Man of God (28 page)

Susanna had been a great help to her,
pretending to bring her things that Alysia knew were already in the
room…towels, a basin of water, a nightgown, a cushion for her head.
She always had a word of encouragement, and her presence in itself
was a comfort. But this morning, she had said in a low voice, “My
husband won’t be able to help you. He’s been sent to the camp of
the Praetorian Guard on an errand. We are all praying for you…”

The guards stared at Alysia as she returned
from the dressing room to the bedroom. They had been stationed
throughout the chamber all night…had witnessed her kneeling at the
bed. She didn’t know what they thought, or if any of them might be
believers. She didn’t think so.

The door to the luxurious apartment opened,
and another guard motioned with his spear. “Come with me,” he
said.

She obeyed him, walking down the long
corridor until they stopped in front of a set of double bronze
doors. The soldier opened one of them, and she found herself in a
small anteroom. He stepped forward and tapped on a door leading to
another room, and moved back to wait.

The door jerked open. Another man appeared
before her, dressed in a transparent robe, his hair wet and
sticking up in spikes. The light in the anteroom was so dim she
didn’t recognize him at first, and then her breath caught in her
throat. It was Caligula.

His eyes went over her. “Why are you not
wearing what I sent you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Take your hair out of that braid.”

She didn’t move.

The emperor gestured to the soldier, who
leaned his spear against the wall and took Alysia’s shoulders,
turning her, and began to roughly unbraid her hair. Caligula
watched, his eyes feverish, lustful. Her hair hung loose about her
shoulders and he reached out to touch it, but stopped.

“Come,” he said, taking her arm instead. “We
are having a—banquet.”

Alysia paused in the doorway, looking over
the room. Red shades had been drawn over the windows, casting a
hellish glow, and like fiends of hell the room was filled with
writhing forms…she stepped backward, and slammed the door shut.

Caligula stared at her, amazed. “Do you know
what you’re doing? You are foolish to oppose me.”

“I may be a fool,” she said evenly, “but I am
resolved to die before I go into that room.”

“Those are strong words for someone in your
position.”

“As your prisoner?”

“And as the
mother
of a prisoner.”

“Have mercy, Caesar! You are a father. Would
you subject your own daughter to something like this?”

He actually seemed to think about it. For an
instant, Alysia saw something looking out of his eyes, something
not human, and a force began to well up in her until she felt
compelled to speak.

“Look at me,” she said, almost fiercely.

He jumped, startled. “What?”

“Look at me!”

His eyes met hers, and she felt her skin
crawl; likewise, he seemed to hate whatever he saw in her own. He
looked away and moved backward.

“I command you,” Alysia went on, feeling a
surge of power unlike anything she had ever felt soar through her
body, “in the name of Jesus Christ…”

“Stop,” Caligula whispered, his hand at his
throat. He said, louder, “Stop!”

“…to come out of him…”

The emperor screamed like a woman, then
seemed to choke, his eyes bulging. “Stop her!” he panted, gesturing
to the soldier.

A violent blow sent her reeling against the
wall. Her concentration lost, she shook her head dazedly and
straightened herself, holding onto the wall for support. Caligula
had recovered enough to take half a step forward.

“You are a sorceress!” he cried furiously.
“You have dared to try to cast your spells on me! By all the gods,
you will see who is the master of the world!”

He was slobbering. The thing looked out of
his eyes again and he simpered, saying in a voice unlike his own,
“
Don’t you know this kind only goes out by prayer and
fasting
?”

Alysia took a deep breath, saying shakily,
“Father in heaven, deliver us from evil—”

“You will die! To prison with her!” Caligula
screamed, and thrust open the door to disappear…into hell.

* * *

Paulus had lain prostrate on the floor all
night, praying for his wife and daughter. The chains were barely
long enough to allow him to do so. He felt in his spirit that his
prayers were heard, and answered, but no sense of reassurance came.
He didn’t know
how
God was going to answer. He had to fight
down panic, he had to stop himself from wishing he were Samson…able
to pull down the entire building and destroy all the wickedness
within.

Finally, sometime in the morning, he rolled
over onto his back and fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

The outside of the Temple of Vesta far
outshone the inside. Circular in shape, it was surrounded by
columns; between the columns were decorative screens made of
something that looked like gold. Above was a great bronze dome with
an opening in its center, allowing for light to come in, and smoke
to go out.

Yesterday, the Vestals had taken Rachel up
the narrow steps of the portico and showed her the sacred hearth,
which was being attended by two other Vestals, one a girl of about
twelve, and the other a young woman. They didn’t even glance at
her. There was not much else in the room, except a space hidden by
tapestries that looked mysterious and forbidding. Then she was
taken behind the temple to the House of the Vestals, where two
other women, both middle-aged, cut Rachel’s hair to just below her
ears. They made her put on a white tunic, like the ones they wore
under their white stolas.

No one had spoken to her. She was taken to a
room with a small narrow bed, and the lights were put out. She had
shed no tears until then, not even when they cut off her hair, but
she crawled into the bed and cried herself to sleep.

She had read, as part of her studies of the
history of Rome, about the goddess of the hearth, Vesta. She was
the guardian of Rome; in turn, the Vestal Virgins were the
guardians of the eternal fire that burned in the Temple. If they
ever allowed it to go out, Rome would meet with certain disaster.
Girls were brought into the priesthood at an early age, and most of
them served until their deaths…since not only were they thirty-six
years of age, at the youngest, when they completed their service,
but it was believed the gods did not approve of their marrying
(should they wish to do so), and jealously caused the premature
demise of their husbands.

The Vestals were very important to Rome, and
were given great honors and responsibilities. Why the emperor
wanted her to be one, she could not imagine. At first he seemed to
be playing with them all, but then, when he learned they were
believers, he had acted as if it were a punishment.

That morning one of the women brought her
breakfast, and a sheet of parchment on which were written the vows
she was supposed to take. A vow of chastity, a vow to serve the
goddess for at least thirty years.

Rachel set it aside and fingered her cropped
hair. She couldn’t get used to it. In fact, nothing seemed real.
She
didn’t feel real. It was as though she were
sleepwalking, or had entered some strange, nightmarish world. The
sight of her father bound in irons had shocked her so horribly that
she didn’t think she would ever get over it. He was too good and
fine a man to be treated so; he was strong and could handle any
situation!
Why had God let this happen?

The white-robed woman came back. Rachel
stared up at her, her eyes bleak and red-rimmed. “I won’t take
these vows,” she said.

At last the woman proved she could speak.
“What did you say?”

“I said, I will not take the vows. I will not
be a Vestal Virgin.”

“I have been told to tell you, Diana, that if
you don’t take the vows, you will never see your parents
again.”

“My name is Rachel. And if I become a Vestal,
I would never see them again anyway!”

“Oh, yes, you would be able to see them, at
times. I think the implication was…that if you refuse, they will be
killed.”

* * *

Paulus woke at a familiar, rasping sound and
sat up, the rattle of his chains loud in the stillness. They were
bringing in another one. This was a woman…and his heart dropped as
he recognized his wife’s form walking toward him.

The guard chained her next to him, but when
he tried to touch her, his own chains would not extend far
enough…nor would hers. She sat down on her bench; he sat on
his.

“What happened?” he asked finally, after a
terrible moment of suspense.

Alysia sighed and put her head back against
the wall. “I refused. He became… enraged, and said—” She
stopped.

“Did he harm you?”

“No.”

Paulus made himself ask, “And he said—”

“That—that I am to die.”

He sat for a moment without moving, and then
he put his elbows on his knees and braced his hands around his
face, staring down at the floor. He wouldn’t accept it…there had to
be a way—

They both heard the voice of Flavius. “I have
a message for the prisoners, from the emperor.”

The door opened; he strode slowly inside to
stand between them, his face drawn and full of self-reproach.
Paulus rose to his feet, and he and Alysia waited for him to speak,
dreading his words.

Flavius strove to keep his tone even, mindful
of the two other prisoners who listened quietly. “Alysia, he says
that—you will be executed tomorrow, at the Amphitheater of Taurus.
Late in the afternoon. Handbills are being posted, and given out to
the public.”

He especially hated what he had to say next.
“Paulus, you will be taken…and forced to watch.” His eyes implored
Paulus’ forgiveness and he half-whispered, “There is nothing I can
do.”

At last, Paulus nodded and sat down heavily
on the bench. Alysia had not moved.

“And what of Rachel?” she asked, surprised
that her voice didn’t shake.

“She is at the House of the Vestals. Susanna
will find some excuse to go and see her. She is safer there, than
she would be here.”

“Thank you, Flavius,” she said softly.

“Simon and the others know. They will be
there—for both of you.”

He turned abruptly, walked down a space, and
said to the other two prisoners. “I regret to inform you that you,
too, are to be executed, at the same time.”

“How?” asked the official, in a choked
voice.

Flavius shook his head. “I do not know.” He
didn’t add that it would be up to the whim of the emperor. With
great heaviness of spirit, he left the dungeon, not looking
back.

* * *

Rachel shivered uncontrollably, here in this
strange room with its high ceiling and dark, oppressive woodwork,
its flickering lamps and smell of incense. She stood on a podium,
facing a row of five women dressed in white stolas, exactly like
the one she wore. They had white veils wound tightly around their
heads and the upper part of their shoulders.

Even though this was only a rehearsal, her
heartbeat felt like the banging of a drum; it thudded in her ears
and pounded through the veins of her neck. Soon, although she
didn’t know when, she would be expected to say the vows before the
emperor, serving as high priest, or “Pontifex Maximus”—an office
once secured by election that had been taken over first by
Augustus, then reluctantly by Tiberius, and enthusiastically by
Caligula.

Rachel stiffened her shaking knees, and made
an effort to steady her voice.

“I, Diana,” she said, having memorized the
words, “before these my sisters, and His Majesty, also Pontifex
Maximus, vow to remain a virgin, chaste and pure, for a space of
time to equal thirty years, and beyond, if I so choose.” The
Vestals didn’t know it, but she was directing her words to God, not
to Vesta. Besides, her name wasn’t Diana, so that made a
difference, didn’t it? “I relinquish my family and all earthly ties
and free myself to the great responsibility which shall be given
me.”

She paused, feeling sick. But if she didn’t
go on, the soldiers would kill her mother and father.

“I vow—” The words stuck in her throat.

The women remained stoic, but the older one
began, “This, Diana, is where you pledge to love and worship the
goddess, and consecrate yourself to this holy calling. You must
call her by name—”

“No,” she said, almost inaudibly, her face
white. “I can’t say that. I will never say it.” Overcome with
emotion, Rachel fainted.

* * *

“Alysia, come close to me…sit with your back
to the wall and reach out your hand.” Paulus had done the same, and
as she sat on the floor, her hand lay only a small space from his.
If only there were two more links in the chain!

“We’ll pray through this night,” he said
roughly. “God may yet save you.”

“Yes, oh yes. And I want to hear his word. I
want you to say every passage in your memory to me, Paulus.”

Paulus leaned back slowly, and closed his
eyes. An expectant silence fell. The other two men stopped their
rustling; the lamps fluttered and smoked, giving only a faint light
that failed to reach the dark, shadowed corners. He searched his
mind for the right words, and they began to come to him…

“
The Lord goes before you…he will never
fail or forsake you. Don’t be afraid or discouraged.”

“
Magnify the Lord with me, and let us
exalt his name. I sought the Lord and he heard me, and delivered me
from all my fears…the Lord redeems the soul of his servants, and
none that trust in him will be desolate.”

“
I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge
and my fortress; my God, in him will I trust…”

After hours of quoting every passage he could
think of, Paulus stopped and prayed aloud for a long time. When he
had finished, his voice raw and low…meant only for her…he asked,
“Are you afraid, Alysia?”