As Sure as the Dawn (32 page)

“When it served their purposes.” How much would the Roman get when he was delivered to Domitian?

“God will rescue us again.”

“Don’t put your hope in a god you can’t see and who let his son be crucified. What good was he to Hadassah?”

“It’s because of God’s Son that I do have hope. All my hope rests in him.” Her fingers lightly combed the hair back from his forehead and temples. “Even my hope for you.”

His head ached too much to argue with her or even think more deeply on what she said.

Atretes heard horses galloping toward them from behind. The sound of their beating hooves on the heavy stones of the Roman road reverberated in his aching skull. He knew they were Roman soldiers by the jangling of their brass-studded belts.

“No one is following,” a man said.

“That way,” he heard Theophilus command, and the wagon gave a hard bounce as it left the road. Atretes let out a groan, spots of color bursting behind his closed eyes. He wanted the darkness, the oblivion in which there was no pain, no torturous thoughts of what lay ahead. Neither came.

They traveled a long time over softer ground. He knew they were well off the main road.

Theophilus spoke occasionally, but the words were indistinct. When they stopped, the Roman came close. “Keep watch while I get him out of the wagon.”

Atretes heard the chains released and felt them pulled through the rings on his ankles.

“We’re at the
hypogeum
of Gaudentius Servera Novatian. His great-granddaughter, the Lady Alphina, is a Christian,” Theophilus said, tossing the chains and removing the manacles. “Sorry I hit you so hard, my friend.” He took Atretes by the arm and pulled him up easily. “I had no time to explain.” He looped Atretes’ arm around his shoulder. “Not that you would’ve listened.”

Atretes muttered something under his breath, and Theophilus grinned as he bore the burden of the German’s weight against his side. “Instead of cursing me in German, you could say thanks in Greek.”

“We thought you were taking him back to the ludus,” Rizpah said, ashamed for having doubted him.

“So did everyone else at the inn,” Theophilus said, helping Atretes down the ramp that had been lowered from the back of the wagon. “That’s why there wasn’t a riot. All of Rome would like to see this stubborn fool back in the arena.”

She took up the basket in which Caleb slept. Two men came running from what appeared to be a mausoleum. Theophilus gave Atretes over to their care and returned to his men. “Apuleius, my friend. I thank you.” He clasped arms with him. “Give Domitian no opportunity to question you. Do not return to the praetorian.” He took a small scroll from inside his chest armor. “Take this and ride to Tarentum. Give it to Justus Minor, no one else.” Theophilus slapped his shoulder. “Now, go.”

The soldier said something under his breath and handed him a pouch before he mounted his horse. He stretched out his hand in salute. “May God protect you, my lord.” The others followed suit.

“And you, my friends. God be with you.”

Apuleius swung his horse around and galloped across the field toward the main road, the others falling in behind him.

Rizpah set Caleb down in his basket and went to Theophilus. Tears blurring her eyes, she went down on her knees and put her hands on his feet. “Forgive me,” she said, weeping. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

He caught firm hold of her and raised her to her feet. Tilting her chin, he smiled. “You’re forgiven, Rizpah.” He brushed her cheek lightly and then said more briskly. “Think no more of it. Had your distress not been genuine, everything might have gone differently at the inn. Your doubt served good purpose.”

Caleb roused. Theophilus stepped past her and took him from his basket. Caleb cried louder. “It would appear only his mother will do,” he said with a laugh and handed the baby to her. “I’ll carry the basket.” Caleb snuggled against her, peering at The-ophilus from the safety of her arms. He let out a squeal and leaned toward Theophilus, who chucked him playfully under the chin.

“It was fortunate you found us when you did,” she said as they walked together.

“I knew within hours where to find you. I told you Atretes would make it easy.” He shook his head. “He has more courage than sense.”

“What sort of trouble will this bring upon your head, Theophilus? You’re still in service to the emperor.”

“Not as of two days ago. My required twenty years of service were completed five years ago. Now I have asked permission to retire, and Titus granted it. I have in my possession a proclamation with his seal giving me the right to claim a portion of land in any frontier province of my choosing. He suggested several where there are
civitates
started and run by retired soldiers; Gaul for one, and Britannia.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “He made no mention of Germania, nor did I.” They reached the narrow stone doorway to the catacombs.

Theophilus went ahead of her down the steep stairway cut into the soft Latium tufa, his hand beneath her arm to give her support. “Don’t be alarmed by the appearance of the place,” he said. “Your customs are somewhat different in Ionia. These tunnels have been here for several generations. Gunderius Severas Novatian was the first of many to be entombed here. His great-grandson, Tiberias, heard the apostle Paul speak before Caesar and was redeemed by Christ that day. Before he died of a fever, he told his sister to use this place as a sanctuary for those who had need of it.”

The stairway ended and followed a short, narrow earthen passageway to an underground chamber, called a
cubicula,
that constituted the nucleus of the family vault. It was illuminated by a pitlike opening in the ceiling that had served for removal of earth during the excavation.

The room was cool, a large natural spring filling a tiled
refrigeria
used for funeral libations. The walls of the cubicula were plastered and frescoed with flowers, birds, and animals.

Two
arcosolia
were before her. These cells for the dead had been hollowed out of the tufa, plastered, and sealed with horizontal slabs for lids over the graves surmounted by two arches. In the lunette of one was a fresco of Hercules bringing the heroic Alcestis back from Hades to her husband, Admetus, for whom she had sacrificed her life. The legendary scene symbolized conjugal love. In the other lunette was a fresco of Hercules killing the Hydra.

Another cubicula opened off to Rizpah’s right. In it was a single arcosolium. The lunette bore the fresco of an
orant,
a draped man or woman with arms outstretched in prayer. The closure bore the name Tiberias.

“This way,” Theophilus said, his deep voice echoing softly in the stillness.

Rizpah followed him through a doorway to her left. She drew in her breath softly as she saw the tunnel stretch ahead. The catacomb smelled of damp earth, sweet spices, and incense. Rectangular niches called
loculi
had been dug into the tufa walls and sealed with a brick or marble slab door. She knew each loculus contained a body. Small terra-cotta lamps filled with scented oil were placed above many of the tombs, filling the somber gallery with flickering light and the cloying aroma of perfume that mingled with the smell of decay.

Drawing Caleb closer, she walked along the passageway, looking at the doors of the tombs beside and above her on either side. Each bore a name: Pamphilus, Constantia, Pretextatus, Honorius, Commodilla, Marcellinus, Maius. She saw an anchor cut into one slab, a peacock symbolizing eternal life on another, two fish and a loaf of bread on a third.

Theophilus turned a corner, and she followed him by another arcosolium with the vivid colors of a fresco depicting the Good Shepherd with the lost lamb over his shoulders.

“Are all these departed ones Christians?” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

“Eighty-seven of them are, most in the newer tombs near the bottom where we are. The ones higher up are the older tombs and hold members of the Novatian family. Friends of the family were also allowed to bury their dead here. There are also several generations of slaves accounted for among the loculi.”

She heard voices ahead of her. Theophilus led her up another earth and stone stairway into a passageway that widened into another large cubicula. Light came in from above. Atretes sat on a woven pallet against the wall, his face ashen.

Several men were in the room, hovering around Atretes and speaking all at once, but it was the small, elderly woman Rizpah noticed immediately. Her gray hair was curled, braided, and pinned into a coiffure of elegance and dignity. She was attired in a simple blue linen
palla
of very fine quality, but wore few jewels. She handed one of the men a silver goblet of wine, which was offered to Atretes. The lady turned, her lined face lovely and serene.

“Theophilus,” she said, clearly holding him in great affection. She held out her hands to him, smiling.

“We are indebted to you, Lady Alphina,” he said, taking her hands. Bowing with fond respect, he kissed both.

“You are not indebted to me, but to God,” she said. “Our prayers have been answered, have they not?” Her eyes shone with joy as she patted his cheek as though he were a boy and not a weathered soldier.

He laughed. “Indeed, my lady.”

“And this lovely girl is the Lady Rizpah,” she said, holding out her hand. “Welcome, my dear.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Rizpah said, drawn to her warmth.

“Please call me Alphina. We are all one in Christ Jesus.” She glanced pointedly at Atretes. “I must admit I was curious to see the great Atretes.”

“He’s looked better,” Theophilus said dryly.

“He’s exactly as Rufus described: built like Mars with the face of Apollo,” she said. “Rufus is my son,” she explained to Rizpah. “He went to the inn two nights, but couldn’t get near enough to speak with Atretes. He said the amoratae were as thick as corrupt politicians in our senate. We had hoped to bring you here several days ago.”

“Atretes wouldn’t have come,” Rizpah said.

“We needed more gold,” Atretes said from where he sat and then looked at her. “We should have enough now. Where is it?”

Rizpah could feel the blood draining from her face and then filling it again, burning hot. “Oh, my lord . . .”

“You forgot it?” he said in consternation. The pain in his head almost blinded him as he swore.

“Apuleius made certain all your possessions were brought,” Theophilus said. He untied a heavy leather pouch and tossed it at Atretes’ feet. “Including your gold.” His mouth curled ruefully. “Rizpah had you on her mind.”

Atretes looked from the pouch of gold coins to Theophilus. Troubled, he leaned his head back against the cool, plastered wall.

“I must return and make preparations for this evening,” Lady Alphina said. “Domitian is holding a banquet to celebrate some momentous event.” She noticed Atretes’ sharp, suspicious glance at her and smiled. “He will have to invent a new reason to celebrate now that you’ve escaped. Rufus said he heard it rumored he was going to have you brought and shown at the feast.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to go to the palace?” Theophilus said.

“It would be unwise not to go. Besides, I’m concerned for Domitian’s young niece, Domitilla. She has a heart for the Lord and I want to use whatever opportunity God gives to speak with her.”

She put her hand on Rizpah’s arm. “You needn’t stay here, Rizpah. If you wish, you may follow that passageway to the
cryptoporticus.
It’s quite lovely and right beneath the villa. Caleb would delight in the pretty tiles on the floor, and you’d both be quite safe there.”

“She stays with me,” Atretes said.

Lady Alphina glanced at him. “My servants are all trust-worthy.”

Atretes looked back at her coldly. “She stays.”

Lady Alphina’s expression softened with understanding and pity. “As you wish, Atretes. I suppose it must be difficult for you to trust any Roman, even those who only wish you well.”

“Especially if you’ve a head harder than granite,” Theophilus said. He lifted his hand. “I will see you to your villa, my lady.”

He walked with Alphina down the long lamplit earthen passageway and entered the cryptoporticus. It was a peaceful place, beautiful with its marble arches, colorful murals, frescoes, and small fountain pool. Beams of sunlight entered from carefully constructed openings in the vault ceiling. It was an underground hideaway from the pressure of daily life, a place of solace that had become a sanctuary for those who shared faith in Christ.

“Perhaps Atretes will join us here tomorrow morning and hear the reading of the apostle Paul’s words.”

“I’d need the manacles and chains and four men to carry him.”

Lady Alphina turned and looked at him. “Despite what you say, Theophilus, I sense how much you admire him.”

“How can I not admire a man who’s survived ten years in the arena?” He shook his head. “But I don’t know how to reach him. He looks at me and doesn’t see a man. He sees Rome.”

“And is it any wonder?” Lady Alphina said gently, letting her gaze travel pointedly over him. “The Roman army destroyed his people and took him captive. He’s been under guard ever since. Even during his brief time as a freeman, I imagine he’s been guarded by soldiers. Perhaps it is exactly as you say. He only sees the outward man.” She smiled. “God sees the heart, Theophilus, and he’s placed you in the company of this man to good purpose. Let the Lord guide you.”

She smiled and touched his arm affectionately, then walked away. Theophilus stood for a long time in the peaceful chamber. He removed his helmet and ran his hand over the shiny metal. Brushing his fingers over the cropped red plumes on the top, he let out his breath heavily and looked up.

Theophilus had trained to be a soldier from childhood, determined to follow in his father’s footsteps. As soon as he was old enough, he had joined the army. He had served under Claudius before his corrupt and capricious nephew, Nero, had been named emperor. Following that disastrous reign came an even worse one. Rome exploded into civil war as the succession of ambitious but ineffectual politicians fought to rule the empire. Galba, Otho, Vitellius—all strove for power, and each was murdered by his successor. Theophilus had escaped the worst of the bloody happenings in the Imperial City, for at that time he was immersed in the Germanic revolt, fighting against the rebel Civilis and the united tribes, including Atretes’ people, the Chatti.