Man of God (27 page)

She told him.

“Alysia, you will remain here in the palace,
until I decide what to do with you. And you Megara, will also
remain, as my guest.”

There was silence in the room, until one of
the soldiers ventured to clear his throat. Flavius exchanged a look
with Paulus. Everyone knew what the fate of both women would be.
Megara, trying to seem pleased, instead looked as though she were
going to be sick.

“And the child.”

Alysia held her breath as the emperor stared
at Rachel.

“What is her name?”

When Alysia didn’t speak, Paulus answered,
“Rachel.”

Caligula grimaced. “What kind of name is
that?” His eyes wandered to a statue somewhere behind them.
“Henceforth she will be known as Diana.” He turned to his
bodyguard. “Where is your wife, Flavius? Is she back from wherever
she ran off to today?”

“She has returned from her errand, your
Majesty.”

“Send for her.”

Flavius nodded at one of the legionaries, who
immediately left the room. As they waited, Caligula got to his
feet.

“I have an idea for the child. She would make
an excellent Vestal Virgin. I believe there is a vacancy.”

Rachel knew what that was, and before Alysia
could stop her, said, “I cannot do that, Your Majesty. I serve the
Lord Jesus Christ.”

And would I really have stopped her?
Alysia thought. How beautiful were her words, and Paulus, too, bore
a look of mixed anguish and pride.

Caligula became so still he might have been a
statue himself. “What did that child just say?”

Rachel seemed to have lost her nerve and
clutched her mother around the waist. Paulus answered for her.

“She said she serves the Lord Jesus Christ,
as do her mother and I. She means that she will not worship a pagan
goddess, or serve in her temple.”

Caligula’s face grew red with fury. “Do you
mean to say you are all members of this—Nazarene cult?”

“Not I,” Megara said quickly.

Susanna hurried into the room and stood
waiting, exchanging a quick look with Flavius. Caligula glowered at
Rachel and pointed at her. “Susanna, examine her for blemishes, and
come back and report to me.”

“Come, dear,” said Susanna.

Rachel looked first at her mother, then at
her father.

“A V—Vestal V—Virgin must have two living
parents,” Claudius reminded his raging nephew.

“Only at the time of her appointment!’
Caligula retorted. “And her parents are alive
today
! By the
gods, I am Pontifex Maximus, and I choose her!” He paused for
breath and glared at Rachel. “If you don’t go with that nurse this
minute, I will relieve you of both your parents!”

At once Rachel slipped away from her mother
and went to Susanna, who led her from the room. Alysia put her hand
over her mouth and looked at Paulus, whose light nod seemed to say,
“It’s all right.
For now
.”

“Tell me,” Caligula said, seeming struck by a
new thought. “There are many kings and ambassadors here in Rome,
and we have been discussing this cult. One of the kings from the
east tells the story of a magical linen cloth, which bears the
imprint of a crucified man. Where is it, Paulus Valerius?”

“I do not know, your Majesty.”

“So—you admit it exists?”

“Yes, there is such a cloth. But there is
nothing magical about it.”

“I want to see it!”

Paulus shook his head. “That is impossible.
It has always been kept hidden, and only a very few know where. I
believe it must be far from here—but no matter, I have no knowledge
of it.”

“Perhaps you will suddenly remember, after a
while,” Caligula said ominously.

“I cannot remember what I do not know.”

The emperor had no answer for that, and an
uncomfortable silence fell. Susanna returned to the room, her eyes
downcast.

“Well?” Caligula said.

“She is without blemish, your Majesty.”

“Send her away, then, to the house of the
Vestals.”

Susanna was unable to hide her despair, and
Flavius touched her arm as she walked slowly from the room. Alysia
strove for self-control, knowing that Rachel would refuse to do as
she was told. One of the punishments for wayward Vestals was being
buried alive…She began to pray feverishly in her mind, and felt the
hand of God on her heart.
Be still
, he seemed to say,
and
know that I am God.

Paulus was watching her anxiously; she met
his gaze and he relaxed somewhat, but his hands were still clenched
tight beneath the iron shackles. Megara, too, watched her, with an
avid expression that puzzled Alysia, but she couldn’t think about
Megara now…

Caligula appeared deeply disturbed, and
resumed his former topic. “You then believe that this cloth is
proof of the dead Jew’s resurrection?”

“There is proof enough without it. Hundreds
saw him. Men and women are dying rather than refute what they know
to be true.”

“Valerius, I cannot believe that you have
subscribed to such superstition. You have
ruined
my
birthday! If you have any thought for your own life, and that of
your wife and daughter, you will admit that
I
am your Lord
and king!”

Paulus’ answer came with no hesitation, as
though he had been expecting such a demand. “You are my king…but
not my Lord.”

There was not a sound in the room. Caligula
stared at him, his face flushed and distorted. Claudius shifted
uncomfortably, and the rustle of his toga was like a
thunderclap.

“You are not fit to guard the person of the
emperor! Both of your wives will serve me, in whatever way I
desire—until I tire of them—and your daughter will become a Vestal
Virgin or she will die!”

Paulus moved slightly forward, and the sound
of men’s hands moving toward their weapons rippled through the
room.

“Take him to prison! Think long and hard,
Paulus Valerius. I can make life very comfortable for you, and your
family, if you come to your senses!”

Caligula whirled and stomped from the room,
followed by his uncle. Flavius walked toward Paulus.

“I will take him,” he said to one of the
officers. “Find suitable apartments for the women.” He made a show
of prodding at Paulus, who preceded him through one of the side
doors.

“This might be your only chance,” Flavius
said urgently, “if you want to hit me and get away. Perhaps then
you can find a way to rescue Alysia and Rachel.”

Paulus shook his head. “I don’t know,
Flavius…now that we’ve all been separated. Can you arrange for me
to talk with Alysia?”

“Yes. Caligula means for you to go to the
dungeon below the palace—not the Tullianum, thank God—you know it
is little more than a cesspool. You have not been condemned…yet.
Forgive me, but I’ll have to lock you up until I can make the
arrangement. It will have to be done quickly, before everyone
around here becomes aware of what is happening.”

“Do what you have to do, Flavius. I don’t
want to put you in danger.”

Flavius put his hand on Paulus’ shoulder, and
then briefly embraced him. “God be with you,” he said, his voice
hoarse with emotion. He turned to lead the way to the dungeon.

* * *

Somehow Flavius was detained; Paulus waited
hours in the dimly lit rooms of the small prison. Far below the
palace, it was accessed by a long corridor ending in an iron door,
with grillwork in the middle that enabled the guards to speak to
the prisoners. Inside, a wall with an arched opening divided the
dungeon into two sections. The walls were of stone, with chains
attached, and near each set of chains stood a wooden bench. A thin
layer of straw covered the stone floor. At intervals, lamps hung
from rafters in the ceiling, filled with a cheap oil that issued
only dull flames and foul-smelling smoke.

There were two other prisoners chained
nearby, who looked at him dully when he was brought in. They didn’t
speak at first…then as the hours went by he spoke to them, asking
their names and why they had been incarcerated. One was a servant
of Caligula’s; another was an official on his staff. The servant
had brought the emperor an egg that was underdone. The official
wasn’t quite sure what he had done to offend.

At last he heard Flavius’ voice through the
opening in the door.

“The emperor wants to see the
prisoner—Valerius. I will return him here in an hour’s time.”

“Yes, Centurion.”

A key grated in the lock; the guard entered
and released Paulus from the chains. He replaced the shackles on
Paulus’ wrists.

“The key,” Flavius said from the doorway.

The guard gave him an odd look but handed
over the key to the bracelets. Paulus followed Flavius, passing
several other guards who stared at him as he passed. Flavius’ short
mantle swirled out behind him; his sword rattled. They ascended a
stairway, steep and so narrow they had to turn practically
sideways.

“I’m sorry—Caligula set me on an errand,”
Flavius said, when they were alone. “Alysia has been taken to a set
of rooms—Susanna looks in on her occasionally. He has not—harmed
her.”

Paulus said only, “Thank you, Flavius.” He
could think of nothing else to say.

He saw, through the windows, that night had
fallen. His friend led him up more stairs to a wide corridor, and
opened one of the many doors stretching down its length. It was a
huge, empty bedroom, opening onto a balcony that adjoined another
room. He unlocked Paulus’ shackles and removed them.

“She’s inside. I’ll go and tell Susanna to
send her out. There are guards everywhere, Paulus, including in her
room. I’ll have to stay out here with you to avoid having anything
look amiss. But I’ll give you your privacy.”

Paulus met his eyes and nodded. Flavius left,
and he walked across the colonnaded balcony to stand looking down
at the hazy glow of lights in the forum below. Sounds were muffled
in a dense fog. This night had in it the quality of a dream, or a
nightmare. The mist snaked its way about him, stirred occasionally
by a current from an unknown source. He felt suddenly like a man
who cannot comprehend some inevitable reality, a man who was as
powerless to change the course of events as he was helpless to
control the outcome of a dream.

“Paulus.”

He turned quickly, not having heard her
approach. The torches on the terrace flared and seemed to be
absorbed by the mist, giving out only a feeble glow. He went to
her. Their arms were tight around each other, as though they stood
fused together…in mind, body and soul.

He wanted to hold her forever, but time was
slipping away, and there was too little of it. “Let me get you out
of here, Alysia. Then I’ll go for Rachel—you know I won’t rest
until she is safe.”

She stepped back, and managed to smile at him
softly. “And with whose army would you do this, Paulus? I am too
heavily guarded, and I know she is, too.”

“Flavius will help us.”

“He will kill Flavius. And if you and I
escape, he may kill Rachel before we can get to her.”

Paulus didn’t answer, but drew her again into
his arms. “My God,” he said, and couldn’t go on. This fate that had
come to his wife and daughter was too terrible to contemplate…he
hadn’t even considered what might happen to himself.

“God saved me once before,” she whispered. “I
almost hesitate to ask him to do so again. But I will ask it, for
Rachel, and for you. Pray for us, Paulus. There’s nothing else on
this earth you can do.” She pulled away, but he held onto her
hands. “We both know why Caligula is keeping me here. When I refuse
him, he will probably kill me. And if by the grace of God you
should
escape, Paulus, promise me you will do everything you
can to get Rachel away from that place, and from him.”

“You know only death would stop me.”

“Remember how God protected Rachel…that other
time…and I must believe he will do it again. But I also believe, if
there is an opportunity for you to save her, you must take
it…because it could be an opportunity provided by him. I only know
I cannot leave this place, with her in such danger.”

He knew she was right, he knew this was not
the right time to attempt an escape. But something inside him
rebelled…he couldn’t let this happen! He was a man of action, he
had commanded armies, men had once hastened to do his bidding, and
now he was completely helpless. A feeling of bitter resentment
sought to rise within him.

“I must go,” she said, “before you are
discovered here.” She leaned forward and put her hands gently on
either side of his face, looking into his eyes. She kissed him,
light as a feather but lingering for a long moment against his
lips…then she slipped away into the mist-shrouded colonnade and was
gone. There had been no backward glance, only a resolute going
forward; the straight set of her shoulders was familiar and dear,
and brought back a flood of memories.

He stood completely still for a moment,
having forgotten Flavius’ presence somewhere on the terrace. Then
he sensed that someone had come to stand behind him. He turned to
face the other man.

“Are you coming?” Flavius asked.

Paulus knew what he meant, and felt that he
was closing a door that would never open again. “Yes,” he said.
“I’m coming.”

CHAPTER XXI

Her summons came in the middle of the next
day. A slave delivered what she was to wear…a purple gown…what did
he mean, giving her the color of royalty, a color he reserved
exclusively for himself? It was cut low in the front, with slits in
the sides from waist to foot. She laid it aside and kept on her own
clothes. She arranged her hair into a single braid, as usual; her
palla had been left at home in the rush of their departure, so she
couldn’t cover her head.

She’d prayed until she fell asleep last
night, and a quietness of spirit came over her, a blessed release
from the torment of her worry for Rachel and Paulus. God was in
control. Whatever happened, his reasons were just and good, and he
had some greater purpose in mind. She must hang onto that, no
matter what…