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Authors: Tim Lahaye 7 Jerry B. Jenkins

BOOK: Luke's Story
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“We’ll know that soon enough.” The master turned to the slaves. “Get torches and take two of our most rested steeds, and arm yourselves. Cover the route between here and Daphne as fast as is feasible, and send Balasi back with a wagon. He will attend to Luke while we try to locate Diabolos.”
Luke wanted to go with the two slaves, but he was not proficient at riding, and he knew Theophilus would never hear of it. He worried about Diabolos and hoped they would find him neither having been attacked nor trying to escape. But Luke couldn’t imagine another option. The master had shown great trust in Diabolos, especially under the circumstances, allowing him to get himself back to Daphne.
It would be great to have Balasi around. The old slave had been a friend of Luke’s parents and of Lippio. He was
quiet and some thought a bit shy, but he had always been obviously fond of Luke. By dawn he should arrive, along with whatever news there might be about Diabolos.
 
 
AS LUKE LAY TRYING to drift off, he couldn’t quit worrying and wondering if he was just too eager to be understood. It niggled at his brain that there were those who thought he was lording his privileges over them and would forget that he too was a slave.
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“Let me arrange a wagon or carriage, Luke,” Theophilus said.
“Send one after us,” Luke said. “There’s no time to waste.”
As he leapt onto the horse behind the rider, Luke found himself back of the saddle on the steed’s bare flanks. He reached around the rider and dropped his satchel in the man’s lap, then wrapped his arms around the man’s waist.
As the horse was urged to gallop out the gate and onto the main road, Luke worried he would be pitched off, and he held on as tight as he could.
 
 
NOT TEN MINUTES LATER, Luke was kneeling next to Diabolos in a ditch off the side of the road. The wagon was deep in the culvert on its side, and one would have had to be searching for it to see it.
Diabolos’s breathing was shallow. Luke motioned the two slaves closer with their torches and could see that the young man had lost much blood. But was quickly able to determine that the wound, he assumed from a knife, need not be fatal if he acted fast, as it had missed the major vein.
Diabolos looked pale and terrified. He wrapped one of Luke’s wrists in a death grip and rasped, “Bandits. I tried to outrun them, but the wagon was too heavy. They forced me off the road.”
“But why, Diabolos? You had nothing of value to them. You should have just stopped and shown them.”
“I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. Anyway, you know I’m a fighter.”
“Yes, and look what it’s cost you. Any other injuries?”
“Just scrapes and bruises, I think. Am I going to die?”
“Not if I can stop the bleeding.” Luke rummaged in his satchel for absorbent cloths. He had seen the old physician actually sew up wounds like this, but he had never done it. Needle and thread were among his supplies, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to use them.
No such luck. It seemed the more he tried to pack cloth into the gaping hole, the more bleeding he caused. Trouble was, he had none of the ointment the late physician had said made the stitching of flesh more bearable. “Hear me, Diabolos. I must draw your flesh together and bind it. You must lie as still as possible.”
“You aim to sew my flesh like cloth? No!”
“Or you can lie here and bleed out to your death.”
“How am I to hold still if you pierce me yet more?”
“These men will hold you still.”
The slaves planted their torches in the ground, and each took one of Diabolos’s arms. To keep the injured man from further thrashing about, Luke planted a knee on either side of his chest and bent low for the best view of the wound. The jagged opening was perhaps a bit longer than two inches and extended from the left of Diabolos’s neck to the middle. Luke used a mixture of watetogized that if he let the blood on his fingers dry a bit, it gave him a better grip on the otherwise slippery gash. That allowed him to quickly draw it together and hold it as he forced the needle in. Somehow Diabolos was able to keep from thrashing, though he hissed and whined until Luke had completed six large loops and tied them off.
Luke and the other two slaves were together able to right the wagon, though its rear axle had been damaged and they had to wait until Theophilus sent another to slowly rumble and lurch the whole slow way back to the compound.
 
 
OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS, Luke monitored Diabolos, stationing him in his own bed and having a cot set outside the door for himself. Though it quickly became clear that Diabolos was out of danger, his healing wound turned fiery red and painful, so Luke had to tend to it every few hours.
Theophilus expressed concern every day that Luke’s vacation from school was being spoiled this way, and he sent for Balasi anyway to serve him. Luke felt strange, a slave in effect employing a slave. But the old friend of his family proved most helpful, though Luke was careful to never ask him to do anything he could do for himself.
Balasi seemed older and slower than Luke had remembered. He loved to talk, though, and that was a nice diversion. He privately assured Luke that while, yes, there were those among the slaves who were jealous of Luke, they did not seem to resent him and many, many more were happy for him.
“They look forward to when you come back and become their doctor,” the old man said.
Luke was napping on the cot outside his room one afternoon when he roused enough to be aware that Balasi had delivered his midday meal and was also taking a tray in to Diabolos. When he didn’t return immediately, Luke sat up, aware of an earnest conversation behind the door.
“Your dad and me was friends, you know,” Balasi was saying. “And I owe it to him to speak my mind. Now it looks like you’re going to be okay in time, and you know you owe it to that boy out there.”
“He’s little more boy than I am, old man. We’re close to the same age, but there’s nothing else the same about us.”
“There could be, except that you’re nasty to him and to everybody else. We all lost somebody, you know, son, Loukon included.”
“But look what he’s got now. He might as well be a freeman already.”
“He deserves it if anybody does, and you know it.”
“Make me the master’s pet and let me sleep in his house and study under his tutors and I’d deserve it too.”
“Aw, go on, Diabolos. You and I wouldn’t know what to do with all that learning. It was obvious Loukon was bright before he could hardly speak.”
“Yeah, but you can tell how much he loves being over everybody else.”
“I don’t see that in him at all. You only see it that way ’cause you’re jealous.”
“You shouldn’t be. He saved your life. And word is he kept you from a flogging too. You ought be to glad the master listens to him.”
“How am I supposed to feel, a slave just like me defending me to the master?”
“How are you supposed to feel? Grateful. Your parents would be ashamed.”
“Don’t be talking about them.”
“Why not? Can’t you remember how good they were? I’ll bet they were proud of Loukon.”
A long pause made Luke wonder what was going on. When Diabolos spoke again, the pain and anger were obvious.
“They were!” he spat. “He was all they could talk about. It was like they wished he was their son and not me!”
Balasi’s tone suddenly changed from scolding to sympathy. “We all go through that, Diabolos. My parents always compared me with my brother and sister. It was wrong and it was hurtful, but they were just trying to make me a better man.”
“It didn’t work.”
Balasi laughed. “I know. But they tried. You want to know what your father used to tell me about you?”
“What?”
“You don’t think he talked about you? He talked about all his children.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you could do anything you put your mind to. Said you were more than just a big, strong boy, but that you had a good mind too.”
“I can’t even read.”
“Neither can I. But you know as well as I do that there is a lot more to being smart than being able to read. We don’t all have to be geniuses like Luke.”
“My father really said that?”
“Why would I lie? He said you being a slave was a waste, that you would make a good freeman.”
“You’d better not be just saying this.”
Balasi’s tone went soft again. “You know I’m not. And you also know you owe Loukon two things.”
“What?”
“Prove to me you have the mind your father thought you had. What two things do you owe Loukon?”
“I don’t know. I guess thanks for saving my life.”
“Of course. And what else?”
“Keeping me from getting punished?”
“Thanks for those two things and then something else.”
“You’re going to have to tell me.”
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“No I’m not. How have you treated Loukon?”
“Pretty bad, I guess.”
“Then besides thanks, what do you owe him?”
“I know.”
“Tell me.”
“An apology. But I have to tell you, Balasi, thanks is going to be a lot easier for me than an apology. I haven’t apologized for years, and only when my father made me apologize to my mother.”
“You need me to make you do this?”
“You can’t.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t want to, because then you wouldn’t mean it. You can thank Loukon for what he’s done for you, because there’s no question about that. But don’t you dare apologize for the way you’ve treated him until you can really mean it.”
 
 
BY THE TIME Luke was to be taken back to the harbor for the voyage to Tarsus, Diabolos had been up and about for a few days. He was timid, shy, quiet around Luke, answering only his medical questions. Luke urged him not to do anything strenuous for another couple of weeks and had to refuse when he offered to help load Balasi’s wagon for the ride to the harbor.
Balasi did the work, with Luke’s assistance, then helped Diabolos into the seat so he could ride along. The trip was awkward, because Luke kept expecting Diabolos to say something. Balasi wound up making small talk about the weather, the route, the ship, and the master’s new restrictions against anyone under his charge being out on the road after dark, alone or otherwise.
Finally they unloaded and got Luke’s stuff aboard, and Luke said his goodbyes to the old man. Balasi climbed back onto the wagon, but Diabolos remained with Luke, still silent.
“Well, take care of yourself,” Luke said. “I’ve told the mistresses of the house how to change that bandage, but don’t exert yourself for a while.”
“Yeah, okay. Listen, I wanted to thank you for what you did for me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Of course I’m mentioning it. You saved my life, and before that you kept me from getting into too much trouble with the master. You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean, I got myself in enough trouble anyway, but you tried to help.”
“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll see you next time I come back.”
“Yeah.”
Diabolos pawed at the ground with his sandal, and Luke was glad there set="6" width="1em">
“Isn’t that wonderful,” Luke said, shaking his hand again. “You must be so proud. It’s a privilege to know you.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Saul said, and while he had twinkle in his eye, Luke believed he meant it. “And what a Stoic thing to say.”
This made his mates laugh.
Luke merely nodded and smiled, unable to think of a rejoinder.
“I’ll meet you in the greater courtyard at sunset, then,” Saul said. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” Luke said, retreating.
Now he had compounded his envy with deceit. What was wrong with him? Throughout the rest of the day, he resolved to be honest with Saul that evening.
 
 
SAUL APPEARED DISTRACTED and eager to get on with it that evening when Luke approached. “Do you have another commitment?” Luke said. “Should we do this another time?”
“No, this is fine, but yes, of course, I have other commitments tonight. There are precious few breaks in my day, which I assume is true with you too.”
“It seems I study all the time.”
“I study too, but I also speak, write, engage in athletics. And I love to debate. Is that what we’re going to do now?”
“I hadn’t planned to.”
“Then what?”
“I have just a few questions for you. About Judaism.”
“You have come to the right person, as I assume you know.”
“I knew you would think so.” It was out before Luke could corral it. “I am just trying to be funny, Saul.”

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