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what they knew of
Jesus—they were invited to stay in homes and apartments. When they
stayed for a long time, they rented a house.
    Paulus, seeing the need for more stability
now that Rachel was older, had bought this house when they’d first
come to Rome. They were fortunate in the matter of money, for
Paulus had always been in contact with his mother’s trusted
servant, Omari. The Egyptian had not yet become a believer…though
they prayed for him every day. His association with Paulus went
back many years; he was loyal and highly intelligent, and did not
feel the need to report to his owners when he went about doing
errands for Paulus.
    Paulus was wealthy, of senatorial rank, and
had only to write a letter to Omari to have funds exchanged from
one banker to another, anywhere in the Empire. He felt a certain
amount of guilt about this, since most of their fellow “messengers”
depended completely on charity…but he saw no reason not to use his
resources, and he gave much of it away. When his money grew low and
he could not immediately obtain more, he worked at various
positions, wherever they happened to be: carpenter, stonemason,
field worker. He was successful at most of these…but there was one
occupation at which he considered himself a dismal failure.
    “I think,” Alysia teased, “you are a better
shepherd of men than of sheep.”
    They had many a laugh over the fact that
whenever he tried to tend sheep they refused to obey him, and
usually ran when they saw him coming. It gave him a whole new
appreciation for David, the long-ago shepherd king of Israel.
    The house was perfect for them, away from the
city, in a clearing surrounded by woods…except for the road leading
to it. In the back stood a well; on the east side rushed a small
stream, fed by water from underground springs. The former owner of
the house, a reclusive man who wrote and sold poetry, had recently
died; none of his relatives wanted the house and placed it on the
market. Paulus heard about it in the forum, and Omari had helped
with that business matter, as well.
    But though isolated, it was within walking
distance from the center of town, and was often full of
visitors…people who were eager to hear more about this Nazarene who
had risen from the dead, people who were hurting and needed
counsel, who were sick or grieving and needed solace, who were
unlearned and needed teaching. Often it had been trying for them,
but they had learned to love with the same compassion Jesus had
shown, and they were sincere in their desire to help others. They’d
always been taught something by those they sought to teach, had
always received something back…though it hadn’t been without
failure, or loss, or trouble and heartsickness …
    * * *
    Alysia opened her eyes to the dawning sun to
see that Paulus had already risen and was putting on his clothes.
“Let’s go,” he said, catching her hand and pulling her out of the
bed.
    “What’s wrong?” She grabbed the gown she’d
worn yesterday, pulled it over her head and belted it at the
waist.
    “Nothing,” he said. “Just, let’s go.”
    She caught the look on his face and knew
where they were going. She smothered a laugh as they slipped out of
the house, nearly tripping over Simon, who slept soundly on a
pallet near the door—as though he were still a slave, protecting
his master. They ran down a path they knew well, deeper and deeper
into the forest, until they came to a glade, shimmering in a mist
that hovered over the crumbling stone and monuments of an ancient
ruin. Once, in the distant past, it might have been a house, or a
temple. They’d found it one day walking through the woods…Probably
few people knew of it; no one ever came here, children would have
been forbidden to play near it for fear of falling stone or bricks.
There were no houses nearby…their own house was the last on the
lane, and the woods beyond it extended to the city wall.
    Forgotten and deserted, the foundations of
the