Authors: Lynne Gentry
Felicissimus’s eyes traveled the length of Cyprian’s body. “About as funny as you donning the hat and robe of our dearly departed Caecilianus. What next? Will you assume the old bishop’s name as well?” The remark had a sudden and unexpected edge of
challenge.
“Actually, yes, I have.” The crowd’s murmurs did not sway Cyprian from his purpose. “Set the keg by the fountain, Metellus. We’ll break open the beer after I’ve spoken to the church.”
Felicissimus scurried through the crowd and pulled Cyprian aside. “So you intend to go through with your promise to rescue Carthage from ruin at the possible cost of all our lives?”
“I do.”
“Why won’t you listen to me and leave it alone? Have you not enough grief of your own? Has not the church suffered enough, given enough? If there was ever a time, now is when we should turn our focus inward and consider options for escaping the wrath rather than digging our heels in.”
“Aspasius has Magdalena.”
Felicissimus appeared shocked. “If you persist, he will soon have you as well. There will be nothing I can do.”
“Upon my return from exile, I was branded a coward. And in some ways, I have acted a coward. I will be afraid no more. If I place my trust wholeheartedly at the feet of the one God like Caecilianus did, the church will, too.”
Felicissimus’s lips twitched. “Yours will be the next funeral the church attends.”
“So be it.” Cyprian returned to the dais. As he prepared to deliver his thoughts, he spotted Barek slipping into the garden, arms crossed and wearing the same snarl he’d had upon his lips since Lisbeth’s return. The boy had a lot of growing up to do. In the days to come, Cyprian would do his best to nurture the seeds of goodness Ruth and Caecilianus had planted in their son and help him to one day become the bishop his father would have wanted.
At the table of the young family who’d refused his bread, he noticed Lisbeth had slid in beside Tappo’s wife. Lisbeth’s smile for
tified his courage.
Cyprian took a breath and began. “Like us, the first followers of Christ had reason to fear. Their leader was gone, and they wondered what was to become of them.” He left Paul’s letter to the Philippians sealed, and unrolled the Apostle John’s letter to the church. “They found encouragement in these final words of our Lord.”
He cleared his throat and began to read. “‘“Dear children, how brief are these moments before I must go away and leave you!”’” He avoided Lisbeth’s eyes lest she think he was referring to the fulfillment of her fears. “‘“So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.”’”
He paused, giving the exhortation a moment to impact their hearts. In the flickering torchlight he could see the conviction and resolve that had taken shape in his own heart reflected in their eyes.
Cyprian rolled up the scroll. “Brothers and sisters, Rome has forgotten its founding virtues. Dignity; truth; and, above all, treating each other well.” He looked steadily into the eyes of the gathered Christians. “I believe it possible to restore to the citizens of Carthage the attributes that once made our empire great. But the task will not be easy, for it will require that we love without bias, without regard to social standing.”
Tappo stood. “Love those who persecute us?”
“Especially those who persecute us,” Cyprian said.
“The moment they are well we will suffer their wrath.” Tappo began gathering his family.
“Tappo, please. Hear me out. As Christians we have been given not only the privilege of trusting in Christ but also the privilege of suffering for him.” He raised his voice above the murmurs.
“It is easy to believe those who live in the villas are different from those who live in the tenements. While you believe the rich are without problems, the rich think the poor fortunate for being free to live without obligation. Believe me, Tappo, no one finds this command to love everyone equally more difficult than I do. But if the church is to be the body of Christ, we are neither slave nor free. We are brothers and sisters called to fight together.”
“A sickness more deadly than the plague is consuming the entire empire,” Tappo said. “Greed. And you want us to help those who would take the clothes from our backs and feed our naked carcasses to the lions for sport?”
“I’m saying those are the very people we must win over.”
“How?” Tappo demanded. “Take the bread from my child’s mouth and shove it into their fat cheeks?”
“We unite in purpose.”
“Rebel against Rome? They will crush us.”
“No. Quite the opposite.” Cyprian headed off Tappo’s growing angst by fleshing out his plan. “I propose we excel in doing good.”
“Good?” Quinta said. “What kind of good?”
“We pick up our efforts. Form a stealthy coalition of men to take stretchers not only to the slums but also to the villas of the rich and powerful. Wherever the sick are found, we are there to bring them inside these walls for healing, to care for them like our own whether or not they’re one of us. I’m funding a workforce of anyone willing to join in the effort, to transport the sick to our hospital, poor or rich. While you clear the broad avenues of the rich, I shall work in the slums. Who is with me?”
47
G
OOSEFLESH RAISED ON LISBETH’S
arms as Cyprian spoke to the church. His passion reminded her of Papa’s antiquities lectures. Her father didn’t have Cyprian’s gift of oratory, his intense stare, or his ability to speak without notes, but like Papa’s, tonight Cyprian’s words came from someplace deep and tender.
He had always been the first to take up a civic cause, especially if he thought the underdog was being mistreated. His noble desire to right the wrongs Rome inflicted on the poor was the very thing Aspasius hated about the solicitor of Carthage. Modern-day politicians would tremble if they had to face Cyprianus Thascius at a debate podium. His unwillingness to back down from a fight was a character trait she admired and one she was grateful Maggie had inherited.
But Lisbeth had never seen this side of her husband. Vulnerable, transparent, and willing to become one of those he considered far below his social standing. His humbling admissions of fear and prejudice drew her in and stirred a fire in her belly. She could spend a lifetime exploring the raw layers he’d just exposed, and it would not be long enough. Until this very moment, she hadn’t thought it possible to love this man more than she already did.
She glanced around at the crowd, trying to judge the impact of Cyprian’s impassioned argument.
“You’ll pay us to care?” Tappo asked.
A flicker of disappointment raised Cyprian’s brow. “If that is what it takes to start changing hearts. Talk to Felicissimus. He’s handling the hiring for me.”
When everyone turned to Felicissimus, he squirmed. “Since Aspasius has forbidden access to our cemeteries, it’s been a little difficult to get things started.”
“But we will get started, and soon. Right, Felicissimus?”
“Soon enough.”
The garden gate flew open. “Soldiers killed my son!” The mother of Natalis panted, her face streaked with tears and her tunic stained with blood.
Cyprian and Lisbeth rushed to her at the same time. Flanking her, they led her to the nearest bench.
“Someone give her wine,” Lisbeth called over the gasps of terror and the scramble to gather families together.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Cyprian asked gently.
She refused the cup Lisbeth offered. “I came home from the cooking fires to find them dragging my boy to the street. They put a dagger to his throat and bade him utter blasphemous words. When he refused, they tied him to a hitching post and shot an arrow through his heart.” She began to sob. “He bled to death in my arms.”
“Natalis should have taken the papers,” Tappo murmured.
“What papers?” Cyprian demanded.
Tappo pulled out a slip of parchment. “One of these.”
Cyprian’s face puzzled. He took the paper and read it out loud. “Let the record show that Tappo from the Egyptian village of Theadelphia has sacrificed and shown reverence to the gods of Rome. As roving commissioner, I do hereby certify that in my presence, this man has poured a libation and sacrificed and eaten some of the sacrificial meat. I, Aurelius Hermas, do hereby certify I saw Tappo sacrificing.” Cyprian slowly raised his eyes. Displeasure
plowed furrows in his brow. “You have sacrificed to the pagan gods?”
“No, that’s the beauty. This writ of libellus
says I did when, in truth, I did not.” Tappo grabbed up his younger child. “When the soldiers knock on my door, my family will be safe and my conscience clear. God knows it is nothing but a forgery. Natalis was a fool not to take one for him and his mother.”
“Since when is pleasing Romans more important than pleasing the one God?”
“The one God does not have a spear pointed at my girl’s head. Rome does.”
“And from whom, pray tell, did you acquire this illegal certificate of sacrifice?” Cyprian asked.
“I’m not the only one who’s bought protection,” Tappo defended as he waved his hand over the crowd. “Show him!”
Cyprian glanced around. Slips of paper fluttered in the hands of most of the crowd. “Quinta? Metras?” The grandmother lifted her writ higher. Old man Metras kept a level gaze and lifted the sheaf in his hand. Cyprian shook the parchment in Tappo’s face. “Who sold you this unholy writ?”
Tappo stiffened. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Who?” Cyprian demanded.
Tappo hesitated before pointing across the garden, his expression hard. “The slave trader.”
“Felicissimus?” Cyprian turned slowly, as if a knife in his back had cut him in two. “Felicissimus, is this true?”
Lisbeth jumped to her feet. Her first impulse was to jerk Cyprian away from the pain she’d tried to spare him, but her second impulse, to strangle Felicissimus, won out. “I should have stopped you the moment I returned.” She barreled into him. “Tell him!” she shouted at the paunchy weasel. “Let him see what you’re really capable of.”
“I don’t see the harm in purchasing a few pieces of paper if it
gives the church a reprieve.” Felicissimus smoothed the front of his tunic. “In fact, I think buying these certificates fits well with your plan. I was only trying to help.”
“You’ve been using
my
money to buy a false salvation?”
“Think, Cyprian,” Felicissimus purred. “If Christians aren’t fretting about the possibility of losing their lives, how much easier would it be for them to do good? The good works you insist will change the feelings of Carthage.”
It was as if the smoke suddenly cleared, and Cyprian saw the truth and it sickened him. “What have you done?”
“I’ve done what you didn’t have the courage to do.” Naked ambition gleamed in the slave trader’s eyes. “I gave these people protection.”
“You’ve given them worthless scraps of paper.” Cyprian’s nostrils flared, and Lisbeth could see him fighting back the urge to lose it.
“I did what I thought was best for the church!” Felicissimus shouted.
Cyprian’s face creased in pain. “Lisbeth was right. You’ve done nothing but harm.” Cyprian sank to the dais. The note of bewilderment in his voice as he scrambled to put the pieces together ripped Lisbeth’s heart in two. “It was you who set up the ambush that took Caecilianus from the church and my wife from me.” Cyprian shook his head, the anger mounting. “It was you who told Aspasius of Magdalena’s presence in my home.” His veins throbbed in his noble patrician profile. “And I suspect it is no longer safe for Christians to meet here, because
you
have told Aspasius of my return.”
Felicissimus averted his eyes and dry-washed his hands in a brazen show of excusing himself from liability. “I regret you don’t see the merit of my actions or the depth of my love for you and the church.”
Cyprian grabbed the slave trader by the collar. “When is he
coming for me?”
“Don’t you see, he doesn’t have to now.” Felicissimus jerked away. He gathered Metellus, his beer keg, the mother of Natalis, Quinta, and more than half the church. “Without the church, you are already dead to him.”
Mama was right. Control was such an illusion. In an instant, everything had changed. Standing with Cyprian, Lisbeth watched helplessly as their hope of altering the world’s opinion of the church followed a plump little Judas into the night.
“And what about you, Metras?” Cyprian asked the old man. “Are you going to take your writ and desert the faith, too?”
“Never told a patrician about Jesus before.” The old man wadded his paper and threw it in the fountain. “According to those words you just read, once I do, I can’t let them sleep on these filthy streets.”
48
C
LOUDS MUTED THE MOON’S
glow on the sand. Lisbeth stood at the top of the stairs leading to the beach, debating her next move. Below her, Cyprian paced ankle-deep in the tumbling waves. Would going to him make things better or worse? And if she went, what could she offer? Another useless plan?
Cyprian was not the only one undone by this debacle. The unraveling of the church had gut-punched her and destroyed her plans to eventually liberate Mama and save her husband’s neck.
Cyprian ripped the bishop’s hat from his head and threw it into the sea. Unaware she was watching from afar, he stripped out of Caecilianus’s toga and left it in a heap on the shore. He shook his fists at the heavens in what looked like a boxing match with God. After a few minutes of wrestling with the wind, Cyprian stood with his muscled back to her. As he stared out at the sea, Lisbeth could see his bare shoulders shake. Broken as he was by Felicissimus’s betrayal, he was still a physical specimen of admirable craftsmanship, the man she longed to hold.
As she cupped her hands to her lips to call out to him, he raised his arms above his head, plunged into the foamy waters, and disappeared.
“Cyprian!” Lisbeth gathered her skirts and flew down the steps. Her sandaled feet raced across the sand. At the water’s edge she searched the charcoal horizon for any sign of his blond
head. As she peeled out of her shoes preparing to dive in after him, Cyprian surfaced with a gasp and began cranking out angry strokes that carried him toward one of the few remaining anchored ships.