Flame Within, page 15
Now Moriah understood why Aidan couldn’t express his feelings the night she implored him to tell her he loved her. Now she understood the truth behind his reluctance to speak, though at the time she reasoned it was because he was a slave and she was a citizen. Now she knew.
Aidan loved this woman.
Moriah gripped her carved box until its corners dug into her soft palms. In the far recesses of her heart, she had nurtured the slim hope that somehow she and Aidan could be together one day. But her dreams were nothing more than ashes—so much like Rome, this proud city, was destined to become.
Hot tears filled Moriah’s eyes, adding to the sting and burn from the smoke. A dark cloud crossed her mind. What reason was there to go on? Why should she not throw herself into one of the fires raging nearby and be done with it? If she and Rome did survive, her father would marry her to Servius, and such a fate surely would be worse than death. If she survived but Rome did not, then she forever would be faced with the knowledge that the man she loved cared for another. She could never be his. . .all was lost. . .lost. . .
“Moriah!”
Startled, she looked away from the hypnotic dancing flames and up at Aidan, barely taking note of the fact he called her by name. He stood, holding the unconscious Naoni in his arms. Deborah stood next to him, the child by her side. Both Aidan and Deborah had worried frowns on their faces.
“You were in a trance, my lady,” Aidan said. “I called out to you, but you did not answer. We must hurry!” He motioned with his head toward an insulae in the distance. “The passageway is through there. Come!”
Moriah rose, her heart swiftly pounding when she realized what a morbid trail her thoughts had taken. After so recently finding the one true God and feeling the warmth of His love and the sense of belonging, how could she consider such a terrible thing as to throw it all away? What madness had whispered to her mind in that dark moment?
She loved Aidan. Yet if she were destined to live without his love, without the joy of knowing him as her husband, to be denied the pleasure of lying in his arms. . .
Her eyes slid shut. She wiped away the tears trailing down her cheeks and lifted her chin.
Then she would find the strength to cope. She now had family to which she belonged, fellow Christians to see her through difficult times. That realization helped Moriah to stand taller, though her heart still bled inside.
❧
The insulae at the end of the row stood dark and silent, a strange sight with the building that blazed beside it. The greedy talons of the fire had not yet touched its walls. Once inside, Aidan kicked at one of the closest doors at ground level with his sandaled foot. Hurriedly he pushed against the thick barrier with his shoulder to gain admittance.
The door swung open. The light from the flames behind them danced on the rock walls and dirt floor, casting a peculiar glow on the dark, unoccupied room. A crude table sat at the side of the dwelling, four stools, one overturned, around it.
“This way,” Aidan said tersely, leading them to a wool blanket hanging from the ceiling, separating the room into two. He ducked behind the curtain. There, in the earthen floor, was an opening once concealed by the roughhewn cot that had been pushed aside.
“They have gone through the passage,” Aidan said excitedly. “Gaius and his sons are builders—Jews converted to the Way. Two years ago, he felt the need to dig this entrance due to the constant persecution the Christians face. He told me about it. He is one of those who believes matters will grow worse instead of better,” Aidan explained quickly. “We shall follow.”
Moriah looked doubtfully into the small dark cavern. “There is no light. How will we see to find our way?”
Aidan laid the still form of Naoni on the cot. Grabbing an unlit torch, he disappeared outside. Soon he returned, a flame now jumping at the end of the thick piece of wood. Concern lit his eyes. “We must hurry!”
Moriah did not ask why. The distinct roar of the flames growing louder was answer enough. She accepted the torch Aidan handed her and watched as he again picked up Naoni, this time easily settling her over his shoulder.
“Careful, my lady. The steps are steep,” he warned.
Moriah bent over at the waist and thrust the smoking torch into the dark hole of the cavern, trying to make out what lay beyond. Three narrow stone steps were revealed in the scant light of the flame. The rest were smothered in darkness.
Fighting back fear, she straightened, lifted the hem of her stola with one hand, and carefully stepped into the dark hole. Putting one hand to the earthen wall, she slowly proceeded down many rough steps until at last she reached bottom.
The first thing she noted was how cool the air was beneath the ground—a welcome sensation after practically being baked alive. But except for the flickering torchlight, she could not help but feel that a world of frightening blackness had swallowed her. The second thing she realized was that the ground was wet, though thankfully the water did not seep into her shoes.
Deborah and the child came down the stone steps and stood beside her. Aidan took up the rear, Naoni over his shoulder.
“You will have to lead the way, my lady,” he said, his words hollow in the narrow passage. “I cannot carry the torch and Naoni safely. When we reach a place where the passage intersects with another, look upon the walls for the carving of a fish.”
With torch held high, Moriah anxiously turned. Exercising caution, uncertain of what lay ahead, she crept along the dank corridor, too narrow for two people to walk abreast of one another. On each side, coarse volcanic rock rose, joining a short distance above their heads. The flame from the torch touched the ceiling of solid tufa rock.
Moriah felt as if the cold walls were pressing in on her. She was certain she would suffocate in such a confined space. Prickles of fear stabbed her mind. What lay at the end of this dark tunnel? A way out—or another means of death?
After traveling for some time, they reached an intersecting gallery wider than the passage they were in. Moriah lifted the torch to the left side of the tufa wall. Nothing. She brought it to the right side. There, barely discernable, someone had carved a line drawing of a fish into the stone.
“This way,” she said, her voice trembling in the emptiness.
They moved into a wide corridor. Rectangular openings cut from the tufa rock rose horizontally, one on top of the other, to the high ceiling. Moriah knew that beyond the marble slabs covering those openings rested the departed. A shiver that had nothing to do with the bone-chilling cold shook her body. To be this close to death unnerved her, and she wished they were far from this place.
“We have reached the catacombs,” Aidan said in relief. “Which means we are outside the city walls.”
The many twists and turns seemed endless, a labyrinth of passages and galleries leading to more galleries. At times they walked up a short series of steps; at other times they descended. The stale air was close, and Moriah gulped each breath, wondering how she could breathe at all. Yet compared to the heat of the fires that raged far above their heads and the acrid, suffocating smoke that accompanied the destructive flames, the discomfort was relatively minor.
Upon reaching an imposing structure that Aidan informed her was an arcosolium, the grave of a wealthy man, Moriah held her torch above the stone and made out the inscription of a seven-branched candlestick, one of many she had seen in the passages.
“A sign of the Jew,” Deborah whispered in Moriah’s ear, the first time she had spoken since going beneath ground. “This is where my people lay their dead to rest.”
Moriah held back a shiver and walked farther. Ahead, she discerned the sound of faint weeping and murmuring voices.
“We are nearing the others,” Aidan said. “When we reach them, it will be easier to breathe because of the luminaria. The holes are cut into the ceiling of rock to bring fresh air into the chamber,” he explained, as though anticipating Moriah’s next question. “With the luminaria, Gaius’s plans to live underground for a short time could be possible.”
Moriah vaguely listened to Aidan’s words, realizing he said them to pacify her fear rather than to relay information. Yet one thought niggled at her mind. She remembered his earlier comments about persecution. She, too, was now a Christian. Would she face persecution or worse—a fate such as her parents had confronted? Would her newfound faith be tested so soon?
Moriah did not feel especially brave and wondered how she would fare should such circumstances come her way. Brushing aside the chilling thought, she ducked her head under the low ceiling of the opening and led the way into the dimly lit underground room.
❧
“And so my beloved brothers and sisters, we must remember what Paul wrote in his letters and what he spoke when last he walked among us.” The grizzled elder continued to reassure the small gathering of frightened people who sat on the stone floor and stood along the tufa walls. A few injured lay near their loved ones. “We must be strong, knowing that our Lord is the rock on which we stand. He will protect us, come what may.”
Several torches lined the walls, casting their glow over the dim chamber. Moriah sat with her back against a wall, Deborah next to her. The child—who had told them her name was Laniah—rested with her head in Deborah’s lap. Beside her, Naoni still lay unconscious on the ground.
“My lady,” Aidan whispered as he moved to the other side of Moriah and crouched low. “Are you well?”
Troubled, Moriah looked at him. This was the first time he had addressed her since they joined this small band of Christians, mostly made up of converted Jews.
“Aidan, what is to become of us?”
Yellow light from a nearby torch flickered across his solemn features, and his mouth tightened. “If Rome survives, I have been instructed by Clophelius to return you to the house.”
She shook her head. “No, I do not mean what is to become of me. I mean to us.” She motioned with her hand to include the twelve other people in the cavelike room. “To all of us.”
Aidan hesitated. “You need not fear, my lady. We are safe from the fire and will soon be able to leave this place.”
She shook her head. “Again, you misunderstand. I speak of the persecutions you mentioned earlier. For, you see, I, too, am a Christian.”
Something sparked in his eyes. Something that made Moriah’s heart beat a little faster and interfered with her breathing as he continued to stare.
“You have become one of us?” he asked.
“Yes. That is why I sought you in the garden tonight. . . yesterday. . .whatever day it was. That moment seems lost, as though it took place in another time. Yet for all I am aware, it could have been only hours since I spoke of jasmine and such trivial matters.” She shook her head at her foolishness and managed a tight smile. “I wished to tell you then, but I was nervous—”
A throaty groan interrupted her. Moriah turned to see Naoni slowly moving her head from side to side, obviously in a great deal of pain.
“Mama!” Laniah crawled away from Deborah’s lap. “Mama, please wake up!”
Aidan also moved toward the prone woman. Moriah watched Naoni’s eyelids flutter open, revealing light brown eyes glazed with confusion. Naoni looked at the child by her side, and relief crossed her face. Her gaze flicked to the man hovering above her, and her eyes widened.
“Aidan?” Her voice was husky. “Is it truly you?” She moved to sit up. With another groan, she sank back to the stone floor, putting a hand to her head.
“Praise be to God that you are alive,” Aidan said, his voice choked with emotion. “We came upon you and your child in the street—” He broke off, his expression uneasy.
Naoni’s eyes darkened. “Linus? My husband, where is he?”
Aidan took her hand, his gaze lowering to the slim brown fingers. “I am sorry, Naoni. He is dead.”
The woman released a shaky breath and closed her eyes. After a moment she spoke. “The soldiers stopped us, Aidan.”
“Stopped you? From what?”
“Linus tried to quench the fire and almost succeeded in doing so to the building next to ours. But a soldier suddenly came from nowhere and struck him, then threw more fuel onto the flames. Linus tried to save our insulae when it also caught fire—” Tears choked her words. “And another soldier ran him through with his sword. I screamed and rushed toward them, but I remember nothing after that.” Her gaze went to her small daughter, who listened, her face solemn. “Oh, Aidan,” Naoni murmured softly. “What shall Laniah and I do? We have nothing left.”
Aidan took the distraught woman in his arms and tried to comfort her. Naoni clutched him as though he were her anchor.
Moriah turned away, her heart bleeding with fresh pain. The thought stabbed her mind that now there was nothing to prevent the two from a future together. Naoni no longer had a husband, and Aidan had found his love. The woman would need someone to take care of her and her daughter. If Clophelius survived the fire and allowed Aidan to take a bride, Moriah was sure he would choose Naoni.
Abruptly the woman’s story fully penetrated Moriah’s weary mind, producing a fear to rival anything she had been through that night. Her eyes widened.
Naoni had said soldiers worked to feed the fire rather than to stop it. What if the words Clophelius had spoken were true? Was Nero the mastermind behind this evil deed? And if it were so, what would it mean to Rome? To its people?
A serpent of deep foreboding twined itself around Moriah’s heart, squeezing until she could scarcely breathe. She did not know from where the thought originated, but she knew something more terrible than the fire was soon to come their way.
Eleven
Arms crossed, Aidan stood with his back against the rock wall near the entrance to one of many small chambers underground and listened while Gaius tried to convince two men in their group of his plan. It had been days since the fires started, though no one knew how many. A man and his wife had left for the city some time earlier but soon returned, shaken, with news that the fires were still raging and the destruction was vast. There was nowhere else to go, so the gathering remained.
“Consider this,” Gaius said, his gaze encompassing each of the six men in the room. “Daily our numbers increase, as does Rome’s hatred for our kind. You have seen what one tunnel can do. If we had others spread throughout the city with hidden entrances—”
“Hidden entrances?” Urbanus, a baker, scoffed. “You speak of such bizarre ideas yet seem to have forgotten that we must rebuild our homes. Besides, why should we hide? I am not convinced we are in any lasting danger.”
“Are you blind?” Gaius’s son Matthias asked. “Did you not see what they did to Timothy and Pergus two weeks past? They beat them severely.”
“A handful of misguided Jews. . .”
“Which is what we were before we converted to the Faith,” Junias, the elder, quietly reminded.
“Lately it is not only the Jews who rise up against us,” Gaius’s eldest son, Philip, inserted. “It seems everyone in Rome has turned against the Christians.” The men sobered, and Philip looked Aidan’s way. “What do you think, Aidan? We have not yet heard from you.”
Aidan somberly regarded each man before speaking. “Gaius’s words have merit. Yet to where would such tunnels lead? Here?” He motioned to the cavelike walls surrounding them and shook his head. “You forget, my friends, these are Jewish catacombs. We would not be safe in such a place.”
“Why do we not build our own?” Philip asked.
“And from where would the funding come? Nero?” Urbanus’s reply was mocking. “There is a city to rebuild.”
“Then what is the answer?” Philip insisted. “You heard Naoni’s story. We cannot trust those who serve the empire. The soldiers burned our homes.”
“True, but they did not burn only the homes of the Christians.”
“And that’s supposed to give me comfort?” Philip’s reply was incredulous.
“Aidan.” Deborah’s brusque voice interrupted them as she came to the entrance of the chamber. “I would have a word with you.”
“Is Naoni worse?” Philip half rose from the ground, concern in his dark eyes.
“No, she is only sleeping,” Deborah said more softly.
Aidan noted the relief sweep across the young man’s features. He flushed red when he noticed Aidan’s stare and looked away. Aidan smiled. Naoni and her child would be well cared for. Philip was a good man and obviously cared for Naoni. Though Philip was a few years younger than the woman, Aidan felt certain that in due time Gaius would give his consent to the match.
“Aidan.”
He turned to Deborah. She regarded him gravely. “I would speak with you. Now. Before my lady awakens.”
Aidan nodded, and they moved down a passage and into another alcove. They had no more than set foot inside the small chamber when Deborah swiftly turned. “I warned you weeks ago not to speak to Moriah.”
“That hardly has been possible since Clophelius made me her bodyguard.”
She impatiently flicked her hand upward at his reply. “You know to what I refer, Aidan. Do not play the fool. You spoke to her of your faith, and now she has accepted this Christianity and is in danger.”
A ray of joy shone through Aidan’s heavy heart at the reminder. Since Moriah revealed news of her conversion, he and she had spoken of it a few times but on each occasion were interrupted by someone needing counsel or aid. Several times Aidan preached words of encouragement to one or more members of their group and found himself in the position of discipling them. The experience had been a rewarding one, though Moriah’s maidservant had left the chamber each time.
“And what would you have me say, Deborah?” he asked soberly. “That I’m sorrowed to learn my lady has found the road to everlasting life and has followed in the footsteps of her father and mother?”
“Who are now dead because of it,” Deborah returned bitterly. “Is that the fate you also wish for Moriah?”
“Of course not. Yet neither do I wish for her to live in eternal damnation, which will happen to those who do not accept Jesus as their Lord. I have prayed for her to find the truth for years.” At her scowl, he softened his demeanor. “Can you honestly say, Deborah, that her mother, whom you served, would not be overjoyed to learn that Moriah has become a follower of the Way? If Moriah’s mother were alive, do you hesitate to think that she would not have raised her daughter in the Faith?”
