“Oh, it was more than that. Paul knew. God had revealed events to him. Paul said the ship would be destroyed. It was.” He ate the soaked beef.
“Go on,” Marcus said, his own appetite gone in his eagerness to hear more.
“The ship began to break up, and the soldiers were set to kill the prisoners rather than let them escape,” Satyros went on. “Their own lives would’ve been forfeit if they did. Julius stopped them. As it happened, those who could swim jumped overboard, and the rest of us floated in on planks and whatever else was available on the ship. The island was Malta. Not one person perished. Not one, my lord. That is truly amazing.”
“Perhaps,” Marcus said. “But why credit this Jewish Christ with saving everyone? Why not give thanks to Neptune or some other exalted member of the pantheon?”
“Because we were all crying out to our gods for help. Brahma! Vishnu! Varuna! None of them answered. And then even more amazing things happened on Malta to confirm for me and everyone else that Paul was a servant of an all-powerful God.”
He saw Marcus’ acute interest and sought to explain.
“The natives received us kindly. They built a fire for us, but as soon as we settled before it, a viper came out and sank its fangs into Paul’s hand. He shook the snake off into the fire. Everyone knew it was poisonous and that he would shortly die of the bite. The people were convinced he was a murderer and the snake had been sent as punishment from the gods.”
“Obviously, he didn’t die. I was in Rome when he was brought there under guard.”
“No. He didn’t die. He didn’t even get sick. His hand didn’t swell. Nothing. The natives waited all night. By morning, they were convinced he was a god and worshiped him as such. Paul told them he was not a god, but merely a servant of one he called Jesus, the Christ. He preached to them what he had told us.”
Satyros took several dried figs from the tray. “Our host, Publius, was leader of the island. He entertained us for three days, and then his father became very ill. Paul cured the old man just by laying his hands on him. One minute Publius’ father was ready for death, the next he was up and in perfect health. Word spread, and the sick came from all over the island.”
“Did he cure them?”
“All of them that I saw. The people honored all of us for Paul’s presence. They made arrangements for us to continue our journey and even supplied us with what was needed. Paul sailed on an Alexandrian ship that had Castor and Pollux for its figurehead. I put out on another ship. I never saw him again.”
The question that had plagued Marcus for months now burned through his mind like a fever. He took up his goblet and frowned. “If this god was so powerful, why didn’t he save Paul from execution?”
Satyros shook his head. “I don’t know. I wondered that myself when I heard of his fate. But this I know: however hidden it may be, there was a purpose.”
Marcus stared grimly into his wine. “It seems to me this Christ destroys everyone who believes in him.” He drained his goblet and set it down. “I’d like to know why.”
“I have no answer to that, my lord. But I will tell you this. After meeting Paul, I know that the world is not all it seems to be. The gods we Romans worship cannot compare to the God he served.”
“It is Rome that rules the world, Satyros,” Marcus said sardonically. “Not this Jesus of whom Paul spoke. You’ve only to look to what happened in Judea to know that.”
“I wonder. Paul said Jesus overcame death and set the way for anyone who believes in him.”
“I haven’t seen a single Christian overcome death,” Marcus said in a hard voice. “They all face death praising Jesus Christ. And they all die just like any other man or woman.”
Satyros studied Marcus intently, sensing that some deep torment was driving him across the seas to a rebellious land. “If it’s this God you seek, I would tread very carefully.”
“Why?”
“He can destroy you.”
Marcus’ mouth tipped bitterly. “He already has,” he said cryptically and rose. He thanked Satyros for his hospitality and left.
The days passed slowly, though the winds held well and the conditions of the sea were advantageous.
Marcus walked the deck by the hour, struggling with the depth of his emotions. Finally, he returned to his quarters, a small private chamber that was simply furnished. He stretched out on the narrow couch built into the wall and stared at the polished wood ceiling.
He slept fitfully. Hadassah came to him in his dreams every night. She cried out to him, and he struggled against the hands holding him back. Julia was there, too, and Primus. Calabah gloated as lions roared. He saw one racing toward Hadassah and fought desperately against his bonds—and then the beast leaped and took her down.