Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (5 page)

“You are an animal, and you can’t count. If you could, you’d
know that what you suggest is impossible.”

Helena spun on her heel, anger burning in her chest. Damn him!

Before she knew it, her anger carried her subconsciously to the
very place all her troubles began. The alcove.

She hadn’t been there since Lucius had left. The brush had
grown and the grass was no longer pressed down and worn away. Only the little
hand crafted wooden stool tucked away near an overgrown shrub hinted at what
had taken place here the year before.

She tugged at the stool until the vines let go and then sat
down. She’d forgotten a blanket, and the ground was no longer suitable for
laying out parchment and writing. Instead she let her mind go.

She was there with Lucius. His sun-toast skin, his impetuous
grin. The way he watched her like she was the most delicious dessert on the
table. The first time he’d kissed her and how her body had trembled in the most
beautiful way.

She wondered where he was now. If he’d made it to Rome. If he
was happy. Would she ever see him again in this life?

Her hand moved to her belly, a habit she’d picked up since her
abdomen had hardened and thickened into a ball. She frowned. If only this child
were Lucius’s. Then maybe she could love it. As it was, she had no attachment
to the child inside her. What would she do with it when it was born? Give it to
Felicity to take care of for her?

No. She didn’t want to share Felicity with Vincentius’s child.
She’d have Brutus purchase a new slave to care for it.

Helena gathered up her things and headed back to the villa.
Since the child was conceived she’d thought incessantly about food. She would
send Felicity to collect her something to eat.

Chapter Nine

LUCIUS

After a dinner of fried pork and strong tea, Lucius walked to
the Forum, the crowds increased with each block until he could no longer walk
without brushing shoulders with some merchant or shopper. He found the energy
of the Forum intoxicating: mothers and grandmothers dragging dirty children,
ladies of the night, men drunkenly stepping out of drinking establishments,
every kind of worker and citizens of every class. The scents and smells of food
carts mixed with sweaty humanity assaulted his senses, the hum of voices
filling his head. Indeed, he had a headache forming and decided it was time to
return to his loft. Soon the rooster would crow and he would be hard at work
again.

He passed a sandal shop and stopped to admire the leather
wares. He regarded his own worn pair. His feet ached and the pain in his heels
shot up the back of his legs and into his lower back. If only Hermus had been
paying him on time and in full, Lucius could be wearing a new pair of soft
leather sandals instead of simply coveting them.

A ball of frustration formed in his chest.

When he returned to his loft, he stumbled in the dimness of
dusk, bumping his head on the ceiling. He lit a candle and then jumped,
startled by a figure shifting in the shadows by his bed.

The soft giggling could mean only one person.

“Gaia? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you.” Gaia sat on his mattress and patted a
spot beside her. “Come sit.”

Lucius grabbed her arm. “You must leave. Your father will kill
me if he finds you here.”

Instead of jumping up and agreeing, she giggled, pulling him
down instead. “You don’t have to worry, Lucius. My father knows I’m here. In
fact he sent me.”

“He did?” He must have done poorly at the races, Lucius
thought. “Okay. What is his message?”

She surprised him by stroking his face. She smelled of earth
and lard and he was certain he didn’t smell that great, either. He pulled away,
raking a hand through his curls. “Gaia?”

“I’m here for you, my darling.”

In payment? Damn that Hermus!

“No, Gaia. Your father’s business is between him and me.”

“But I want to, Lucius. I love you.”

“You love… You don’t even know me.”

“I feel like I have known you my whole life. This, uh, problem
my father has, is a gift from the gods, don’t you see? Father can’t pay you
cash, but he can give you me and a percentage of the brickyard.”

A percentage of a brickyard that is losing money because of his
gambling debts, Lucius thought.

“Lucius?” Gaia’s voice had softened and her eyes filled with
something deeper. For the first time Lucius thought maybe there was more to
Gaia than what met the eye.

“I’m going to turn nineteen soon,” she said.

Lucius didn’t need to hear more. If Gaia didn’t marry by
nineteen, she would be sentenced to spinsterhood. As much as she had irritated
him these past weeks, he didn’t hate her. And though she could never replace
Helena in his heart, she wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She could at the very
least keep him warm at night and provide food for his stomach during the day.

“Gaia,” Lucius said kindly. “Let me have the night to think
about it. Now go home to your family.”

Gaia rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her toga and struggled
to get up from the mattress. Lucius gave her a hand and guided her back to the
ladder.

“Careful, Gaia,” he said as she backed down clumsily.

At the bottom of the ladder Gaia looked up at Lucius with hopeful
eyes. “Good night my darling,” she said with her signature giggle. “See you in
the morning.”

Lucius tossed and turned all night. When he lay awake, he
worried about his future, when he slept, he dreamed of Helena.

Now the sky out the window was brightening and he still didn’t
know what to do. If he agreed to this arrangement he would be bound to this
brickyard for the rest of his life. It’s not why he had come to Rome. He came
to seek adventure, and to escape Helena. Marrying Gaia and being tied to Hermus
wouldn’t satisfy him in the long run. There was still so much out there to
discover.

He was dressed before the rooster crowed.

Gaia was up earlier than normal, too, and waited by the well.
“Lucius?” she said. Her eyes were wide with expectation.

Lucius let his gaze fall to the ground. “I’m sorry, Gaia, I
can’t marry you.”

When he dared look up, she stood statue still. Her round face
was pale as putty and her arms hung limply at her side. Then her eyelids flickered
nervously.

“Wh-what? But, you like me. The first day we met, you flirted
with me. I thought…”

“I’m sorry Gaia,” Lucius said, feeling terrible. “I’m leaving
now. Please tell your father I’ll take a goose for my pay.”

Gaia’s face reddened like a tomato. “You’d rather have a goose
than me?” Her eyes narrowed in disdain, and she spit on the ground. “The gods
damn you!”

Lucius watched her storm back to the house. Then he went to the
hen house, chose a bird and chopped its head off on the block with precision.

Lucius headed north toward the city, breathing in the scent of
the sycamore trees and feeling oddly optimistic. He had a large goose he could
sell for enough denarii to get him lodging and a bit of food, enough to tide
him over until he found another job. He’d grabbed his few meager belongings, which
filled a leather satchel he’d hung over his shoulder. His most prized
possession at the moment was a thin piece of parchment—his ticket to tomorrow’s
games. Tomorrow! There he could spend the whole day forgetting about his
problems. He could hardly wait.

Lucius breathed out contentedly. In his heart he knew he had
made the right decision.

He was barely in the city limits when he heard Hermus call out
for him. “Lucius! Wait!” Hermus ran up behind him, his thick legs pounding the
earth, his face reddened by effort. He was panting to catch his breath.

“Hermus, I’m sorry. I can’t accept your offer.”

Hermus breath evened out. He spoke softly, “I think you’ll wish
you had.”

That was when Lucius first noticed the two Roman officers
crowding in behind them. He frowned. “What’s going on?”

“That’s him,” Hermus said, ignoring Lucius. “That’s the man who
stole from me.”

Lucius was stunned by how quickly the two officers moved,
grabbing his arms, forcing the fowl to fall to the ground.

“What!” Lucius said, struggling “That’s absurd!” He couldn’t
believe what was happening. “Hermus, what did I steal from you?”

“The goose,” Hermus said, a snide grin on his face.

“You owed me the goose in unpaid wages—and more!” Lucius
shouted. Still the Roman officers held his arms firmly. “He lies! The bird
belongs to me.”

For a moment he thought the men would relent, hear him out at
least. But then he saw them exchange glances with Hermus and he knew some
agreement had been made.

Lucius twisted wildly in a vain attempt to escape. One of the
officers yanked his arm tight behind his back. “Cooperate or you’ll regret it,”
he said.

Hermus smirked before walking away, holding the dust-covered
fowl by its claws. “And, oh, before I forget, Lucius. Gaia says farewell.”

Chapter Ten

CASSIUS

Cassius often went out after the evening meal, so he was
confident he would not be missed. He’d traveled to the street where Priscilla
lived so often of late, he could easily navigate his way in the darkness, and
he was glad for its cover.

Saturus promptly responded to his tapping on the wooden door.

“Welcome, my friend. Come in.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“May I take your cloak?” Saturus assisted Cassius in the
removal of his cape and hung it on a hook near the entrance. He was
unaccustomed to the level of apprehension he felt and ran his hands through his
curls, waiting for instruction.

“Please,” Saturus said, noting the young man’s discomfiture.
“Have a seat on the couch. I will bring you some tea.”

Never in his life had Cassius seen the man of the house serve
his own guests, and was about to refuse.

“It’s okay, Cassius, I don’t mind. My wife is occupied this
evening but my daughter will join us shortly.”

“It is with your daughter, sir, that I came to speak.”

“I know. And I’m glad you did. You will find her a challenging
case.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will not be able to persuade her from her faith.”

Saturus was a large man, and not someone Cassius would wish to
find himself engaged in a wrestling match with, verbal or otherwise. He
searched the eyes of his host but could not find any trace of anger there; in
fact, they sparkled with amusement.

“I assure you, sir, I mean no disrespect. I am concerned with
her well being.”

“No more than I.”

Priscilla entered, and Cassius welcomed the diversion from
their present course of conversation.

“Hello,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

“Hello, Priscilla.”

He thought it best to get right to the matter. “I am not here,
as you know, to engage in general chatter. I am here because I am gravely
concerned about your decision to follow after this Jew they call the Christ.”

“What is it about my life as a Christian that bothers you,
Cassius?” said Priscilla.

“It’s foolishness, and it could get you into danger.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Well, for one thing, to believe in one god and no other is
ludicrous.”

“Why is that?” Saturus asked. “Why does it make more sense to
have many gods, so many in fact, that you can’t remember the names of them
all?”

“Roman gods rule over their allotted space. When we trespass on
their territory, we ought to give thanks to them and render to them prayers and
sacrifices so they will befriend us while we live. If we please them, they will
please us. It is the way of Rome.”

“We believe in one God, who rules all space, indeed who created
the earth and everything in it,” Priscilla said.

“I know the basic belief system of the Jews and the Christian
sect. By not worshiping the emperor and saluting his good health, or the gods
of Rome, at the very least Jupiter, then you will stir up the displeasure of
all the gods and all of Rome will be in jeopardy. And you will be blamed.”

“I am not concerned about being judged by those who do not
believe. I am concerned about the truth,” Priscilla responded.

“The effort to arrive at the truth, and especially the truth about
the gods, is a longing we all have for the divine. I understand that,” Cassius
said. “But the way of the Jews is a false way to define what is divine.”

“Cassius,” Saturus said, “How many idols, gods if you prefer,
do you have in your own home?”

“I don’t know. Many. There is a least one in each room if not
more, and our house has many rooms.”

“I see, and what may I ask, are these gods made of?”

“Surely you know the answer to that Saturus, for you see the
stalls of craftsmen in the Forum who carve them each day as well as I, but I’ll
humor you. Cedar wood, marble, clay, stone, among other materials.”

“May I read something to you?” Saturus said, opening up a
parchment.

“You may.”

“It’s from the prophet Isaiah.”

Cassius clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap.
“A Jew?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re Jewish?”

“Yes, by heritage,” Saturus said. “But we are Christians by
faith. Now let me begin.

“The carpenter measures with a line and makes an outline with a
marker; he roughs it out with chisels and marks it with compasses. He shapes it
in the form of man, of man in all his glory that it may dwell in a shrine. He
cuts down cedars, or perhaps a cypress or oak. He lets it grow among the trees
of the forest or planted a pine, and the rain made it grow. It is man’s fuel
for burning; some of it he takes and warms himself, he kindles a fire and bakes
bread.”

Saturus paused to glance up at Cassius, then continued.

“But he also fashions a god and worships it; he makes an idol
and bows down to it.