off their shock at the sentencing of Caecilianus, along with the challenge of what Aspasius had just put before their favorite solicitor. Quarreling among themselves started with a low rumble, then quickly escalated into a full-on debate of the merits of such unprecedented proceedings for the most highly respected barrister of Carthage.

“Quiet!” Aspasius ordered. “What is your answer, solicitor?”

Cyprian turned to Lisbeth, his eyes frantically searching hers. What did he want from her? Absolution for what she was certain he was about to do. She hated herself, but she couldn’t give it.

He squared his shoulders. “I am a Christian, sir. And the newly appointed bishop of the Lord’s church. A good that God knows cannot be altered.”

The senators gasped.

A pleased smile slid across Aspasius’s face. “Shall the record show that you persisted in your treason?”

Cyprian looked at her. “Lisbeth.”

With that one word, she knew. He had made the only choice he could. The love of her life would sacrifice his life for the lives of those scrappy little believers huddled in his house and scattered about the city. It was stupid, yet noble at the same time. And she couldn’t help but love him more.

A crippling ache cut her in half, and she screamed, “No!”

Cyprian turned a steely gaze back to Aspasius. “I know no other gods but the one and true God who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them. This God we Christians serve: to him we pray day and night, for ourselves and for all men, and for the safety of the emperors themselves.”

“You are then sentenced to the same fate as your old friend.”

“Let him go, and you can have me.” Lisbeth’s heart thundered against her chest. “You wanted me once.” She threw off the cloak. “Take what he robbed from you, and finish our business together.”

“Lisbeth, no!” Cyprian thrashed against his captors, ordering her to flee. But his efforts were useless.

She could not let the family she’d always wanted and was finally piecing together be destroyed. Keenly aware of the stench of her fear, she threw herself at the feet of Aspasius, offering herself in Cyprian’s place.

Recognition brought a roaring laugh from Aspasius. “The confessions of a slave girl. Oh, this is sweet.” Aspasius lifted her chin. “Yes, my beauty, we do have unfinished business.” Aspasius slapped her hard, and Lisbeth crumpled. “Still want the deal?”

Hot, metallic blood stung her tongue. “Yes.” She’d never wanted anything more.

Cyprian struggled to come to her. “No, Lisbeth. I can’t let you do this.”

“You have no choice.” Aspasius polished his ring on his tunic. “I keep her, and you go into exile.”

“Exile?” Lisbeth scrambled to her feet. “You sorry son of a—”

“Send him to Curubis.” Aspasius waved his hand, and soldiers started dragging Cyprian from the room. “One more thing, solicitor. Before I defile your wife”—he laughed as Cyprian lunged against the chains being slapped upon his wrists—“give me the names of the other Christians scuttling about my province.”

“By your own laws you have wisely forbidden informers, so I’m not able to reveal their names and betray them.” Cyprian lifted his chin in a final show of defiance.

“May your obstinate determination keep you alive on those lonely nights when all you have for comfort is knowing that I bed your wife.” Aspasius’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. He’d had enough. “Banish him.”

57

F
ELICISSIMUS GLANCED AROUND THE
room to make sure no one was listening. “But I held up my end of the deal.”

“Not completely.” Aspasius twirled the end of his belt like a whip. “I want the names of every presbyter in my province.”

The slave trader wrung his hands. “Is littering the throne with martyrs a wise idea?”

Aspasius moved forward. “Who are you to question me?” He blew a cloud of sour breath over the weasel. At the first opportunity, he would part company with this one and see to it that he never caused him trouble again. “What I do with these traitors is my business.”

“And once you have them, then we’ll be even?”

Aspasius laughed. “We’re even when I say we’re even.”

58

E
XCEPT FOR THE FEW
times she’d prowled the secret tunnels, Lisbeth had never been inside an occupied palace, let alone lived in one. She and Papa had traipsed through plenty of ruins, allowing their imaginations to complete walls, add furniture, and fantasize about the lives of those who possessed such wealth. Childhood imaginings paled compared to the actual horrors she’d witnessed these past few days inside these ancient chamber halls.

Lisbeth’s sandals clicked against the cold granite tiles. Ironic that a brisk fall day so full of promise was also the day Cyprian would leave her hopeless. She pulled her wrap tightly against the chilly sense of abandonment that had once again found her after so many years. Curubis was forty miles away by ship. Mama had only been a water slide ride away. In truth, without a plan, both destinations were light-years out of her reach.

By the slant of the sun streaming through the shutters, she had little time. She intended to watch Cyprian’s ship sail from the harbor even if Aspasius followed through on his threat to kill her should she be caught anywhere near the balcony.

How had Aspasius known that she and Ruth would be in the marketplace? That their capture would bring Caecilianus and Cyprian
running? And even more puzzling, how had he learned of their Christianity?

The sound of someone coming yanked Lisbeth from the questions that had plagued her since the day of Cyprian’s sentencing in the kangaroo court. She slipped behind a large pillar and waited for the man coming her way to pass. She held her breath, waited until he clattered down the hall, then peered around the column. She’d recognized that pompous strut anywhere. “Felicissimus?”

The startled slave trader halted and turned. “Lisbeth.” Sheepish embarrassment soon gave way to righteous indignation. “I see the red is fading from your hair. Just as well, I suppose, since keeping your identity secret is no longer an issue.”

“You’re the traitor?”

“Not a traitor.” He patted his belly. “The rightful bishop of Carthage.” He whistled as he left the palace.

Waves of sadness battered Lisbeth’s stomach as she stepped onto the proconsul’s balcony. Felicissimus had betrayed Cyprian, and for what? Did he really believe Aspasius would allow the church to continue? Felicissimus would be the king of nothing, or he, too, would be dead. Even so, the truth of such deep deception would kill her husband. She wanted to strangle Felicissimus. But her desire to see her husband once more far outweighed her immediate need for vengeance. For now, she would do what she came for and trust God to deal with the traitor.

Trust God.
Where was this God she’d grown to love? The thought played in Lisbeth’s mind as she scanned the multitudes gathered along the shoreline. Word of an official exile had brought the masses out in droves. If any of the onlookers had the measles, the close contact would speed the spread of the disease.

For once, she didn’t care.

An arm slipped around Lisbeth’s waist, and she jumped with a start. “Mama? What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you go through this alone.” She gave Lisbeth a little squeeze.

Lisbeth rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I love you, Mama.” The words rolled out from a place deep within her. They felt good in her mouth and tasted sweet on her tongue. Healing. Her mother had not left her on purpose, and neither had her husband. Both had given everything to spare her a painful future.

Suddenly someone in the crowd spotted the man they’d waited to see. The mob shifted. Cyprian, accompanied by his faithful deacon Pontius, strode through the people jostling to touch his snowy-white toga. One last in-your-face proclamation to the citizens of Carthage of just whom Aspasius was banishing that made Lisbeth smile.

With a dignified bearing, Cyprian marched up the gangplank of the ship. Right before he stepped aboard the Roman freighter, Cyprian removed his toga and tossed it into the water. Wearing only his under tunic, he shouted to the crowd, “Romans, lords of this world, know that I renounce the race that wears the toga. From this day forward, I serve the one God.”

Soldiers pulled him and Pontius onto the deck and raised the gangplank.

“Cyprian!” Lisbeth didn’t recognize her shredded voice. “Cyprian!”

Her husband cuffed his eyes and scanned the homes stacked along the shore. When he spotted her on Aspasius’s balcony, he blew a kiss.

As the boat carrying her love drifted out of earshot, Lisbeth continued to scream Cyprian’s name even though she knew he
wouldn’t hear it. Eyes straining and arms outstretched, she watched the sails of Cyprian’s ship recede.

“Come, daughter.” Mama tried to move her from the railing.

“How have you stood this world?” Lisbeth turned her face into the blustery wind and allowed the salt to scrub her cheeks raw.

59

D
URING THE LONG, DARK
days that followed, Lisbeth felt completely unhinged, like she was lost in a bad dream. But an eerie sense of hopelessness had swallowed her ability to sleep, so the despair was real. This pressure crushing her bones was beyond the reach of reason. She’d known Cyprian only a month. Falling so head over heels in thirty days was about as logical as time travel. This couldn’t be real love. Yet she could not stop crying.

In Lisbeth’s zombielike state, Mama handled her tenderly, supplying bowls of broth or wine laced with herbal cocktails that numbed the pain. Which was just as well. Letting her mind consider what Mama was doing behind the scenes to keep Aspasius at bay would be the nail in her coffin.

So when Mama appeared at her chamber door with a beautiful silk gown draped over her arm, the reality of what was about to happen hit her like the aftershock that topples the remaining shaky structures after an earthquake.

“He’s ordered you to dine with him.” Mama cleared her throat. “You are to be scrubbed and decked out in my finest.” Mama’s lips quivered. “I’m to take you to the Baths of Antoninus and parade you among the senators’ wives as a reminder to never cross the proconsul. You remember those ruins, correct?”

Lisbeth nodded. “Papa loved them.”

“Yes.” Mama offered her hand. “Your father.” She led Lisbeth from her room. Immediately outside her door stood the scribe Lisbeth had seen attending Aspasius at the arena. “I’ve got it from here, Pytros,” Mama tossed over her shoulder as they hurried down the hall.

Once they cleared the palace gates, Mama spoke in hushed English, a gleam of emotion in her eye Lisbeth could not interpret. “We’ve not but a minute.” She glanced around as if she thought them followed. “I’ve secured your passage.”

“To Curubis?”

“To safety.”

“And you’re coming with me, right?”

Mama hesitated, then offered a reluctant smile. “Yes. Of course.”

“And Laurentius?”

“Him, too. Ruth will bring him to the port—”

“Let’s go.”

“We must wait until dark.” Mama checked once again to see if they were followed. “I know a place where we can hide. Where Aspasius will never think to look.”

They turned toward the mountains, quickly putting an uncomfortable distance between them and the harbor. “But what about Ruth and Laurentius?” Lisbeth asked as the tenements came into view.

“Trust me.” Mama dragged her faster and faster through the darkened alleys and narrow slum dwellings. They zigged and zagged until Lisbeth was hopelessly lost.

Suddenly they passed through the outdoor kitchen where Lisbeth had boiled the water for Junia’s vaporizer and Eunike’s baby. “I know this place.” She froze. “It’s near the cisterns.”

“Come.” Mama tugged on her hand, hauling her into a familiar courtyard that surrounded the stone structure of the
wells, the structure with the cave swimmers symbol, the way back.

Ruth and Laurentius huddled near the cistern wall.

“No. I won’t go. Not without Cyprian.” Lisbeth planted her feet near the stone lip of the well. The smell of cold, dark water sent her heart pounding in her ears.