Chapter 7

The situation overwhelmed everyone except Longus. While he sat with his back against the wall and conjured up images of rich feasts, none of which were likely to appear inside the catacomb, the others talked in small cliques or wandered aimlessly. Someone had a small wind instrument and was playing some harsh, piping notes, creating the mournful sound of a dirge rolling down the corridor.

Longus watched the proceedings with bewilderment. He had no idea why everyone was upset by not being Jewish. Most of the Roman Empire wasn’t Jewish. Besides, what difference did it make? After all, his friends sometimes joined one cult and then another. No one seemed particularly upset when they deserted one god for a different one. After all, they could belong to as many such religions as they wanted and keep altars to the household titular gods at the same time.

Rachel settled down next to him, as if seeking comfort. He had already grown fond of her. Crawling through tunnels had created a sense of camaraderie. She turned a tear-stained face to him. “You probably think this is all silly,” she said.

“No,” he lied. Tact was not his strong point, but every now and then, it made a brief appearance. “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “You’ll find another god.”

That only started her caterwauling again. Longus sighed. He had tried. Now, he was tired and still hungry. He was cold. His clothes were worn and becoming dirty again. There was no way to stay clean underground. He could use a bath. The Jews believed in cleanliness, but only slipped out at night to bring back bowls of water. Hands were cleaned but little else. Through it all, they yowled with copious tears. Worse, the wailing was not bringing him any closer to a decent meal. He wondered if Eliezer had sent off some children to gather some breakfast. These people just didn’t eat enough. How could anyone maintain some sort of status with a few measly leeks, honey, bread and an occasional clove of garlic?

“There are no other gods,” Rachel interrupted his thoughts. “I thought you’d understand. After all, you have no home. You’re just like us.”

Longus considered that. She was right. He could not stay in Rome and belonged nowhere else. He had been told to go into exile. He doubted Hyperion would accept the catacombs as a suitable site for that. In fact, he thought, he was the same as these Jews. In just a brief moment of time, like them, he had lost everything. He no longer could claim any social position. His family home, long the proud residence of the Longus clan, had become a memory. He was an outcast, no different from them. On the other hand, they were wallowing in pity because of religion. They had lost nothing. The gods knew who and where they were. The gods knew everything. They just didn’t always communicate that fact. He was the one who was bereft and deserved comforting. Unfortunately, he could tell no one was considering his plight. Now, that was depressing.

Eliezer waved his arms. “My brothers and sisters,” he exclaimed. “This is God’s doing. His Holy Spirit moves among us. I can feel the Shekinah even in this secret hiding place.”

The room quieted, although the musician did not cease.

“We knew eventually it would come to this,” Eliezer continued. His voice rose as he looked from face to face. “We knew it when God fled His home. The destruction of the Temple told our fathers that the time had come. Already, in the Holy Land, people are realizing there is a new Chosen People. God has left the Jews and come to us.”

He paused. “How can we refuse?”

Heads nodded.

“We still worship Him,” Eliezer encouraged them. “We worship through Jesus, who came to Earth as God. He died for us. Did not the holy text tell us that ‘everything is possible for he who believes’?” Eliezer asked. “As the apostle wrote, ‘We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.’”

There was a small stirring in the crowd. People looked at each other and at Eliezer, seemingly digesting his comments.

“Do we still say our daily prayers?” one man asked.

“Do we still follow the Sabbath?” another wanted to know.

“Of course,” Eliezer replied. “We will simply have our own prayers. God has not changed; we have. We will honor him on Sunday, the day of our Lord, as our forefathers did. We will leave the Jews their Saturday.”

He heard murmurs. “It is nothing,” he said. “Many of our brothers and sisters in Corinth, Odessa, Ephesus, Smyrna, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea already limit their Sabbath to Sunday. I have received letters. We are just following our brethren.”

That seemed to quiet people.

“We still have our Sabbath. We are still following God’s commands,” Eliezer added. “But, He did not designate what day, only to ‘remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.’ That we are still doing.”

Members of the small congregation talked among themselves. Eliezer looked hopeful, but did not interfere. Then, Longus watched as a short, stocky man carrying some kind of fringed, cotton cloth walked up to Eliezer. The man seemed angry. Longus had never seen anyone confront Eliezer. He seemed to have taken control. The man stood there with the cloth in his impressive hands. He looked down at it and then up at Eliezer several times. Finally, he took the cloth and ripped it in half. He then threw the two pieces to the ground and stomped away.

Eliezer remained rooted in place for a few moments. He finally reached over and took the two pieces. He looked at them and then tossed them aside.

“How can we be sure if we are following God’s laws?” a man said aloud.

God’s laws? Longus thought. Which god? Jupiter’s laws were different from those that Mars endorsed. Jupiter was interested in enjoying as many human females as he could. Mars just wanted to kill everyone. Neither was exactly a law, but it was all Longus could imagine. As for Bacchus, the idea was to become free of inhibitions and social restraint through wine, music and dance. Longus had never participated in Bacchant rituals, since most adherents were slaves and women, those on the bottom rung of society. Still, he was well aware of the communal dancing, the onset of an emotional trance and the rhythmic walking so common it was called the Dionysus gait.

As described by a friend, Longus knew that each initiate followed a set ritual that evoked the suffering and rebirth of the god, complete with sipping wine. Supposedly, Bacchus could change water into wine on January 6, so that was set aside as a special day for festivities. Some people beat themselves with whips, a process that eliminated any chance Longus would join the cult. He still did think about it, wondering if he should sacrifice some skin for the chance to partake in the wine and food. So far, the possibility of intense pain outweighed the hope of potential pleasure.

“Once again, the apostle guides us,” Eliezer continued and then recited, “‘When I was with the Jews, I lived like a Jew to bring the Jews to Christ. When I was with those who follow the Jewish law, I too lived under that law. Even though I am not subject to the law, I did this so I could bring to Christ those who are under the law.’” He smiled. “We are no longer Jews, so we are not bound by Jewish law, but by God’s law.”

“If we are not Jews,” someone asked, “what are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eliezer responded lightly.

“Yes,” Rachel insisted. “God must know who we are,” she said. Others murmured their assent. They began to talk with each other.

Eliezer waited a moment and then sat down next to Longus and Rachel. “We don’t need a name,” he said quietly. “God knows everything. He knows who we are. He will tell me eventually.”

Rachel shook her head. “No,” she said. “Even Abraham wanted to know what God’s name is. Moses asked what name he should use when facing pharaoh,” she countered. Her lips trembled. “I need to know who I am.”

Longus listened to the discussion with amusement. Who were these people that obviously Rachel and Eliezer knew and quoted? More importantly, why couldn’t he get a decent meal?

“Why don’t we call ourselves ‘the famished ones?’” he suggested.

Eliezer gave him a dirty look. “You lived so long at the trough, you don’t realize this is what most people eat,” he said sourly. “Do you think we have lark tongues as appetizers and are only hiding them from you? We eat leeks and garlic and honeyed bread. If we are lucky, we get a scrap of meat.”

“Then, we are ‘the poor ones,’” Longus proposed.

Eliezer stopped. He considered that for a moment. “No,” he finally decided. “There was a group named that. They had followed Jesus and his disciples, but were martyred when Jerusalem was destroyed. I remember the name, Ebionites. Markus told me about them. They said they were really Jews anyway and did not accept Christ’s divinity.”

“Eliezer?” a man’s voice interrupted. A young, bearded man with his wife and two small children walked up. Eliezer looked at them and slowly got to his feet.

“Salve, Lemuel,” Eliezer said. He tapped his chest in the traditional Roman greeting.

Lemuel imitated him. “We are leaving,” he announced.

Eliezer glanced at the faces of each member of the family. The two little girls were pressed up against their parents and looked frightened. The wife held protective hands on both of them. “Are you sure?” Eliezer asked. “It is not safe.”

“Safer than before,” Lemuel countered. “If we are not Jews, then we have nothing to fear from the Roman authorities. They are looking for Jews who killed the late Emperor.”

Eliezer looked startled. “That is true,” he said after a pause to consider. “I mean, it really is true.” He hesitated for a moment. “On the other hand, I doubt the Romans will understand the distinction.”

“They must learn,” Lemuel said.

Eliezer shrugged. “God will teach them,” he said. He patted Lemuel’s arm. “Peace be with you,” he offered. “Shalom.”

Lemuel nodded and repeated the phrase, “Shalom.” Then, the family started out.

“We don’t have to stay,” Longus said excitedly. He jumped to his feet.

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic,” Eliezer said. “You are not here because of your religion.”

Longus slowly sank back to the ground. He was not thinking: he had harbored a fugitive. More importantly, he had not left Rome as required. Hyperion would simply have him executed. If he stayed here, however, he’d end up starving to death. Caught between Scylla and Charybdis. He stared glumly at the ground.

“There was a name I heard in Patmos,” Rachel said. “It was being used in Antioch, my uncle said. ‘Christians.’”

“Little Christs?” Longus translated. “That’s an insult.”

“No matter. We don’t speak Greek,” Eliezer said. “If the name unites us with our brothers elsewhere, then it must come from God.”

Rachel brightened. “I like that name,” she said.

“We are the new chosen people,” Eliezer said.

“Chosen to do what?” Longus asked.

“To carry God’s message,” Eliezer told him.

Longus shrugged. That wasn’t much help since he had no idea what that message was. His stomach had a message; his brain had one, too. Neither seemed to have a divine imprint.

While Eliezer hurried to tell the others of their new identity, Longus pondered his next move. They were all going to leave, to return home. What could he do? He would have to leave. Perhaps he could go to Judea. Or maybe Antioch. There were obviously people worshipping Dionysus/Bacchus there, even if they called themselves Christians. He just didn’t know. One thing, though, he was sure of: Bacchus was propelling him as sure as Poseidon had pushed Odysseus through the Mediterranean.

“I want you to write a letter for me,” Eliezer interrupted, again squatting next to Longus.

“Another one?” Rachel asked.

Eliezer bristled. It was true his first attempts had failed to draw any interest, he told her. At least, no one responded to the letters via the secret drop created in a safe house. Little children ferried his letters to Markus for distribution, but no one wrote back. “I was writing in Latin. Educated men write in Greek,” he informed her. “You can write in Greek, right?” he asked Longus.

Longus nodded. He didn’t mind. The day to day waiting and hiding was wearing him down. So was the lack of food. He must have lost half his weight. His stomach was becoming increasingly flat. He would have done anything for the meals of yesterday, the egg dishes, the sumptuous small rolls sprinkled with poppy-seed and honey, hot sausages or olives. His dreams were laced with the savory aromas of thrushes, asparagus, a fatted hen, goat and wild boar.

Now his days, however, were punctuated with coarse bread, leeks and, once in a while, some olives. There was never enough, and his stomach may have lost some of its ample covering but not its constant growl of protest.

“I will get parchment,” Eliezer said. “We must create our own status as the Church of Rome. That is what the apostle called us when he wrote our grandfathers.” He hurried into the shadows and returned with a small chest. He opened it reverently. A small scroll lay inside. “I memorized the translation,” he said, showing Longus the scroll that lay inside the small box. “You don’t have to read it to me.”

He closed his eyes and recited: “I, Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the Good News of God, which he promised before through his prophets in the holy Scriptures, concerning his Son, who was born of the seed of David according to the flesh, who was declared to be the Son of God with power, according to the Spirit of holiness, by the resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord, through whom we received grace and apostleship, for obedience of faith among all the nations, for his name’s sake; among whom you are also called to belong to Jesus Christ; to all who are in Rome, beloved of God, called to be saints: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.”

“This we believe,” Eliezer intoned.

“Amen,” Rachel said.

“I just believe in the power of food,” Longus said. He shifted uneasily. “When can I get something to eat?”

“After you write the letter,” Eliezer said. “I wish to write the colony in Corinth.”

Another couple approached. Eliezer glanced up at them. “Sit down,” he barked. They complied immediately.

“I intend to write as the apostle did, to share our belief,” Eliezer said, turning back to Longus. “They must know of the letter from Rachel’s uncle. That is the good news, the sign of the coming return of our Lord.”

“Eliezer?” a timid voice interrupted.

Eliezer turned. The man sitting on the ground with his wife raised a small hand. “Our child is ill,” he said. “We must seek medical help.”

“Pray,” Eliezer said fiercely.

“Pray?”

“Our God will heal us,” Eliezer said. “Does not the holy text tell us: ‘And you shall serve the Lord your God, and he shall bless your bread, and your water; and I will take sickness away from the middle of you.’ Or do you no longer believe?”

The man paled. “We are faithful, but we also worry about our son,” he managed.

“Pray,” Eliezer ordered again. “Let the spirit of God be your doctor.”

The man and woman glanced at each other. “Yes,” the man said. “We will follow your guidance.” He bent his head, reached out and took Eliezer’s hand. He kissed it. So did the woman. Eliezer brushed them away as if such homage were common and expected.

Longus marveled at how easily Eliezer had managed to elevate his status. Not that long again, he was just a member of a small band of misfits, treated equally. Now, he had arranged to lift himself into a different role. He seemed pleased with the promotion, smiling confidently as he turned back to Longus and Rachel.

“I must change my name,” he mused. “Eliezer was a servant to Abraham. I am a servant of God. I come to bring peace and to lead others to the true faith.” He sat a moment in thought. “I will be Clement,” he finally said. “A man of peace. The peace of Christ shall flow through me.”

Meanwhile, in the background, Longus watched the man and his wife who had been talking to Eliezer slip away. The man was carrying the limp body of a boy in his arms as they were walking quietly toward the catacomb’s exit. Basking in his own self-importance, Eliezer did not notice.

“Come, we must write,” Eliezer said. “I have heard of a controversy. If I can offer advice, then the Roman Church will achieve some prominence.” He raced back into the darkness.

“He thinks he is our leader,” Rachel said sourly.

“Someone has to be,” Longus noted.

“No,” Rachel said. “We are following Christ. He is our leader. The rest of us live in communal groups with all sharing equally.”

Longus grimaced. What was there to share? Dirt, foul air and every-present gloom. He’d gladly surrender his portion for a visit to the baths.

Eliezer returned holding a roll of parchment and an inkwell. A stylus poked up from the small dish. “I kept this for just such an occasion,” he announced, handing them to Longus.

Unrolling the sheet, Longus pulled it as straight as he could and held it taut for a moment. He needed to rest it on something hard and firm. There was only the ground. He smoothed away the small particles of dirt and sand. That was not enough. He looked around and remembered the torn cloth. He got up, retrieved the pieces and laid them on the ground as flat as possible. The parchment lay perfectly on top. He then stretched out flat next to it. The position was awkward, but serviceable. He looked up expectantly at Eliezer.

Eliezer cleared his throat and began to dictate: “The Church of God which sojourns in Rome to the Church of God which sojourns in Corinth, to them which are called and sanctified by the will of God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Grace to you and peace from Almighty God through Jesus Christ be multiplied.”

Longus wrote slowly. His stylus scratched on the parchment. Every few seconds, he dipped his bone pen into the pool of ink, trying not to drip any of the ink on the paper. If nothing else, he mused, he could be a scribe. They usually were well rewarded. He wrote each Greek letter with a flourish, as if adding some personality that might be recognizable. Maybe, someday, he thought, someone would see this letter and request a similar style. A scribe was not a member of an honored family, but the position did have recognized stature. Scribes definitely did not hide in dusty underground caverns with dead bodies and the fringe members of society.

“By reason of the sudden and repeated calamities and reverses which are befalling us, brethren, we consider that we have been somewhat tardy in giving heed to the matters of dispute that have arisen among you, dearly beloved, and to the detestable and unholy sedition, so alien and strange to the elect of God, which a few headstrong and self-willed persons have kindled to such a pitch of madness that your name, once revered and renowned and lovely in the sight of all men, hath been greatly reviled,” Eliezer continued.

“Can’t you get to the point?” Longus muttered.

“It is the manner of men to write long introductions,” Eliezer said.

“It’s the manner of scribes to get cramps in their hand,” Longus countered. He wiggled uncomfortably. His back did not appreciate this position. He had lost weight, but what remained of his once-great stomach still pulled his spine downward.

“Eliezer!” a voice shouted. A young man scrambled to a stop in front of them. He was breathing hard. Sweat poured down his face and across his wisp of a beard. “We can go home!” he burst between gasps. “The assassins have been caught and executed.” Eliezer looked up, seemingly stunned. “Two men. Neither were Jews. The edict is lifted.” The young man was almost quivering in excitement.

“What! What!” others cried. The young man turned and repeated his announcement. “The killers were a freedman named Maximus and a steward of the Emperor’s niece, Stephanus,” he continued. “Both are dead. They were not Jews. We can return home.”

“Now,” Eliezer stood up, holding up his hand. “We must be careful. This could be a ruse.”

“No, no,” the young man shouted.

“Still,” Eliezer began and then stopped.

Longus glanced around. Everyone was quickly standing, dusting themselves off and gathering their few personal belongings. The music stopped. The pipe went inside a tunic. Soon, a small parade started toward the entrance. Eliezer stood there, trying to say something, but only his lips moved. Rachel stood up, too. Eliezer gazed at his flock in bewilderment.

“Don’t worry,” Longus told him. “You’ll be somebody again.”

“I had such hopes,” Eliezer managed.

“‘Look at every proud man and humble him,’” quote Rachel.

Eliezer glared at her. “I was just trying to keep us together,” he countered, flashing anger. “’My heart is not proud, O Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.’”

Rachel ignored him. “Come on,” she told Longus. “We no longer have to stay here.”

Longus put down the stylus. “Where will we go?” he asked, climbing laboriously to his feet.

“You always complain you are hungry,” she said. “We’ll get some food.”

“How? I have no money,” Longus said. “I can’t be seen anyway. Hyperion would have me flayed alive.”

Rachel thought a moment. A small smile lit up her face. She went over to a dark corner and came back with a shawl. She wrapped it around Longus’ face. “You could pass as a woman,” she said. “Bend over and shuffle. You will be my old grandmother.”

“How long do you think that disguise will last?” Longus asked sourly.

“Long enough for us to get to the house of a Christian friend,” she said. “You can get a meal at least.”

Longus gripped the shawl tightly around his face. The rough cloth scratched his skin. He didn’t care. The prospect of something to eat overshadowed any immediate discomfort. “Let’s do it.”

They left Eliezer standing alone, the ink bowl at his foot, the roll of parchment slowly curling up next to him. “Shalom,” Rachel told him on the way out. He merely grunted as a reply.

In a moment, they were outside. The bright sun made Longus blink. He smelled the fresh air. Dionysus had saved him. He felt better. He pulled the shawl taut and gazed down. The grass had never seemed greener. He could see a few small insects crawling about, hear birds singing. If anything, he felt content. He was not free; he had not recovered his lost status or property, but nevertheless, he felt good.

“Halt!” a loud voice bellowed.

Quivering, Longus managed to stay upright. He stared at the ground. From his perspective, he could only see strong legs standing in front of him. Glancing up slightly, he realized a Roman patrol had gathered just a few feet away.

“Identify yourself,” the Roman commanded.

“I am Rachel. This is my grandmother.”

“Jews?”

“Christians,” Rachel replied firmly.

“Put them with the rest,” the soldier ordered. Longus felt someone grasp his arm.

“But, we were told we were free to return home,” Rachel protested. She remained adamant despite the circumstances. Longus would have admired her if he was not well aware that a simple sword thrust would end the conversation. He waved a hand at her to be quiet.

“We do not want Jews,” the soldier said. “We are seeking a traitor.”

Longus shivered. The choices were clear: if he stayed hidden, Rachel and his other companion could be hurt. If he exposed himself, he faced certain death. On the other hand, Rachel would be saved. There would be no reason to hold her or the others. Besides, he told himself, how long before the soldiers removed the shawl and recognized him?

He straightened and shook off the arm holding him. He pulled back the cloth to reveal his face.

“I am Publius Scipio Longus,” he announced as firmly as his trembling lips allowed. He forced himself to stare directly into the hard, cruel face of the Roman officer across from him.

The man glared back. His dark black eyes hardened. He was holding Rachel’s arm and dropped it. Instead, he drew his sword. “Let the others go,” he ordered. He pointed his sword at Longus. The blade glittered in the sun. “You,” he said, “come with me. There is someone who wants to talk to you.”

“We will not desert you,” Rachel whispered. “God obviously put his imprint on you. You are now one with Christ with us.”

Longus heard her, but did not respond. There was nothing to say. Instead, a sword point pricking his side, he stumbled toward the center of Rome through the graves of so many bygone pagans. He tripped several times, but forced himself to stand upright. He would die proudly, he told himself. He may not have anything left, but he was still the son of a great family. When he reached the River Styx, he would still carry that distinction with honor.

Perhaps he could even get a sumptuous last meal.