Valeria’s Cross (29 page)

“Except for Father’s reign,” Valeria interjected.

Cyrus nodded and continued. “Constantine consulted the Christians in his army, who told him there was great power in the name of Jesus. Even speaking the name of Jesus made the demons flee. From that day forward, Constantine’s army marched into battle with the symbol of the cross and the prayers of the Christian priests at the forefront.”

“Mother, I believe you are responsible for Constantine’s faith,” Valeria exclaimed. She then explained to Cyrus and Lydia that Constantine had been raised in Diocletian’s court as a young boy and was heavily influenced by Prisca’s faith.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it,” Prisca recited. “Constantine also had a Christian mother, Helena, who faithfully prayed for him. Helena has had a great influence on my life as well. In my opinion, there is no greater Christian woman in the world today.”

Lydia clucked her tongue. “Such a pity her husband divorced her.”

“It was with a heavy heart that he did so,” Prisca explained. “But he was forced to marry Theodora for political reasons.”

“Now with three Christian sons as his Caesars, Constantine plans to rule the Roman Empire as a Christian nation,” Cyrus explained, his big hand resting affectionately on Lydia’s smaller one. “Especially after Licinius’ oath to God and Daza’s suicide.”

Prisca smiled. “Helena will leave behind a great legacy when she dies.”

Valeria stood to her feet, joy overflowing her heart. “Enough of politics,” she exclaimed. “We are going home!”

“Not so loud,” Prisca warned. “The guards are just outside the gate.”

Valeria did her best to rein in her exuberance, but thoughts of returning to her father’s palace kept a smile on her face throughout the day and into the night. It was only when she laid her head on her pillow after darkness fell that fear began to nip at her thoughts.

What if Licinius … ?
The thought was so unbearable that she refused to let it take shape. Instead, after tossing and turning for hours, she got up and drank a potion to help her sleep. As her conscious thoughts began to blur with the images of her dreams, she drifted backward to a time when love had burst upon her with the joy and freshness of unfettered youth and an unchallenged future. How had the years passed so quickly … and changed things so drastically?

B
y the next morning, Valeria awoke to find that the Roman soldiers, who had guarded them during their exile, were gone. She and Prisca approached Cyrus, who explained that few soldiers were loyal in this political climate, quickly switching their allegiance to whatever leader held the power. Now that Daza was dead, they were scurrying like cockroaches to align themselves with either Licinius or Constantine.

“You can be sure some of them will return in anticipation of eliciting favor for your eventual release,” Cyrus warned the women. “Meanwhile, we must work quickly. It would be best if you can escape while they are gone. I have tentatively arranged for your passage to Spalatum on a merchant’s ship next Monday.”

“But what about you and Lydia?” Prisca asked.

“That same ship will continue on to Nicomedia, so Lydia and I can travel with you.”

“But would you not consider remaining with us in Spalatum? After all you and Lydia have done for us, Diocletian would welcome you into his court,” Prisca assured the elderly couple.

Cyrus nodded appreciatively. “Lydia and I would be honored. We had planned to go into hiding with Lydia’s family in Nicomedia for fear of what actions Licinius might inflict upon the members of Daza’s court.”

Prisca appeared concerned. “Will our departure not attract the attention of the soldiers?”

“There are hordes of Syrian merchants whose ships leave the harbor daily to travel up the Mediterranean coast and into the Aegean Sea, so our departure should go unnoticed.”

“But such a trip will be costly,” Prisca observed. “How will we pay for our passage? We have spent nearly all our money during these many months in hiding, and it will take time to find buyers for my jewels.”

“Lydia and I have money, and you also have the chest of gold Diocletian sent for you when you first arrived,” Cyrus explained. “I buried the chest for such a time as this.”

Prisca flashed a smile, but a frown quickly replaced it. “Will we not be recognized?”

Cyrus winked at the ladies. “I have arranged for us to go in disguise.”

“As whom?”

“I shall go as a priest, and you ladies should dress as nuns. I have secured the clothing from the local monastery, but will you look through your jewels for a masculine cross befitting my priestly garb?”

Valeria thought of the Theban cross that had once hung around Mauritius’ neck and which she had kept with her all these years, though she wrestled with the idea of giving it up, even now. Before she could offer, Prisca hurried to her room and soon returned with a heavy gold cross with one large sapphire in the center of it.

Cyrus took it and went to his room. When he reappeared, his head was shaved and he was wearing a long black robe, adorned with Prisca’s cross around his neck.

“I am leaving shortly to secure the final arrangements for passage on the merchant ship. I have arranged for one of the servants to take you on a supposed shopping excursion in the market at dawn tomorrow so you will have your pick of the fresh produce. Meet me onboard then,” he instructed, while scribbling the ship’s location and the owner’s name on a piece of parchment, which he handed to Prisca for safekeeping.

“I have a message for Candidianus,” Valeria said, offering Cyrus a papyrus letter that she had retrieved from her toga. “Will you send it to him for me while you are in the village?”

Prisca quickly snatched the letter from her hand. “No one, not even Candidianus, must know of our plans,” she warned, clutching the missive to her chest.

“Are you insinuating that you do not trust my son?”

“We can trust no one,” Cyrus interjected. “No one must know that we are traveling to Spalatum. Your letter could easily be intercepted.”

“But I want Candidianus and Paulina to join us there,” Valeria explained. “If Licinius proves to be disloyal for any reason, Candidianus and his fiancée should also have Father’s protection.”

“We do not know what our future holds,” Prisca admonished. “We must take every precaution. One can never put trust in man—only in God.”

Valeria stared at Prisca, concerned that her mother had become paranoid during their years of exile in Syria. After all, Daza was dead, and Licinius was Galerius’ dearest friend. Valeria had convinced herself there was no reason to fear.

“Speaking of precautions, I want to leave some of the gold with you,” Cyrus told the women. “And also the name of the merchant who has agreed to give us passage to Spalatum.”

“Please do not talk like this,” Lydia protested, as she embraced her husband.

Cyrus pulled away. “We cannot be too careful, my love.”

Cyrus left for the village early the next morning, while it was still dark.

By nightfall, just as Cyrus had cautioned, the guards returned, complicating the women’s plans.

“We must slip out tonight when they are sleeping, instead of the early morning hours,” Prisca said.

“But will the servant not be suspicious if we ask him to accompany us in the middle of the night?” Lydia asked.

“Of course, but we know our way to the village,” Prisca reminded them. “It is only two miles, so we can go alone.”

Valeria trembled. “What about the vipers?”

“By now I know the scraping sound of a saw as intimately as I know my own heartbeat,” Prisca assured her. “We shall know by their warning when they are near.”

Even with her lingering misgivings, Valeria nodded. The decision was made.

Finding their way to the village in the middle of the night proved an obstacle course for the women. Fortunately, there was a full moon to light the road. The night was hot, and the road was dusty. To further complicate their journey, they had to drag their bags behind them, but the women kept going, trudging through the sand. Less than a mile from town, they nearly stumbled upon a large object stretched across the road several feet ahead of them.

Prisca yanked them behind a small sand dune. “Do not look. Close your eyes, and we will detour around the corpse.”

“Corpse?” Lydia whispered, the alarm evident in her voice.

“I cannot say if it is an animal or a man, but my instincts tell me we should avoid whatever it is.”

Valeria’s heart raced. “But suppose it is a man, and he is still alive! How can we leave someone suffering and wounded in the middle of the road?”

“It is probably an animal,” Prisca repeated.

“And it could be a trap,” Lydia added. “Someone could be lying in wait for us.”

“We should try to reach the village, and then send someone back to check on the body,” Prisca suggested.

“Should we not at least check the pulse?” Valeria asked.

“If it will make you feel better, Valeria, I will go and get a closer look,” Prisca said.

As Lydia and Valeria held hands and prayed, Prisca inched closer to the body. When she got near enough to see the remains, she quickly turned and raced back to her companions.

“It is—was—human, as we feared, but the body has been dismembered,” she gasped. “The buzzards have already picked a substantial meal from it. Put a handkerchief over your nose as we pass by; the stench is unbearable. And do not look at it.”

As they skirted around the corpse, Valeria ignored her mother’s warning and stole a glance from the corner of her eye. The sight staggered her, and she scarcely kept from falling, as she spotted her mother’s jeweled cross in what was left of the corpse’s outstretched hand. She swallowed hard. Cyrus would not be meeting them on the ship or in Spalatum. Should she tell her mother and Lydia? No. If she did, Lydia, in her grief, might refuse to leave his body. Plenty of time later for the new widow to discover the truth.

Cyrus is dead. Murdered.
The silent words blared inside her head, even as she realized their gold was gone. How was it possible that the thieves had missed the cross? Could God have blinded their eyes so it would remain as a sign to the women of Cyrus’ fate?

She realized then that they too would likely have been murdered had they not traveled at night. Their escape was daring, dangerous, but what choice did they have? They had waited for two years, and not even her father had been able to rescue them. This was likely their only chance to escape.

The women reached the harbor just before daybreak, having stopped to slip into their nuns’ habits just before entering the town. Having grown up on the sea, Valeria was delighted to see the coastline again, even in the darkness and despite the heaviness of grief she bore over the gruesome sight she had witnessed in the desert.

Valeria feared it would take time to secure their passage, so she was relieved that her mother had not argued when she suggested they go directly to the ship, despite the early hour. She wondered how Prisca and Lydia would react when they learned Cyrus had never arrived to pay for their passage. Thank the good Lord he had made the arrangements ahead of time and left enough gold with the women to cover their expenses!

Prisca went on board first, while Valeria and Lydia waited on the dock. When Prisca indicated that it was safe to board, Valeria watched her mother for some indication that she now knew Cyrus had never arrived to pay their passage. Prisca, however, said nothing, and Valeria decided her mother must be waiting until she could talk with Lydia alone.

Checking out the small vessel, Valeria quickly realized it was a far cry from the elegant royal ships on which she had sailed throughout her privileged lifetime. Her mother must
have read her expression because she squeezed Valeria’s hand and spoke reassuringly. “Consider the journey to Spalatum an adventure.”

Valeria could only hope she was right, as they were greeted by the kindly merchant who owned the ship.

“Have you heard from the priest who arranged our passage?” Lydia dared to ask, as Valeria realized the woman had probably suspected Cyrus’s fate all along.

The man shook his head. “No, I have not, but it is still a couple of hours before the ship sets sail. Perhaps he will arrive shortly.” After the merchant introduced the women to the captain, he wished them a safe journey and disembarked the ship.

“Welcome aboard, holy sisters,” the captain greeted them. He was a short, wiry man with eyes the color of the sea and hair bleached by the sun to the color of mahogany. Valeria thought his weathered and tanned face with so many lines on it resembled a road map. As he gave the women a tour of the vessel, he explained that their provisions, including water and wine, were stored in wooden casks, with brine to preserve the meat.

It was not long after the crew launched from the seaport that Valeria felt exhilarated. Never again did she want to set foot upon Syria’s shore! It was the country that Galerius had defeated, the victory elevating him to the highest office, but it was difficult for her to feel any gratitude. Her time in Syria had been hard, particularly the isolation. For the first time since her husband’s death, she felt alive. It mattered not how difficult the voyage would be; it had to be more pleasant than remaining in Syria. Her exhilaration was dampened only by the knowledge of Cyrus’s death, which it seemed Lydia might well have anticipated.

When the noon meal was served and the three women were seated around the table, the captain asked one of the crew members to bless the food, and then the feast began, as the sailors grabbed their food by the fistfuls and the ladies watched in dismay.

In addition to salt pork and fish, there were olives, chickpeas, beans, lentils, olive oil, almonds, and cheese. The women also noted an array of sardines and cod, but filled their bowls with rice and a few almonds and olives, and their cups with fresh water. Valeria picked up two biscuits, but noticed one was infested with weevils and discreetly placed it to the side of the basket.

“Ah, holy sister,” an older sailor commented, “these biscuits are hard, but if you dip them in your water, they will soften.”

“But the weevils will drown,” Valeria whispered to her mother, trying to suppress her laughter.

By day’s end, the women were exhausted, and the captain led them below to their sleeping quarters. The men in the crew had bedded down in whatever space or crevice they could find, and the women stumbled over bodies as they followed the captain through the hold. They were surprised when they reached the door of the cabin and peeked inside. The tiny room looked as though it could accommodate one or two at most, but amazingly all three squeezed inside.

The berthing compartment was equipped with four cots fastened to the wall. Valeria insisted on taking one of the top berths, allowing the two older ladies to take the more easily accessible lower bunks. Two tiny portholes, one beside her bed and the other at the bunk below where her mother would be sleeping, filled the room with moonlight. A lovely Turkish rug covered the plank floor and added a surprising touch of elegance. In one corner a mirror hung above a pitcher and a
basin for washing. The captain pointed out the built-in chests on the opposite side of the cabin, where he instructed them to stow their belongings, which had been taken below earlier by a ship’s hand.

After the women were settled in for the night, they battled claustrophobia, but the captain had already warned them that anyone who slept topside had to lash themselves to the masts to keep from being swept overboard. As a result, they tossed and turned in their tiny quarters for hours before finally dropping off into a fitful sleep.

A few days later, when the women awoke and came up on deck for breakfast, they saw land in the distance, a sun-drenched island, glittering like a jewel upon the turquoise sea. One of the sailors explained that the boat was scheduled to stop in the village of Nicosia on the isle of Cyprus to pick up a shipment of oranges bound for Solano.

“Do you suppose those oranges will be delivered to Father’s castle in Solano?” Valeria whispered to Prisca. Still weeks away from Diocletian’s palace, she realized that they were one day closer to freedom. When the ship was at last anchored in port, the captain paid them a visit.

“The isle of Cyprus is one of the most idyllic places on earth,” he explained. “We will dock here at the city of Nicosia around noon to restock our supplies and pick up several shipments, though I advise you not to go ashore, as we will be leaving again in three hours at most.”