Man of God (5 page)

“You should have
known
! It was
perfectly obvious. And why didn’t your guards even look at the
woman? It sounds as though you are running a very slipshod
operation, Petronius.”

“My Lord, this woman was well-covered, and in
his surprise the guard did not think to detain them. It has been
many years since Tiberius Caesar had men looking for Valerius, and
most have forgotten it. But if you will allow me, I will pledge to
Your Majesty that I will find the man before the month of the
divine Augustus ends.”

The staring eyes fixed on him curiously. “How
will you do that?”

“If he is in Rome, I will find him. It must
not be an obvious search that would send him deeper into hiding. We
know in which general direction he traveled. He may have been
trying to mislead us, or perhaps he guessed we would think that,
and went toward his original destination. Nevertheless, I believe
that with the use of certain—resources—he can be quickly
found.”

“Well, I’m
not
offering a reward! The
coffer is all but empty.”

Petronius could believe that. Not only had
Caligula depleted the once swollen Treasury with profligate living,
he had often been seen standing on the roof of the Julia Basilica
with a shovel, and scooping gold to rain down on the rabble in the
streets below. No one knew exactly why, except that it obviously
amused him to see the mad scramble for coins…during which some
people were invariably crushed to death.

He answered, “That will not be necessary, my
Lord.”

Caligula’s gaze went back toward the window
and lifted to the moon, as though drawn there by some enchantment.
His voice grew soft again. “I want a description of him on the
walls of all the barracks. And of the woman he’s with.” He paused,
and almost whispered, “
The best and greatest
. The army
called him that, you know. But now, that title belongs to me.”

The captain, unlike the horse, refrained from
snorting.

* * *

Walking a few miles from his house, Paulus
joined one of the crews assigned to the emperor’s ambitious
building project—a new aqueduct. He had seen the drawings; it would
march majestically from the Caelian Hill to its source of water,
far outside the city. The groundwork had been done, winding among
the mansions on the hill and stretching northeast from the center
of town. The pillars supporting the arches and channels of the
aqueduct would rise to a certain level, then other phases of its
construction would begin. It would probably take years to
finish.

As he arrived, hundreds of hired laborers and
slaves congregated around an area surrounded by great piles of
earth and clay. Large wagons, some full of sand and others of wood
sat ready to be dumped, and huge stone blocks waited to be lifted
into place.

He’d been using one of his old family names,
Antonius, when he was among other people; it was, as a matter of
fact, part of his full name, since it wasn’t unusual for Romans to
have five or six. He didn’t like using what appeared to be
subterfuge, but didn’t seem to have a choice; his own name was too
well known, and every day the circle of people with whom he came
into contact grew wider. He was dressed in a plain brown tunic
belted at the waist—no differently than anyone else, but as usual
everyone noticed his approach—his height, his looks, an old air of
command he could never seem to lose, always caught the attention of
others nearby. It was assumed he was a freed slave, for why else
would he be here, performing manual labor with commoners and other
slaves?

Paulus listened to the foreman giving orders
and set to work shoveling a pile of sand into carts. He glanced
over at the man nearest him, who was mixing buckets of mortar.
“Good morning, Secundus.”

The man, with dark hair receding from his
forehead, paused to look over his shoulder. “Antonius.”

“I was wondering—have you thought over what I
told you about the Nazarene?”

“Thought it over,” said the man. “Hard to
believe.”

“Hard not to,” Paulus answered, “all things
considered.”

Others were listening but Paulus didn’t mind.
It wasn’t the same here as it was in Jerusalem—yet. The religious
and political rulers in Jerusalem had put Jesus to death, and now
they sought to imprison and sometimes even kill anyone who had the
audacity to confess their belief in him, or attempt to tell others
about him. They had crucified Jesus after a travesty of a trial;
they had explained away the fact that his body had disappeared from
its tomb the third day after his burial by saying those guarding
the tomb had fallen asleep and his disciples had stolen the body.
They had denied any possibility of a resurrection, and anyone who
called him “God” was guilty of blasphemy.

Rome, on the other hand, had always been
tolerant of other religions…as long as they didn’t interfere with
Rome’s. There were gods and goddesses too numerous to count, so
what was one more? But the time was coming…Paulus knew that as soon
as there were enough believers in Rome, and it became known that
they refused to worship other gods, there would be trouble. Though
Augustus and Tiberius had allowed themselves to be worshiped,
Caligula was the first emperor to pronounce himself a god; he had
built a temple and erected a statue of himself within it, which he
ordered to be dressed daily in duplication of whatever he chose to
wear that morning. And he’d had the heads knocked off the statues
of other gods and replaced them with replicas of his own head. What
would
he
do, when believers in Jesus refused to worship him?
Paulus didn’t want to think about it.

“You there—Antonius.” The foreman approached
them briskly.

“Yes, sir?” Paulus looked at the man who had
hired him.

“The contractor wants to see you as soon as
he arrives, probably about mid-morning.”

“What about?”

“How should I know? Get to work and stop
talking so much. Saw you talking half the day yesterday. Both of
you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man hurried off to solve a dispute
between two other workmen.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,
Secundus,” Paulus said, in a low voice. “But if there’s anything
you want to know, we can talk when we leave here.”

Secundus nodded, and turned his attention to
his task. Paulus continued shoveling sand, wondering if he should
be concerned about the summons. Others looked at him curiously. He
began to feel as though he’d been singled out, somehow, and it made
him uneasy. He was reasonably certain the guard at the gate had
reported seeing him the other night, so that meant whatever
authorities might be looking for him were aware that he was in
Rome. Fortunately Rome had over a million inhabitants, so he
wouldn’t be easy to find. Nor did he feel God urging him to
leave…he’d always known before when it was time to depart from a
town or city, and journey to another.

He had the distinct feeling he would never
leave Rome.

The contractor, Martinus, arrived with his
retinue of engineers and expert stonemasons; they all went into a
small wooden building that would serve as an office while this
section of the aqueduct was being constructed. Paulus put down the
shovel and wiped sweat out of his eyes. As he walked toward the
building, everyone except Martinus came out and began inspecting
the work that had been done yesterday.

Paulus knocked on the door and heard the
contractor call for him to enter. Martinus stood before a long
table over which were spread numerous maps and drawings.

“Antonius. Come here.” The man was all
business, having no time for personal exchanges. He was of average
height, with gray hair and faded blue eyes that were always
reddened and tired looking.

“As you know, the Roman government has hired
me to oversee the supply and building of this portion of the
aqueduct. There has been disagreement among the engineers about
certain calculations. Your foreman has good things to say about
you, that you have given him sound advice on occasion and seem to
be very knowledgeable.”

Paulus answered hesitantly, “Thank you, sir.
I studied engineering in my youth.”

“Just as I thought. You know how to use the
instruments, how to measure angles. You know that the grade of the
channels must be perfect.”

“Yes.” Paulus was having a tremendous sinking
feeling.

“I want you to look at these figures. Then we
will all confer together and decide who is right and who is wrong.
At that time I will probably hire you as one of my engineers.”

His mind raced ahead to all the ramifications
of what the contractor proposed. Meetings with other engineers,
with men of great skill and learning, with government officials…and
he, Paulus, had once been prefect of the city! Surely he would come
face to face with someone who had known him in those days. As a
common worker he was secluded, never going near the professional
men…although
he
could examine their faces from a distance to
assure himself they were unknown to him.

How foolish he’d been to offer his
opinions—pure vanity and pride!

Paulus bowed slightly. “I am honored, sir. I
would be glad to serve you by looking at the calculations that have
been made, but my opinion will matter little. I am not as skilled
as you believe.”

“I’m told you prevented us from making a very
serious error. You are obviously a learned man, Antonius. I assume
you have fallen on hard times, or perhaps you were made a slave and
have been freed. This seems to be an opportunity for you to rise
above your circumstances.”

“Again, sir, you overestimate me. I chose
another way of life and have little experience with engineering. It
was only by chance that I discovered this error, and I’m still not
certain that my advice was adequate.”

“So—you are refusing the position?”

“I am not worthy of such responsibility. I
would prefer to remain where I am.”

The faded blue eyes bore into his, and the
wrinkles around them deepened. “Either you are a very humble man,
or you’re hiding from something.”

The sinking sensation was getting stronger,
but Paulus forced a smile. “If I needed to hide, sir, it wouldn’t
be here. I enjoy my freedom, and I’ve never liked politics. Any
skilled worker on a project of this magnitude will be responsible
to others, including politicians, on many different matters. These
seem to me sufficient reasons to decline such a generous offer, for
which I do thank you.”

Martinus was silent for a long, suspenseful
moment. “Very well. I don’t have much use for politicians myself—I
suppose they’re not
all
dishonest and power-hungry, but—” He
gave an eloquent shrug. “I would appreciate it if you would look at
these drawings.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I may put you in charge of overseeing the
conduits and pipes as they are sent to us. I want a man I can trust
to make sure they are of the finest quality. Someone who isn’t
being—paid off, shall we say, to turn a blind eye to any defects.
And clay pipes rather than lead, as you suggested to the
foreman.”

Not wanting to press the matter further,
Paulus gave a slight bow to show his assent. The contractor seemed
satisfied, and left the building as Paulus sat down to examine the
drawings and calculations.

Vanity and pride, he thought, disgusted with
himself. He would have to pray about that.

* * *

Alysia looked over the wax tablet in her
hands, satisfied that they had covered the main topics for the day.
She sat in a chair in the spacious hallway of her house and smiled
at her students, who sat on cushions against the cool stucco walls.
The shutters to the windows were open, letting in the westerly
breeze that swept through the city each evening.

Her life in Athens, before her father’s
arrest and her own enslavement, had been a sheltered and privileged
one. She had been well educated in grammar, philosophy, history,
literature, and even mathematics. Her students were the children of
those men and women brought to the faith by Paulus and herself;
their parents, for various reasons, had taken them out of the Roman
schools. She taught each of these subjects, but instead of Greek
philosophy and literature she taught from the Hebrew Scriptures—the
books of Moses, the psalms of David, the prophets. This was
knowledge she had recently acquired, having read and studied
intensely while she lived in Bethany, after she had come to know
Jesus of Nazareth.

Mary, younger than she but full of spiritual
insight, had been her teacher. She’d also recently begun lessons in
Aramaic—to parents as well as their children—so that they would be
able to communicate with believers who were Jewish. Even though
most people spoke Greek these days, there were many foreigners who
didn’t—especially the women.

Two of the children besides Rachel were eight
years of age; they were twins, a boy and a girl. Two other boys
were both nine, one girl was ten, and her sister was eleven. Most
of them were quiet and well behaved—occasionally she did have
trouble with the two nine-year-old boys.

“The next time we have a meeting with your
parents,” she said, laying aside the tablet, “you will recite the
verses you’ve memorized. Are you ready?”

They nodded eagerly—all but one of the boys.
She noted a slightly sullen look on his face.

Someone knocked on the door. The parents were
arriving; soon the children were gone, and Rachel began
straightening the hallway and putting up cushions. Alysia went into
the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. Paulus was rarely late
because he knew that it worried her, but when the meal was ready
and he still hadn’t appeared, she had to struggle to hide her
anxiety. Rachel was not fooled, however, and after eating her
supper she took out her pages of verses to memorize and pretended
to read them… she already knew them perfectly.