Two arcosolia were before her. These cells for the dead had been hollowed out of the tufa, plastered, and sealed with horizontal slabs for lids over the graves surmounted by two arches. In the lunette of one was a fresco of Hercules bringing the heroic Alcestis back from Hades to her husband, Admetus, for whom she had sacrificed her life. The legendary scene symbolized conjugal love. In the other lunette was a fresco of Hercules killing the Hydra.
Another cubicula opened off to Rizpah’s right. In it was a single arcosolium. The lunette bore the fresco of an orant, a draped man or woman with arms outstretched in prayer. The closure bore the name Tiberias.
“This way,” Theophilus said, his deep voice echoing softly in the stillness.
Rizpah followed him through a doorway to her left. She drew in her breath softly as she saw the tunnel stretch ahead. The catacomb smelled of damp earth, sweet spices, and incense. Rectangular niches called loculi had been dug into the tufa walls and sealed with a brick or marble slab door. She knew each loculus contained a body. Small terra-cotta lamps filled with scented oil were placed above many of the tombs, filling the somber gallery with flickering light and the cloying aroma of perfume that mingled with the smell of decay.
Drawing Caleb closer, she walked along the passageway, looking at the doors of the tombs beside and above her on either side. Each bore a name: Pamphilus, Constantia, Pretextatus, Honorius, Commodilla, Marcellinus, Maius. She saw an anchor cut into one slab, a peacock symbolizing eternal life on another, two fish and a loaf of bread on a third.
Theophilus turned a corner, and she followed him by another arcosolium with the vivid colors of a fresco depicting the Good Shepherd with the lost lamb over his shoulders.
“Are all these departed ones Christians?” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.
“Eighty-seven of them are, most in the newer tombs near the bottom where we are. The ones higher up are the older tombs and hold members of the Novatian family. Friends of the family were also allowed to bury their dead here. There are also several generations of slaves accounted for among the loculi.”
She heard voices ahead of her. Theophilus led her up another earth and stone stairway into a passageway that widened into another large cubicula. Light came in from above. Atretes sat on a woven pallet against the wall, his face ashen.
Several men were in the room, hovering around Atretes and speaking all at once, but it was the small, elderly woman Rizpah noticed immediately. Her gray hair was curled, braided, and pinned into a coiffure of elegance and dignity. She was attired in a simple blue linen palla of very fine quality, but wore few jewels. She handed one of the men a silver goblet of wine, which was offered to Atretes. The lady turned, her lined face lovely and serene.
“Theophilus,” she said, clearly holding him in great affection. She held out her hands to him, smiling.
“We are indebted to you, Lady Alphina,” he said, taking her hands. Bowing with fond respect, he kissed both.
“You are not indebted to me, but to God,” she said. “Our prayers have been answered, have they not?” Her eyes shone with joy as she patted his cheek as though he were a boy and not a weathered soldier.
He laughed. “Indeed, my lady.”
“And this lovely girl is the Lady Rizpah,” she said, holding out her hand. “Welcome, my dear.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Rizpah said, drawn to her warmth.
“Please call me Alphina. We are all one in Christ Jesus.” She glanced pointedly at Atretes. “I must admit I was curious to see the great Atretes.”
“He’s looked better,” Theophilus said dryly.
“He’s exactly as Rufus described: built like Mars with the face of Apollo,” she said. “Rufus is my son,” she explained to Rizpah. “He went to the inn two nights, but couldn’t get near enough to speak with Atretes. He said the amoratae were as thick as corrupt politicians in our senate. We had hoped to bring you here several days ago.”
“Atretes wouldn’t have come,” Rizpah said.
“We needed more gold,” Atretes said from where he sat and then looked at her. “We should have enough now. Where is it?”
Rizpah could feel the blood draining from her face and then filling it again, burning hot. “Oh, my lord . . .”
“You forgot it?” he said in consternation. The pain in his head almost blinded him as he swore.
“Apuleius made certain all your possessions were brought,” Theophilus said. He untied a heavy leather pouch and tossed it at Atretes’ feet. “Including your gold.” His mouth curled ruefully. “Rizpah had you on her mind.”
Atretes looked from the pouch of gold coins to Theophilus. Troubled, he leaned his head back against the cool, plastered wall.
“I must return and make preparations for this evening,” Lady Alphina said. “Domitian is holding a banquet to celebrate some momentous event.” She noticed Atretes’ sharp, suspicious glance at her and smiled. “He will have to invent a new reason to celebrate now that you’ve escaped. Rufus said he heard it rumored he was going to have you brought and shown at the feast.”
“Are you sure it’s wise to go to the palace?” Theophilus said.
“It would be unwise not to go. Besides, I’m concerned for Domitian’s young niece, Domitilla. She has a heart for the Lord and I want to use whatever opportunity God gives to speak with her.”
She put her hand on Rizpah’s arm. “You needn’t stay here, Rizpah. If you wish, you may follow that passageway to the cryptoporticus. It’s quite lovely and right beneath the villa. Caleb would delight in the pretty tiles on the floor, and you’d both be quite safe there.”
“She stays with me,” Atretes said.
Lady Alphina glanced at him. “My servants are all trust- worthy.”
Atretes looked back at her coldly. “She stays.”
Lady Alphina’s expression softened with understanding and pity. “As you wish, Atretes. I suppose it must be difficult for you to trust any Roman, even those who only wish you well.”
“Especially if you’ve a head harder than granite,” Theophilus said. He lifted his hand. “I will see you to your villa, my lady.”
He walked with Alphina down the long lamplit earthen passageway and entered the cryptoporticus. It was a peaceful place, beautiful with its marble arches, colorful murals, frescoes, and small fountain pool. Beams of sunlight entered from carefully constructed openings in the vault ceiling. It was an underground hideaway from the pressure of daily life, a place of solace that had become a sanctuary for those who shared faith in Christ.
“Perhaps Atretes will join us here tomorrow morning and hear the reading of the apostle Paul’s words.”
“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 bee
n 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.
“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 k
nees and took his son’s hands. With a delighted squeal, Caleb struggled and worked until he pulled himself up and was standing.
“He’ll be walking soon,” Rizpah said.
“I know,” Atretes said grimly. “In a graveyard.” He picked his son up and sat him on his knee, holding him there and studying him. He had Julia’s eyes and hair. Caleb flapped his arms and made happy garbly sounds.
Rizpah laughed. “He’s trying to talk to you.”
How could she laugh in this place? How could she sit and look serene, talking to Theophilus and the others as if they were sitting in a villa or in a banquet room instead of an underground cemetery? Surroundings didn’t matter to her anymore than they mattered to the baby. Wherever she was, she would be the same. He wanted his son to learn to walk on new grass, not on the dark earth of a passageway walled in by death.
Rizpah saw the troubled look on Atretes face and came to sit beside him on the edge of the fountain. “We won’t be here forever.”
Forever. Like death. He had never allowed the fear of death to plague him. It would weaken him, shift his concentration, give an opponent an opening. Now he could think of nothing else. And it was because they were in this place!
He thrust Caleb into her arms as he rose. “We’ve been here long enough.” Caleb’s cry filled the cryptoporticus.
“Where else can we go and be safe?” Rizpah said, holding the child close and patting his back. She kissed him and murmured comforting words to him.
Watching her pour all her affection upon his son made him angry. “Anywhere would be better than this!”
“Even a dungeon?” Theophilus said to draw his anger elsewhere. Atretes was itching for a fight, and Rizpah wouldn’t give him what he wanted. “Or perhaps you’d feel more at home in a cell, one about five feet wide and eight feet long.” He earned a dark look, but nothing more.
When Caleb stopped crying, Rizpah set him down on a mural of a dolphin. Distracted by the colors, shapes, and textures of the tiles, he cooed in delight again and began to crawl around until he came to a spot of light. Sitting up, he tried to grasp hold of the beam of sunshine, which came down from a small opening in the painted dome ceiling.