Valeria’s Cross (7 page)

Inspired by the Holy Spirit, Mauritius climbed upon a boulder and announced the order as an opportunity to die for their Savior. By the time he spoke the words, “Every tenth man will be put to the sword,” the legion cheered, eager to offer their lives to die for the One who had promised them eternal life. Mauritius encouraged his men in death as though they were going into battle. With songs of praise on their lips and a refusal to compromise their first allegiance to Christ, to a man the Theban Legion stood strong against the emperor’s command to sacrifice to the Roman gods as an act of loyalty to the empire.

When the army arrived, the leaders wrote the names of every tenth soldier upon strips of papyrus and placed them in the caps of the centurions. The six hundred ultimately chosen to die stepped forward without protest. They laid down their weapons and offered their necks to the swords of the Roman soldiers. Mauritius and the others, who were spared, praised God and rejoiced with their comrades in their moment of death.

Mauritius pulled away from his soldiers and watched with great sadness as the bodies of his martyred comrades were dumped in the Rhone River, turning its waters red. Then he returned to the survivors and rejoiced with them. When they were issued another order to participate in the sacrifices, they refused, persisting in proclaiming their loyalty to Christ.

The Roman leaders conferred and ordered a second decimation. This time Mauritius flinched when he saw that Baraka was among the doomed men.
What shall I tell my sister?
he wondered, choking up as he imagined the scene.

With great courage, Baraka laid down his weapons and motioned to Mauritius. He slid a lapis ring emblazoned with a gold cross off his finger and pressed it into Mauritius’ palm, closing his friend’s fingers over it. “Please give this ring to your sister,” his voice trembled. “Tell her when our son becomes a man to please give the ring to him to wear in memory of his father, who loved him very much.”

Mauritius nodded, too emotional to speak, and curled his fingers around the ring in the palm of his hand.

Mauritius’ voice broke as he swore to Baraka, “My brother, I vow to you before God that I will raise your son as if he were my own … if God allows me to survive.”

“Please do not be sad for me. I consider martyrdom a great honor,” Baraka assured him, smiling. He clutched his chest. “Only for those I leave behind is my heart heavy.”

“We shall all be together again one day in heaven,” Mauritius assured him. He then embraced the man whom he had loved since they were boys, kissing him on both cheeks. “God be with you, my friend.”

“And also with you,” Baraka replied, and then he stooped, lowering his head upon the stone.

As the soldier lifted his sword, Baraka sang praises to God until his blood poured over the rock, splattering upon the sandals of Mauritius, who turned away in sorrow.

Mauritius and the other soldiers remained strong, but upon hearing their songs and praises, Maximian recoiled with such fury that he demanded yet another decimation.

Afterwards, Mauritius conferred with his fellow officers, Candidus and Exupernis. Three decimations. It was time to stop the killings. They grieved for their fallen comrades, especially for their families, who were left behind.

“It is time to stop the butchery. Our surviving men are eager to return home to their families,” Mauritius pointed out.

With prayerful consideration, the officers composed a royal remonstrance, dictating it to an aide, who wrote the words on a papyrus and addressed it to the emperor. It read:

Emperor, we are your soldiers but also the soldiers of the true God. We owe you military service and obedience, but we cannot renounce Him who is our Creator and Master, and also yours even though you reject Him. In all things which are not against His law, we most willingly obey you, as we have done hitherto. We readily oppose your enemies whoever they are, but we cannot stain our hands with the blood of innocent people (Christians). We have taken an oath to God before we took one to you, you cannot place any confidence in our second oath if we violate the other (the first). You commanded us to execute Christians, behold we are such. We confess God the Father the creator of all things and His Son Jesus Christ, God. We have seen our comrades slain with the sword, we
do not weep for them but rather rejoice at their honour. Neither this, nor any other provocation have tempted us to revolt. Behold, we have arms in our hands, but we do not resist, because we would rather die innocent than live by any sin.

They sent the note to Maximian with great hopes that it would soften the emperor’s heart.

Captain Mauritius stood in wait with his head high, surrounded by his fallen comrades. With his nostrils, he inhaled the unmistakable stench of death. He watched as the Roman soldiers disposed of the bodies. One of the Roman generals, who could no longer bear the sight of the Rhone River running with blood throughout the land, had ordered a great pit be dug for the bodies.

The sun blazed hot above the field where so many had fallen—bravely and valiantly, just as they had lived their lives. Sweat trickled down the cheek of Mauritius, but his hands were occupied, furiously swatting flies, drawn by the bodies not yet disposed of in the pit.

The Roman soldiers shuddered at the sickening sight of the carnage. But not Mauritius and his Theban Legion, for they knew that Christ’s resurrection had swallowed up death, and the souls of his friends did not occupy these decaying, earthbound shells. Although many wept for their colleagues, praises could be heard above the wailing.

When Emperor Maximian read the remonstrance, he raged uncontrollably and sent a messenger to Diocletian of the plan he had formulated in his anger.

Diocletian disputed it. “But these men are Roman soldiers. They defeated the Gauls, almost single-handedly. Maximian is surely mad if he wants to slaughter the entire Theban Legion.” Diocletian waved his hand, “Three decimations is sufficient punishment.”

Having his own agenda, Galerius dared to warn the emperor, “If we intervene in Maximian’s orders, then the gods will severely punish us. I tremble at what could happen to us. Even after this great victory, we are likely to never see our homeland again.”

His paranoia far outweighing his strength of character, Diocletian signaled the messenger. “Give me those orders.” With a shaking hand, the emperor sealed the death warrant with his ring.

In the distance Mauritius saw the messenger returning. The scroll he carried in his pouch would surely contain their fate. Riding beside him was General Galerius himself.

Mauritius prayed that God would spare his men and him, grieving that he might have to leave his precious Valeria behind, praying that if it were true, she would take the news without too much pain. He was not leaving behind a child, a legacy, like many of his friends, but he was confident that his love for Valeria would live forever in her heart, until she took her last breath.

When the soldiers arrived, the reply on the papyrus was unrolled and read to the Theban Legion. To their surprise, their remonstrance had an opposite effect on the evil Maximian.

As the Roman soldier delivered the orders that every member of the Theban Legion would be slaughtered, Mauritius accepted his fate with sadness to leave this life, but with joy over entering into the next for an eternity. The troops who had come to execute the order then drew their swords. To their surprise there was no fight or refusal to die. The Thebans laid down their weapons and offered their necks to the soldiers.

The officers were the last to die. While he waited, Mauritius caught the eye of one of the soldiers, a Christian he knew and who had participated in the sacrifices by making the sign of the cross. He motioned for him to come near. When the young
man knelt down beside him, there was an exchange and a Roman officer feared he had slipped the captain a weapon, but when the young man assured his superior he was only praying with Mauritius, he let them be.

Raising his voice in worship, Mauritius began to sing and was quickly joined by the remainder of his legion. Though he imagined the vain Diocletian and Maximian would think they mocked him as they sang while being slaughtered, he continued to worship as, one by one, voices around him were silenced. When at last he was the only man still standing, he committed himself into the hands of his Lord and prepared to join Him.

I
n the middle of her French lessons, Valeria turned to Eugenia, who sat nearby, concentrating on her needlework.

“Listen,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you hear the rustle of sails?”

“No, I do not. Now, please, get back to your studies.”

“But I hear sails flapping in the breeze. Can it be? Have the soldiers returned?” Valeria placed her hand over her heart. “Are the boats bringing my true love back to me at last?”

Eugenia shot a helpless look to the exasperated tutor. “You must finish your studies, Valeria, and when you are done, you and I will go out on the terrace and watch for any ships coming into the Aswan port.”

“If you insist,” Valeria said. “But I have to stop soon because Nanu and Babafemi are expected at noon. Will you ask the servants to serve our lunch in the garden so we will have a front row seat?”

Eugenia blushed. “Oh, I forgot to mention that Nanu sent a messenger earlier. Babafemi has a stuffy nose, so they will not be coming to the palace today.”

“Babafemi was sneezing yesterday, so I am not surprised. This means we are free to go to the harbor to watch the ships arrive.”

Eugenia shook her head. “Get back to your lessons.”

“But I already know how to speak French,” Valeria protested, turning to the tutor for his acknowledgement. The man shrugged, doubtless wanting to avoid getting in the middle of the dispute between the two women.

“You have not yet mastered your pronunciation of the French letter ‘r.’ Besides, if you do not allow me to finish my needlework, you shall have no wedding trousseau,” Eugenia warned her.

Determined to win this argument, Valeria replied, “Dozens of dressmakers in Milan are sewing as we speak. The dressmaker’s assistant has sailed down from Milan and is with Mother in her chambers this very moment, enticing her with an array of silks and embroidered trims from the Orient. May I please have just one peek?” Not waiting for permission, she sprang to her feet and hurried to the window. With one hand on the curtain, Valeria begged, “Please, Eugenia!”

“Young love,” Eugenia sighed in resignation. She dropped her needlework on a nearby table, then joined Valeria and pushed the curtains open wide.

“See, I told you they were here,” Valeria rejoiced, pointing to the fleet of boats coming into the last port of the Nile, packed full with Roman soldiers.

Eugenia tucked her head inside the window and settled alongside Valeria, as they craned their necks in an attempt to see who was inside the feluccas.

Valeria was careful to squelch her own enthusiasm since she knew Eugenia would not see her husband, Octavius, until they returned to Nicomedia. But it was hard to contain her joy over the possibility of seeing Mauritius again in a matter
of days—maybe even hours. She sighed.
And soon, we will be married.

Valeria hopped down from the window and spun around, unable to contain her joy. “I must find Mother and tell her!”

“But—you promised,” Eugenia called after her.

Valeria heard her lady-in-waiting catch up with her just outside her mother’s door.

“Knock,” Eugenia called out, but Valeria ignored her, bursting through the ornate doors that led to her mother’s sitting room.

“Mother! Quick! Please, come and look out the window with me. The soldiers have returned. They—”

Valeria stopped when she noticed a trio of Roman soldiers seated across from her mother. “Oh, please forgive me for intruding. I was unaware you had guests. Of course, you must already know the soldiers have returned.” Humbled only slightly, Valeria surmised the soldiers were here to tell the empress that the war had ended.

Valeria waited for her mother to reply, but an awkward silence filled the room. Prisca was facing the soldiers, so Valeria was unable to read her expression, and she worried that her rude behavior had angered her mother. “I shall depart and allow you to return to your business,” Valeria apologized as she backed toward the door.

“Please stay,” her mother called to her, her voice trembling as she spoke.

Frightened by her mother’s uncertain tone, Valeria rushed to her side. She was even more alarmed when she saw that Prisca’s eyes were red and swollen and her trusted servants were dithering around her. One lady-in-waiting was at the empress’s side, holding smelling salts under Prisca’s nose.

“What is wrong?” Valeria demanded. Suddenly she realized her mother’s upset had to be related to her father. Valeria felt
nauseated. The room began to spin, and her vision dimmed to gray. “Is Father … ?” Valeria could not bring herself to complete her thought.

Eugenia wrapped her arm around the young girl’s waist to steady her.

“Your father … is alive,” Prisca answered, choking back a sob. “But, alas, he is not well.”

At the news that her father was alive, Valeria threw her arms around her mother in relief and then turned to the physicians. “Will my father recover?”

The eldest physician spoke for all three. “The emperor is in excellent health physically, so with the proper rest and treatment, we are hopeful that he will.”

“Hopeful? But you cannot be certain?”

When no one answered, she pleaded, “Will someone please tell me what is wrong with my father?” Overwhelmed, she fell to her knees as if in supplication, her dress crumpling around her.

The older physician rubbed his chin, as though searching for the right words. Finally he cleared his throat and explained. “The battle in Gaul took an enormous toll on the emperor. With the adverse weather conditions and the large number of casualties, Diocletian collapsed under the strain of it all.” He paused and then added, “I fear there is no kind or gentle way to tell you this, but … your father has gone mad.”

Even as the words swirled around her, Valeria refused to accept them. It made no sense. The emperor’s soldiers had been triumphant!

“My father is strong,” she argued. “What do you mean, he has gone mad?”

Two of the doctors bowed their heads, but the older doctor looked Valeria in the eyes. “Your father has suffered a breakdown. In his present state, he is unable to function normally.
He cannot eat or sleep. He is suffering from extreme exhaustion and anxiety. Recently, he has exhibited signs of paranoia, all of which are of great concern to us.”

“Where is my husband now?” Prisca interrupted.

“He is on his way back to the palace. His special guard and personal physician are secretly transporting him back to Nicomedia.”

Prisca frowned. “Secretly?”

“Ladies, please understand the ramifications of the emperor’s illness as it pertains to the empire. If word gets out about his condition, it will only invite further uprisings or betrayals, even from his own men who are greedy for power. Only Diocletian’s most trusted advisors are privy to the details of his illness.”

“We must leave for Nicomedia at once,” Prisca announced. She pushed the smelling salts away from her nose and stood to her feet unassisted, then instructed the servants to prepare for the trip.

The palace at Elephantine was immediately aflutter with activity. Returning to her room, Valeria was saddened at the news of her father’s condition and heartbroken by the resoluteness of her mother’s tone, for she knew if Mauritius was on one of the ships returning today or if he did not arrive soon, she would surely have to leave before she had an opportunity to welcome him.

When a single tear trickled down Valeria’s face, Eugenia dabbed it away with a linen handkerchief. “Do not worry, my child. Your father is the strongest man I know. He will surely recover from whatever ails him.”

Valeria was too ashamed to admit to Eugenia that though her heart was full of concern for her father, it was the thought of leaving before seeing Mauritius that most plagued her.

When Eugenia left her alone, Valeria paced, begging God for mercy. When her anxiety peaked, she sent word to Eugenia to come at once.

“Why are you still dressed?” Eugenia asked. “You must get to bed and rest for the long journey ahead. Many of the servants will work through the night so we can sail by noon, perhaps earlier.”

“But Mother said tomorrow night.”

“Your mother is sick with worry over your father and wants to leave as soon as possible. We are leaving a part of the staff behind to complete the relocation, and they will come a few days later. Why did you call me here?”

“I want you to accompany me to Thebes.”

Eugenia’s eyes widened. “Do you have any idea what time it is? We cannot go to Thebes at this hour of the night. Besides, we have work to do.”

“You cannot persuade me otherwise. I am going to Thebes to tell Nanu goodbye. I will not leave without asking her if she has had any word from Mauritius.”

Eugenia hesitated and then sighed. Within minutes she was ready. As they walked down the beach, Eugenia scolded Valeria. “I have ordered a servant to prepare the felucca. I will make the trip with you, but I must warn you that your behavior is inappropriate. I plan to report this incident to your mother once we have returned, and you will be severely punished, young lady.”

“Please walk faster,” Valeria coaxed, ignoring Eugenia’s admonition.

Eugenia shook her head but did not speak again until the servants helped them board the felucca. When they arrived in Thebes, Eugenia sent a servant ahead to Nanu’s home to announce Valeria’s arrival. A house servant answered and was soon joined by Nanu’s father-in-law, complaining until
he heard the visitor was the emperor’s daughter. Within seconds, Nanu appeared at the door. When she spotted her friend standing behind Eugenia in the darkness, she cried, “Valeria, what are you doing here?”

Valeria embraced her friend, explaining between sobs, “I had to see you. Is there no news of Mauritius or Baraka and the others in the Theban Legion? Surely if they had returned today, Mauritius would have come to see me.”

Nanu took her into her arms and comforted her. “Oh, dear one, please do not cry. You can be assured that you will be the first to know when Mauritius returns. I know my brother better than anyone, and he will come to see you even before he goes to my parents’ home.”

“Many Roman soldiers arrived in the harbor today. Why do you suppose the Thebans were not among them?”

“All of the soldiers cannot return at once. I am sure the Thebans will be home soon. Now please, go home, and I will visit you at the palace tomorrow.”

“I will not be there,” Valeria sobbed, explaining that they had to leave for Nicomedia immediately, though she did not reveal the reason. “I will not be here for Mauritius’ homecoming.”

“Then we will come to see you in Nicomedia. Please, do not worry. We shall all be together soon. Come, the boy is sleeping, but I will take you to his crib so you can kiss Babafemi goodbye.”

After Valeria had kissed the sleeping boy and they returned to the hallway, she pulled Nanu aside. “Will you please give Mauritius this letter?” Valeria asked, placing it in Nanu’s hands.

“Of course. And I am positive he will set sail for Nicomedia at once when he learns you are not here. Why, I will even
pray that God will bring him back tomorrow before you leave. Goodbye, my sister.”

As the women hugged goodbye, Valeria’s heart warmed at the thought that Nanu already considered her a sister.

When the royals boarded the feluccas the next day, Mauritius was nowhere to be found, nor was any member of the legion. None of the soldiers who returned had any news of them. At Valeria’s bidding, Eugenia sent one of the servants to the port early that morning to check the incoming military rosters for Mauritius’ name, but neither he nor any member of the legion was recorded there. A Roman officer suggested that the legion, known for its organizational skills, had probably remained in Gaul to wrap up the campaign.

Valeria’s disappointment was evident, but when she saw Alara at the dock, her face brightened. Yesterday Prisca had sent a messenger with a letter to Alara, explaining they had to leave. She also wrote that she regretted that they must discontinue their lessons and requested that the monks pray for Diocletian.

Alara joined them on board. “I could not leave without telling you ladies goodbye. Such a sad day for us,” he commented.

“I am so distraught that I must leave before Mauritius returns,” Valeria confessed to the young monk. “Will you pray for me?”

“Of course. Have I not always believed that the love you and Mauritius have for one another is truly ordained by God?”

Valeria thanked him for the reminder. “Will you come to our wedding?”

“I shall be honored to witness such a blessed occasion.”

Tearfully, Valeria and Prisca thanked Alara and bid him farewell. As their felucca set sail up the Nile, they looked back one last time at the magical land where their lives had been
changed forever. Then they turned their heads in the direction of home, not knowing what awaited them there.

The return trip up the Nile was far different from their exhilarating arrival in Egypt. Valeria ignored the scenery and spent most of her time on the deck, watching for a passing ship that might be transporting Mauritius and the Theban Legion down the river. When they reached Alexandria and boarded their royal ship on the Mediterranean Sea, Valeria went below and did not return to the deck until the captain announced late one afternoon that they had spotted the coast of Italy in the distance.