Perpetua: A Bride, A Martyr, A Passion

We spent the whole afternoon planning. The pretty flush on Selina’s dark creamy-brown cheeks never receded. She caught me several times watching her in amazement. A woman loved is beautiful. She becomes so transparent, yet so hidden, simultaneously. One moment you think you understand every emotion in her face, and the next she is a great mystery, an enigma revealed only to God, or perhaps her betrothed, if he is the intimate soul mate he should be.

“We have no family, either of us.” A quick stab of pain whispered Lespia’s name in my mind, but I kept silent. “And there is no reason to go to our hometown, so we will be betrothed and married here.” Andrew had long ago been disowned.

“I wish Nana were still alive to see this.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Selina, I’ve never seen a Christian wedding.” The thought had not occurred to me before.

“They’re not much different from Roman ones. Basically, the presbyter officiates in place of the auger². And of course, there’s no sacrifice.”

“Are there no Punic practices that you’re going to incorporate?”

She shook her head. “You have to remember we were raised by Nana, who worked in your home her whole life, and plus, was a Christian. The Punic practices, as you call them, have to do with the old gods, demons really, and their worship. She never taught us that. I know our parents were native, but I have turned out more Roman than Punic.”

It was good to hear her refer to “we.” “Are you going to invite Lespia to witness?”

“Yes. I don’t know when, but I am.”

“When will the wedding be?”

“Do you think we can get everything ready in four weeks?”

My stomach dropped. “We can have everything ready, but will you be ready? Isn’t that fast?”

She smiled knowingly. “We’ve been waiting a long time. Yes, I’m ready.”

It’s I who am not, I thought, trying to push aside the loneliness I already felt from her coming absence.

That evening’s cena in our small family triclinium seemed more unified than it had in a long time. Father was as excited about Selina’s marriage as I was. I knew it was for my sake.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled when I entered the triclinium in the elegant dress of our peers. It was easy to see, and Mother told me repeatedly, his only daughter held a special place in her father’s affections. His anger at me never lasted. Saturninus had inherited his gentlemanly ways with me, and toward women in general, but he didn’t seem as pleased by my news about Selina, although I know his regard for Andrew was high.

“Father,” I asked, “she practically grew up in your household, and she has no other home. Can she be married from here? Please?”

He couldn’t say “no,” but pretended to scowl upon my thank-you kiss.

“Do you know this Andrew fellow very well?”

Saturninus shrugged. “Not well enough. He comes to our weekly meetings, but he’s very quiet. Yet,” he admitted, while I looked at him in amazement, “he does seem like a good man.” He stared down at the napkin on the couch beside him. “Or we wouldn’t be allowing him to marry Selina. He’s a strong Christian.”

Father shrugged helplessly. “Is he of her station in life?”

“He’s a farmer by birth, but his parents left him no land,” I volunteered.

“Did they sharecrop?”

“No,” everyone was waiting for my answer, but it felt thick in my throat. “They owned, but they weren’t Christians, and so his brother received … He was disinherited.”

“Oh, poor boy,” Mother sighed.

“He is a good man,” Saturninus repeated, telling himself, it seemed. “In today’s empire, you never know when persecution might arise. At least she’ll be with one we know is proven.”

Father shifted uncomfortably and changed our line of conversation as soon as he could. I didn’t blame him. His position was unthinkable. I wished again that he would listen, just listen, to us. But we had given up trying to persuade him. He’ll have to be drawn by our example. The thought mustered only a small hope against the dull ache of his separation.

“Who is your instructor of rhetoric, Saturninus? I heard that Epinaeus has taken a post back in Rome.”

“No, it is Crosius.”

“Ah, even better. He was an old classmate of mine.”

“When will I see wildflowers again?”

Selina was amused. I could tell by her voice her head was raised out of the delicate embroidery she’d worked while I read aloud.

“Is that what springs to mind when Paul says, ‘I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake’?”

“Yes!” I cried, pretending petulance. “I miss the wildflowers. The closest I can get is Sophie’s garden, but that is not the open field, the wide view …”

“Turtura-Tua!” she rebuked. I laughed and jumped up, wandering to the open window of Father’s study. Only when Selina needed light for the sheer veil in her hands was this library open to the courtyard. But the slaves all knew already, I was sure of it.

“We might as well leave this open all the time,” I mused, letting the sunlight fall on my face. “Don’t you ever want to scream ‘I am a Christian! I am a Christian!’ to the whole empire?”

She threw down her veil and came to my side instantly. “Hush,” she breathed, taking my arms and pulling me back toward the cool seat I’d been in. “Hush, don’t say such things.”

“Oh, Selina,” I let myself be led, “I think things are changing. There hasn’t been much persecution recently. Even Mevia’s death was the result of something that happened over a year ago.”

“Perpetua, it just happens that you haven’t seen much in the ten months you’ve been a Christian, and you weren’t noticing it before you knew God. But your sense of security is false.”

“But perhaps things are really changing. At first I thought Saturninus would be killed right away, but now I don’t. What happened with Apuleius was because he’s an evil man. But the government on the whole doesn’t seem eager to pursue us. I was aware enough when I was younger to notice that when bad things happened, the people would cry, ‘The Christians to the Lions,’ but you don’t hear that nowadays. Why, we’ve gone through a blight, and hunger, and there haven’t been killings.”

“There is often calm before a storm,” she warned, screwing her face into the mask of an old wise sailor.

“I don’t know.” My head shook. “Septimius Severus is African, the emperor himself, Selina! He was raised so close, just in Leptis Magna. Perhaps he’s not as concerned with keeping the old Roman religion alive as, say, Marcus Aurelius was.”

“I don’t think he has any great love for Christianity, or Judaism, for that matter,” she almost laughed. “Hasn’t he just chosen Serapis as his patron god? Didn’t he come here from Egypt dressing and combing his hair like that god?”

“Yes, you see? Serapis is not a Roman god.”

“He is not the true God. Not our God. The emperor is no friend of ours just because he worships Serapis instead of Jupiter.”

The triumphant visit of the emperor to his homeland had been all the world could talk of recently. I had rejoiced to be excluded from the Imperial banquet, for I truly was frightened—not of him, but that the urge to shout out this great secret, this great God, would overcome me in the middle of the third course or somewhere thereabouts. I couldn’t trust myself. Father did not understand why I took it so well.

“He’s only here for a short time,” his hand was comfortingly placed, so he thought, on my shoulder, “and the unmarried daughter of a scholar, though we are of the best families, is not politically placed enough to warrant space at this event. You do understand, don’t you? I would take you instead of your mother, if it would not offend Aelius.”

I assured him I did understand. I didn’t explain that I knew firsthand what a banquet at the future proconsul’s domus consisted of, and that I would do anything to escape the even deeper, disturbing decadence that would accompany Septimius’ presence there. It was a vision best unseen. My only twinge of regret was over not discovering how the Empress Julia Domna was dressed. But I knew Scipio’s Claudia would definitely be in attendance, and could fill me in in detail. It was too bad, for her ambitions at least, that the emperor’s sons were not traveling with him. I laughed aloud, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Selina,” I began, but something about my laugh frightened her, and she clutched my hand.

“Tua, the proconsul has the power to send you, all of us, to death. And yet you carry on contact with his family all the time. Are you not frightened?”

“Of Aelius Hilarianus? He would never harm me. I’m Julia’s friend. Lupus is in love with me!”

Her face looked too pale.

“Plus,” I patted the hand that held mine, “if I withdrew, then they would definitely know something was different. It is actually safest to be closer.”

“No one knows why one is persecuted and another not. It is sporadic. Impossible to predict. One day your friends will realize why you’re different. Some won’t care, and some may react like Apuleius, but some will hate you. Maybe even Julia, even Lupus.”

I shivered, her words weightier than she knew. Of all the friends I had, Julia was the one I could see turning against me easily, and with venom.

“… so be careful. Not even Tertullian says to chase death.”

“I don’t need to,” I said softly, “it’s chasing me.”

She didn’t understand. I turned the focus on her, finding insight that had oft eluded my grasp.

“Is this why you have only Christian friends?” It was too broad a generalization, I knew. She befriended the slaves, which was possibly the most dangerous area of all. One disgruntled slave could, if determined, wreak a terrible vengeance on the entire family if somehow he found out about our faith. And if he was sharp-witted, he could have easily deduced it already. True, we treated the slaves with greater consideration than most patricians, but even the act of slavery was a violence of sorts, and I knew we were not immune to their hatred. But she pointed none of this out to me. In fact, it never occurred to her. Instead, her hand fidgeted with the embroidery needle she had picked up again, and her voice turned into apology.

“It’s in my nature to have few friends.”

I stood, coming this time to draw nearer to her, my voice also apologetic.

“But you love each one of them so faithfully, your nature becomes a true blessing to those who are.”

She smiled and returned to the veil.

At our love feast the next Dies Solis, Saturninus and I sat next to Selina and Andrew. My brother, I think, was determined to know Andrew better. He was still as quiet in our home church as he’d been that first time, and spoke only when directly addressed, yet I always felt he was more thoughtful than shy. During service that morning, Aspasius had announced their plan to marry, and the entire congregation was eager to congratulate them. In fact, most of our meal was spent watching the brethren slip over to say how happy they were. Oddly enough, Andrew’s roots seemed to go deeper in the church than Selina’s. Although he barely spoke when around me, today he conversed easily, country accent and all, with the old women, middle-aged men, and small children who came to our table. I found myself wishing he would speak that frankly with me. Toward the end of the meal, we were finally free to talk.

“Where are you going to live?” Saturninus asked him.

“In a small flat not too far from here, about halfway between Secundulus’ and your domus. I’ll be moving my things in next week.”

“Can I help you?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m sure you’ll need help. What floor are you on?”

“Right now, I’m in a, a garret. But in the new building, we’ll be on the third floor,” he added eagerly. “Selina has said she won’t mind.”

Perhaps he seemed so eager for my brother’s approval because he viewed Selina as under his protection until their marriage. In a way, I supposed it was true. My father, yes, was the head of our household, but he was not a Christian. It would be Saturninus to whom Andrew would feel answerable. The idea surprised me. I wondered if my brother considered the situation in that light.

“Of course I don’t mind,” my friend smiled at her betrothed.

His tension eased, and he turned again to my brother. “I’d welcome your help.”

Saturninus assured him he’d be there. I thought it ironic, when one command could have had our slaves move Andrew’s possessions entirely within an hour, that they would instead labor together the whole day, in sweat and dirt. Saturninus would simply have to wear something very plain and unrecognizable, for what seemed reasonable to us, in the name of service and fellowship, would look entirely alien to our fellow nobles.

“How do you know all the brethren so well?” I gestured around the room.

“Well, we’ve been here a year more than you, so we have a head start.”

“Andrew is too modest,” commented our presbyter, who had heard my question while passing. “He has been the faithful servant, always available when anyone has needed help. That’s why so many adore him.” Selina beamed, and Aspasius walked on, resting his hand briefly on Andrew’s thick shoulder as he passed.

Andrew’s ears turned red on the rims, but while he changed the subject, I stayed. … so many adore him … What would it be like to be loved by such a man? I considered him, who had finally become animated with Saturninus. The subject: farming. He was huge and powerful, handsome in his own way. What if he had fallen in love with me instead of Selina? What if when he had rescued me on the streets of Carthage, and carried me toward safety, he had been rescuing his sweetheart? What if when he swept me up into his arms and held me like a baby, he had kissed me? I watched his eyes. They were the entrancing part of his face. Their dark brown was ringed with the perfect black lashes of the Libyan race. Perhaps he’d wanted to do all those things. Perhaps he never spoke to me because he was keeping an attraction in check. He was a stalwartly humble man. Perhaps he believed no Roman noblewoman would look at a native peasant.

I should have kissed him them. I did kiss him then … the wedding gown was mine. The knotted girdle was around my waist. His eyes looked into me. His lips found my mouth; his hands sought my …

“Perpetua thinks we’ll have no problem with the dress,” Selina was telling Sophie, who perched against the side of the table, eyeing me.

My heart beat double-time, like the southern slaves’ drums. The image was so palpable. I could almost taste …!

Perpetua. Soul crashed into Spirit. Heaven and Hades heard its violence. I shuddered and froze, shocked. If Pomponius even looks at me … I could still see, even with Selina in my eyes, Andrew’s face drawing near.

I did the only thing I could. I buried the image, the sin, and lifted what I hoped were innocent-looking eyes to the women beside me.

“Mara should have it done in a few days.” I said automatically. They are betrothed. My innocent, perfect, trusting Selina is betrothed to this man. My thoughts … they’re adultery! The word, even unspoken, cut me to the heart, and the pain might as well have been physical.

“I’m almost done with my veil,” she added happily. Sophie asked what it looked like.

“She’s a traditional girl!” I teased. If she knew what I’d just imagined, she would hate me. I had betrayed her and the pure Andrew, whose mind, I knew, had never held a thought near those my vain imagination gave him.

Why is she in love and I am not? Some would call me the more beautiful … A bitter taste. Was it from the air or my own mouth? It stung against sin almost like citrus on a wound. Why wouldn’t these thoughts stop? Once opened to evil, was the soul forever exposed? What a godly host surrounded me! Families and old men, innocent children and faithful virgins, wise old women and chaste wives were scattered about the triclinium … talking, eating, praying. My whole soul shivered. And I feared. Feared looking at Andrew, at Pomponius, at Aspasius. Feared that each person near me could feel this blot-like darkness hovering in my belly. I couldn’t stay. I trembled, so I excused myself to help the women cleaning the first of the vacated tables. But my hands still shook as I wiped. Images of Selina’s recent betrothal ceremony, privately done in our own house church, haunted me. Hadn’t I just acted as a witness, along with Saturninus and Pomponius? Hadn’t we feasted on special dishes Sophie and her servant prepared, quietly celebrating the pledge Andrew sealed with the gift of a small ring, a circle of iron set in gold, which Selina slipped onto her fourth finger? Had not God witnessed with us … God. I cringed, sick at heart again. I was sure of His anger with me.

“Sweetheart,” Marcia, one of our deaconesses, came to my side, “you are getting your dress all dirty.” She took the wet rag from my unaccustomed hands. “Let us do this.” I looked down. The fine silk of Father’s insistence was covered down the front with small water spots.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I murmured. She looked amused.

“The sun will soon dry that. Run outside and watch the children. It will not set for another hour.”

I took her advice and wandered into Secundulus’ courtyard, small but with a large enough opening for some sun to shine through. The little boys were playing their own form of Trigon, only with one ball and a number more than three sides. The late afternoon sun was hot, and they sweated from energetic dives and fakes. I let it fall full on the front of my dress. Some of the children were not older than three. I knew their names but had never befriended the boys, for Tumi was not among them. A few sets of siblings were intriguing, the obvious results of their parents’ tenderhearted rescue of abandoned babies. Particularly Hamilcar, whose six-year-old enthusiasm belied the imposing name, and Macedo Pax, his four-year-old sibling with olive tone and straight brown hair that stood in contrast to Car’s dark skin. Pax’s face bent over a skinned knee, the wail heartfelt. Car was unwilling to leave the game. “Go to Mater!” Little Pax reminded me of the missing Tumi, and I barely restrained an impulse to scoop him up in a great hug as his teary obedience toddled past. But should I touch a child? I would not have been worthy even to raise Tumi. I held back tears, hoping the hot sun would dry them while still in my eyes.

Bump! Hamilcar’s mischievous face peered up from my legs. He was dexterous enough to have avoided me if he’d wanted. Another round of the courtyard, and bump! His eyes gleamed little-boy delights. It was a chase he was after, but I could not get myself to join his game, and all he received was a sorrowful pat on the head along with my admonition to “Go play Trigon, Car.”

It seemed a long wait before my brother appeared and we joined our slaves outside. Since Father’s order, Saturninus took care of sending them on some errand while we were at worship. I sometimes wondered what they thought we did each week in Secundulus’ domus. Incest is not too far from adultery. Nor is murder. Nor worshiping false gods … If one was in my heart, perhaps the capacity for others could be as well. “… even their women gave up the natural use … ” I shivered in the heat, disgusted, and was relieved to finally reach home and retreat to my cool, dark room. If God commanded against a sin, I must have potential to commit it. That revelation brought no comfort. I lay down, clutching my Gospel by Luke, and feeling the tender Man inside it a million miles away from my bed.