Valley of Decision (41 page)

Lisbeth wrapped herself in Cyprian's cloak and crawled into the bed they'd shared under the eaves of Titus's villa. “I can't.” She drew the hood over her head and breathed in her husband's scent in a desperate attempt to burn his essence into her memory.

“What do you mean you can't? I've seen you face down a Roman soldier and order him to turn himself over to a bunch of Christians for healing. If anybody can stop this, it's you.” Maggie peeled back the cloak and drew closer until they were nose-to-nose. “You've wanted our family together your whole life. I can't believe you're going to stop now.”

“What do you expect me to do, Maggie? Your father told us to go home.”

“I don't know. Challenge Maximus to a duel. Cause a riot.” Maggie paused. “Be there for Dad.”

Lisbeth lowered the blanket and stared at her bossy daughter. “When did you get so grown up?”

Maggie offered her hand. “With God's help we'll get through this. No matter what happens. And we'll do it together.” Maggie's eyes locked with hers, pleading for her to do something.

The terror squeezing Lisbeth's chest loosened a millimeter. She let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Give me five minutes.”

Maggie tossed Lisbeth a washcloth and instructed her to scrub the tears from her face. “That's better.” She dropped the soft linen undertunic over Lisbeth's head and wrapped her in the silk stola. “Cover your head with this scarf, just in case the redhead's friends are still looking for us.”

According to Maggie, she'd helped her grandmother tend the soldier who'd chased them with such malicious intent, and she was pleased to report that this morning he was both contrite and on the mend. “But I've got to tell you, Mom, this loving your enemy stuff isn't easy.”

“No, it is not.” Lisbeth clasped Maggie's hand.

When they entered the atrium, Titus, Pontius, Candia, the senator's wife, Metras, and Papa were dressed and ready to go. “I can't let you risk your lives,” Lisbeth told them.

“If a man falls alone, he's in trouble.” Metras waved his cane. “You won't be alone.”

Mama stepped forward, the stethoscope Lisbeth had given the soldier wrapped around her neck. “Laurentius and I will help my friends hold the fort.”

“Mama, what if I can't stand it?”

Her mother kissed her cheek. “Sometimes in this life we are forced to part from those we love, but God never leaves us. He'll give you the strength for whatever comes.”

The misty air was thick and oppressive with the threat of rain. Distant thunder rolled in closer and closer, as if heaven were sending an army to take on the injustices of Rome.

Had everything led up to this horrifying test of her love?

Lisbeth's first trip to Carthage had been one of accident and ignorance. It was only because of the kindness of the church that she had survived. Her second trip had been well planned. Relying on her knowledge of what had happened before and what was yet to come, Lisbeth had been certain her second journey would be different, that she could control the outcome. Yet she'd failed to factor in the possibility of Maggie making a sudden plunge into the portal and then contracting typhoid. If Barek hadn't stood in the gap and fought off the soldiers so she and Maggie could get away, they would have lost their lives.

Now here she was once again with her back against the wall. Only this time the world was in collapse. Was Lisbeth really going to insert herself into history armed with nothing but love and a ragtag little group who were no match for the swords of Rome?

Lord, help me.

Lisbeth and Maggie followed Barek, Titus, and Metras. Candia, Arria, Pontius, and Papa brought up the rear. Her little posse of friends fell in with the masses headed to the burned-out theater where it was rumored Cyprian had been taken after the kangaroo court condemned him in the Praetorium. According to Titus's sources, a guilty verdict had been issued in less than five minutes.

“Hurry, Mom.” Maggie tugged on her sleeve. “Eggie could be inside.”

“Maggie, don't—”

“Eggie's coming. I know he is.”

For a split second, Lisbeth grabbed hold of Maggie's hope. The crowd jostled her, and she realized they'd lost sight of the rest of their party. She held firmly to Maggie's hand and pushed past the
long lines of people making their way to the theater. After several reprimands and rude shoves sent them stumbling toward the back of the line, she spotted Metras.

“This way,” the old man said.

Lisbeth and Maggie followed him through a small gap in the shrubbery that acted as a thorny hedge to keep any nonpaying customers from the entertainment. Scratched and bloody, they emerged at the top row of the theater's seating, so high above the orchestra pit that here the flames that had destroyed the stage and backdrop left only a few singe marks. From this vantage point, Lisbeth searched for Eggie. He was nowhere to be seen. Help would not come. Not from Eggie. Not from the proconsul's change of heart. Not from the Lord.

As Lisbeth's gaze settled on the blackened space where the elaborate stage had been, a gasp escaped her.

Cyprian waited in the center of the ash and rubble. Though his hands and feet were bound, he stood tall, unafraid, and ready to sacrifice his life for the cause of Christ. From the contented smile on his face, Lisbeth could see he knew his sentence had actually been cast long ago—on the day he happened into a little dye shop and met a man who told him the life-changing story of the one God.

His head slowly turned as he searched the crowd for someone . . . not just anyone . . . he searched for her.

Be there for him.

The dread that had gripped Lisbeth for so many years dissipated. Her purpose had never been to change Cyprian or his circumstances. Her purpose was to love him, and that she would do until her life came to an end. “Cyprian! I'm here.” She jumped up and down, waving her arms. “Cyprian!”

A guard shoved him toward a soldier holding a long sword.

Lisbeth's shout did not carry over the din of a thousand clamoring spectators.
“I'm sorry, my love.” Her frantic hands slid from the sticky air and hung limply at her sides.

“Go to him!” Maggie pushed her forward. “Now!”

Her daughter's order snapped Lisbeth into action. “Stay with Metras. Do you hear me?” Lisbeth wiggled through anxious spectators, all of them cranky from a night of sleepless waiting. Darting left and right, she worked her way to the nearest aisle. She reached the top landing. The stairs were a river of people climbing to the cheap seats. Lisbeth rose to her tiptoes and craned to see the man she loved. She prayed that if she fastened her line of sight on his, her husband would somehow feel her love.

Cyprian's face did not reflect the night of mental torture he must have endured after her refusal to stand by his side. Instead, his eyes were peaceful, the corners of his lips lifted in a satisfied smile. She remembered the butterflies in her stomach the night of their wedding. Cyprian, who was just as frightened as she at the unknown outcome of their marriage, had displayed the same courage at the altar. His chin was lifted proudly. His bronzed shoulders were draped in a brilliant white toga. His air of absolute certainty was indisputable.

Fighting like a salmon swimming upstream, Lisbeth shoved toward her husband, forcing her voice to rise above the roar: “Wait!”

Cyprian's eyes locked with hers. He broke into a grateful smile. The clock she'd been fighting for years stopped ticking in her head. For a breathless moment it was just the two of them, hand in hand beneath the stars, their hearts entwined by a love so deep nothing could sever it.

“I love you,” she mouthed.

He swallowed and rewarded her with a nod.

“Mom!” Maggie had caught up with her.

“Maggie, go back!” Lisbeth shouted, but her daughter shook her head and pointed across the arena.

Maximus had assumed his place in the royal box. “State your name, prisoner of Rome.”

Lisbeth held her breath along with the spectators who had their eyes trained on the man standing among the ashes. She felt Maggie's fingers lace with hers. Lisbeth squeezed tightly. They held on to each other, neither of them breathing.

“Caecilianus Cyprianus Thascius.”

“Are you the leader of the Christians?”

“I am a follower of Christ.” His bold proclamation was followed by a distant rumble of thunder.

Maximus rose to his feet, as if elevating himself in the eyes of the populace. “As their ringleader, you shall pay for their heinous crimes against the state.” The crowd erupted. “So that no one is seduced to follow your example, I order you beheaded.”

Stunned silence blanketed the arena.

“Blessed be the one God!” Cyprian's whisper floated in the rising wind.

“Do you have one willing to stand with you and hold your patrician garments?”

“He does!” Barek shouted from somewhere in the bleachers. Everyone watched as the handsome young man sprinted down the steps. “I'll not only stand with him, I'll take his place.”

“Barek, no!” Maggie screamed.

Barek arrived at the stage, his chest heaving. “My father was the rightful bishop of Carthage. As his heir and successor, it is I who should perish for any perceived wrongs committed by my people.”

“I'll not let him do it.” Cyprian clasped Barek's shoulders. “God has other plans for you. For Maggie.”

Barek slowly backed down. His chest heaving, he held out his arms to accept Cyprian's garments. Maximus signaled for the execution to commence. Lisbeth pulled against Maggie's hold, desperately wishing she was worthy to take Cyprian's place.

Cyprian removed his toga, folded the garment neatly, and then handed it and a small pouch to Barek. “Pay my executioner his twenty-five-aurei fee.”

Barek nodded, tears streaming from his eyes.

Cyprian raised his face and looked at Lisbeth. Peace had ironed the lines of defiance from his brow. A contented smile played at the corners of his lips. His eyes had been washed clear of all hate.

His lips began to move as he seemed to be coaxing sound from deep in his throat. A hushed whisper at first, his voice gained confidence and carried to the highest seat in the house: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

From proconsul to peasant, everyone heard his unflinching declaration. Cyprianus Thascius would sacrifice everything for the future. Lisbeth's included. She didn't deserve his gift any more than the world deserved what Christ had done at the cross. It was love so freely given it swelled her heart to bursting.

Cyprian folded his handkerchief and tied the cloth across his eyes. He knelt on one knee and then bowed before his executioner.

Grief drove Maggie to her knees.

Thunder boomed and summoned a mighty wind. Ashes rose from the rubble. Howling squalls crashed against the harbor walls.

In a flash of the sword . . . the moment Lisbeth had desperately tried to stop for nearly twenty years was over.

Cyprian was dead.

White-hot lightning ripped apart seething black clouds. Torrents of fresh warm rain poured forth and washed over Lisbeth as if heaven itself wept for what had just happened in this place.

Lisbeth stood with her face to the wind, her hands outstretched to God. Water slipped through her fingers and pounded her until she could stand no more. She joined Maggie on the ground and wrapped her in her arms. They clung to each other and wept.

Strong hands reached through the storm and gently lifted Maggie from Lisbeth's grasp. Lisbeth raised her head to see Maggie securely enfolded in Barek's arms.

Metras stood before her, the rain sliding down his nose. He offered Lisbeth his hand. “If one person falls . . .”

“A friend can help them stand,” she said through rivulets streaming down her face.

Metras pulled Lisbeth to her feet. One by one, Christians surrounded her and carried her forward.

L
ISBETH SAT BESIDE HER
father beneath the arches of the pergola where she and Cyprian had made love. Smoke rings from Papa's pipe drifted on the pink streaks of dawn. Maggie, Barek, Mama, and Laurentius splashed about in the harbor shallows. A breakfast of leeks rolled in curly cabbage leaves and swimming in olive oil steamed over the fire Papa had built for one last church picnic on the harbor walls. Once the sun had completely risen, Christians not on duty at the hospital would soon join them for a time of worship and prayer.

Since Eggie's return, things had changed for the followers of the one God. While the emperor's grandson had arrived a week too late to save Cyprian, the ill-fated timing of the news he brought was sobering. Valerian was dead. Eggie's father was the new emperor of Rome. Gallienus had been so impressed by what Eggie told him that he'd declared it illegal to persecute Christians. The church no longer had to meet in secret.

History or God's plan? Lisbeth wasn't sure there was a difference.

The new emperor had stripped Maximus of his title and ordered him to return to Rome. Tempting as it was to wish Maximus executed, Lisbeth was shocked and saddened when Titus told her the proconsul's body had been discovered swinging from the last standing column in the theater.

Lisbeth had agreed with Titus: Carthage was in good hands now that Eggie had assumed the office of proconsul.

Speaking of Titus, because of the land merchant's generosity Cyprian's house had been purchased from the state and remodeled to expand the church's ability to care for the sick. More beds meant more work, but under Lisbeth's direction the tireless efforts of Pontius, Metras, Candia, Arria, and even Quinta were beginning to put a dent in both disease outbreaks. Lisbeth's chest threatened to cave in upon her every time she thought of leaving this selfless team to fight this battle without her and Mama's expertise.