Chapter 13

 

“Who was Galerius?” I asked.

Nicholas managed a pained smile. “He was part of the tetrarchy, and was Diocletian’s son-in-law. Diocles was paranoid of the future. I’ve long suspected it stemmed from his fear of judgment and the condemnation from his own stricken conscience. The more time bore down on him, the more anxious he grew to know the future. In Antioch, he consulted the soothsayers and mutterers, slaying a number of animals so he could study their livers and predict what was to come, or so he imagined. While thus engaged, some of our brothers were outside praying that God would frustrate this demonic scheme. These men were attendants of the Emperor, and longed to confront him with the Gospel. They felt his conscience and constant fear of the future would be relieved when he turned to Lord. I suppose, in this regard, they cannot be faulted. They meant to do what was right, and to convince the Emperor to do the same.

“And God answered their prayer. He frustrated the soothsayers. The priests could do nothing, no matter how many animals they killed or how many livers they examined. But Diocles would have none of it. The soothsayer priest, a man called Tages, accused these brothers of obstructing the rites, and the Emperor, in a rage, ordered that all present be compelled to make a sacrifice to the gods or be scourged. He went further, sending letters to all his commanders ordering the same throughout the army and the court. Any who refused would be dismissed.

“Evidently, Galerius thought this a really good idea, and he began pressuring his father-in-law to do something about the Christians ‘consuming the empire,’ as he put it. For two years he kept at it. Finally, his persistence paid off. It was a cold and wet February morning when we received word.”

 

***

Nicholas awoke with a start, hearing the rain pattering down on the shingles of the small house the believers had built for him and his wife nearby the church. He turned his eyes to the window, and through the slats in the shutters he perceived the cold dark of night. Morning wouldn’t come for at least another hour or two, but even then the sun would be veiled by the storm. It sounded like ice pellets hitting the roof. He listened for a moment to the wind lashing the walls with droplets, wondering what had wakened him. A glance at Johanna revealed her still sleeping form in the bed beside him, dark hair splayed upon the pillow like a cast off veil. She stirred, but did not wake up. Her belly was swollen and distended from the pregnancy. In another few months they’d learn what child the Lord had blessed them with.

Gently, he bent forward and lifted a few strands of her hair away from her cheek. A familiar foreboding tugged at the edges of his mind, and he knew now he would not get any further sleep. Carefully, he rose from the bed and crossed into the next room, where he lit a lamp and set it near the window. The chair creaked when he pulled it away from the table, and he winced. He did not want her to hear his prayers, lest she think something was wrong.

But something was wrong. In his heart he knew it. Have I sinned? He turned his eyes heavenward, searching the ceiling for answers. Did I misunderstand Your purpose in Johanna? Was this love never meant to be?

He felt his pulse quicken. It was the only answer he’d received ever since the warning first came to him. An unnamable, persistent dread that weighed down his spirit, dulled his thinking, sharpened his temper. Ever since she’d come to him with the news that he was to have a child, he’d felt it, a dark voice whispering to his soul that this child would never be born alive.

Cautiously, so as not to reveal his concern, he’d spoken to the midwives of the town, old women with many children of their own, and even a passing physician whom he’d arranged to come to the house and examine her. All assured him that Johanna was fine, that the pregnancy was proceeding precisely as it was meant to go, and who gently chided him for worrying himself unnecessarily.

He told himself that they were right. Laughed off his earlier fears as the product of an overactive imagination, or even of a lack of faith, and for a time he felt better.

Until he didn’t.

The further into her pregnancy she grew, the greater the certainty that neither she nor the child would survive.

And so he sought the Lord. Begged assurances from Him that all would be well. Searched and studied the scriptures to see whether or not he had erred in his choice to marry, and even corresponded with both Lucian and his uncle.

But he learned nothing.

Neither Lucian nor his uncle had any words of wisdom for him that he hadn’t heard already. The scriptures revealed nothing more to him other than what he already knew from studying them, and not even the few writings from the early fathers that he’d found in the church’s sparse library offered any consolation or wisdom to understand what he feared.

“Dear God,” he prayed, “please comfort me. Give me that sweet repose only You can provide. I know not whence these fears come, but they consume me and steal away my joy like a thief pilfering coins. Lord, I need You. I need Your presence. Only You can possibly understand what I’m going through, and whether or not any of it shall come to pass. Please, Father, I beg You: tell me what I must do.”

He folded his hands and waited while the fire burned low in the lamp. Around him the shadows lengthened even as the fire grew smaller. Soon it dwindled to a guttering, blue flame.

How foolish of him! He’d forgotten to put more oil in the lamp. He reached for it, but as soon as he lifted it, he knew that wasn’t the case. He could feel the oil sloshing within the cavity of the lamp. Then was it the wick? He turned the lamp toward himself to see when abruptly, the flame winked out.

A loud banging rattled the door. Johanna murmured, “Nicky? Is that you?”

He rose from his chair, the lamp forgotten, and went to the door. He lifted the latch just as the banging resumed. He swung the door open. On the front step, a man in a hood bearing a shielded lantern pressed a finger to his lips and pushed his way inside.

“Timotheus? What is it?”

The man shut the door and faced Nicholas. “I am very sorry to disturb you at this ungodly hour, my bishop, but we must hurry.”

“Hurry? To what?”

Timotheus moved past him into the house. “It is bad. Do you have a bag you can pack? We haven’t got much time.”

“What is going on?”

“Travel will be difficult for Johanna with the baby, but I’ve secured a donkey for you.”

“Travel?”

“Nicholas, they’ve done it. The edict has been passed.”

“What edict?”

“Nicky?” Johanna’s voice came louder. She’d risen from the bed and come to the door of their room, her shoulders draped in the blanket. “What is going on?”

Timotheus turned to her and barely blushed. “My lady, get dressed. Be quick about it.”

“Timotheus,” Nicky persisted, “what edict?”

The man put his hands on Nicky’s shoulders. “The Roman Empire had declared war on Christ. They’re arresting disciples, demanding they make a sacrifice to the gods and recant their faith. Any who refuse are thrown into prison. Any who resist are executed on the spot.”

Nicholas shook his head. “We know about this edict. It has been applied chiefly in the west.”

Timotheus shook his head. “You know about one edict, yes. But Diocletian has issued a second. And now all bishops and priests are subject to arrest regardless of where they are.”

“Why?” Johanna asked.

“Please, my lady,” Timotheus begged.

“It’s because of what happened in Melitine and Syria,” Nicky surmised. “The riots and protests.”

“It matters not why,” Timotheus said. “Only that it has been done. Now if you don’t mind, we must hurry. Cresca says she knows of some caves she used to explore when she was a child. We’ll hide you there.”

Nicholas nodded, and Johanna shut the door to dress herself. Timotheus said, “I’ll be just outside. I don’t know if the guards have come from the governor yet, but they are on their way. They’ll go to the church first, unless you are betrayed.”

“Surely others besides our brothers know we’ve built a house nearby.”

He shrugged. “I only hope they are delayed.”

Nicky turned wordlessly and went into the other room where Johanna had pulled on a dress and was wrapping shawl about her shoulders. He pulled his old travel bag down from the rafters—the same one he’d used to carry his clothes when he boarded The Hatmehit, and started stuffing garments into it. In moments it was full. Johanna swept the blanket off their bed and followed him out. They tugged open the door. Timotheus waited on the step, shifting his feet nervously and watching the church. His face was slick with rainwater, but he paid it no mind. He ushered them forward with a quick wave of his hand.

“Wait.” Nicky turned back, heading for the shelf above the table which held his favorite treasure.

“There is no time!” Timotheus hissed. “Hsst! The guards are already at the church!”

Nicky retrieved the codex from the shelf—a wedding gift from his uncle, the codex held all the writings of Saint Paul, the Four Gospels, and Saint Luke’s Acts of the Apostles. He’d even considered adding the Apocalypse of John to the back, if he could get his hands on a copy and find sufficient paper.

Quickly, he wrapped the book in oil cloth and tucked it under his arm, then hurried back to rejoin his bride and Timotheus.

“They would have burned it,” he explained.

“They’ll burn you if you don’t hurry.”

Together, the trio went out into the night.

 

***

Timotheus led them to the outskirts of town, making their way inland past the fields that had been sown with the last of the grain Qennios had sold to them that fateful day. This Spring there’d be a bountiful harvest, enough to not only feed the city for another year, but sufficient also to sell at market and turn a profit.

It was small comfort.

Timotheus kept them at a rapid walk. Johanna had initially refused to mount the donkey, preferring to trudge alongside them as they slipped away from the city and so keep a faster pace, but by the time they’d reached the outskirts of town her steps had faltered, and Nicky insisted she ride the rest of the way.

Timotheus held the reins as Nicky helped her up and then draped their blanket around her shoulders. Once she was settled, he gave a nod to the man, and they continued.

As they crested a rise, Timotheus pointed toward a dim light flickering in the hills. “The caves are just over there. Cresca awaits with food and warmth.”

“She should douse that fire,” Nicky observed.

“I told her not to build it up. It might give us… away.”

His steps and voice faltered as a ring of soldiers stepped out from behind a mound of rocks. Their eyes glinted in the dim firelight, and their swords rang discordantly as they drew them from their scabbards.

“Nicholas of Myra, Bishop of the outlaw Christian sect,” announced their commanding officer, striding purposefully toward them, “you are under arrest.”

Timotheus, his face slick with rain, slowly turned, stammering, “Nicholas, I am sorry.”

Nick glanced at Johanna as two soldiers took hold of his arms and held them fast. Her eyes widened in fear. He opened his mouth to say something, but the strong dread that had waked him earlier rushed to the fore, throttling the words in his throat. He looked instead to Timotheus. “It’s all right,” he told him.

“I only wanted to keep her safe,” Timotheus replied.

Nicholas furrowed his brow, unsure what the man meant. The rain continued to pelt them in vast sheets of water, veritable waves pulsing across them from the heavens, driven hard by the wind and guttering the flames even in the sealed sconces of their lanterns. To the commander, Nicholas said, “I’ll come along quietly. Please let these others go.”

The commander reached into the pouch on his belt and withdrew a small, drawstring sack that he tossed to Timotheus. When Timotheus caught it, Nicholas heard the distinct clinking of coins. His heart surged to his throat, erupting from his lips in a harsh yelp, “Timotheus?!”

“It was the only way.”

“No!” Johanna screamed, swinging her leg off the donkey’s back, her eyes fixed on Nicholas.

“Johanna, no!” he cried.

Timotheus moved in front, “Lady, please!”

“Timotheus,” Nick called again.

Johanna whirled on the man. “You! How could you?” She beat him with her fists. Nick yelled to her, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Two soldiers broke ranks, moving to intercept her. Nicholas screamed as one of them raised his sword. Without hesitating, the soldier smashed the pommel of the weapon down on the crown of her head. She collapsed to her hands and knees, and took a hesitant shuffle forward. He hit her again. She fell into the mud and lay still.

“No-o!”

Nick tore his arm free of the guard who held him and shoved the other off balance, his eyes fixed on his fallen bride. He rushed toward her. Three steps away, strong arms wrapped around his waist and drove him into the ground. He tried to push forward, but they pinned his arms behind his back and lashed them together with cords. Nick stared at Johanna, as if willing her to open her eyes, groaning at the blood that ran down her cheek from the back of her head, washed away by the incessant rain and soaking into the earth.

 

***

I stared at him, my pen faltering on my notepad. His eyes bore a haunted look, as if he’d stared long into an unimaginable horror and forgotten to look away. After a moment, I cleared my throat. Still, it took him a few seconds before he looked up. He seemed startled to find himself in the room with me by his side.

“You…” I cleared my throat again, “you didn’t make that up.”

He stared at me, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so slightly. I realized then that I’d let on to my disbelief in the whole tale—that the entirety of it was implausible, a clever put-on serving a purpose I had not yet guessed.

“I-I mean that, obviously, this affected you deeply.”

He coughed and looked away. “It was a long time ago.”

“What happened?” When he didn’t answer, I said, “Abbot Nicholas?”

Wordlessly, he rose and walked out of the room. I watched him go, wondering whether or not to follow. Oleg’s voice was low behind me. “Give him a moment.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s all right. He isn’t mad at you. Speaking of Johanna and his unborn son pains him still. Even after all these years.”

“Unborn son?”

He nodded.

“What happened?”

A sad smile tugged at his mouth. “She died. Timotheus meant to care for her, knowing the danger she was in because of her marriage to Nicholas. But his betrayal came at the price of her life. She lingered for a month without regaining consciousness. There was some hope of saving the baby, but she died before he could be born. They cut open her womb and pulled him out. Sadly, the baby was already dead.

“Nicholas didn’t receive word until almost a year later. It is what finally broke him.”

I opened and closed my mouth, unsure how to respond. The story was incredible. Impossible, even. And yet, it was either true, or I was in the presence of some of the greatest method actors in the world. Finally, I shook my head. “I just don’t know what to believe now.”

Oleg blew a breath out. “Let’s you and I cut to the chase, shall we? You want to know how this man has the experiences and memories of someone from more than seventeen centuries ago.”

I nodded. It was exactly what I wanted to know.