As Sure as the Dawn (33 page)

When Vespasian had taken the reins of power, he had rejoiced to have an able military commander in power. Rome needed stability. Over the ten years of Vespasian’s reign, he had served in the Praetorian Guard, been posted to Alexandria, and been sent to command troops in Ephesus.

God had called him as a soldier, and he had served the Lord faithfully while continuing to carry out his duties. Not once had he ever been faced with a choice between God and the emperor and he knew it had often been solely due to divine intervention. Certain questions had never once been asked.

Now God had given him another commission: Take Atretes back to Germania. During his first meeting with John, the apostle had said only a few words when he had felt compelled to do this. Even knowing what he might face in Germania among the Chatti, he was certain he was following God’s lead. Protect this man and see him home. God had a plan for Atretes, and he was part of that plan whether he liked it or not.

The army had been his life, but God had set him upon another path now. His choice was simple: obey or not, his will at work or God’s. His mouth curved ruefully. God had had his hand in Theophilus’ life from the beginning, for his years in the Roman army had prepared him for this moment. The army had taught him to obey authority, to discipline himself in the face of hardship, to be loyal to his commanders, to overcome fear when faced with death.

Take off the old and put on the new.

It was not easy. He had loved his life in the army, the discipline, the routine, the respect. He had poured twenty-five years of his life into his career and what he wore proclaimed his accomplishments.

Take off the old. Put on the new.

He set the polished helmet on a marble bench. Removing the red cape, he folded it with care and laid it down. Removing the pendant of his rank, he clenched it for a long moment. Tossing it on the bed of crimson, he left the cryptoporticus.

“As you will, Father,” he said.

Turning away, he headed back down the narrow passageway to the hypogeum where Rizpah and Atretes waited.

The disturbing atmosphere of the hypogeum made Atretes increasingly uneasy. He knew those around him saw the place as a refuge where they could freely worship and discuss their god, but to him it was nothing more than an underground cemetery and foreshadowing of Hades.

Death no longer merely approached; it surrounded him.

When Rufus brought food and placed it before him, he couldn’t bring himself to eat the meal, no matter how succulent, because the table on which Rufus set it was a sarcophagus. Civilized people burned their dead! The bloody Romans wrapped them up like presents and tucked them away in niches or great stone casings for posterity. Those who were rich enough to have cubicula even came to sup with their deceased relations and friends. And Germans were called barbaric! Even more disgusting to him was the habit of these people, Rizpah included, to dine on bread and wine and refer to it as the body and blood of their Christ.

“I have to get out of here,” he said to Rizpah.

“Theophilus said it’s not safe yet.”

“The games started two days ago!”

“Domitian has soldiers looking for you everywhere. Several came to the villa. You know Domitian would like nothing more than to show you to—”

He stood abruptly and a wave of dizziness made him sway.

“Atretes,” she said in alarm and rose quickly to slip her arm around his waist and give him support.

He shoved her away. “I can stand on my own.” He bent down carefully and picked up his bedding and small pack of belongings, including the gold, and headed unsteadily toward a doorway, expecting her to follow.

“That way will take you deeper into the catacombs,” she said calmly, picking Caleb up and sitting him on her hip. “This way will take us to the cryptoporticus.”

“I don’t want to go to the cryptoporticus! I want to get
out of here!”
She disappeared through a narrow doorway. “Rizpah!” His harsh voice reverberated in the cubicula, assaulting his nerves even more. He uttered a single sharp word in German.

If she went that way to get to the cryptoporticus, then it made sense to him to go through the opposite doorway to escape the hypogeum entirely. He entered a long corridor, loculi on both sides of him. He tried not to touch the walls, all too aware of what was decaying within them.

The passageway went for some distance and then turned. When it branched in three directions, he took the one to the left. It ended at a stairway that led down instead of up, and he knew he wasn’t going where he wanted. He swore aloud, and the sound of his voice was strange to his own ears in the dank tunnel. The place made his skin crawl.

Turning back, he retraced his steps and took the passageway to the right. He came to another turn and the corridor forked into three more passageways. Few lamps flickered here and the darkness felt heavier, the air colder. His heart began to pound. Cold sweat broke out on his body. He was lost in a labyrinth of catacombs, trapped among the dead. He fought against panic and retraced his steps again. He couldn’t remember from which passageway he had come.

Silence closed in around him. All he could hear was his own breathing, shallow and tense, and the pounding of his heart bringing on an agonizing headache. He could feel the eyes of the dead watching him, smell the decay of flesh and soft, dry earth and age. Groaning, he looked around, frantic.

“Atretes,” came a low, deep voice.

He swung around in a defensive stance, ready to fight whatever came at him. A man stood at the corner of another passageway. “This way,” he said, and though his face was shadowed and his voice different in the narrow earthen passageway, Atretes knew it was Theophilus. For the first time since he had met the Roman, he was glad to see him.

Theophilus led him to the cryptoporticus where Rizpah was waiting. “You found him,” she said in relief, rising as Atretes followed him into the large chamber. “I’m sorry, Atretes. I thought you were behind me.”

Without a word, he dumped his bedding and pack of belongings and went to the fountain pool. He cupped water into his face, once, twice, three times. Shaking the water off, he straightened and released his breath slowly. “I’d rather take my chances in the arena than stay in this place.”

“A company of soldiers came here yesterday,” Theophilus said. “They’re still patrolling the area. If you want to turn yourself over to them, go ahead.”

Angered by his casual tone, Atretes took the challenge. “Show me the way out.”

“Go back through there, keep following the passageways to your right. When you come to a stairway . . .”

Atretes muttered a curse and slapped his hand across the water. “How much longer am I going to have to stay in this place?”

Theophilus could understand Atretes’ frustration. He felt it himself. Days of inactivity didn’t sit well with him, either. It was one thing to visit the catacombs and worship with other Christians. It was something else to
live
in them. “That depends on Domitian’s determination.”

“You know him better than I do,” Atretes sneered. “How determined is he?”

“I’d say we’d better make ourselves comfortable.”

Atretes uttered another foul German word and sat down on the edge of the fountain. He rubbed his head; it was still a bit sore where Theophilus had hit him with the hilt of his gladius. He looked across the room at the Roman. Theophilus raised his brow slightly.

Caleb crawled between Atretes’ spread feet and grabbed one of the straps around his muscular calf. Atretes put his hands down between his knees and took his son’s hands. With a delighted squeal, Caleb struggled and worked until he pulled himself up and was standing.

“He’ll be walking soon,” Rizpah said.

“I know,” Atretes said grimly. “In a graveyard.” He picked his son up and sat him on his knee, holding him there and studying him. He had Julia’s eyes and hair. Caleb flapped his arms and made happy garbly sounds.

Rizpah laughed. “He’s trying to talk to you.”

How could she laugh in this place? How could she sit and look serene, talking to Theophilus and the others as if they were sitting in a villa or in a banquet room instead of an underground cemetery? Surroundings didn’t matter to her anymore than they mattered to the baby. Wherever she was, she would be the same. He wanted his son to learn to walk on new grass, not on the dark earth of a passageway walled in by death.

Rizpah saw the troubled look on Atretes face and came to sit beside him on the edge of the fountain. “We won’t be here forever.”

Forever. Like death. He had never allowed the fear of death to plague him. It would weaken him, shift his concentration, give an opponent an opening. Now he could think of nothing else. And it was because they were in this place!

He thrust Caleb into her arms as he rose. “We’ve been here long enough.” Caleb’s cry filled the cryptoporticus.

“Where else can we go and be safe?” Rizpah said, holding the child close and patting his back. She kissed him and murmured comforting words to him.

Watching her pour all her affection upon his son made him angry. “Anywhere would be better than this!”

“Even a dungeon?” Theophilus said to draw his anger elsewhere. Atretes was itching for a fight, and Rizpah wouldn’t give him what he wanted. “Or perhaps you’d feel more at home in a cell, one about five feet wide and eight feet long.” He earned a dark look, but nothing more.

When Caleb stopped crying, Rizpah set him down on a mural of a dolphin. Distracted by the colors, shapes, and textures of the tiles, he cooed in delight again and began to crawl around until he came to a spot of light. Sitting up, he tried to grasp hold of the beam of sunshine, which came down from a small opening in the painted dome ceiling.

Atretes watched him bleakly. “He should be up with the living, not down here with the dead.”

“He will be, Atretes,” Theophilus said.

“Send Rizpah up from this Hades, or are she and my son prisoners, too?”

“We’ll stay with you where we belong,” Rizpah said firmly.

“None of you are prisoners,” Theophilus said, noting how Atretes ignored her. The only time he ever looked at Rizpah was when she was looking elsewhere, and then his perusal was intense and revealing to anyone who chanced to see it. “As to moving to a different place, ask Lady Alphina when you see her this evening.”

Atretes looked around the large chamber with its arches and frescoes. “This is better than that other place you’ve put me. I’ll stay here.”

Theophilus laughed. “Lady Alphina offered you the use of this chamber the first day you arrived.”

“She offered it to Rizpah and the babe.”

“The invitation included you. She’ll be pleased you’ve decided to be in here. She was surprised you preferred the cubicula. It depresses her.” Amused by Atretes’ look of consternation, he stretched out on a marble bench, put his arm behind his head, and crossed his ankles in comfort. “I much prefer this place myself.”

Atretes’ eyes narrowed. “What do you find so amusing?”

“The way God works.” Theophilus gave a soft laugh and closed his eyes. The Lord had plunked this stubborn, mule-headed gladiator right down in the middle of his sanctuary.

Rufus and Lady Alphina joined them that evening, two servants following with trays of food and wine. Lady Alphina was delighted they had decided to stay in the cryptoporticus. “It’s so much nicer here,” she said. “More air.”

Rufus grinned as Atretes took an apple from the tray and bit into it. “I’m pleased to see your appetite’s returned. We were beginning to worry.”

“Should any soldiers come to search the villa, one of the servants will come to warn you,” Lady Alphina said.

“Some of the soldiers are being called back. There’s a fire in the city,” Rufus said, as one servant poured wine. Theophilus took two goblets, handing one to Atretes. “It started in one of the poorer insulae south of the Tiber, and I’m afraid it’s spreading fast.”

“You can see the smoke from the balconies,” Lady Alphina said grievously. “It reminds me of the Great Fire during Nero’s reign.”

“Titus has sent more legionnaires to help the firefighters, but it’s burning out of control,” Rufus went on. “The problem is some insulae are so old, they explode. Hundreds of people are dead, and even more are without shelter.”

Atretes relished Rufus’ report. Rome was burning! What more could he ask, other than the demise of Callistus and Domitian?

“Disease will follow,” Theophilus said grimly. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Rizpah saw how Atretes was taking the news and was disturbed by his callousness. “Don’t be pleased by this, Atretes. Innocent people are losing their homes and their lives.”

“Innocent?” Atretes said derisively. The others looked at him. “Were they all
innocent
when they filled the seats around the arena and screamed for blood? My blood or anyone else’s. Let them burn. Let the whole rotten city burn!” He gave a hoarse laugh and raised his goblet in salute. He didn’t care if he offended or hurt anyone present. They were Romans, after all. “I’d like the pleasure of watching.”

“Then how are you any different?” she said, appalled by his lack of pity.