“I’d need the manacles and chains and four men to carry him.”
Lady Alphina turned and looked at him. “Despite what you say, Theophilus, I sense how much you admire him.”
“How can I not admire a man who’s survived ten years in the arena?” He shook his head. “But I don’t know how to reach him. He looks at me and doesn’t see a man. He sees Rome.”
“And is it any wonder?” Lady Alphina said gently, letting her gaze travel pointedly over him. “The Roman army destroyed his people and took him captive. He’s been under guard ever since. Even during his brief time as a freeman, I imagine he’s been guarded by soldiers. Perhaps it is exactly as you say. He only sees the outward man.” She smiled. “God sees the heart, Theophilus, and he’s placed you in the company of this man to good purpose. Let the Lord guide you.”
She smiled and touched his arm affectionately, then walked away. Theophilus stood for a long time in the peaceful chamber. He removed his helmet and ran his hand over the shiny metal. Brushing his fingers over the cropped red plumes on the top, he let out his breath heavily and looked up.
Theophilus had trained to be a soldier from childhood, determined to follow in his father’s footsteps. As soon as he was old enough, he had joined the army. He had served under Claudius before his corrupt and capricious nephew, Nero, had been named emperor. Following that disastrous reign came an even worse one. Rome exploded into civil war as the succession of ambitious but ineffectual politicians fought to rule the empire. Galba, Otho, Vitellius—all strove for power, and each was murdered by his successor. Theophilus had escaped the worst of the bloody happenings in the Imperial City, for at that time he was immersed in the Germanic revolt, fighting against the rebel Civilis and the united tribes, including Atretes’ people, the Chatti.
When Vespasian had taken the reins of power, he had rejoiced to have an able military commander in power. Rome needed stability. Over the ten years of Vespasian’s reign, he had served in the Praetorian Guard, been posted to Alexandria, and been sent to command troops in Ephesus.
God had called him as a soldier, and he had served the Lord faithfully while continuing to carry out his duties. Not once had he ever been faced with a choice between God and the emperor and he knew it had often been solely due to divine intervention. Certain questions had never once been asked.
Now God had given him another commission: Take Atretes back to Germania. During his first meeting with John, the apostle had said only a few words when he had felt compelled to do this. Even knowing what he might face in Germania among the Chatti, he was certain he was following God’s lead. Protect this man and see him home. God had a plan for Atretes, and he was part of that plan whether he liked it or not.
The army had been his life, but God had set him upon another path now. His choice was simple: obey or not, his will at work or God’s. His mouth curved ruefully. God had had his hand in Theophilus’ life from the beginning, for his years in the Roman army had prepared him for this moment. The army had taught him to obey authority, to discipline himself in the face of hardship, to be loyal to his commanders, to overcome fear when faced with death.
Take off the old and put on the new.
It was not easy. He had loved his life in the army, the discipline, the routine, the respect. He had poured twenty-five years of his life into his career and what he wore proclaimed his accomplishments.
Take off the old. Put on the new.
He set the polished helmet on a marble bench. Removing the red cape, he folded it with care and laid it down. Removing the pendant of his rank, he clenched it for a long moment. Tossing it on the bed of crimson, he left the cryptoporticus.
“As you will, Father,” he said.
Turning away, he headed back down the narrow passageway to the hypogeum where Rizpah and Atretes waited.
21
The disturbing atmosphere of the hypogeum made Atretes increasingly uneasy. He knew those around him saw the place as a refuge where they could freely worship and discuss their god, but to him it was nothing more than an underground cemetery and foreshadowing of Hades.
Death no longer merely approached; it surrounded him.
When Rufus brought food and placed it before him, he couldn’t bring himself to eat the meal, no matter how succulent, because the table on which Rufus set it was a sarcophagus. Civilized people burned their dead! The bloody Romans wrapped them up like presents and tucked them away in niches or great stone casings for posterity. Those who were rich enough to have cubicula even came to sup with their deceased relations and friends. And Germans were called barbaric! Even more disgusting to him was the habit of these people, Rizpah included, to dine on bread and wine and refer to it as the body and blood of their Christ.