Man of God (31 page)

“I am, Your Majesty, and not ashamed of
it!”

“By the gods, I trusted you with my life,
Flavius! For your deception, you, gladiator, shall die like one!
After you’ve suffered a few more days…back to prison with you!”

Having approached silently from behind, two
soldiers stepped forward, each taking an arm. Paulus met his eyes,
and Flavius, limping, marched resolutely beside the soldiers.
Paulus’ gaze flew upward to Susanna, who sat with her hand over her
mouth.

“And you, Paulus Valerius—it would be a shame
to deprive you of such a fine head in the afterlife, and so you,
too, shall die as a gladiator. But not until we have seen justice
done here this day!”

An uproar went through the spectators.
Turning, Paulus saw an archer poised with his bow, and felt
something hurtle past him. Desperately he ran toward Alysia, but
this time he could not stop the thing that threatened her. The
arrow found its mark. He caught her as she sagged against the post,
raised his sword and cut the rope that bound her. As though in
reflex, she clutched the arrow and pulled it out. It fell from her
hand; her eyes closed. He lifted her and sank to his knees, holding
her against him, his face against hers.

“Alysia…” There was a faint breath in his
ear, and then nothing.

A hush fell over the theater, as he held her
for an eternal moment. “Alysia,” he said again, knowing she would
not answer, but unable to let her go.

At last he turned and looked toward the
emperor, who stared at them, enraptured, as though he were watching
a play. Paulus got slowly to his feet, Alysia limp in his arms, her
head against his shoulder. He carried her forward, and stopped.

He said clearly, “You have only taken her out
of this world and sent her to a better one. This empire of yours is
nothing…it lasts but a day in the eyes of God. The prophet Daniel
has said that the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that will
never be destroyed…it will crush all other kingdoms, and bring them
to an end…but his will endure forever.”

Caligula leaned sharply forward. “Take care
how you speak, lest you be accused of treason. Claudius has been
pleading in your behalf, that I spare your life. You shall see that
I can be gracious, that I can show more mercy than your god showed
to that dead woman in your arms.”

The visiting potentates seemed struck with
wonder by Paulus’ words. One of them called out, “Who rules this
kingdom that never ends?”

Paulus gazed up at them, and his voice
carried far. “Jesus of Nazareth, son of God, born of a virgin,
living without sin, dying on a Roman cross. He rose from the dead
on the third day and now is at the right hand of God. He died as a
penalty for your sins and mine, even for the monstrous acts of
Gaius Caesar, and one day he will return for those who belong to
him. He will judge those who remain, he will destroy the wicked and
reign over all the earth—is this treason enough, Caesar, or shall I
go on?”

Caligula glanced around him, noticing the
expressions of the officials and senators, even the guards, all of
whom stared at Paulus as if mesmerized; he saw the white, sorrowful
face of his uncle—the fool! Fools all!

“It is enough,” he answered at last. “I
hereby affirm my decree that you shall be placed under arrest, and
that noonday tomorrow you shall be executed for the crimes of
sacrilege and treason.”

“M—my Lord,” Claudius protested. “Allow him
to bury his wife, as a reward for his bravery.”

“Reward him? You are out of your mind! And
she deserves no burial—I shall feed her to that wretched lion!”

A murmur of disapproval rippled through the
senators, and the visiting sovereigns. Encouraged, Claudius went
on, “Surely you can be that mag—mag—”

“Magnanimous,” Caligula snapped. “It has
already been established that I am always thus.”

Conscious of the attentiveness of his
audience, Caligula strove to wipe the scowl from his face; he tried
to smile and succeeded only in a grimace that sent a shudder
through everyone close enough to see it. The people, too,
waited…most of them didn’t know what was going on; they didn’t know
this man, but any show of courage impressed them, as did a show of
grief…of which he was obviously in the deepest throes.

“I’ll give you three days,” the emperor
announced. “You will remain at the palace, except for the time
necessary to attend your wife’s funeral. Three days to either come
to your senses and repent of your defiance, or die.”

“Then allow me to leave her with a man I
know, who will see to the preparations.”

“You may do so. Guards, escort him and then
return him to the palace.”

Without another word Paulus turned away, and
began walking toward the arched opening that led out of the arena,
aware of little else but the unbearable, throbbing impalement of
his soul. How light she was, how small a burden.

As he passed out of sight of the emperor,
many of the soldiers saluted him.

* * *

“Wait here,” said one of the guards. “I’ll
arrange for a litter.”

Paulus nodded. Because the masses would soon
start pouring from the amphitheater, he walked to a building across
the street, climbed the marble stairs of the portico and sat on the
first step, deep in the shadows. This was some pagan temple…but it
didn’t matter. The rest of his guards took their places at some
distance, allowing him to sit alone with Alysia cradled in his
arms, a deep red stain marring the flawless white of her gown.

Silent tears coursed down his cheeks. He
prayed desperately for help, for some relief from the pain, but God
did not speak to him. He rested his chin on the top of her head,
trying to block the scene from his mind…the arrow, the strike…but
it was burned into his memory for as long as he lived. He must
somehow put it aside for now; he must think of Rachel.

“Paulus!” He heard someone calling from the
street below.

“Here, Simon!”

His friend ran up the steps and stopped, his
face full of sorrow. He approached Paulus slowly, and sat down next
to him, not speaking at first, and then he said, “Let’s take her to
my house. We’re all going—the women are already there. They’ll take
care of…her.” Simon’s voice broke and he laid his hand for a moment
on Paulus’ shoulder.

“They’re bringing something to carry her on,”
Paulus said. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Camillus knows of
a tomb near that of his own family, on the Appian Way. It’s never
been used—the man who built it has left Rome. Camillus says he will
purchase it, if this is agreeable with you.”

“Yes. There is money at my house, if you can
get into it. Or there was.”

“There is no need for it. Camillus wants to
do this.”

“You remember that day, Simon, at the
Antonia. God gave her to me for seven years. I must be thankful for
that.”

Simon couldn’t answer.

Two soldiers started up the steps; one of
them gestured at Paulus and said. “We have it.”

Simon stood and waited as Paulus got to his
feet, lifting Alysia as effortlessly as before, and carrying her
slowly down the stairs. Four slaves waited on the street with a
curtained litter. Simon took Alysia’s feet as Paulus held onto her
upper body, and they laid her inside. Paulus straightened her, and
smoothed out her gown; he laid his hand for a moment alongside her
cheek.

“Simon,” he said, in a low voice, “I need
time. You know what for. Can you arrange the funeral for the day
after tomorrow?”

“Yes. I stand ready for whatever you decide,
Paulus.”

Paulus drew the curtains around the litter.
“Take care of her. I’ll not look on her face again.”

* * *

It was dark by the time he was returned to
the palace. The guards opened the creaking iron door and he walked
inside, followed by a soldier who wrapped the chains around his
wrists. Flavius was there…also in chains.

Paulus said, when the door had closed again.
“I am deeply sorry, Flavius, as well as grateful.”

His friend smiled ruefully. “I didn’t like
hiding my belief, Paulus, even though it seemed I had sound
reasons. I know my wife understands. I regret leaving her, but she
has our friends to see to her needs. I don’t think Caligula will
even ask if she is a believer—he will not want to know. Susanna is
the only one who can manage his daughter, and he’ll not risk having
to condemn her as well. At least, that is my hope.”

“Does she know anything of Rachel?”

“She is safe, for the moment. As you know,
the Vestals concern themselves with various business matters as
well as religious ones, and they know Susanna. It won’t seem
strange if she visits Rachel…they will think she does so on the
emperor’s bidding.”

“When did she see her last?”

Flavius sat awkwardly down on his bench.
“This morning. The Vestals believe Rachel is ill. She is pale, and
refuses to eat. Susanna suggested they send for a physician, but
they have confidence in their own abilities…I’m not sure if they
will do so.”

Paulus felt new alarm at this, and after a
moment went to sit on his own bench, half-slumped with exhaustion.
His wounds burned like fire and his head pounded, but he paid them
no mind. He had to think of a way to get her out of there…and she
needed to be told about Alysia
…Dear God
,
will I ever see
my daughter again?

As he began to pray, something happened to
him that had never happened before. A crushing darkness descended
upon his spirit, and he wrestled helplessly with it as his mind was
drawn back, back in time to that nightmarish day in Jerusalem…a day
of darkness and infernal light, and a sense of oppression so heavy
and unbearable that even he, a nonbeliever then, could feel it.
Three blood-soaked crosses on the hill of execution called
Calvary…God had left Jesus in that hour, left him to wallow in all
the mire and filth of human sin, making him the most pathetic and
abandoned being in all the universe.

This feeling of isolation that Paulus now
felt could only be infinitesimal compared to that, but he agonized
through it all night, sleeping fitfully and wakened by nightmares
he couldn’t remember. A voice in his head began to taunt him.

“
You have believed a lie…there is no
God…where is he now? Your wife is gone, she is nowhere, it’s as if
she never existed…”

He wasn’t aware that he had groaned aloud
until he heard Flavius say, “Paulus?”

Paulus tried, with long, broken pauses, to
tell him what he was experiencing. After a moment Flavius said, “It
sounds as though God is testing you, and Satan has moved in to
attack you in your weakness. I’ll pray for you—that is all I can
do, my friend.”

Paulus lay on his back and pressed the heel
of his hand against his forehead. “Oh, God!” he said, barely above
a whisper. “You are the great I AM! Take this trouble from me, give
me an assurance of your presence. You are greater than the
enemy…send him far from me…”

Still, silence from heaven. He thought of
Job, and all that he had lost. And he remembered what Job had said…
Though he slay me, yet will I trust him
.

* * *

The next day dawned. Paulus forced himself to
eat the greasy stew and stale bread that was brought to them.
Flavius could eat nothing. In the dim, flickering light, he looked
at Paulus’ ravaged face and wondered how his friend was going to
live through the day, much less try to rescue his daughter.

“If the funeral is tomorrow, they will come
and get you at daybreak,” he said. “You should try to rest, Paulus,
or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

“I have to think,” Paulus answered, his voice
heavy with fatigue. “I have to plan. And if things happen as
planned, Flavius, I may not see you again—in this life. I pray God
will be with you, whatever happens.”

“As I will for you, Paulus.”

“I owe this to Claudius. I wish I could thank
him. I wish I could tell him about—”

“He already knows,” Flavius said. “Those
visiting governors and kings you saw—one of the reasons they came
here was to consider ways of dealing with the ‘Nazarenes’. I was
present during part of it, and our beliefs were discussed.”

“But he hasn’t heard it from someone he
knows.”

“Oh, yes, he has. Yesterday—from you. You
realize, of course, that these men will take what you said back to
their own countries. Already God has brought something good out
of…what happened.”

Paulus set aside the clay bowl and took a
long drink of water. He couldn’t think about Alysia right now—there
was all the rest of his life for that. He had to think about
Rachel, and something Susanna had said gave him an idea that began
immediately to take shape and form…

CHAPTER XXIV

The guards came for him just before dawn. He
followed them up the staircase to the first floor of the palace,
and stopped abruptly as a woman’s form stepped out from behind a
column in the atrium.

“Megara!”

Taken aback by his shattered appearance, she
looked at the blood covering the front of his tunic. Something in
her face softened, and hardened again. She turned haughtily to the
guards and said, “I would have a word with this prisoner. He is my
former husband.”

The soldiers, as well as her own guard,
remained motionless as she and Paulus walked toward a corner where
they would not be overheard. Her words were spoken swiftly,
nervously.

“I heard when they were to come and get you,
and so I waited. I want to go to Alysia’s funeral—no, not for her,
and not for you. I must get out of this place. If I walk in the
procession I may be able to escape. Caligula has given me
permission to attend the funeral. He thought it was—well, he
laughed. May I go with you?”

“Won’t you be guarded? If you’re caught
trying to escape you’ll probably be killed.”