Man of God (25 page)

Tertius bowed. Megara watched as he placed
the letter inside his tunic and left the house. She began to pace
back and forth, glancing impatiently at the water clock. In an
hour’s time she would have a visit from her new hairdresser.

* * *

Simon’s small house was northeast of the
Circus Maximus, easily accessible to his friends and fellow
believers…many of whom lived in the surrounding area. This
afternoon its reception room was full of visitors…Aquila and
Priscilla, Camillus, Horatius and his son, Simon’s own
sons—Alexander and Rufus. Susanna and several older women, who had
no children to keep them at home, were also present.

“I have felt a strong burden to pray for
Antonius and Alysia,” Simon told the group; they were all standing
because there were not enough places to sit. “I feel they are in
more danger now than they have ever been.”

“I, too, have felt it,” Horatius
answered.

One of the older women said, “I wasn’t there
the night his former wife appeared. I don’t know what all of this
is about. Why are the authorities looking for Antonius? A man
stopped me in the street one day and asked about him, but the Lord
told me not to talk to him.”

“I cannot answer, without asking permission
of Antonius. But suffice it to say that things happened before he
and Alysia became believers that affect them to this day. They
haven’t told any of you for your own protection.”

Another woman said, “Could what happened to
Daphne happen to any of us? Are we in danger?”

“I don’t know. I only know that
they
are in danger.”

“What does Flavius say?” asked Camillus.

Simon glanced at Susanna, who replied
hesitantly, “He thinks we could be taken… for questioning. Everyone
must be on guard. Avoid these men who are asking questions.”

“Speaking of Daphne,” Camillus said, “how is
she, Priscilla?”

“Like many of those we see who make such a
complete change—she loves the Lord very much. He has given her
strength. She seems to be doing well, but we must continue to pray
for her.”

“Then let us pray—for all of them,” Horatius
said. “Simon and Aquila, will you lead us?”

* * *

Claudius loved to putter about his garden;
the slaves had filled it with flowers and herbs, exotic plants, and
various small trees. There were statues and a fountain—gushing
water out of Jupiter’s mouth—and plenty of stone benches. He was
limping around its meandering pathways when he heard a commotion
inside his house, and then the emperor strutted forth from the
doorway, followed by his German bodyguards.

“Here you are, Uncle! It is sad I must come
to
you
on my birthday! Had you forgotten it?”

Claudius blinked. “But today is the thirtieth
day of August, your Majesty.”

“Ha! You should have seen the look on your
addled face! Yes, you have one more day to think about what you’re
going to give me. Where is Messalina?”

And perhaps you would like
her
for
your birthday, Claudius thought, having seen the way Caligula
looked at his wife. And Messalina spent a lot of time at the
palace. She had no morals, no scruples, and, in Claudius’ opinion,
no sense; it was too bad, he often reflected, that he had such a
weakness for women, because in spite of all this he adored her.

“I don’t know,” he answered glumly.

“Well, it’s late in the day…she is probably
getting ready to go—out.” Caligula smirked, as though he knew
something Claudius didn’t. “Sit down, Uncle, you make me nervous,
fidgeting about.” He plumped down on a bench opposite Claudius,
arranging his toga about his legs.

“I’ve had some excellent meetings with these
kings and noblemen who have come to see me. A day or two before the
great games in honor of Jupiter begin, I am going to stage an
exhibition in the amphitheater in which I will dispatch a few
criminals. Let them see how we deal with insurrection, of any kind.
We’ll have some gladiators, too—I know you like to watch them. I
expect you and Agrippa to be there.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Did you decide what to do
about the new c—cult?”

Caligula acquired that strange, wide-eyed
expression. “The council advised tolerance, for a while. Unless
these fools get to be a nuisance. However, they had better not defy
me! Let one of them refuse to pay me homage when I require it, and
they will rue the day they ever heard of this Nazarene
charlatan!”

Claudius hesitated, but he wanted to know.
“And what is the latest news on the—ca—capture of Paulus
Valerius?”

The emperor stuck out his lower lip.
“Tomorrow at midnight Petronius will be looking for his head. I’ve
sent for him, but he isn’t to be found. He’d better not be trying
to hide. But if he finds Valerius—all the better. That would be
quite a birthday present, Uncle—a gift from my fellow gods!”

* * *

Tertius had searched all day in the areas
he’d seen the strange-looking man…the man who was seeking his
mistress’s former husband. He hadn’t found him. But by the gods, he
wasn’t going to go back and let
her
know that he’d failed!
He’d taken many a lashing from her sharp tongue over the years; it
was probably a good thing that he could not speak. He’d also taken
a few beatings about the head with a cane rod, when she was in a
particularly bad humor. He would find some place to spend the
night…and start again tomorrow.

* * *

Early in the morning Paulus dressed and ate
the large breakfast Alysia had prepared. He would return to the
aqueduct today; he’d put it off long enough. There had been plenty
of other things to see to…fellow believers who needed help, money,
counsel…running a scythe over the grass around the house…making new
arrows for Rachel. He sensed that Alysia didn’t want him to go. He
never spoke of the headaches and dizziness that had grown more,
instead of less, persistent…but she knew.

He was finishing the meal when Rachel walked
into the dining room, yawning.

“And what are the plans for the day?” he
asked, drawing his daughter toward him and kissing the top of her
head.

“Cleaning in the morning, lessons in the
afternoon,” she answered, without enthusiasm.

“Oh? Is Marcella coming?”

She gave a solemn nod, sitting down in front
of her plate.

“What are you going to say to her?”

“Don’t worry, Father, I have a speech all
prepared!”

“What do you mean—exactly? I don’t know that
making a speech is quite the thing to do.”

“Don’t question her, Paulus,” Alysia said
quietly. “She will know what to say.”

He answered, after a moment, “Yes, I think
she will.”

Rachel didn’t eat much and returned to her
room. Her parents went to the kitchen, where Alysia filled a small
satchel with food and (to his enjoyment) untied his belt and slid
the looped satchel onto it, and slowly retied the belt. “Take care
today,” she murmured, her head bent.

He put his hand under her chin, raising it
gently. “I will,” he said, and kissed her.

It was just another morning…like hundreds of
others. But for some reason, as he was leaving, he stopped and
turned at the door. Alysia was about to go out the other end of the
house, to draw water for beginning the day’s chores. Sensing his
sudden stillness, she too, stopped and turned. Their eyes met, for
a timeless moment, across the wide expanse of the corridor.

“I love you,” he said at last, smiling, and
before she could answer…opened the door and left.

CHAPTER XIX

There he was! Tertius couldn’t believe his
good fortune. The man he was looking for stood outside a tavern,
talking to a soldier. Several other legionaries lingered nearby; he
could tell from their uniforms that they were regular army and not
Praetorians, which was unusual—but with Caligula anything was to be
expected. . He wondered if he ought to approach the man in their
presence, and edged forward so that he could listen to their
conversation. There were many pedestrians milling about at this
early hour and it was easy to skulk among them, unnoticed.

“First, I will make certain it is indeed
Paulus Valerius,” the man was saying. “You will not show yourselves
until I have done so. You can be waiting around the corner of the
buildings, and I will signal you.”

“I had almost given up on you, Livias,”
Petronius said, his relief obvious. “I was about to question the
prostitute again, and take her to Caligula if I had to—although
Flavius said to leave her alone. Sometimes I wonder about him… but
he said he was having her watched. And I’ve just sent some men east
of here, beyond the city. A man matching Valerius’ description was
seen speaking in the bazaar near Tibur.”

“Well, if that was Valerius he’s no longer
there. I’m already as certain as I can be…without seeing him. I’m
on my way to the aqueduct now.”

Tertius stepped forward, his determination
immediately drawing the men’s attention. The soldier’s hand went to
his sword. Tertius made a quick, conciliatory gesture and handed
the letter to the man named Livias, who stared at him for a moment,
then unfolded the letter and began reading. His brows drew
together.

“Stop!” he called, as Tertius began to hurry
away. This time the soldier drew his sword and Tertius halted
instantly.

Livias continued reading, and then stared at
Tertius. “Who wrote this?”

His heart pounding, Tertius made another
gesture, drawing his hand across his throat and shaking his
head.

“He’s mute,” said the soldier,
unnecessarily.

“Are you the slave of the person who wrote
this?” Livias demanded.

Tertius nodded slowly, nearly panic-stricken.
Now he was in serious trouble!

“Petronius, the writer of this letter states
that he or she knows where Paulus Valerius lives, and includes a
detailed description of how to find his house. I think some of your
men had better follow this slave and make the writer accompany them
to this house—so there can be no mistake.”

“Then we have the woman, too!” Petronius
exclaimed. “I’ll send for more men to go with the slave. Livias,
the gods have smiled on you, today—and on me.”

“We will have to wait and see,” Livias said.
“But I think, Petronius, you are probably right.”

* * *

Paulus made sure he left the wooden structure
before the other engineers arrived; he didn’t know any of them but
always tried to avoid unnecessary encounters. Martinus liked for
him to look over the orders and plans for the day, and had grown
almost dependent on his advice…which, Paulus knew, was not a good
thing. But somehow it had worked out that way, and perhaps it was
meant to be so. He had learned that God put people and
circumstances in his path for a reason.

Secundus, for instance…He saw the younger man
trundling a handcart full of bricks. He’d been talking to him for
weeks about the Lord; Secundus hadn’t accepted it, but at least he
was still listening, still asking questions. There were other men,
too, who had become believers, or seemed to be on the verge of
doing so.

Paulus went to load another cart full of
bricks, mingling with a dozen or so others. Work had resumed full
force now that the summer’s heat was lessening. Ignoring the
throbbing in his head, he continued to pile bricks into the cart
and, out of the corner of his eye saw a man who seemed to be
walking toward him. He was short, dressed in a plain but well-made
tunic, with silver hair still showing streaks of black. Paulus
straightened and kept his eyes on the man as he approached.

“I’m sorry, sir, to bother you,” Livias said
smoothly, letting a habitual glaze fall over his dark eyes and
forcing his mouth to remain firm, in spite of a strong desire to
smile in triumph. He had seen Paulus several times, years ago, and
knew this was the man he sought.

“It is no bother,” Paulus replied. He saw,
over the man’s shoulder, that Secundus was watching them and looked
as if he wanted to say something. He began to get an odd
feeling.

“I was looking for someone, and Martinus
thought you resembled my description of the man.”

“I’m sorry…I don’t believe we’ve met. I hope
you find him.”

“But the resemblance is striking.” Livias
permitted a thin, sinister curving of his lips. He placed his right
hand on his own left shoulder; it was almost like a signal.
“Perhaps you know him. His name is Valerius.”

Paulus froze, and saw that Secundus was
staring at something behind him, with his mouth open. He turned to
see a company of soldiers rushing toward him. Horses bearing more
soldiers galloped from the opposite direction.

A dozen thoughts surged in an instant through
his mind. His greatest instinct was to escape and somehow get a
warning to Alysia; perhaps there was still a way, with God’s help,
to avoid capture. There was an alley directly behind him and he
knew exactly where it led…but perhaps it, too, was blocked by
soldiers. Besides, what would these men think—Secundus and the
others, if he fought, and ran? Seeing with their eyes, he would be
reacting with violence and cowardice…they wouldn’t know
why
he ran, though he could scarcely be blamed for wanting to avoid
arrest. And they would wonder what he had done to
deserve
arrest.

He thought dismally that his witness was
again compromised; any good he had ever done here was being undone.
He knew how Alysia had felt when she feared they would look like
hypocrites…it wasn’t
that
as much as how it would reflect on
their message, and the God they represented. What made it worse was
that some of these had not yet made a decision—they’d been waiting
and watching, even as they now watched to see what he would do. He
forced himself to stand perfectly still.

“Secundus,” he said, in a calm, clear voice,
“Everything I have told you is true. I have done nothing to warrant
arrest, except avoid questions from the authorities, and neither
has my wife. She is guilty of defending herself, nothing more.
Remember that, no matter what you might hear, and tell the
others.”