Valeria’s Cross (10 page)

“Good morning, darling!”

Valeria gazed up at her mother, who stood over her, smiling, as if she expected Valeria to share her enthusiasm for the coming day. And yet, despite Prisca’s cheery demeanor and her obvious efforts to hide the shadows under her eyes, Valeria beheld the sadness behind her mother’s cheerfulness.

Forcing the corners of her lips upward, Valeria said, “Good morning, Mother. You look lovely, as always.”

“And you look more relaxed than I have seen you in days,” Prisca responded. “Though I was hoping you would be dressed and through with your morning devotions so we could take a walk together.”

This time Valeria’s smile was not forced. “I do believe you must have been born walking. Do you never tire of strolling
the grounds? As beautiful as they are, you should know every bit of shrubbery and blade of grass by memory. But then, I suppose that is one of the things that keeps you so young and beautiful.”

Prisca chuckled. Though Valeria suspected her mother’s laugh was forced, it still comforted her. Where her father was sometimes gruff and reserved, Prisca was loving and positive. Even today in her grief, the empress managed to inspire her.

If ever there was a mismatch, Valeria decided, it was between her parents. And yet the great Emperor Diocletian and his wife were deeply in love and devoted to one another, despite the conflict that had arisen since Prisca had become a dedicated Christian and Diocletian remained a devout pagan worshiper of the Roman gods.

As Prisca lifted the hem of her gown just enough to lower herself to a sitting position at the edge of the large sunken tub, Valeria spotted a simple trim of galloon. Inspired by the sight of it, her heart raced as the beginnings of a plan flitted through her mind ….

“I see you are studying the galloon on my gown,” Prisca said. “I passed Eugenia in the hallway and she told me how distressed you were by my plans for us to travel to France following our trip to Istanbul and Milan, so I have decided to send a messenger there instead.”

With a scheme already formulating in her head, Valeria quickly protested. “Oh, no, Mother! I want to go to France to see the women and pray with them.”

“But Eugenia said—”

“Forgive me. I was acting like a spoiled child. I must confess that I am intrigued by Eugenia’s vivid description of the women at the priory, and I want to go to France after all. Please, can we go?”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “Do I detect a bit of excitement about your upcoming wedding?”

“Not the wedding. Never! But you know how I love pretty things! It was you who taught me to appreciate beauty, Mother.” Valeria smiled, a reflection of her growing scheme to escape her fate.

“Very well, to France we shall go,” Prisca agreed. “Now, will you walk with me or not? I am in no hurry. I can sit here and wait as long as you feel the need to pamper yourself. And I will happily stay and share your morning devotions with you as well, though I have long since had my own.”

“Please take your walk, Mother. Perhaps you and I can take another one later. I think I will spend extra time relaxing in my bath this morning.”

“But you must not forget that we need to prepare for our trip. Just think! We shall visit Istanbul, Milan, Rome, and France. It will be delightful!”

“How could I forget such a grand adventure with my mother?”

Prisca rose to leave, completely unaware that this trip would change their lives forever.

O
nce their ship escaped the rough waters of the Adriatic Sea, Valeria lounged on the deck under the ornate canopy, surrounded by servants, who were eager to please. How she loved Mediterranean voyages! With so many sights to savor, Valeria remained on deck for as many hours as Prisca would allow. In her heart, however, she still grieved—first, for the great loss she had sustained through Mauritius’ martyrdom, and second, because she knew that if all went according to plan, this would be her last trip across the turquoise waters.

The day they arrived in Marseilles was truly magnificent. Blue skies surrounded a fiery, blazing sun. As they neared the dock, a friendly sailor informed the women that Greek settlers from Phocaea had landed in 600 B.C. in Lacydon, a rocky Mediterranean cove, and had set up an emporium in the hills on the northern shore.

“At the end of the port, the workers are cultivating cannabis for the manufacture of the finest rope in the world,” the sailor explained. “The ropes on this very ship are indigenous to this area, which is why many sailors refer to Marseilles as Canebière.”

When the royal travelers disembarked, another large crowd waited for a glimpse of the beautiful empress and her daughter. The masses of people seemed to close in on them, and Valeria, feeling a surge of panic, feared she and her mother and Eugenia might be crushed to death. At the last moment, however, their alert guards forced the people back and cleared the way for the women’s entourage.

Farther into the crowd, Valeria caught the blue eyes of a young man with tousled blond curls, making his way through the masses in her direction.
If there truly were such a thing as a Greek god
, she mused,
he would be one
. Tall, with bronzed skin and muscles that bulged beneath his tunic, he was so unlike many of the short, dark Roman men, even her beloved Mauritius. Despite the guard’s best efforts to hold the man back, he drew closer to Valeria.

“Please, I have a gift for you,” he called out in a voice that was so commanding even Prisca turned toward him.

“I will take the gifts,” a Roman soldier declared, pushing the man away with his spear.

The attractive man hesitated and then said, “I believe the young lady will want to see me. I was with Mauritius in Gaul.”

With that announcement all three ladies halted, as Valeria cast a pleading glance toward her mother. Prisca bristled with apparent disapproval, but nodded.

Flanked by two stocky Roman soldiers, the young man was escorted to within a few feet of where the women stood. Valeria’s heart raced with anticipation at what he would tell her.

When he was but a few steps from Valeria, the guards stopped him. “State your business,” one of them ordered.

“I have a gift for the emperor’s daughter, Valeria,” he said boldly, reaching toward her. In his hand Valeria saw a piece of
intricate gold cloth. Carefully, the young man unwrapped it, revealing a golden Theban cross on a heavy chain.

“What is this?” Valeria cried out with joy. “Could it be? I know this cross! It is the cross that hung around Mauritius’ neck, is it not?”

The young man nodded. “It is none other.”

Prisca stepped forward, her eyes squinting as she studied the offering. “How do we know this cross belonged to Mauritius? Did every Theban soldier not wear something similar?” She lifted her eyes and glared at the handsome Swiss. “And just what is your price, young man?”

Before Valeria could speak in his defense, he announced, “There is no price, my lady. The cross is my gift to your daughter.”

“Look!” Valeria pointed. “He also has Baraka’s ring. See the cross on the lapis stone?”

The young man nodded. “Baraka was among the first to die, and Mauritius promised him that he would deliver the ring to his wife and son.”

The young man was not close enough to hand Valeria the cross or the ring, though she desperately wanted to take them from him. Yet she dared not move without her mother’s permission.

“Mother, please,” she pleaded.

“Has the news of my daughter’s impending marriage to General Galerius not reached you?”

“I have heard of the marriage, your highness, but I made a vow that I would deliver this cross to your daughter. I fought in the battle of Gaul and am now on a sabbatical at the Saint John monastery in the village at the foot of the mountain in Saint-Baume.”

“Then you have no doubt heard that we are visiting the priory there?” Prisca asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. “One of the sisters from the priory informed me of your arrival, and I had planned to request an audience with you there, but today as I was running errands in the village, I heard the commotion of your arrival, so I hurried to greet you. I believe this is truly a divine appointment.”

Prisca’s face softened at his words, and she nodded. “I suppose your bravery entitles you to give this gift to my daughter. Come.”

With the guards leading him, the young man stepped closer and then fell to his knees in respect for the empress and her daughter.

“You may stand,” Prisca ordered.

Valeria feared her heart would leap from her chest as the young man faced her. She trembled when she took the jewelry from his outstretched hand. Grasping the pieces at last in her right hand, she held them to her heart, as the tears began to flow. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbled. Her mind raced with dozens of questions that she dared not ask in front of her mother. How grateful she was for the handkerchief Eugenia handed her!

Valeria composed herself and fixed her gaze once more on the handsome messenger who had brought her such a priceless gift. When Prisca again granted him permission to speak, he said to Valeria, “I did not come to make you weep. I was a Roman soldier who fought in Gaul. I prayed with Captain Mauritius as he took his last breath. Before heaven, you were in his final thoughts. When he asked me to deliver this cross and ring to you, I thought it impossible, but he assured me that God would help me find a way. And so, He has.”

“You mentioned earlier that Mauritius had a message for me,” Valeria said.

“Yes. He said to tell you not to despair because he is waiting for you in heaven, where you will be together for eternity.”

Struggling to hold back her tears, she begged, “Please, tell me more!”

Before the young man could continue, Prisca intervened. “Enough. You must go now.”

“Mother, please,” Valeria interrupted. “I must hear every detail of Mauritius’ last hour on this earth. But first, what is your name, sir?”

The young man glanced nervously at Prisca. She hesitated, and then, with a shrug of her shoulders and a wave of her hand, granted him permission to speak.

“I am Felix. I was born in Turicum, but since the war, I have settled in Valais.”

“Valais! I have heard this is where Mauritius is entombed.”

The young man nodded. “A shrine has been erected in his memory and in honor of the courageous legionnaires who also gave their lives rather than deny their faith.”

“I must go there one day,” Valeria said, her heart aflutter at the thought. “What else can you tell me?”

“Mauritius died bravely,” he said, tenderness in his voice. “He was joyful, singing hymns and praising God. But he wanted you to know that his love for you will never die and will live in your heart forever.”

“Those are the most beautiful words anyone has ever spoken to me. And I feel it … his love.” Valeria placed both her hands over her heart.

“He was adamant that you understand you are to live your life, fulfilling the great purpose that he believes your heavenly Father has for you.”

Valeria’s tears returned, this time tempered with joy. “And did Mauritius mention what that purpose might be?”

The man lowered his eyes, and he spoke in a whisper. “Only that he believed God would use you to stop the persecution of Christians.”

“But … I have no power,” she protested. “I cannot—”

“But you will.”

“I appreciate your confidence and faith in me, sir, but I don’t see how—”

“Mauritius said that God will show you the way,” Felix assured her. He paused. “And now that my mission is accomplished, I must return to my retreat at the monastery.”

He bowed to the ladies, and Valeria wished him well. “I will never forget your kindness,” she called after him.

Stop the persecutions.
Valeria laughed to herself. Surely God would not give her such a formidable task. As she watched Felix melt into the crowd, she realized that her brief encounter with him had brought a spark of healing to her heart. It was as though Mauritius had reached down from heaven and touched her.

W
hen at last they reached their destination, Valeria gasped as the picturesque village came into view. The town was encased by three towering mountain ranges: Mont Aurelien, Mont Sainte Victoire, and the Santa Baume. The village itself was surrounded by rows and rows of vineyards, making it appear wrapped in a green bow.

“Much of your father’s wine comes from this valley,” her mother pointed out. “Look, there is the castle ahead, high upon the hill.”

The carriage wound around the mountain, moving upward with each turn. Valeria marveled at the sight of the magnificent stone ediface with towering peaks jutting out of the mountain like diamonds.

Soon the women were inside the priory. The sisters were excited to have royal visitors, and they served a bountiful feast with fine wines and delicacies to welcome the empress and her entourage.

After dinner, Sister Mary Therese, the head of the priory, gathered the women around a crackling fire in her study and enthralled them with stories of Saint Mary Magdalene.

“Following the death of Jesus, Mary Magdalene and several other of our Lord’s disciples continued His ministry in Jerusalem, where they attracted large crowds. Eventually, the authorities felt threatened, and they arrested them, male and female.”

“How did they get to France?” Valeria asked.

“It is a miraculous tale, my dear. A trial ensued, and the group was sentenced and herded like cattle into a boat with no sails, oars, or supplies. Their captors set the boat adrift at sea.”

A younger sister with dark brown eyes added, “Their captors assumed the prisoners would drown in a storm if they did not first die of thirst or starvation. They thought that no one would survive in an aimless vessel.”

“They could have been eaten by a gigantic whale or a hungry shark,” Valeria interjected.

“But God protected them, and none of those things happened,” Mary Therese reminded everyone.

Valeria was intrigued. “Where did the boat finally land?”

“At Sainte-Marie-de-la-Mer. Mary Magdalene was among the passengers, as was Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Once they landed on the coast of France, they prayed and decided to separate and evangelize the surrounding area. They persuaded a prince to allow them to live in his castle … this very one. Eventually, Mary Magdalene yearned for solitude. She shut herself away in a cave in the Saint Victoire Mountains, where she devoted the next thirty years of her life to prayer.”

“I feel that same longing in my heart,” Valeria announced, the outburst visibly surprising everyone around her. “I wish to dedicate my life to prayer.”

The sisters reacted with surprise, but Prisca’s brows knitted together as she studied her daughter.

Mother is smarter than I give her credit for
, Valeria worried.
Does she suspect?

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Mary Therese spoke. “We should all devote our lives to prayer, but some of us, such as you and your mother, are called to pray in the world instead of the seclusion such as we sisters have chosen.”

“Yes, of course,” Valeria agreed, chastising herself for the poor timing of her outburst. “We can pray wherever we are.”

“Your mother is a fine role model for you,” Mary Therese continued. “She is married to the most powerful man in the world, and she continues to pray for his soul and for the empire as she goes about the tasks of her daily life. Her first concern is her Lord, and then her husband, according to God’s plan. God gives us all different roles in life.”

Valeria nodded in agreement. “Please continue your story of Mary Magdalene,” she urged, anxious to deflect her mother’s suspicions.

The older sister smiled. “Very well. Mary Magdalene remained in the cave for thirty years until her death. Her relics were then placed inside a crypt in the castle. Shall I take you to see it?”

“Oh, yes,” Valeria cried.

The women were excited as they navigated the stairs to the crypt. “The opportunity to see the remains of a woman who was with Jesus thrills my very soul,” Valeria whispered to her mother. “Thank you for bringing for me here. I shall be forever grateful to you, Mother.”

“And I am happy that you came, my darling.” Prisca squeezed her hand as they marveled at the intricately carved, fine-grained marble sarcophagus that encased Mary Magdalene’s remains.

“This marble was mined from the Imperial quarries of the Marmara Sea, near Byzantium,” one of the younger women elaborated.

Mary Therese spoke in a reverent tone as she described Mary Magdalene’s remains. “The reliquary holds the skull of Mary Magdalene. In the center, a glass tube holds a fragment of her skin, the
noli me tangere
. This is the place on her forehead where Christ touched her with his finger the morning of the resurrection.”

Valeria shivered with excitement, but she was exhausted from the day of travel and felt relieved when the women showed her to her quarters. The women had made a great effort to make her room beautiful and comfortable, and Valeria was touched by the details. The sisters’ handiwork added a touch of elegance to the drab décor. A young woman named Colette pushed back the lace curtains from the tiny window so Valeria could see the rose garden. She bent down to smell the flowers on the table, and then sunk down into the bed without even pulling back the covers or removing her clothes. Her encounter with Felix was exhilarating, but it had left her an emotional wreck. Longing for dreams of Mauritius, she clutched his golden cross to her chest, closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

Valeria awakened early, while it was still dark outside. With the help of her servants, she dressed and tiptoed past Eugenia’s room and then her mother’s suite. Wandering the halls, she found her way to the large kitchen, where the nuns sat around long tables. She was determined to speak to the head of the priory, Mary Therese, before her mother appeared.

The sisters seemed surprised to see Valeria so early in the day but invited the emperor’s daughter to share in their prayers and a simple breakfast of fruit, bread, and cheese. Ravenous, she also devoured a plate of eggs, while the nuns giggled at the voracity of her appetite. When Mary Therese came into the dining room, she informed Valeria that her mother was having breakfast in her room and would meet her in the chapel later.

Valeria seized the opportunity. “May I speak with you privately, Mary Therese?”

“We are expected in chapel. Come with us, and I will meet with you afterwards.”

Valeria hesitated. “My mother will be there. I am afraid that her presence will make it impossible to speak with you.”

“Come along, dear. The good Lord will provide a time for us to talk to one another.”

Valeria sighed and accompanied the women to the chapel, where they sat on the hard stone pews for their morning devotionals. When it came time to kneel for prayer, she was grateful for the soft cushion embroidered in gold—the women’s handiwork—provided for her novice knees.

The women’s voices rang out in praise, echoing in the cavernous chapel, deeply touching Valeria’s heart. She admired the women’s exquisite handiwork that hung in their place of worship. Since she was a young girl of seven, Valeria had loved her needlework far more than any of her lessons. Her delicate fingers could stitch the most intricate of designs, but it was nothing to compare with the work of these talented and devoted women.

Her attention was diverted back to the service as a young nun read from the Scriptures. Valeria knew she could find happiness here, but first she had to convince Mary Therese that the Lord had indeed called her to join them. Once Valeria
had accomplished this, she would enlist the help of the older woman to elicit her mother’s permission to enter the order of Mary Magdalene so she could dedicate her life to prayer instead of becoming the wife of General Galerius. With that thought firmly in place, Valeria felt at peace.

After chapel, Prisca appeared and asked to see the trims for Valeria’s trousseau, but Valeria was determined to avoid the drudgery of the tortuous task. It would be a waste of time to select trims for her trousseau for a wedding that would never happen.

“May I have a word with you, Mary Therese, before we select the trims?”

“Your mother is eager to preview them,” she answered. “Please, come inside.”

Valeria sighed but followed the others into a large sunny room where they spent the morning previewing yards of gold galloon and delicate lace. Once they had selected the trims for Valeria’s trousseau, Prisca reached inside her large tapestry bag for a stack of gold coins and made a generous donation to the priory.

“Thanks be to God,” the head of the convent declared, lifting her hands in praise. She hugged both Prisca and Valeria and thanked them for their generosity.

It was lunchtime, and a spread of cheese, fruit, vegetables, and grilled fish was served in the garden. As anxious as Valeria was to speak with Mary Therese, she admitted to herself that she enjoyed the beauty of the outdoors and the fellowship with the women.

After lunch, when her mother excused herself to lie down in her room, Mary Therese motioned for Valeria to follow her into her study. She patted the spot on the divan beside her and said, “Please tell me what is troubling you, child.”

“Nothing is troubling me. I simply feel that God has called me to join the group of women here. I want to dedicate my life and service to Jesus and become one of Mary Magdalene’s devoted followers.”

The nun took Valeria’s hand. “This is a surprise. Have you spoken to your mother about your decision?”

“I wanted to discuss it with you first. Perhaps you could help me tell my mother.”

“So you have felt God’s call to live a life of prayer and seclusion, have you?”

“Oh, yes! The Lord spoke to me concerning this before I even left our palace. I have thought of nothing else on my journey here, and then, when I arrived … I cannot explain it, but I felt that I had come home at last.” Tears stung Valeria’s eyes as she struggled to sound as pious as possible.

The older woman rose from her seat and knelt before Valeria. “My dear child, God has called you to something far more important than a life of prayer and solitude here, and it includes your upcoming marriage.”

Valeria’s heart crashed to her feet. “But I am a Christian. Do you not agree that I should not marry a pagan? The Scripture forbids it.”

“I am impressed that you have studied God’s words, but have you read that you are also to honor and obey your father and mother? The Scripture also states that obedience is more important than sacrifice.”

“But I cannot marry Galerius. I simply do not comprehend why my mother and father are commanding me to marry such an evil man.”

“You shall be an Esther, my dear. I believe that God will empower you to change your husband’s heart. You have the potential to change the laws of the Roman Empire. You must dedicate yourself to prayer concerning the matter.”

“But I have spent hours and hours in prayer, and I believe I am to join my Christian sisters at the priory.”

“You were born for a purpose in this life. Surely you realize that God can use you more in the world than locked away in the castle here. God gave you the parents you were born to for a reason.”

Summoning an earnest look, Valeria continued to plead her case. “But the news that the emperor’s daughter has chosen God over a royal, pampered life in a luxurious palace will send a powerful message to the people of the empire.”

Slowly, Mary Therese rose to her feet. She straightened the folds in her long, drab skirt and walked to a window. “Few young women have the opportunity that you will have to change the world. You are a woman of influence. If you have not done so already, read about the life of Esther in your Scriptures, and you will understand your purpose. The life of Esther will be a good role model for you to follow. Surely, your marriage to Galerius is a greater calling from your Lord and Savior.”

Valeria refused to concede so easily. “You must know how the women in the palace are treated. I will become a mere object for my husband’s affection—a trinket for him to play with until he tires of me.”

“It is your job to ensure that your husband does not tire of you.”

“How can I do that? He will care for nothing I have to say.”

“Have you considered the great influence your mother has over your father? I know your mother, and I believe that one day, because of the respect your father has for her, he will turn from his evil ways. And then there will be one person responsible for your father’s salvation … your mother.”

“And you think I can convert Galerius.” Valeria scoffed at the ridiculous thought. “Surely you know his mother is the high pagan priestess, Romula. Galerius was marked for Satan when he was in her womb.”

“And why do you believe your father has chosen Galerius for your husband?”

“Once Galerius was successful in the battle of Gaul, he rose to astonishing heights in my father’s eyes. Until then, my father was ambivalent toward Christians. He even employed mostly Christians in the palace because he believed them to be trustworthy and their work excellent. But once Galerius became Father’s number-one general, everything changed.”