Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (8 page)

Felix muttered so only Titus and Lucius could hear, “The gods
are angry.”

With the next clap, the clouds unleashed their bounty and water
fell from the heavens in sheets. The drops pricked like pins, but Lucius
ignored the pain. He shut his eyes and held his head back, mouth wide open,
drinking in as much as he could.

The carriage tugged in the dirt, but the team of mules pulled
on.

The gods’ fury was short-lived, and the rain stopped almost as
quickly as it had started. The dust on Lucius’s body turned to mud, streaming
in streaks down his chest. His stomach lurched from the rough travel, and for
the first time that day he was grateful his stomach was too empty to vomit
anything.

Finally, they turned onto a drive that led to a group of
structures made out of wood and clay. Lucius raised his brow in question. This
didn’t look like a prison.

Then he saw the sign. Ludus.

His heart sunk. He’d been brought to a gladiator school.

Chapter Fifteen

HELENA

Saturnalia, a weeklong winter solstice festival to honor Saturn
as the god of seed sowing, had begun. Throngs pushed and plodded their way to
the temple of Saturn in the Forum where the sacrifices took place. Then later they
engaged themselves in a public feast open to all the citizens of Carthage,
where people gorged and imbibed freely.

Not willing to conform to the many festivals of their pagan
counterparts, the Christians of Rome chose such days for their own
celebrations. Instead of worshipping the sun, they had for some years been
celebrating their Lord’s birth during this time. They, too, incorporated such
traditions as lighting candles and sharing gifts and goodwill.

Helena’s conversion wasn’t one that happened over time and deep
conversation. Her heart had led her before her mind had had a chance to
consider her decision. For a few days afterward, she’d even wondered if she
were different at all, if it had really happened. Life in the villa went on as
usual, but somehow she knew it had changed for her. Other than Cassius, her
parents and all the slaves and servants remained unchanged, their prayer rituals
unchanged. Helena suddenly felt alone in a crowd. The foundation of the villa
somehow felt like it had shifted on its footings.

Cassius helped her to find her way. He taught her deeper truths
and what it truly meant to be a disciple of Jesus.

He also asked her if she’d changed her mind. They wouldn’t
force her to remain part of the Christian community if she didn’t want to be.

When he said that, she knew. She wanted them. And she wanted
Him.

Numerous times a day her mind went to Lucius, a man not her
husband, and the only man she’d ever loved. She wondered how he had fared in
his travels, if Rome had provided the opportunity he’d hoped for. Her heart
still ached from his departure, but now she had other things to fill her days
and her mind. The pain in her heart was a steadfast companion she’d come to
accept. She wondered if Lucius would ever return to Carthage and if he did, if
he’d try to see her.

Helena had just finished participating in a hearty meal of
roasted fowl, poached eggs, and shellfish; assorted breads and cheeses;
cabbage, parsnips, lentils and asparagus boiled and smothered with butter; and a
large variety of pastries and tarts sweetened with honey, all washed down with
warm spiced wine. And it was made so much better having shared it with Cassius,
Priscilla and her family. Helena patted her bulging midsection. Her baby was
excited too, kicking and squirming, doing somersaults.

“I think he feels left out,” Helena said.

“What makes you think the child is a ‘he’?” asked Cassius,
laughing.

“I don’t know. Just a feeling. Perhaps it is a she. It matters
not to me.”

Helena’s palm lingered on her belly. “If only Father…”

She let her sentence hang. Brutus’s face had ballooned with
fury when she and Cassius refused to join him for the Saturnalia. What would
the people think, he demanded? What had happened to his son and daughter, anyway?

They had discussed among themselves whether or not he should be
told. Surely he could not deny the change in them. But the peace they sought
would not come. He was pater familia after all, and could forbid them to leave
freely to attend house church. He could effectively report them and have them
arrested, even though no one believed that Brutus would turn in his own family,
no matter how badly he felt betrayed.

No, they agreed the day would come, but it was not yet.

“Would you like another tart, sister?” Cassius handed a tray to
Helena. “You’re eating for two now.”

“Oh, no thank you, please. I am a stuffed pig and will surely
explode if I take one more bite! Besides, I’m feeling tired. Perhaps it is time
to head home?” Helena shifted uncomfortably and Cassius rushed to assist her.

“We shall leave at once,” he said.

Annia met the three of them at the door when they returned
home.

“What is it?” Helena asked, “Is there something wrong?”

“I thought you would like to know. Word does travel through the
servants; I hope not to anger you.”

“You may speak freely. What troubles you?”

“It’s Lady Tatiana.”

“Tatiana?” Helena said. She had not seen her friend for many
months, not since her own wedding. “Is it the baby? Did she deliver?”

“Yes.”

“How wonderful,” Helena stated, “Tell us, is it a boy or girl?”
then considering Annia’s sorrowful countenance, added, “Is the child well?”

“Lady Tatiana is well. The child was a girl. The Lord Ursus did
not pick her up.”

The seriousness of her statement washed heavily over Helena.
According to Roman law, the father had full rights over his children, even in
matters of life and death. After the birth of a child, it was laid at the feet
of its father. If the child was picked up it was dedicated to Jupiter and named
eight days later. If it was not, the child was exposed to the elements on the
streets and left to die, or worse picked up by men who made their trade in
prostitution. A few short years, and they made a handsome return on patrons who
preferred children.

Helena knew that Lord Ursus already had several daughters. He
wanted a son, and heir. “I must go to her.”

Helena had their slave Patrobius drive a carriage to Tatiana’s
villa, just west of her own home. Though Patrobius was a careful driver the
carriage still rocked and shooked over the rough cobbled roads. Helena gripped
her abdomen tightly, wanting to keep her babe as still as possible. The child
kicked. Helena massaged the lump in her side, the shape of a tiny foot, until
it relaxed and eased away.

She could breathe with confidence that Brutus would never leave
her child to the elements to die, no matter the sex of the child. Her heart
went out to Tatiana.

Finally, the bumpy ride halted and Patrobius opened the
carriage door to assist her.

“Thank you,” she said. “Wait here.”

She hadn’t been to the home Tatiana shared with her husband. It
was vast, almost as large as the house of Vibius. The sun shone brightly,
ricocheting off the red tiles of the roof, and shimmering along the sides of
the white walls encasing the property. Helena said a prayer and approached the
front door, thankful there were none around to notice that she did not bless
the gods of the property or the doorways or gates. No need to stir up extra
consternation at the moment.

A household slave acknowledged her knock. Helena stated her
name and her request to visit Lady Tatiana.

“One moment. I will see if she is available.”

Helena waited, tapping her sandals on the tile floor, taking in
the colors and sights of the atrium. Like many other wealthy Roman homes, the
walls were covered with colorful murals, and like most, these paintings
depicted scenes of everyday life in Rome; meals, hunts, the games. In each
corner of the room was an elaborate marble or stone statue of some god or
another. Helena recognized Jupiter, always the largest in any given group, as
well as Minerva. She lost track of the many gods, and was not the only Roman
guilty of this type of confusion, although since her conversion, she thought
little of them.

Soon she was greeted by Tatiana’s personal slave, Nesta.

“Nesta, it’s so good to see you again!” she said warmly.

Nesta bowed and expertly erased a flash of surprise from her
face at Helena’s unconventional greeting to a slave.

“Please follow me.”

Helena followed Nesta to the tablinum where Tatiana was seated,
stiff and unsmiling. The room had just a few candles burning and the only
window had its wooden shutters loosely closed.

“Tatiana,” Helena said softly, “I heard.”

“Yes, well I’m sure the news has traveled beyond Carthage by
now,” Tatiana replied tersly. “You know how Romans love gossip.”

Helena noted her friend’s long, dark tresses were no longer
shiny and well-groomed but pulled roughly into a knot at the back of her head.
Her eyes, once bright and wonder-filled, were dark and brooding. The set of her
jaw was hard, her smile thin and forced. She was no longer beautiful, and
Helena wondered if it was a purposeful attempt on Tatiana’s part to repel her
husband’s future advances.

“I came by to see you, to see if you needed anything?” Helena
settled into the lounge offered to her.

“That is very thoughtful of you; such a kind friend you are
Helena.” Her eyes dropped down to Helena’s round stomach, rested there momentarily
before darting nervously around the room. “But I ask you, what could you
possibly offer me that my own dear husband cannot afford to present to my
disposal? Surely you are aware of his great wealth and respected position.”

“It is true that he has material wealth. That cannot be
denied,” Helena answered.

“Is there another kind? And please, don’t go on about happiness
and contentment and peace of mind. I couldn’t take it just now.”

“I know this must be a hard time for you.”

“How would you know that?” she snapped. “Has anything come hard
for you? Will your father steal your baby from you? I doubt that. Your father
jumped right in to rescue you from your disagreeable husband. You can be
assured that mine will do no such thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not here to offer pity,” Helena said. “I’m here to offer
friendship. Support.”

Tatiana, let out a big breath, practiced now at defeat. “Of
course. I’m sorry. I’m not a very good hostess. Nesta, get Lady Helena some
refreshments.”

She spoke again without looking at Helena.“How are you? It’s
been a long time.”

“Too long, and I’m sorry for that, Tatiana, really I am. We
shouldn’t let the busyness of our lives keep us apart so much.”

“Well, I should have some free time for a while now,” she
laughed bitterly. “Ursus won’t want to have another go at me until the blood
stops flowing. I think I can drag that out for a few months.”

“Oh Tatiana,” Helena said. “I wish there was something I could
do to relieve your pain. I only have one thing, but it is not a small thing to
offer.”

“What’s that?”

Helena waited for Nesta to set the tray of wine and fruit on
the table, and back herself in the doorway.

“Prayer.”

“I get enough prayer, Helena. I venerate Fauna daily; I offer
sacrifices morning, noon and night, together with my slaves.

“That’s not the kind of prayer I mean.”

Tatiana nibbled her lip, considering, then changing the subject
said, “Where’s your slave, what’s her name, Felicity? I remember when your
father gave her to you. When Marcellus died.”

She paused, and Helena sensed that she wanted to stir up a
painful memory for her.

“Do you still have her?”Tatiana said.

“She lives with me still, but I intend to grant her freedom.”

“What on earth for? My gods, Helena what has gotten into you.
You know, you’ve changed.”

“I have.”

Tatiana laughed again, not a pleasant laughter, but a
gregarious cackle of one on the brink of insanity. “Well?” she demanded, “Let’s
hear it.”

Helena hesitated. Should she declare it? Would it help Tatiana,
or cause the breech between them to widen. She decided to be bold in her
declaration. She was not ashamed of her Lord, and she knew Jesus was the only
one who could help her friend.

“I’ve converted to Christianity.”

“Ah ha!” Tatiana blurted, “I knew it! You’re sillier than I
thought.”

“You may think it silly, Tatiana. I think it is life.”

“To each his own.”

“Tatiana, Jesus the Christ can help you.”

“Don’t!” Tatiana snarled. “Don’t say that name in my house.”

“Why not? I mean no harm.”

“I do not want to risk arousing the wrath of the gods.” Tatiana
relaxed, brushing the wrinkles from her tunic, and then with a controlled voice
continued, “They are hard enough to sooth as it is.”

Tatiana stood, motioning toward the slave. “Please escort Lady
Helena to the door.”

Turning toward Helena she said, “I’m feeling tired. You
understand.”

“Of course. Please greet your mother for me”

“And yours, likewise.”

Chapter Sixteen

FELICITY

In
her dreams she could fly. No longer a slave, but free, soaring above Carthage,
privy to the everyday activities of the average Carthaginian, not saddled with
the burden of human need. She could fly, and swoop, and she felt her smile tear
at the edges of her face, so great was her joy.

Suddenly,
she was above the house of Vibius. Her master Brutus dined with his wife in the
courtyard. Though she could see them clearly, they took no notice of her. This,
she thought, was familiar. How often had she been like a lizard on the wall,
hearing and seeing, but seemingly invisible to her master’s family? Even her
mistress Helena seemed oblivious to her.