Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) Page 4

  “Shut up, Gordian! You know nothing!”

  “I know more than you think.” Gordian studied her, his eyes settling on the soft round of her belly. “Well, it’s obvious you consummated the marriage at any rate. Unless this event happen before? In the bushes?”

  “You are an animal, and you can’t count. If you could, you’d know that what you suggest is impossible.”

  Helena spun on her heel, anger burning in her chest. Damn him!

  Before she knew it, her anger carried her subconsciously to the very place all her troubles began. The alcove.

  She hadn’t been there since Lucius had left. The brush had grown and the grass was no longer pressed down and worn away. Only the little hand crafted wooden stool tucked away near an overgrown shrub hinted at what had taken place here the year before.

  She tugged at the stool until the vines let go and then sat down. She’d forgotten a blanket, and the ground was no longer suitable for laying out parchment and writing. Instead she let her mind go.

  She was there with Lucius. His sun-toast skin, his impetuous grin. The way he watched her like she was the most delicious dessert on the table. The first time he’d kissed her and how her body had trembled in the most beautiful way.

  She wondered where he was now. If he’d made it to Rome. If he was happy. Would she ever see him again in this life?

  Her hand moved to her belly, a habit she’d picked up since her abdomen had hardened and thickened into a ball. She frowned. If only this child were Lucius’s. Then maybe she could love it. As it was, she had no attachment to the child inside her. What would she do with it when it was born? Give it to Felicity to take care of for her?

  No. She didn’t want to share Felicity with Vincentius’s child. She’d have Brutus purchase a new slave to care for it.

  Helena gathered up her things and headed back to the villa. Since the child was conceived she’d thought incessantly about food. She would send Felicity to collect her something to eat.

  Chapter Nine

  LUCIUS

  After a dinner of fried pork and strong tea, Lucius walked to the Forum, the crowds increased with each block until he could no longer walk without brushing shoulders with some merchant or shopper. He found the energy of the Forum intoxicating: mothers and grandmothers dragging dirty children, ladies of the night, men drunkenly stepping out of drinking establishments, every kind of worker and citizens of every class. The scents and smells of food carts mixed with sweaty humanity assaulted his senses, the hum of voices filling his head. Indeed, he had a headache forming and decided it was time to return to his loft. Soon the rooster would crow and he would be hard at work again.

  He passed a sandal shop and stopped to admire the leather wares. He regarded his own worn pair. His feet ached and the pain in his heels shot up the back of his legs and into his lower back. If only Hermus had been paying him on time and in full, Lucius could be wearing a new pair of soft leather sandals instead of simply coveting them.

  A ball of frustration formed in his chest.

  When he returned to his loft, he stumbled in the dimness of dusk, bumping his head on the ceiling. He lit a candle and then jumped, startled by a figure shifting in the shadows by his bed.

  The soft giggling could mean only one person.

  “Gaia? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see you.” Gaia sat on his mattress and patted a spot beside her. “Come sit.”

  Lucius grabbed her arm. “You must leave. Your father will kill me if he finds you here.”

  Instead of jumping up and agreeing, she giggled, pulling him down instead. “You don’t have to worry, Lucius. My father knows I’m here. In fact he sent me.”

  “He did?” He must have done poorly at the races, Lucius thought. “Okay. What is his message?”

  She surprised him by stroking his face. She smelled of earth and lard and he was certain he didn’t smell that great, either. He pulled away, raking a hand through his curls. “Gaia?”

  “I’m here for you, my darling.”

  In payment? Damn that Hermus!

  “No, Gaia. Your father’s business is between him and me.”

  “But I want to, Lucius. I love you.”

  “You love… You don’t even know me.”

  “I feel like I have known you my whole life. This, uh, problem my father has, is a gift from the gods, don’t you see? Father can’t pay you cash, but he can give you me and a percentage of the brickyard.”

  A percentage of a brickyard that is losing money because of his gambling debts, Lucius thought.

  “Lucius?” Gaia’s voice had softened and her eyes filled with something deeper. For the first time Lucius thought maybe there was more to Gaia than what met the eye.

  “I’m going to turn nineteen soon,” she said.

  Lucius didn’t need to hear more. If Gaia didn’t marry by nineteen, she would be sentenced to spinsterhood. As much as she had irritated him these past weeks, he didn’t hate her. And though she could never replace Helena in his heart, she wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She could at the very least keep him warm at night and provide food for his stomach during the day.

  “Gaia,” Lucius said kindly. “Let me have the night to think about it. Now go home to your family.”

  Gaia rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her toga and struggled to get up from the mattress. Lucius gave her a hand and guided her back to the ladder.

  “Careful, Gaia,” he said as she backed down clumsily.

  At the bottom of the ladder Gaia looked up at Lucius with hopeful eyes. “Good night my darling,” she said with her signature giggle. “See you in the morning.”

  Lucius tossed and turned all night. When he lay awake, he worried about his future, when he slept, he dreamed of Helena.

  Now the sky out the window was brightening and he still didn’t know what to do. If he agreed to this arrangement he would be bound to this brickyard for the rest of his life. It’s not why he had come to Rome. He came to seek adventure, and to escape Helena. Marrying Gaia and being tied to Hermus wouldn’t satisfy him in the long run. There was still so much out there to discover.

  He was dressed before the rooster crowed.

  Gaia was up earlier than normal, too, and waited by the well. “Lucius?” she said. Her eyes were wide with expectation.

  Lucius let his gaze fall to the ground. “I’m sorry, Gaia, I can’t marry you.”

  When he dared look up, she stood statue still. Her round face was pale as putty and her arms hung limply at her side. Then her eyelids flickered nervously.

  “Wh-what? But, you like me. The first day we met, you flirted with me. I thought…”

  “I’m sorry Gaia,” Lucius said, feeling terrible. “I’m leaving now. Please tell your father I’ll take a goose for my pay.”

  Gaia’s face reddened like a tomato. “You’d rather have a goose than me?” Her eyes narrowed in disdain, and she spit on the ground. “The gods damn you!”

  Lucius watched her storm back to the house. Then he went to the hen house, chose a bird and chopped its head off on the block with precision.

  Lucius headed north toward the city, breathing in the scent of the sycamore trees and feeling oddly optimistic. He had a large goose he could sell for enough denarii to get him lodging and a bit of food, enough to tide him over until he found another job. He’d grabbed his few meager belongings, which filled a leather satchel he’d hung over his shoulder. His most prized possession at the moment was a thin piece of parchment—his ticket to tomorrow’s games. Tomorrow! There he could spend the whole day forgetting about his problems. He could hardly wait.

  Lucius breathed out contentedly. In his heart he knew he had made the right decision.

  He was barely in the city limits when he heard Hermus call out for him. “Lucius! Wait!” Hermus ran up behind him, his thick legs pounding the earth, his face reddened by effort. He was panting to catch his breath.

  “Hermus, I’m sorry. I can’t accept your offer.”
/>
  Hermus breath evened out. He spoke softly, “I think you’ll wish you had.”

  That was when Lucius first noticed the two Roman officers crowding in behind them. He frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s him,” Hermus said, ignoring Lucius. “That’s the man who stole from me.”

  Lucius was stunned by how quickly the two officers moved, grabbing his arms, forcing the fowl to fall to the ground.

  “What!” Lucius said, struggling “That’s absurd!” He couldn’t believe what was happening. “Hermus, what did I steal from you?”

  “The goose,” Hermus said, a snide grin on his face.

  “You owed me the goose in unpaid wages—and more!” Lucius shouted. Still the Roman officers held his arms firmly. “He lies! The bird belongs to me.”

  For a moment he thought the men would relent, hear him out at least. But then he saw them exchange glances with Hermus and he knew some agreement had been made.

  Lucius twisted wildly in a vain attempt to escape. One of the officers yanked his arm tight behind his back. “Cooperate or you’ll regret it,” he said.

  Hermus smirked before walking away, holding the dust-covered fowl by its claws. “And, oh, before I forget, Lucius. Gaia says farewell.”

  Chapter Ten

  CASSIUS

  Cassius often went out after the evening meal, so he was confident he would not be missed. He’d traveled to the street where Priscilla lived so often of late, he could easily navigate his way in the darkness, and he was glad for its cover.

  Saturus promptly responded to his tapping on the wooden door.

  “Welcome, my friend. Come in.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “May I take your cloak?” Saturus assisted Cassius in the removal of his cape and hung it on a hook near the entrance. He was unaccustomed to the level of apprehension he felt and ran his hands through his curls, waiting for instruction.

  “Please,” Saturus said, noting the young man’s discomfiture. “Have a seat on the couch. I will bring you some tea.”

  Never in his life had Cassius seen the man of the house serve his own guests, and was about to refuse.

  “It’s okay, Cassius, I don’t mind. My wife is occupied this evening but my daughter will join us shortly.”

  “It is with your daughter, sir, that I came to speak.”

  “I know. And I’m glad you did. You will find her a challenging case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You will not be able to persuade her from her faith.”

  Saturus was a large man, and not someone Cassius would wish to find himself engaged in a wrestling match with, verbal or otherwise. He searched the eyes of his host but could not find any trace of anger there; in fact, they sparkled with amusement.

  “I assure you, sir, I mean no disrespect. I am concerned with her well being.”

  “No more than I.”

  Priscilla entered, and Cassius welcomed the diversion from their present course of conversation.

  “Hello,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

  “Hello, Priscilla.”

  He thought it best to get right to the matter. “I am not here, as you know, to engage in general chatter. I am here because I am gravely concerned about your decision to follow after this Jew they call the Christ.”

  “What is it about my life as a Christian that bothers you, Cassius?” said Priscilla.

  “It’s foolishness, and it could get you into danger.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Well, for one thing, to believe in one god and no other is ludicrous.”

  “Why is that?” Saturus asked. “Why does it make more sense to have many gods, so many in fact, that you can’t remember the names of them all?”

  “Roman gods rule over their allotted space. When we trespass on their territory, we ought to give thanks to them and render to them prayers and sacrifices so they will befriend us while we live. If we please them, they will please us. It is the way of Rome.”

  “We believe in one God, who rules all space, indeed who created the earth and everything in it,” Priscilla said.

  “I know the basic belief system of the Jews and the Christian sect. By not worshiping the emperor and saluting his good health, or the gods of Rome, at the very least Jupiter, then you will stir up the displeasure of all the gods and all of Rome will be in jeopardy. And you will be blamed.”

  “I am not concerned about being judged by those who do not believe. I am concerned about the truth,” Priscilla responded.

  “The effort to arrive at the truth, and especially the truth about the gods, is a longing we all have for the divine. I understand that,” Cassius said. “But the way of the Jews is a false way to define what is divine.”

  “Cassius,” Saturus said, “How many idols, gods if you prefer, do you have in your own home?”

  “I don’t know. Many. There is a least one in each room if not more, and our house has many rooms.”

  “I see, and what may I ask, are these gods made of?”

  “Surely you know the answer to that Saturus, for you see the stalls of craftsmen in the Forum who carve them each day as well as I, but I’ll humor you. Cedar wood, marble, clay, stone, among other materials.”

  “May I read something to you?” Saturus said, opening up a parchment.

  “You may.”

  “It’s from the prophet Isaiah.”

  Cassius clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap. “A Jew?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re Jewish?”

  “Yes, by heritage,” Saturus said. “But we are Christians by faith. Now let me begin.

  “The carpenter measures with a line and makes an outline with a marker; he roughs it out with chisels and marks it with compasses. He shapes it in the form of man, of man in all his glory that it may dwell in a shrine. He cuts down cedars, or perhaps a cypress or oak. He lets it grow among the trees of the forest or planted a pine, and the rain made it grow. It is man’s fuel for burning; some of it he takes and warms himself, he kindles a fire and bakes bread.”

  Saturus paused to glance up at Cassius, then continued.

  “But he also fashions a god and worships it; he makes an idol and bows down to it.

  “Half of the wood he burns in the fire and over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, ‘Ah! I am warm; I see the fire.’

  “From the rest he makes a god, his idol; he bows down to it and worships. He prays to it and says, ‘Save me; you are my god.’ They know nothing, they understand nothing; their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see, and their minds closed so they cannot understand.”

  Cassius bounced his leg nervously. There was an explanation, a response to this man’s recitation. Yet, he was disturbed by the implications, and he was frustrated by his inability to give a convincing rebuttal.

  Saturus continued,

  “No one stops to think no one has the knowledge or understanding to say, ‘Half of it I used for fuel; I have baked bread over its coals, I roasted meat and I ate. Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left; shall I bow down to a block of wood?’”

  “It’s not like that!” Cassius shouted, then embarrassed by his outburst, continued weakly, “I mean, our gods are powerful, and meaningful. Perhaps we do bow down and worship at a carved image, but our gods are more than that. Besides, what can a mere man, this Jesus, do to compare with the might of Jupiter or Minerva?”

  “Jesus was a man, this is true, but not only a man,” said Priscilla. “He was the Son of God. God became man in order to save us from our sins.”

  “I don’t understand. You speak in riddles.”

  Saturus explained, “Cassius, you, and I, since we were born, did we need to be told what is right or wrong? Our conscience told us. It is this state of wrong-ness that keeps us separated from God.”

  “What is right? What is wrong? These are moral value
s unique to each person.”

  “No, that is false. Those who can no longer discern the difference between right and wrong have had their consciences seared by their sins. God’s standards do not change.”

  “So how then does Jesus save us from this state of sinfulness you describe?”

  “He died on the cross, a living sacrifice,” answered Priscilla.

  “We too, sacrifice to the gods, daily.”

  “Cassius,” said Saturus, “Jesus was the final sacrifice. His death was the penalty for the sins of all who would believe. One man died for all.”

  “But still he died. He was just a man. Perhaps a good man who would die for his friends, but dead now, none the less.”

  “No, Cassius,” said Priscilla. “He’s not dead, he’s alive! After three days he rose from the dead and ascended into heaven. He sent his spirit to live in us. No longer do we need to go to a temple to meet with God, for he has made us all temples of his Holy Spirit.”

  “That is outrageous. Forgive me, Priscilla, but you are deluded. These are all stories, fine to entertain, but they cannot satisfy the longing for the divine.”

  “Would you believe if Jesus told you himself?” asked Saturus.

  “How is that possible? He’s not here.”

  “Oh but he is. Why don’t you ask him if he is real for yourself?”

  Cassius laughed. “Right now? You mean right here?”

  Saturus nodded, “Yes.”

  “Like a prayer?”

  “If you want to think of it like that. Priscilla and I will pray with you. And if Jesus is silent, you can leave, knowing you did your best to convince us to return to paganism, and, if he is not... then you will know the Truth.”

  “Is this a trick?” Cassius said, looking around himself, ensuring that they were alone.

  “It’s not a trick. Just a quest. A quest for Truth.”

  Cassius scratched his head and laughed again. This would be simple. He would do as they asked, and he would prove their theory wrong. Jesus was dead. The divine was found in the gods of Rome. He hated the thought of humiliating them in this manner, for he cared deeply for Priscilla, and respected her father, but it was their request.