Man of God (6 page)

Alysia went to one of the front windows and
looked out. The dirt lane in front of the house ended in a slope
beyond which she couldn’t see, but just then Paulus’ tall figure
came into view, and she slipped out the door to go and meet him. He
smiled as she approached and wrapped his arm around her. They
walked for a moment, as the lowering sun cast shadows from the
surrounding trees across their path.

“You were worried,” he said. “I’m sorry,
Alysia.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“I met Camillus on the way home.” Paulus
stopped and put both hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.
“I hate to ask it of you…they have lost a child. His wife needs
you, Alysia. Will you go and see her tomorrow?”

She looked at him steadily, both pain and
compassion flooding her heart. She nodded, and he put both arms
around her, holding her strongly against him. She closed her eyes,
and remembered…

CHAPTER IV

They still had Asbolos then, and the dark
gray horse streaked through the still, black night as though borne
on wings. Alysia sat in front of Paulus, with two-year-old Rachel
clutched in her arms, and Paulus’ arms a shield around them both.
He held the reins tightly in his hands, but the warhorse was well
trained and needed little guidance. Not far behind pounded the hoof
beats of their pursuers.

There had been no time for planning. Their
belongings had been stuffed into a bag and tied to the saddle,
leaving behind the cart and donkey that had carried them from
Palestine to the cities of Antioch and Tarsus and now Perga. They’d
been there for several weeks, but that particular day Paulus had
been speaking to a group of men near the Temple of Leto, the
“queen” goddess of Perga, and someone had taken offense at his
words. The man reported Paulus to the local authorities, and his
description had been recognized. One of the city officials was a
believer; he went, in the dead of night, to warn Paulus that Roman
soldiers were starting toward his rented house, and were
surrounding the entire block.

Asbolos’ feet flew through the wide, deserted
streets, and even the porticos lining them gave no reflection of
light from the moonless sky. The walls and towers encircling the
city would allow no escape; Paulus headed for the sea. He prayed
that there would be at least one boat readied for sailing down the
Cestrus River to the port some five miles away, but even though it
was near dawn the small boats were still tied down and there was no
one on the wharf. No time to do anything but hide.

Storage houses and sheds lined the riverbank,
all closed with padlocks and chains. Paulus guided the horse
swiftly here and there, examining the buildings. He saw a loose
plank of wood at the back of one of the low sheds. The clattering
of hooves came closer. In an instant he dismounted, snatched the
bag from the saddle and pulled Alysia and their daughter down
beside him. Stroking his horse’s neck, he said softly, “Go,
Asbolos,” and struck him on the rump. The horse turned obediently
and fled in the opposite direction.

When the soldiers appeared the three of them
were inside the shed, with the wood planking pulled into place.
They listened as the soldiers paused only briefly; then, obviously
hearing the sound of Paulus’ horse running in the distance, they
continued in pursuit.

Rachel, who had behaved remarkably well
throughout the wild ride, began to cry at the disappearance of
their beloved horse. Alysia lifted her eyes to Paulus’ and
whispered, “Asbolos.”

“He’s a fine and costly animal—they’ll take
good care of him. And, I hope, won’t catch him for a while. You
must keep her quiet, Alysia.”

Paulus knew he could grieve later over the
loss of his horse; he also knew the soldiers would come back here
once they failed to find him elsewhere. He pulled the loose board
off the shed and stepped out. The surest escape would be by boat,
but it all depended on how soon the captains arrived, and how
quickly one could be persuaded to take them immediately to the
port, where the larger ships were docked. He even briefly
considered “borrowing” a boat—he could leave it at the port and its
owner would eventually find it. But he saw no way he could manage
the boat by himself…the sails, the steering, navigating a river
whose currents and obstacles were unknown to him—at least not in
the small amount of time they had. He had no choice but to wait for
the captain and their crews…or head back where they had come
from.

A reddish glow crept over the horizon. The
boats rocked at the pier and the sound of waves lapping at the wood
met his ears. He turned back toward the city, where now the red
tiled roofs and white stone were visible. Now he could hear wagon
wheels, and sandals slapping against pavement. At once he went
back, took Alysia’s hand, and pulled her through the opening. She
still held Rachel in her arms. Where had he put the bag with their
clothes? He saw it in a corner and grabbed it. He carefully pressed
the loose plank into place, so it wouldn’t draw attention to the
shed and alert anyone to a possible hiding place.

“Come with me. We’ll wait at the pier—and God
forgive me if I have to make up a story.” Gently he placed his hand
over her slightly rounded abdomen. She was five months with
child.

“How are you?” he asked, his brows drawn with
worry.

She nodded and managed a smile as they walked
toward the landing. She didn’t really know how she felt at the
moment; she only knew she was scared out of her wits, and that they
were still in danger. How much simpler it would be, if her concern
were only for herself and Paulus! But she was always in a quandary
over her daughter, and now her unborn child. She knew beyond the
shadow of a doubt that God could take care of them, but her
mother’s heart couldn’t quite let go, and she agonized over the
thought of something happening to them.

Paulus had eventually convinced one of the
captains (with the help of a few coins) to take them immediately
downriver, saying that they were about to miss their ship and had
been delayed by “unforeseen circumstances”. They reached the port
without mishap and found a ship departing at once for Athens, but
it was to make several stops along the coast and they would be able
to disembark wherever they chose.

They moved to the front of the ship, so as
not to be seen by anyone remaining on land. Alysia felt Paulus take
her hand, and thus began the longest journey of her life…

* * *

The ship’s captain was young and much
impressed with beauty, and on learning that Alysia was with child
insisted that they use his quarters, while he made a station for
himself on deck with the other passengers. It was a tiny cabin,
with only a bed, a table and a chair, all attached to the wall. The
storm began that night, eerily reminiscent of another storm she’d
been through, long ago. It continued through the day, and didn’t
abate that night but seemed to increase hourly in intensity,
tossing the ship as if it were a child’s toy. The superstitious
crew was terrified; the captain was forced to ask for Paulus’ help,
and when he didn’t come back for hours she became so frightened her
teeth were chattering. She could barely keep herself and Rachel
from being buffeted about the room…all she could do was clutch the
bedrails and hang onto her daughter.

Finally Paulus returned, drenched and
exhausted. He ate some bread and salted meat, and drank nearly a
full jug of water. He said, “The oars are useless now—we’re all
bailing water. They’ve got the women in a room below, but you’re as
safe in here as you would be down there. The crew is convinced the
gods are angry. And I can hardly talk out there, much less tell
them about the one who could really stop the storm…”

“Then why doesn’t he?” Alysia cried, overcome
by fear and frustration. “I’ve been praying constantly, and I know
you have, too!”

“I don’t know, Alysia, but he hears you. Keep
on praying.”

He slept for a little while, so heavily he
never knew that Alysia lay practically on top of him to keep him
from being thrown off the bed. She had already wedged Rachel, along
with several blankets, between the bed and the wall. Her daughter
seemed to think it was an exciting adventure…of course she didn’t
understand they could all go straight to the bottom of the sea. All
too soon Paulus rose and went out again. A blast of wind and rain
swept down the corridor and into the cabin before he could shut the
door behind him.

Alysia lost track of time, and still the ship
careened drunkenly in its cauldron. She became violently ill and
was forced to cling to the chamber pot. She reached the point where
she couldn’t pray any longer—she was sick in body, sick at heart.
Still, the wind lashed, and the rain poured.

Finally she fell asleep, sitting beside the
bed with her head on top of it. She woke to a strange sensation of
stillness, and knew that the storm had passed. Or had it? She’d
thought that last storm was over, too, but it had only been a
lull…Why had Paulus not returned? Had he been swept overboard? She
went stiffly to the door and opened it. There was no one in
sight—maybe they’d all been swept overboard! She lit an oil lamp
and lay back on the bed, tossing feverishly, and at last Paulus
came, nearly stumbling with exhaustion. He stripped off his wet
clothes and put on another tunic, then dropped next to her onto the
bed. They all slept until the sun rose in the morning.

“Is it badly damaged?” she whispered, through
a parched throat.

“Yes, but we’ll make it to the nearest port.
We had to dump all the cargo…Alysia, you’re ill.” He sat up and
looked at her. Rachel began to climb toward him, over her mother,
and he reached out swiftly to pick her up.

Alysia didn’t answer, and flinched at a
sudden cramping in her abdomen. Paulus hid his alarm and said, “Lie
still. I met someone on deck before the storm—she can help you.” He
left and came back in a short while with a stout, middle-aged
woman, dressed in plain clothes with her gray hair pinned in a knot
at the nape of her neck. “This is Tatiana. There aren’t any
physicians on board—she’s a midwife.”

“Where is Rachel?”

“She’s with Tatiana’s daughter, eating a fine
breakfast. At least the food survived, and they can still cook.”
Paulus stopped and looked helplessly at the midwife as Alysia began
to writhe on the bed.

Hours passed. The pains became worse than
anything she’d ever experienced, even Rachel’s birth; it was more
than she could live through…she didn’t
want
to live through
it. She gripped Paulus’ hand and slipped down into darkness. She
could hear them talking, as though they were in some other
world.

“There is nothing I can do to stop this,” the
woman said. “I have nothing here to give her for pain. We must
invoke Ilithyia—goddess of childbirth. Only she can relieve this
suffering.”

“We worship the one true God,” Paulus said
harshly. “I will hear no pagan prayers in this room.”

This was the most awful and heart-wrenching
scene he’d ever witnessed (
save one
, on a hilltop in
Jerusalem)…as Alysia struggled to give birth to a child who could
not live. The midwife worked patiently, deciding to ignore his
rebuke, and sent him for fresh water. When he returned she held in
her arms a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket. Alysia lay still and
her eyes were closed.

“Is she—”

“She will live, I think, but probably will
not be able to have another child. I am sorry, sir. This is your
son.”

Slowly he took the bundle in his arms and sat
down beside his wife. After a long time he pulled back the blanket
and gazed at the little perfectly-formed face and body…wrinkled and
hairless, but so perfect. With the same slow movements he covered
his son again, put his hand against his forehead, and wept.

When Alysia woke, she too looked at the child
and held him. Her sobs broke his heart. “We must—give him a name,
Paulus.”

He couldn’t seem to think at first, and then
it came to him. “Let’s name him Stephen.”

Alysia nodded, unable to speak. She slept
again, but in her sleep would not relinquish her hold upon their
baby. She tossed restlessly, finally relaxing into stillness, and
Paulus took the bundle once again.

“It will be days before we reach land,” he
said to the midwife, his voice hoarse. “I’ll bury him at sea.”

Tatiana nodded, watching as he left the
room.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He
and the captain had found a small crate that hadn’t been thrown
overboard, emptied it of its contents, and placed the tightly
wrapped body inside. He weighted it with some broken pottery he
found. Now the captain stood with him; they watched as the little
casket sank with an unsettling swiftness. Paulus was dismayed to
feel a stab of resentment against God. Who was he to question God?
Especially after witnessing what had been done to God’s own
son…

“I thank you, Jesus Christ, Savior and Lord,”
he said, very low. “Thank you for the life of my son, Stephen.”

The young captain heard him, and looked at
him strangely. Then he put his hand on Paulus’ shoulder for a
moment and walked away.

Alysia’s resentment went deeper than his own.
The next day she was able to sit up and eat a little soup. Tatiana
helped her as Paulus sat in the chair, holding Rachel. When the
midwife left the cabin, she took Rachel with her.

“Paulus,” Alysia said weakly, “why has God
done this to us? I thought he had forgiven us. I will never
understand it!”

“He
has
forgiven us,” Paulus answered.
“And we are not meant to understand everything. I, too, questioned
him, Alysia, but to what avail? I don’t believe he caused this to
happen, but he has allowed it, for whatever good he can bring out
of it.”