“I’m sorry,” Iris choked.
“Oh, my girl.” Beatrix wrapped her arms around Iris, her embrace soft and motherly. “Valens was not ignorant of the consequences of his actions. He’s been defying the emperor’s edict for many months. He knew each time he left there was a risk he would be found out.”
“I begged him not to leave.” Iris’s voice quivered. “Perhaps if I’d been more—”
“Shhh.” Beatrix pulled back and shook her head with a sad smile. “It was his choice to make. It was not your fault he left.”
“So we do nothing?”
Beatrix took both of her hands in a firm grip. “Nothing’s to be fixed by worrying and casting blame on ourselves.” Her eyes looked as heavy as Iris’s heart. “Those are the tools of the enemy. However difficult, we must pray and trust. God is big enough to rescue Valentine from this. And if He does not...” Beatrix tugged her back toward the triclinium, where the breakfast sat cold and untouched on the table.
Beatrix and Iris resumed their places and while no one made a move to eat, Iris told them of Titus’s reiterated warning and his urging for them to leave. The room was silent save for the innocent squeals of the children outside.
“What will we do?” Iris asked. “If Titus is right, we’re all found out and—” She looked at the children playing outside. Their horrific loss would be repeated a second time.
“Valens would never betray us.”
“He wouldn’t want to, Beatrix,” Iris argued, her voice cracking. “But the Praetorian questioners always get what they want. They’ll find a way to break him.”
“When the apostle Peter was imprisoned, the believers gathered together and prayed for his release,” Marius spoke up.
Hope surged through Iris’s chest. She knew that story. “God sent an angel to release him.”
Marius nodded. “He did the same thing with Paul and Silas. Only it was an earthquake that time.”
“Do you—do you think He would do the same thing for Valentine?” She wasn’t sure she wanted them to answer. Her chest felt frozen, emotions locked inside. Their answers might unleash wild hope or despair. She’d seen—literally seen—the power of God. His love, His care, even before she knew Him. How much more would He care for Valentine, a man who followed Him and served others? Beatrix and Martha exchanged glances but neither answered her question.
Marius leaned forward and picked up his bowl of physician-approved breakfast. He grimaced and set the bowl aside.
“I have no doubt God could rescue Valentine if He chose.” Marius spoke in a tone that implied his answer would not stop there. “But we must also remember that there came a time when Peter and Paul and Silas were not rescued by earthquakes and angels loosening chains and unlocking gates.”
Iris swallowed back the dread stealing over her as Marius continued. “We don’t know what God will do,” he said. “But right now, we must all pray for Valentine. For his strength, his faith, and if God wills it, his release.”
They ate and discussed Titus’s demand for them to flee. Cato joined them a while later and they filled him in, weighing the risks. Most spoke for staying, despite the danger. The church had met with more and more irregularity since Valentine’s initial arrest, and Marius held that it was time to bring it back together. With persecutions coming again, they must all be strong.
Cato, as much as he’d dreamed of it, didn’t want to leave his patients. Delphine and Martha said the widows would be evicted and starve if not for the weekly food basket regime—Valentine covered the rent for many of them. Too much work had to be done, and none of them would shirk their ministries for their own safety.
But they made the decision for Quintus and Iris and Beatrixto continue with the old plan and leave Rome when Marius’s ship departed for the Lycian coast. If they were gone, there would be no evidence of Valentine’s connection with the Calogarus family. They would be safe. And if there was a way to free Valentine, they’d send him to Lycia after them. Iris knew it was for the best, yet her throat ached at the thought of leaving Valentine and her friends behind. They’d become family—theywerefamily.
After the morning meal, where she’d been unable to eat a thing, Iris wandered into Martha’s weaving room and sat before a loom of partly woven green cloth. She studied the threads for a moment, then picked up where the pattern left off and began to weave, relishing the way the pattern followed her direction and plan. As she grew more comfortable, her mind was left free to wander.
“All things work together for the good of those who love God, those who are called according to His purpose.”She heard Valentine’s voice in her head as clearly as when they’d spoken in the courtyard under the stars.“All thingsmight be good things, and they might be terribly difficult things.”
The words still weren’t comforting. She wanted the good things. Not the difficulties.
“No matter what happens—good or bad, by our estimation—anything can always be redeemed by God for good if we trust Him.”
Did she trust God? It had been easy to do so when He’d restored her sight, when He’d given her friends, when He’d allowed their plan to rescue her father to succeed. But now, in the uncertainty, in the danger, with the life of the man she loved dangling in the capricious grip of the Praetorian Guards... If Valentine lost his life, could she trust Him still? Could she cling to Him? But if she didn’t, what else was there?
LIV
TITUS’S HANDS WENT SLICK WITH SWEATas he entered the cell followed by Tribune Braccus and a long-fingered scribe. The cells of the three-storied Ludus Magnus lined the edge of an oblong arena with seating for three thousand. Most of the cells contained small but comfortable living quarters for the gladiators who at that moment crowded the arena floor, training for the Lupercalia Games. Titus led the way to the cells on the lowest level. They were reserved for thenoxiiand crowded with the prisoners and criminals condemned to death by the cruelest methods.
The cell Titus turned in to had been built for a singular purpose. He’d been inside many times but never had he felt such a curdling of dread for what lay ahead. Valentine stood in the center of the room, stripped nearly naked, wrists chained overhead.
“Shouldn’t I be with the Ninth, sir?” Titus tried to stall. “I’ve already been pulled from training three times this week.”
The tribune closed the door behind them. “No.” He gave a benevolent smile. “It’s only fair that you have this reward, for a job well done.”
