Man of God (14 page)

After traveling for several hours, they drew
to the side of the road and ate a meal Alysia had packed in a
basket. A few hours after resuming their journey, narrow lanes
began branching off the road to right and left, each leading to a
dwelling at the top of the slope. Some were small, quaint farms,
and others were the mansions of the wealthy. At last the driver,
one of Horatius’ slaves, turned off onto a long avenue lined with
cypress trees. They were all drowsing, but came quickly to
attention as the carriage slowed and drew to a stop.

Against the dusk, the villa was ablaze with
the light of many lamps, showing off its marble columns and
balconies, the plane and cypress trees gracing its lawn, the
carefully placed shrubs and beds of flowers. Slaves had come
outside to greet them, taking their baggage and ushering them
inside. The high ceilings sent rushes of cool air wafting over them
as they stood in the entry hall. Long corridors ran down either
side, and in front of them a double doorway opened onto a vast
courtyard. More slaves appeared, offering to take them to their
rooms and announcing that food would be served in the courtyard
within the hour.

“By Felicitas!” Daphne exclaimed, before she
thought. “I could get used to this!”

* * *

Morning sunlight slanted through the long
windows into the room, falling across the large, canopied bed. The
walls of the bedroom were painted in bright colors…one entire
section depicted a woman in a flowing gown and palla, seeming to
almost float through a mysterious arched doorway flanked by twin
Corinthian columns. The rich scent of cedar emanated from the
various chests and tables, the cabinets, the elaborate dressing
table with its matching bench, and the enormous frame of the bed.
Wicker chairs and ornate lamp stands filled every corner.

Alysia stretched and slid one of her legs
against one of her husband’s. “Maximus,” she said languorously,
pressing close and laying her arm across his chest. “I think I’m
going to call you Maximus from now on. Or have I said that
before?”

He gave a low laugh and answered, “And I
think
your
name means ‘captivating’…Let’s see, when exactly
did you captivate me? I think it must have been that day in the
rain when you kicked me in the shin and declared your hatred for
me.”

“I did have a horrible temper, didn’t I?”

“Constantly.” He smiled and turned to look
into her eyes. “But I didn’t blame you, after all you endured.”

“Oh, I’ve always had a temper, I assure you.
And I was very sorry for myself.
And
I didn’t want to fall
in love with you!”

He sighed. “It’s a shame I was so
irresistible.”

“It’s a shame you’re so conceited!”

“Conceited!” he said, with mock indignation.
“After you denied me all those years? It was a considerable blow to
my pride.”

“One you needed, I’m sure. But…I think I’ve
more than made up for it since then.”

“Indeed, you have,” he said, grinning, and
kissed her fervently.

* * *

The day was spent exploring the villa and its
surroundings, which would have covered an entire city block. Shaped
like a square, the numerous rooms surrounded the paved courtyard;
there were bedrooms, a library, offices, casual and formal dining
rooms (though in summer, meals were served on the courtyard),
reception rooms, baths, exercise rooms…and now, a prayer room. It
had formerly been a shrine to the household gods, but the images
had all been removed and burned, replaced by copies of the
Scriptures.

Because Horatius had shared his faith with
his slaves, many of them had become believers. The guests were
never certain exactly how many slaves there were, because they only
appeared when they were attending to their own particular duties,
and were so quiet and decorous they were hardly noticed. Their
living quarters were next to the baths.

The courtyard was furnished with tables and
chairs; spaces for small trees to grow had been left in the mosaic
pavement. A fountain splashed water into an enormous pool, where
pipes connected to nearby springs. A paved walkway, edged with
flowerbeds, surrounded the pool. Beyond the courtyard a row of
columns led to a wide stairway, descending to a paved landing and
another set of stairs shaped in a semi-circle, and surrounded by a
marble parapet. Rustic clay pots filled with plants had been placed
on top of the low wall, and the landing, too, was interspersed with
shrubs and flowers and small trees. The second stairway led to the
close-trimmed lawns, which overlooked the foothills of lush green
mountains rising in the distance.

A pond that could almost be called a small
lake covered the entire west side of the property, and on the east
side stood a large brick stable and surrounding pasture. Horatius,
like many of Rome’s wealthy landowners, used his country estate to
provide extra income…in his case, raising horses. A forest of wild
oak, pine and maple trees stretched beyond the stable as far as the
eye could see.

From the north a road extended past the long
drive and disappeared from view. When Daphne asked where it went,
the house steward replied that it led to the marketplace, where all
the local farmers who didn’t wish to conduct business within the
city gathered on certain days of the week to sell their goods.
There were amusements, too, he added, and speeches and public
debates, and other merchants and peddlers.

“Horatius must be awfully rich. I thought
that Jesus’ followers were supposed to give away all their
possessions to the poor,” Daphne remarked, as they sat around a
table on the courtyard, partaking of a superb mid-day meal. Over
their heads, extending just far enough to cover the eating area,
was a section of latticework threaded with plants and vines, to
shade them from the glaring sun.

“Well,” Paulus said dryly, “I’m afraid there
wouldn’t be many followers if that were a requirement.”

“A lot of people did that, at first,” Alysia
said, passing around a bowl of grapes. “And they did it gladly,
because they wanted to. But Jesus only asked people to be
responsible for what they have…to be good stewards.”

“
And
to give to the poor,” Rachel
added. “And take care of the widows and orphans.”

“But what about that man you spoke of one
night, Antonius, who Jesus told to go and give everything he had to
the poor?”

“That was a test,” Rachel said, “because the
man was very proud.”

Daphne looked annoyed, and Rachel was sorry
she had spoken. Her mother had taught her that children should
remain silent in the presence of adults, to show their respect. But
Rachel often forgot. She liked Daphne, but there was something
about her…she didn’t quite know what to think. She wasn’t sure that
Daphne really wanted to be a believer.

Her father smiled at her, and Rachel felt
better. He said, “Now, what shall we do today? Who wants to ride
horses? Rachel, I’m going to teach you to ride a horse and to catch
fish, and to swim!”

“Those are boy things!” Rachel answered, but
looked interested.

“Nonsense—I want to learn, too, Antonius!”
cried Daphne. “Can you ride a horse, Alysia?”

Alysia shook her head. “No, thank you. I am
content to walk.”

“Come with us anyway,” Paulus urged. “You can
ride with me.”

“I’ll do anything but ride a horse.” She
smiled, but her eyes met her husband’s with a secret sorrow. The
wild ride on Asbolos was forever linked in her mind with the storm
at sea, and the loss of their child.

He squeezed her hand. “As you wish,” he said
softly, and stood up, still holding her hand. “But you don’t mind
looking at them, do you? Horatius has some fine horses.”

“We used to have a horse,” Rachel said, again
without thinking, and again she reproached herself. Maybe she
wasn’t supposed to tell that.

“Really? What happened to it?” Daphne asked
curiously.

They stood up and began to walk toward the
stable. Immediately a slave came out of the house to take away
their plates.

“He was lost,” Paulus replied. “In a city far
from here.”

Daphne began pulling up the hem of her gown,
causing her bracelets to jingle. “I should have changed clothes
before coming out here.”

“It’s very clean,” Paulus said. They entered
the dimness of the large, brown brick structure, where the horses
were kept in the heat of the day; mornings and evenings were spent
in the pasture. Air rushed through the front from the wide, wooden
doorways at either end, having a freshening effect on the sometimes
musty smell…and the scent of manure. The horses were secured in
stalls, and a dozen or more friendly heads poked over the
gates.

“They’re beautiful,” Alysia said, reaching
out to stroke a broad forehead. “What are they?”

“Arabians,” Paulus answered. “Well known for
their endurance. Notice their colors…that white and gray is a
beauty…the black, the chestnut. Look, Rachel, there’s a dark gray
like Asbolos.”

“He wasn’t an Arabian, was he, Father?”

“No, but a finer horse never lived. I miss
him.”

“What do you suppose happened to him?” Daphne
asked.

“Someone found him and took good care of
him…I hope.”

Alysia watched as Daphne frolicked back and
forth, petting the animals and laughing delightedly when she found
a long row of foals. She seemed very young; even Rachel was more
demure than she. Now and then Daphne would glance at Paulus, and
there was nothing extraordinary or special about the glances; her
gaze would go to Alysia next and flit away. Her lithe young body
moved swiftly from stall to stall.

“I like the gray,” she announced. “That’s the
one I want to ride.”

In spite of her deep compassion for Daphne,
and her strong desire to see the young woman brought into the
“kingdom” of God…Alysia realized she just didn’t trust her. She
hated admitting it to herself, but she didn’t.

* * *

Several idyllic days passed. Paulus, as he
had promised, taught Rachel and Daphne how to ride, and how to
fish. However, he didn’t mention swimming again, for that would
entail dealing with Daphne in some sort of scanty attire; he hadn’t
counted on her being so eager to learn new things. Alysia watched
them from the fence as they cantered about the pasture, both
laughing and encouraging, and sat on the bank of the pond, in the
shade of the many cypress and pine trees, while they fished. She
did, occasionally, fish with them—but that had never been one of
her favorite pursuits, either.

One day they had waded knee-high into the
water; Daphne and Rachel had tucked the edges of their long tunics
into belts at their waists. The horsehair fishing lines were
attached to short rods weighted with stones and bronze hooks, onto
which Paulus had impaled wriggling pink worms. Paulus was using a
hand-net, and several bream and perch already lay twitching on the
pond bank. Suddenly Daphne gave a shriek, and Alysia saw Paulus
reach down and grab something and sling it over his head; the next
thing she knew a large snake was flying through the air toward the
opposite bank.

Afterward Daphne was very subdued and watched
Paulus more than ever. It was, Alysia feared, becoming a serious
situation. Paulus seemed unaware of the girl’s attention, which was
unlike him because he was usually observant about everything.
Alysia hesitated to broach the subject, knowing it would create
suspicion and she really didn’t
know
Daphne’s intentions, or
her heart.

Rachel seemed to be having a wonderful time,
and Alysia ached for her because in spite of Paulus’ and her
efforts, there had rarely been much that was normal or carefree in
her daughter’s life. Besides all the other diversions, she could
spend as much time as she liked on her sketching; she practiced
with her bow and arrow, and she had even brought her lyre, at
Alysia’s insistence…but had managed to avoid resorting to that
particular occupation.

Evenings were spent in the prayer room, where
Paulus, Alysia and Rachel read aloud from the Scriptures. Daphne
listened and never offered to read, causing Alysia to wonder if she
had ever learned to do so. They discussed what they read, and again
Daphne listened but made no comments and asked no questions. Then
they prayed before retiring for the night. Silently, Alysia lifted
special petitions for Daphne’s salvation…and Paulus’
protection.

* * *

Megara read the note presented her by the
mute slave, Tertius…dismissed him with a flick of her wrist and sat
down abruptly in a thickly cushioned chair. He had scribbled his
news on a piece of papyrus, the only way he had of
communicating—for she couldn’t bear it when he made signs like an
idiot and had forbidden him to do so. She’d always assumed his
first master had cut out his tongue; she’d never asked, and didn’t
really want to know.

Her gaze went slowly over the comfortable
furnishings of her townhouse on the upper slopes of the Esquiline
Hill—comfortable, but not luxurious. It was the best she could do,
and how she hated being dependent on Paulus for it! She thought
longingly of the beautiful house they had lived in, long ago; it
was now occupied by his sister and her husband. The farm and villa
Paulus had owned had been sold by his family a few years after his
disappearance.

She looked at the note again, and couldn’t
decide what to do. Usually she could make up her mind with
lightning speed, and could stick to a decision with obsessive
obstinacy, but this was…complicated. Tertius had heard that
inquiries were being made about Paulus on the streets, and one man
was even going around showing a sketch of him. She had known
Caligula wanted to find him, but thought his interest had waned
over the years.

Should she warn Paulus—her only source of
money? Or should she turn him in to the authorities and expect to
be richly rewarded?