Perpetua

“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.” The kneeling young mother raised her eyes to meet those of the novice gladiator. With a calm and encouraging voice, her steady hand joined his quivering grasp of the hilt, and she guided the blade to her throat.

It had been weeks since the silence was interrupted and the door forced open. Seconds before, quiet inside was combined amid the words of appreciation and departure. The pivot and creaking of the hinge and door being engaged went unheard, but they did notice the first streaks of twilight piecing the unevenly lit interior, followed by the dull metal of a helmet, breast plate, and pteruges—strips of aged, worn leather. Authoritative orders broke the silence. 

“Take them! Seize them!!”        

“No. Wait! What are you doing?” Perpetua screamed.

The soldier in charge pushed Perpetua back from the others, and his voice bellowed above the din once again. “Quiet!”

The young catechumens, with eyes glazed over and fear seared across their faces, stood silent and separated. Four of them huddled on one side of the room while Perpetua who had protested glared silently from the other.

“You’re Christians. We know it, and you’ll die for it!” The officer’s piercing stare matched the glare of his antago­nist; and as he filled his lungs to capacity he spun around to confront her again.

“And you! You know better! The emperor, the procon­sul, and new procurator have said, we’ve all said, that you can’t speak openly of this Jesus cult. You cannot!” The com­mander’s ire intensified with his intonation. “You know better!”

Before inhaling again he returned his glance for a brief moment to the others, then refocused on her and amplified his voice and his warnings. “They’re all going to die. Their death will be on your head! Their blood on your hands!”

Emotions swelled within the domus. The hearts of the small group of faithful were pounding, audible only from within, as their expressions formed and reformed, each only to be instantly swept away by similar tsunamis of shock and horror.

Enmity’s eruption continued to shroud their panic as the commander’s forceful voice was elevated in disdain. “You couldn’t meet quietly and not attract attention? The empire can’t allow this behavior to be repeated, to continue. You’ve been warned . . . warned again and again.”

“Gathering and celebrating the upcoming birth of a child, a child of Roma, isn’t allowed?” Perpetua matched her voice to her indignant glare.

“Take me, not them. You want me, I know that you do!” Her body temperature rose along with her disdain and disgust. “I know you’ve been watching me. I’ve been told so; many have told me that you’re watch­ing. What need do you have of the others? Let them be, let them go. They’ve done nothing wrong. They’re as much Roman as you are. Shame on you, shame on all of you!” Perpetua directed her anger toward the commander, but it was her companions with fear seared across their faces that elicited her empathy.

The officer in charge attempted to reclaim his position of authority, “Silence! I’m in—” He was silenced as suddenly as if slain.

“Silence? This is our domus; it’s a Roman’s domus. Now conduct yourselves like Romans of your rank.

 “I tell you, we’ve just met, just this evening. You know I’m speaking the truth. You’re watching me; you’ve been watching. I’m quite sure your superiors informed you that I arrived from Carthago earlier this week. Did the message say, ‘Look for her, she spends time with her family in the city, or at their villa, when her husband has been called overseas?’” Perpetua continued to challenge and berate the officer in charge.

“What case can you make against them? What infraction, what edict, what crime, and what law have they transgressed?” Perpetua’s inquiry was amplified with increased vitriol. “Proselytizing? Are they going to be accused of proselytizing, attempting to convert others? Question them, interrogate them, and bring cause against them. You can’t, and you know it. You cannot!” Perpetua approached and continued her diatribe.

“Am I to believe you have been watching them? That they are a threat to the city, the state, to Roma? It’s me you want. Take me! Let them be, and let them go!”

A momentary pause stilled the room as the officer in charge attempted to collect his composure while Perpetua struggled to breathe.

Eyes met eyes for one last time, the officer’s locked to the young mother’s. “Let this be your last warning! Be very careful. Next time . . . they . . . could be you!” His forceful declaration was punctuated with breath and energy expelled violently.

Perpetua’s response, delivered with powerful conviction and resolve, shocked and shook him to the core.

“They are me!”

Her stare intensified as she drew closer and closer, until they were no longer eye to eye. They were nearly nose to nose when she punctuated her response. “They’re not like me . . . I’m not like them . . . They are me!”

Like an eclipse, all color was swept from the commander’s face and replaced with ashen gray. His eyes swelled and began to spill out and over their sockets. His shoulders slumped, a perfect complement to the collapse of his confi­dent posture. Their commander froze in place for a moment, then stumbled, stepped back, and staggered noticeably towards his charges.

A brief, whispered conference stilled the home and enabled the hearts and minds of the young Christians to merge for a moment. The silence was broken as four soldiers stiffened to attention, slapped their closed fists to their breast plates, and held their pose and poise as the remaining soldiers stepped out of the domus.

A glance toward Perpetua and their leader followed . . . and he forcefully slammed the door behind him.

House arrest had been ordered.