Destitutio Quod Remissio

For an hour Benjamin spoke about the kindness of God, the faithfulness all should show, and the sincerity of praise and faith.  Another hour was ahead, but no one seemed ready to leave.  None except one man, behind Marcus, who looked about with uncertain and frightened eyes.  Had Marcus seen him he would have thought him rent in spirit by the words from Benjamin, but this was not the case.  He was waiting for a sign…

            “The Apostle John, beloved among the disciples, wrote that the Lord tells us that in this world we will have trouble, but fear not!  For He has overcome the world!  Do not fear them, though they can kill and torment the body.  The Lord is the one to fear, and to love.  Remember His love for you when all the dark seems to crash down on you like a starless night, heavy with rains…”

            As he uttered these words, the man behind Marcus rose and turned away toward a wall, eyeing the opposite side of the room from his silent trek with unease.  He swayed a bit as he moved towards a doorway to one of the passages out of the hidden meeting hall, much as though he’d had too much wine.  Curious, Marcus watched him stumble and nearly crash into an older couple, who paid little heed to his clumsiness.  Their silvery tufted heads did not turn more than a fraction towards the distraction. 

Taking in a breath, the man seemed ready to faint.  Then, for a brief second, his eyes roved up and held Marcus’.   The former senator’s brows furrowed as the other man’s marine eyes grew wider with concern.  As if shocked by a bolt of lightning, the man turned and dashed out the side exit leaving only the echoing whisper of his footsteps on the rough cut stones of the path he’d found.  A few people noticed now the man’s effort to escape.

“There is no darkness too deep for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to pierce, He is the Light of the world,” Benjamin finished, undeterred.

Over his voice, though, was the unmistakable sound of footsteps.  Growing in insistence.  Unmasked and certainly not those of a cautious late-comer or the early-exiter.  These were the siren voice of iron against wood with a rhythmic regularity. 

Leondas’ mouth dropped open slightly and his eyes grew large like a flower’s bud in spring.  “Soldiers,” he mouthed. 

Everyone who heard froze in place; an icy chill cut through the room and sliced the quiet comfort of the room.  If true, then they had all need to flee at that moment.  The soldiers would have no mercy on them. 

A quick glance to the room’s entrance revealed a sickening dance the candles near the door had learned, flickering in unusual ways.  Only a handful of seconds were left and then they would crash down upon the believers, pushing, shouting, capturing or killing. 

Marcus had to decide which way to run before an eager soldier carried him off to prison and a painful death. 

Lord save me from the danger!

“Brothers!” Benjamin said, his voice neither a whisper or a shout.  “Take flight!  Remember our plans.”

This was of no aid to Marcus, who was not aware of any such planning.  Dozens of men and women, along with some children young enough that they had to be tugged along in their own confusion, scrambled to a number of directions. 

Fixed to the spot where he stood, Marcus watched the scramble, looking about in a wild, incautious awe.  Even Benjamin was in motion now, moving first towards the door everyone entered the meeting place from and, with a groan, he toppled in front of it a large set of shelves.  Not a second too soon as from beyond the doorway the sounds of the soldiers reaching the landing before the door could be heard and the initial crash of one trying to burst through reverberated through the enclosure. 

The shrill whine of the wood, desperate to give way to the violence behind could be heard over the clamor of flight.  From beside Marcus a large hand gripped him and spun him around.  “There is no time for gawking,” Leondas cajoled.  “Follow me!” 

The other man’s insistent gaze wrenched Marcus from his stupor.  Whether Marcus had been ready or not, Leondas was on his way.  Disappearing through the first exit, the most apparent, though there were many hidden ones, looming ahead.

Into the narrow and darkened passages they ran, weaving in and out of the network of corridors, laid for just this purpose, as though following directions to a treasure.  Thinning numbers of other believers were present the longer they worked through the passages and passed through a handful of other underground meeting sites in the area. 

Leondas’ strides were swift and with direction.  He may never have been to this place before, but his instincts as a centurion served him well. 

Marcus’ lungs burned and his muscles ached as their unrelenting pace seemed to drag on for minutes.  At length they emerged, into the darkening night, but their flight did not end.  They pressed on, weaving past one city street and the next as they had within the roughhewn rock corridors beneath the surface. 

“Keep going,” Leondas huffed.

No need for convincing.  Though Marcus’ head swam and he knew he would be sick at the end of this trek he was no stranger to the imperative that drove it. 

As they ran, he could see beyond the buildings they passed to trees, tall and sentinel, blurring into the stony cityscape.  The chill of a previous evening clung to him as he dared spare no glance backward for pursuers.  That other night overtook his present and he was back in the wild, when he had fled from his encampment just south of Ravenna.   That dreadful night when it had become apparent his faith was no longer secret.