Man of God (21 page)

It wasn’t long before he and others had
released all the horses except the foals…but it was
too
long, for now the smoke was so thick it was impossible to see. At
the other end of the stable he could hear the frenzied squealing of
the foals. Listening hard, Paulus thought all the men were out, and
feeling his way toward the stable door he went through it, doubled
over with coughing. Far down the line Alysia watched him anxiously.
She had thrown a robe over her nightgown, and her hair swung loose
as she grabbed the buckets and passed them to the person in front
of her.

Letting go of the protecting blanket, Paulus
turned, his eyes streaming, to look at the building…and saw that it
was lost. Only the outer walls were of stone; most of the inside
was wood, and in places, the tiles on the roof were already
collapsing. The men closest to it were being driven back by the
heat. He made a gesture toward the line of water bearers. “It’s no
use,” he shouted. “Let it burn itself out. There’s nothing else
close enough to catch fire. Throw me that axe—some of you come with
me!”

He caught the axe deftly and ran around to
the other end of the stable, where that door was locked from the
inside. The fire and the most dense smoke hadn’t reached this area
yet, and if he could get the door down they might be able to save
the foals. He heaved the axe into the wooden door over and over
until it began to give way. The men with him pushed and kicked
until it fell, and they rushed in to search through the haze for
the latch that hemmed in the young horses. They, too, were wild;
many had to be grabbed by their manes and pulled out through the
door. The fire surged toward them, bringing a blast of intolerable
heat and rolling smoke.

“That’s all but one!” one of the men shouted
to Paulus. “It won’t move. We’d better get out!”

Paulus had one foal by the mane; he slapped
its rump and it leaped up to run through the doorway. Turning back,
he knew he had enough time to get the last one out, and found it in
a corner of its stall, paralyzed with fright. He seized a handful
of mane but the colt, larger than the others, wouldn’t budge. He
was in pain now, his lungs about to burst, his flesh searing. Once
again he could barely see, but between billows of smoke he spied a
leather strap lying across the petition between stalls. Grabbing
it, he lashed at the animal until it bolted and ran for the
corridor, nearly trampling him. Confused, it turned the wrong way
and began to head into the fire. Paulus threw himself into its side
and pushed with all his strength, until it wheeled and galloped for
the door.

Hardly able to stand, he lurched after the
horse, flinging himself through the door and into the fresh air.
The other men waved torches they had grabbed from the courtyard,
and chased the animals into the nearby pasture. In the darkness,
Paulus suddenly felt vise-like hands grip his upper arms and a
voice growled into his ear: “This is what happens to Jews and
Nazarenes! No more spreading the
word
around here!”

Pain exploded in his head as something
crashed against it, and just before all awareness left him he felt
himself being dragged back into the now raging inferno.

* * *

Alysia raced toward the men holding torches
as the last of the colts and fillies scrambled into the pasture.
“My husband!” she called frantically. “Where is my husband?”

Several broke away and ran toward her. “He
didn’t come out?”

“No—where is he?”

They began running toward the other side of
the stable, with Alysia and many of the other slaves following.
Rachel had been told to stay close by the pond and she sat down,
stunned. The fire lit the entire landscape, and she could feel its
heat even here. Two of the women slaves came and sat beside
her.

One of the men with Alysia started to turn
back. “I’ll get the blankets, and a rope to lead us back out!”

“There’s no time!” said another, and he
disappeared into the wall of smoke, followed at once by the
others.

Alysia felt crushed by anxiety as she waited…
why hadn’t he come out? No one could survive in that! The flames
roared, and she could hear crashing sounds as the building began to
fall in upon itself. Waves of heat and smoke engulfed her, and she
was on the verge of running into that impenetrable gray curtain
herself when she saw three shadowy forms emerging…two men, with
Paulus sagging in the middle. The two other men were immediately
behind them, and they all rushed out, gasping and coughing. There
was no sound from Paulus; he staggered between his rescuers, his
face and skin streaked with black, his tunic black and smoldering,
dotted with burn holes.

“Get this off of him!” Alysia cried, pulling
at the tunic. They managed to remove Paulus’ clothes before they
all collapsed onto the ground. More slaves ran toward them and
Alysia sent one of them back for a blanket. She knelt beside her
husband.

“Paulus, can you hear me?”

All at once he began to cough and retch; she
rolled him over on his side, examining him in the light cast by the
fire. Beneath the streaks of soot his skin was red, but he didn’t
seem to be badly burned. He turned onto his back, opened his eyes
and focused on her face; they were very blue and shot through with
red.

“I hear you, Alysia,” he croaked. “I’m all
right.”

The slave rushed to them, carrying one of the
wet blankets, and he and Alysia tucked it around Paulus’ body. She
smoothed back his hair and he winced suddenly, and groaned. Her
fingers found a huge swelling.

“He’s hit his head…”

The others dragged themselves up from the
ground. Paulus struggled to speak.

“Someone hit me—pulled me inside.”

“I tripped over a shovel…just inside the
door,” one of the men said breathlessly. “Somewhere it…shouldn’t
have been.”

“Who was it?” Alysia exclaimed. “Who would
have done such a thing?”

Paulus shook his head, unable to answer.
Another of the slaves ran forward with a large cup of water; Alysia
took it, slowly raised Paulus’ head, and held it to his lips. When
she handed it back to the slave she saw Rachel approaching slowly,
her eyes wide with dread and fear. She managed to smile at her
daughter as she eased Paulus’ head back to the ground. “He’s going
to be all right, dear.”

Paulus held up his arm from the elbow and
took Rachel’s hand. She dropped down beside him and put his hand to
her cheek.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment,
addressing the men around him. “You saved my life.”

“It was God who saved you,” said one of them.
“We never would have found you—we couldn’t see anything. And
then—there you were. It is a miracle you’re alive, sir.”

“There were men—at least two,” Paulus said
laboriously. “Hiding in the woods.”

“I’ll have the place searched,” said the
slave.

“Probably gone—by now.” He told them, pausing
for breath, what the men had said. “Be careful from now on…keep
watch.”

“We should get you into the house, sir.”

While Paulus protested that he could walk,
another large blanket was brought and he was laid upon it; four
slaves picked up each end and he was carried into the house, and
down the corridor to the bedroom. Alysia and Rachel followed as he
was placed on the bed. They all smelled of smoke…Alysia thought she
would never be able to smell anything else.

“Would you please bring a basin of water and
some cloths?” Alysia asked one of the slaves hovering outside the
door. She went to stand beside the bed, her gown and robe askew,
her hair tumbled about her shoulders, a smudge of soot on one
cheek.

“You look—beautiful,” Paulus said, with an
appreciative but crooked grin, then closed his eyes and went to
sleep.

“Your father,” Alysia said quietly, smiling
down at Rachel, “is going to be fine.”

Rachel, who had made a valiant effort not to
cry, put her arms around her mother’s waist and hugged her…as
tightly as she could.

* * *

Horatius came two days later, after receiving
word of the fire, and found Paulus at the stable, looking over the
ruins and charred stone walls. Slaves had thrown water over several
areas that were still smoldering, and the odors of ash and soot
hung heavy in the air. A stout breeze had dispersed much of the
haze of smoke.

“Antonius!” said the white-haired man,
ambling toward Paulus with a worried frown. “How are you,
Antonius?”

Paulus greeted him with a smile and answered,
“A sore head. And a hard one, thankfully.”

“Thank the Lord! Any ill effects from the
fire?”

“Red skin, a few blisters. Coughing is much
better. I have indeed been blessed. But I’m sorry about all this,
Horatius. I feel I am to blame. I’ll help you to rebuild.”

“Nonsense! Rebuilding is a simple matter—I’m
only grateful that you and others were able to save the horses. But
you shouldn’t have risked your life, Antonius. And as for
blame…more nonsense! Obviously someone around here has something
against believers in Jesus, and that includes many of my slaves…may
the Lord be praised! Any one of them could have spoken of their
faith at the marketplace, and inspired the same reaction.”

“Still, I feel responsible for drawing
attention to you. Please let me pay for the stable.”

“I won’t hear of it!” Horatius looked
slightly surprised that Paulus would have the means to pay for such
an undertaking. “Come, let’s go and look at the horses. I’m
arranging to have them kept in other stables…owned by friends of
mine…until I’ve built another one. And I’ll get some good watchdogs
for the place—a Molossus or two—they’re great fearsome brutes!”

The two men walked toward the wooden fence
surrounding the meadow, where the horses were grazing or lying down
under the trees. Beyond the pasture, the mountains sloped upward to
meet an azure, cloudless sky. Paulus leaned casually against the
fence, hiding a sudden dizziness and feeling of nausea. He wasn’t
as well as he pretended…but he could be much worse.

“Your words at the marketplace must have been
very powerful, to provoke so great a response,” Horatius commented.
“I have heard you speak of what you called ‘spiritual warfare’. You
said that when you come against a territory, or a principality—if
you will—that has been in Satan’s control for thousands of years,
it is to be expected to encounter conflict and fierce opposition.
Satan has come against you, Antonius. I’m sure he has been opposed
to you all these years, but now it seems he has determined to stop
you.”

When Paulus didn’t reply, he went on, “You
should have died. You were in that stable for who knows how long,
with little or no air to breathe—flames all around you. God
delivered you for a reason, Antonius—and I will pray that he
continues to do so.”

“Thank you, Horatius. You don’t know what all
this has meant to us. Our time together here is something we will
always remember.”

“I’m glad of that. But don’t mind the fire!
It wasn’t your fault. Do you have an idea—as to who is
responsible?”

Paulus hesitated. “It could have been any
number of people who heard me speak that day. But there is a man
named Timaeus—I don’t want to falsely accuse him, but he said
certain things that lead me to believe he would be capable of
it.”

“I know him. And yes, he’s capable. I will be
on my guard.”

Paulus turned slowly toward him. “You are a
good man, Horatius. I wish I could tell you…everything. I pray God
that nothing will ever happen to you because of your association
with me.”

“I’ve told you before—it is an honor. And
please, stay here for as long as you like.”

“We must return to Rome. In fact, we were
thinking of leaving tomorrow.”

“Very well. I’ll send my carriage back here
after I return, and it will be ready for you in the morning.”

“Again, thank you, Horatius.”

“Since you’ll be entering the city instead of
leaving it, the guards will be even less likely to take a look at
you. But now that you are under attack, Antonius, I will pray even
harder for your safety.”

* * *

“Tell me, Flavius, what is special about the
thirty and first day of August?”

“It is the day of your birth, your
Majesty.”

Caligula sat at breakfast on the terrace of
his palatial apartment. His wife and small daughter had just left
to return to their own rooms, and Flavius was always glad to see
them go. He didn’t see how Susanna tolerated either one of them,
for the woman was absurdly pompous, much like Caligula, and the
child…in spite of her tender years…was equally arrogant, not to
mention spoiled, ill mannered and spiteful.

“Let us hope the Senate doesn’t forget…this
year,” the emperor said, popping a grape into his mouth. “Although
it would be amusing to think of a punishment for them if they do. I
never laughed so hard as to see Junius Laurentius run alongside my
chariot with his toga hitched up. Such knobby knees for a fat man!
You know his heart gave out the next day.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“That is also the day I have set as the last
one for Petronius to find Paulus Valerius. That’s less than two
weeks. How is the search going, Flavius?”

Taken aback, Flavius endeavored to keep a
stoic expression. “I would have to consult with Petronius, your
Majesty. I have heard nothing.”

“You might remind him that he made a vow. If
he doesn’t keep it, I will have his head.” The emperor licked his
fingers. “But first, I will have it shaved. No man should go to his
death with such a fine head of hair.”

* * *

Standing at attention in one of the reception
rooms, Petronius grew pale as Flavius told him what the emperor had
said.

“What about the search?” Flavius
demanded.

“We are making some progress, sir. A young
woman has been detained who we believe can give us
information.”