Flame Within, page 9
Rufus thought a moment. “Have you heard of a man by the name of Paul? Or perhaps you may know him by his former name, Saul. He is a Roman citizen, though he’s a great leader of the Way and a good friend. Recently he was under house arrest, here in Rome, though he is in the city no longer. Upon his release, he left and continued his travels.”
Moriah shook her head. “His name is not familiar to me.”
“Saul is responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Christians—men, women, and children. He despised Christianity and did all in his power to stop it.”
“I fail to understand. If he is against the Christian sect, then why—”
“Ah, but you did not let me finish, Child,” Rufus inserted patiently. “Paul was once this man known as Saul of Tarsus. After a remarkable incident on the road to Damascus, he became fully aware that Jesus is the Christ, the Anointed One, and turned his life over to Him. The Lord forgave Paul for all past wrongdoings, and he now belongs to the family of God.”
“If Peter were here, he would tell you that he also is proof of God’s forgiving love,” Anna put in. “After three years of friendship and trust, he betrayed the Master at a moment when He needed those closest to Him—by claiming he did not know Him. Not once, but three times. Yet Jesus forgave him, too.”
Aidan swallowed hard and cleared his throat, feeling a powerful need to unburden himself. “Tonight—when those men harmed my lady, I—” He broke off and looked away, ashamed to continue.
“Yes, Aidan?” Rufus asked quietly, encouraging him. Aidan looked up into understanding eyes that held no condemnation. It was as though Rufus already knew what he was going to say.
“I wanted to kill them and almost did.”
“But you chose not to.”
“A voice within stopped me,” Aidan agreed, his tone reflective. “A voice I have heard before.”
Rufus smiled. “Ah, yes. The voice of the Holy Spirit living inside you. God understands your problem, Aidan, your war with the flesh. How well we all understand, though none of us is tempted in quite the same way. With some, it’s the lust for women, some are drawn to wine, some covet money, and still others lust for blood.”
Aidan nodded, his eyes downcast.
“Be comforted, my friend,” Rufus continued. “He understands your weaknesses, not only because He made you and knows you, but also because He came down in the form of a Man who suffered and was tempted though He never sinned. And tonight, when your flesh yearned to do one thing, you were obedient to the voice of God. I should think our Lord is pleased with you.”
At the man’s encouraging words, the worry that had plagued Aidan vanished like the mist over the sea when the sun breaks through. He sagged in relief and smiled for the first time that night.
Anna’s husband, Nereus, came from the back room, and they talked a few minutes longer until Aidan announced it was time to go. Sunrise was at hand, and he felt an urgency to return to the house. Rome’s banquets often lasted throughout the night and on into early morning, and Moriah probably would not be expected back at this time, it was true; yet neither would it do for her to be seen in Aidan’s company so late at night.
Moriah, too, must have realized the situation. She stood and thanked her host and hostess for their temporary haven of safety, then she faced Rufus and quietly thanked him for answering her questions.
Rufus laid a hand on her shoulder, his gaze riveting. “Consider this. God has a plan for you, Moriah. One of great magnitude. I knew this from the moment I saw you when you were but an infant. Seek Him, and you will find your answers.”
Confusion and something akin to fear spread across Moriah’s face. She gave only a slight nod, then turned and looked at Aidan. He regarded her briefly, amazed by Rufus’s words.
Though Peter had recently said something similar to him, that God had an important calling for Aidan’s life, Aidan wished he could partake of the plan God had for Moriah as well. To walk alongside his lady for the rest of his days, even as only her servant, both of them fulfilling a shared mission of the Lord’s choosing, was a vision he’d begun to entertain not only in slumber but in his waking hours as well. Lately, especially after his late-night talk with her, Aidan had experienced a strong desire to preach the gospel as freely as Peter and Paul did. Yet his role as slave in a household that forbade talk of Christianity limited such opportunities.
“Shall we go, my lady?” he asked, masking the futile hope that had arisen.
She nodded, and together they moved outside into the murky gray world that acted as a harbinger of the dawn.
❧
Over the next few days, Moriah pondered her conversation with Rufus. To say she understood all that was said would have been an untruth. Moreover, it alarmed her that the God of her parents expected some unknown thing from her. First, her maid had declared it, then Rufus did. Still, Moriah was determined to attend the next meeting. These Christians could not be so terrible if the character of Jesus’ disciple was anything to go by. Then, too, there was Aidan.
Nearby, the sound of hobnailed sandals clattered across the mosaic tiles. Curious, Moriah hurried down the corridor toward the sound. She almost ran into Paulus, who had just exited the bibliotheca.
“Paulus! I did not know you were here.”
The harsh planes of his face softened. “Moriah—you are well?”
“I could ask the same of you. You do not look as though you bring good tidings.”
He grimaced, the fury jumping into his eyes again when his gaze landed on her cheek. “I heard about the banquet Uncle forced you to attend.”
She looked away, her hand instinctively going to the light bruise she still bore from the horrible incident four nights earlier. His jaw clenched.
“I tried to arrive in time to help you, Moriah. But I was intercepted by one of my men with an order to meet with the prefect. I have been unable to get away until this afternoon.”
Moriah nodded, still not looking at him. His firm grip went to her upper arms, forcing her gaze upward in surprise.
“Did Servius harm you? Did he put that bruise on your face? If he did, so help me, I’ll kill him.” The statement was even more chilling due to the low timbre of his words.
“No, Paulus. I left before he could do me harm.”
“Then he did try to harm you?”
“I think he would have done so if I hadn’t escaped.”
A sharp expletive erupted from his mouth, making Moriah wince. He calmed, dropping his hands from her arms. “Forgive me, Moriah. I am not angry with you. Rather, I am frustrated with circumstances beyond my power to control.” He turned away, unfastening the strap of his helmet and tearing it from his head.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, fear prodding at her soul.
After an uncomfortable moment, he faced her, his manner resigned. “It seems Nero has again tired of Rome and has decided to return to Antium. My century leaves at the end of the week.”
“But you only just returned!”
“There is nothing to be done. My loyalties are to my emperor.” He said the last sardonically through clenched teeth. “I hate to leave you at this time, what with Servius breathing down your neck at every turn. But I have no choice in the matter. I must go.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “I understand. All will be well.” She gave him a tremulous smile, though she felt anything but peace.
Paulus shook his head at her weak attempt to reassure. He covered her hand with his. “There is something of great import I wish to say, Moriah, something I want you to consider.” He seemed suddenly nervous and released his hold on her.
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt a strong affection for you. When my term in the guard is over, I desire to take you as my wife.”
Moriah’s eyes widened in shock, but he held up his hand to stop her when she would have spoken.
“No. Do not reply at this time. I ask only that you think on the matter and give me your answer upon my return. If I were your husband, you would be protected always, as I have told Uncle.” Without meeting her eyes, he kissed her forehead. He seemed uneasy, more so than Moriah had ever seen him. “Be careful, little dove—I do not speak those words lightly. Stay close to the house.”
Dismayed, Moriah studied his departing form. She did not wish to hurt Paulus; neither did she wish to marry him. As dear as he was to her, she had no desire to be his wife. She had always regarded him as a brother, though she had been told he was her cousin. Yet he was not that, either. Her brow creased. Why must life be so complex?
“My lady!”
Moriah turned to face the servant who called, startled by the worry lacing her voice. “Yes, Sinista. What is it?”
“Your mother. She. . .” The Egyptian’s thin arched brows drew together. “You must come quickly!”
Alarmed, Moriah hurried past the slave and toward the family rooms. Upon entering the bedchamber, she drew a quick breath. Lydia’s face was a pasty gray, and her eyes burned fever bright. Clearly, her condition had worsened.
“Come closer, Child,” she rasped. When Moriah approached the bedside, Lydia reached for Moriah’s hand. “I have always cared for you—though I know I’ve not shown it well.” She clutched Moriah’s hand in a fierce grip. “Since the night Deborah first brought you to me, you were my own. My child—the child I could never conceive.” She began coughing and put the cloth to her mouth. When it was pulled away, Moriah noted with alarm that clots of red spotted the material.
“You must not speak, Mother. You must rest so that you may get better.” Moriah helplessly stood, uncertain what to do. In her feverish state, Lydia was oblivious to the words she spoke. Though Moriah was aware of the truth concerning her parentage, Lydia did not know Moriah had discovered the truth. Yet she spoke to Moriah as to one who knew.
Half-closed eyes surveyed Moriah, and a feeble smile touched the cracked lips. “You are so beautiful—much like Helena was. How strongly you favor her! You have her grace and manner, as well. If I could have done anything for her, I would have. She was my friend.” Her eyes closed, and another coughing fit shook her frail body.
“Please rest,” Moriah insisted. “You must not talk.”
Once the spell ceased, Lydia lay back among the pillows. Her eyes focused on some point beyond Moriah. “I met Helena when she sold me a length of cloth. There was something about her that drew me to her many times after that. She shared stories of her faith—similar to Deborah’s. I feared the wrath of the gods and goddesses to listen too closely at the time, but now that I am soon to die—Moriah! What if they were true? I no longer know what is truth and what is a lie. The gods and goddesses I served gave me nothing in return, though I once thought them responsible for bringing you here. But what if Helena’s words were true? What if her God is the only God?”
She began to cough again. Moriah was at once confused and concerned to see fear dim the watery eyes. She tried to think of something—anything—to say in response. Yet she had no idea what to say because she was as yet uncertain of the answers.
Aidan. He would know what to say.
She motioned for Sinista and gave the order for Aidan to be brought to the cubiculum. The slave stood and blinked, obviously puzzled by the strange request in bringing the master’s personal slave into the mistress’s bedchamber. Moriah repeated her order, more harshly this time, and Sinista hurried away to comply.
Aidan soon appeared, and Moriah felt a wave of relief. His gaze met hers briefly, then lowered. Moriah stood by the bedside and listened while he answered Lydia’s pointed and fearful questions. Again, as there had been in the garden, an excited glow lit his features and his voice as he spoke. He explained that the only way that leads to salvation for all mankind is through a personal acceptance of God’s Son, Jesus the Christ. Moriah watched in amazement as a look of calm settled over Lydia’s face.
“Thank you, Aidan. I believe I finally understand,” Lydia said, her voice strained. “You may go.”
He bowed. “My lady.”
Moriah stared at Lydia’s wan face, watching her eyes close in slumber, then she hurried from the room after him.
“Aidan?”
He turned and looked directly at her, his expression soft. Moriah felt as though the breath had been jarred from her body. A slave walked past bearing a large earthenware container, and Aidan quickly averted his gaze to a point beyond Moriah’s left shoulder.
“I want to thank you for what you did,” Moriah whispered, once the servant disappeared through a curtained portal. “I know it’s dangerous for you to speak of your faith. Yet your words seem to have settled her. For that I am grateful.”
“I am sorry I gave you the wrong impression, my lady.”
Moriah blinked and looked up into Aidan’s solemn countenance. “What do you mean?”
“Before Jesus left this earth, He made it clear it was everyone’s duty to spread the gospel to any and all who would listen. He warned that there would be persecutions because of His teachings, but such things are not to stop us. My lady, the night we spoke in the arbor, I was wrong to temporarily withhold the Truth from you when I should have given you the answers to your questions the moment you asked them.”
“You were concerned for your friends, as well as for your position in this household,” Moriah said, completely baffled by his confession. “I understood that.”
“Yet I spoke to you in a manner unworthy of a slave to his mistress. Well I know had I been in any other household in Rome, punishment would have been exacted for my insolence.”
“Oh, Aidan,” Moriah murmured before she could stop herself, “I no longer think of you as a slave. To me, you are so much more than that—” She broke off, her face going hot when she realized what she had said.
Dark blue eyes full of surprise searched hers, and time seemed to suspend itself. She licked her lower lip, then nervously caught it between her teeth.
The action brought his gaze to her mouth. He took a hasty, almost awkward, step back, his eyes again focusing beyond her left shoulder. “I am happy I please you, my lady,” he said, his voice husky. “I must return to your father.”
Moriah watched him move away until she could no longer see him. Her words had come unbidden to her lips, but once she uttered them, she realized how true they were.
The confusion that plagued her mind escalated. For where in this empire, with its many regulations, could there be a future for a patrician’s daughter and a slave from Britain?
❧
Lydia lingered three days, then slipped away in her slumber. Gravely, Moriah studied the wasted form and marveled at the look of peacefulness on the still face. The wrinkles had almost completely disappeared, and Moriah was amazed at how youthful Lydia looked in death.
Had she responded to the message of salvation Aidan had shared with her? Moriah would never know, though Lydia had seemed to come to terms with dying, no longer fearing it. She had grasped Moriah’s arm the previous evening, her eyes intense. “Aidan is a good man. He may be only a slave, but he speaks words of wisdom. Listen to him.” After delivering that statement, she fell against the pillows, exhausted. Those had been the last words she spoke.
Moriah motioned for two servants to wash and prepare the body. Days from now there would be a procession to the monumentum to place the wrapped body in the family vault. Yet Moriah was too weary to think on the future, having stayed by Lydia’s bedside almost continually, and she moved slowly to her room.
Stretching out on her stomach upon her bed, Moriah allowed a few quiet tears to roll down her cheeks. She was glad Lydia seemed to find peace at the end yet saddened to lose her. Though they never were close—all the more strange considering Lydia’s words of gratitude about the day Moriah was brought to her as an infant—and Deborah spent more time with Moriah than Lydia ever had, Lydia would be missed.
Moriah’s thoughts trailed to Aidan as they often did. She considered the words he had shared with Lydia. There had been such persuasion, such power in the message he spoke. Yet such teachings went against everything Roman. Still, what if there were truth to Aidan’s words? What if his God was genuine?
Too exhausted to ponder the question more deeply, Moriah curled up on her pillows and closed her eyes.
❧
Aidan hurried inside Clophelius’s cubiculum. “You sent for me, Master?”
Clophelius lifted his head from silk pillows and propped himself up at Aidan’s low words. His red-rimmed eyes were evidence of the pain he must be feeling since his wife’s death, or perhaps an overindulgence of wine, or both. He motioned to his bodyguard to leave, then glanced at Aidan. Aidan stared past him, at the wall.
“Come closer.”
Aidan obeyed.
“Closer still,” Clophelius ordered, looking past Aidan, to the curtain covering the doorway.
Aidan moved to the edge of his master’s couch, wondering at the man’s clandestine behavior.
“Shortly before Lydia died, she made me vow to care for Moriah,” Clophelius said, his voice low. “And it has recently come to my attention that her life might be in danger.”
Aidan inhaled sharply. “Danger, my lord?”
“Shh! Hold your tongue.” Clophelius briefly looked past Aidan. “A rumor about her has reached Nero, and I fear it is no longer safe for her in Rome. Until I can make arrangements to send her elsewhere, I want you to act as her bodyguard if and when she leaves the house. If I were to keep her within its confines, as I did when she was younger, such an action might feed the suspicions of those who could do her harm. Neither do I wish to alarm her with this news. Now that Nero is in Antium, likely she is safe. However, I want you to take no chances. Stay close by her side. Watch all who come near.”
His mind a whirl of thoughts, Aidan could only nod.
