Man of God (12 page)

“Mother says that Jesus held me when I was a
baby—the last time he came to Bethany,” Rachel said. “I wish I
could remember.”

Paulus didn’t answer. She knew he didn’t like
to talk about the crucifixion. It seemed to pain him greatly that
he didn’t do anything to stop it…though there was nothing he could
have done. At the time he hadn’t understood that what was
happening…was supposed to happen. When he didn’t speak, she looked
up at him.

“What can I do to make Mother feel
better?”

He smiled again and squeezed her shoulder.
“It makes her happy when you practice your music. And you have a
very pleasant singing voice, you know.”

Rachel refrained from rolling her eyes. “I’m
not any good with the lyre.”

“You are good enough, and if you would
practice you’d be even better.”

Rachel sighed. “Yes. Father.”

* * *

It was a rare occurrence, but Alysia had
cried until she fell asleep the night before, not knowing when
Paulus returned from his long walk. When she woke he was gone, and
on the pillow next to her lay a single, wild rose, a dusky shade of
pink, beautifully formed. “Paulus,” she whispered, and carried it
with her into the kitchen to place it in a vase. She returned to
the bedroom to dress, and twined her hair into a thick black braid
that hung to her waist. She straightened the room and went back to
the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.

She knew Paulus was right…right in giving
Megara money, as due a former wife, and right in everything he had
said. Alysia had allowed her anger with Megara to transfer itself
to him, because she had wanted him to throw his former wife out of
the house, and he hadn’t done so. Now she was glad he hadn’t, and
reflected that she might as well turn her indignation into pity and
be done with it. Nursing ill feelings would only harm herself, and
that was what Megara wanted.

She walked outside to draw water from the
well, looking down the path she knew Paulus and Rachel had taken.
It was their day for archery practice. Paulus had taught Alysia to
shoot with a bow and arrow years ago, but she seldom went with her
husband and daughter, letting them enjoy their time alone. Glancing
at the cloud-laden sky, she went back into the house, lit the oven
and began boiling eggs; she set out wheat bread and cheese and
fruit. She poured water into the vase with the rose, and placed it
in the center of the table.

She heard them as they approached the house,
and going to the window saw Paulus lay something, a rabbit perhaps,
on a large block of wood; he withdrew his hunting knife from its
sheath and drove its blade into the wood as he followed Rachel
toward the house. Good, she would keep the oven lit and let the
stew simmer for hours…it would be a welcome change from the
vegetables they ate every day.

“How did it go?” she asked, as Rachel came
inside.

“It was good…you should have come with us,
Mother.”

Alysia lifted her head and met Paulus’ solemn
gaze. Without hesitation, she went to him and put her arms around
his waist.

“I was wrong,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Rachel ducked her head and hurried to her
room to put her things away…but she was smiling.

* * *

Livias stared at the sketch before him. It
was a good likeness of Paulus Valerius, drawn by a soldier who had
known him well. Petronius had found the soldier, skilled at drawing
and who hadn’t minded providing the sketch for a hefty sum. Livias
wasn’t sure just yet how he was going to use it; he had to proceed
carefully, lest word get to Valerius that he was being actively
pursued. His inclination was to approach people who lived in the
east and northeast regions of Rome and ask them if they had seen
anyone who resembled the man in the drawing. Still, he would have
to be careful not to arouse suspicion. He would also give a
description of the woman…he had no drawing of her and no one knew
what she looked like—except Valerius’ family, who all claimed they
couldn’t remember any details except for the black hair and violet
eyes.

If he had no success he’d move on to the
other sections of the city…but he had a
feeling
. Paulus
Valerius was somewhere near. He might be living beneath the very
nose of the emperor…a good place to hide because few would think to
look for him there. It seemed strange, though, that he didn’t flee
far into the country. He had to have a reason for wanting to live
in Rome. That reason could be employment. What sort of employment
would he seek? According to his reputation he had excelled at
everything Tiberius, or Sejanus actually, had assigned to him…but
that involved both the military and administration, and he wouldn’t
be looking for those kinds of positions. He was probably doing
manual labor somewhere, perhaps working on construction
projects.

The woman might be working in a shop,
although that was unlikely. She probably stayed at home with the
child. The child would be left an orphan; she’d have to be sold as
a slave…or something. Livias didn’t trouble himself about such
details. And it was too bad that sly Egyptian had suspected he was
being followed and had stopped going out at all. He’d been
questioned, but it was difficult to get anything out of him. He
answered in phrases Livias found all but incomprehensible,
pretending to understand very little Greek or Latin, and he stared
at Livias with such an enigmatic black gaze that he feared some
strange Egyptian curse was being heaped upon his head. The other
servants had not been helpful, nor had Valerius’ family…but that
was to be expected. Besides, the man wouldn’t put them in jeopardy
by attempting to contact them.

Livias had tried to trace the money he knew
Valerius had possessed, but that had disappeared, probably placed
under another name long ago. Or he had hidden it somewhere, to stop
the Treasury from confiscating it. His wife had been dead for
years, so she couldn’t have taken it. Livias would try to pick up
the trail if all else failed, but he hadn’t time for that right
now.

He slid the rough sheet of papyrus inside the
front of his tunic and headed for the streets. His dark eyes
gleamed with the thrill of the hunt. Paulus Valerius would be a
rare prize indeed, to add to his list of achievements.

CHAPTER IX

Paulus stopped, sure that he recognized the
woman walking some distance in front of him, after she had tossed a
glance over her shoulder. She had a distinctive walk, with her
shoulders thrown back and her nose in the air, her gait quick and
carefree. The woman was fashionably dressed, perhaps too
fashionably, in a bright red stola and a more than ample number of
bracelets and necklaces. He thought she had seen him and had
deliberately increased her pace, although he did, as usual, have on
the hooded robe.

He started walking again and in a moment
overtook her. “Hello, Daphne,” he said, falling into stride with
her.

The young woman was beautiful, with large,
almond-shaped black eyes framed by upward-slanting brows. High
cheekbones emphasized her shapely, full lips, and a nose that was
slightly pointed at the end, with small, flared nostrils. Her
abundant, dark brown hair was threaded with deep veins of gold…and
with jewelry. The olive tone of her skin made her teeth, in
contrast, seem very white.

She feigned surprise. “Oh, it’s you,
Antonius,” she said, in a voice mature for her years. “I couldn’t
quite see who you were. Why are you dressed like that on such a hot
day?”

“It’s not so hot—yet. We’ve been missing you
at the meetings.”

She looked away. “I’ve had—things to do.”

Paulus was a little alarmed by her answer,
and her demeanor. “Let’s stop by the fountain, if you don’t mind.
I’d like to talk to you.”

She gave a slight nod. The street widened to
become an arcade of shops, with a fountain splashing in its center.
A number of stone benches were spaced around it, but Paulus drew
her into the shade of a canopy whose owner had apparently not yet
opened for business.

“Daphne, is anything wrong?” he asked,
looking down into her face.

She didn’t reply for a moment, then bit her
lip and said, “Well, you’ll hear sooner or later. I’m no longer
working for Gallus and his wife, and I don’t think I’ll be coming
to any more meetings.”

Now he was deeply concerned. When he and
Alysia had talked to Daphne on the street and she had consented to
come to their meetings, she had been open to the word of God.
Paulus had talked to some friends who had agreed to hire her as a
servant in their household, so she could quit her former
profession.

“Look at me, Daphne,” he said, and
reluctantly she lifted her gaze. “Have you gone back to
prostitution?”

“It’s all I know!” she said in a rush, her
eyes pleading and probing into his. “That is, not yet, but I intend
to. It’s too hard, being a servant. I drop things, I can’t do
anything right. Oh, they were nice enough, Gallus and Lydia, but it
wasn’t working out. I’m sorry you went to the trouble,
Antonius.”

“There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me.”

Daphne looked around the arcade as though
hoping someone would come to her rescue. Passersby gave them barely
a glance; she was obviously a harlot trying to elicit some business
this fine morning, the first day of August…although usually
prostitutes didn’t appear until sometime after the noon hour.

“Why did you stop coming to the meetings?”
Paulus asked quietly.

“Because—they can’t let me forget! I know
people, Antonius. I see the speculation in the eyes of the men…what
has she done, how did she do it? Either men look at me the wrong
way, or they won’t look at me at all, as if I might corrupt them
somehow.”

“I think you imagine these things, Daphne. Do
I look at you that way?”

“No,” she said irritably. “But others do. And
their wives don’t trust me—I can see that as well. I know I’m a
beautiful woman—I can’t help that. Perhaps they are right not to
trust me.”

“You don’t mean that, if you have changed
your life.”

“I haven’t changed. I’ve tried, and I
cannot.”

“Daphne, Jesus is the one who changes you, on
the inside, and then enables you to change your feelings, and your
behavior. You almost believed that. Why do you resist him?”

“What you said about him—about his dying on
the cross to take the punishment for sin—moved me very deeply. I
began to hope, but—” she stopped and shook her head. “I could never
explain it to you.”

“Could you explain it to my wife?”

“No. She wouldn’t understand, either.”

“I wish you would go and talk to her.
Camillus’ father is dying and they’ve asked me to come, or I would
take you there myself. Alysia is at home alone today. Rachel has
gone to visit a friend.” Paulus hesitated as a thought struck him.
“We’ve decided to go and spend some time at Horatius’ villa in the
country. Why don’t you go with us? That will give you time to think
about things. We won’t try to make you do something you don’t want
to do, Daphne. But it might help you. Please, before you go through
with this decision you’ve made. You don’t realize how important it
is.”

Daphne looked into his face, and her own
softened. “Perhaps I will.”

“Go ahead and pack if you like, and take your
things to my house. We’re leaving in a day or two…you can stay with
us until then.”

She smiled. “You remind me of a few soldiers
I know. You’re quite good at giving orders.”

“I used to be,” he said, and smiled back at
her. “A long time ago. In my former life.”

* * *

Camillus’ father lived in a modest house on
the Aventine Hill. A wealthy man, he adhered to the “old style” of
simple accommodations and scorned anything overtly luxurious, which
the “new Romans” loved. He was also a stern man, not given to
displays of affection, and he and his son had never been close. But
Camillus was there, with Lucia and their children, as Avitus began
to breathe his last.

Paulus shed his light cloak as he entered the
vestibule, where the family and friends had gathered. He nodded
when he saw Simon and Aquila, with a few others, and took Lucia’s
hands in his.

“Camillus is with him,” she said quietly. “He
is pleading with his father to receive the Lord. Our friends here
have been praying for him. Please go in at once, before it’s too
late.”

Paulus went into the room she indicated,
where the shutters had been closed at the windows and the small bed
in the corner was shrouded in gloom. A pungent odor of medicines
came from a table near the bed. Camillus sat in a chair beside it.
Paulus went to the chair on the opposite side, feeling the
oppressive warmth, and sensing, in his spirit, the stubborn
resistance of the dying man.

Camillus looked at him helplessly. His
father, gray-haired and gray-bearded, moved only his eyes toward
Paulus.

“I had a feeling you would come, Antonius,”
he said hoarsely, drawing his breath with difficulty. “My son has
been harassing me about this Nazarene of yours. I am sure you have
already told me everything you know. There is nothing more to
say.”

“I have only one thing to say, sir. And that
is when your soul leaves your body it will go to one of two places.
To be forever with God, or to be forever separated from him in a
place of torment, reserved for those who refuse to accept his son
as savior, the one who paid for their sins.”

“Rubbish! I have lived a good life. I have
given to the poor. What more would the gods ask of me?”

“There is but one God,” Paulus answered,
silently praying for the right words. “The God who created the
world, and you…the holy and just God who must punish sin. Avitus,
have you ever told a lie, have you ever stolen anything, have you
ever hated a man, dishonored your parents…have you ever lusted
after a woman?”