Nicaea Trilogy: Three Novellas
By Warren Lamb
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Chapter One
A centurion in the Roman Legion mopped his brow under the burning sun, as he led a cadre of imperial soldiers into the shadowy bowels of the Caesarea Maritima prison near the Mediterranean Sea. Julius hated this part of his job. The stonewalls smothered him like a crypt, closing in on his mind. “Jailer—where are you?”
A mulish man emerged from the darkness carrying a torch to light his way from the hole where he guarded the forsaken. He approached the brawny centurion and said, “Where’s the list?”
Julius gave him a folded papyrus with seven names on it. “Be sure to chain their hands and feet. And hurry up—I’m running late.”
The jailer’s lifeless eyes scanned the list. He sighed as he turned and walked off with the soldiers to round up the inmates. Julius waited under a shaft of light, wondering how long it would take this time. He couldn’t miss the ship. He paced for a few minutes before he saw his soldiers returning, pushing the prisoners to make them move faster.
Julius counted seven men all clad in grubby, ragged tunics.
The jailer handed over the papyrus. “They’re all here.”
“You’d better be right.” He checked the list again and nodded. “Guards, take them out.”
The soldiers escorted the prisoners out of the murky pit into the morning air. The captives shuffled along, dragging clumsy leg irons, and shielding their eyes from the cerulean sky. Julius snapped his leather whip to get their attention. “Line up!”
A noisy crowd of the naturally curious, with nothing else to do that hour, gathered to see the show. Julius knew they were hoping that, by chance, at least one of the criminals might be brave or mad enough to run for it, to add a little excitement to an otherwise dull existence.
Julius spotted a short inmate, at the end of the line of prisoners, surveying the rabble of onlookers. The inmate apparently didn’t recognize any of them until he spotted a familiar face in the crowd and shouted out, “Is that you, Lucas?”
Without hesitating, the man identified as Lucas cried out, “Paul!” He snatched up his brown satchel and rushed toward his friend. But that was a mistake, for he got no farther than the long, powerful arm of a burly guard.
Julius heard a thud as Lucas hit the ground and lay sprawled out on his back.
The short prisoner, Paul, winced at the injustice. “Why did you do that? He’s my friend.”
The boorish guard laughed and put his foot on Lucas’ chest.
“I don’t have time for his nonsense,” Julius said. Yet, sensing something curious about the man on the ground, he ordered, “Let him up.”
Lucas got onto his feet and brushed himself off. “I’m a doctor, and Paul is my patient.”
Julius scratched his chin. “That’s hard to believe—only the emperor has a personal doctor.”
He studied Lucas, a tall and lean fellow, wearing a plain tunic and sandals—clothing of the common man. Lucas smiled as he reached into his bag and pulled out two small odd-shaped leather pouches.
Julius stared at them. “What are those?”
“They contain special herbs I use in treating Paul and other patients.”
“Potions, you mean. Are you some kind of magician?”
Lucas shook his head.
Julius was unsure what to make of it. He looked at Lucas again. “We’re wasting time here,” he said, eager to get back to the task at hand—putting his prisoners aboard a ship bound for Rome. He tugged at his sleeve, muttering to himself, and gave up, “Oh, go on, then. You’re free to leave— just stay out of my way.”
“I want to come with Paul,” Lucas said. “He needs me on this trip.”
Julius spat in the dirt and grumbled, “Go buy a ticket and meet us at the ship,” and then he walked away without another word.
***
The ship was due to sail at noon that day. Lucas found the owner’s agent and got in line with other passengers, holding a silver coin to pay for his passage. He glanced around the bustling dock in search of Paul but didn’t see him anywhere. Was he already on board?
“Do you want a ticket or not?” asked the bored-looking agent, swatting at a fly.
Next in line, Lucas turned to face the man. “Yes, here’s my fare.” He handed the agent the coin and received a scrap of papyrus in return. He picked up his bulging travel bag and tent, and lugged them over to a huge freighter moored at the dock with thick ropes. The Roman ship was one of many that carried cargo and people in the Mediterranean.
He made his way past stevedores who were hauling bags of grain and pulling wagons of food being loaded, and found himself in another line of passengers eager to board. He looked up and spotted Julius and his guards on the gangplank, and then watched them disappear through an open starboard hatch on the main deck. Lucas waited his turn and, once on the ship, he dashed through a throng of sailors and travelers over to the hatch—only to find it blocked by a brawny soldier.
Tired and out of breath, Lucas asked, “Where are the prisoners?”
The guard waved his big hand as if to shoo away a bad smell.
Lucas refused to go away. “I must talk to Julius, the centurion.”
The soldier growled and pulled his sword out of its sheath. “Move along!”
Giving up, for the time being, Lucas walked away and found an empty spot on deck to set up his goatskin tent for sleeping among the other passengers. It was now the last week of August, as the ship got under way to leave the port of Caesarea.
The vessel sailed north in the coastal waters before heading for the open sea. The next day it passed the rock island city of Tyre and went north to Sidon—the ancient city where Jesus had come many years earlier with his disciples and healed a possessed woman.
From there, the freighter sailed northwest toward Cyprus and eventually hugged the lee side of the island’s peaceful waters. While other passengers sat relaxing in the warm afternoon sunshine, Lucas passed the time writing in his journal about the voyage, noting that he had wanted to examine Paul but couldn’t. It was then he looked up and saw Julius a few feet away.
“Bring the prisoners topside for some fresh air,” the centurion told a guard, who turned and disappeared down the hatch.
The seven captives, bound with iron chains to prevent any trouble, soon emerged one by one from the ship’s dark hold. At the end of the line was Paul, who followed the others to the stern and told to sit down in a circle. While two guards kept close watch, another handed out scraps of stale bread and then passed around a jug of sour wine.
Lucas watched from a distance and then, after a few minutes, went over to see Julius. The centurion, talking with the ship’s captain, glanced over his shoulder and saw Lucas coming in hurry. He glared at the doctor. “What do you want?”
“I need to examine Paul.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Showing no particular interest in the matter, the captain turned and walked off.
Lucas faced Julius and said, “I’m his doctor and demand to—”
“You demand nothing—understand?”
“Only five minutes, that’s all.”
“No!—Now get out of my sight.”
Lucas looked at Paul and shrugged his shoulders at the centurion’s quick dismissal. He would not give up but thought it wise to try again another time.
As the days passed, Lucas spent mornings on deck jotting notes in his journal about the voyage to Rome.
We were able to leave the waters off Cyprus and sail to the region of Cilicia. With the aid of a nice breeze and a favorable current, the captain steadily worked his way past Pamphylia in the Gulf of Adalia. Staying within sight of land, our ship went around the shoreline and hills of Lycia. It was late September by then and clouds covered the mountaintops. We then put in at the harbor at Myra, due north of Alexandria. The captain maneuvered his vessel around Egyptian grain ships and naval slave galleys, and found an empty berth.
***
After the sailors lowered the gangplank, Julius went ashore to find the agent of a vessel continuing to Rome. Lucas followed the centurion at a safe distance and saw him booking passage for himself, his guards, and prisoners on another sturdy cargo ship. Afterward, Lucas bought a ticket for himself.
Behind schedule, the ship left Myra and sailed close along the coast. Julius was the only military officer on board and, according to Roman practice, his word was final on the voyage. Also sailing that day were several Italian merchants, African slaves, Roman army veterans, and women and children.
The ship floated past Patara, a flourishing coastal town, when Lucas heard the captain bark at the helmsman: “Steer more west toward Rhodes. We must make up for lost time and reach Cnidus before the winds are too strong.”
Cnidus was the last port of call for vessels sailing across the Aegean Sea, between the southern Balkan and Anatolian peninsulas, to the mainland of Athens or Corinth. It was October now, and most sea captains kept their ships sheltered in the harbor, fearing a violent storm would hurtle them to the bottom of the ocean.
The vessel sliced through the water with ease, gaining speed as it moved. But after the main meal and by the seventh hour, the northern winds were blowing much harder in the Aegean.
The helmsman struggled to keep on course.
“Hold her steady,” the captain ordered.
“Trying to, sir, but she’s not responding. We’re sliding south!”
“We’ll make a run for Crete’s southern shore and might get some protection there.”
Day after day, the ship blew off course and then passed Cape Salmone on the eastern tip of Crete.
The captain told the helmsman to steer into Fair Havens, a bay near the town of Lasea. Lucas saw some passengers bent over the railing, including Julius, sick from the rocking ship. He went over to the groaning centurion. “I hate sailing,” Julius complained, his face chalky white.
“You’ll feel better soon.”
“How come you aren’t sea sick?”
“There’s no cure for it, but I’ve learned a secret that can help.”
“Oh you have . . . what is it?”
“If I tell you, will you give me permission to examine Paul?”
Julius hung his head over the rail and threw up again. He wiped his mouth and said, “All right—now, what’s your secret?”
“You’re sick because your body and brain aren’t working together.”
“Huh?”
“Next time you’re dizzy, keep your eyes open and stare at something, just one small spot, on the ship.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Believe me, it works.”
Just then the captain came over to them. “Get ready to sail. We’re not going to winter here. There’s no shelter from the winds and no place for the crew and passengers to stay.” He looked at Julius and winced. “You look awful, centurion.”
Julius ignored the remark and shouted to one of his guards. “Bring Paul up from down below so the doctor can examine him!”
The apostle soon appeared on deck, hobbling toward Lucas, who asked, “What happened to you?”
“I fell down the steps in the hold . . . my right leg hurts a little.”
“Let’s take a look at it,” Lucas said. “Come with me.”
Leaving the captain and centurion, Lucas guided Paul to a spot near the stern. “My tent is right here,” he said, helping the apostle sit down and prop his leg on a crate. Lucas opened his medical bag and went to work. After a few minutes, he said, “Nothing’s broken—there’s just an ugly bruise that will go away.” He examined Paul all over and found him in good condition. “You’re in better shape than I expected.”
Paul was looking at Julius.
Lucas leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”
“How far have we come?”
“We’re in Fair Havens, but the captain wants to leave.”
Paul frowned at this idea. “Time is running out for us to reach Italy this season.” By early November, ships like this one cannot sail because cloudy weather will prevent navigating by the sun and stars.
“We have lost too much time and will lose even more if we keep going.”
“What can we do about it?” Lucas asked. “The captain has made up his mind.”
“We’ve got to convince Julius, so that he will order the captain to winter here.”
Paul got up and went to speak with the centurion, and Lucas tagged along.
Julius saw them coming and was unsure what they were up to.
Paul wasted no time in telling him. “We’re headed for disaster.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If the captain leaves now, he will lose his ship and cargo, and we will all drown!”
Lucas nodded. “He’s right.”
Julius peered down at Paul. “I say we follow the captain’s advice. He knows these waters far better than you or I, and will take us to Rome.”
“I believe he’s wrong.”
This made no difference to Julius. “Guards, take the prisoner down to the hold.”
Moments later, a gentle south wind began to blow and it seemed leaving Fair
Havens was the right decision after all. “We should have no trouble crossing the gulf,” the captain told Julius. He ordered his men to weigh anchor and the helmsman to steer along Crete’s shoreline.
The vessel rounded the island’s southern coast and entered the clear waters of the Gulf of Messara. Lucas and others could see its sandy beach in the distance, as the winds picked up, blowing down from Mount Ida in the north.
Lucas didn’t seem to worry about his safety, though. He was familiar with the ship’s rugged design. It was built up from a keel with a shell of cedar planks fastened together. Each joint between the planks was fixed in place to make it secure. The builders smeared pitch outside the hull to preserve the wood and covered this with a layer of fabric to the waterline, adding a
thin sheet of lead for greater strength.
The ship continued to struggle against the powerful winds when at last the helmsman shouted “Euraquilo!” A violent gale had caught the vessel, and it could not head into the wind. It was as if an angry sea monster had slapped the ship. The vessel rolled out of control in the whirling, drenching rainstorm. Cascades of icy water splashed across the deck, soaking everyone to the skin.
The main mast shuddered and the captain looked up. “Run for cover!” The mast cracked and its burden of cables came crashing down—trapping two men and a woman. As Lucas tried to pull them out, a huge wave of cold water knocked him down. He crawled on his hands and knees over to the victims, and pushed away the wreckage to free them. He helped each one to get below deck. Then he came back up as sailors hoisted a lifeboat high enough to dump out seawater and then tie it down.
“Pass long ropes under the hull,” the captain told them, “so we don’t run aground on the sandbars and breakup in the waves.” He then went to the port side. “Raise the anchor—just let her be driven along!” he ordered, as fierce winds and rolling waves mauled the ship and blew it due west to a small island.
“We must lighten the load,” he told the crew. “Pump out the bilge. And take off all leg irons so the prisoners can help throw cargo overboard—even the animals.”
By the third day, they were tossing the ship’s tackle into the sea. The only thing of value they did not get rid of was the Egyptian grain. It would fetch a high price in Rome that coming winter when wheat would be in short supply.
For 12 horrible days and nights, the hurricane raged, and there was neither sunlight nor any starlight shining through the clouds to help the captain navigate. Many onboard lost hope. Paul prayed to God for strength to endure. One night he went topside with Lucas and climbed a few rungs of a rope ladder to speak to the crew.
The sailors stared at him, not sure what he was doing. “Listen to me—you should have taken my advice not to sail from Crete.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” one of them shouted and went back to work.
Julius and the captain rushed over. Paul looked down at them. “You should have listened to me and saved yourselves all this trouble! But keep up your courage—the ship will be destroyed, and not one of you will be lost in the storm.”
Julius turned to the captain. “Should I get him down?”
“No, let’s hear what else he has to say.”
Paul swayed back and forth with the ship’s motion, hanging on tight with both hands. “Listen to me, all of you. Last night an angel told me not to be afraid—we will all survive. The angel said God has given me the lives of all who sail on this ship.”
As Paul clung to the rope ladder, a sudden gust of wind blew him hard against the mast. He hit his shoulder and swung out with only one hand holding on. Lucas stood underneath ready to catch him, but Paul recovered and then told everyone, “Keep up your courage. I have faith in God—it will happen just as he told me. We must run aground on some island to be saved.”
With nothing more to say, he climbed down the ladder to where the centurion and the captain stood with Lucas. Sailors and passengers crowded around them, as winds drove the ship across the Adriatic Sea.
Julius glared at Paul. “I should put you back in chains.”
“That won’t change things,” he said, “we’re headed for disaster unless you listen to reason.”
“Forget the chains,” the captain said, “we need him to help save my ship.”
“It’s your ship, but I am in charge,” Julius shouted in the howling storm.
“Not any longer, you aren’t centurion.”
Julius cursed as the captain strode way, and then peered at Paul. “You’re a real troublemaker, you know that.”
***
“I can’t sleep,” Paul told another prisoner at midnight. “I need some air.” He climbed up the ladder and once on deck took in a few deep breaths of the brisk air. He looked around in the darkness and noticed a couple sailors near the railing. What are they doing? Curious, he went to find out.
One sailor lowered a lead weight the shape of a bell down into the water as Paul walked up with a puzzled look. “We’re measuring how deep the water is right here, to see if we’re close to land,” he explained and then pulled it back up. “One hundred twenty feet deep.” A moment later, he took another sounding. “Ninety feet.”
It had been 14 days since they left Crete, Paul figured, and in the moon light, he could see breaking waves in the distance but no shoreline.
The sailors then dropped four anchors from the stern and lowered a lifeboat over the side into the surging waters from the bow.
Julius came over to find out what was happening.
“Unless these men stay with the ship,” Paul warned him, “we cannot be saved.”
Julius turned to the sailors and said, “Let the dinghy fall away.” They cut the ropes and watched the boat splash into the sea.
***
Before dawn, Paul and Lucas went on deck and found most of the sailors still struggling against the storm. The crew looked worn out from hunger, too busy fighting to survive to eat anything. Besides, the ship’s cook couldn’t prepare food while the vessel pitched and rolled.
Paul himself was weak but knew something had to be done. He again climbed up the rope ladder and shouted: “Listen! You must eat something to stay alive!”
Some of the men looked his way but then went back to work.
Not giving up, Paul told Lucas to follow him. They went below to the galley and came back with three loaves of rye bread.
“Hear me,” the apostle told the sailors. “Not one of you will lose a single hair from his head. Eat some of this to renew your strength.” He gave thanks to God for the bread and, with help from Lucas and the cook, gave pieces of it to the sailors.
The men returned to work and threw the grain into the sea to lighten the ship, and soon it edged closer to a stretch of land that no one on board recognized.
The captain spotted a beach and told the helmsman to head for it. “Run her aground on the sand if you can.” He ordered the sailors to cut loose the anchors. They untied ropes holding the rudder and hoisted the foresail to the wind. The ship headed straight for the beach and then, without warning, hit a sandbar. The bow stuck fast and wouldn’t move, and the pounding surf broke the stern into pieces.
The soldiers scrambled to round up the seven prisoners, including Paul, with the intention of killing them, knowing the penalty of letting a criminal escape. When Julius saw what they were doing, he ordered them to stop and spare the lives of Paul and the others.
“Everybody—jump overboard now and get to land!” he ordered, and then dove into raging water to save his own neck.
The survivors floated ashore, clinging to pieces of the ship as it broke up against the jagged rocks. Natives of the island came to aid of the victims and carried them up from the beach to a bonfire for warmth. They huddled around the fire under a cold, wet sky looming over the island. Their ship had been blown 600 miles to the east coast of Malta. Lucas didn’t know how many had survived the disaster until the captain counted 276 heads—every person who had been on board. Not a single soul was lost.
***
More than three months passed before another ship would leave Malta’s harbor. Paul and the other prisoners were on board with Julius, who had arranged for it to take them to Italy. Lucas and the other passengers would brave another adventure at sea.
Once underway, the ship headed toward Sicily and later put in at Syracuse. After three days, it set sail for the toe of Italy’s boot, off the Strait of Messina. But the captain waited for favorable winds before he decided to travel the 180 miles up the coast into the Bay of Naples. Before long, the ship docked at the great seaport of Puteoli.
A week later, Julius and his guards escorted Paul and the other prisoners by land to Rome. The centurion placed Paul under house arrest on the Via Lata near the Praetorian Guard’s camp, not far from the Emperor Nero’s grand palace.