Man of God (8 page)

In fact, he had heard everything the emperor
told Petronius. He had listened to conversations between Caligula
and his uncle, Claudius. He’d even been the unwilling recipient of
a long, rambling monologue in which the emperor had extolled
Paulus’ virtues as a soldier and administrator. Caligula had been
little more than a youth when he witnessed Paulus saving Tiberius
from an assassin, but obviously had been so impressed by the
incident that his interest was rapidly becoming an obsession.

Flavius had also heard and observed other
things…a whisper here, a nod there, a look, a gesture. Certain
members of the Praetorian Guard were not happy with Caligula, nor
were certain senators. Especially the ones who bore the brunt of
his anger for forgetting his birthday a year or two ago, and who
were forced to run alongside his chariot one day, for miles, in
their togas. It made him wonder if there was a plot afoot.

He was aware that Cassius Chaerea, a tribune
in the Praetorian Guard, especially hated the emperor—who, for some
reason, often made disparaging and obscene remarks about the
tribune’s sexuality, and gave him humiliating watchwords to pass to
the guards. He also forced Chaerea, with a few chosen others, to
kiss his foot instead of his hand in greeting. It was very unwise,
Flavius often reflected, to antagonize the Guard. And what should
he
do, as a believer, if an attempt were made to assassinate
Caligula?

He walked out into the hallway of the
imperial residence, and in a moment Caligula floated out of his
bedchamber in a dazzling white robe studded with jewels. Well, at
least he wasn’t dressed as Jupiter this time, in a bushy wig and
pasted-on beard.

“Come, Flavius, you are the only one to
accompany me tonight. I shall stand on the steps of the temple, and
congratulate the rabble that they are in the presence of not a man,
but a god.” And that was what he did, scampering barefoot across
the walkway he had built between the palace and the Temple of
Castor and Pollux. He ascended the marble staircase of the broad,
columned temple and removed his dark cloak to reveal the
splendorous robe beneath.

Obviously it had been pre-arranged, for the
temple was brightly lit, and a small group of young boys came out
to sing hymns to the emperor. Those hundreds who roamed the streets
at night cheered and shouted praises. They might have a few doubts
as to whether he was a god or not, but he did supply them with food
and free admittance to the games. The boys stopped singing, and
music from someone playing a cithara drifted out to the crowd.
Caligula began to dance across the platform, with much whirling and
pointing of toes.

Flavius shuddered and tried to think of other
things.
How had Rome come to this?
He must pray more
fervently; how these people needed a Savior! And it wasn’t, as they
obviously believed, Caligula…

* * *

In the more exclusive part of town, Paulus
entered the shop full of musical instruments of every description.
Its owner, Horatius, was a believer and one of his most trusted
friends…and for that reason he had arranged this as a meeting place
with Omari, his mother’s servant, whom he also trusted with his
life. Horatius knew of the arrangement; in fact, he had insisted
upon it when he learned that Paulus needed to be in communication
with Omari on a regular basis. They met on the ides of every month,
if there was a need…if not, Omari simply did not come. It was
always a risk, for both the servant and Horatius.

He could see the shop-owner at the far back
of the room, talking to a patron. Paulus began to walk around,
looking at the instruments…the flutes and reed pipes, the brass
horns, lyres and lutes, citharas, cymbals and harps, drums large
and small, even a water organ. They were all shining and polished,
of the finest quality, made and shipped here from all over the
Empire. Romans enjoyed listening to music, whether it was composed
in Greece, or Egypt, or Persia, or even by the barbarian Celts;
Caligula especially loved being announced by a fanfare of horns and
drums.

Horatius’ trade had made him a wealthy man.
The well-dressed slaves who aided him in the shop were accustomed
to seeing Paulus and had been told to let him look at his leisure;
they assumed he was someone important, perhaps an agent buying for
someone else. He was, as a matter of fact, interested in buying
another lyre for Rachel; she’d been taking lessons and the wooden
one she had was not as fine as these, which were made of tortoise
shell.

He wondered if Omari were waiting for him in
the back of the shop, or if there had been no need for him to come
this time. Paulus hoped for the latter, though it would be good to
see him. He always felt better hearing that his mother and sister
were safe, and hadn’t been affected by Paulus’ “desertion”. So far
they had not been, though they had been questioned a few times.
Both Tiberius and Caligula had seemed convinced they knew nothing
of where Paulus was hiding. Someday Paulus would find a way to
visit them, but just now that would only put them in danger.

Horatius caught his eye and pointed with his
chin toward the back of the shop. Paulus nodded and made his way to
the little room where orders were written down and accounts were
kept. Omari was not there. He saw a folded sheet of parchment lying
on a table with the name “Antonius” written on it. It looked
ominous, somehow; he broke the seal and began to read:

Have been visited by F. Gaius seeking both
of you. F. says G. obsessed since hearing you were in Rome. Urges
you to leave. Houses being watched again but all are safe. I am
followed. Watched at banker’s bench and great risk to draw. Send
word to me if you need money, otherwise will not. Will pass this to
H. son and hope you receive. Good fortune to you.

Paulus frowned and read the message again. F
would be Flavius, and Gaius was the emperor. Flavius wanted him to
leave Rome. Horatius’ son, who would have received it directly from
Omari in the street, had delivered the message. They would have
accomplished this, hopefully, without observation…even though Omari
was now being followed.

And there would be no more money. This was
important but not critical; Paulus earned enough in wages to
support his family...but Rachel wouldn’t be getting a new lyre.

He slid the parchment inside his tunic and
sat down in a chair. Should they leave Rome? Was this God’s way of
telling him? No, he didn’t believe that. His work here had barely
begun. And yet, to remain meant increasing jeopardy for his wife
and daughter…Should he tell Alysia? Yes, of course, for she must be
on her guard, now as never before.

Horatius entered the room, short and rotund
with waves of abundant white hair.

“Not bad news, I hope?”

Paulus stood up. “No—but not good news
either, I’m afraid. Horatius, you have been a good and faithful
friend. I won’t be coming back here for a long while. I think you
will be quite safe to visit me, if you wish to do so, but I won’t
put you at risk by being seen here in your shop. Neither will Omari
come…unless, I suppose, there is some great need.”

“What do you mean?” Horatius asked, his brow
furrowed.

“The authorities who are searching for me
have increased their forces, and their determination. Omari is
being watched.”

“I have told you, Antonius, that I am honored
to share any danger with you and your wife. How can I not do what I
know Jesus would have me do? I know in my mind and my heart that
whatever you have done to cause this, it was not with evil
intent.”

“No, it was not.” Paulus placed his hand on
the other man’s shoulder. “But it was done, all the same, and
legally they have a right to question me. I want to spare my
family, Horatius, as long as I can. I thank you for your trust, and
everything you have done.”

The shop-owner smiled. “There is a meeting at
your house tomorrow night. I will be there, and so will my son, and
his wife.”

Paulus returned the smile. “Thank you,
Horatius. May the Lord bless and keep you.”

“And you. I will pray that God will keep you
in his perfect will.”

CHAPTER VI

“No,” Alysia said hesitantly, “I don’t think
we should leave Rome. I have not felt God calling us to another
place.”

“Nor have I,” Paulus answered, much
relieved.

“And yet, what if it is God’s way of warning
us?”

“To be careful, perhaps, but not to leave. We
will pray about it.”

Alysia walked slowly around the center of the
ruin, cast now into deep evening shade. Insects whirred a grating
song, and a balmy breeze stirred the vines and bushes. Paulus
reclined within one of the grooves, his back against the side, legs
stretched out and arms crossed.

“Do you still have that canvas bag packed
with clothes and money, buried under the stone?”

“Yes, Paulus, and I pray we’ll never have to
use it.”

“But it’s there, and if they ever come to the
house, you and Rachel are to head out here and beyond…you do
remember what I told you? If you bear right you’ll be heading for
the Appian Way—that will be the easiest way to get out of the
city.”

“Yes, I remember. You look tired,” she
observed, pausing to sit next to him, against his legs, and placing
her hands on his arms.

He didn’t answer, but reached out to touch
her face. Then his hand moved to her hair and the back of her head,
and he pulled her close and kissed her.

“We must get back,” she whispered. “I don’t
like to leave Rachel alone, and her friends would have left by
now.”

But she waited, crawling up beside him and
laying her head on his chest.

“Temptress,” he said, with mock severity.
“You would assail a man in his weakest moment, and ask him in that
same moment to leave.”

When she didn’t answer he placed his hand
gently on her forehead and made her look up at him. Even in the
fading light he could see her tears.

“Alysia.” He turned his body and sat up
straight, holding her against him. “Things are not much different
than before. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“I’m sorry, Paulus. It’s not that I’m
afraid—I only wish, sometimes, that we could live a normal
life.”

“And what is a normal life?” he answered
quietly. “There are always things to worry about. We’re supposed to
give our worries up to God.”

“Yes. I know.”

He asked, after a moment, “Tell me…what do
you want to do?”

Alysia took a deep breath. “Why, sir, the
same thing I told you those many years ago…to go with you to tell
the world of Jesus Christ. No matter what the cost.”

His arm tightened around her and unexpectedly
he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. “I don’t deserve such a
wife.”

“I am but your slave, my lord,” she said
teasingly, striving for lightness. They were words she’d once
thrown defiantly in his face.

Paulus stood up, causing her to stand with
him. He said as lightly, “Then let us go, temptress, before—tired
or not—I decide to have my way with you!”

* * *

A service of worship was held in different
homes on the first day of each week, but “teaching meetings” were
held on other days at Paulus and Alysia’s house. Since their house
didn’t have a courtyard, Alysia set out plenty of cushions in the
wide hallway, and Paulus brought every bench that could be found to
line the walls. All the lamps were lit, their flames fluttering in
the slight breeze that swept through, from end to end.

Alysia enjoyed these meetings; she loved to
hear Paulus speak on those things he had learned from Stephen and
others, those men who had been closest to Jesus. And he was always
studying the Scriptures, sometimes alone, sometimes with her; every
night he read from some portion of it to herself and Rachel. They
immersed themselves in it, and she was always astonished at how
much they learned…how much there was still to learn. The flow of
knowledge and wisdom that came from the ancient writings seemed
never-ending.

People began to arrive, happy and expectant;
the children were eager to recite what they had memorized.
Horatius, who was a widower, came in with his son and
daughter-in-law…though she had not yet become a believer. There
were Camillus and Lucia with their children…only their youngest was
a pupil of Alysia’s. They had brought someone with them, a heavily
veiled woman, and Lucia whispered that the woman had been visiting
them and expressed great interest in learning more about the
“Nazarenes,” as believers were often called.

Alysia nodded. “Thank you for coming, Lucia.
I know it’s difficult.”

Lucia smiled a little. “This does help me.
I’m sorry I wasn’t more receptive the other day.”

Alysia would have spoken to the other woman,
but she had moved quickly away and found a place on a bench near
the corner. Someone else arrived and engaged Alysia in
conversation; she must be sure to try and make the veiled woman
feel welcome before the meeting was over.

Simon came, with his sons and their wives.
Aquila and Priscilla were a newly married couple, who showed
promise of eventually taking on a role of leadership. Aquila was a
Jew; they lived in the Jewish section and worked in a shop making
and repairing tents. Paulus had met the young couple in the forum
almost a year ago, where they had been purchasing goat hides needed
for their trade. Simon had grown especially close to them, and they
were responsible for his being employed there, as well.

Several others arrived, some with spouses and
some alone…missing were Flavius and his wife, as Alysia had
expected, and Daphne, a former prostitute who hadn’t come to the
meetings for months. Paulus had attempted to find her several
times, to no avail. Not everyone had so “colorful” a past as
Daphne, but many of these had been immersed in following other
gods, other philosophies, or had believed nothing at all. Some had
confessed to Paulus of being dishonest in their business, some had
torturous family relationships, a few admitted to sexual misdeeds
that would have appalled anyone not as knowledgeable of Rome’s
vices as Paulus…who didn’t particularly want to know the lurid
details, but often people seemed to want to unburden themselves,
perhaps seeking reassurance that God could really forgive such
things.