Man of God (29 page)

Alysia hurt for him, knowing that
his
suffering was for her, and that he had no thought of himself, or
what the emperor might have in store for him. But she could answer
him honestly.

“There is a calmness in me, that comes only
from the mercy of God. I am afraid, in a way, but—it is a
controlled
fear. I don’t know how else to describe it. Oh,
Paulus!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “If only he weren’t making you
go—I think it would be almost easy for me! I will pray with all my
heart that you will be able to bear it.”

“Don’t speak as if there is no hope, Alysia.
We don’t know God’s will in this, or what he will do.”

Alysia didn’t answer. She had a feeling…but
maybe it was just a feeling. God could work a miracle if he chose.
He had done so before. And yet, the feeling was strong and
persistent, that this time tomorrow…

“Paulus,” she whispered. “I have a passage
for you.” She waited a moment, willing her voice to be steady, and
it was.

“
A highway will be there, and it will be
called the Highway of Holiness. The wicked will not journey on it,
it will be for those who walk in the Way…No lion will walk on it,
nor any ravenous beast, but only the redeemed, and the ransomed of
the Lord will return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting
joy. They shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing
will be no more.”

She sensed Paulus’ head turn toward her,
though she couldn’t see it, and hers turned toward him. Again their
hands stretched out, and failed to touch.

CHAPTER XXII

Paulus got to his feet as the door creaked
open and a guard entered the prison. He watched with heart-rending
anguish as Alysia stood and held out her hands. The guard released
her from the chains and waited for her to step out in front of
him.

“Move on. Our orders are that you’re not to
touch the other prisoner.”

She looked over her shoulder, meeting Paulus’
eyes only for an instant and whispered, “Remember.”

She was reminding him that he had promised,
if at all possible, to rescue Rachel. She was telling him that he
must not do anything to try and save
her
…not while their
daughter was still in danger. As if he needed reminding…

He tried to speak, and couldn’t. The door
clanged shut. The other two prisoners stirred, and the servant
asked, “Why did they take her, and not us?”

Paulus wondered that, too. Surely Caligula
was not going to—No, he wouldn’t let his thoughts go there. He went
back to his bench and leaned against the dank stone wall, his face
unshaven and haggard, his mind in turmoil. Alysia had seemed at
peace, but he wasn’t…perhaps he was resisting it, perhaps he didn’t
want to be at peace. It seemed a betrayal, somehow. He had a right
to be distraught, hadn’t he…a right to be angry, a right to feel
like killing the emperor!

“Sir,” said one of the men across from him,
“would you tell me more about this God you worship?”

Paulus put his head in his hands and
struggled to bring his feelings under control. “God help me,” he
said hoarsely, and finally looked up at the emperor’s servant. The
other man had his back to them, slumped in a posture of
hopelessness.

“Yes,” he said, “yes, I will tell you…”

Hours later, the guards came for the two
condemned men. One of the soldiers, followed closely by three
others, also removed Paulus’ chains, but immediately put the
shackles on his wrists. “You’re to go and get cleaned up,” the
soldier said, with a note of irony his voice. “You’ll be sitting
with the emperor.”

* * *

The Campus Martius lay west of the Palatine,
between the Tiber River and the Quirinal Hill. Once a rural area
full of swamps in the low ground, and green meadows where it sloped
upward, its vast landscape was now thickly packed with the building
projects undertaken by Augustus Caesar. The Pantheon, a temple to
honor all the gods, was here…as were the splendid Mausoleum of
Augustus, the Altar of Peace, and the Baths of Agrippa. Though
marble and stone had encroached upon its natural beauty, there were
still grass-covered spaces for ball playing and horseback riding.
Adding to the scenic view, verdant hills rose majestically beyond
the river. Fairs and markets and horse races were often held for
the people’s enjoyment; there were parks dotted with evergreens and
poplars, colonnaded gardens, finely sculpted monuments, and dozens
of magnificent temples. The Campus itself had been dedicated to
Mars, the god of war.

Among its buildings was the Taurus
Amphitheater, old but sturdy and imposing, made of stone with
wooden seats and stairways. Caligula did not think it large or
grand enough, and had begun building another one near the Pantheon.
However, it sufficed for gladiatorial contests, animal slaughters
and the execution of criminals.

Paulus had shaved and “cleaned up”, and was
given a new, dark blue tunic. He was placed, bound, upon a horse,
surrounded by cavalry, and taken to the amphitheater. The guards
led him through an enclosed stairway to the area where the emperor
and his retinue had already been seated. Claudius and Agrippa sat
on either side of him; Paulus, to his own surprise, was to sit next
to Claudius.

The emperor’s uncle seemed to be genuinely
disturbed, and looked at him anxiously. “Paulus Valerius, I have
often remembered you. I very much regret these—circumstances.”

“Claudius.” Paulus didn’t feel capable of
making conversation.

The section reserved for the emperor and his
guests consisted of wooden chairs with arms, rather than the
curving, bench-like seating that filled the remainder of the
amphitheater. Caligula’s chair had a high, decorative back, which
probably impeded the view of many behind him. All the chairs were
painted green, the emperor’s favorite color—next to purple. There
were spaces here and there for guards to keep watch, and a
receptacle on Caligula’s right bore a pole from which unfurled a
huge purple banner; embroidered in gold were the letters:
SPQR
…the Senate and People of Rome.

Caligula’s eyes shifted toward Paulus, and he
nodded at one of the soldiers standing by, who then stepped forward
and released Paulus’ bonds. Again surprised, he looked at Caligula.
“I want you to be able to enjoy the show. But don’t try anything,
former Legate Paulus Valerius
Maximus
, or you will regret
it.”

Paulus ignored him, rubbing his wrists, and
his eyes roved over the crowd restlessly. He looked down at the
arena, where a group of musicians sat in wooden folding chairs,
playing their instruments—brass horns, flutes and cymbals. The
musicians appeared to be favorites of Caligula’s and he swayed as
he listened to them. It was a cruelly ironic performance—compared
to what was to come.

The kings, dignitaries and officials from the
surrounding provinces were gathered behind Caligula, all in their
native dress. The emperor had also insisted that the senators sit
together, for he liked to watch their expressions when something
particularly gruesome occurred on the sand-covered arena. Paulus
knew many of them; they nodded at him, eyeing him with thoughtful
frowns and then talking to each other in muted tones. Indeed, he
recognized a great many people he had known before he left Rome ten
years ago. He thought for a moment he had seen his brother-in-law,
and he wondered if his family was here. Omari might be here, too,
somewhere in the slave section.

He felt a clutch at his heart when he saw
Simon, not far from him…there were Alexander and Rufus, Horatius
and his son, Camillus, Aquila, and several more of his friends. And
there, bless her, was Daphne. He’d already seen Susanna, sitting
with the emperor’s wife behind the foreign dignitaries. None of
them would ever have come here…for any reason…except to honor
Alysia and him, and to hold them up in prayer.

Paulus gave them the briefest nod, not
wishing to call attention to them. He glanced around at the guards
dispersed throughout the amphitheater and was disappointed not to
see Flavius. It seemed the emperor had been sending him away quite
often on various errands. His gaze moved on to the throng of
thousands pouring into the building through the many entrances and
stairways. He’d already seen one of the handbills that had been
posted on walls and passed out to the public yesterday and all
through the night, proclaiming:
COME AND SEE—ROME’S FINEST
GLADIATORS, EXOTIC ANIMALS, AND PUBLIC EXECUTION! MURDERERS AND
BRIGANDS, A WOMAN GUILTY OF SACRILEGE AND SORCERY AGAINST THE
EMPEROR!

It was not every day women were executed;
that alone was enough to draw a crowd. Paulus felt sick to his very
soul; habitually, his trained eyes went over the building, looking
for avenues of escape…but the place was tightly packed and well
guarded…and he would not leave here without Alysia. A brief turn of
his head brought him eye to eye with Megara, who sat behind and to
the left of the emperor, at the end of the row of ambassadors. He
looked away, but she continued to stare at him.

You, she thought, are getting just what you
deserve! She told herself that, over and over. But her sense of
triumph was sadly overshadowed by her own predicament. She couldn’t
leave the palace, except with
his
permission, and escorted
by guards. She hadn’t wanted to come here today, but Caligula had
insisted. He had not come to her yet…but he would. It was a fate
worse than death! And if she didn’t please him—what then? Perhaps
she would really cut her wrists this time…

“Will somebody tell me,” Caligula said
loudly, “why we are not having this spectacle at the Circus Maximus
instead of this raggedy place?”

“You know very w—well the Circus is being
prepared for the games,” his uncle answered. “And it is much too
large for this k—kind of exhibition.”

“Someday we shall have a
real
amphitheater in Rome…very well then, let us begin!”

* * *

Alysia stood close to the massive doors that
stretched so far upward a person had to crane one’s neck to see
where they met the ceiling. Beyond the doors came a tumultuous
noise, like the roaring of some colossal animal. She stood alone,
except for five guards, who remained silent but watched her
curiously. Much earlier, slaves had dressed her in a white silk
gown, scooped low at the neck and falling in fluid lines to her
sandal-clad feet. Her waist-length hair had been washed and
brushed, and left loose about her shoulders and back. Caligula
obviously wished to make a display of her.

She had been standing there for a long time.
She’d listened to the clashing swords of the gladiators, the
howling frenzy of animals killing each other, the screams of other
prisoners who were dispatched in a manner she thankfully could not
see. Yet somehow, she was calm. God had filled her with such an
assurance of his presence that she was bearing the unbearable; she
felt the prayers of believers falling like an anointing oil upon
her. It was a cushioning, a protection from the utter panic that
hovered somewhere near, held at bay by a force greater than
anything she could have summoned for herself.

She bowed her head and whispered, “Thank you,
Jesus.” The guards looked at each other, one grinning in derision,
the others shifting uncomfortably. They moved suddenly to surround
her, and she realized the noise from without had lessened in
intensity. The doors began to slowly swing outward. The soldiers
moved forward, compelling her to move with them…two on each side of
her and one behind. Just as they reached the opening, they paused,
and the guard to her immediate left spoke, unexpectedly.

“May the gods be with you.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes searching
his face. He didn’t know what she sought there, but it was a look
he was never to forget. He watched her eyes light with a sudden
radiance. “He
is
with me. Always.”

The huge doors were completely open. A blare
of trumpets and the rolling of drums filled the arena, followed by
silence, and then she heard a man’s voice calling out the nature of
her crimes: sacrilege, sorcery, murder. The stakes where the other
prisoners had died were still there, but mercifully their bodies
had been removed. Blood stained the sand around the posts, and left
its trail toward another passageway where the bodies had been
dragged. A low roar began to issue from the horde of spectators,
expectant, excited, titillated by what had gone before.

A soldier stood at the center post, waiting
for her. It wasn’t far away, but it appeared to her the longest
walk she would ever take. Somehow she was able to put one foot in
front of the other; she was able to lift her shoulders and
head.

“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered again. In
her heart she said goodbye to all things, to everyone she loved.
“Stephen, my son…I will see you, very soon.”

* * *

His hands clenched, Paulus was sweating
profusely, having undergone the torture of watching what might be
about to befall his wife. First, a number of gladiators had fought,
until all had fallen but two; at last one of them lay wounded and
the survivor turned to look up at the emperor. Caligula made the
customary gesture of pointing his thumb toward his throat and
called down boredly, “Next time I want to see a real fight!” The
gladiator thrust his sword into his opponent. The crowd roared…and
then was ready for some other diversion.

Animals were let loose…a panther, a zebra,
several chimpanzees. The wall encircling the lower part of the
arena protected the people, who were thrilled at the spectacle of
seeing the panther pursue and kill the zebra. A gorilla shuffled
out from a doorway, with a long rope wound around its neck and
attached to something at the other end that no one could
see—hopefully something other than a human. The two wild beasts
engaged in a deadly struggle; women screamed, men shouted with
excitement. The wounded gorilla finally succeeded in snapping the
jaws of the panther, and then its neck. It chased the chimpanzees,
causing them to flee in every direction and try to climb up the
wooden barrier…causing more screams and shouts…but the gorilla
caught them and put them to a grisly end.