Man of God (34 page)

Susanna came, just as the men finished eating
the usual, unpalatable fare. She nodded at Paulus and went on
toward her husband…and Paulus turned his back.

He could hear her soft weeping, the sound of
an embrace. Then she seemed to pull back and he heard her say,
“From now on I will make no secret of my belief, Flavius.”

Her husband seemed to consider that, and
answered, “The others need you, Susanna. Just as you have served
Paulus today. You can do things no one else can do.”

“God is able to accomplish his own
purposes!”

“Yes, but he often uses people to do so.”

Susanna turned. “What do you think,
Paulus?”

Paulus faced them, and shook his head. “Like
Esther, perhaps you were brought here for such a time as this…I
don’t know what to tell you, Susanna. I can only suggest you pray,
and follow his leading.”

She spoke to him, standing within her
husband’s arms. “I’ve heard nothing about Rachel, and the others.
We can assume they haven’t been captured.”

“And the woman—Megara?”

“She has not been found, either. Caligula
seemed angry at first, and then he said that he never liked her
anyway. I don’t think he will even look for her.”

Paulus suddenly remembered the letter he had
written; he reached for it and held it out to Susanna. With a
questioning look, she took it.

“For Rachel…in the hope that she reaches
Bethany. You know who to send it to—by whatever means, whatever
trusted messenger.”

“I will guard it well, Paulus—until such a
time as I can send it.”

“Thank you, Susanna—for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

A moment went by, and he let his tightly
reined thoughts turn at last to
her
. “And—Alysia?”

Susanna lowered her gaze. “Lucia sent word to
me by one of her servants. She is buried, Paulus, and the tomb
closed. It’s a small monument, square, with a slanting roof. There
is room for another, if Caligula releases your—well, who knows what
he will do? Would you—like an inscription, for Alysia?”

He slowly moved toward his bench, and sat on
it. “One word,” he said. “
Beloved
.”

There was a long silence. Paulus had to rouse
himself from a very dark place.

“What about Aquila?” he asked. “And the
others—have they arrested anyone?”

“No. I think they are safe, for the time
being.”

One of the lamps nearby hissed and went out,
depleted of oil. They could barely see Susanna’s face as she turned
it toward her husband.

She said quietly, “I don’t know if he will
let me see you…tomorrow.”

“It’s no place for you. I don’t want you to
come.”

“I would like to be able to—bury you. I will
plead with the emperor—for both of you.”

“Do nothing to antagonize him, Susanna. It
doesn’t matter what happens to our bodies.”

“It matters to me.”

Another silence fell. Susanna turned to go,
and stopped.

“We…are all meeting tonight. I won’t be
alone, Flavius. And neither will you, or Paulus…God is with
you.”

“Yes,” her husband answered.

Paulus said nothing. He was still “waiting on
the Lord.”

* * *

The sun looked almost white, set against a
thin bank of gray clouds faintly tinged with pink. The light broke
in shafts upon the small courtyard, which was encircled by stone
walls but open at the top. It was a dismal, abandoned-looking
place, the walls covered with mold, the once fine mosaic floor
marred by dark stains.

Paulus and Flavius were brought in, and left.
Both men wore military tunics. Flavius had been wearing his uniform
when he was arrested; Paulus still wore the crimson tunic Susanna
had brought him yesterday. It seemed like a hundred years ago.

The executioner stood nearby…a large,
muscular man, holding a sword in his right hand. He stared blankly
at them, his eyes cold. The two prisoners looked at each other for
a moment, wondering what they were waiting for.

They soon had the answer. A rush of movement
from inside the doorway came to their ears, and about twenty
uniformed soldiers marched out to stand along the walls of the
courtyard.

“Praetorians,” Flavius said, under his
breath.

They were grave and stood stiffly at
attention. Among them was Tribune Cassius Chaerea, whose
countenance fully revealed his aversion for what was about to
happen. After another short interval, two more men appeared—the
emperor, and his uncle. Claudius’ face was somber, but Caligula
wore a strange expression of avidity and expectation. He was
dressed in the uniform of a general.

“I am up at the crack of dawn to give you one
last chance, Paulus Valerius
Maximus
, to renounce this dead
Jew who has everybody fooled into thinking he is a god!”

“He
is
God, and one day you will bow
before him.”

“I bow before no one! But, if you will bow
before
me
, I will not only spare your life, but forgive your
treasonous activities, restore you to your legion, and give back
all your properties.”

He waited, staring at Paulus greedily.

“These things would mean nothing to me, were
I to deny the savior of my soul.”

Caligula scowled, and then said, almost with
an air of desperation, “If you will bow to me, Valerius, I will
call off the search for your daughter.”

“My daughter is in the hands of God.”

The emperor’s demeanor abruptly changed to
one of utter and complete rage. “Fool!”

“Let him take your sword,” Claudius urged,
“and end his own life, your divine Majesty.”

The redness in Caligula’s face faded. He said
slyly, “Indeed. Take it, Paulus Valerius, and die as befitting a
Roman!”

Paulus looked at Claudius and gave him a nod,
his eyes thanking the emperor’s uncle for his many attempts to help
him. Then his gaze returned to Caligula. “My life was bought at a
price, Caesar, and is not mine to take.”

“Then you are a coward as well as a fool!
Incitatus has more sense than you Nazarenes! There is but one Lord,
and one King!”

“Yes,” said Paulus. “There is. His name is
Jesus Christ.”

Before he had even spoken the words, the
black emptiness in Paulus’ soul was filled with light. It blazed
inside him with such intensity a shudder went through his body, and
the knowledge of God filled his heart with an overpowering sense of
comfort, and love, and courage. Something had happened in the
spirit world, something unknowable by mortal man, and he felt the
brooding sense of evil depart from him.

He moved and put his hand to his forehead as
pure elation coursed through him, almost more than he could stand.
He swayed a little, as if dizzy. Observing this, Caligula’s
impotent rage turned to sarcasm.

“Have you been drinking, Valerius, or are you
about to faint?” He looked at the surrounding soldiers, expecting
them to grin with disdain, but they remained solemn, and silent. It
made him even angrier.

“Your Jesus is a fake, a fraud! A liar!”

Deliberately, Paulus put both hands at his
sides, standing straight and still. “He is the way, and the truth,
and the life, and no one goes to the Father except through him.
These are not my words, Caesar. They are his.”

The emperor’s eyes bulged. “Stop it! I’ve
heard enough from you! Paulus Valerius, your name shall be stricken
from every record, erased from every monument, and you will be
forgotten by everyone!” He turned his head sharply. “And you,
Flavius! You have caused me much grief! I have brought some of your
fellow Praetorians here, to see how we deal with such deceit!”

“It was never my intention to deceive, your
Majesty. But I cannot and will not deny my Savior, Jesus
Christ.”

“Stop saying that name!” Caligula seemed
about to explode. “Kill him!”

The executioner stepped forward. Flavius
smiled briefly…not in defiance, but in peace, and confidence.
Paulus said quietly, “To God be the glory, Flavius.”

In the manner of a doomed gladiator who has
either fallen to his opponent or performed badly, Flavius dropped
to his knees, and lifted his head to bare his neck. The executioner
raised his arm, bent at the elbow, and plunged the sword through
Flavius’ throat at a downward angle, into his heart. Slowly, as
Paulus’ breath caught and held for a timeless moment, his friend
fell over on his side.

Chaerea and several other Praetorians
exchanged glances. As one, they placed fists over their hearts in
salute to their fallen comrade. The rest of the soldiers did the
same. Caligula saw them, opened his mouth to protest, and then shut
it again.

“Well,” he cried at last, “what are you
waiting for?”

“To your knees,” the executioner growled.

Paulus stepped forward. A wave of acute
sensibility washed over him, an awareness of the soundless voices
of all the believers praying for him at that moment. He was filled
with the same peace and assurance he had seen in Flavius.
Something, Someone, touched his very spirit, urging it onward…it
was already beginning to leave his body…

The emperor had fallen backward, stumbling,
refusing to watch. He whirled; his hob-nailed boots clattered and
rang in the silence of the passage, and he fled as though pursued
by unnamable horrors.

Paulus knelt and raised his head. His gaze
lifted slowly to the sky, and the heavens opened for him.

THE END

Author’s Note:

Paulus (not to be confused with the Biblical
Paul), Alysia, and Rachel, are fictitious characters. (Alysia is
based on a real-life person mentioned in the book of John, Chapter
8.) Others, such as Simon of Cyrene, Priscilla and Aquila, were
real people placed within this work of fiction. The word
“Christian” is not used in this novel, since it was not known to
have been in use until at least the late 40’s. If you are
interested in reading the predecessor of this book,
Woman of
Sin,
or any of my other books, you may find them by clicking
HERE
or by visiting my website at
http://www.debradiaz.com/
.

Thank you for your interest in my books!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
:

Award-winning author Debra Diaz grew up in
Memphis and now lives in north Mississippi. She’s written several
novels in the historical fiction genre and one contemporary mystery
for young readers. She has worked as a columnist and feature writer
for a local newspaper, and between other jobs has owned and
operated a writing service. Her goal as a writer is to not only
entertain, but to challenge and inspire!