As Sure as the Dawn(93)

“I have to get out of here,” he said to Rizpah.

“Theophilus said it’s not safe yet.”

“The games started two days ago!”

“Domitian has soldiers looking for you everywhere. Several came to the villa. You know Domitian would like nothing more than to show you to—”

He stood abruptly and a wave of dizziness made him sway.

“Atretes,” she said in alarm and rose quickly to slip her arm around his waist and give him support.

He shoved her away. “I can stand on my own.” He bent down carefully and picked up his bedding and small pack of belongings, including the gold, and headed unsteadily toward a doorway, expecting her to follow.

“That way will take you deeper into the catacombs,” she said calmly, picking Caleb up and sitting him on her hip. “This way will take us to the cryptoporticus.”

“I don’t want to go to the cryptoporticus! I want to get out of here!” She disappeared through a narrow doorway. “Rizpah!” His harsh voice reverberated in the cubicula, assaulting his nerves even more. He uttered a single sharp word in German.

If she went that way to get to the cryptoporticus, then it made sense to him to go through the opposite doorway to escape the hypogeum entirely. He entered a long corridor, loculi on both sides of him. He tried not to touch the walls, all too aware of what was decaying within them.

The passageway went for some distance and then turned. When it branched in three directions, he took the one to the left. It ended at a stairway that led down instead of up, and he knew he wasn’t going where he wanted. He swore aloud, and the sound of his voice was strange to his own ears in the dank tunnel. The place made his skin crawl.

Turning back, he retraced his steps and took the passageway to the right. He came to another turn and the corridor forked into three more passageways. Few lamps flickered here and the darkness felt heavier, the air colder. His heart began to pound. Cold sweat broke out on his body. He was lost in a labyrinth of catacombs, trapped among the dead. He fought against panic and retraced his steps again. He couldn’t remember from which passageway he had come.

Silence closed in around him. All he could hear was his own breathing, shallow and tense, and the pounding of his heart bringing on an agonizing headache. He could feel the eyes of the dead watching him, smell the decay of flesh and soft, dry earth and age. Groaning, he looked around, frantic.

“Atretes,” came a low, deep voice.

He swung around in a defensive stance, ready to fight whatever came at him. A man stood at the corner of another passageway. “This way,” he said, and though his face was shadowed and his voice different in the narrow earthen passageway, Atretes knew it was Theophilus. For the first time since he had met the Roman, he was glad to see him.

Theophilus led him to the cryptoporticus where Rizpah was waiting. “You found him,” she said in relief, rising as Atretes followed him into the large chamber. “I’m sorry, Atretes. I thought you were behind me.”

Without a word, he dumped his bedding and pack of belongings and went to the fountain pool. He cupped water into his face, once, twice, three times. Shaking the water off, he straightened and released his breath slowly. “I’d rather take my chances in the arena than stay in this place.”

“A company of soldiers came here yesterday,” Theophilus said. “They’re still patrolling the area. If you want to turn yourself over to them, go ahead.”

Angered by his casual tone, Atretes took the challenge. “Show me the way out.”

“Go back through there, keep following the passageways to your right. When you come to a stairway . . .”

Atretes muttered a curse and slapped his hand across the water. “How much longer am I going to have to stay in this place?”

Theophilus could understand Atretes’ frustration. He felt it himself. Days of inactivity didn’t sit well with him, either. It was one thing to visit the catacombs and worship with other Christians. It was something else to live in them. “That depends on Domitian’s determination.”

“You know him better than I do,” Atretes sneered. “How determined is he?”

“I’d say we’d better make ourselves comfortable.”

Atretes uttered another foul German word and sat down on the edge of the fountain. He rubbed his head; it was still a bit sore where Theophilus had hit him with the hilt of his gladius. He looked across the room at the Roman. Theophilus raised his brow slightly.

Caleb crawled between Atretes’ spread feet and grabbed one of the straps around his muscular calf. Atretes put his hands down between his knees and took his son’s hands. With a delighted squeal, Caleb struggled and worked until he pulled himself up and was standing.