Man of God (4 page)

Paulus, seeing the need for more stability
now that Rachel was older, had bought this house when they’d first
come to Rome. They were fortunate in the matter of money, for
Paulus had always been in contact with his mother’s trusted
servant, Omari. The Egyptian had not yet become a believer…though
they prayed for him every day. His association with Paulus went
back many years; he was loyal and highly intelligent, and did not
feel the need to report to his owners when he went about doing
errands for Paulus.

Paulus was wealthy, of senatorial rank, and
had only to write a letter to Omari to have funds exchanged from
one banker to another, anywhere in the Empire. He felt a certain
amount of guilt about this, since most of their fellow “messengers”
depended completely on charity…but he saw no reason not to use his
resources, and he gave much of it away. When his money grew low and
he could not immediately obtain more, he worked at various
positions, wherever they happened to be: carpenter, stonemason,
field worker. He was successful at most of these…but there was one
occupation at which he considered himself a dismal failure.

“I think,” Alysia teased, “you are a better
shepherd of men than of sheep.”

They had many a laugh over the fact that
whenever he tried to tend sheep they refused to obey him, and
usually ran when they saw him coming. It gave him a whole new
appreciation for David, the long-ago shepherd king of Israel.

The house was perfect for them, away from the
city, in a clearing surrounded by woods…except for the road leading
to it. In the back stood a well; on the east side rushed a small
stream, fed by water from underground springs. The former owner of
the house, a reclusive man who wrote and sold poetry, had recently
died; none of his relatives wanted the house and placed it on the
market. Paulus heard about it in the forum, and Omari had helped
with that business matter, as well.

But though isolated, it was within walking
distance from the center of town, and was often full of
visitors…people who were eager to hear more about this Nazarene who
had risen from the dead, people who were hurting and needed
counsel, who were sick or grieving and needed solace, who were
unlearned and needed teaching. Often it had been trying for them,
but they had learned to love with the same compassion Jesus had
shown, and they were sincere in their desire to help others. They’d
always been taught something by those they sought to teach, had
always received something back…though it hadn’t been without
failure, or loss, or trouble and heartsickness …

* * *

Alysia opened her eyes to the dawning sun to
see that Paulus had already risen and was putting on his clothes.
“Let’s go,” he said, catching her hand and pulling her out of the
bed.

“What’s wrong?” She grabbed the gown she’d
worn yesterday, pulled it over her head and belted it at the
waist.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just, let’s go.”

She caught the look on his face and knew
where they were going. She smothered a laugh as they slipped out of
the house, nearly tripping over Simon, who slept soundly on a
pallet near the door—as though he were still a slave, protecting
his master. They ran down a path they knew well, deeper and deeper
into the forest, until they came to a glade, shimmering in a mist
that hovered over the crumbling stone and monuments of an ancient
ruin. Once, in the distant past, it might have been a house, or a
temple. They’d found it one day walking through the woods…Probably
few people knew of it; no one ever came here, children would have
been forbidden to play near it for fear of falling stone or bricks.
There were no houses nearby…their own house was the last on the
lane, and the woods beyond it extended to the city wall.

Forgotten and deserted, the foundations of
the ruin had stopped the encroachment of trees and bushes, but the
walls that remained standing were overgrown with ivy, and tendrils
of other climbing plants. Shrubbery and a curtain of drooping vines
hid the entrance almost completely. Deep recesses in the walls
proved excellent places for sitting, and within their confines the
ground was soft, covered with leaves that had fallen months ago;
the whole place smelled sensuously of rich earth and wildflowers.
They had made it their own sanctum.

Pushing aside the curtain of vines beneath
the arched lintel, they entered the center of the ruin, open to the
sky. Fragile rays of light threaded their way through the branches
of the nearby trees, and were absorbed into the hovering mist.
Paulus picked her up and swung her around with abandon, set her
down, and kissed her until her pulses throbbed like a drum.

“You are a seal upon my heart,” he whispered,
“and a flame that no flood can quench.”

“How seductively you speak the words of
Solomon,” she whispered back to him, and quoted, breathlessly, as
they sank to the ground, “I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for
me…”

The sun rose higher, banishing the mist;
small animals made rustling sounds in the woods, and birds trilled
in the branches over their heads. Later, they settled opposite each
other in one of the niches in the wall, their legs intertwined.

“How thankful I am to be home,” she said, her
eyes glowing and drinking in his familiar face. “To be safe, to be
with you.”

“Not as thankful as I,” he answered, reaching
out to caress her ankle. He watched, amused, as she demurely
adjusted her skirt…as though he were only a suitor who might take
advantage.

“Simon will be awake by now, and wondering
where we are.”

“He won’t wonder for long. And he knows how
to cook.”

“Really, Paulus,” she said. “Is that any way
to treat a guest?”

“He would be much annoyed to hear you call
him a guest, Alysia.”

“Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? I wish he could
find someone very special to marry.”

“She’s already taken…Now, I’d like to hear
about Bethany and Jerusalem, and our friends.”

She wriggled further back into her corner and
smiled at him. “Lazarus is well. His wife is such a fine person,
Paulus. She’s going to have a child.”

He said nothing, but took her hand and held
it tightly.

“And Martha is completely white-haired now,
but as busy as ever. She didn’t want Rachel to go, but of course I
wouldn’t think of leaving her.”

“How are they—about Mary?”

Alysia shook her head, tears filling her
eyes. Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary, had taken her in
and cared for her when she was in trouble, and she had grown to
love them as if they were her own family. Mary, the much younger
sister, had been especially close to her.

“They said it was a malady of the lungs. She
couldn’t survive the winter. Mary was so good…not meant for this
world. But they are reconciled.” Alysia was quiet for a moment, and
added, “It is well that they live some distance from Jerusalem.
There is much persecution there, worse than before we left. But we
knew that, because of Stephen.”

She saw the fleeting look of pain cross his
face and put her hand up to his cheek. “I spoke with his family.
They said to send you their greetings, and good wishes.”

Stephen had been like a brother to Paulus,
and she’d never seen him so deeply affected as when he’d learned of
his friend’s death a few years ago…except for that one other time,
and she wouldn’t think of that now.

Paulus asked softly, “And the others?”

“Peter and James are leading the believers in
Jerusalem. There are so many of them now! They and the other
disciples are being thrown into prison, yet God has always rescued
them…It makes one wonder, about Stephen—”

“Stephen was too good for this world, too,”
Paulus said, a little roughly. “I only hope…”

“No, he didn’t suffer greatly. His last
speech to the priests was so full of passion and truth that they
couldn’t bear it—they were beside themselves with rage. His father
said that he barely seemed to feel the stones, and he died quickly.
He saw Jesus…before he died.”

Paulus’ eyes went to hers and she went on,
“They said his face shone like that of an angel, and—he looked up
into the sky and cried out that he saw Jesus standing at the right
hand of God. Then, as they were stoning him, he asked God
to—forgive them—and he died.”

Her husband did not speak, and she didn’t
look at him. “Do you remember what we heard—about the man who
seemed to be in charge that day? A man who was rounding up
believers and having them executed? He has been converted, Paulus.
Not long after Stephen’s death. And he has become a great
teacher.”

“Yes,” Paulus answered. “His name is
Saul.”

“I heard that he has changed his name to
Paul.”

“What does Peter think of him?”

“He is convinced of his sincerity. He says
that he believes Paul will one day surpass anyone preaching the
word of God.”

“Perhaps he will come to Rome. We need him. I
can tell others about Jesus…I can share what I know and answer
questions, but I’m no preacher. I feel, Alysia, that we are just
laying the groundwork for someone else. And I feel—honored—to do
so.”

This time she laid her hand over his. “And I
feel honored to do so, with you.”

* * *

The woman stood confidently in front of a
great bronze mirror hanging on the wall. She studied her reflection
with pride, noting the cool beauty of her face, the pale and
unlined skin rare for a woman two score years of age. She no longer
dyed her hair red; its natural color was an ash blonde, lacking the
warm, golden tones of…Selena’s, for instance. It added to a certain
look of coldness, and diminished the sheen of her topaz-colored
eyes.

Her features were somewhat less firm and
chiseled than they had once been, but this was their only
concession to age. Her cheekbones stood out prominently and a
stubborn chin had become softer and more rounded. These slight
changes, combined with her cool blonde hair, made her appearance
markedly different from what it had once been. She felt safe now to
venture farther and farther from the city that had become her
home.

In fact, this time she would travel quite
some distance; she dreaded the voyage but it would only last a few
days. Then, to fulfill her purpose—oh, it would be worth it! Worth
any amount of risk and discomfort to see their faces when they
realized what had happened…not to mention the monetary gain that
had become a pressing necessity.

They would be ruined. She alone had the power
to put them in their place, to speak the damaging, damning truth,
to let people know what they really were. Oh, yes, it would be a
scandal. Not by Rome’s standards, but by
theirs
.

CHAPTER III

In order to accommodate his favorite horse,
Caligula had completely refurbished the imperial stable. Incitatus
occupied a stall sheathed in ivory, and his eating trough was made
of gold. Fresh hay was laid upon the floor every hour, and
groomsmen hovered over him anxiously day and night lest he catch
cold or become injured somehow, for they knew such a catastrophe
would cost them their heads…if not first their limbs and major
organs.

Petronius found it humiliating (as he was
expected to) that Caligula had summoned him to the stable, and in
the middle of the night at that. Why not to the palace court, or
even a reception hall, as befitted the captain of the night
watchmen? His boots clinked as he walked across the marble floor,
escorted by a Praetorian as if he himself were suspect! Torches
flared on every wall, making the entire, ridiculous structure seem
to be on fire. He spotted the emperor far down the corridor,
standing outside a stall and apparently talking to its occupant. As
he drew closer he thought,
What in the name of Aphroditus is he
wearing?

It could only be called a nightgown, made of
sheer purple silk that fell in flowing lines to the emperor’s bare
feet. He gave Petronius the barest glance as he approached, then
continued stroking the nose of the handsome animal behind the
gate.

“You are not being very
priestly
today,” he said in a peeved tone to the horse. “I shall have to
defrock you if you’re not careful. Jupiter told me you haven’t been
saying your prayers and he is most displeased!”

The horse snorted.

Petronius stood at attention, vaguely
surprised and filled with a strange sense of hilarity mixed with
disdain. It was only the second time he’d spoken with the
emperor—but he had heard things. He had thought the soldiers were
joking, or at least exaggerating. Caligula turned away from his
unrepentant “priest” and minced toward one of the many windows that
lined the corridor, giving a languid gesture for the captain to
follow. The moon was exceedingly bright, and for a long time he
stared up at it, his expression rapt.

Finally he said in a low, almost soothing
voice, “You are the officer of the night watchmen?”

A shiver of unease crept over Petronius’
entire body. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Why were they not told?”

“Told what, sir?”

The emperor’s head whipped around and his
face in the flickering red light was full of fury—a ghastly sight
that would have rendered a lesser man paralyzed with terror. But
Petronius…short, stocky and tough…was determined that this silly
creature was not going to intimidate him.

“Paulus Valerius was seen in Rome more than a
month ago! And now I get word that he was actually at the gate, and
rode away without anybody lifting a finger to stop him! Why were
the watchmen at
all
the gates not told that I wanted him
found?”

“But—” Petronius paused delicately.

“What?” snapped the emperor.

“You never gave the order, sir—Your Majesty.
You never actually told us to find
him
. We were told to
watch for the woman.”