Flame Within, page 14
❧
Aidan waited for his master to speak. Clophelius clasped his hands in front of him on the couch and stared at them a moment before looking up at Aidan, who stood across from him.
“I have arrived at a decision.” He turned to Kryton. “Bring papyrus and a reed,” he told the man at his elbow. “Paltheus, bring a table.”
Both slaves turned to retrieve the needed articles.
“I am uncertain what the future holds, Aidan, but I made a vow to see to Moriah’s protection. I intend to honor that vow despite the recent opposition toward me by those in my own household.”
He sighed and unclasped his hands. “You are to take Moriah out of the city and find a place of refuge. I doubt the fire will reach this hill. But if it should happen, at least Moriah will be safe, and I will have honored my promise to Lydia. Afterward, if all is well, you are to bring her back so that she may then marry the man I have chosen for her.”
Aidan tried to school his features to remain impassive. “As you wish, my lord. Will you not leave the city, as well?”
Clophelius shook his head, a wry tilt to his lips. “I am a paralyzed old man. I have not left this house in the eight years since the accident, and I will not leave it now. If death is to overtake me, then let it be in the comfort of my personal surroundings.”
He leaned back against the tilted head of the couch, studying Aidan. “You have been a good slave. Loyal. Subservient. I am well pleased with your service to me these many years.”
A sudden thought reared its head, causing Aidan discomfort. Clophelius had mentioned his pleasure with Aidan’s service, yet what of Aidan’s service to his true Master? In the past, fear of being discovered had kept Aidan’s tongue still. Now that he was leaving Clophelius’s presence, perhaps never to see his master again, should he not try to share the message of the gospel? Clophelius had shown him a measure of kindness, more so than to any of the other slaves. If the master were to die this night, did he not first deserve to hear the truth undistorted by wicked rumor? He might listen to Aidan, since he’d done so before.
“Master, before we part, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.” He said the words hesitantly, knowing if he were wrong in his assumptions, it could cost his friends danger or perhaps even Aidan his life.
One gray brow winged upward in surprise. “You may speak in a moment, Aidan. But first I have something more I wish to say.”
❧
Moriah restlessly paced her cubiculum. She tried to ignore Sinista’s sniffles in between frequent glances to the window and what she could see of the city beyond.
“Will we burn, my lady?” the slave cried. “Is this truly the end?”
“I have a sister who lives on the Esquiline Hill,” Sahara said solemnly to no one in particular as she stood on the terrace and stared at the conflagration overtaking the city. “She is slave to a merchant who lives there.”
Moriah’s fingernails dug into her palms. The fright in her servants’ voices added fuel to her own worries. She had no idea what to tell these women. How could one think when the mouth of Hades had opened wide to swallow them whole?
“My lady?”
Relieved, Moriah turned at the welcome sound of Aidan’s voice. The maids cast him a glance, then looked back to the fires. Under such circumstances, evidently no one thought twice of his presence in her bedchamber. “Yes?”
“I have been ordered to take you out of the city. We shall leave at once. I will wait for you in the atrium.”
“Very well.” She was relieved to hear they would at last engage in a course of action rather than stay and do nothing. Her gaze swept her room. She felt as though it was the last time she would look upon its frescoed walls. She would never return.
Once Aidan left, Moriah faced the women who had served her all her life. Their slanted dark eyes shone luminous with fear. “You must also leave,” Moriah stated firmly. “Go. While you have the chance.”
They looked between themselves in uncertainty. “My lady?” Sinista asked, a tremor in her husky voice as she turned to Moriah again.
“You belong to me and I may do as I wish concerning you. I choose to set you free,” Moriah explained. “Leave Rome and find refuge before it’s too late.”
Sinista’s kohled eyes grew large and her mouth went slack. She fell to her knees and grabbed Moriah’s hand, kissing it. “Oh, my lady, thank you,” she sobbed.
Moriah’s throat tightened, and she gently removed her hand from the woman’s tight grip. “Go, Sinista. You must both go—quickly.”
The two women gave Moriah one last heartfelt glance before exiting the room, almost running into Deborah as she hurried inside.
Moriah solemnly regarded her friend. “I cannot grant you the freedom to go, as I have done to my servants, since I know you are already free. Before she died, Lydia told me that it was by your own choice you stayed on the night you brought me to this house when I was an infant. She did not buy you. Yet I am ashamed to say, even if you were a slave, I am not certain I could grant you your freedom. You are very dear to me.” Moriah lifted her chin and fought the tears that wanted to come.
Deborah took Moriah’s cold hand in hers and gazed up at her with earnest eyes. “My lady, I will not leave your side for as long as you wish me to stay. I was but twelve when I brought you to this house, but I often have thought of you as my own.”
Moriah resisted the urge to lay her head against Deborah’s small shoulder as she had done when she was a child. Instead she squeezed her hand. “I cannot explain, but I feel as if I will never return.”
“My lady?” Deborah’s confusion was evident. “I doubt the fire will reach the house since it sits so high on the hill. The master is merely exercising caution.”
Moriah gave a vague nod, though she felt her belief went much deeper than whether the house survived or not. Already it was as though a part of her had disassociated itself from these surroundings, and they seemed alien.
She did not belong here.
She shook her head slightly, breaking away from such peculiar thoughts, concentrating on the present. “Aidan is taking me out of the city. Will you come with us, Deborah?”
A spark of something resembling anger momentarily lit the Jewess’s eyes, puzzling Moriah, but Deborah nodded. “I will come.”
Once more, Moriah glanced over the room, her gaze landing on a marble table. A carved box containing her most prized pieces of jewelry caught her eye. She grabbed the small silver and ivory chest, then quickly turned, the folds of her stola swaying with the movement. “Let us depart from this place.”
Though outwardly calm, Moriah could not quell the mounting apprehension that grew stronger with each passing moment. Together they moved toward the atrium.
Clophelius reclined on his couch near the impluvium, staring down into the rectangular basin containing rainwater captured from an opening in the ceiling, put there for that purpose. The black water shimmered in the light of a torch burning nearby. Upon hearing their hurried approach, he looked up. The events of the past hours had chiseled deep lines across his forehead, making him look older and less threatening.
“Father,” Moriah began, uncertain what to say. Would she ever see him again? “Come with us.”
At her quiet request, a softening touched the pale eyes, and she thought he might relent. But he shook his head. “As I told Aidan, I have stayed within these walls all the years following the accident that took the strength from my legs. Here is where I choose to remain.” His gaze returned to the impluvium. “This will pass, if the gods will it. When things are as they were, Aidan will bring you home.”
Moriah stared. Surely Clophelius did not imagine Rome could survive. The acrid smell of smoke had grown stronger. There was no telling what would greet her eyes once they walked beyond the door.
Moriah glanced at Aidan, who watched from his place beside a column. As though he read her mind, he cleared his throat. “We should go, my lady. Before the way becomes blocked.”
She nodded and once more looked to the huddled figure reclining in front of her. The urge to reach out, to offer some sort of good-bye, was overpowering, and her hand rested on his shoulder. “Farewell, Father.”
Momentary surprise crossed his haggard features. He lifted his plump hand to cover her slim one briefly, then dropped his arm back to the couch and looked away.
Blinking back sudden tears, Moriah turned and moved with Aidan and Deborah toward the outer door.
❧
A strong wind pushed against Aidan as he exited the house. He broke away from the women and moved down the first few steps of the hill as if in a stupor. From Clophelius’s balcony, it had been impossible to see the full scope of destruction. Aidan had heard the fearful words of the slave Demas, but it had not prepared him for this. From his vantage point, facing the heart of the city, he could see clearly. Too clearly. Everywhere fires burned. To the left, the right, beyond, beneath—this was obviously caused by more than one fire. This was madness!
Huge tongues of flame outlined the dark night, destroying everything in its path like some many-headed monster bent on exacting revenge. A woman screamed as a man was inadvertently pushed into the fiery conflagration and one of the beast’s heads greedily consumed him. To the right, a soldier recklessly drove his chariot from the heart of the writhing yellow monster, almost running down those who strayed in his path. Hordes of people swarmed the narrow streets. Screams pierced the night, discernable over the constant roar of the beast unleashed upon them. Looters, seemingly oblivious to the danger, sped through the streets, raiding temples, grabbing anything of value.
Moriah hurried down the stairs toward Aidan, her frightened gaze seeking his as she put a clammy hand to his arm. He looked at her, though he had no idea what to say. What reassurances could he offer when it appeared as if there were none to give?
The flickering glow from the firelight shone clearly in her anxious eyes, outlined her tense features, played itself over her white stola, danced in her dark hair. The illusion caused it to look as though Moriah were being engulfed in the flames, and a pain such as Aidan had never known pierced his heart.
He would not let her fall victim to this! But what could he do? The roads were congested with traffic, and they might not make it out of the city in time. Sudden memory flashed through his mind, and silently he thanked God for the answer. “Come. I know of a way out.”
He took hold of her arm, and they moved as quickly as they could down the hill and into the valley. Deborah followed.
The throng was moving too slowly, shoulder to shoulder as they were. Aidan led the women toward a nearby alley, trying to avoid the frantic crowd as they shoved one another. Some fell onto the streets. A grizzled man ran by pushing a handheld cart containing what looked like all of his worldly goods. A barefoot woman in night garments rushed past, frantically pulling at handfuls of her loose hair and screaming, “The gods are angry! We shall all perish! There is no hope!”
Feeling as if, indeed, the world were ending, Moriah continued to clutch her small box to her breast with one hand and moved with Aidan as he pulled her along street after street and deeper into the heart of the city. Here the tall narrow buildings were of mud brick and wood, the insulae of the poor.
They turned a corner and reached a flaming labyrinth of buildings. Moriah’s burning lungs felt as if they might explode from their endless run and the thick black smoke surrounding them. Heat more intense than anything previously experienced threatened to bake her skin. They turned another corner and came against a towering wall of flame. Moriah felt as though she were entering a fiery furnace. Aidan retraced his steps to another street. Flames shot up from the buildings to the sky on one side, yet the way was clear. Panicked but weary, Moriah stumbled to a stop. Harsh coughs racked her body.
“I can go no farther,” she rasped, trying to make her voice heard above the shouts and the crackling fire. She gripped his arm more tightly. “Please! I think we must be going the wrong way. You are taking us into the heart of the fire!”
Rivulets of sweat trickled down his soot-streaked face, and his eyes burned with determination. “My lady, through that archway and around the corner down another street lies a home with its own entrance to the catacombs. If we can reach it, we can leave Rome underground.”
“Underground? Through the Cloaca Maxima?” Deborah’s black eyes filled with distrust.
“No, not through the sewers. I know of a tunnel away from the drains. There is no water there.”
“Surely we will suffocate,” Deborah argued loudly. “How can we be certain he truly knows the way and we will not be forever lost inside the bowels of the earth? My lady, let us return to Via Appia and follow the crowd to the gate! For there we will surely find safety.”
“I can find the way,” Aidan replied. His gaze swept to Moriah, and his eyes were steady. “God will lead us. Of this I am certain.”
Terror clutched Moriah at the thought of going below the earth, but she nodded, anxious to escape the searing heat. Anything would be better than this!
Aidan led them past two multistoried buildings towering on either side of the street. Consumed by fire, the insulae on their left threatened to topple to the ground and throw flaming wood on their heads at any moment.
“Make haste, my lady,” Aidan instructed, pulling on her arm when Moriah abruptly came to a stop.
“I cannot move!” She anxiously tugged on a fold of her stola. It was snagged on something jutting from the building behind, imprisoning her.
Sparks from the inferno across the alley landed on the building’s rooftop. Suddenly it burst into flame above Moriah’s head. She screamed, her gaze shooting upward.
Aidan tore the fold from her hands. With a fierce tug, he ripped the material loose, freeing her, then pulled her forward and through the archway.
A deafening roar and crash, more horrible than the sound of a legion of advancing soldiers, shook the air behind them. In horror, the trio turned to watch as the tower imploded upon itself. Flaming wood crashed to the ground where they had stood, completely blocking the alley. Thousands of sparks flew through the air, setting nearby buildings on fire.
“My lady! Your stola!”
At Deborah’s fearful words, Moriah looked down. Glowing dots of terrible orange covered the folds of white material. Aidan dropped to his knees and slapped at the burning embers until only charred black holes remained.
“There’s no way back,” Deborah moaned, her hands covering her mouth as she looked in the direction they had come. “We are doomed!”
“No!” Aidan’s voice was confident, bold. “The house I’ve told you about is this way. Come!”
He took hold of Moriah’s wrist and raced down the street. Turning a corner, they darted past an overturned cart someone in haste had left in the narrow road. Several chickens ran out of the way, squawking amid the roar of the flames. Except for their presence, the area was deserted.
When the trio came to an intersecting street, they went left and ran down stone steps, then turned another corner to go through an archway, the hot breath of the fire beating down on their necks, threatening them with every step.
Aidan stopped abruptly, causing the women to almost barrel into him. Moriah looked past him to see.
In the midst of the blaze burning in all directions, a little girl, no more than six, knelt in the middle of the road not yet touched by the fire. A ragged tunic covered her shaking shoulders. Her small brown hands covered her eyes. Two still figures lay next to her on the ground.
Aidan rushed to the girl’s side and knelt beside her. Taking hold of her shoulders, he tried to peer into her face. “What happened, Child?”
The girl quickly lifted her head. Her dirty features and watery eyes were full of terror mixed with despair. The child tried to wrench away, obviously frightened by their appearance.
“Be still. We mean you no harm,” Aidan said.
“They killed them,” the girl cried. “They killed Mama and Papa!”
Aidan released the child and turned over the crumpled body of the man. His blank stare reached the heavens. Bright light from nearby flames showed the dark blood soaking the front of his brown wool tunic. The sight of it sent the little girl into hysterical screams. They blended in with all the other screams sounding throughout Rome—the roar of the fires a terrible accompaniment to the cacophony.
Aidan closed the man’s eyes with his fingers, and Deborah pulled the girl away from the grisly sight and close to her bosom. Moriah looked away from the dead man and at the child, whom Deborah tried so hard to console. Besides the fire, what other horrible sights had the little one seen this night? Who had done this to her parents and why?
Out of the corner of her eye, Moriah noticed a slight movement. She peered closely at the slim form of the child’s mother. An arm twitched beneath the homespun cloak.
“Aidan!” Moriah moved to kneel beside the woman and touch the bony shoulder. “Aidan, she lives!”
He hastened Moriah’s way, helping her turn the woman over to check her wounds. A terrible knot had formed on her bruised forehead, and a trickle of blood ran into her black hair. Her dusky face was pale, and her full lips were devoid of color.
Aidan inhaled sharply. “Naoni!”
Moriah turned from staring at the delicate features of the woman, her gaze going to Aidan’s startled face. A twinge tugged at Moriah’s heart, as a vague memory wafted through her brain like the black smoke drifting into the sky around them. Naoni?
She watched Aidan cradle the woman’s head in his lap and push back damp tendrils of hair from her bloody face. He checked the wound, his eyes anxious, then put his ear to her mouth and exhaled in relief. “She breathes.”
Naoni? Moriah thought. Who is Naoni? Then the cloudy memory took shape, and she knew. This was the woman of whom Aidan spoke that long-ago night in the garden. The woman who served in the house of Laurentius as a fellow slave and showed Aidan the way of Christianity. The woman whom Aidan said he would one day find.
Moriah averted her gaze, unable to watch the worry clouding his face as he looked at the lovely creature he held in his arms. Even bleeding and pale, she was beautiful.
Aidan waited for his master to speak. Clophelius clasped his hands in front of him on the couch and stared at them a moment before looking up at Aidan, who stood across from him.
“I have arrived at a decision.” He turned to Kryton. “Bring papyrus and a reed,” he told the man at his elbow. “Paltheus, bring a table.”
Both slaves turned to retrieve the needed articles.
“I am uncertain what the future holds, Aidan, but I made a vow to see to Moriah’s protection. I intend to honor that vow despite the recent opposition toward me by those in my own household.”
He sighed and unclasped his hands. “You are to take Moriah out of the city and find a place of refuge. I doubt the fire will reach this hill. But if it should happen, at least Moriah will be safe, and I will have honored my promise to Lydia. Afterward, if all is well, you are to bring her back so that she may then marry the man I have chosen for her.”
Aidan tried to school his features to remain impassive. “As you wish, my lord. Will you not leave the city, as well?”
Clophelius shook his head, a wry tilt to his lips. “I am a paralyzed old man. I have not left this house in the eight years since the accident, and I will not leave it now. If death is to overtake me, then let it be in the comfort of my personal surroundings.”
He leaned back against the tilted head of the couch, studying Aidan. “You have been a good slave. Loyal. Subservient. I am well pleased with your service to me these many years.”
A sudden thought reared its head, causing Aidan discomfort. Clophelius had mentioned his pleasure with Aidan’s service, yet what of Aidan’s service to his true Master? In the past, fear of being discovered had kept Aidan’s tongue still. Now that he was leaving Clophelius’s presence, perhaps never to see his master again, should he not try to share the message of the gospel? Clophelius had shown him a measure of kindness, more so than to any of the other slaves. If the master were to die this night, did he not first deserve to hear the truth undistorted by wicked rumor? He might listen to Aidan, since he’d done so before.
“Master, before we part, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.” He said the words hesitantly, knowing if he were wrong in his assumptions, it could cost his friends danger or perhaps even Aidan his life.
One gray brow winged upward in surprise. “You may speak in a moment, Aidan. But first I have something more I wish to say.”
❧
Moriah restlessly paced her cubiculum. She tried to ignore Sinista’s sniffles in between frequent glances to the window and what she could see of the city beyond.
“Will we burn, my lady?” the slave cried. “Is this truly the end?”
“I have a sister who lives on the Esquiline Hill,” Sahara said solemnly to no one in particular as she stood on the terrace and stared at the conflagration overtaking the city. “She is slave to a merchant who lives there.”
Moriah’s fingernails dug into her palms. The fright in her servants’ voices added fuel to her own worries. She had no idea what to tell these women. How could one think when the mouth of Hades had opened wide to swallow them whole?
“My lady?”
Relieved, Moriah turned at the welcome sound of Aidan’s voice. The maids cast him a glance, then looked back to the fires. Under such circumstances, evidently no one thought twice of his presence in her bedchamber. “Yes?”
“I have been ordered to take you out of the city. We shall leave at once. I will wait for you in the atrium.”
“Very well.” She was relieved to hear they would at last engage in a course of action rather than stay and do nothing. Her gaze swept her room. She felt as though it was the last time she would look upon its frescoed walls. She would never return.
Once Aidan left, Moriah faced the women who had served her all her life. Their slanted dark eyes shone luminous with fear. “You must also leave,” Moriah stated firmly. “Go. While you have the chance.”
They looked between themselves in uncertainty. “My lady?” Sinista asked, a tremor in her husky voice as she turned to Moriah again.
“You belong to me and I may do as I wish concerning you. I choose to set you free,” Moriah explained. “Leave Rome and find refuge before it’s too late.”
Sinista’s kohled eyes grew large and her mouth went slack. She fell to her knees and grabbed Moriah’s hand, kissing it. “Oh, my lady, thank you,” she sobbed.
Moriah’s throat tightened, and she gently removed her hand from the woman’s tight grip. “Go, Sinista. You must both go—quickly.”
The two women gave Moriah one last heartfelt glance before exiting the room, almost running into Deborah as she hurried inside.
Moriah solemnly regarded her friend. “I cannot grant you the freedom to go, as I have done to my servants, since I know you are already free. Before she died, Lydia told me that it was by your own choice you stayed on the night you brought me to this house when I was an infant. She did not buy you. Yet I am ashamed to say, even if you were a slave, I am not certain I could grant you your freedom. You are very dear to me.” Moriah lifted her chin and fought the tears that wanted to come.
Deborah took Moriah’s cold hand in hers and gazed up at her with earnest eyes. “My lady, I will not leave your side for as long as you wish me to stay. I was but twelve when I brought you to this house, but I often have thought of you as my own.”
Moriah resisted the urge to lay her head against Deborah’s small shoulder as she had done when she was a child. Instead she squeezed her hand. “I cannot explain, but I feel as if I will never return.”
“My lady?” Deborah’s confusion was evident. “I doubt the fire will reach the house since it sits so high on the hill. The master is merely exercising caution.”
Moriah gave a vague nod, though she felt her belief went much deeper than whether the house survived or not. Already it was as though a part of her had disassociated itself from these surroundings, and they seemed alien.
She did not belong here.
She shook her head slightly, breaking away from such peculiar thoughts, concentrating on the present. “Aidan is taking me out of the city. Will you come with us, Deborah?”
A spark of something resembling anger momentarily lit the Jewess’s eyes, puzzling Moriah, but Deborah nodded. “I will come.”
Once more, Moriah glanced over the room, her gaze landing on a marble table. A carved box containing her most prized pieces of jewelry caught her eye. She grabbed the small silver and ivory chest, then quickly turned, the folds of her stola swaying with the movement. “Let us depart from this place.”
Though outwardly calm, Moriah could not quell the mounting apprehension that grew stronger with each passing moment. Together they moved toward the atrium.
Clophelius reclined on his couch near the impluvium, staring down into the rectangular basin containing rainwater captured from an opening in the ceiling, put there for that purpose. The black water shimmered in the light of a torch burning nearby. Upon hearing their hurried approach, he looked up. The events of the past hours had chiseled deep lines across his forehead, making him look older and less threatening.
“Father,” Moriah began, uncertain what to say. Would she ever see him again? “Come with us.”
At her quiet request, a softening touched the pale eyes, and she thought he might relent. But he shook his head. “As I told Aidan, I have stayed within these walls all the years following the accident that took the strength from my legs. Here is where I choose to remain.” His gaze returned to the impluvium. “This will pass, if the gods will it. When things are as they were, Aidan will bring you home.”
Moriah stared. Surely Clophelius did not imagine Rome could survive. The acrid smell of smoke had grown stronger. There was no telling what would greet her eyes once they walked beyond the door.
Moriah glanced at Aidan, who watched from his place beside a column. As though he read her mind, he cleared his throat. “We should go, my lady. Before the way becomes blocked.”
She nodded and once more looked to the huddled figure reclining in front of her. The urge to reach out, to offer some sort of good-bye, was overpowering, and her hand rested on his shoulder. “Farewell, Father.”
Momentary surprise crossed his haggard features. He lifted his plump hand to cover her slim one briefly, then dropped his arm back to the couch and looked away.
Blinking back sudden tears, Moriah turned and moved with Aidan and Deborah toward the outer door.
❧
A strong wind pushed against Aidan as he exited the house. He broke away from the women and moved down the first few steps of the hill as if in a stupor. From Clophelius’s balcony, it had been impossible to see the full scope of destruction. Aidan had heard the fearful words of the slave Demas, but it had not prepared him for this. From his vantage point, facing the heart of the city, he could see clearly. Too clearly. Everywhere fires burned. To the left, the right, beyond, beneath—this was obviously caused by more than one fire. This was madness!
Huge tongues of flame outlined the dark night, destroying everything in its path like some many-headed monster bent on exacting revenge. A woman screamed as a man was inadvertently pushed into the fiery conflagration and one of the beast’s heads greedily consumed him. To the right, a soldier recklessly drove his chariot from the heart of the writhing yellow monster, almost running down those who strayed in his path. Hordes of people swarmed the narrow streets. Screams pierced the night, discernable over the constant roar of the beast unleashed upon them. Looters, seemingly oblivious to the danger, sped through the streets, raiding temples, grabbing anything of value.
Moriah hurried down the stairs toward Aidan, her frightened gaze seeking his as she put a clammy hand to his arm. He looked at her, though he had no idea what to say. What reassurances could he offer when it appeared as if there were none to give?
The flickering glow from the firelight shone clearly in her anxious eyes, outlined her tense features, played itself over her white stola, danced in her dark hair. The illusion caused it to look as though Moriah were being engulfed in the flames, and a pain such as Aidan had never known pierced his heart.
He would not let her fall victim to this! But what could he do? The roads were congested with traffic, and they might not make it out of the city in time. Sudden memory flashed through his mind, and silently he thanked God for the answer. “Come. I know of a way out.”
He took hold of her arm, and they moved as quickly as they could down the hill and into the valley. Deborah followed.
The throng was moving too slowly, shoulder to shoulder as they were. Aidan led the women toward a nearby alley, trying to avoid the frantic crowd as they shoved one another. Some fell onto the streets. A grizzled man ran by pushing a handheld cart containing what looked like all of his worldly goods. A barefoot woman in night garments rushed past, frantically pulling at handfuls of her loose hair and screaming, “The gods are angry! We shall all perish! There is no hope!”
Feeling as if, indeed, the world were ending, Moriah continued to clutch her small box to her breast with one hand and moved with Aidan as he pulled her along street after street and deeper into the heart of the city. Here the tall narrow buildings were of mud brick and wood, the insulae of the poor.
They turned a corner and reached a flaming labyrinth of buildings. Moriah’s burning lungs felt as if they might explode from their endless run and the thick black smoke surrounding them. Heat more intense than anything previously experienced threatened to bake her skin. They turned another corner and came against a towering wall of flame. Moriah felt as though she were entering a fiery furnace. Aidan retraced his steps to another street. Flames shot up from the buildings to the sky on one side, yet the way was clear. Panicked but weary, Moriah stumbled to a stop. Harsh coughs racked her body.
“I can go no farther,” she rasped, trying to make her voice heard above the shouts and the crackling fire. She gripped his arm more tightly. “Please! I think we must be going the wrong way. You are taking us into the heart of the fire!”
Rivulets of sweat trickled down his soot-streaked face, and his eyes burned with determination. “My lady, through that archway and around the corner down another street lies a home with its own entrance to the catacombs. If we can reach it, we can leave Rome underground.”
“Underground? Through the Cloaca Maxima?” Deborah’s black eyes filled with distrust.
“No, not through the sewers. I know of a tunnel away from the drains. There is no water there.”
“Surely we will suffocate,” Deborah argued loudly. “How can we be certain he truly knows the way and we will not be forever lost inside the bowels of the earth? My lady, let us return to Via Appia and follow the crowd to the gate! For there we will surely find safety.”
“I can find the way,” Aidan replied. His gaze swept to Moriah, and his eyes were steady. “God will lead us. Of this I am certain.”
Terror clutched Moriah at the thought of going below the earth, but she nodded, anxious to escape the searing heat. Anything would be better than this!
Aidan led them past two multistoried buildings towering on either side of the street. Consumed by fire, the insulae on their left threatened to topple to the ground and throw flaming wood on their heads at any moment.
“Make haste, my lady,” Aidan instructed, pulling on her arm when Moriah abruptly came to a stop.
“I cannot move!” She anxiously tugged on a fold of her stola. It was snagged on something jutting from the building behind, imprisoning her.
Sparks from the inferno across the alley landed on the building’s rooftop. Suddenly it burst into flame above Moriah’s head. She screamed, her gaze shooting upward.
Aidan tore the fold from her hands. With a fierce tug, he ripped the material loose, freeing her, then pulled her forward and through the archway.
A deafening roar and crash, more horrible than the sound of a legion of advancing soldiers, shook the air behind them. In horror, the trio turned to watch as the tower imploded upon itself. Flaming wood crashed to the ground where they had stood, completely blocking the alley. Thousands of sparks flew through the air, setting nearby buildings on fire.
“My lady! Your stola!”
At Deborah’s fearful words, Moriah looked down. Glowing dots of terrible orange covered the folds of white material. Aidan dropped to his knees and slapped at the burning embers until only charred black holes remained.
“There’s no way back,” Deborah moaned, her hands covering her mouth as she looked in the direction they had come. “We are doomed!”
“No!” Aidan’s voice was confident, bold. “The house I’ve told you about is this way. Come!”
He took hold of Moriah’s wrist and raced down the street. Turning a corner, they darted past an overturned cart someone in haste had left in the narrow road. Several chickens ran out of the way, squawking amid the roar of the flames. Except for their presence, the area was deserted.
When the trio came to an intersecting street, they went left and ran down stone steps, then turned another corner to go through an archway, the hot breath of the fire beating down on their necks, threatening them with every step.
Aidan stopped abruptly, causing the women to almost barrel into him. Moriah looked past him to see.
In the midst of the blaze burning in all directions, a little girl, no more than six, knelt in the middle of the road not yet touched by the fire. A ragged tunic covered her shaking shoulders. Her small brown hands covered her eyes. Two still figures lay next to her on the ground.
Aidan rushed to the girl’s side and knelt beside her. Taking hold of her shoulders, he tried to peer into her face. “What happened, Child?”
The girl quickly lifted her head. Her dirty features and watery eyes were full of terror mixed with despair. The child tried to wrench away, obviously frightened by their appearance.
“Be still. We mean you no harm,” Aidan said.
“They killed them,” the girl cried. “They killed Mama and Papa!”
Aidan released the child and turned over the crumpled body of the man. His blank stare reached the heavens. Bright light from nearby flames showed the dark blood soaking the front of his brown wool tunic. The sight of it sent the little girl into hysterical screams. They blended in with all the other screams sounding throughout Rome—the roar of the fires a terrible accompaniment to the cacophony.
Aidan closed the man’s eyes with his fingers, and Deborah pulled the girl away from the grisly sight and close to her bosom. Moriah looked away from the dead man and at the child, whom Deborah tried so hard to console. Besides the fire, what other horrible sights had the little one seen this night? Who had done this to her parents and why?
Out of the corner of her eye, Moriah noticed a slight movement. She peered closely at the slim form of the child’s mother. An arm twitched beneath the homespun cloak.
“Aidan!” Moriah moved to kneel beside the woman and touch the bony shoulder. “Aidan, she lives!”
He hastened Moriah’s way, helping her turn the woman over to check her wounds. A terrible knot had formed on her bruised forehead, and a trickle of blood ran into her black hair. Her dusky face was pale, and her full lips were devoid of color.
Aidan inhaled sharply. “Naoni!”
Moriah turned from staring at the delicate features of the woman, her gaze going to Aidan’s startled face. A twinge tugged at Moriah’s heart, as a vague memory wafted through her brain like the black smoke drifting into the sky around them. Naoni?
She watched Aidan cradle the woman’s head in his lap and push back damp tendrils of hair from her bloody face. He checked the wound, his eyes anxious, then put his ear to her mouth and exhaled in relief. “She breathes.”
Naoni? Moriah thought. Who is Naoni? Then the cloudy memory took shape, and she knew. This was the woman of whom Aidan spoke that long-ago night in the garden. The woman who served in the house of Laurentius as a fellow slave and showed Aidan the way of Christianity. The woman whom Aidan said he would one day find.
Moriah averted her gaze, unable to watch the worry clouding his face as he looked at the lovely creature he held in his arms. Even bleeding and pale, she was beautiful.
