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Authors: Tim Lahaye 7 Jerry B. Jenkins

BOOK: Luke's Story
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Some of the names of the dead had included people of faith, those who believe in whom they referred to as the one true God. So where was He now?
Memories flooded the boy’s mind. Now that he knew how most slave children were raised, he realized how good his own childhood had been. He had long been aware who he and his parents were and who they were not, but he had never suffered.
Until now.
As Loukon’s breathing became steady and deep, he realized how bone-weary he was. His sleep had been fitful and, as his father had said, the night short. Then his day had been as strenuous as he could remember. And the very idea of arguing with his master—especially in front of his family and advisers and even other slaves—humiliated the boy. He would have to apologize when the time was right.
 
 
WHEN LOUKON AWOKE three hours later, he was aware of voices in the great room. He quietly made haster should remain where he was until authorities had determined that the estate was safe for return. That could have been weeks. No one knew how many more might be affected or how long it would take to bury the dead and cleanse the place. It was unlikely that the cause of the killing plague would be determined or that it could be contained. But until experts believed the hazard had been eliminated, no one believed Theophilus should risk a return.
“And when,” one asked, “will you tell the boy about his father?”
“I’ll not be able to keep it from him, nor would I choose to. He’ll want to know as soon as he wakes. I just hope he gets a little rest.”
“I’m awake,” Loukon said, stepping into view.
Theophilus immediately rose and approached him. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Thank you. Of course I knew it was inevitable.”
“Don’t worry about any duties for the time being. Let my people know if you need anything.”
“I am your people, sir.”
“Consider yourself part of my family now. And as I promised, we will honor your parents, and all we have lost. I can’t say when that will be, but I guarantee it will be appropriate and meaningful. I very much respected your parents, Luke. I will miss them.”
SIX
The estimates of how long it would take for Theophilus and his family to return to Daphne proved woefully inaccurate. The master seemed out of sorts for weeks as he directed—from the Mediterranean retreat—mass burials and the torching of the slaves’ quarters. Frequent visits from provincial authorities and even representatives from Rome resulted in heated meetings and much turmoil.
Theophilus dispatched trusted aides to Antioch and Tarsus to procure more slaves, but even this effort was stalled when he was informed that he would have to house these people elsewhere until the rebuilding at Daphne had been completed. There was not enough room, or work for the slaves, on the Mediterranean.
At first grateful to take the master up on his offer of no study until he was ready, after weeks of moping about, Loukon found himself eager for anything to occupy his mind. He hated to bother Theophilus, with all that had to be on his agenda, but when he got a moment’s audience with him, Loukon said, “I believe I am ready to take up my studies again.”
Theophilus seemed to weigh him with his eyes. “I have a task for you first.”
“Anything, sir. Thank you.”
“I pledged an appropriate memorial to your parents and the others. I would like you to take charge of that.”
“Take charge? I would be unable to host it or to speak.”
“Oh, no,” Theophilus said. “I myself would be expected to serve as host and eulogizer. What I require of you is to gather all pertinent information on the deceased: names, birth records, duties, any personal stories Iight be able to relate. And then I would like you to suggest an appropriate memorial, something that would remain after we have orally honored these.”
“When will this be, sir?”
“Upon our return to Daphne. I considered doing it here, but that seems so impersonal. It strikes me that we should do this within a respectable distance of where they have been entombed.”
Grieved and hurting as he was, Loukon found himself desperate for just this sort of exercise, and he threw himself into it. He spent an entire evening reminiscing on papyrus about his own parents. Then the next morning he shortened it to its essence so Theophilus would have time to include a few sentences about each of the dead.
Loukon spent several days carefully interviewing several at the retreat about anyone they had lost. He wept with them and shared his own memories, finding it all quite melancholy and yet satisfying and healing.
To his abject dismay, however, Loukon sensed pride creeping into him for the very fact that the master had asked him to take charge of this. His parents had been in the ground only a short time, and his wound remained sharp and deep. And yet the baser part of his nature was looking forward to the day when Theophilus would thank him publicly for his efforts in staging the memorial. What was wrong with him?
Finally the day came when he was allowed to visit Daphne for the first time. Many of the surviving slaves had been working on the rebuilding of their quarters and purging the rest of the estate in anticipation of the master’s return, and only they could relate stories of their lost family members.
In all, more than thirty had perished and twice that many had endured long recoveries from whatever it was that had swept the place.
“I get daily reports, of course,” Theophilus had told him, “but bring me back a detailed account. Consider it part of your studies, an assignment in constructing a thorough evaluation. I want to know how the new place is shaping up, and I’d like an honest forecast of when you think we might be able to return.”
“Master, I want to thank you for this task. I can’t say that I’m enjoying it actually, but I am grateful for the activity.”
“Do you still regret having left?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“I try not to dwell on it,” Theophilus said. “The guilt for selfishness crouches at the door of my mind, but I try to combat it with logic. I remind myself that there was nothing I could have done, and that I have been spared to continue to do right by my fellow man. Now, where is your thinking on a permanent memorial?”
“It might prove costly.”
“Let me worry about that that, Luke.”
“What would you think of a sculpture or some sort of depiction that would honor the dead?”
“Tell me more.”
“I feel fortunate. The master noticed my interest in such things, is all I can say. I am as surprised as anyone else that he has allowed this.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Would you like to do what I do?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Why not tell him?”
“Theophilus? He would laugh me out the door. I can’t read and wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“But you’re interested in science, mathematics, rhetoric, art, history, medicine?”
Diabolos laughed aloud. “Hardly! I am interested in remaining inside all day and doing nothing, like you.”
“If you think what I do is nothing, you are mistaken.”
“Well, just in case you’re unaware of it, the rest of us resent your privileges.”
“And what am I to do about that? Refuse the master’s kindnesses so I don’t separate myself from my people?”
“That’s what I would have done.”
Loukan found himself not only offended and resentful, but also angry. He wished he were bigger so he could challenge Diabolos to a fight. He imagined bloodying the man’s face, knocking him to the ground, and kicking him to within an inch of his life. And here he had been t
rying to convince the man that he was just a fortunate, humble servant.
What am I really?
 
 
LOUKON SPENT NEARLY the entire day interviewing survivors of the plague about their loved ones. He found it strange to wander where he and his parents had lived and to see nothing but dirt. The new quarters were in the same area but several yards away. And they were nice, roomier, and Theophilus had apparently approved an engineering project that directed a stream of water through the complex that would greatly aid with sanitation.
Just before it was time to head back to the Mediterranean, Loukon made his way to the rough-hewn tombs where his parents and the others had been interred. He repeated aloud from memory what he had written his parents weeks before. When he got back to the estate, Diabolos was standing by the wagon and horses.
“Ready?” he said.
“I need to gather my things,” Loukon said. “But I would like to ask you about your family first, if you’re up to it. Come inside where I can write.”
“Can’t we do it back at the retreat?”
“We might not have as much time. What if you are assiwed him. “You know, of course, that I know what you’re going through. Don’t forget that my parents were among the first to die. I even understand the guilt of being the only survivor.”
“But you had a reason!” Diabolos said, sitting across from Loukon. “I was out in the workplace with everyone else. I wasn’t lounging inside doing nothing!”
“I am sorry, Diabolos. I truly am. Now, would you tell me about them?”
All the while Loukon was taking notes, he was resenting Diabolos and wanted to strike back at his meanness. He somehow forced himself to dredge up some compassion for this sad, sad man. If Loukon felt the slave was being unfair, he could only imagine how Diabolos felt about him. But of course he didn’t have to imagine it; Diabolos was nothing if not forthright.
 
 
LOUKON ALLOWED HIMSELF to hope that by the time he and Diabolos had reached the Mediterranean retreat again, they might have forged some sort of a relationship, if not an uneasy friendship. Even a truce would have been better than the distance he felt from the man.
But no. While he thanked Diabolos effusively, Loukon got only a nod, and when he came upon him around the grounds during the ensuing days, his greetings were barely acknowledged. It was as if they had not spent the better part of a day together.
Loukon spent most of the next two weeks daily working on the eulogy for Theophilus to read at the memorial. A target date had been set for the return to Daphne, and Loukon found himself eager to get back. Would he be assigned his own chambers in the servants’ quarters, or would he have a place in the main house? After the encounter with Diabolos, he wasn’t sure which he would rather have. Slave quarters would be fine with him. In truth, he’d rather stay in relative luxury, but he wanted his peers to think he was required to stay in the main house.
It was time to endure the memorial.
Endure
was the right word, for as sweet and meaningful as Theophilus would make it, it would be an ordeal for the grieving. Maddeningly, part of him still hoped the master would acknowledge his part in the preparations.
Once it was over, Loukon could get back to his studies. He hoped he hadn’t fallen hopelessly behind. With university looming on the horizon, he believed he could focus and find within himself renewed enthusiasm for the task of conducting the memorial. He desperately wanted to honor the memory of his parents while also proving himself worthy of his master’s trust.
Loukon had come to the difficult decision that if Theophilus again raised the matter of his becoming an adopted son, even in just a symbolic way, he was going to decline. As much as he respected the man and appreciated the sentiment, he had the deep feeling that he would be dishonoring his own father to accede to the request.
Anyway, his dream was to one day be considered a colleague of Theophilus. And that would never happen if he was forever seen as a son. Would turning down such an overture cause a breach in the relationship? He couldn’t risk that. Loukon would count on the innate goodness of the man, his Stoicism. There was no way he could survive in the world without the man’s patronage.
“I am still a slave, sir. And while I may have gone soft without manual labor for so long, I am happy to move myself in. And I have so little that it will give me time to help get the main house in order for you too.”
“You are determined to remain a slave, aren’t you?”
In fact, Loukon was deeply troubled. He had done the right thing, he knew. But in his heart of hearts, he’d rather the master had forbade it.
 
 
IN THE PREDAWN DARKNESS Loukon loaded his stuff onto the wagon he knew Diabolos would be driving, then helped pack assorted items from the house. When it came time to pull out, slaves crowding every available inch of the wagons, Loukon climbed up next to Diabolos.
“Big day ahead,” he said.
“Are you going to be jabbering the whole way? This is the middle of my night.”
“Sorry.”
“What are you doing here anyway? I would have thought you would have been awarded a purple robe and allowed to accompany the master himself. Fall out of his good graces? Don’t tell me he has relegated you back to slave quarters and slave status!”
“That has always been the case.”
“Oh, spare me! You have been found out! You proved slothful or sassy, didn’t you?”
Loukon fought to stay silent and to not even shake his head. Lowering himself to gain back some respect or trust was clearly not going to work with someone like Diabolos.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve been eliminated from the inner circle.” Diabolos threw an arm around Loukon’s shoulder and roughly pulled him close. “Well, don’t cry over it, man! I’ll show you the ropes! It’ll all come back to you. Did you get assigned my wagon? Because you know the driver is the overseer for the day, so you’ll have to do what I say when I say it.”
“Well, first I have to get moved in. And then I thought I would—”
“No, no. You’ll move in last. Your quarters won’t be going anywhere, will they? And then
you
don’t decide what you’ll do.
I’ll
let you know.”
“But I told the master I would help with the main house . . .”
“The main house has plenty of men assigned. I’ll use you where you will be of the most help.”
Maybe this returning to slave status wasn’t such a good idea after all. Part of Loukon wanted to take advantage of his relationship with the master and simply tell Diabolos off and do what he pleased. But no. He would serve the hurting man. And if that didn’t soften him, that was not Loukon’s problem.
When finally the caravan rumbled through the gates of the newly built estate at Daphne, the drivers asnd woman and a boy and a girl toiling in the gardens.
No one spoke, but slowly they climbed down from the wagons and approached, staring, gasping, whistling. It was clear this was the perfect gift from the master.
“This is where the memorial will be held tomorr—”
But Diabolos grabbed Loukon. “Tell me and I’ll tell them. You are not in charge here.”
“The memorial service will be conducted here at dawn tomorrow. The master will eulogize the dead.”
Diabolos gran
dly announced it to the rest of the slaves. “Now, let’s get to work!”
 
 
AT THE END OF THE DAY Loukon was finally free to move his own meager belongings into a slave’s chamber. He had been assigned to carry things everywhere but to the main house, and Diabolos seemed to gloat the whole time. Loukon was determined not to let it show that he was being humiliated, so he smiled often and worked quickly, though he was soon exhausted. The truth was, it had been too long since he had done manual labor. But he forced himself to keep pushing, hoping to prove that Diabolos could not get to him, let alone defeat him. In reality, however, he was seething and none too proud of himself for it.
Loukon was arranging the last of his study materials and putting his second tunic away when he heard the master’s family’s conveyances come through the gate. He took one last look at the spartan but more than adequate room that would be his until he left for university, then hurried out to welcome them.
Excited as he was about the future, this had been mostly a sad day for the majority of the slaves. They were clearly impressed with the statue and the lengths to which their master had gone to rebuild and make more comfortable their own accommodations. But returning to this place, even reuniting with family and friends, had to bring back the hard memories of their loss. It certainly did to Loukon.
Theophilus stood high in his carriage and merely thanked everyone for their help, reminding them to meet in front of the statue at dawn.
Loukon hurried back to his new quarters and had just dropped onto the bed when he was summoned to the main house.
“I thought you might want to see what we’ve done with the physician’s area,” Theophilus said.
Loukon was certain his surprise showed. “I would love to, but what made you think I had not already seen it?”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Luke. I am fully aware of how you were treated today, and how you responded. I am not a proponent of corporal punishment except in the most egregious circumstances, but all it would take is one word from you and I’d have that overseer flogged.”
“Oh, no. Thank you, sir, but it was not that bad. And I can only imagine what is weighing on his mind.”
“You’re a better man than I am,” Theophilus said.
If only that were true. The revenge Theophilus suggested sounded delicious. But how would Loukon have lived with himself if he had taken advantage of it? And what kind of a man was he to think he was honorable in declining it when down deize="3">“To understand the universe, one must become a true thinker. Imagine the spiritual sense of well-being you can achieve this way.”
“You have gained this?” Loukon said.
“I have. Peace has visited me, as practicing virtue and reason has allowed me to grasp natural law and shut out the noise of the world. Men who are slaves to their passions do not understand truth and that it is virtuous to pursue it.”
Recalling what Theophilus had once said about still struggling with certain vices, Loukon said, “So this belief, this practice, has rid you of immorality?”
Zeno allowed his eyes to drift from the window to Loukon’s face. With what the student assessed as a condescending look, he said, “Well, I can confidently say I am no longer bound to taboos, superstition, belief in myths, worship of gods, and the like. And I can detach myself from hurtful experiences, largely through loving all other beings.”
“You love all others?”
“Let me put it this way, lad: Stoicism presents a picture of the world as unified. Logic, ethics, physics all play a part. The key is to focus on living in harmony with the universe, over which we hold no sway.”
“Otherwise we’re victims of fate?”
“We are anyway. As I say, the secret is to harmonize with all these influences by living a life of self-control based on wisdom. Clehere are disparities in our accommodations and food. I suppose a true Stoic would allow his charges to live in his home and eat from his table. I must ask, Luke, what prompts your grin?”
“Oh, I apologize, sir. I do not intend to be rude.”
“No, no. Speak.”
“Well, it’s just that I was thinking that a true Stoic would free his slaves.”
Theophilus’s face clouded and he nodded. “We touched on this once before. Freedom would not be profitable for every slave under my charge. Freeing them might do them more harm than good. Short of that, I want that my life be governed by my philosophy.”
“If I may pose one more question . . .”
“More than one, if you wish.”
“Thank you. I gather from my study that one of the chief aims of Stoicism is some higher plane of behavior. Am I being presumptuous in that?”
Theophilus rose and beckoned Loukon to walk with him. The lad followed him out of the house and into the twilight of the courtyard. “You’re wondering if I have made any progress in my attempts at controlling my own passions. How about you? Have you?”
“No, but neither have I formally adopted Stoicism as my own. Will you be requiring that of me?”
“I considered that, but I see many wonderful qualities in you anyway, as I have said. No, I believe I’ll leave such a decision up to you. Your education, your employment, your freedom will not hinge on such. What I desire for you in the long run—say, when you reach my age—is peace of mind. I wish that my philosophy would grant me that.”
“You do not have peace? You seem to.”
“I fear I am confiding too much, Luke, but I trust you.”
“I hope I have proven myself trustworthy.”
“So far. The fact is, that while I believe in the divine nature of the universe, I do not believe in God or the gods
per se
. The very idea seems to war against Stoicism.”
“Then what do you mean by
divine
nature?”
“Just that there seems to be a grand, overall logic to the universe. Things seem to make some sort of spiritual sense. And yet, though I live my life with all this in mind, working at self-control and virtue and logical thought, I have never seemed to master my own passions. I still seek my good over others’, I crave attention, I can be petty and jealous. And while I have been more than fortunate, enough never seems enough for me. You see what I’m saying?”
Loukon found a bench and requested permission to sit. “I understand, but if you do not worry about offending the gods and you foster a reputation of fairness and goodness, why no peace of mind? Only because you are overall l“I don’t know, Luke. I just don’t know. I had hoped Stoicism would make me a better man, put me on the journey of the Greek ideal. I have studied other pursuits, but Stoicism is as close as I have come to finding an acceptable way of living. The best I can say for myself is that I am striving.”
“Perhaps there is nothing more that can be said.”
“Perhaps, but you see how sad that is? I want to be truly worthy of my reputation as a good and decent man, not to simply be grateful that people think so. I know the real me, and I am not satisfied.”
“And thus you continue pursuing the noble path.”
“I have been doing that for too long to still be judging myself so inadequate.”
“Maybe you are being too hard on yourself.”
“I would like to think so, but even conceding that does not bring me the sense of satisfaction I long for. I can tell myself I am doing the best I can, but when it is not good enough to persuade even me that I am achieving the character I long for, it wears on me. I am no longer a young man. I see little hope.”
“You are despairing more than I realized.”
“And you wonder why I see so much hope in you?”
“Often, yes.”
“I am desperate that you become what I have not. You seem to have a natural virtue, a concern for others, an eager, inquisitive mind. So go off to the university committed to spend yourself for the benefit of others. Be the man I wish I were. If my only legacy is sponsoring a man for the world who will prove that altruism is attainable, maybe that will be enough.”
Loukon rose and laughed. “Forgive me, but you have laid on my shoulders a great weight of responsibility. What if it turns out that I am every bit as human as you, or even more so? If I fail, then what? All is lost?”
“You will not fail, Luke. You will achieve. You will make me proud.”
“I will give it my all. But as I told you long ago, I battle my own desires and passions as well.”
“But you’re young! That is part of maturing. I want to believe that if you understand what you’re striving for, you will be able to avoid the pitfalls I suffered. You can focus on the denial of your passions and the embracing of selflessness and service to mankind.”
Loukon rose and they walked back toward the main house. Loukon said, “Do you mean to lay on me the burden of all your disappointments and broken dreams?”
“No. And I apologize if it appears that way. Rather, I want you to know that I believe in you.”

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