Paul
Written by: LLGibson
“Domitia, come back. If they catch us we will be executed, too.”
“Sh, Livilla, they’ll catch us only if you keep talking.”
It was early morning as they walked along the base of Capitoline Hill. The sun’s rays were just beginning to shine through the trees on the hill, creating long shadows in front of them as they walked. There was a bright cloudless sky and everything was still. The usual morning sounds of birds, goats and people in the marketplace was missing. They continued on the brick walkway around the corner to the small building they had come to visit.
“This is where he is,” said Domitia.
“Where, I don’t see him,” replied Livilla.
“Look down,” said Domitia.
They both bent down and looked through small barred grate in the walkway. Above them Livilla noted the sign on the building, Mamertine Prison. As they looked into the dungeon below the little light that penetrated showed a cramped hole with walls made of large stones, blackened with age. Pungent odors of sweat, urine and blood emanated from below.
Suddenly, an old face appeared at the grate. Long flowing white hair, a long flowing white beard and the most beautiful brown eyes the women had ever seen. The eyes were warm and inviting along with a broken smile meant only for them. They could see he had a crippled frame and looked older than his years. A chain was attached to his left leg and to a post in the center of the room allowing him just enough length to reach the grated window.
“Lord we have brought you some bread and fruit,” said Domitia.
“I am not your Lord, but bless you my child,” the man said, “the food cannot go through the grate. If you look down, I can reach through one of these bricks. The crippled old man bent down and disappeared. Soon, one of the bricks on the walkway moved and his arm weathered with age reached out. After quickly looking around, Domitia bent down and placed some bread, grapes and a small jar of water into the man’s hand and he pulled them into his cell. The aged and bruised face reappeared at the grate.
“Thank you, my children, but please go now before you are seen. Remember God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of sound mind. Be strong in the grace that is the Christ.”
“Bless you Paul, we pray for you daily,” said Domitia.
Domitia and Livilla stepped away from the grate and began walking back around the Capitoline. Six Roman soldiers dressed in their full battle gear; the bowl shaped helmet, the iron breastplate, iron plated leg and arm guards, a red and white tunic, and the sandal boot laced up to the knee marched past them. They stopped, looked back and watched as the guards removed the grate and pulled Paul out of the dungeon.
“It is time, old man,” a soldier said as he beat him with a rod to the back of his legs causing Paul to collapse to his knees.
“Wait, wait,” a shout came from a man running up from the road. “I must talk to the prisoner.”
Paul turned to the man and smiled, “Luke, my friend, my physician, it is good to see you one last time. Please take these letters to Timothy at Ephesus for me,” he said as he handed Luke several rolled parchments.
Luke stood there speechless as the soldiers led Paul away. Domitia and Livilla watched in silence as they marched off.
“We must follow,” said Livilla.
“He’s going to be put to death,” replied Domitia.
“All the more we should follow,” said Livilla.
They followed as the guards marched Paul, stooped, white hair blowing in the wind, , shuffling his chained feet slowly along. He was marched through the heavy gate and beyond the stone wall. They went past the pyramid of Cestius, onto Ostian Way. Others on the road knew the old man was marching to his death. They walked by without a glance. This happened every day in Rome.
Domitia and Livilla followed closely watching as Paul, even though walking stiffly had slowly straightened up. A faint smile appeared on his lips as if he was in on some private joke. Suddenly, a sobbing woman ran up to Paul and gave him her veil and bowed down to him. He said a few words to her and then the guards pushed her away.
They marched into a wooden glade called the Aquas Salvias. Paul was walked to a stump like pillar and stripped; Paul was standing perfectly straight by now, no evidence of age or infirmary. Shoulders back, chin up he seemed to have lost years in the short march. He turned and looked at Domitia and Livilla and smiled his face aglow with happiness.
“We must save him,” said Livilla.
“He is already saved,” replied Domitia.
The guards beat him one last time with rods and axe handles. He groaned and bled from his nose and mouth. The guards pushed him down to his knees, forcing his head and neck down onto the pillar. Without hesitation, the executioner swung the gleaming axe above his head, and then brought it down quickly, hitting his target with a loud thud. The head of the Apostle Paul rolled onto the ground.