“I seek the prophet Paul.”
The gnarled finger extended, pointing a blackened nail.
“But I’ve just come from there.”
“Then you did not go far enough.”
“To find the tentmaker’s shop?”
“To find what you are seeking.” Eyes glinted in an ancient face, though whether male or female, Elissa couldn’t guess. A gash festered on the creature’s forehead.
“You’re hurt,” Elissa said.
“An old wound that doesn’t heal.”
“Maybe I can help you. Tell me your name.”
“You don’t recognize me?”
“Should I?”
The creature sucked in air. “We met last autumn at the Circus Maximus, but I looked younger then.” Opening its mouth the creature revealed double incisors. “My name is Agrippina.”
“Agri—”
The gnarled finger beckoned. “Rome burns and from union unholy the sister will bring forth a son. Have you heard these words before, Elissa?”
A chill ran through Elissa’s heart. “How do you know my name?”
“I know many things. I know the meaning of the prophecy.”
“What is it?” Elissa inched toward the pile of rags.
“Come closer.”
She took another step.
“Your answer lies in Book Fourteen.”
Bony fingers, cold as death, wrapped around Elissa’s ankle. Her scream was followed by a clap of thunder. Breaking from the creature’s grasp, she turned and ran. Rain pelted her with icy needles, stung her face, soaked through her palla.
Fog descended, dark and thick. When she glanced back, the pile of rags was gone.
Certain she heard footsteps, she called out, “Is anybody there?”
Within the soup, she saw a face, pale and frightening.
The face was joined by others. Waxen masks of the dead destined to wander from their graves, eyes smoldering within the shadows.
Lemures.
The slippery cobblestones caused Elissa to stumble. Regaining her balance, she sprinted through a twisting alleyway.
“Though I walk through a valley dark as death,” she recited, her voice thin and breathless. “I fear no evil for you are with me.”
Lemures surrounded her. Mouths gaping, hands outstretched.
Through a shadowy veil, Elissa saw her brother.
“Marcus!”
She ran toward him, tears streaming from her eyes as she threw herself into his arms.
His body felt warm and wonderfully alive.
“Elissa?”
She looked up at his face.
“Justinus?”
“I thought I heard you calling.”
She peered into the fog. A sign swung on squeaking hinges above a doorway. It advertised a tentmaker’s shop.
Justinus drew her close, and their mouths merged in a kiss, more insistent than the rain.
* * * * *
“Run away with me.” The look in Elissa’s eyes told Justinus she desired him as much as he desired her.
“I can’t run away,” she said.
“I have land. We’ll move to the countryside, be farmers, tend the fields.”
“Grow apples?”
“Would you like that?”
“Very much.”
The door to Paul’s apartment opened, cutting short their conversation. Justinus expected to see the assigned guard, but instead Timothy greeted them.
“Shalom,” he said and grinned, delight sparkling in his eyes. “If you’re expecting the guard he’s gone forever. Paul has been released.”
“That’s good news,” Justinus said.
“And good news should be celebrated with good friends. Come in.” Timothy clapped Justinus on the back then smiled warmly at Elissa. “Your clothes are soaking. Have the two of you been swimming?”
“The river’s a bit cold this time of year,” Justinus said jokingly. He shook off his cloak and handed it to Timothy.
“Yours as well,” Timothy said, holding out his hand to receive Elissa’s palla. “The fire will soon dry your clothing.” He ushered them into the apartment where a brazier burned cheerfully.
Paul sat at a table stacked with documents. Hunched over a sheet of parchment, he wrote by the light of an oil lamp. Reed pens, meticulously sharpened, were set along the table’s edge. Arriving at the end of a sentence, he punctuated it with so much force that the pen’s tip snapped off. Without looking up, he reached for another.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing at his guests. “I want to finish this letter.”
“Paul often writes all night,” Timothy said good-naturedly. “Luke and I force him to eat, blindfold him and hold him hostage to get him to sleep.”
Usually serious, today Luke seemed light-hearted and he chuckled in agreement.
Paul continued scribbling.
Luke sat cross-legged on the floor sewing a canvas panel. He gave his thread a final tug then set aside his work. “This damp,” he said, groaning as he stood, “I feel it in my knees.”
“I feel it in my back.” Justinus rolled his shoulders.
“Let’s sit by the fire,” Timothy said. “The warmth will do us good.” He unfolded goatskin stools and set them by the brazier. Coals glowed within the metal pan, and a pot of water simmered on the grate.
Justinus soaked up the heat, felt it penetrate his wet clothes and warm his skin. “This is what we want, isn’t it Elissa?”
Their eyes met. “Exactly.”
The heat he felt wasn’t generated by the brazier.
Paul stopped writing long enough to say, “Timothy, Luke, why don’t you get our guests something to eat? Just because I feast on ink doesn’t mean you have to starve.”
“Hungry?” Luke went to the sideboard and rummaged through the shelves. With a grunt, he took down a loaf of barley bread and a lump of yellow cheese. “You’d think with all my years as a physician, I might devise a remedy for arthritis,” he said, carving the crusty loaf of bread. “Some say bee-stings help.”
“I know a better antidote.” Pursing his cherubic lips, Timothy retrieved a flagon from the sideboard and held it up for all to see. “The elixir of youth.”
He poured wine into earthen cups, added a spoonful of honey to each, then lifted the pot from the brazier and measured out hot water. He handed Luke a cup and brought another to Elissa. “This will warm you,” he said, his eyes shining with good humor. “Have I seen you at our gatherings?”
“I—ah, yes...once.”
Justinus leapt to her rescue. “She’s wary of being here,” he said. “Allow me to introduce Elissa Rubria Honoria.”
“The vestal virgin?” Timothy nearly dropped his cup.
Paul set down his pen. “Priestess Elissa.” He drew the ink-stained writing glove from his hand, and rose to greet her. “I’m honored. Forgive my rudeness, but thanks to hours of petitioning by Timothy and Luke I’ve been released from my imprisonment. I intend to leave for Hispania next week, and have much to do in preparation.”
“Next week?” Justinus said. “So soon?”
Paul nodded.
“I’m told Hispania is beautiful,” Elissa said. “Fields of lavender and sun-flowers—”
“A wilderness,” said Justinus. “The natives are uncivilized. They speak no Latin and no Greek, but a kind of gibberish.”
Paul laughed. “God has called me on a mission to the world’s farthest reaches, and I have no doubt his language will be understood.”
“Crossing the sea is treacherous,” Justinus said. “The waters are rife with pirates, not the businessmen of the Mediterranean, but rogue sailors and criminals. Perhaps I should journey with you as your bodyguard.”
Paul laid his hand on Justinus’s shoulder. “You’re needed here in Rome, my son.”
Justinus stood a good twelve inches above Paul, but he felt like a child. He felt no joy at the prospect of losing his teacher. The prophet had been his anchor in the unsettled seas of Rome.
“I’m curious,” Paul said, turning to Elissa. “What brings a vestal virgin to my humble abode?”
“I want—” Elissa glanced at Justinus then back at Paul. “Tell me about Jesus.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Did you know him?”
“In the flesh?” Paul shook his head. “My Lord left this earth well before we met, but He is with me every hour of the day, guiding my every action, tempering my every word.”
“That must be wonderful,” Elissa said. “Roman gods seem so indifferent. I pray, but no one listens.”
“God hears your prayers,” Paul said.
“Which god?”
“All gods are aspects of the One.”
“I don’t understand,” Elissa said.
Neither did Justinus. The prophet often said confusing things.
“God has many faces,” Paul explained, “and can be likened to the seasons. Though we perceive winter as separate from summer, and spring separate from fall, all seasons are but aspects of a single year. So it is with God.”
“You have no separation from your God?” Elissa asked.
“How can I, if God created everything?”
“We are all children of God,” Timothy said. “And the flame of our creator burns within each one of us.”
“That’s what Jesus tried to tell us,” Paul said. “That’s why he called Himself the Son of God.”
“Jesus said, ‘The Way to God is through me.’” Timothy pointed to his chest. “By that he meant The Way to God is through each of us. We must find God within our hearts.”
“But can God’s flame burn within an evil person?” Elissa asked.
Luke stroked his beard before speaking. “God dwells in every soul. That’s why we must love even our enemies.”
Elissa looked as doubtful as Justinus felt.
“Even Nero?” she asked.
Paul’s eyebrows formed a single line, making him appear stern, but his voice was gentle, “Anyone can love a friend, Priestess.”
Justinus shifted uncomfortably. No matter what the prophet said, never again would he love Nero. His childhood friend had become a monster.
Paul picked up his pen, examining the tip as if he might write something more. His eyes grew distant. “Only God can look into a heart,” he said. “It’s not for us to judge our fellow man.”
Luke tugged on his beard, straining the salt and pepper strands. “Pass no judgment and you will not be judged.”
“We must love each other,” Timothy said.
“Love even our enemies,” Paul echoed him.
Justinus did not agree. At one time he’d believed Nero might be saved, but Nero’s actions proved he was beyond redemption. It was easy for Paul to speak in platitudes. He was leaving Rome.
Fog drifted through the window, smothering the oil lamp’s glow, and engulfing the room. Justinus glanced at Elissa. She hugged herself, her lips bluish.
“The dead are watching us,” she whispered.
“Enough dreary talk,” said Timothy. “Let’s eat.”
He passed around the bread and cheese. Justinus chewed gratefully. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal.
Paul turned back to Elissa. “Death is an illusion,” he said. “Jesus promises life after death, salvation. Would you spend your eternal life drifting in darkness?”
“I find darkness comforting,” she said. “It’s the womb of the Divine Mother. You speak of God in terms of Him, but what of Her?”
“Ah, the mystery. What holds the flame to the wick?” Paul passed his hand through the lamp’s flame. “You’re a wise woman, Elissa. Wise beyond your years. I wonder what really brings you here.”
“I came in search of Justinus,” she said, blushing. “I have hopes that he will help me rally a campaign against Nero.”
“Ah,” Paul said. “But there is no salvation in revenge. To find salvation you must forgive yourself. Only then can you forgive your enemies.”
“Forgive myself for wanting to avenge my brother’s wrongful death?”
“You blame yourself for his death, don’t you?”
The color drained from her face. “I might have prevented it.”
“Do you rival God?” Paul looked at her, his eyes no longer gentle, but piercing. “God called your brother home. Accept the love of Jesus and you will find salvation, peace.”
“I don’t deserve God’s love,” she said.
Unable to contain himself, Justinus shouted, “Of course you do, Elissa!” Rising to his feet, he turned to Paul, angry that the prophet had so little understanding, so little of the compassion he liked to preach about. “Elissa’s family lives in fear. Nero tortures them.”
“And now he has my sister,” Elissa said.
“What has he done to Flavia?” Justinus demanded.
“He’s stolen her virginity.”
“Stolen her—?” Justinus slammed his fist into the wall. “He makes Rome his Whore of Babylon!”
Lucan was right. Nero would have to be destroyed. Not because he’d dipped into the sacred well of Flavia’s virginity—in all likelihood the girl had sacrificed herself all too willingly. Besides, Justinus had to admit, if Elissa were to offer the same sacrifice to him, he’d gladly accept the offering. Nero deserved to be destroyed, not for Flavia’s ruptured maidenhead, but because he took joy in Elissa’s suffering.
The sound of knocking on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Are we expecting company?” Paul asked.
Timothy peered through the peephole. “It’s a girl.”
* * * * *
Flavia burst into the room. Her palla hung limply over her shorn hair, and the hem of her stola had been steeped in muddy water. Elissa stared in disbelief.
“I followed you,” her sister said. “I’ve been waiting outside—”
“You’re soaking wet.” Elissa found her palla, warm and dry from hanging by the brazier, and wrapped the woolen shawl around her sister’s slender shoulders. “Come sit by the fire.”
“I followed you!”
Flavia’s anger felt like a slap. Elissa backed away.
“You dare to lecture me,” Flavia said. “Meanwhile you’re meeting him.” She pointed at Justinus.
Elissa felt weak in her knees as if she might faint. “I can guess what you’re implying, but I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said.
“That’s not what Angerona claims.”
“We’ll discuss this later. This is not the time or place.”
“You’re a hypocrite Elissa.”
Paul raised his hand for silence. “Young woman, I realize you’re upset, but—”
“Please forgive my sister,” Elissa said. “I’m sure she will apologize.”
“For what?”
“For insulting Paul of Tarsus. For entering his home and treating him as if he ran a brothel rather than a House of the Lord.”
“What lord?” Flavia glanced at Timothy and Luke. “I see only paupers here.”
