Great Lion of God (101 page)

One day he asked Saul concerning this matter, and Saul smiled. “If the Messias willed it, I should, indeed, rise like a stork and fly from this place. But He has not willed it, and I have not questioned. He has mysterious ways, and I await His plans. I was weary and old and tired and ill, when I was brought to Caesarea, but as each day passes and I see the waters and I walk to the harbors and through the city I sleep like an infant and enjoy my meals and have calm and tranquillity about me and time for meditation; my soul and my body are strengthened and it is as if youth had been granted to me again. I am like one waiting the call to the Great Games.”

Felix went away and pondered on the matter. This was a very strange God, indeed, Who did not endow His worshipers with wealth and honors and beautiful women and power, as did the Roman gods when they chose to favor some mortal. Rather, He gave them pain and ignominy and humiliations and did not deliver them from their enemies. The old gods understood that life was reasonable and favors were exchanged for favors, and that is how it should be. Saul’s descriptions of spiritual joys and peace of soul only made Felix impatient. He could not accept and was frank concerning it. “Your faith does not touch my spirit,” he said to Saul. “I hear with these ears but my mind is closed to it.”

Saul said, “It is possible that the Lady Drusilla, who has many virtues and loves the Messias, will lead you into His Presence as she would lead a child.” At this, Felix laughed. “The religion of you Jews is very gloomy,” he said, “nor does your Heaven entice me. I prefer my little slave girls and what is beyond the grave is of no moment.”

As month melted into month and moons waxed and waned, Saul lost a measure of his tranquillity, for it seemed to him that he had spent too many years, as a youth and a man and now an old man, waiting. The harvest was heavy and the laborers were few. He received letters from the churches, and they were full of joy, and converts were confessing Christ Jesus in multitudes, and every faithful hand and voice was needed. “And I languish here!” Saul would exclaim aloud, fuming. He was full of health and vitality now, and his limbs were strong with energy—yet it was as if he had been forgotten.

He went to the synagogue in Caesarea, a small one but like a perfect jewel, and many were the Christians worshiping among their fellow Jews, and many were Gentiles. The rabbi, on seeing him and recognizing him, came to him and pleaded that Saul not speak in the synagogue. “We live in peace with the Romans,” he said, “and you have the reputation of—I implore your pardon!—an intemperate man who arouses controversies and dissensions.”

“My reputation maligns me,” said Saul. “I come in peace and love, and not with wild intentions. Nevertheless, I will do as you ask, and will not speak until you bid me.”

The Christians surrounded him on the streets outside the synagogue, and he was gentle and tender with them, and he healed many. But, remembering the anxiety of the old rabbi, who trembled for his people, he did not address the congregation inside, as the Law permitted. And he was always conscious of the two Roman soldiers who followed him when he entered the little city, and he did not want reports reaching Felix that his trust in his prisoner had been violated and that Saul had caused quarrelings in the synagogue and on the streets. For many were the things said in the synagogue by the Christians which were in error, but Saul waited until they were about him beyond the doors and there corrected them, in a low voice of authority. The older Jews of the congregation resented the presence of the Gentile Christians among them in the synagogue but their sons and their daughters pleaded for tolerance, for did not these Gentiles study the Torah zealously in order to understand Yeshua the Nazarene more fully? The rabbi said, “We have come on strange days,” and fearfully reminded his people that Rome had commanded that the Jews do no more proselyting. “Yet the Nazarene Jews refuse to obey this edict, and this will be woe for us.”

One day Felix charged into the atrium of Saul’s house, and called for him irritably. The active little man sprawled in a chair, irascibly inspected a bowl of fruit, chose one and morosely chewed it. When Saul came in from the garden, where he had been picking the golden dates, Felix burst out: “You have been here nearly two years, and there is no word from Rome concerning you!”

Saul bowed and said, “I am sorry, noble Felix, that my enforced stay with you is unwelcome.”

Felix uttered a filthy word, and chose another fig, inspected it with black suspicion then threw it on the white marble floor. “How you twist my words, Paul! As far as it concerns me, and the Lady Drusilla, you may remain here forever, for your company is fascinating. It is that High Priest, Ananias! Three days never pass without a letter from him concerning your abominable Christians—and you. And most especially, you. As Rome, he declares, is evidently not interested in you or your fate, and will let you rot before hearing your case, and officials imply that they cannot understand the charges against you, and King Agrippa, himself, is bored at the mention of your name, why do I not deliver you up to his merciful justice? I could release you at once, but it would be like releasing a net of tigers, in the opinion of Ananias, though I confess I find you a peaceable man enough.”

“As your soldiers report,” said Saul, smiling. Felix laughed loudly, and nodded. “It is so,” he said. He glared at the fruit again. “Well? What am I to do with you? Will you promise me that if I release you—to escape that damnable priest’s importunities—that you will leave Israel at once and relieve her of the delight of your presence forever?”

Saul said in a low voice, “I have seen the Messias in a vision and He has commanded me to go to Rome, to witness concerning Him.”

“Excellent!” said Felix. “Go at once!”

“I have not received the summons,” said Saul. “He will tell me when I must go.”

“He has probably forgotten you, like Rome,” said the cynical Procurator.

“There is another matter,” said Saul. “You have forgotten King Agrippa, who is indebted to Ananias. If I should—disappear—Ananias will wail to Agrippa and Agrippa will scream to Rome, and I understand that the Emperor looks on him kindly—”

“If that is so, why does not Agrippa, himself, in the name of Rome, seize you and deliver you to Ananias, with a command from the Emperor?”

“Agrippa is also a Roman as well as a Jew, and he reveres Roman law, and would not deliver a Roman to the loving mercies of Ananias.”

Felix became very gloomy. “I must tell you that I fear for your life,” he said.

“My boys who follow you are not only my spies; they are to protect you. Or did you not know that?”

“No.”

Felix suddenly shouted, his active face turning almost purple, “If I loved you less, and if I did not believe in my heart that you restored my wife to me, I should have you quietly poisoned or strangled and your body buried in my gardens or thrown into the sea, to relieve me of the embarrassment of your presence!”

“Ananias would be very distressed,” said Saul, and laughed. “He would not be content with my murder, or my disappearance. He wishes to witness my death.”

“So, you will remain here, and I shall continue to listen to Ananias lamentations.” He studied Saul thoughtfully. “I have an inspiration. I will have Ananias, himself, poisoned or strangled.”

Saul was incredulous and then he saw that Felix was serious. He said, “Few love Ananias, except the Sadducees, and the Sadducees are very powerful now in Israel, and they have access to King Agrippa at any time. Ananias is a Sadducee, and therefore is a false shepherd, for he does not believe in the very words of God, Himself, blessed be His Name, concerning the resurrection of the dead and the life of the soul. You tempt me as a man, noble Felix, you, of a certainty, tempt me! But we are forbidden to murder, though you may scorn that, considering Ananias. The people loath the High Priest, yet his murder—would arouse all of Israel, for the High Priest represents Israel to the people no matter how contemptible he is and worthy of death. And the Sadducees would be enraged, and they are not stupid men. They would denounce you to Agrippa.”

“How you have complicated my life!” said Felix. “You are a veritable dilemma to me.”

Saul said, “I have a cousin in Rome, and I have thought of appealing to him, but I am loathe to do this for fear of embarrassing him also, for that with which I am charged does not come under his jurisdiction.”

Felix was immediately interested. “A banker? A stockbroker? A rich man?” He licked his lips and thought of a ransom. It could be done delicately, and money was not to be despised and he had treated Saul well, and it could be accomplished with good will on the part of all.

Saul could read his thoughts, and he smiled indulgently. He said, “Alas, he is none of these, though he is a rich man and of a noble name in Rome. Did not Captain Lysias tell you?”

“The captain uses as few words as possible and only those directly concerned with the subject.” Felix sat up in his chair. “Who is this famous cousin of yours?”

“He is a general in the Praetorian Guards, under the command of Tigellinus—”

At that hated name, Felix shuddered and it was not for a moment that it forced itself into his mind that Saul had mentioned a cousin in the famed Praetorian Guards. Then he shouted, “His name, his name!”

“Titus Milo Platonius.”

Felix sprang to his feet and stared at Saul. His small dark face became sallow as he lost color. “Titus Milo Platonius!” he repeated, almost in a whisper. “He is your cousin?”

Saul was puzzled by Felix’s changed expression, which he could not read.

“Of a certainty, yes. We are of the same blood. He was born in Israel, and his father was a famed soldier.”

Felix slowly seated himself again, but he did not take his restless black eyes from the other man’s face. He appeared to be greatly shaken. Then in that whisper he said, “Aulus Platonius was the dearest friend of my father’s.” He looked sharply away from Saul. It was almost as if he were hiding his face, and Saul was suddenly alarmed and approached him closer, and his heart suffered a premonitory sickness.

He faltered, “If you have evil news to tell me, noble Felix, be quick about it!”

Felix did not answer for a moment, then he stood up again and faced Saul. He was not a man of tenderness and kindness, but now he put his hand on Saul’s shoulder and looked into his eyes, and his own widened with sympathy.

“Have you heard of Faenius Rufus, the colleague of Tigellinus, that poisoner and murderer, and Plautius Lateranus, Consul-elect of Rome?”

“No, I have not.”

“They were both members of the Praetorian Guard, as was your cousin, and so were many centurions and a number of Tribunes.” Felix’s coarse mouth flattened. “They were discovered, it is said, in a conspiracy to murder Nero, about four months ago. They—and a number of other Praetorians—were executed.”

Saul felt as though he would fall to the floor, and he grasped the edge of a table to prevent it. His face aged again, lost its youth. “And Milo was one of them?”

“It is true. If I had known, when I heard of the matter from Rome, I should have told you at once, but I did not know that Titus Milo Platonius was your cousin.”

Saul cried out in despair, “Milo was a Christian, and no matter how heinous Nero is Milo could not have been induced to join a conspiracy to murder!”

Felix shook his head. “Nor were the others guilty. I have heard a rumor that Sabina Poppaea, Nero’s wife, instigated the murders for reasons of her own. She is a Fury, for all her reputed beauty. She instigated the death of Claudius’ son, Britannicus, and Claudius lovely daughter, Octavia, who was married to Nero, and made him a matricide, also.” He pressed Saul’s shoulder. “Milo was not a young man, as I remember.”

“True,” said Saul, in a faint voice. “But the world is the lesser for the death of such a man as my cousin. It is infinitely poorer. And I did not know! I did not have even the smallest premonition, not even a dream!”

“It is possible that your God spared you as long as possible.”

But Saul did not hear him. He said with tears, “He was the most honorable of Romans, and he died in dishonor!”

“Ha!” said Felix. “No one murdered by Nero is judged to have died in dishonor! In truth, it is a mark of honor.” He shook his head again. “Rome is no longer Rome. She is a harlot.”

Then he looked about him quickly, terrified that he had been overheard, and fearful even of Saul. But Saul had fallen into a chair and had covered his face with his hands and Felix drew a deep breath of relief. However he crept stealthily to the door of the atrium and looked onto the portico. No one was there. He moved without sound to the farther door leading into the body of the house and flung that door open. But one listened there. Felix wiped his face with the back of his hairy dark arm, and returned to Saul.

“Sacrifice three black oxen with silver collars to your God,” he said, consolingly, “that your cousin be released from Hades and transported to the Blessed Isles.”

Saul lifted his head. “I have no fear for the soul of Milo, for not only was he a Christian but he was the noblest and truest of men. Alas. I have not seen him for many years and he wrote to me often, but in my labors I was forgetful and I answered but a few!”

Felix was touched, and as this was a rare emotion for him he did not recognize it. He wished to strengthen Saul, so he stood up straightly as a soldier and said, “Paul of Tarsus, we are Romans!”

Even in his grief Saul almost smiled at the sight of this rigidly standing little man who had assumed a heroic expression. He stood also and repeated, “We are Romans.”

They solemnly shook hands, and Felix departed, and Saul was left alone with his new sorrow, and he felt that the world had emptied for him and had been made desolate.

Saul awoke one morning to find a cypress, the sign of mourning, standing by the portico, and he was moved at this silent tribute to the grief of Saul on the part of Felix, and the gesture of honor to the noble dead.

He went to the synagogue to pray for the soul of his cousin, and he stood up with the mourners when the rabbi extolled “those who sleep in the dust—their memory is a blessing,” and spoke of the peace of their spirits. Many were there who were curious at the sight of Saul standing, and his sorrow-ravaged face, and they wondered for whom he mourned. The rabbi said, “The dead are in the blessed Hands of God, and He is full of lovingkindness, and it is ourselves who are bereaved and not those who have gone before.”