Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (12 page)

He felt a happiness that hurt.

Would he see his family there? Could he get word to them
somehow?

And what of Helena? Perhaps he would spot her in the stands of
the coliseum in Carthage. Would she recognize him from afar?

Did he really want her to?

Chapter Twenty-Five

CASSIUS

Cassius wiped his sweaty hands on his tunic, taking a deep
breath and whispering a short prayer before entering his father’s office.

He’d never defied Brutus before—that had been Gordian’s job.
Cassius was the good son. He hated to make his father angry, and worse, to
disappoint him.

He took a tentative step inside. “Father?”

“Yes,” Brutus’s sonorous voice reached him. “Come in.”

Brutus was leaned over, reading a scroll that was rolled out
over the length of his desk. Cassius thought he looked like an ancient withered
tree bent in the wind.

A dry patch in Cassius’s throat caused him to clear it. He was
unsure how to start.

“You’ll be happy to know the numbers keep improving,” Brutus
said. “I’m importing to Rome in great quantities now. The quality of our olives
is gaining a reputation abroad. And with the coming games, things are sure to
keep getting better.”

“That’s wonderful, Father, but I didn’t stop in to discuss
business.”

Brutus finally looked at him. “Then what is it? Spit it out.”

This was it. The moment for truth. “I have news regarding
Helena and myself—a decision we have made.”

Brutus sat back in his chair, his bushy eyebrows narrowing.
“What kind of decision could you make without consulting me first?”

“We’ve converted to Christianity.”

Cassius didn’t know what he expected—anger sure,
disappointment. Expulsion perhaps, but not silence. Brutus said nothing; he just
returned to his books.

“Father?”

“Cassius, I’m a busy man. Stop wasting my time. You and your
sister are not Christians. That would be ridiculous.”

“But, we are.”

Brutus tossed his stylus onto the open parchment, unconcerned
by the spittle of ink it caused. “We may live in North Africa, Cassius, but we
are Romans. Christianity is not the way of Rome. It is a phase. I will forgive
it, now let me be.”

Cassius couldn’t allow Brutus to discount this. “Father, I have
been baptized. It is not a phase.”

Brutus considered him. “You know the emperor has just passed a
law that makes Christianity illegal. Would you go to prison for this? Would you
allow your sister to?”

Cassius swallowed. “Yes, Father, I would.”

“You will not!”

His father stood and stormed around his desk with shocking speed
considering he used a cane. He stood nose to nose with Cassius—it was a
response closer to what Cassius had expected. He braced himself, should his
father strike. He could smell the tea on Brutus’s breath, see the map of deep
lines that marked his ruddy skin. His eyes were wrinkled, half-shut in his
anger, yellowing and bloodshot.

“I am the pater familias! Would you publicly humiliate your own
father?” His  face grew purple. “I forbid it!”

Cassius stepped back. “I am sorry, Father.”

“Sorry? You must not be sorry; you must recant!”

Cassius shook his head. His heart was heavy for the grief he
knew he was causing his father. If Brutus would just ask him one question about
Jesus the Christ he would tell him everything. Why he converted and how his
life had changed.

He waited, but Brutus didn’t ask a single question. When
Cassius refused to renounce his faith, Brutus stumbled back to his desk, slowly
reclining into his chair.

He refused to look Cassius in the eye or say another word.
Cassius slipped out of the office, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

Later that night, Cassius rose to pray for his father. Out of
his window he could see the moon rise, and he had just poked his head out to
breathe the fresh night air, when he saw a shadow moving stealthily along the
villa. He recognized his father’s broad sloped shoulders and the way he dragged
his cane. Brutus stopped and tugged on his gray beard and Cassius knew his
father’s intention was to beseech his gods, Jupiter and Minerva.

Brutus reached into a small satchel, filling his hands with its
contents. Cassius knew they were beans. Brutus tossed one at a time over his
shoulder. This was the ransom offered to the ghosts, something Cassius knew
that Brutus did often, a ransom offered to Marcellus, his dead brother.

His father moved to another statue and faced it. Mania, goddess
of death. He offered the remaining beans as a sacrifice.

There was only one reason his father would do this. Brutus
feared death. He knew someone was going to die.

Chapter Twenty-Six

TATIANA

The carriage ride over the cobblestones jolted and knocked
Tatiana about, adding fuel to her foul mood. Her tall blond wig barely fit the
height of the carriage and she had to constantly adjust it, holding it in
place. Just another one of life’s many annoyances. Nesta couldn’t help casting
glances at her mistress’s sour face.

“What are you looking at?” Tatiana snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta whimpered.

“Just-don’t-look-at-me.”

Tatiana’s encounter with Helena in the Forum days before still
irritated her. Helena was always flaunting something. She had the best doll,
the handsomest brothers, an attentive father who even rescued her from that
loathsome Vincentius! While her own father gave her, no sold her, to a man who
was old enough to be her grandfather.

Now Helena had a son. A son!

Why were the gods so unfair? Why did they seem to hate her so?
Another jostle of the carriage and Tatiana’s hands rushed to her headpiece. She
cursed the driver.

Finally they came to a stop outside of her villa. Tatiana allowed
the driver to assist her as she got off, keeping one hand on her wig. She
grabbed a section of her toga with her other hand to keep from tripping and
blew through the atrium like a storm.

She was about to dash to her chambers, rip off the ridiculous
wig, and throw herself down onto her bed for a good cry when she heard strange
male voices coming from the tablinum.

Moving closer to appease her curiosity, Tatiana peeked in the
doorway. She recognized them as men from the senate. They were speaking of the impending
games and the arrival of the emperor, and how each of them could use the coming
event to their own advantage.

Boring, Tatiana thought, until she heard the word, Christian.
For some reason, she cocked her head and listened, picking up portions of the conversation
as their voices rose and ebbed.

“….General Hilaranius is concerned that there is a shortage for
the games… he has commissioned a search…anyone who has information on the
whereabouts of Romans who have converted…large reward…”

Large reward.

Tatiana didn’t have any money of her own. Surely with a large
reward she could make her life easier somehow. Perhaps even escape from her
husband. She deserved it, didn’t she? Hadn’t she suffered enough?

But could she really turn in her childhood friend for money?
Well, they weren’t exactly friends anymore, and what did Helena expect when she
gave up the way of Rome? Look how she showed absolutely no enthusiasm for the
games or the emperor’s visitation when they last spoke. Helena only seemed
intent on thrusting her son into Tatiana’s arms, once again throwing her good
fortune into Tatiana’s face.

Surely she deserved the reward. Perhaps the gods allowed her to
hear this bit of news in order to provide her some kind of goodness for all her
years of faithful ritual to them.

Besides, they wouldn’t execute a woman of Helena’s stature, and
when it came right down to giving her life for this Jesus, Helena wouldn’t go
through with it. She’d recant; Tatiana was sure of it. Besides, Brutus wouldn’t
let her.

She had nothing to lose.

Tatiana let a week pass, and her desire for escape had only
increased. A chance meeting with Brutus in the Forum was a good omen from the
gods. At first Brutus was reluctant to tell her the whereabouts of his
daughter, but Tatiana had a way with men. A flirtatious stroke on the arm, an
innocent batting of the eyes, she urgently needed to see her oldest friend, you
see, on female matters.

Brutus relented. Helena and her slave had gone to his villa in
Thurbo Minor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

HELENA

A knock on the door was followed by the intrusion of three
soldiers who pushed their way into the villa and interrogated them.

“Are you a Christian?” the lead soldier asked her. She spoke
clearly, yes.

He repeated his question to Felicity, Secundus and Revoticus,
to which they all answered, yes.

The officer eyed the baby, who had started to whimper. Helena
picked him up.

The officer said, “You are under house arrest. Though you may
have brief visitations, you will not leave until we escort you to your next
destination.”

Helena was perplexed as to how they had been so quickly
discovered, since all the while they had met in the middle of Carthage they had
managed to elude detection, and Thurbo Minor was quite a distance from the
city.

The small group complied peacefully. Guards were stationed
outside at all the exits. Secundus called them together for prayer. Only God
knew what was to become of them now.

Cassius and Pricilla arrived later that evening with the bread
and wine. Helena prepared the table where the small group would enter into
communion, lighting three candles that represented the three crosses on the
hill.

The villa at Thurbo Minor was much smaller than her home in
Carthage, but shared much of the same décor. The first thing Helena did after
their arrival was to ask the men to remove the idols, which they were more than
happy to do.

Cassius set the decanter of wine in the center of the table,
while Pricilla set out the goblets. The round white loaf of bread rested on a
platter.

“I am astounded that you have been discovered so quickly,”
Cassius said. “And it was my idea to send you here. I’m so sorry, Helena.”

“It is not your fault or responsibility,” Helena said. She
placed a hand over her heart to calm herself. “If the Lord had wanted to conceal
us, it would’ve been done.”

Secundus and his slave Revocatus joined them for communion,
along with Felicity who was holding the baby Antonius.

Cassius took the lead. “Brothers, sisters, the Lord Jesus, on
the night that he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he
broke it and said, ‘This is my body, which is given up for you. Do this in
remembrance of me.’”

Each of them tore off a piece of the bread as the loaf was
passed around among them. Helen took the token of her Lord’s broken flesh and
ate it. She felt overwhelmed by his sacrifice, and tears of gratefulness
trailed down her cheeks.

Cassius poured wine into all the goblets and handed them out.
“In the same way, Jesus took the cup of wine saying, ‘This cup is the new
covenant in my blood; whenever you drink it, do this in remembrance of me.’”

As Helena drank the wine, she saw an image of her own blood
dripping onto sand. She shivered against the fear that crept up her spine.

They rose quickly afterwards to say goodbye; the guards had
warned them beforehand that their visit must be kept short. Helena was thankful
that her brother and Pricilla hadn’t been with them when the guards had arrived
to arrest them. They were safe for now.

“Thank you for coming,” Helena said, taking hold of Cassius and
Pricilla’s hands. “It’s dangerous for you to come, I know.”

“We wouldn’t think of leaving you here without coming to offer
you our support. Cassius’s eyes had gone red, and Helena didn’t want him to
shed tears for her.

“I am in good spirits now that I have seen both of you, and
especially since we could share the Lord’s table one more time.” Helena forced
a brave face. “Please do not worry for me.”

It was a bittersweet goodbye, and Helena found comfort in the
company of her fellow captives.

Until they were unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of
Brutus. Felicity took Antonius to her chambers, and the men removed themselves
as well to give them privacy.

“I will not be humiliated in this way by my own daughter,”
Brutus said, bypassing normal greetings. “I am an old man, held in high esteem
in this city. The people are talking!” He stabbed the tile floor with his cane
as if to emphasize his position.

“I imagine they are,” Helena said softly.

“I insist that you denounce this, this… This is ridiculous,
Helena! You are discouraged because of your marriage. I am to blame for that,
and if this is a way to seek your revenge, to get back at me for… for that
oversight, then you have succeeded.”

“Father, please sit down.” Helena motioned to a nearby couch. It
pained her to see her father so distressed. He declined her offer and remained
standing, leaning heavily on his cane.

“I do not blame you Father, nor do I seek revenge,” Helena
said. “I merely found my own way. I have a mind and I can think. I’ve come to
believe in the One True God.”

“I’m well aware of your ability to think, Helena. Have I not
spent many of my own hours instructing you?”

He waved his arm impatiently. “This is a phase. Of course, you
are searching for the divine—we all are—and you have been misguided. But you
are young, and this is all understandable. You must, at the very least,
acknowledge that you need more time to be certain of your choices and not let
your life be taken so early. For you know what they plan…”

“I am aware of my fate. And I can assure you that this is no
phase. Though I am young, I am not stupid, and I am convinced that Jesus is the
only way to eternal life.”