Valeria’s Cross (32 page)

“I have friends who will give us shelter,” Prisca assured her. “We will stay in touch, I promise.”

The following morning Valeria and Prisca found themselves on the street unsure where to go. Desperate, they stopped at the villa of Cornelia, Valeria’s oldest and dearest friend, who had been in Egypt when Valeria first met Mauritius. Cornelia was delighted to see them, and she agreed to let them stay until her husband, a wealthy merchant who was traveling, returned. In a more somber tone, she explained that the Roman soldiers had already come looking for them.

“We probably have some time since they were here just days ago,” she explained. “They will not return any time soon, unless they become suspicious for any reason.”

Dressed in their church habits, Valeria and Prisca were careful not to reveal their identity while staying at Cornelia’s villa; neither did they venture outside, except to attend the church service each day.

A few days before it was time for Cornelia’s husband to return, the women left, wandering for hours until they finally found refuge in a nearby church. They told the priest they had come from Syria, and he invited them to stay for a few days. When they heard from one of the women in the kitchen that the soldiers were searching the churches, they left early the
next morning. That evening the only place they could find refuge was an abandoned cave.

“We should return to Lycia,” Valeria advised. “Bishop Nicholas said he would help us.”

“Do you not find it suspicious that the Roman soldiers began looking for us soon after we left Lycia? I suspect the bishop turned us in. Self-righteous priests often believe it is their Christian duty to turn in fugitives, instead of taking pity on them.”

“He offered to help, and I believe he is a man of his word,” Valeria disagreed.

“It does not matter anyway,” Prisca sighed. “We do not have enough money left to return to Lycia anyway.”

“But what about the gold …”

“Cyrus carried the bulk of it, leaving us only a portion in case of an emergency. He believed we did not need much money since we were going home to Diocletian.”

By morning, Prisca decided to approach another close friend, a widow named Appia, and ask for refuge. Thankfully, Appia welcomed them into her home. For six months Prisca and Valeria lived there in relative peace, until one morning, a dozen Roman soldiers besieged their friend’s villa. Fortunately, Prisca and Valeria had gone to a communion service earlier that morning and were still at church. A servant found them and told them that Appia had been arrested and the soldiers were waiting for them at the villa. The servant had somehow managed to sneak their bags out of the house and bring them to the women.

For the next few days, the women sought refuge at the church until a member of the congregation offered to take them into his home. A few weeks later, Prisca and Valeria were devastated to learn that Appia had been executed. Licinius had soldiers all over Nicomedia looking for them.
It was no longer safe anywhere in the city. They approached another friend who could not allow them to stay in her home for more than a night, but she provided money for them to go to another province. Valeria begged her mother to sail to Lycia to ask Bishop Nicholas to help them, but Prisca still harbored a mistrust of him, so they agreed to go to Thessalonica instead.

T
hey arrived in Thessalonica under cover of darkness, and Prisca and Valeria immediately sought shelter in a church. The next morning, they sent word to Bishop Marcus, the priest who had taught them the Scriptures for so many years, seeking his help. Having risen to a high position in the church, he sent his regrets, saying it was probably too dangerous to meet with them. Instead he sent them a substantial sum of money and news that a mutual friend, Anastasia, had agreed to have them as guests in her home.

Anastasia immediately sent a trusted servant to retrieve them. The servant explained that their hostess’s husband was traveling in the provinces and that his mistress had invited the “nuns” to visit while he was away.

It was a joy for the women to see Thessalonica again, but when they passed the castle, Valeria’s heart ached. How much she had lost! This was the home where she had lived her happiest years with Galerius, the years when Candidianus was first brought to her.

The next two weeks at Anastasia’s home were pleasant, but the following Monday night, Valeria was plagued by a disturbing
nightmare. In her dream, she felt herself being pulled from a pit—deep and dark, thick with sludge. Another force tried to suck her back into the vortex of the dark abyss, but she refused to let go. Suddenly, everything began to spin out of control. Her leg jerked violently under the light blanket. Drunk with dizziness, she cried out, “Where am I?”

Awakened by her own voice, Valeria sprang up in bed and glanced over at her mother, who still slept. Valeria clasped her sweaty palms over her heart, which pounded erratically against her linen nightgown. “Jesus, have mercy on me,” she whispered. She breathed in deeply, speaking the name of Jesus, and then breathed out slowly until her lungs were empty of air. After a few breaths, she lay down again and drifted back to sleep.

“Valeria! Valeria!” Just above a whisper, a man’s voice called to her.

Valeria was sure she recognized the voice, but as a series of distorted faces whirled through her mind, she could not identify it. So many voices of the past, but this one seemed more recent.

“Valeria!”

“Who is there?” she demanded in a whisper as she sat up in bed.

Besides her mother, she was alone.

“What is wrong?” Prisca asked.

“I had a nightmare. I sense we need to leave Anastasia’s home immediately.”

“But it was only a bad dream.”

Valeria shook her head. “No. It was more than a dream; it was a premonition … a warning from God. I am sure of it.”

“We will discuss it in the morning. If we are going to run again tomorrow, we are going to need our rest. Go back to sleep.”

Reluctantly, Valeria agreed, and soon the women were asleep once again—until the pounding began.

“Prisca! Valeria!” It was a woman’s voice this time, frantic and terrified.

The door swung open just as Valeria and Prisca sat up in bed. Anastasia stood in the hallway, holding a small lamp that cast a red glow over the room. “Come quickly,” she insisted, stepping into the room. “The soldiers are at the gate. You must go to the church in the old square. There is a crypt beneath the church, where the priests are buried. You can enter it from the side door. No one will find you there. I have packed some oil, food, and water for you. Take this lamp—and this money as well. Hurry!”

Prisca and Valeria stuffed their meager belongings into their bags, as Valeria felt her spirit plummet to an all-time low. Was there no hope for them, no deliverance?

“Hurry, please,” Anastasia warned, intruding on Valeria’s thoughts. “With the soldiers at the gate, you must leave immediately.”

There was no time for modesty now. Valeria fastened a toga over her nightgown and pulled on a hooded cape, and then slipped her feet into a pair of heavy sandals for walking, even as Prisca did the same. Allowing themselves to be rushed from what they had hoped would be their home for at least a few more weeks, Valeria’s heart cried within her as they stepped into the night.

The women hurried down the street, darting into the shadows every time they heard a noise or saw even the slightest movement. Roman soldiers were posted everywhere, their voices echoing in the stillness of the night.

Finally they reached the church. Skirting around to the side, they maneuvered through the overgrown bushes until they found the entrance to the crypt. Cobwebs spun by industrious
spiders stretched across the frame of the wooden door. With the soldiers close behind, the women realized there was no time to brush away the cobwebs. Valeria grasped the door handle and pulled. To her surprise, the decaying wooden door opened on the first try. She dropped her bag down the opening, and then tossed her mother’s in and waited until she heard the soft thumps on the dirt floor of the crypt.

“That was a long drop,” Valeria worried, hesitating.

“Hurry,” Prisca urged. “The voices are getting closer.”

Valeria took a deep breath and slid her foot into the opening, searching with her toe for the steps that lead downward. Carefully she made her way down the rotted ladder through the dangling cobwebs.

Prisca was right behind her and suggested they leave the door cracked to capture what little moonlight shone down from the otherwise dark sky.

Groping their way downward, they swatted both real and imagined spiders. Every rickety step took them deeper into the darkness, but considering that the soldiers might be just a few feet outside the entrance kept them moving. At last Valeria felt the spongy earth beneath her feet and sighed with relief.

“We must be at least thirty feet down,” Valeria noted, as she reached up to help her mother down from the last couple of steps. “What do we do now?”

“We will need to find a place to sleep.”

Valeria raised her eyebrows. “We are supposed to sleep here … with the coffins?”

“Right now I am so exhausted I could curl up in the coffin with a decaying priest.”

“How can you have a sense of humor at a time like this?”

When they turned around and stepped further into the crypt, odors of gases from rotted bones and flesh assailed them, sending a wave of nausea through Valeria’s body. Gagging, she
grabbed her stomach and her mouth, as her body jerked with dry heaves.

Prisca shoved a handkerchief saturated in perfume under Valeria’s nose.

“You think of everything,” Valeria gasped.

“Keep moving,” Prisca suggested. “Perhaps we can get inside the church to sleep.”

Valeria held the lamp high and looked for a door. When she backed into something, she turned around and gasped, standing face-to-face with a coffin full of bones with lingering bits of dangling, rotting flesh, draped in a robe. Covering her mouth with her hands, she swallowed a scream.

Unsure of which direction to take next, Valeria turned slowly until she spotted a rock wall, covered in vegetation that had snaked its way inside through the crumbling mortar. With Prisca following, Valeria ran her right hand along the wall to prevent bumping into another forbidden terror.

The lamp flittered and dimmed.

“Where is the oil?” Valeria whispered.

“We should preserve it; keep moving with what little we have.”

Taking baby steps, Valeria led her mother through the crypt.

“Perhaps it is a blessing that we cannot see well,” Prisca commented.

“Imaginations can conjure up visions far worse than reality,” Valeria responded.

Valeria kept moving until she came upon some stairs that led to an iron gate. She pushed it with her hand and then her shoulder, and finally her bag, but years of neglect had rusted it shut. She even kicked it, but no matter how much force she used, the gate would not swing open.

Exasperated, Valeria whimpered, “It is hopeless,” and the women scooted back down the tunnel in search of another door.

Unable to find one, Prisca finally said, “We should stay right here. Spread a toga out on the floor.”

Valeria sighed, too exhausted to argue. “Tomorrow we must try to reach the harbor and return to Lycia. It is far away from Licinius. He does not have many soldiers stationed there, and I believe the bishop will help us.”

“I still suspect Bishop Nicholas is the person who turned us in. I know you do not agree, but—” She paused and sighed, and Valeria suspected her mother had resigned herself to trusting the bishop, as they no longer had any other options.

A loud crash from the opposite direction of the crypt prevented either of them from pursuing the thought further.

“Someone dropped down through the entrance,” Valeria whispered as they strained to hear voices.

“It sounds as if there are at least three others inside the crypt,” Valeria speculated.

“Soldiers,” Prisca worried.

The women huddled together silently, trembling, as loud voices began rising in the tomb.

“Tear down the ladder,” one of them ordered. “But first anchor a rope above in the ground.”

Another voice rang out in the darkness. “I will search for another entrance to make sure they do not get away.”

“How did they know where to find us?” Valeria whispered.

“They probably tortured Anastasia until she told them.”

Heavy footsteps padded toward them, and Valeria’s heart raced with each footfall. Springing into action, she hid their bags under some of the relics in the tunnel, keeping only their velvet bags of jewelry and Mauritius’ Theban cross, which
she fastened around her neck and tucked underneath her clothes.

She grabbed her mother’s hand. “Come, we must find someplace to hide.”

“But did you hear him? They are going to trap us down here,” Prisca whispered, her voice nearly frantic. “They are destroying the ladder. We are trapped.”

“Did Jesus not teach to be concerned only for the day?” Valeria grabbed her mother’s hand to lead her back through the labyrinth. This time they went in another direction that led to the right instead of straight ahead. Finally Valeria saw another door. When she quietly jiggled the handle, it opened, leading them to a narrow stairway that veered upward. They shed tears of relief as they tiptoed quietly up the stairs. Once again God had spared them and shown them the way, but their spirits fell as they reached the top and saw yet another door. Valeria turned the knob.

“It is unlocked,” she whispered, momentary relief washing over her.

Passing through the door, they were shocked when they found themselves standing in the bedroom of a snoring priest.

The priest stirred when the two women crept out the door into the hallway. They followed the winding hallway until they reached a door that led outside, but when they peered through it, they saw Roman soldiers everywhere.

“We must sleep inside the church until morning,” Prisca suggested, “and then try to escape to the harbor before dawn.”

“Will that not be obvious? Do you not think they will be checking every boat that puts out to sea?”

“As you said earlier, my dear, let us just be concerned with one day at a time. We will deal with tomorrow when it arrives. For now, let us find a place to lay our heads.”

They tried several doors and discovered the one to the sacristy was unlocked. There they found ample room to lie down and sleep. They also found fresh-baked loaves nestled in baskets for tomorrow’s communion service.

“Perhaps I should go back for our bags,” Valeria suggested once they were settled.

“We have our valuables, so we should not take the risk,” Prisca cautioned. “Leave the bags behind.”

The next morning they feasted on the bread and then ventured out of the church to try to make it to the harbor. Heads down as they walked, they had nearly made it through the marketplace when they looked up to find that dozens of Roman soldiers with swords had surrounded them.

“It is finished,” Valeria whispered, glancing at her mother.

Prisca sighed. “Yes, the chase has finally ended.”