Character List

Bibliography

Glossary  

The Archaic Temple (Temple of Apollo). Only seven of the grand monolithic columns remain standing.The Bema (or Judgment Pavement). Gallio would have stood atop this podium. Paul would have stood directly in front.Lechaion Road--Corinth's Main StreetPierene Fountain--One of several water sources in the city.Babbius Monument. A monument raised for no other purpose than boasting about the meteoric rise of Babbius the Slave to hold the major offices of city government.Barbarian Statue (now in the Corinth Museum)Augustus (showing him in his role as Pontifex/priest). Note the covered head.Shop Stalls on the west boundary of the Agora.Central Corinth Map showing major areas of the ancient city.

Fall was as good a time as any to leave Corinth.

Standing at the prow of a merchantman anchored in the harbor of Cenchrea, Paul stared off into the Saronic Gulf, watching the blue of the sea and the hazy smudge of Attic coast to the north. He kept his face to the wind, letting the breeze blow away the lingering memories of summer’s heat.

The wind felt strange on his head. It swirled around his ears and reached down his neck with an unaccustomed intimacy.  He’d shaved his head before boarding—an act of consecration to prepare him for his return to the city of his fathers, a token of gratitude for God’s protection in the City of Aphrodite.

Aquila and Priscilla sat with their trunks and bags in the lee of the small deckhouse near the stern. The others—who had walked with them to Cenchrea and see them to the boat—were gone, back to Corinth and whatever had to be faced in that fickle city. Paul was alone for a few moments, feeling the wind on his fresh-shaved skin and trying to swallow his regrets about leaving.

The sea smelled so good—fresh and promising. Paul always associated the sea with the future. His legs were betrayers, carrying him away from people he loved, distancing him from the past. But boats sailed on tomorrow’s seas—bearing him to far places and gifting him with new opportunities and people. Paul loved the smells and the hope of the sea.

He needed the hope as much as anyone, after all.

More.

­­­­­_________

The itch stopped bothering him almost as soon as he’d told the Corinthians he was going.  

Oh, his back still twinged on occasion and reminded him of other places, of other leavings. But the nagging in his mind—the insistent, tingling pester that played in his head and picked at his heart—let him alone once he made the decision to go.  He still heard the voices—calling, calling—but they were no longer shrill and disruptive. They had granted him a temporary truce.

He was glad of it, relieved to be left in peace. It was time. Time to give himself to other purposes.

That had not made telling the Corinthians any easier, of course. The night he’d broken the news, he still had to contend with their eyes. Hester blinked at him, silent and uncertain. Stephanas just smiled and looked away. Cratulus swallowed hard and acted as though he’d tasted something bitter.  Claemia refused to look at him at all.

Only Gaius seemed unperturbed by his decision. Only Gaius seemed content to let him go.

Their faces floated before him now. But he shook his head and forced his eyes to the horizon. 

They would weigh anchor soon. Soon he would meet other faces, the ones that matched the voices in his head. And he would start it all over again.

_________

Some kinds of faith came hard for Paul.

Not faith in God. Not his confidence that the Spirit would remain with the Corinthians even if Paul could not.

It was faith in people that troubled him. He had too much experience with their shallow and hard and thorny hearts. He knew how quickly they could fold. He knew how little it took for some to let go.

Not all were that way, he admitted. Sometimes, their courage took him by surprise. He thought of Crispus and Hester, the day they walked out of the synagogue. He remembered Claemia’s long climb from the gutter, and Portensus wrestling with issues so much larger than himself, and reckoned they were strong enough to survive. But there were the others he was not so sure of. Cratulus. Sosthenes. Abi. Would they make it?

He chided himself for his doubts. He knew he should have more confidence in what God was doing … in the people God was forming. He recognized in it a kind of pride, a readiness to see in himself a fortitude he found hard to attribute to others. He admitted that such doubts led him to questions he could not answer—about the ways of God in a broken, faithless world.

But then he thought of Gaius. And he knew with a dull, aching certainty that Gaius would cause problems in the future. While Paul was back in Jerusalem, while Paul wandered wherever God would lead next, Gaius would be here.  Gaius would be mixing Corinth into this church, one subtle, poisonous drop at a time.

They’ll be fine, he’d told Priscilla.

They’ll be fine, he told himself again now.

But he wondered if they would.

The afternoon he left Corinth, Paul stood in the prow of a boat and prayed fitfully—torn between the faces of people he loved and was leaving, and the unfamiliar voices calling to him from across the sea.

[End Matter]

[Beginning of the novel]

“Why? Why now?” Crispus complained. He was following, but only with reluctance. “There are a great many years involved here, Paul. A great many wounds and slights. Those won’t go away with one meeting.”

“True!” Paul was quite willing to concede the point. “But it has to start somewhere. And today is as good a time as any.”

“But what if I’m not ready? What if he’s not ready? Do we have any say in this?”

Paul smiled. “Actually, no. Before I can go, I need a solid group of leaders in place. You and Sosthenes know the Scriptures. You both know how to deal with the demands of community. You know how to teach and train. You know how to handle conflict.” He smiled again. “Though you haven’t always handled it well. Especially with each other.

“I won’t go until the two of you kiss and make up. I need you working together, not nursing old grudges.”

Crispus fell silent for a few moments, walking beside Paul and mulling the matter over.

“I don’t actually have to kiss him, do I?”

II

They entered his room to find Sosthenes engaged in lively conversation with Prisca. Apparently, from what Paul overheard, they’d been discussing the Beatitudes. He hoped Sosthenes would remember the blessing Jesus pronounced on peacemakers.

Sosthenes turned at the sound of the opening door and saw Crispus framed in the threshold. He stood up and stared. It had been a long time since that day in the synagogue. It had been far longer since the two of them had exchanged civil words. There was an awkward silence in the room, a moment of indecision and uncertainty.

But then Sosthenes stepped forward and extended his hand. “God be with you, Crispus—my old friend and my old enemy. It’s good to see you again.”

Crispus noted the purple bruising around his nose, the cuts on his eyebrows and cheeks. He remembered how he’d felt the day he’d walked out of the synagogue—the raw wound of turning his back on so much he’d counted precious. That had been a bludgeoning of sorts.

Now, looking at Sosthenes’s scars, he wondered what it would feel like to have the synagogue turn its back on him in such a violent and unmistakable way. He felt a surge of sympathy for this man he’d known and wrestled with for so long. He wondered if, in fact, there might be room for some peace between them.

They were like exiles, he realized, banished to some lonely island by the only community they’d ever known. They could sit in isolation, nursing their old rivalry, or they could find common ground and survive the loss together.

He took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. “Sosthenes. My old friend and my old enemy. You look terrible.”

Sosthenes laughed, touched his nose self-consciously, and then lapsed into awkward silence again.

Paul motioned to Prisca, who joined him at the door. He addressed the two men. “I’m going to lock you in this room. I’m asking you not to come out until you’ve made peace.” He looked at Crispus. “Sosthenes is a believer now. Like me, he came to the light through blindness. He is your brother in the Lord, Crispus. Whatever passed between the two of you before must be confessed and forgiven.” He turned to Sosthenes. “As I told Crispus on the way here, the two of you have an important role to play in the church here. I need you working together. They need you working together. For their sake, if not your own, I’m asking you to put the past aside, to be brothers once more.”

He looked from one to the other. And then, with a nod, he ushered Prisca out the door.

As they walked together down the stairs to the great hall, Prisca asked, “They won’t beat each other senseless, will they?”

Paul grinned. “I certainly hope not.” He pulled a face. “I’ve had enough of bedpans and sponge baths!”

Prisca took his arm and laughed.

III

In spite of all their poisoned history, the meeting between the two men went well. If they didn’t settle all the matters that littered the years between them, they made confession and extended forgiveness about a few. And if they didn’t leave the room exactly friends, they at least laid a basis for something that might grow into friendship. Stranger things had happened.

“I think we can work together, Paul,” Crispus assured the Apostle later as they walked for a final time through the agora. “There’s a humility to him now that wasn’t there before. I guess it came from the beating. Or from your willingness to show him the cross.”

Paul arched an eyebrow at his friend. “And what, I wonder, would Sosthenes say is different about you? What would he see in you, now, that wasn’t there before?”

Crispus gave Paul a sheepish look. “I imagine I’ve found some humility of my own.”

“The two of you will need each other in the days ahead, Crispus. I’m counting on you both, and Hester, and Stephanas to provide leadership.” He turned to look at his companion. “Someone will lead these people. If the four of you don’t step up …”

“Gaius?” Crispus asked.

“Yes. Gaius. And his friends. Be careful how you handle Gaius. He won’t let you lead, if he can help it. And he won’t follow your lead easily. Watch him, Crispus.”

“We will, Paul.”

“I’m only a letter away, Crispus. I’ll let you know where I am, where you can reach me. If you run into problems, if you hit a wall, write to me. I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ll remember that.” Crispus motioned to Paul and they walked over to stand before the Bema. Crispus stared at it for a long time, wondering what the future might hold. “I’ll count on that, in fact,” he said with feeling.

The two of them moved on together, past the shops and temples and municipal buildings that Paul had come to know so well. In every corner of the agora was a memory. At every statue and monument was a face. They stood together at the spot where Prisca began her lessons about Corinth. They walked in front of the taverna where Paul met Stephanas and heard the story of Oedipus. They stood at the foot of Babbius’s monument and read once again his boastful inscription.

Paul turned and, in his mind, could see the uplifted faces of the crowd who’d watched that first debate with the philosopher. Christian! the man had named him, as if the name were a slur. A follower of a crucified god! he’d scoffed, as though Paul should be embarrassed.

But he was not embarrassed. He was proud. Grateful to be a Christian, even if the name were an offense to others. Thankful beyond words to be a follower of this crucified God.

And now there were others who called themselves by that name. Now there were others who would follow in the steps of the Crucified One.

A pretty good way to spend eighteen months of my life, he told himself. One more labor for the sake of the pearl.

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

The question was directed to Paul, but Aquila tried to answer. “If you haven’t noticed, Prisca, business has been slow since winter. Rumor has it there’ll be another grain shortage next winter. People aren’t paying for awnings when they may need their coin to buy bread. We were thinking,” he nodded at Paul, “that Ephesus looks good. A steady grain supply from the interior of the province. Lots of travelers and pilgrims to buy tents and tarps.” He looked at her hopefully, wanting her to see the sense of their proposal.

“Besides,” Paul jumped in, “I plan to start a church in Ephesus. First a quick trip to Jerusalem. Then on to Antioch for the winter. But Ephesus by spring.” He reached up and scratched his head. “I was hoping you could do for me there what you did here, Prisca. Learn the city while I’m gone. Teach me what you’ve learned when I get back.” Like Aquila, he hoped she would see.

“But this is my home now! We’ve got too much invested in these people. How can we just turn our backs on them and sail away?”

Prisca knew she had to walk a fine line. The move had been decided for her. She’d had no say in the matter. For principle’s sake, she needed to offer enough resistance to make Aquila remember and think twice before excluding her in the future. But as it became clear that Paul was moving on, the idea of leaving with him had nagged at Prisca. Now, for reasons of her own, she wanted to go. So she couldn’t resist the idea too strongly. Aquila might relent.

“There has to be something more than slow tent sales to make us leave Corinth.”

There was. Tucked inside Aquila’s tunic was a summons to appear in court the following month. The charges involved the sale of inferior products and breach of contract. They came as a surprise to Aquila—he’d never had a dissatisfied customer. But when he read the name of the man who’d brought the charges—Berekiah, son of Jubal—he knew the charges were fabricated, merely a means to cause trouble for him and his wife.

The summons burned against his chest, as palpably threatening as the man who brought the suit. When Aquila showed the summons to Paul, his friend just pursed his lips and nodded. It was only the beginning. There would be more of the same ahead.

Both of them thought it best not to show the document to Prisca. Shades of Rome.

It was the summons that started Aquila thinking. Perhaps they should leave with Paul, shield Prisca from Berekiah’s threatening bulk. And it was the summons that started Paul thinking along similar lines. He’d grown accustomed to the tailor and his wife, dependent on them.

For her part, Prisca had also discovered a reason to leave Corinth—though it had nothing to do with vengeful countrymen and trumped-up lawsuits. She discovered, in the days following Paul’s announcement that he was leaving, a growing reluctance to let him go … a mother’s resistance to the idea of launching her son into a dangerous world without his mother’s protective presence.

Prisca had decided she wanted to leave Corinth. But her reasons were simpler than Aquila’s … more visceral. She could not let Paul go. So, she was determined to go with him.

Paul shrugged his shoulders at Prisca’s statement about slow tent sales. “There are always reasons to stay and reasons to go,” he told her. “In the end, the decision isn’t a matter of reasons but of God’s will.” He gestured in a way that suggested the decision was out of his hands. “God wants me to move on. I know it. And, for some reason, God wants the two of you to go with me. I know that as well. Can you trust me in this, Prisca?”

She worried her lower lip for a time, grateful to have a reason to give in, but careful not to show that gratitude. Aquila still needed training.

Finally, though, she relented. “Well,” she held up her hands in surrender, “if you’re gonna bring God’s will into it …”

She started to chuckle quietly. “What was it Silas said? ‘Who am I to argue with God?’” She looked at Aquila, remembering their first time in Stephanas’s house, her first taste of forbidden food, her friendship with Stauria. “That question has gotten us in real trouble, hasn’t it?” she asked her husband with a smile.

And then, placing a hand on Aquila’s arm, she turned to Paul. “If God wants us to go with you, we won’t argue. But he keeps leading us to hard places, Paul. Does it ever end?”

Paul looked at her and felt his heart fill—out of love for these two, from memories of the hard places he’d gone himself and had yet to go. He gave a tight smile and said, simply, “It hasn’t yet.”

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

Berekiah, Paul suspected, was of that breed.

There were not many qualities Paul could admire in the man. But he did possess, in abundance, a characteristic Paul shared—dogged determination, a stubborn persistence. Now that he had Paul’s scent, it was only a matter of time before he bit. And once Berekiah had his teeth in him, Paul knew he’d never let go.

Sosthenes, in their wide-ranging discussions during his recovery, only confirmed what Paul’s instincts told him was true.

II

As his strength returned, Sosthenes began to walk the city again, doing the delicate work of making tentative connections with a few old friends and catching up on news of the synagogue. He quickly discovered three things, none of which gave Paul any comfort—Berekiah had, indeed, been appointed the new synagogue ruler; he was publicly denouncing Saul, refuting his teachings, and expelling anyone who had contact with the rebel group; and his stated mission was, above all, to make life in Corinth as difficult as possible, and as short as possible, for Saul of Tarsus and everyone connected to him.

The news of that weighed on Paul. He did not fear what Berekiah could do to him—he really had been tormented by better men. But he worried about his flock; about Crispus and Hester, Aquila and Prisca in particular. How far would Berekiah go? What would he do to those closest to Paul for the chance to wound Paul himself?

But it wasn’t just Berekiah that burdened Paul. It wasn’t just his fears for those in the church who might be caught and crushed in Berekiah’s jaws. He was also conscious of other burdens … had been for some time.

Paul was tired. He was tired in a bone-deep, spirit-sapping way. He’d kept up a brutal pace for a long time. Between work and the agora and Gaius’s house—the crises that demanded his attentions and the investments he needed to make in the future leaders of Corinth’s ekklesia—Paul was wearing out. He’d known he could not keep it up much longer. He’d known there would come a day of reckoning, when his body would sit down in the road like Balaam’s donkey and refuse to go on.

Increasingly, he found himself longing for the relief of getting away, for the rest he always found on sea voyages when he had no responsibilities except to stare at the water and watch coastlines slide by. He daydreamed about walking long roads alone, spending quiet nights with only a campfire for companionship.

But most of all, Paul felt the burden of God’s hand upon him, tugging at him, pulling him away from Corinth towards distant shores. As the weeks passed, as August grew hotter and hotter, his thoughts were drawn towards the horizon, to other churches, to other places and people. Near the end, he could think of little else.

A year and a half was a long tenure for the Apostle. That was part of it. He’d never spent that much time in one place before—not since the Damascus Road. But he’d been that long in Corinth. A year and a half without word from Jerusalem or Antioch or the churches of Asia Province. A year and a half in Corinth when so many great cities, so many people, went without the gospel.

But it was more than that. It was the burden of his calling. He was God’s Apostle, a man “sent out,” a man with a mission. God had not called Paul to stay. He’d called him to go. And the echo of that call haunted Paul’s days and disturbed his nights. It pressed on him with a constancy he could not ignore. It made his back itch.

Others saw these things in him—the worry, the fatigue, the preoccupation. Hester read the signs and suspected Paul’s time in Corinth was running short. Stephanas saw the symptoms and feared that only a change of scenery could cure Paul’s ills.

It worried them all. They talked about it constantly behind his back.

­­­

III

By the time he stood to speak, it was late. As usual, there had been singing and Scripture, confession and prophecy, a word of wisdom couched in a tongue. It was a pattern they’d fallen into and one, he knew, that would serve them well when he left.

The Spirit, as so often before, was strong in their assembly. Everyone was aware of his presence. Had the Spirit been water, they would all be dripping.

That’s good, Paul thought. It’s what they need.

He looked around the group, at each person in the room. He’d given this sermon a great deal of thought, spending more time than usual in prayer about it. The cross had been his theme for so long. But tonight, he needed to speak of something else. He wanted to give them something, a way forward, that might guide them in his absence. He felt the need to throw a rope to people who would soon be adrift.

“One of the great privileges of living in these last days is the reality of the Spirit of God. The Spirit with us, for us, and in us. Tonight, we’ve experienced the Spirit’s gifts. We’ve tasted his presence.” Every eye was on him, more than usual, as if they all anticipated a special significance to his words this evening.

“It’s thrilling, isn’t it?” He saw heads nodding and smiles of agreement. “I’m glad for the Spirit tonight, brothers and sisters. I hope you drink deeply of him all the days of your life.” He paused. “But I want more for you than the Spirit’s gifts. I want you to become spiritual people.”

He could tell by their faces they did not understand the distinction.

“You can have a spiritual gift and not be a spiritual person—just as you can wear fine clothing and not be a prince or laugh but not feel joy. You might speak in tongues. But that doesn’t mean you’re spiritual. You might heal the sick or work wonders. But that—in itself—doesn’t prove anything about who you are.” He paused for a moment and studied his listeners. They were struggling with it, he could see.

“The Spirit works through us, with the gifts. But the Spirit also works in us. And it is the work inside that really determines whether we’re becoming spiritual people. If you’re not careful,” he looked at Gaius, “you’ll focus on outward things and miss the inner work. You’ll think that spiritual power is in the miracles when, in fact, it’s in the transformation.

“Listen to me,” he insisted, catching whatever eyes he could. “The Spirit’s best and greatest work happens in our hearts,” he put a hand on his chest, “and between our hearts,” he put his other hand on Hester’s shoulder. “Inside us, God’s Spirit is changing us into the image of Jesus. Between us, in our community,” he gestured to them all, “his Spirit is working to make us one, to bind us together, to create a family.

“Oh, my brothers and sisters. Don’t get stuck on the Spirit’s gifts and miss the greater things God is doing. If you do, you’ll never grow up. You’ll never become a mature, spiritual person.”

He took a breath and launched his boat into deep water. “What I want you to understand is that spirituality is a matter of character, not charismata. The character of each of us, individually. The character of all of us, collectively.”

He looked around again. “Once upon a time, some of you were prostitutes and adulterers. Some of you were violent and cruel. You were greedy and envious and thieving. You gossiped and slandered. You were drunks and liars.”

Stauria, who’d committed most of the sins Paul listed, looked down. Paul noticed and moved to her, placing his hand gently on her bowed head.

“But then came God’s Spirit!” Paul hurried on. “The Spirit washed you clean and set you right with God. The Spirit is working in you now to make you new and whole and holy.” Paul felt the energy surging through him. His hands moved from Stauria’s head and started their odd dance, moving from hip to pate to random wanderings in the air, tracing a thought as though he were painting rather than preaching.

“You’re changing!” he told them. “What you once were is dying away. What you will be is growing inside. And that is the Spirit of God, doing his greatest work within you.”

He looked pointedly at Stauria. What a change in her life. She smiled when his eyes turned towards her and nodded. She knew she was becoming a different person.

“The Spirit has more for us than gifts. He brings transforming power, so we can live like Jesus. That’s the first way you know you’re becoming spiritual people—by the changes happening within. But the second way is even more important.” He bored his eyes into them, willing them to understand. “Once upon a time, you were scattered, divided, disconnected, alienated. You were cut off from each other, selfish, and alone.

“But then came God’s Spirit! He brings us …” his voice caught and he had to pause for a moment, “He brings us together from different places and different paths. He binds us together in common cause, with a common confession. And then he teaches us how to love each other, how to be one family, one body.”

Paul’s eyes filled with tears, the emotion overwhelming him. “Gifts are the beginning—I want you to have the gifts. Holiness is next and necessary—I want you to live pure lives. But love is the Spirit’s greatest gift. Love is the purest expression of a spiritual life. Love is the ultimate proof that you’re growing deep in God. If you don’t love, you’re not a spiritual person, no matter what wonders you perform, no matter how good you are. Without love, we are nothing.”

He paused for a long time, seeming to struggle with himself. He opened his mouth to continue, but could not find his voice for a moment. He swallowed hard.

“I love you,” Paul told them then. “Every one of you. I love you with all the power of the Spirit within me. You are part of me, and I am part of you. We are bound together and nothing can separate us. Do you understand?”

He sought the eyes of each person there, men and women he’d found in the synagogue and the agora and the baths, in tavernas and back alleys. He looked into the faces of people he’d poured the Gospel into, people who’d let the Gospel trouble and catch and then change them. His heart welled up with the love of them. His heart spilled over with the love of them.

And then his heart broke with what he had to tell them next.

“It is time for me to go. I have to leave Corinth. Other people are calling me. Other places need my message.” He looked at each of them, devouring their faces. “But I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. I will take you with me. And I hope you will keep me—in your affections and in your hearts. The Spirit has made us one, you and I. And nothing—not time, not distance, not troubles or pain—can separate us.”

They received the news in silence, in a stillness that felt like the tomb. His words were not a surprise. They’d seen it coming. But they did not understand it. Not really. They didn’t know why he had to leave. They couldn’t grasp how he could go away and still be with them.

As he imagined, Crispus and Hester blinked at him with unspoken questions. Stephanas smiled, wanting to understand but failing. Stauria could not meet his eyes. She was afraid. Cratulus and others swallowed hard at the news, and, though they would not say it, the sour tang in their mouths tasted like betrayal.

Only Gaius smiled up at him untroubled. Only Gaius seemed glad to let him go.

“Before I leave, I want you to understand that God’s Spirit is doing the important work here. It’s his power you need, not me. It’s his presence you require, not mine. I have to leave Corinth. I have to leave you. But God’s Spirit won’t leave with me. He will stay, to be present with you. He will come to you in your worship and in your struggles. He will bring his gifts to share with you. But most of all,” he looked down for a brief moment, composing himself, “he will continue the work I came here to do—creating in each of you a Christ-like character … building through all of you a cross-shaped church.”

“I am going away. But the Spirit is not. He remains to teach you how to live, to show you how to love. And, confident of that, I leave you to his good care, knowing that, what he has started in you, he will also finish.”

Silence fell. Paul walked to each person in the room, offering a touch and a smile. Hands reached up to him, clasping his hands, touching his arms.

They were travelers watching their guide point to the horizon and then leave for parts unknown. They were wounded soldiers stitched up by a harried surgeon who could only pause briefly and then move on. They were children watching their father walk away for the sake of other siblings in other places.

They were helpless to keep him from leaving. And no one could make them happy about it.

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

But the voice that greeted him was unfamiliar. “You’re awake, Sosthenes! Good. You need to drink some water.”

He felt a hand cradle the back of his neck, raising him to put a cup to his lips. He clenched his teeth against the agony of movement and took a few painful gulps. “Who are you? What are you doing in my home?” Sosthenes asked as his head was lowered back to the pillow.

“I am a friend,” the voice answered. “After what happened in the agora, I thought you might need a friend.”

Not unfamiliar. He knew that voice. But he could not put a name or a face to it.

“And I’m afraid you’re not at home,” the voice continued. “I picked you up in the agora and carried you to the closest place I knew. You needed immediate attention, I’m afraid. And, besides, I don’t know where you live.”

Sosthenes moved his hand carefully to his eyes, feeling at the bandages that swathed his head. A cold dread seized him, squeezing his heart. “Is something wrong with my eyes? Am I blind?”

He felt a hand take his and move it away from the bandages. “No, your eyes are fine. But you have some nasty cuts around them that required stitches. And your nose is broken, I’m afraid. We’ll remove the bandages in a couple of days, once the healing’s begun.”

He started to drift off again, but the voice caught him. “Is there anyone we should send a message to, Sosthenes? Anyone who will be worried about you?”

He remembered the faces in the agora. He thought about his lonely, empty house. He whispered, “No” before falling back to sleep.

II

“I think you should try sitting for a while.”

That voice again! Sosthenes felt hands under his armpits, raising him to sit against the pillows propped at his back. He could smell candle tallow. It must be night.

“There. How does that feel?”

“I’m sore,” he groaned. “They really worked me over, I guess.”

“Yes, they did.” The voice was sympathetic. “No way to treat an elder of God’s people, the leader of a synagogue.”

“No,” Sosthenes agreed, probing his teeth with his tongue, checking for looseness. “Though I have no one to blame but myself. What a fool I was!” And he thought about Berekiah, realizing there was one elder, one leader of a synagogue, he’d like to work over himself.

“Could you eat some broth?”

Sosthenes smelled it now over the burning tallow. “I’ll try.” He held out his hands for the bowl.

“I think you’d better let me,” the voice said. He felt a spoon at his lips and opened his mouth. He swallowed a time or two, as much as he could, and then motioned he’d had enough.

“How long before we take off these bandages?”

“I’ll change them in the morning. You can test your eyes then, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“And how long before I can walk and get around on my own?” He grew embarrassed, feeling the urgings of his bladder.

He heard a soft chuckle. “Oh, in my experience, it will be a few more days yet.”

“Are you a physician?”

Again the chuckle. “No, but I do have some knowledge of these matters.”

Sosthenes tried to ignore his need to urinate by thinking of other things. “So you were at the agora? You saw what happened?” His head was so groggy. He could barely get the words out.

“Yes. I had an excellent vantage point. I saw it all.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Day before yesterday.”

By the temple. No wonder my bladder’s bursting. “So what did you think about our little disaster with Gallio?”

“I think you walked into an ambush. Berekiah set you up, didn’t he?”

“Yes he did. I never saw it coming.”

“He’s playing a pretty dangerous game, putting a lot of people at risk.”

“Berekiah cares only about himself and his own advancement. He’s quite willing to risk us all to get what he wants.” He felt a wash of anger, and then realized he was too weary to sustain it.

“Well, caring only about self is a common disease these days.”

“Yes it is. But not you. You’ve been very kind to me and I’m grateful.” He wanted desperately to sleep but was afraid he’d wet the bed if he drifted off.

“Hmmph!” the voice grunted. “Think nothing of it. Now, are you going to ask me?”

The question surprised him. “Ask you what?”

“How to pee when you’re laying flat on your back.”

Sosthenes flushed. “I-I-I do need to go,” he stammered.

“Well,” said the voice, “that’s why God invented chamberpots. There’s one beside your bed. Let me help you use it.”

Sosthenes thought it was the most helpless moment in all his long life.

III

When he woke next, he lay for a long time, listening. He heard no sound. He smelled no candles. “Hello?” he called. “Is anyone there?” No answer.

He touched the bandages on his face. He flexed his arms and legs. And then he lay still and decided to use these precious moments of clarity to begin the hard work of taking stock of his shattered life.

For as long as he could remember, over all the long years, he’d been part of a community, part of a people who had nurtured and defined him. He’d grown up to the comforting rhythms of those people—the daily prayers, the weekly worship, the feasts and rituals that punctuated the yearly calendar. He’d found his wife in that community and, decades later, leaned on the community when he’d buried her. His life, for so long, had revolved around the synagogue and the Jews of Corinth who gathered there each Sabbath.

But no longer. He’d failed them and they had rejected him. He didn’t know whether Berekiah would have him formally expelled from the synagogue. He doubted it. But how could he go back? How could he ever feel an honored part of that community again?

He’d seen their faces. While Berekiah and his cronies did the physical damage, the rest of them stood and watched. They could have intervened. They could have protected him, defended him. But they didn’t. They watched instead.

Sosthenes remembered their faces. The faces of men he’d known for years. The faces of men he’d trusted and worked with for decades. These were his peers, his friends!

Or so he’d thought.

How could he ever go back to them now? How would he ever erase the memory of their watching? Sosthenes was counting how much he’d lost, what those few moments before Gallio had cost him, when he heard a door opening. “Hello? Whose there?”

“Ah,” the voice said. “So you’re awake. I left to run some errands, see a few people. I would have said something, but you were sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you. Sleep is the best thing for you now.” Sosthenes heard footsteps approaching the bed. “Any improvement?”

“Yes, I believe so. It still feels like somebody ran over me with an ox cart, but I think I’ll live.”

“Good. Could you stand a sponge bath? It’ll make you feel better. And smell better.”

Again Sosthenes heard the low chuckle.

“Yes, that would be appreciated.”

He heard water being poured into a basin and then footsteps approaching him again.

“The water’s cold, I’m afraid. There’s no fire in the apartment to heat it.”

“That’s all right,” Sosthenes assured him. “I can stand it.”

He felt the covers being stripped away from his body and smelled the sour odor of dried blood and old sweat. He felt the first cold shock of a sponge on his chest.

“You’ll carry some bruises for awhile, I’m afraid,” the voice fussed.

He felt strong hands probing his ribs, searching for tender spots.

“I don’t think you have any broken bones. This doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?”

Sosthenes winced as the fingers poked him. But there were no sharp pains. Just the dull ache of the bruises.

“Here,” the voice placed the sponge in his hand. “You may want to wash your private parts. I, for one, would prefer you do that yourself.” The chuckle again.

He washed himself and held up the sponge when he was finished.

“Now,” said the voice. “Let’s turn you over and get the rest of you.”

When he was clean, the voice said, “I need to change your bedding, if you’re up to it.” Sosthenes nodded. “You’ll have to help me a little.”

He felt an arm go around his shoulder and put his own hand around the man’s back to lift himself as much as possible. He felt the thin fabric of a tunic and, beneath the fabric, a hatch of bumps and lines. He moved his hand further down the back. Wherever he touched, there were the same rough blemishes.

And suddenly, he remembered the face that went with the voice. He gasped and stiffened.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Sosthenes croaked. “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. Not really.

When the bedding was changed at last and Sosthenes lay once more under the covers, propped up against the pillows, he said, “Perhaps we can take these bandages off.” He touched the strips of cloth that covered his eyes, wet now with the tears he could not hold back.

“Maybe that’s not a good idea, quite yet,” the voice said after a brief pause. “It may be easier if you keep the bandages a few days more.”

“That won’t be necessary, Saul.”

He heard a sigh and then the scraping of a stool and footsteps. He felt the bandages being unwound. He blinked at the unaccustomed light. Paul took the sponge and wiped Sosthenes’s face, careful around the stitches and his nose. He leaned in close to scrutinize the scars and grunted his satisfaction. “Good thing I make a living stitching hides. I don’t think a surgeon could have done better.”

He sat back and the two men examined each other for a long, uncomfortable period.

Sosthenes spoke at last. “Why are you doing this for me, Saul? After what I did to you?”

Paul shrugged. “I was there. And there was no one else.”

“You could have left me. My friends did.”

“True.” He smiled. “But that’s not what Jesus would have done.” He wanted to say more, to tell the story about the Samaritan, to talk about loving the enemy. He wanted to explain about the cross to Sosthenes, something that made their own differences seem trivial. But he looked a little closer at Sosthenes and decided to wait.

Sosthenes was staring up at a high window that permitted light to stream into an otherwise shadowed room, blinking at its brightness, thankful for the way it burned his eyes. He watched as motes of dust moved from the shadows into that column of light and followed it up towards the window—like souls finding illumination and rising from the darkness to God.

It’s funny how a simple beating can show pride and stubbornness for what it is, he was thinking. All it had taken for Sosthenes to reconsider Saul and his difficult message was a little scorn, a little humbling, and a little kindness.

He replayed the synagogue debates as he watched the light and wished he were not so old and burdened, that he might become a mote, leaving the shadows behind and floating up into the warmth beyond.

They sat in silence for a long time like that—Sosthenes watching motes of dust and Paul watching him.

Until Sosthenes said, “I’m tired. I’d like to sleep, if you don’t mind. But when I wake, I’d like you to tell me again about your Jesus, Brother Saul. I’m afraid I wasn’t really listening the first time around.”

It would be the first of many conversations.

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

Berekiah and Sosthenes stepped forward to face Paul.

“Ah, Saul,” Berekiah oozed. “We meet again, it seems. Things have been so quiet in the synagogue of late, I almost miss you. Almost.” His mouth stretched into a semblance of a smile. “Would you be so kind as to accompany us?”

Paul struggled briefly against the two men who held his arms. “Where are you taking me, Berekiah?”

“Oh, a brief stroll through our fair city this fine morning. An appointment in the agora. Nothing for you to worry about.” Berekiah moved closer, towering over Paul’s small frame, radiating threat and hostility. Paul could smell it on him. “Then again, Saul,” he said in a voice that carried to the whole group, “perhaps you should worry a little. You have stolen the last of our sheep. You’ve troubled our synagogue for the final time. For we intend to stop you. Today. But if not today, then tomorrow or next month. It’s over for you here in Corinth.” A murmur of assent rose from the rest of them.

He stepped back and nodded to his companions. Turning, he and Sosthenes walked towards the center of the city, Paul dragged along behind them, the crowd of angry Hebrews taking up the rear.

II

“We respectfully request an audience with the governor.”

Sosthenes had to crane his neck to look up at the legate towering above him on the Bema. “We were on the docket for today. The matter of the Hebrew council versus Saul of Tarsus. We have prepared our case. My people—hard-working, tax-paying residents of this city—have closed their shops and suspended their business to appear as witnesses.” He gestured towards the men around him. And then he pointed at Paul. “Here stands the accused. Please, we ask that the governor hear our indictment.”

“As I’ve already told you, the docket has been cancelled for today. Gallio …” a small smile played at the legate’s lips, “… the Proconsul is indisposed this morning.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that our honorable governor is not feeling well,” Sosthenes replied with some sympathy. “But we’ve gone to considerable effort to bring this matter before him. The case is cut and dried. It will not take much of the governor’s time. Please ask if he could hear us briefly.”

The legate looked down at the group, considering. “And why can’t you come back tomorrow? Gallio will hear your case then.”

“Sir,” Sosthenes was thinking fast on his feet. “We would gladly do so. But the accused,” he pointed again towards Paul, “is a notorious criminal. Legal actions have been initiated against him throughout Asia Province and Macedonia. He’s likely to take flight—now that he knows we’re bringing charges against him—and spread his mischief elsewhere.”

“I see,” said the legate, examining Paul more carefully and tapping his chin with a finger. “Well, I’ll lock him up for the night. Set him under guard until your case can be heard. Would that satisfy you?”

Paul made some quick calculations of his own. “Actually, sir, that would not satisfy. I am a Roman citizen and cannot be imprisoned without formal charges being filed.”

The legate’s eyes widened. Berekiah and Sosthenes looked at each other in surprise.

A crowd was beginning to gather, the usual mix of bystanders and loiterers who had nothing better to do than eavesdrop on other people’s problems. In Corinth, as in every city of the Empire, public trials were a chief form of entertainment—a spectator sport as engaging, in its own way, as the theater or the arena. Paul’s claim of citizenship started them buzzing. This might prove amusing.

“I see,” the legate said again. He looked at Paul, at the knot of prominent Jews who stood with Sosthenes, at the growing crowd of spectators, and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll talk to the Proconsul and determine his pleasure in the matter.”

Turning on his heel, the legate marched away from the Bema, entered the south stoa, and disappeared through a doorway into the governor’s mansion.

He knew where to find Gallio. Marching to the closed door of the lavatory, he listened, smiling, to the moans and emissions coming from within. He knocked. “Proconsul. So sorry to disturb you, sir. But there is a legal matter I think you should attend to.”

III

Gallio followed his lictors to the Bema, walking unsteadily and cursing under his breath. His bowels ached. His skin itched. His legs hurt. And, thanks to the ointments prescribed by that quack physician of his, he smelled of rancid fish. Oh, the indignity of it all! he moaned. Oh, the burdens of high office.

He took his place on the Bema and scanned the crowd with a sour, belligerent eye. “This had better be good!” were his first words. Paul suppressed a grin. And Sosthenes felt a nervous tremble start in his stomach.

He stepped forward. “Honored governor. Let us offer our sympathies for your ailments and our gratitude for granting us time in spite …”

“Yes, yes,” Gallio interrupted, feeling a fresh wave of diarrhea threaten and waving his hand at Sosthenes. “Get on with it, man!”

Sosthenes blanched. Not a favorable beginning. “Honored governor. We stand before you in the case of the Hebrew council versus Saul of Tarsus. The accused is a notorious criminal, arrested, tried, convicted, and punished by numerous synagogue tribunals and Roman courts throughout the Asia Province and Macedonia. He is a dangerous man, Proconsul, and we ask that you deal with him accordingly.”

Gallio raised his hand to stop Sosthenes and turned towards Paul. “My legate tells me you are a Roman citizen. Is that true?”

Paul took a step forward. “Yes, honored governor. I was born a citizen, in the city of Tarsus, where my citizenship is recorded on the municipal rolls.”

“And yet you are a troublemaker, I take it.”

“Forgive me, Proconsul, but my accuser has not represented me accurately. I have never been tried before a Roman court. I am neither a criminal nor a danger to public order. And, as you will discover when my accuser finally gets around to naming his charges,” he fixed Sosthenes with a level gaze, “these people have no allegations of criminal behavior to lay at my feet. They have inconvenienced you this morning because they find me … inconvenient.”

Gallio glowered down at them all and groused, “Is that so? Well, I hope for your sakes this man,” he pointed a finger at Paul, “is a liar as well as a lawbreaker. You!” He moved the finger to Sosthenes. “What charges do you bring? And be quick about it!” Gallio withdrew his finger and hand, placing them solicitously on his aching belly.

Sosthenes did not like the way this was going. His mouth felt like a desert.

“Governor, this man has disrupted our synagogue. He has provoked disorder and disunity. He has undermined the faith of some of our most prominent members. And all because he teaches people to worship God in a manner that is not in keeping with our law!”

There was a long pause. “And?” Gallio demanded.

Sosthenes quailed. “And these good men stand with me to enter their testimony as evidence of his blasphemies and disregard for our customs.”

Gallio was already feeling poorly. It didn’t require much effort to work himself into a towering rage. He gave the legate who’d disturbed him a withering glance. His eyes, predatory and violent, roamed over the band of robed and bearded men. “You’d better be here to testify to more than that! Do any of you accuse this man of theft? Has he done any violence? Has he spoken sedition against the Emperor? Does he violate little girls?” His voice quavered in anger. His words were less question than challenge.

None of them answered. None of them would meet his eyes.

Gallio took a deep, calming breath—the way an archer breathes before loosing an arrow at the heart of an enemy. “Let me see if I understand. You don’t like the way this Saul of Tarsus worships. So you bring him up on charges before the Proconsul of all the Achaean Province? You drag me from my sick bed to hear a case that shouldn’t have come before me in the first place? And you want me to condemn and punish a Roman citizen because he takes issue with you about some minor aspect of your religious practices?”

“Respectfully, sir,” Sosthenes interrupted. “These matters are not minor.”

“Silence!” Gallio roared. “If you had real charges to bring against this man, I’d adjudicate gladly and pronounce the proper punishment, citizen or no.” He glared at Paul. “But these are matters over which I have no jurisdiction and even less interest! How dare you waste my time like this!”

His bowels shot warnings at him again. He shooed off the accusers with the backs of his hands. “Go away. Deal with these things yourselves. Wrangle over your words and readings and interpretations.”

“But, Sir!” Sosthenes tried again, looking nervously at the men around him. “If we could deal with these matters ourselves, we would not have bothered you. This Saul is causing problems for an important segment of Corinth’s population! We Hebrews pay taxes. We contribute to Corinth’s prosperity. And we insist that you deal with this man so we can keep doing so without distraction!”

Gallio’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke next, it was almost in a whisper. But there was something about the whisper that was more intimidating than a shout. “You insist?” He turned to his legate for confirmation. “Did this parasite just use the word ‘insist’ with Rome’s proconsul?”

The legate nodded vigorously, eager to please.

“Let me tell you what we’re going to do.” Gallio turned back to stare at Sosthenes with a look that should have frozen him on the spot. “We’re going to forget that unfortunate word ‘insist.’ We’re going to forget these pointless accusations. I’m going back to bed and will work hard to forget that you have wasted my time and tried my patience. Do you understand me? Should I say it again slowly?”

They understood.

“But there are a few things we will remember. We will remember that I am governor of this province and that you live and work here at my pleasure. We will remember—since you brought up the issue of race—that Hebrews were banned from Rome two years ago for rioting … over just the kind of nonsense you bring me today. I sat in the Roman senate then. I approved the Emperor’s decree of expulsion with a great deal of enthusiasm.” He looked down at the group with contempt.

“And, most of all, we will remember that I have the power to issue the same decree here, in Corinth. I can confiscate everything you have and throw the lot of you out on your beards. And that’s exactly what I’ll do if I am ever bothered with such nonsense again.”

With that, Gallio turned on his heel and hurried as fast as he could back to his quarters—his lictors and legates scurrying to catch up—and to the lavatory he was coming to know so well.

The Hebrews stood like statues in the awful silence left behind in his wake. They could not look at each other. They did not speak. Instead, they tried to come to terms with the disaster they’d just witnessed, to measure the scope of it.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time, such a simple thing. Bring charges. Have Gallio deal with Saul. Wash their hands of him and return to normal. But now, Saul was free to go. They had alienated the most powerful man in the province. And Gallio had threatened to eject all Hebrews from the city!

Some of the men began to moan softly. A few tore at beards and robes in their agitation.

Berekiah knew this was the critical moment. He had to make sure Sosthenes was blamed for failure. Of course, as in so many things, Berekiah had a plan to accomplish just that.

He nodded to his closest associates and advanced on Sosthenes. “You fool! I warned you not to talk about the synagogue! I urged you to charge Saul with subversion of the Empire, to set his King Jesus against Claudius Caesar! Gallio couldn’t dismiss that. I begged you to cite the string of cities where he’s caused riots and disturbances among Jews and Greeks. By the altar! We could have made up a charge—any charge—and the governor would have gone along.”

The rest of the group gathered around the two of them, watching. Sosthenes stared at Berekiah in shock.

“But no,” Berekiah continued. “You knew better, didn’t you Sosthenes. You, and you alone, knew how to handle Gallio. You needed no advice from me.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I told you he wouldn’t be interested in our synagogue squabbles. I told you he wouldn’t care about Saul’s teachings. But you wouldn’t listen. And because of your stubbornness, not only do we lose a perfect opportunity to deal with Saul, but now our entire community is threatened.” He raised his hand and slapped Sosthenes across the face.

Sosthenes staggered back, as stunned by the accusation as by the blow. Berekiah had never suggested any other charges. He’d never recommended another course of action. In fact, he’d advocated the very course Sosthenes had pursued. The strategy had been his idea.

But then Sosthenes looked at the faces of the others around him, at the anger and fear written there. And suddenly he understood.

Berekiah had manipulated the whole thing.

He opened his mouth to explain when another blow hit him in the kidney. One of Berekiah’s henchmen shouted, “You’re a fool, Sosthenes. And, what’s worse, you’re a dangerous fool. You’ve put us all at risk.” Someone else cracked a cane across his head. “Why didn’t you listen to Berekiah?”

Another of Berekiah’s men grabbed him by the beard and punched him in the face. He sank to his knees, blood pouring from his nose, trying to choke out what Berekiah had done. But no one was listening. The blows began to rain down in earnest. He covered his head. They hit him and kicked him and cursed him for a fool. He fell prone to the ground and still they attacked him. He felt a vicious kick to his shoulder and another to his groin. He moaned in agony and in rage.

And then someone kicked him in the head and Sosthenes—the old and honored leader of his people, the patron of the synagogue, the defender of the ancient ways—lost consciousness as his own people continued to vent their anger on his limp body.

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

He left the agora and returned to his store, passing by the displays of jewelry and coin in the front, the artisans laboring at their tables in the rear, to climb the stairs to his office. He closed the door firmly and sat down at his desk, frowning in concentration as he worried the plan into shape. He took out some parchment and wrote down his thoughts.

Fact. Saul has been gone for months and still our synagogue is in turmoil. He felt it every Sabbath, a kind of chill that settled over the assembly. Even from a distance, the little man continued to cause problems.

Fact. We keep bleeding. As he’d pointed out to Sosthenes, every few weeks, one or two at a time, upstanding members of the Hebrew community—people he’d known for years—simply walked away to join Saul and the others. It was shocking. It was infuriating. It had to stop.

Fact. Sosthenes is too old and impotent to do anything about it. Their last conversation had convinced him of this. Sosthenes had mishandled the matter from the start. He wasn’t likely to take aggressive action now.

Berekiah put his elbows on the desk and templed his fingers at his chin. I could protect our community, deal with Saul, if Sosthenes would get out of the way. In these difficult times, the synagogue would be served best by my skills, by my energy and drive. It’s time.

He took up his quill again.

Fact. Sosthenes has to go.

What came to Berekiah in the agora, the epiphany distracting him from the ceremonies of the morning, was the notion that he could skewer Sosthenes and Saul with the same thrust.

What if I bring Saul up on charges … before the new governor?

That was his first idea. That’s where the plan started. Gallio was so new to the city, Berekiah realized, he’d be eager to make influential friends. I’ll wager he’ll send Saul packing just to win the favor of the Hebrew community.

A public trial, if it led to a conviction, would finish Saul. Neat and clean and for good. The most likely sentence would be banishment. Whether he wanted to or not, Saul would have to leave Corinth.

The thought of that made Berekiah smile. And it set him thinking how he could use such a trial to his own advantage. If I take this idea to the council of elders? If I give them the strategy and the tactics? They’d be grateful, he realized. They would thank him for the chance to put Saul out of their misery.

And if we are successful? If Saul is banished? They would credit him with the victory. They would see him as the man who’d dealt with Saul, as a man of vigor and action.

The contrast with Sosthenes could not be greater.

Still, they’re not likely to put Sosthenes out to pasture, even if I am the one who brings them the plan. They have too much respect for the old fool. They’ve known him too long.

It was at that point, however, that the second idea hit him—something so audacious, it made him gasp.

I bring them the plan. But Sosthenes acts as spokesman. Let him prosecute the case. Let him bring the charges before Gallio. And then make sure that Sosthenes fails!

The more Berekiah thought on it, the more excited he became. If I can find a way to make sure Sosthenes loses, if I can help him bungle the job? What happens then? If he can’t get a conviction from Gallio…

That was the matter that set his mind spinning in the agora. It was the scheme he could not let go now.

Berekiah stood and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtains to look out over the narrow street. I will bring the plan to the council. I will rally support behind it. But, when it comes time to pick a spokesman, I will suggest that the synagogue ruler should have the honor.

He smiled to himself, looking down at passing pedestrians.

And then I’ll find a way for Sosthenes to lose … and lose badly.

The thought of the old man stumbling, proving himself so inept that he ruined a perfect opportunity to deal with Saul, made Berekiah strangely thirsty. He took up a pitcher and poured himself a cup of water.

If he loses, they’ll blame him. And then they’ll get rid of him at once. Who wants a fool for a leader? Berekiah understood, of course, that in turning away from Sosthenes the elders would, of necessity, turn to him. That made him thirsty again. He drank another cup of water.

Of course, that still leaves Saul. But Berekiah knew, if he were synagogue ruler, he’d find a way to send that crooked man packing. No matter what, Saul will be more vulnerable, he calculated. He’ll be looking over his shoulder. I can threaten him with more prosecutions. Threaten to prosecute other members of his congregation.

Berekiah thought of Saul’s companions—the couple from Rome—and laughed. I’ll take the tentmakers to court. That’ll get Saul’s attention. He laughed again, liking the idea the more he thought of it. He’ll feel me breathing down his neck. And he might be persuaded that, for the safety of his friends, he should move on.

But how can I make certain Sosthenes fails?

He’d have to work on that, Berekiah realized. It wouldn’t be easy. But it might just be possible.

Berekiah returned to his chair and went over the details again.

Then he smiled suddenly and brought his meaty hand down hard on the desk.

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

The streets were lined with cheering throngs. The poorer among them cheered in anticipation of an act of gubernatorial largess—coins and bags of grain thrown to celebrate the arrival of the new governor. The more prominent citizens were present to see and be seen by the man upon whose favor they would depend for the coming year. All of them had gathered to witness a show, for the changing of governors was a momentous occasion for any Roman colony.

Gallio rode straight-backed and aloof, a sour expression on his face. He was not looking forward to a year in the provinces. Rome was his proper milieu. Rome was where he wanted to be. But the proconsular duty was a necessary step in his political ambitions, an important climax to the cursus honorum, and a potentially lucrative opportunity for his shriveled purse. So the sour expression he wore was part homesickness, part grim determination, and part predatory greed.

But mostly, his face was contorted by the roiling of his bowels. The farther he traveled from Rome, the more his body rebelled at the distance. It was as if Rome emitted some ether that kept his ailments in check. Taken away from the seven hills, Gallio suffered from a variety of debilitating ailments. His digestion deteriorated. His gout flared. His skin peeled and flaked. His personal physician—Curse his eyes—could find no explanation for Gallio’s condition. He’d balanced a lack of diagnosis with a regimen that ran the gamut of remedies—bleedings and leechings, foul-tasting potions and foul-smelling ointments.

Corinth, Gallio was thinking, may prove to be a very difficult posting indeed.

The procession turned south on the Lechaion Road, towards the heart of the city, and the crowds suddenly pressed close. People hung from upper story windows or stood pressed against the shops that lined the way by a cordon of soldiers from the Fifteenth, the legion garrisoned in Corinth against any kind of unrest in the Achaean Province.

Gallio eyed the crowd warily, looking for any sign of malcontents or troublemakers. Not on my watch, Gallio swore to himself, shifting his attentions to the soldiers. No trouble, no hint of controversy while I am Governor. He wanted a quiet, profitable year, and then back to Rome where he belonged.

He interrupted HHhwehis bad mood on occasion to acknowledge the shouts of the crowd, waving listlessly from time to time, flashing a rare smile at a particularly attractive girl. The Propylon—a massive and ornate arch which opened onto the agora and proclaimed by sheer size and artistry that Corinth was no backwater—caught his attention and took his mind off his bowels momentarily. Now that’s a fine piece of work! His steed stepped daintily up the steps leading to the Propylon, taking him through the arch and into the agora.

The shouts there hit him with an almost physical force, and Gallio grabbed nervously at his pommel to secure his seat. People were everywhere, all of them screaming at once as they caught sight of their new Governor. They were packed into every square foot of the agora pavement, standing ten-deep under the stoas, hanging from columns, sitting on statues. He’d not imagined so many people in all Achaean Province, much less in Corinth. A smile softened his features as he began to reassess his impressions of the city. Where there were this many people, there had to be most of the refinements he’d come to appreciate, to depend on, in Rome—good wine, fine art, theater performances, willing women, a boy on occasion. And, where there were this many people, there had to be a goodly number of fools waiting to be fleeced.

Yes, he thought, his mood brightening. Things are definitely looking up.

His lictors led the way, through the barricades holding back the hordes, to the center of the agora, where the group came to rest between the Bema and a large statue of Venus. Claudius Varus, the out-going governor, stood with his entourage on top of the Bema, waiting impatiently for Gallio to dismount and get on with the exchange of power. But Gallio was in no hurry. He sat astride his mount, taking in the shouts of the crowds, the magnificent buildings and temples, the hulking presence of AcroCorinth rising up before him.

Not bad duty after all.

But then he took a good look at Varus’s face. And the sour expression he saw there matched the worst of his own. He was immediately suspicious. If Corinth is such a good posting, why does Varus look like he can’t wait to be rid of the city? Gallio felt his bowels rumble again, and decided it was time to dismount and have a long talk with his predecessor.

He took his position at the foot of the raised Bema, looking up at Varus to mumble a few polite words which Varus could not hear over the noise of the crowds. One of Varus’s legates stepped forward and lifted his hands above his head, a signal for quiet. At once, the din of the masses subsided to a low rumble.

Varus stepped forward himself. “Junius Annaeus Gallio!” he bellowed for the crowd to hear. “Do you present yourself here with the mandate of the Roman senate, duly authenticated by the proper papers and witnesses, to relieve me of my command as proconsul of the Achaean Province?”

“I do, Claudius Varus,” Gallio bellowed back, reaching into his toga to pull out a scroll impressed with the seal of the Senate. “I hereby relieve you of your imperium and tender Rome’s thanks for your good service on her behalf.”

A brief smile passed over Varus’s face. And then, with a nod to his legates and lictors, he turned and made his way down the steps to the paving stones of the agora, taking up station in front of Gallio. Taking the scroll from his hand, Varus examined the seal carefully and then broke it open to skim the official proclamation. The crowd fell silent.

As he read, in those quiet moments, he spoke a few personal words to Gallio. “I hope you enjoy your stay, Proconsul. More than I did.”

“What does that mean?” Gallio countered.

“Oh, Corinth is not without its compensations,” he said over the top of the scroll. “Every pleasure of the flesh.” He lifted his eyebrows. “And a relatively peaceful province. You shouldn’t have many problems on that account.” He lowered the scroll and stepped closer. “But don’t imagine you’ll enrich yourself greatly during your time here. This is the miserliest, sestertius-pinching, tightfisted bunch of thieves outside of the Senate itself. You can count on a few bribes, of course. And there are some who will pay you handsomely to secure public offices. But no skimming the public funds. No levies and tariffs to put in your own pocket rather than sending on to Rome. These people know their numbers. They can add—a curse on them all.” Varus smiled hugely. “You’ll be lucky to leave with your toga.”

He stepped back. “Your papers are all in order,” he shouted for the benefit of the crowd. “Welcome to Corinth, Proconsul. May your service be a credit to Rome.”

Gallio, who was feeling distinctly ill again, managed to follow his lictors up the steps to stand atop the Bema. “Claudius Varus! You are dismissed! May the gods speed your journey home.” He tried to shout these lines. But the words came out as a strangled bleet. Suddenly and in a panic, Gallio realized his bowels would not wait for him to deliver the transition speech he’d crafted so carefully.

Thrusting his notes at one of his legates, he whispered urgently to another, “Find me a toilet!”

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]

“I guess you’re not here to ask about my health,” Crispus said finally. It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation for Berekiah to get on with his business.

“True enough.” Berekiah leaned forward. “We’ve had a steady trickle of people leaving the synagogue to join your collegium—or whatever you’re calling yourselves. Not many. But steady. Enough to cause us concern. Sosthenes and I thought we should raise the matter with you.”

Crispus put his elbows on the desk and templed his fingers in front of his mouth. “What’s the point of that, Berekiah? It won’t change anything.”

Berekiah raised his hands, a gesture of his desire to be reasonable. “Frank discussion between men of good will is never pointless, Crispus.”

Crispus had to bite his tongue.

“These defections are difficult—as you can imagine. They keep the synagogue in turmoil. Everybody’s worried about everybody else. Who’s going to be next? Who else is leaving?” Berekiah smiled, the very picture of reasonable good will. “We intend to plug the leak. That’s why I’m here.”

Crispus looked puzzled. “I’m not sure how I can help …”

Berekiah interrupted him. “Oh, I know how. You can stop talking to your friends about this ‘Jesus.’ You can turn them away when they knock at your door. You can decide to stop stealing my sheep.” Still his tone was reasonable, calm. They might have been discussing a business venture.

Crispus look at Berekiah with amazement. The gall of the man! “Are you telling me what I can talk about with whom? What to do with guests who come to my home?” He shook his head. “After what you’ve done to my household, showing your face here is nerve enough. You have no right to make demands.”

“That’s very true.” Berekiah was being agreeable. “So no more demands. Instead, perhaps a threat or two are in order.” He smiled at Crispus—a cold, unblinking, reptilian smile. “Sosthenes wants to expel you from the synagogue, put you ‘out of the camp.’ You know what that means, Crispus. All ties cut. All contact forbidden. No more friendly visits like this one. Your business ruined. Your wife completely isolated.” He smiled again, trying to put some sympathy behind it, but failing utterly. “I think, perhaps, I can change his mind if you agree to be reasonable.”

Crispus studied him for a long moment. “You really are loathsome, Berekiah. Besides, most of our old friends have cut us off already.”

Berekiah looked up brightly. “Wait! I’m not finished yet! If you refuse, we’ll do the same to the friends you still have, to anyone who talks to you or comes here to visit. We’ll make heroes of people like Obed—men who put away their wives or disinherit their sons to protect our faith and community. We’ll draw the line so sharply between the synagogue and the house next door that anyone who puts a toe across it will wish they hadn’t.”

“They’ll still come,” Crispus said softly.

“A few, no doubt. But not many. And those who do will be ruined. You,” he punched a finger towards Crispus, “will be responsible for broken homes and abandoned children and ruined careers.”

Crispus bristled. “You draw the line. You inflict the suffering. But I am responsible? Is that what you’re saying?” He rose from his chair and pointed towards the door. “Get out! Don’t ever come here again.” His finger shook as he pointed. His anger was getting the better of him.

Berekiah smiled one more time as he heaved his bulk from the chair. He was glad to know he’d drawn blood. “One more thing, Crispus. A message for Saul. Tell him I’ve not forgotten about him. Right now, we’re getting our own house in order. But, when that’s done, I’m coming after him. However I can.” Berekiah’s face twisted in rage. “Tell him to watch his back. It won’t do him any good, of course. But I want him to feel me behind him, to wonder where and when.”

The sneer resolved itself into an insincere smile. “Well, good day, Crispus. As always, I’ve enjoyed our talk.”

Crispus watched him leave without a word, too angry to trust his voice.

II

Crispus found Paul at Gaius’s house, sweeping out the hall in preparation for their next assembly. They stood in the middle of the room, Paul with a broom in his hand, while Crispus told about his meeting with Berekiah.

Paul listened to the report without comment. He stared down at the floor, feeling sad. This is how it always goes, he was thinking. First the attacks on me personally. Then the attacks on those who believe me. And, last of all, the attacks on the innocent and the merely curious. Those, he knew, were the most vicious of all because they were so unfair, so unexpected. People who don’t see the blow coming are hurt worst, he lamented.

“What can we do?” Crispus wanted to know when he’d finished.

“Nothing,” Paul said, wishing it were not true. “It’s the cost of faith. The Hebrews pay for it one way, the Gentiles another. But everyone pays for it somehow. Faith never comes without cost.”

“But what about Abi? It’s her marriage, Paul! It’s her home and her children. It’s too much to ask!”

Paul looked at his friend for a moment. “Is it? Is it really?” He led Crispus over to a bench and sat down with him.

“Abi is doing nothing more than you did, than I did. She’s choosing. And the choice has cost her her home. It cost you your place and influence. It cost me … well …” He looked away briefly. “Abi’s making choices, like we all have. She’s dealing with the consequences of those choices, like we all do. You would spare her those consequences.” He stared at Crispus, though his friend would not meet his eyes.

“Don’t confuse pride with compassion, Crispus. Your convictions merit the sacrifices, you tell yourself. Your choice was made carefully, consciously. But her? Her convictions can’t run as deep. She shouldn’t be allowed to make the choice you made, to sacrifice as you have. But that’s not compassion,” Paul told him. ”That’s condescension.”

He looked away for a time and then put his hand on Crispus’s arm. “I was like that once. In the early years. Deciding who could sacrifice what, what was enough and what was too much. And then it dawned on me—if I was willing to die for what I believed, why couldn’t I permit others the courage of their convictions?” He let the question work for a few moments.

“We can’t protect people from the consequences of faith, Crispus. I couldn’t protect you. You can’t protect Abi. We’ve got to grant others the same privilege we ask for ourselves—to believe … to choose … and to live with the results as best we can.”

Crispus heard. He knew Paul was right. Still, it was awful. So awful, he found it hard to breath. He shook himself and delivered Berekiah’s message.

“He told me he was coming for you.”

Paul nodded grimly. “Yes. I imagine he is.”

“He said whatever it took.”

Paul nodded again. “Yes. That’s the way it usually works.”

“What will you do?”

Paul glanced at his hands and then back at Crispus. He shrugged. “Nothing. Just keep going. I’ve made my choice. Berekiah has made his. We let things fall out how they will.”

[Next Chapter]

[Beginning of the novel]