Читать книгу Valeria's Cross - Kathi Macias - Страница 10

Her assessment of her father’s acceptance of Mauritius was more than a bit premature and overly optimistic, but her mother was at least receptive to the idea. With Diocletian gone, Prisca invited Mauritius and his family to dine with them the next evening. After dinner, Valeria asked Mauritius and Nanu to take a moonlight stroll in the garden. Valeria’s excitement waned when her mother insisted that Eugenia accompany them. Much to Valeria’s disappointment, there was no handholding, but she considered even walking beside Mauritius a gift.

The next morning, after completing her studies, Valeria spent the afternoon in the arena with Nanu, watching Mauritius and Baraka, Nanu’s fiancé, compete in the athletic events. Afterward, the young people had dinner with Valeria at the palace. Eugenia was not feeling well, so after dinner Prisca gave them permission to walk alone in the garden if the young people stayed together. Almost immediately Baraka pulled Nanu behind the hedges, away from Valeria and Mauritius.

“What are they doing?” Valeria asked.

“The same thing I am about to do to you,” Mauritius replied, smiling as he bent to give Valeria a kiss, this time on the lips. He kissed her gently, and then stepped back.

“Please do not stop,” Valeria begged, her head swimming with daydreams of utter delight. She pulled on his tunic to bring him back close to her, but he only pecked her forehead.

“No more kisses,” he scolded her.

“But I want to kiss you over and over again.”

Mauritius touched her face with his hand, sending sparks throughout her body. “I love you, but . . .”

“You love me!” Her heart skipped a beat. “I love you, too, Mauritius,” she declared . . . and then she did the unthinkable. She stood on her tiptoes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

After a moment, he had to step back to extract his lips from hers. “We must wait until we are married to kiss with such passion, my love.”

“Married? Are you proposing?”

His smile melted her heart. “Valeria, I knew from the moment I saw you in the garden that God had brought you to me for my wife. But you are the daughter of an emperor, and that complicates our relationship.”

“My mother will take care of my father if that is what you are concerned about.”

“But I have not even met your father, and I must ask his permission for your hand in marriage. This will likely be a long and arduous process.”

“But Father will love you, just as I do,” Valeria assured him.

“He may like me, but most royal marriages are arranged. Still, I am confident that God, who brought us together, will make a way for us.”

Valeria smiled. “If God could part the Red Sea for the Israelites, He can surely sway my father’s favor in your direction.”

“I am sure of it,” he agreed, kissing the top of her head. “I see you have learned your Bible lessons well from the monks. Come, let us ask my sister and Baraka to join us for a walk on the beach.”

When Valeria told Prisca of Mauritius’ proposal, she even offered to help with the wedding plans and trousseau, assuring Valeria that she would approach Diocletian about the situation when the time was right. But each time Valeria asked when that time would be, her mother reminded her that patience and prudence were necessary virtues. Valeria found it difficult to concentrate on these virtues when she longed for Mauritius’ kisses.

Mauritius knew by now that Valeria had told her mother about them and enlisted her help in gaining Diocletian’s approval. He often echoed Prisca in his warnings to Valeria, who had come to believe that patience was highly overrated and that action was preferable.

On the morning of Baraka and Nanu’s wedding, Prisca granted Valeria permission to take part in the traditional Egyptian wedding customs.

“Why does Eugenia have to come along?” Valeria sulked, standing next to the divan where her mother lounged.

Prisca smiled. “You are the emperor’s daughter, but even if you were not, I would still insist on a chaperone.”

Valeria moaned. “Most Egyptian women are married by age twelve. If you were not so slow in asking father for permission for me to marry, Mauritius would be my husband by now, and I would not need a chaperone.”

Prisca flashed Valeria a stern look.

“Forgive me, Mother.” She crumpled to her knees and laid her head upon her mother’s lap. “I cannot bear the thought that Mauritius will soon leave for Gaul. Even the hours we spend apart seem like decades, and it will be months before he returns.”

Prisca soothed Valeria, stroking her hair. “When we are planning your wedding, time will pass quickly. It is a thrilling time in the life of a young woman.”

“Without Mauritius there can be no excitement in my life,” Valeria declared. “You are confident that Father will grant us permission to marry?”

Before Prisca could answer, Eugenia appeared at the door. “Mauritius has arrived early. Are you ready?”

Valeria’s hands flew to her hair. “Oh, I must look a mess.”

“You look lovely,” Prisca assured her as she wiped a tear from her eye. “Where did all the years ago? It seems like yesterday you were a babe in my arms.”

Valeria brushed her mother’s cheek with a quick kiss before she stood and hurried out into the marble hallway with Eugenia. Her mother’s moist eyes had not escaped her, but she was in too much of a hurry to see Mauritius to stop and console Prisca. Now pangs of guilt pricked at her heart. Valeria was devoted to her mother, and she understood it was difficult for her to let go of her only daughter. With her father away so often, the two women had become inseparable, but with thoughts of seeing Mauritius, she could not force herself to turn back.

“The palace is bustling this morning,” Valeria noted as she and Eugenia made their way to the front hall where Mauritius waited.

“Have you forgotten that your mother insisted on hosting a wedding celebration for Nanu and Baraka?”

“I suppose I did.” Valeria smiled. “I must confess that Mauritius has been my only thought.”

“Did I hear my name?” Mauritius called out to her before he was in her sight.

Valeria ran toward the sound of his voice. When she saw him, she rushed into his outstretched arms. He quickly lifted her off the floor and twirled her around.

“We must hurry or we will miss the festivities,” he warned.

It was a busy morning as friends and family moved Nanu’s possessions into her husband’s room at his parents’ home. Valeria may have been the emperor’s daughter, but she worked as hard as anyone. Once the job was complete, there was little time to freshen up before they were expected at the church.

The servants at the palace were waiting for Valeria when she arrived. Everyone pitched in to help her dress for the wedding. She had insisted on wearing a simple green linen tunic so as not to outshine the bride.

Since Mauritius had to accompany his family to the wedding, Valeria went to the church with her mother and Eugenia. The wedding was unlike any of the weddings the women had ever attended.

The Zaffa, the Egyptian wedding march, began. Traditional music filled the church, and belly dancers and performers with flaming swords preceded the bride and groom. Valeria joined in the lively celebration, clapping her hands wildly and swishing her hips. Mauritius smiled when he spotted her across the aisle and did some clapping and dancing of his own, which made Valeria laugh until she cried.

When Nanu came into their view, the women sighed. The happy bride was exquisite in a simple white linen dress overlaid with an intricately woven bead-net of blue and green faience beads; her ebony hair was encased in a matching bead-net with flowers crowning her head. Her jewelry was fashioned from lapis and gold.

The custom for the groom’s family was to propose to the bride before the couple spoke their vows. Baraka’s large family gathered around the couple and made their proposal to Nanu. She accepted with hugs and kisses.

Valeria’s emotions ran rampant during the solemn wedding ceremony. Many of the young Egyptian women rushed to the altar before their soldiers sailed off to battle in Gaul. Yet the emperor’s daughter would not be among them. Royalty had its benefits, but for now it seemed the negatives far outweighed them.

Her heart was stirred by the religious service, but to her surprise, it also burned with envy when Nanu and Baraka spoke their wedding vows. The words were poetic and meaningful. Instead of her friend Nanu, Valeria wished that she were the bride and Mauritius her groom. During a poignant part of the ceremony, Mauritius turned and smiled at her, and her body trembled with a deep longing for him to be her husband.

During the wedding celebration, which Prisca had insisted on hosting for the couple at the palace, Mauritius whispered into Valeria’s ear to meet him afterward down by the beach. Then he went off into another room. The Egyptians had long observed the custom of men and women celebrating in separate rooms.

“Oh, how I hate this custom,” Valeria complained to Eugenia, who tried to coax the lovesick young woman to enjoy herself. Though eager with anticipation at the thought of being alone with her future husband, Valeria could not relax during the wedding festivities. She became anxious and found herself wishing the party would end, but it continued on past midnight.

Mauritius motioned for her as the bridal couple finally sailed away in their felucca in the moonlight. Valeria watched him walk toward the beach, so she mingled with the crowd before taking a discreet path to the seashore. Each step, no matter how carefully placed, seemed to echo like a gong, outdone only by what she was certain was the loud pounding of her heart. When a pair of young lovers wandered down toward the seashore, Valeria hid in the bushes to keep from being seen.

But at last she was there, creeping onto the beach, her eyes darting back and forth in the darkness. She slid out of her sandals and wiggled her toes in the sand, which was still hot from the day’s sun. It was a balmy night, and Valeria felt exhilarated as she walked along the edge of the row of sequoia trees where they had once kissed. But he was not there. Though she was glad the trees blocked the moonlight, lessening their chances of being seen, it also made it more difficult to locate Mauritius.

As it turned out, she did not have to find him. Before she realized he was standing in front of her, she felt his hand cover her mouth. He pulled her behind a sequoia tree. The sharp intake of her breath confirmed Mauritius’ wisdom in preventing her from screaming in surprise. As her adrenaline ebbed and she came to terms with the fact that she was at last in the embrace of the man she loved, she relaxed, enjoying the feel of his muscular arms and broad chest, even as her cheek pressed against the Theban cross he always wore around his neck. Oh, if only her mother would send a messenger to her father soon so they could at least make their betrothal public knowledge before Mauritius was called away to the battle in Gaul!

“We must be quiet,” Mauritius whispered. “If they find me here alone with you, I’ll be drawn and quartered before sunrise.”

Valeria nodded. Without Nanu and Baraka as chaperones, Prisca would have insisted Eugenia accompany them, but Valeria longed to be alone with Mauritius in hope of receiving his passionate kisses. Mauritius removed his hand from her mouth, but he made no move to release her from his embrace—which suited Valeria just fine. She was exactly where she wanted to be, whether her mother approved . . . or not.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by then, and up close she could see her intended’s face as he gazed down at her, his dark eyes reflecting the longing she felt in her heart. When his lips spread in a dazzling smile, she knew she would have collapsed if he had not been holding her up.

“You are as beautiful at night as in the daylight,” Mauritius whispered. “The memory of you in my arms will carry me through the battle of Gaul—and any others I must endure to finally have you as my wife.”

Valeria’s heart leapt in alarm. “Memory?” she asked, reminding herself to keep her voice low, even as her pulse began to race once again. “Why would you say that? Surely it is not time for you to leave for Gaul already! It has been only a few weeks since—”

Mauritius placed his finger over her lips. “Shh,” he cautioned. “Do not be upset, sweet Valeria. God willing, I will return to you—soon.”

What was he trying to tell her? Then, with her gaze locked into his, she knew. He was leaving, going to Gaul. The time had come, and they had not even spoken with her father or announced their betrothal.

Her heart felt as if it had sunk into the sand at her feet. Hot tears pricked the back of her eyelids. How could she let him go when they had just found one another?

She opened her mouth to demand the answer, but Mauritius shook his head. “I know, my love. I have asked myself the same question. But there is nothing we can do about it. My calling is to serve God first, and then my country. If I am needed on the battlefield, I must go. Besides, my emperor orders me there. It is not an option, beloved.”

Valeria knew he was right, and she loved him all the more for his loyalty and strength of character. But she felt no such constraints on her own emotions. She wanted to cry out, to scream in protest, to demand that her father rescind the order and allow Mauritius to stay behind—but as quickly as the emotion overwhelmed her, the responsibility of their respective positions negated it. Mauritius was right. He had to go . . . and she had to let him, without complaint or protest. But she could not do it without tears.

“When are you leaving?” she sobbed.

“We sail at dawn.”

Droplets spilled over her eyelids and onto her cheeks. She whispered, “Oh, Mauritius, how can I send you away like this? If only I were your wife—”

Mauritius withdrew his finger from her lips and slid it to the side of her face, tracing her cheekbone as tears glistened in his own eyes. “Do you really think it would be any easier if we were married?” He shook his head. “Leaving for battle is difficult—for the one going and the one left behind. But sometimes it must be done. And this, my lovely Valeria, is one of those times.”

He lowered his head and kissed her then, lightly and gently, but her lips felt as if they were on fire. How was it possible to love someone so much and still survive when separated?

When he pulled away, his face only inches from hers, she asked, “How long will you be gone?”

His jaws clenched before he answered. “Until God brings me back to you. That is all I can tell you, my love, for only He knows what tomorrow will bring.”

Swallowing a sob, she cried softly, “Oh, Mauritius, how will I bear it?”

“The same way I will. We will pray each day—each moment, if need be—for the strength and courage to do what we must, and for God to grant that we be together again . . . in His time.”

Once again, his lips touched hers, and Valeria thought she would die with the exquisite pain of loving him. And then he released her.

“I must go,” he whispered. “The longer I stay, the more difficult it is to say goodbye. And the more we risk being caught. We have to do this the right way, Valeria. We must gain your father’s permission to marry, and perhaps my service in Gaul will enable us to do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I can be a hero in your father’s eyes, he will surely grant me your hand in marriage.”

“But you must give me your word that you will be careful and not take any unnecessary risks. I would surely die if I lost you,” she cried.

Mauritius lifted his cross and kissed it. “I have God’s protection.”

“And my prayers.”

As he pulled away, Valeria clung to him, her sobs escalating as she spoke. “Do not go,” she pleaded. “Please, Mauritius! Not yet . . .”

But Mauritius pulled away and did not look back. When Valeria could see him no longer, she threw her hand over her mouth to prevent her cry from escaping. Once she had collected herself enough to speak, she whispered into the night, “God be with you, Mauritius, my love!”

After many days at sea, the Theban Legion landed near Rome. They marched through northern Italy, across the St. Bernard pass, and encamped near the Swiss border to await their orders from their leader, Maximian, Diocletian’s co-emperor of the Western Roman Empire. It was barely a week until they began heavy fighting against the Gauls.

While other Roman legions suffered major defeats at the hand of the Gallic barbarians, the Thebans marched, victorious in every battle. As a result, Captain Mauritius captured the attention of Emperor Diocletian. Usurped by Mauritius, General Galerius seethed with jealousy, not only for the young captain’s exemplary military skills, but for Valeria’s love as well. At their first encounter, the girl had ignited a passion in him unlike any he had ever known.

Galerius was a man who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. Had Valeria not been the emperor’s daughter, Galerius would have forced himself into her sleeping chambers and stolen her virginity when he was a guest at the palace in Elephantine. Fortunately for Valeria, his lust for power burned hotter than his sexual desires. The fact that she was Diocletian’s daughter provided the ambitious Galerius with all the restraint he had needed to resist the nubile creature. He was confident that the plan he had devised for his future would soon get him everything he wanted, including Valeria.

Valeria and Nanu were inseparable after the men they loved left for Gaul. They spent their days together studying with Prisca at the monastery or at parties with other Egyptian girls, who were also forced to entertain themselves in the absence of the men they loved. On the days they stayed at the palace, Valeria and Nanu, who were both adept at needlework, spent hours with the ladies sewing Valeria’s trousseau. But Valeria’s favorite pastime was taking long walks upon the beach, where she retraced the steps she had taken with Mauritius. Meandering along the beach, she relived every kiss he had given her and repeated every word he had whispered to her. On one such walk, Nanu took Valeria’s hand in hers.

“My dear sister, I have exciting news for you today.”

Valeria’s heart leapt with expectation. “Are they coming home? Mauritius is on his way back to me!”

Nanu nodded. “I am sorry, but no. However my news should still make you smile.”

“Then please, do tell! The suspense is killing me.”

Nanu took her friend’s hand and placed it upon her own stomach to reveal her surprise. “I have a baby growing inside of me.”

Valeria squealed. “Nanu! This is wonderful news. You are going to be a mother, and I am going to be an aunt—once I marry your brother, of course. Oh, if only he would return to me so I could!”

Nanu touched her friend’s face. “You will be our baby’s aunt, regardless.”

Valeria embraced her. “I am so happy for you. Have you sent a message to Baraka?”

“Yes, and he has written to me that he is overjoyed with the news of our child. He says our baby makes him fight even harder so he can return home to me as soon as possible.”

“So you have known for some time.” Valeria’s face fell. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I wanted my husband to be the first to know that we were having a child.”

Valeria nodded. “I understand. Creating a baby together is such an intimate, beautiful experience that a husband and wife should share the news before telling anyone else. But how can you be sure the news has reached Baraka?”

“Just this morning a ship brought letters from Europe, and I received a letter from him. You will probably have one from Mauritius too.”

Valeria smiled as hope filled her heart. “Mauritius must know he will soon be an uncle. I am sure he is as happy as I am about the news. Will you forgive me that I must cut our walk short to see if a letter has arrived from Mauritius?”

“I will walk back with you, but you must slow down. Remember I have a baby inside of me now.” She patted her tummy affectionately.

Valeria slowed her pace and put an arm around Nanu. “Tomorrow morning we shall begin to sew clothes for your baby too. It has been so long since Mauritius and Baraka left us that if we keep creating clothes for my trousseau I fear there will not be enough drawers and chests in the land to hold them!”

Nanu giggled, and then looked down at her expanding waistline and sighed. Her eyes glazed over with a faraway look as she spoke. “I hope Baraka will come home in time for our baby’s arrival.”

Valeria grabbed her hand. “Of course he will. But if he does not for any reason, I promise you, my friend, I will be at your side holding onto your hand tightly as you bring this child into the world.”

The days of Nanu’s pregnancy flew by. The women filled these long months with their usual activities, spending more time on their needlework than on their studies with the monks. As a result the baby’s layette was so complete that there were more clothes than a child could possibly wear in a lifetime. Yet with the baby due any day now, the women had accepted the fact that perhaps the child’s father would not be home in time to greet the newborn.

Weary, Nanu began to fret. “I cannot do this alone,” she complained.

“I have told you that you will not be alone. Eugenia and I will both be there with you,” Valeria promised, though she, too, worried that their men had not yet returned.

The next day Valeria appealed to Alara, the young monk, during their studies. “Why are our faithful prayers for the return of the men we love unanswered?”

Alara was sympathetic, but he assured the young women that while they may not understand God’s reasons, they could trust His plan for their lives.

Valeria shrugged. “I suppose we have no choice. We will wait on the Lord.”

Valeria was up later than usual that evening, reading a letter from Mauritius, until she finally drifted off to sleep, clutching the missive in her hand. Barely an hour later, Eugenia came into her room, softly calling to her.

“What is it?” Valeria asked, pulling herself from a deep sleep and alarmed that Eugenia was the bearer of bad news.

“Nanu sent a servant to tell you she is having her baby.”

Remembering her promise, Valeria rubbed her eyes and jumped out of bed. “But it is the middle of the night,” she complained

“A baby waits for no one, not even the emperor’s daughter. Come, you must get dressed. Hurry!”

Eugenia and the servants helped Valeria dress. In less than an hour the women were at Nanu’s side, watching her writhe in pain. Valeria tried to comfort her hysterical friend, but to no avail. Exhausted and concerned, she whispered to Eugenia, “Is Nanu going to die?”

Eugenia laughed. “She will be fine. This is typical of what happens when a woman has a baby.”

Valeria turned up her nose with distaste, thinking that perhaps she never wanted to have a child of her own.

Several hours later the baby boy arrived, but Valeria was not there to welcome him. Moments after her arrival, she fainted and had to be carried to a nearby room, where she now slept soundly. Eugenia sat beside her and patted her back.

“Wake up, beautiful dreamer. There is someone you must meet.”

Valeria pushed herself up with her elbows. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

Valeria’s hand flew to her forehead. “I broke my promise to Nanu! Is she angry with me?”

“I doubt if Nanu is aware you were not there.”

Disappointed that she had missed the big event, Valeria scampered into the other room with Eugenia close behind. She gasped when she saw Nanu propped up on pillows, cradling her child at her breast. It was such a beautiful sight that Valeria burst into tears, as her previous concerns about not wanting a baby herself evaporated. Not only did she want one baby, but many—and she and Mauritius would surely have them!

Valeria soon learned that having a baby meant little time for the mother to do anything other than care for the helpless little one. Nanu was either feeding, bathing, or playing with her son, Babafemi, whose name meant “loved by his father.” Valeria struggled with her feelings of jealousy for Babafemi. Although she thought a baby was the grandest thing, she quickly became bored with watching the tiny creature. Nanu, however, never seemed to tire of it. She refused to leave Babafemi. Every breath he took was a miracle so far as Nanu was concerned, and she was not about to miss a single moment of her son’s life.

“You will understand when you have a baby,” Eugenia reassured Valeria. “You will feel different when it is your own child.”

Valeria shook her head with doubt that she would ever allow herself to be a prisoner of a baby like her friend had become since Babafemi’s arrival. Without Nanu as her constant companion, Valeria complained that the time crept by far more slowly and her longing for Mauritius to return had increased tenfold. Despite attempts by her mother and Eugenia to keep her occupied in lessons and her studies with the monks, plus endless social activities, Valeria moped around the palace so much the older women became worried about her.

As Babafemi grew older, Nanu came around more often, bringing her baby and her nurse with her, but not often enough as far as the emperor’s daughter was concerned. Valeria sulked until Babafemi began to walk and talk, and then she took more of an interest in the boy and grew to love him. Babafemi adored his aunt as well.

Although her relationship with Nanu had changed, Valeria soon became comfortable with the idea of a threesome. Eugenia smiled as Valeria’s conversation was filled with the news of Babafemi’s latest accomplishments, even as Valeria’s studies continued.

General Galerius scowled as he surveyed the battlefield and observed the Theban Legion. He figured that if he could persuade Diocletian to give him Valeria’s hand in marriage, he would divorce his wife, marry the emperor’s daughter, and ultimately succeed Diocletian as emperor. His plan had been infallible until his rival Mauritius had threatened it by first winning Valeria’s heart, and then Prisca’s favor. Now the young captain had won Diocletian’s respect on the battlefield, threatening Galerius’ future.

But Galerius had searched for the Egyptian’s Achilles heal, and he had found it—his allegiance to his God. Galerius kept a close watch on Mauritius when the Theban Legion arrived in Gaul. When Diocletian ordered that the entire Roman Army participate in pagan sacrifices so the gods would turn the battle in their favor, Mauritius, on behalf of the Theban Legion, had refused.

“You must punish them,” Galerius had insisted to Diocletian and his co-emperor, Maximian, the ruler of the Western Roman Empire.

Diocletian was adamant in his response. “I will not risk losing the finest soldiers in the empire.”

Sensing Galerius’ anger, Emperor Maximian stepped between the two men and voiced his opinion. “We need the Theban Legion to win the battle with Gaul. It is impossible to trust the loyalties of the local soldiers. Many of them are fighting against family members, and when there is a choice, a man will choose his brother.”

Galerius was furious but was forced to swallow his anger. After a few days, he reassured himself that this was only a minor setback. His ingenious plan would not only spoil Prisca’s matchmaking attempts but Mauritius’ military future as well. To seal his own fate, Galerius would stop at nothing—even if it meant destroying Mauritius. So Galerius watched and waited for the opportunity.

After weeks of a succession of crushing defeats on the battlefield, Diocletian summoned Galerius and his co-emperor, Maximian, to dine with him in his tent one evening so they could collaborate on their future plans. The last to arrive, a weary Galerius, removed his helmet and handed it to a servant. He reclined on a divan, surrounded by servants, who brought platters of food and decanters of wine for the leaders.

“We have suffered heavy casualties and lost the majority of our battles,” Galerius reported, dipping a hunk of bread into his porridge and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Not all of them are lost,” Maximian added. “Have you heard of the Theban Legion’s victories? They have yet to lose a battle.”

Galerius frowned, folding his arms. “All I know about the Thebans is their constant refusal to participate in the sacrifices.”

Diocletian nodded. “Their fierce allegiance to their God is rivaled only by their expertise as soldiers. Have you observed their military strategies?”

Galerius agreed, “Fine soldiers, indeed, but they have made the gods angry, and I am convinced this is why we are losing so many of our battles.”

Diocletian rubbed his chin. “But the Thebans have been victorious in their confrontations. How do you explain this theory?”

Consumed with jealousy, Galerius preyed upon both Diocletian’s and Maximian’s pagan paranoia. “The Thebans may be winning their battles, but since they arrived, our overall losses have increased tenfold.”

“So what are you saying?” a worried Diocletian asked as he set his wine goblet down on the table. “Their allegiance to their God is obviously working in their favor.”

“Perhaps that is true. Their God may enable them to win the battles, but we are losing ours, because our gods are angry that the Thebans are refusing to join in the pagan sacrifices.”

“Then we must demand their participation in our sacrificial rites,” Maximian insisted, with Diocletian nodding in agreement.

But the following day their discussion was quickly forgotten when the course of the battles abruptly changed direction in favor of the Roman Army. Within weeks they had won the bloody confrontation, defeating the rebels of Burgundy.

The Theban Legion went about the business of resting and refreshing themselves from the arduous campaign, awaiting their discharge orders to return to Egypt. All the army was celebrating in the large city of Octodurum situated on the Rhone River, except Galerius, who brooded in his tent. Time was running out for his plan to succeed, and he feared that Mauritius might rob him of his future.

The Egyptian Christians went to hear the victory speeches and partake of the feasting and revelry—so much as their faith and good conscience would allow. When Baraka entered the inn, where his legion was dining on platters of suckling pigs, beef, mutton, cabbages, and an array of other foods, Mauritius saw him and waved him over to his table.

“My brother, how soon can we leave for Egypt?” Baraka asked.

“Ah, are you so anxious to see my sister that you cannot greet me properly?” Mauritius teased him and stood to his feet. He embraced Baraka and said, “Congratulations on a battle well fought and superbly won. How are you, dear brother?” He held Baraka’s face in his hands and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Exhausted. The Barbarians were fierce competitors, but alas, I am grateful that God has protected us and blessed us with a mighty victory.” Baraka grabbed the goblet in front of Mauritius and drank from it.

“I thought this was wine,” he said, spitting it out. “What is this stuff?”

Mauritius roared with laughter. “Ale, a popular Gallic libation.”

“It’s terrible,” Baraka groused. “Is there any wine around here?”

Mauritius lifted a bottle with one hand and a goblet with the other and filled it with wine. He handed it to his friend and then lifted his ale in a toast. “To our Almighty God, our country, and the women we love.” The men’s goblets clinked.

Baraka soon rubbed his hands together as the wine warmed his insides, and then asked again, “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as we receive our orders.” Mauritius blushed. “I have also requested a private audience with Emperor Diocletian, and I am awaiting his reply. I hope he will see me before our orders are signed and we must depart. Pray for me, brother.”

Baraka grinned and slapped him on the back. “Aye, you are a brave man.”

Mauritius frowned. “You think the emperor will not grant it—his permission for me to marry Valeria?”

Baraka laughed. “Do not look so glum, my brother. I was only joking. Your leadership and the way you fought on that battlefield did not go unnoticed by anyone, including the emperor. He will be honored to have you for his son-in-law. No, he will not refuse you.” He laughed again and winked. “A fine emperor you will make one day!”

“I have no desire to become emperor,” he assured Baraka. “I wish only to marry his daughter. There could be no greater prize in my life than to receive Valeria’s hand in marriage.”

“I will pray for you,” Baraka promised, and then hurried off to find his regiment for the feast.

When Mauritius rejoined his fellow officers, Candidus questioned him. “Is there any truth that Emperor Maximian has ordered the entire army to participate in the pagan rituals tomorrow?”

Mauritius shrugged. “We have not received any orders yet.”

Another commander named Exupernis joined their conversation. “I have heard dreadful rumors that tomorrow’s sacrifices will be human—Gallic Christians.”

“Human sacrifices!” Mauritius winced. “Are you sure?”

Exupernis shook his head. “Let us hope we are not among them.”

“For months the emperors have ignored our refusal to participate in the sacrifices,” another officer commented. “So why would tomorrow be any different?”

“Tomorrow’s rites honor the gods for our hard-won victory, but they are also tantamount to the divinity of the emperors,” Mauritius noted. “With their egos involved, there is no way to predict what can happen.”

“What will we do if the rumors are true?” Exupernis asked.

“We managed to escape the pagan rituals during the conflict,” Candidus reminded them. “Now that we have conquered Gaul, perhaps it will not be an issue. By now they will be drunk on wine and ale. They may not care.”

Mauritius took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, but there is one thing we should consider. As long as the war was ongoing, we were invaluable to the emperors. Now that it is over, they will be unconcerned whether they offend us or not.”

“Then what is our strategy?” Exupernis asked as he stuffed another piece of mutton into his mouth. Before they could finish their conversation, an eerie silence settled over the establishment. All heads turned toward the entrance where three soldiers and a young man, who appeared to be a messenger, walked through the door. The men searched the dimly lit room until their eyes landed on Mauritius.

Exupernis took a deep breath and sighed. “The orders have arrived.”

“Perhaps it is a message from Emperor Diocletian granting my request to speak with him,” Mauritius hoped aloud. His companions around the table shrugged.

Pushing their way through the crowd, the soldiers stopped directly in front of the Theban leader and stood at attention, waiting. Mauritius nodded his permission for the messenger to speak.

With his eyes aimed slightly above the military leader’s head, the messenger unrolled a papyrus scroll and read the orders. The proclamation was short but clear: Mauritius and his men were not to be spared the required attendance. The Theban Legion was required to attend the rituals.

Mauritius stiffened. He replied without hesitation, “With all due respect, please tell the emperor that the Theban Legion will not attend tomorrow’s ceremonies. Our allegiance is to our God. And while we are loyal Roman soldiers, we will not be present at a ritual where our fallen Christian foes are sacrificed to the gods.”

The messenger paled. “But . . .” He paused for a brief moment and then regained his composure. “But, sire, you killed many of your Christian brothers in battle. What is the difference?”

Mauritius shook his head. “Aye, it is one thing to kill a brother in war, but to condone their sacrifice to the pagan gods is unconscionable.”

“But . . . what shall I . . . tell the emperor? Commander Mauritius, Emperors Diocletian and Maximian have ordered the whole army to participate in the pagan sacrifice to the gods tomorrow.”

One of the other soldiers who stood beside the messenger suggested, “If you attend, there is a chance that the other officers will not force you to participate. But if you do not obey your orders and report to Octodurum, I fear it will be far worse for you.”

An impatient soldier in the group spoke up. “Report with your troops to the base camp outside Octodurum tomorrow at dawn. Those are your orders. May we take our leave, sire?”

Mauritius granted their leave and then watched the soldiers disappear into the night.

“Perhaps we should go and take our chances,” Candidus suggested.

Shaking his head, Mauritius replied, “We cannot witness such a travesty.”

They returned in silence to their table, and within a few minutes the Thebans’ victory celebration ended.

The men of the Theban Legion returned to their campsite and spent the night in prayer, hoping that tomorrow would not bring a confrontation with the emperors. Mauritius met with his co-leaders, Exupernis and Candidus, around the fire. They concluded their best plan was to withdraw the troops from Octodurum. In the middle of the night, the officers marched the men to Agaunum in southwestern Switzerland, where they made camp.

At daybreak, General Galerius waited and watched. With no sign of the Theban Legion, he was the first to report to the emperors that they were absent from the roll call. Diocletian, who felt a deep respect for the exceptional soldiers, sent orders to the Theban Legions’ camp to return to Octodurum.

Captain Mauritius met the messengers himself. “The Theban Legions’ first allegiance is to our God; our second is to Rome. Nothing will ever reverse our loyalties.”

One of his own soldiers urged the captain, “Sire, please let us go, and perhaps they will ignore our nonparticipation in the rituals, like they have previously.”

One of the other messengers, who was sympathetic to the Christians, suggested, “And if they do force you to make the sacrifices, why not make the sign of the cross like many of the other Christians do, to exonerate yourself?”

Mauritius would not compromise. “We have fought valiantly for Rome; let us worship our God as our reward, as you have the freedom to worship yours.”

Exupernis, who stood at his side, asked the soldiers, “Is there any truth in the rumor that the emperors have offered human sacrifices?”

One of the soldiers hung his head. “Aye. The smell of burning flesh is horrific. Even Gallic children are being thrown in the fire.”

Mauritius and Exupernis exchanged sorrowful looks, each making the sign of the cross.

“What shall we tell the emperors?” another of the soldiers asked.

“Tell them we will not come,” Mauritius declared. “We cannot.”

Throughout the day, Diocletian sent repeated orders, but with each order the Theban Legion respectfully declined.

Incited by both Galerius and his co-emperor, Maximian, Diocletian grew weary at each refusal, and it was not long until his agitation turned to rage. In a fit of anger, he exclaimed to Emperor Maximian, “We will decimate them! We will kill every tenth man.”

After the sacrifices were completed, the trumpets blew, and Emperor Maximian ordered the entire Roman Army to descend upon Agaunum to fulfill the emperor’s declaration of decimation.

Sometime later, as a soldier approached Mauritius to report that their lookout in the mountains had seen the Roman Army headed their way, Mauritius heard the clamor of approaching horses’ hooves in the distance. He called his troops together to pray while they awaited the army.

Never in his wildest dreams had Mauritius imagined it would come to this. Just days ago he had been revered as a conquering hero with hopes of marrying the emperor’s daughter. But when a band of messengers arrived ahead of the army at Aguanum, it was perfectly clear. Now in the distance the Roman soldiers were ready to carry out the orders—the Theban Legion would be decimated.

Mauritius turned his eyes on Candidus. As their gazes locked, Mauritius was sure he saw a glimmer of terror in the eyes of his otherwise fearless warrior-friend.

Inspired by the Holy Spirit, Mauritius climbed upon a boulder and announced the order as an opportunity to die for their Savior. By the time he spoke the words, “Every tenth man will be put to the sword,” the legion cheered, eager to offer their lives to die for the One who had promised them eternal life. Mauritius encouraged his men in death as though they were going into battle. With songs of praise on their lips and a refusal to compromise their first allegiance to Christ, to a man the Theban Legion stood strong against the emperor’s command to sacrifice to the Roman gods as an act of loyalty to the empire.

When the army arrived, the leaders wrote the names of every tenth soldier upon strips of papyrus and placed them in the caps of the centurions. The six hundred ultimately chosen to die stepped forward without protest. They laid down their weapons and offered their necks to the swords of the Roman soldiers. Mauritius and the others, who were spared, praised God and rejoiced with their comrades in their moment of death.

Mauritius pulled away from his soldiers and watched with great sadness as the bodies of his martyred comrades were dumped in the Rhone River, turning its waters red. Then he returned to the survivors and rejoiced with them. When they were issued another order to participate in the sacrifices, they refused, persisting in proclaiming their loyalty to Christ.

The Roman leaders conferred and ordered a second decimation. This time Mauritius flinched when he saw that Baraka was among the doomed men. What shall I tell my sister? he wondered, choking up as he imagined the scene.

With great courage, Baraka laid down his weapons and motioned to Mauritius. He slid a lapis ring emblazoned with a gold cross off his finger and pressed it into Mauritius’ palm, closing his friend’s fingers over it. “Please give this ring to your sister,” his voice trembled. “Tell her when our son becomes a man to please give the ring to him to wear in memory of his father, who loved him very much.”

Mauritius nodded, too emotional to speak, and curled his fingers around the ring in the palm of his hand.

Mauritius’ voice broke as he swore to Baraka, “My brother, I vow to you before God that I will raise your son as if he were my own . . . if God allows me to survive.”

“Please do not be sad for me. I consider martyrdom a great honor,” Baraka assured him, smiling. He clutched his chest. “Only for those I leave behind is my heart heavy.”

“We shall all be together again one day in heaven,” Mauritius assured him. He then embraced the man whom he had loved since they were boys, kissing him on both cheeks. “God be with you, my friend.”

“And also with you,” Baraka replied, and then he stooped, lowering his head upon the stone.

As the soldier lifted his sword, Baraka sang praises to God until his blood poured over the rock, splattering upon the sandals of Mauritius, who turned away in sorrow.

Mauritius and the other soldiers remained strong, but upon hearing their songs and praises, Maximian recoiled with such fury that he demanded yet another decimation.

Afterwards, Mauritius conferred with his fellow officers, Candidus and Exupernis. Three decimations. It was time to stop the killings. They grieved for their fallen comrades, especially for their families, who were left behind.

“It is time to stop the butchery. Our surviving men are eager to return home to their families,” Mauritius pointed out.

With prayerful consideration, the officers composed a royal remonstrance, dictating it to an aide, who wrote the words on a papyrus and addressed it to the emperor. It read:

Emperor, we are your soldiers but also the soldiers of the true God. We owe you military service and obedience, but we cannot renounce Him who is our Creator and Master, and also yours even though you reject Him. In all things which are not against His law, we most willingly obey you, as we have done hitherto. We readily oppose your enemies whoever they are, but we cannot stain our hands with the blood of innocent people (Christians). We have taken an oath to God before we took one to you, you cannot place any confidence in our second oath if we violate the other (the first). You commanded us to execute Christians, behold we are such. We confess God the Father the creator of all things and His Son Jesus Christ, God. We have seen our comrades slain with the sword, we do not weep for them but rather rejoice at their honour. Neither this, nor any other provocation have tempted us to revolt. Behold, we have arms in our hands, but we do not resist, because we would rather die innocent than live by any sin.

They sent the note to Maximian with great hopes that it would soften the emperor’s heart.

Captain Mauritius stood in wait with his head high, surrounded by his fallen comrades. With his nostrils, he inhaled the unmistakable stench of death. He watched as the Roman soldiers disposed of the bodies. One of the Roman generals, who could no longer bear the sight of the Rhone River running with blood throughout the land, had ordered a great pit be dug for the bodies.

The sun blazed hot above the field where so many had fallen—bravely and valiantly, just as they had lived their lives. Sweat trickled down the cheek of Mauritius, but his hands were occupied, furiously swatting flies, drawn by the bodies not yet disposed of in the pit.

The Roman soldiers shuddered at the sickening sight of the carnage. But not Mauritius and his Theban Legion, for they knew that Christ’s resurrection had swallowed up death, and the souls of his friends did not occupy these decaying, earthbound shells. Although many wept for their colleagues, praises could be heard above the wailing.

When Emperor Maximian read the remonstrance, he raged uncontrollably and sent a messenger to Diocletian of the plan he had formulated in his anger.

Diocletian disputed it. “But these men are Roman soldiers. They defeated the Gauls, almost single-handedly. Maximian is surely mad if he wants to slaughter the entire Theban Legion.” Diocletian waved his hand, “Three decimations is sufficient punishment.”

Having his own agenda, Galerius dared to warn the emperor, “If we intervene in Maximian’s orders, then the gods will severely punish us. I tremble at what could happen to us. Even after this great victory, we are likely to never see our homeland again.”

His paranoia far outweighing his strength of character, Diocletian signaled the messenger. “Give me those orders.” With a shaking hand, the emperor sealed the death warrant with his ring.

In the distance Mauritius saw the messenger returning. The scroll he carried in his pouch would surely contain their fate. Riding beside him was General Galerius himself.

Mauritius prayed that God would spare his men and him, grieving that he might have to leave his precious Valeria behind, praying that if it were true, she would take the news without too much pain. He was not leaving behind a child, a legacy, like many of his friends, but he was confident that his love for Valeria would live forever in her heart, until she took her last breath.

When the soldiers arrived, the reply on the papyrus was unrolled and read to the Theban Legion. To their surprise, their remonstrance had an opposite effect on the evil Maximian.

As the Roman soldier delivered the orders that every member of the Theban Legion would be slaughtered, Mauritius accepted his fate with sadness to leave this life, but with joy over entering into the next for an eternity. The troops who had come to execute the order then drew their swords. To their surprise there was no fight or refusal to die. The Thebans laid down their weapons and offered their necks to the soldiers.

The officers were the last to die. While he waited, Mauritius caught the eye of one of the soldiers, a Christian he knew and who had participated in the sacrifices by making the sign of the cross. He motioned for him to come near. When the young man knelt down beside him, there was an exchange and a Roman officer feared he had slipped the captain a weapon, but when the young man assured his superior he was only praying with Mauritius, he let them be.

Raising his voice in worship, Mauritius began to sing and was quickly joined by the remainder of his legion. Though he imagined the vain Diocletian and Maximian would think they mocked him as they sang while being slaughtered, he continued to worship as, one by one, voices around him were silenced. When at last he was the only man still standing, he committed himself into the hands of his Lord and prepared to join Him.