Chapter 6

Longus did not make it through the entire scroll. The words began to run together, and, after a few seconds of wide, startling yawns and slurred attempts at translating, he simply fell asleep. His dreams ricocheted from claustrophobic to violent, with strange creatures rearing up in unexpected places. After waking abruptly, he was vaguely aware that he was someplace unfamiliar. His dreams mixed with the reality of the cool, quiet surroundings and created a mishmash of thoughts.

Was this Hades? He half-expected to be there. The ground below him felt hard and real, but who knew if the afterlife wasn’t similar to life on Earth? He could see a shadow on the wall across from him. Overhead, a small torch was burning, sending acrid smoke toward the ceiling. It could be Hades, he thought. He did not remember Charon or the three-headed dog Cerberus. Perhaps he had slipped away from the River of Forgetfulness. He certainly hadn’t crossed without an obol to pay the boatman. Maybe he had been left on the wrong side of the Styx.

He rubbed his eyes trying to smooth away the fog that had settled over them, blinking once or twice. He still seemed to be looking through gauze with images fuzzy and indistinguishable. He heard silence, but could smell the soft scent of decay. After a moment or two more of peering about, Longus realized he was still inside the catacomb. No afterlife. No river. He was not sure if that realization brought relief or more anxiety about what could be a worse fate awaiting him.

Finally, after a few more seconds, he could see clearly. The catacomb seemed unchanged with its multiple shelves and deathly silence. However, not everything was the same. Someone had placed a blanket under him along with a bundle of cloth to serve as a pillow. Glancing down, Longus was surprised to see his pallium had been removed. Instead, he was wearing a gray tunic with a patch on its side. His sandals had been cleaned and placed by his feet.

Aching, his muscles sore from the previous day’s exertions, he gamely rolled over and raised himself up on his elbows. Dying torches down the corridor created flickering shadows that played their own games along the wall.

“Good morning,” a feminine voice said kindly.

Longus followed the sound. Rachel was sitting to his right. He surveyed her, as if seeing her for the first time. He tried to respond, but his mouth was filled with cotton. His stomach hurt, too, but he actually didn’t sense any hunger. It had been several days since a substantial meal, and he was surprised to feel reasonably well. Still, a nice breakfast wouldn’t hurt. It was time, he decided, to exert some authority. After all, he was a Roman citizen. That accounted for something, even underground.

“Bring me food, slave,” he barked and slumped back to the ground.

“There are no slaves to man here,” Rachel told him calmly. He rolled over and glared at her. “We are all slaves to God.”

“Then have him bring me food,” Longus demanded.

Rachel ignored his comment. “You’ve been washed,” she said. “You also have a new tunic.” She gave a wan smile. “It’s not actually new. It’s was made from three old ones. There is a lot of you, although less than before.”

Longus didn’t say anything. She was thin. All the people that he had seen in the catacomb had been scrawny. That was a sure sign of membership in the lower class. His bulk testified to his status. Now, it merely slowed him down.

“No slaves,” he muttered and hoisted himself up again, placing his sore back against the rough wall.

Rachel shook her head. “We all care for each other. We are equals in the eyes of God.”

Longus frowned. Being a fugitive from Roman justice was not exactly the height of social climbing. But equal? What dreadful thought. The same as a slave? The very idea made him nauseous. That concept would ruin the empire, which lionized anyone who could scramble over the heads of family, friends and any strangers who could be taken advantage of. Equal to the Divine Julius? Equal to the Emperor? Titles and status drifted into meaninglessness if everyone was on the same level.

His first thought was to protest the very idea. The second was one of panic. He looked around and gasped after realizing that the scroll was gone. He spent a moment in a futile search before recognizing that it had been taken from him while he slept. He stifled a mournful cry. That’s when he also noticed no one else was in the catacomb. The small crowd had vanished as if figments of his dreams.

Longus shuddered as a cold chill swept through him. What he had feared had happened: he had been deserted with only Rachel to witness his death or, maybe, to confirm it. He could lie here and simply join the skeletons already housed on the platforms around him. Caligula’s mother had famously committed suicide by starving herself to death. With no food in sight, Longus figured he had a good chance of following that path eventually. Or he could totter out into the sunlight and allow the soldiers searching for him to finish the job. Either way, he could not count on longevity.

Rachel seemed to understand the mournful expression that flickered across his face. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They think you are a saint. They said you were so overcome by the words you were reading that you went to heaven in ecstasy.”

“A saint?” Longus managed to croak. “What’s that?”

“A holy man,” she informed him.

He stared blankly at her. That was almost comical. His religion, such as it was, consisted of fine wine and an array of delicacies. In his prime, he could worship at a feast for hours on end and keep going religiously through the orgy that followed.

“They were overcome by what you read them,” Rachel continued.

“Where are they?”

“At the entrance. We greet the sun every morning.” She managed a wan smile. “If we weren’t hiding in here, we would welcome the sun with music and loud shouting. Now, we can only say prayers.”

Longus thought for a moment before Rachel’s comment finally registered. “You worship the sun?” he asked.

Rachael shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “We worship the one God.”

Longus shook his head. The Jews had gone to greet the sun? Was it that early? The very thought of sunrise made him shudder. He was not prepared to face the sunlight at this hour. He definitely needed more sleep. His constitution thrived on many hours of blissful rest. Having no responsibilities had trained him to nod off at any moment and to awake whenever he had enough sleep. Forcing himself to get up every morning – to welcome the sun or to simply get out of bed – struck him as too restrictive and counter to his never-ending quest for pleasure.

“I wish I knew Greek and could have read that letter myself,” Rachel sighed. She drew her knees up and held them close to her body. Her tunic hung to the ground, giving her the appearance of a gray mound against a yellowish wall. “You are so fortunate.”

“I feel blessed,” he muttered. His mouth was dry. “Is there some wine somewhere?”

“No, sorry,” Rachel said. “We have few supplies here. We must send one of the children to get food. The soldiers won’t bother the children. You will get used to less. Not that it matters. The world is ending. You read about it yourself.”

“I didn’t understand anything I read,” Longus confessed. He looked around to see if any food had arrived yet, but none was visible. These people had an annoying habit of fasting. Even when they had food, it was all rudimentary. Who could enjoy bread, garlic and honey as a steady diet? He would have to teach them something about proper cuisine and opulent dining.

Rachel smiled at him. “Many people do not understand. You were reading about Jesus the Christ,” she said. “The letter from my uncle is a prediction of the coming end of the world. He did not write it. It’s a copy of a letter that came to him. He sent it on to Grandfather and wanted it back to make copies.”

Longus shrugged. “What difference does it make? My world is over anyway,” he noted.

“It’s more than just your world,” Rachel said, jumping up in excitement. Her words caromed around the large room. “Everyone and everything is going away. Jesus will return to judge the living and the dead. We are living in the end of times.”

Longus looked around. “If you call this living,” he murmured.

“That letter was inspired by God,” Rachel said. “You will see.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “You can join with us and be saved from sin. Or, you can walk away, ignore the teachings and end up suffering for all eternity.”

Longus rubbed his forehead. Maybe if he ate something, Rachel would make sense. She obviously believed what she was saying. She was animated and enthusiastic. Color enflamed her cheeks. She even waved her arms to express her excitement. She had seemed small and mousy before. Living underground apparently had changed her.

They heard some sounds and watched a small group troop in. Relieved that he had not been forgotten, Longus recognized most of them from the night before, but there were newcomers: men in dark tunics with bearded faces; women holding babies or crowded together with frightened expressions. They were talking among themselves until they saw Longus was awake. Immediately, they felt into reverential silence. They softly walked past him with heads bent and eyes aimed at the ground. A mother hushed her child who seemed on the verge of speaking.

Several children carried loaves of bread, but no one said anything about eating or offered him anything.

He was eying the bread and missed Eliezer’s arrival. “God was in his glory,” Eliezer informed Rachel as he wandered toward Longus. “We cannot see the horizon from the entryway, but the sky radiated pink, blue and red. I believe it is a sign of the coming end, praise God.”

“Which one?” Longus tried. There were so many deities to choose from on the heavenly roster. “Jupiter? Apollo?” He doubted Mars was an option. These people were decided unwarlike. None had weapons anyway. To Romans, Jews were supposed to be rebels, constantly fighting Roman soldiers in some misguided revolution. Not these people. They were totally inoffensive. Forget Venus, too. The goddess of love wouldn’t be caught dead in this kind of place.

“The holy books …” Rachel started.

“You would not understand,” Eliezer interrupted abruptly. Rachel shot him a fierce look and started to continue, but Eliezer stopped her with a raised hand. She looked angrily at him and then got up abruptly and marched off. Longus watched the byplay without comment. He was surprised when Rachel started to explain her faith to him. Religion was a male arena.

Plopping down next to Longus, Eliezer idly picked up a stone and tossed it at the wall. It pinged. “You are so used to many gods,” he started. “There are so many, like rocks on the floor here.” He threw another pebble. “Yet, they are nothing compared to the one God. He so loves mankind that He descended to Earth, was crucified and arose to show us the way to eternal salvation.”

Longus thought for a moment. That sounded familiar. As a child, of course, he had been taught about the gods. He searched through his memory. They had interesting life stories. Venus had been born in sea foam that formed around Uranus’ severed genitals and married the lame and disfigured blacksmith Vulcan. Mars was Jupiter’s son. Minerva had emerged from Jupiter’s head, fully formed. There were so many others. Hadn’t one of them been crucified? Then, Longus remembered. He smiled.

“Was he crucified between two thieves?” he asked.

Eliezer turned to look at Longus. He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yes,” he finally responded with obvious surprise.

Longus sat up. Finally, he thought, this was making sense. “He arose in three days?” he continued, barely controlling his excitement.

“Yes.” Eliezer was puzzled, not sure where the conversation was going.

“He is the savior of mankind?” Longus pressed.

“Of course,” Eliezer said. “How …?”

“I knew it,” Longus exclaimed. The puzzle was now clear. “Dionysus,” he exclaimed.

Eliezer stared open-mouthed. “What?” he managed. “Who?”

“Bacchus,” Longus exclaimed. “That’s his Roman name. Dionysus is his Greek name. He’s a son of Zeus with some human woman. He was crucified on December 25 between two slaves, died and was buried, but rose from the dead three days later. I knew it.” He sat back smugly. It was Bacchus who was harassing him and dropped him into this precarious position. Of course, he was the Jewish God. They drank wine, too. He knew that. Longus would have to find wine to offer the god and sacrifice a goat. Perhaps these fugitives were even planning such a ritual.

“No,” Eliezer jumped up. His face was red. “Jesus. Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead. Not Bacchus.” He was genuinely upset, which surprised Longus.

“Jesus, Bacchus,” Longus said amiably, trying to calm Eliezer. “The name doesn’t matter. People often have different names for the same gods.” That was especially true when they revealed themselves to various people. Everyone knew that. The Jews were so insular, Longus decided, they just didn’t know anything about other religions. The Romans had no trouble using the Greek names for the same god. No one cares about that. Besides, some gods were once Etruscan. There was even a popular cult dedicated to Isis, who was Egyptian. The point was proper worship, not the name.

Realizing that these Jews prayed to Dionysus helped Longus feel better. They weren’t that different from Romans, although they did not work one day a week. That was strange. But, they honored a familiar god, even if they didn’t think the other gods existed. He could understand that. They definitely needed to use more wine to properly appease the god, but that was something that could be easily added to any ritual.

“To make you happy, I will use the name Jesus,” he told Eliezer. “Does Jesus also wear garlands of grape leaves and encourage orgies?”

Eliezer stared at him, wide-eyed and sputtering. Finally, he turned. “Rachel,” he yelled. She walked over. He stood up to greet her. “I…I…I,” Eliezer started to explain the conversation to her and then gave up. He threw his hands in the air and talked off. “Wait until our teacher gets here,” he threatened.

Rachel sat down next to Longus and smoothed her tunic. Eliezer’s footsteps echoed and then died away. “You do have a way with people,” Rachel told Longus sweetly. “They either can’t stand you or want to kill you.”

“It’s a gift,” Longus said. “All I did was tell him that Bacchus and Jesus were really the same god. I don’t think he knew that.” He peered down the corridor, but Eliezer was standing in the shadows with several other men. Longus could hear the low murmur of voices, but nothing else. Apparently, from the way everyone glanced at him, he was losing his saintly status.

“Tell me what you said,” Rachel asked. Longus complied. She listened to the story of Bacchus calmly without Eliezer’s outburst.

“No,” she finally said. “They are not the same. Whenever I hear of a similar story about a false god, I know the devil is trying to deceive us.”

“Devil?”

“Pluto,” Rachel quickly amended.

Longus nodded. He could accept that Jesus-Bacchus was the Jews’ main god. After all, Rachel was now agreeing that Pluto was a god, too. He felt so much better. It was reassuring that Jews shared the same faith. People said such awful things about them after so many wars against them in the Syrian province.

“Would you like something to eat?” Rachel asked. Longus glanced up with delighted surprise. “Your money has helped pay for bread and honey,” she said. “Then, you will have the strength to read more of the letter.”

Longus blinked. He didn’t have that scroll anymore. She had to know that. Still, the Jews had not left him here. They had even cleaned him. That couldn’t be for a pyre, could it? Corpses were always washed before being burned. He felt coldness filter through his thoughts. Stop it, he told himself. He needed less worry and more Bacchus.

After several slices of bread dipped in honey, Longus felt better. He was still chewing a final morsel when the scroll was brought to him. Eliezer carried it with almost reverentially, walking rhythmically through the small crowd who followed him and gathered around Longus. Eliezer held it out in his trembling hands. Longus took it as though being awarded a diadem.

He opened it slowly. Already, the leaves of parchment were beginning to separate where the pages had been sewn together with heavy linen thread. Longus tried to be gentle. He scanned through the text. He couldn’t remember exactly where he had stopped before. He was not sure that mattered. He felt the eyes on him again. People were so anxious. They didn’t even seem to be breathing.

Feeling rested, he found the writing easier to understand. He read loudly in Greek and then translated.

I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. The hair on his head was white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and coming out of his mouth was a sharp, double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.

When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. Then he placed his right hand on me and said: “Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and now look, I am alive forever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.

Write, therefore, what you have seen, what is now and what will take place later. The mystery of the seven stars that you saw in my right hand and of the seven golden lampstands is this: The seven stars are the angels of the seven places that belong to God, and the seven lampstands are the seven places that belong to God.

Longus looked up. “I’m not really sure what ‘places’ the author is talking about,” he said. Longus knew the word kuriakos in the text, but that meant “belongs to the Lord.” He added “places” simply to make sense of the sentence.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rachel assured him. “Continue please.”

Longus read aloud some more. It was a long book, filling all of the parchment available on the scroll. Some words were strange, but he understood the gist well enough to translate. Some of the names were unfamiliar. He stumbled occasionally with the words, but no one seemed to mind.

I, Jesus, have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star.

And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that hears me say: Come. And let him who is thirsty come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.

For I testify unto every man that hears the words of the prophecy of this book, if any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book:

And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.

He which testifies to these things says: surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

He looked up. “It ends there.”

No one moved. They were all listening in silence. Longus could see that everyone seemed stunned.

“This is the word of God,” Eliezer finally said softly. He crawled toward Longus on his knees. “Thank you,” he said. “You are an angel sent by God. You have renewed our faith.” He stood. “Though we tremble in our hour of darkness, the Lord has shown His presence. He is among us even here.”

He stuck out his hand. Longus gave him the scroll. Eliezer carried the scroll among the people. Many kissed their hand and then touched the rolled parchment. Others kissed an edge of their garment and then touched the hem to the scroll. Everyone was clearly moved by the text’s presence.

Longus watched the outburst of reverence. There was no point in holding onto it now. The Jews had shown they did not plan to leave him. Indeed, they had cared for him in a way no Roman would. That was another Jewish trademark and why so many Romans, including some he knew in the upper reaches of society, had accepted Jewish beliefs. They had not undergone the painful ritual of self-mutilation, that barbaric custom of cutting off a portion of a penis, but adopted the moral and ethical teachings.

The Olympic gods were probably angry, but thus far had held back their terrible wrath, Longus noted. He had no doubt, however, just as he had fallen victim to Bacchus, so would others who had deserted the true deities.

Eliezer reverentially rolled up the scroll. He found a scrap of cloth and wrapped it around the parchment. He then kissed it.

“Now shall the world believe,” Eliezer said.

A sound suddenly echoed through the catacomb. Everyone stopped. They waited. Eliezer placed the scroll back on Longus’ lap and stared anxiously toward the entrance. A dark shadow was visible on the wall, moving toward the Jews. In a moment, Longus could see an older man with a white beard trudging toward him. His cane dug into the soil, creating the loud sound each time he drove it into the ground.

“Soter,” Eliezer called gleefully and ran to him. They embraced. The crowd murmured a greeting with heads bent and hands folded together.

“He is our teacher,” Rachel whispered to Longus. “He used to be in Jerusalem,” she added, as if that bestowed credibility on the old man.

Longus was not impressed. The old man walked slightly bent over. Deep lines cut through his face, leading down to jowls that hung like dirty clothing below his hairy chin. His white eyebrows had grown wild, almost obscuring his deep-set eyes. Dressed in a simple tunic, like the others, he also wore a small cap on his head. To Longus, he was no different than the poor beggars who lined the streets of Rome with their hands out. The Jews, however, greeted him with great deference. Several kissed the hem of his tunic or the fringes of a bit of cloth that hung down over his tunic. Longus noted they treated the old man and the scroll in the same reverential manner.

Eliezer whispered to the old man, who nodded and glanced at Longus. His face did not change expression, but Longus could see a flicker of disdain in the old man’s eyes.

“Blessed are those who come in the name of God,” the soter said.

“Amen,” people intoned.

“I have heard of the letter,” the soter continued in a low, rumbling voice marked by coughs and spitting. “It is a message from the divine.” He recited:

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out; his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning.

“Hallelujah,” the people said.

Longus watched with bemused silence. Their prayers were definitely more animated than anything Romans ever did in similar circumstances.

“Let us pray,” the soter said. Everyone stood. They bowed their heads. Longus glanced around and got to his feet, holding the scroll. He felt stiff. He noticed how people held their hands together and followed suit as best he could.

“Let us recite the Amidah,” the soter said.

“It’s a prayer said by faithful Jews,” Rachel whispered to Longus. “It is said three times a day. It is a substitute for the sacrifices once given at the Temple and contains 19 blessings.”

Longus was going to ask if any god might not get bored with the same recitation, but realized from the intense looks on faces how serious these people were.

The soter began to say something in Hebrew. His eyes were closed and he rocked back and forth. Those gathered around him did the same thing. Every few moments, they would say in unison the Hebrew phrase “ברוך אתה יהוה.”

“Blessed are you, oh, Lord,” Rachel whispered the translation to Longus’ question. “It’s said after each of the 19 blessings.”

“Three times a day?” Longus wondered.

Rachel nodded. “More on holidays,” she said.

Longus understood the need to make sure any ritual was performed correctly, but this sounded like overkill.

The soter then slowly repeated one line. When he finished, he stopped amid complete silence. No one said the prescribed phrase. Longus hoped that didn’t mean they would have to start from the beginning. The Hebrew had a sing-song quality to it, but he felt completely alienated since he didn’t understand any of it.

Still, he heard no one reciting the ritualistic ending at the end of the prayer. Instead, he saw puzzled looks, even a hint of anger.

“Oh, no,” Rachel moaned softly.

“Just do it correctly and there won’t be a problem,” Longus suggested. He knew fully well what could happen when the rules weren’t followed exactly.

“The prayer,” she started. She composed herself. Her face paled. “It asks God to destroy those in heretical sects, who slander Jews and who act as informers against Jews. “

“What’s wrong with that?” Longus whispered.

“It’s addressed to those of us who believe in Jesus as our God,” she said. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

The soter tried to continue, but no one was following him. He took a quick look around and continued to recite, slowly rocking back and forth with each word with his eyes closed. His was the sole voice inside the catacomb.

Eliezer waited until the old man finished. “You know we can’t say that,” he said.

“It is a new version of the prayer. It was sent from the sages in Yavneh,” the soter said. Longus wasn’t sure, but under the beard, he thought the old man was smirking.

“You know we can’t say that,” Eliezer repeated. He moved in front of the small congregation as if representing them. Heads nodded behind him.

“Jews say it,” the soter answered, trying to add some strength to his words.

Eliezer paused. “Then we cannot be Jews,” he replied. The crowd muttered behind him. He held up his hand. “It is not a coincidence that we have received a holy message at this time. God has surely seen the affliction of His people and has redeemed us.” He turned to face the group. “Fear not,” he said. “When God fled the Temple, He abandoned the Jews. Instead, He has chosen us. Remember what we just heard read to us.”

He walked over and took the scroll from Longus. He held it up and recited from memory:

Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

“Come, Jehud,” Eliezer called. A young man stepped forward. “Take this to Markus,” Eliezer ordered, handing the teen the scroll. “He will have copies made so that our brethren throughout the empire can hear this message. For us, it will be forever in our memory. Guard this with your life.”

The young man nodded nervously. With trembling hands, he took the scroll. He kissed it and hurried away.

They all watched him leave. The soter started to say something. Again, Eliezer stopped him.

“Leave, Father,” he said. “We will raise up our own priests to guide us.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air. The old man looked from face to face. His dark eyes burned with fierce anger, but he did not say anything. Stony silence greeted him. One woman was sobbing. The rest in the group stared back.

“He believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,” the old man intoned. “The Lord’s portion is his people, Jacob his allotted inheritance.” There was no response. He tried again, “Don't you realize that those who do wrong will not inherit the Kingdom of God?”

Eliezer faced him. “We reject your teachings,” he said. “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”

The old man muttered, “The law, the law.”

“If justification comes through the law,” Eliezer snapped, “then Christ died for nothing.”

The soter blanched. He started to say something, but froth flecked his lips. He seemed to be thinking of a response, but then stopped. He rammed his wooden cane into the ground. The sound echoed like thunder. Then, he tottered uneasily up the entryway. His cane continued to punctuate each step, but now the sound seemed muffled.

“Fear not,” Eliezer said, facing the small group. “We are a small congregation in Rome, but, I am sure, God is raising up armies of true believers to rescue us. As Jesus taught us: ‘I say unto you, He that hears My word, and believes on Him that sent Me, has everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.’”

He fell to his knees. “We shall fear no evil for God is with us,” he said.

Just a few yards away, Rachel slumped to her knees beside Longus. “I’m not a Jew. I’m not a Jew,” she kept whispering. Her face showed the anguish bubbling inside. “What am I?”

“Can we be Romans again?” Longus replied. His faint voice broke the silence that enveloped all of them, but it quickly returned to swallow them all.