 31. The King and the Man in Chains. There was a moment of silence in the court as Paul flung down his challenge. I appealed to Caesar. Festus was clearly startled at Paul's audacity, while recognizing his right to make the appeal. A short consultation took place between the Governor and his advisors, and then Festus, looking Paul in the face, said, You have appealed to Caesar? To Caesar you shall go. Some days later there was a great stir in the city. A gorgeous cavalcade of men, riding Arab chargers, harnessed with jeweled trappings, entered Caesarea. From every window curious eyes peered, and every housetop was crowded to see the King Agrippa and his new consort, Queen Bernice, pass through the streets to greet the new Governor. Festus feasted the King and Queen. There would be plays in the great open air marble theater that stood half a mile from the sea, races in the stadium, and sports in the harbor. At last, after some time of feasting, Festus was one day talking political business with Agrippa when he remembered Paul. There is a certain man, said Festus, left here in chains by Felix. When I was in Jerusalem the chief Jews pressed me to give judgment against him. I told them that the Romans did not execute a man before he and his accusers had met face to face, and he had opportunity to answer for himself about the crime with which he was charged. When they came here, however, they brought no such charge as I had expected, but attacked him on matters of their own superstition, and of one Jesus who was dead, but Paul insisted that he was alive. I was so doubtful about questions of this kind that I asked him whether he would be judged in Jerusalem. But when Paul appealed to Caesar I gave orders for him to be kept till I could send him to Rome. So unusual a case interested King Agrippa. I would like to hear the man myself, he said. You shall hear him to-morrow, Festus answered, and gave orders for the Hall of Hearing to be prepared and for Paul to be brought up for examination. On the following day when Paul was led into the judgment hall he found therefore not only Festus, but also, seated beside him in great pomp, King Agrippa and Bernice. Round them was a brilliant crowd of people, the chief captains of the soldiers in all the glitter of their polished armor, and the men of high standing in the city, all dressed in their finest robes. Festus then stood up, pointing to Paul, and said, King Agrippa and all who are present, you see this man about whom the Jews, both at Jerusalem and here, cry that he ought not live any longer. I have determined to send him to Rome, seeing that he has done nothing for which he could be condemned to death. But I have nothing definite about which to write to my Lord the Emperor. I have brought him before you and, turning to the royal pair at his side, especially before you, King Agrippa, so that after he has been examined I may have something to write. For I do feel it to be senseless to send a prisoner and not, at the same time, to say what charges are brought against him. When Festus was again seated he left it to the King to say what he wished. King Agrippa, turning to Paul, said, you are permitted to speak for yourself. Paul was faced by the power of Rome and the fanaticism of the Jew, and he himself was a chained prisoner, but with that strange power that comes from a mighty and well-trained mind, free from fear and utterly given to a strong purpose, he became not the cringing pleader that an Eastern King like Agrippa might expect to see, but a great ambassador representing an almighty God. I think myself happy, King Agrippa, he began, that I am to make my defense before you, with regard to the actions of which the Jews accuse me, especially because you are an expert in all the customs and questions among them, so I desire that you will listen to me patiently. The way I lived as a youth and afterward among my own people and at Jerusalem is well known to all the Jews, who could, if they would, bear witness that I lived in the strictest way of our religion as a Pharisee. And now, he went on with biting sarcasm, I stand here to be judged, because I believe it possible that God will carry out the promise he made to our fathers. It is, exclaimed Paul, because of this hope that the Jews accuse me, O King. Why should you think it impossible to believe that God raises the dead? Then Paul, with sudden dramatic change, placed himself alongside his own enemies, painting with swift strokes the picture of what he himself had been as the terrible persecutor of the Christians. Truly, he said, I used to think that I ought to do many things to oppose the name of Jesus of Nazareth. In Jerusalem I had many of them put into prison, and even when they were put to death I cast my pebble into the urn as a vote against them. I harried them in their meeting places, I tried to make them blaspheme, and I became so exceedingly mad against them that I even pursued them to foreign cities. How, his hearers would be asking themselves, could such a man possibly become a follower of this Jesus, the Nazarene? The answer came swiftly as Paul lay before them his commission as the king's ambassador. As I was journeying to Damascus with the authority of the chief priests themselves at midday, O King, I saw on the way a light from the sky, brighter than the blaze of the sun, shining round about me and my travelling companions. And, as we were all fallen to the road, I heard a voice saying to me, Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? It is hard for you to kick against the gode, and I said, who are you, Lord? I am Jesus who knew persecute. We can feel even now the tense silence in the hall of hearing as every eye watched Paul and every ear drank in his words while he retold the story which you have already read of how he, the persecutor, was to go to the foreign peoples to open their eyes so that they might turn from darkness to light. So, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision, but I told those in Damascus and in Jerusalem and in all Judea, I, and the foreign nations also, that they should repent and turn to God, doing work that would show their real sorrow. And it was for this that the Jews seized hold of me in the temple and tried to kill me. I say nothing except that what the prophets and Moses said would come, how that Christ must suffer, and he first would by his rising bring light to the people at home and abroad. As Paul's swift words stirred the minds of the nobles and the soldiers of high rank, we can feel how the men who at the beginning were listening with the stolid, sneering indifference of the Roman to this Jewish fanatic would be drawn, in spite of themselves, into keen interest. Now, as always, it was impossible to be indifferent to Paul. You were bound either to fight him violently or side with him with all your might. So as Paul stopped speaking, Festus burst out in a loud voice with, Paul, you are mad, your great learning has turned your brain. I am not mad, most excellent Festus, replied Paul, in a good tempered way, but I speak the words of sober truth. The king here, pointing to Agrippa, knows these things, for I feel certain that none of them are hidden from him. All this has not been done in a corner. Then, turning to King Agrippa, Paul shot out with all his passion a direct appeal, King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know that you do. It was a swift home thrust, and Agrippa could not say no, yet if he said yes, he knew that Paul would immediately ask, why will you not believe then that the things they foretold have really happened, and that Jesus was the Messiah. The tables were turned, as with Felix the governor, so again with this Oriental King, Agrippa seemed the prisoner on his trial and Paul in the chair of the judge, so the king evaded Paul's question with a laugh. Ha! But with a little persuasion, he said you would make me a Christian. We can see Paul leaning forward and with eager eyes saying as he swung his arm round toward the whole body of listeners now intent on this strange dialogue, such as was never heard before between prisoner and king, I would to God that, whether with little persuasion or much, not you alone, but all these that hear me today, might become just as I am, and then lifting his chained wrist, accept these bonds. The eagerness of Paul's tone left Agrippa no answer that he could make, so in silence he stood up to show that the audience was closed, and the king with his wife and Festus and with all the court went back again, and as they talked together afterward over the case of Paul, Agrippa said to Festus, if this man had not appealed to Caesar he might have been set free. But Paul had appealed to Rome, the die was cast, so Festus called in Julius a centurion who belonged to that legion of soldiers whose duty it was to control the courier service on the Roman roads, and to watch the service of ships that carried corn and slaves and prisoners to Rome from the different provinces. Festus handed Paul over to this man's charge with orders to convey him with some other prisoners to Rome. There was no ship in Caesarea harbor at that time which was sailing direct to Rome, but it happened that there was a ship just ready to start along the south coast of Asia Minor. It was to touch at Myra, where Julius was fairly sure of finding a corn ship sailing to Rome as many of these Alexandria frumentarii came to harbor there. At last the day had come when Paul was to leave the provinces of Rome for the capital itself. He went aboard the ship with Julius the centurion and with other prisoners. With him were some faithful friends, among them Luke his doctor companion and the old friend from Macedonia named Aristarchus. It may even have been necessary for them to ship as Paul's slaves in order to be with him. They would not care how they went so long as they were with their leader, and it always made Paul much happier to have companions with him. The ship cast off and hoisting her sail went out through the narrow opening at the north end of the harbor between the great breakwater and the headland. As Paul felt the heave of the great sea under the ship and saw her bows plunging their way north-west, he knew that before him was the most daring of all his adventures, but he did not know the perils that still threatened him before he would see the emperor face to face. End of Chapter 31. Chapter 32 of Paul the Dauntless. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by David Leeson. Paul the Dauntless by Basil Joseph Matthews. Chapter 32 The Typhoon. Leaning on the ship's rail as the sun set over the sea after they left the Caesarea harbor, Paul took his last look on Mount Carmel that lifted its strong outline into the clouds. But later, night having fallen, only the men on the midnight watch would see the torches attire as the ship sailed on its way northward. The next day, however, the vessel sailed into the harbor at Sidon where she found ships of as many nations as those she had left at Caesarea. The cleverest sailors on the coast were at Sidon, where the sound of the shipwright's mallet and all the hurly-burly of a busy port struck on Paul's ear as the ship cast anchor. He told the Centurion that he had friends in Sidon, for he had been there twice before with Barnabas and again and again afterward. Julius had already come under the spell of Paul and said that he might go ashore, prisoner though he was. So he went with that eagerness which always came on Paul at the opportunity of seeing good friends. When the time came for going aboard again and sailing from Sidon, the wind had stiffened from the west. The ship was bound northwest for Myra on the coast of Lycia, right across Cyprus, which lay in her track. But she could not sail south of Cyprus in the teeth of the wind with her one large mainsail. She made north, therefore, with the wind on her port beam, so getting under the lee of the island. As he passed Cyprus, Paul might see Salamis and remember the far-off voyage twelve years before, when he with Barnabas first came in sight of the port on their first venture as missionaries. Between that day and this he had sailed, ridden, and trudged his thousands of miles over Highland and Lowland, sea and river, drenched with rain and snow, and scorched by the sun, beaten and stoned, imprisoned and robbed. He had yet never turned back from his great adventure. The ship sailed past Salamis, with its swordfish headland, still northward, searching for the calmer coast winds of the Cilician and Pamphillian Sea. So Paul came within sight of the plain where he was born, and the great mountain range which he had gazed at as a boy from the roof of his father's house. It was his last look at his homeland, for the ship's nose was now turned west. The winds had, as the captain had expected, become quieter and milder under the coast. It was slow work, however, tacking to and fro to take advantage of the light offshore breezes, but at last they came in sight of the hilly coast of Lycia, and sailed into the strange great harbor of Myra, which lay in front of the beautiful gorge that led up into the hills. Julius the Centurion looked eagerly and anxiously at the ships that lay in the port. His face lighted as he saw a ship whose rig and cut told him at once that she hailed from the Egyptian coast. He found, true enough, that she had been driven north from Egypt to Myra, and was bound for Italy. She was one of the fleet of wheat ships which sailed for Alexandria to Putioli, carrying food for the city of Rome. Julius gave the order for his soldiers and prisoners to change ships. They climbed on to the wheat ship which already had many people aboard. They loosed from Myra and tried to bear up to Snidus, farther west on the same coast. But the winds struck obstinately against them, tack and turn as she would the ship hardly made progress. She had worked windward for many days before she made Snidus, which was only a day's good sailing from Myra. If sailing was difficult here it would be worse ahead, for from this point the protecting coast left them. The captain of the ship turned her course south to get under the lee of Crete in the hope of finding more favorable winds. So it proved, for when they swung round the bold headland of Salmoni they ran into calmer water and soon fetched the harbour of fair havens. The Mediterranean Sea is not safe for sailing ships from November to March 5, and always they thought of the sea as closed during that time. The ship in which Paul was travelling had made such a slow voyage that now she had no hope of getting to Italy before the winter gales started. They were bound to stop. Paul, born as he was at a great port and with all his experiences of sailing, knew the great sea in all its moods. He spoke to the Centurion, the master, and the owner, saying, I can see that this voyage will be with hurt and much damage, not only to the cargo and the ship, but to the lives of us on board. But they thought that the harbour of Fenice, further west along the Cretan coast, was a better harbour for wintering in, and it was distant only a few hours sailing. They therefore overruled Paul and sailed. A soft south wind, with the warmth of the sands of Egypt in it, moved on the face of the waters as the ship put out from fair havens. With her bows gently cleaving the coast waters and the breeze on her starboard beam, she must have given all on board the feeling that Paul's alarm had been needless. Hugging the coast, she soon swung round Cape Matala, and giving more to the wind slid northwestward toward Fenice. Away to the right they saw Mount Ida lifting her peak into the sky on the north coast. In a few hours they would be in the harbour, where they would lie for the winter. But a sharp man on the lookout would have seen over Mount Ida, ugly weather brewing, without warning like a treacherous blow from a smiling friend, the wind curved from the south in a circle, and swept back from the north like a wheeling eagle striking his prey. The gale smote the boat till she reeled and wrenched at her sails, threatening to tear the mighty main mast from its roots in the ship. Over them the clouds whirled in the typhoon. The white spray, lashed up from the sea under the tormenting whip of the storm, swept her deck. The little boat which was being towed behind, for it had hardly seemed worthwhile swinging her aboard for the short run from fair havens to Fenice, tossed like a cork on a thread from crest to crest of the swiftly whitening waves. The seamen climbed the rigging to the great yard and furled the sail. All attempt to bear up against the wind was impossible, and, at a command from the captain, the men at the rudder sweeps let her drive. Like a horse loosened from its halter she tore across the green fields of the sea, while the white-backed sea hounds leapt and bade at her heads. As the toppling main mast reeled dizzily and groaned under the tear and wrench of the typhoon, the ship shivered in every beam. Her timbers began to start under the terrible leverage of the mast, and a seamen going below decks into the hold would hear the sound that grips a sailor's heart with a chill hand, the suck and splash of water in a leaking hull. CHAPTER XXXIII Over the bow to windward they saw an island loom, the ship staggered on, and at last, under the lee of this island of Clauda in smoother water. They rounded her too, pulled the ship's boat alongside from the stern, and having bailed out the seas she had shipped, swung her aboard. Cables were then uncoiled, and the sailors, clinging to the ship's sides, tugging and hauling as she swayed and swung from trough to crest, wrapped the cables round under her hull, then across her deck and hoeved them tight. When they were thus wound round the ship and made fast, the cables gripped the vessel like the hoops of a barrel. She became more rigid, and the grinding and wrenching of her leaking timbers was made less. Still the strain was terrible, largely through the pull of the main mast. So the sailors swarmed aloft and fetched down her top gear. Then, with storm sails set, she swung again into the path of the gale, with her two paddle rudders holding her to the starboard tack by which wound she could escape the dreaded certis quicksands. Night fell, but the gale held. All through the dark, Paul and Luke would hear the sound of the hiss and thought of the waves as they smote the ship and went seething over her streaming decks. Did they think of that storm in the lake of Galilee of which Luke wrote? They would surely think of the Lord who ruled that storm. The hum of the wind in the rigging had risen to a long wail, as the ship moaned in her agony. The waves hung over her like mountains, and then, diving with a mad swoop under her bow, lifted her up, up till her decks sloped at a dizzy angle, and then slung her down the ravine of water into the abyss. Tossed thus, and with the leaking water in the hold menacing them, they were forced to lighten the ship. The sailors hurled overboard all kinds of things in their effort to keep her afloat, but the second night fell, the buffeted ship still labored in the tempest. And when the men on the morning watch strained their eyes as dawn came up, they could see nothing save the wild, tumbling waste of waters. The ship must be lightened still further. Everything loose was overboard already, so her tackling was bound to go. Paul and Luke joined in the work, and it may well be that the mainyard, which was often an immense spar as long as itself, was thrown overboard by the united efforts of crew and passengers. We cast out with our own hands the tackling of the ship, writes Luke. Day after dreary day wore on, morning, noon, and night dragged by, but never did the sky break. They looked anxiously skyward for a glimpse of the sun, or for the gleam of a star by which they could determine their direction, but the unbroken gray of sea and sky mocked the ship. The sailors noted the ominous heaviness in the role of the now waterlogged ship. They must have believed that she would found her, for all hope of being saved was taken away. Nealing on the deck they prayed to the twin brethren, Castor and Pollux, the guardian gods of ships, as the Romans believed. But no help came. Despair fell upon them. Their hearts were as heavy as the leaden sky, yet the prisoner, Paul, with that wonderful dignity of his, now seemed by his courage and confidence, not the man in chains, but the captain. Sweeping the faces of the crew and the passengers with eyes that never showed a flicker of fear of the tempest, he said, You should have listened to me and not have loosed from Crete to suffer all this harm and loss. Now I call on you to be of good cheer, for there shall be no loss of any man's life among you, though the ship will go to pieces. The faces of all the people caught the cheerfulness of Paul, yet they could hardly believe it. How should he know? Paul went on an answer to this unspoken question. This very night, a messenger of the God, whose I am, and whom I serve, stood by me and said, Do not be afraid, Paul, you must be brought before Caesar, and God has given to you all who are sailing with you. So be of good cheer, for I believe that it will be just as it was told me, but we must be wrecked on a certain island. For a fortnight the nightmare of tempest had held them. Now the fourteenth night had fallen. The gale was driving them across the sea south of the Adriatic. Suddenly there was a stir among the sailors. The quick ear of one and then of another caught a sound, terror and hope were on them together, for they had heard the far-off boom of the sailors on a rocky headland. It was land, land for which they had hoped through all those days and nights, but land that might mean awful death in the dark on the jagged teeth of a cruel coast. The sound was now within a quarter of a mile of them, and the white rim of foam may have been seen even in the night over the lee-bowl. Ahead over the starboard-bowl lay an opening in the coast. A man in the boughs swung out the lead and sounded the depth. Twenty fathoms, he called. The ship sailed on, and the sound of the breakers drew nearer. Preparations were made on board. While the sailors were busy with cables and anchors in the stern, the man in the bow threw out his lead again, and... Fifteen fathoms, he cried. The sea was shallowing. Over the lee-bowl the dash of the breakers could be heard, and the whirl of white spray could now be clearly seen. The order came, and with it four anchors slid from the stern. Their cables ran through the rudder ports, while the rudder paddles were lifted and lashed out of the way of the waves. The splash of the anchors was followed by silent moments of waiting. Would they hold? The ship slowed, tugged at the cables, and stopped. They had lighted on a perfect ground where anchors never start, but the galloping breakers still came in from the northeast and swept and broke upon the ship's stern while the leaking waters logged her hold. The anchors would not give, but the vessel would certainly break to pieces before long. There was a movement among the seamen. The boat was loosed and swung over the side and let down. The men were following, pretending that they were going to cast out anchors from the bow, an utterly useless thing to do in the circumstances. Their real aim was to escape from the ship that they thought was doomed. Paul saw the maneuver, going to the Centurion, he said, unless these men stay in the ship you cannot be saved. Julius gave a sharp order to the soldiers, who, running to the sides, drew their short swords and slashed the boat ropes. The loosened boat, caught by the whirl of wind and water, shot out, empty, and was lost in the darkness. The black of the night was now breaking into gray. As dawn came up, Paul, who knew that every man would need all the strength that he could command, stood up and cheered the people, saying, This is the fourteenth day that you have waited without food, having taken nothing. Take some food now to strengthen you, for not a hair shall fall from the head of any one of you. Taking up a flat ship's loaf, Paul asked a blessing, and breaking the bread, ate it in front of the dejected people, soldiers, sailors, traders, and government officials who crowded the deck. They caught the spirit of courage from Paul and ate with him. The plan which had been formed was that when full daylight came they should look round the coast off which they were anchored, and choose a good place for running the vessel ashore, as every inch of distance from the beach would add to the danger of landing in the stormy sea the ship must be made as light as possible so that she would go all the nearer to the shore before grounding. They set to work and hauled from the hold sack after sack of wheat, tumbling them one after the other into the sea. The ship was lightened so that she drew less water. By this time it was full day. The sailors looked closely at the shore, but none of them had ever seen it before. There was a bay to their right, indeed they were anchored at the mouth of the bay, with the bow of the ship toward the rocky headland that made it southern horn. They spied in the bay a creek with a sandy beach. The captain decided to try to run for this. Even the hardiest sailor would shiver at the perilous maneuver, for right ahead the waves broke furiously on precipices of rock, which would smash the ship and grind her timbers to splinters if they failed to swing her round in time. At the bow and at the stern men stood ready in silence, waiting. The command rang out. With swift hands the men at the bow hoisted the foresail. At the stern some cut the anchor cables, while others loosed the ropes that held the rudder paddles. The sail bellied. The ship began to move toward the rocks, the men at the rudders pulled. Slowly but with gathering speed she began to turn. With a great sigh of relief the people saw her bows swing away from the precipice toward the creek. Behind them the galloping waves drove her, but to their right from behind a little island another sea ran into the bay, the two meeting at the creek. There between these currents the ship moved on till she ran aground. Her bows stuck fast in the fine mud. Her stern was buffeted and broken with the force of the waves. As though the perils of the sea were not hard enough, the Roman soldiers who knew the penalties they would suffer if the prisoners escaped gathered round Julius the Centurion and pointing to Paul, Luke and Aristarchus and the other prisoners, said with hands on their sword-hilts, let us kill the prisoners lest any of them should swim out and escape. Julius might have been willing enough in the ordinary way, but the fascination of Paul had gripped them as we know, so for the sake of Paul he gave them orders not to kill the prisoners. Go, he shouted to the people, and let all who can swim throw themselves into the sea. They threw themselves over the side, some hesitating, others plunging in without fear, those who could not swim seized boards and pieces of the ship which had been broken by the wrench of the waves. The galloping breakers racing toward the beach caught them and drove them shoreward. If they had been driven a few feet to either side they would have been crushed to death on the rocks, as it was they were hurled on to the sand, buffeted and breathless but safe. And so it came to pass that they escaped all safe to land. THE CASTOR AND POLIX Throne up like driftwood on the grey shore they saw island natives coming down toward them, battered with the tempest and feeble from the long fortnight without proper food, not even Julius and his soldiers were fit to fight for their lives if the natives were to attack them. Behind them sounded the boom of the waves and the crashing of the fast-breaking ship, before them were the approaching natives beneath them the barren beach. Above them dark clouds mercilessly pelting their tired shivering bodies with icy rain. The natives scattered and came on again carrying sticks in their hands, not for fighting, however, but for fire. They threw the sticks together in a sheltered place and then crouching over to protect the sparks from the drenching rain lighted a fire. With friendly gestures and with smiles they now welcomed the shipwrecked people to warm and dry themselves. Rejoicing at this kindness one and another of the party went off and came back again with more sticks to keep the fire going. Among these was Paul who was keen now as he had been throughout on keeping up the spirits of the soldiers, sailors, and passengers. As he came back with an armful of sticks and placed them on the fire one of the sticks seemed to come to life. It shone in moving curves and before Paul could escape with a quick dart the viper fastened on his hand. Its poisonous fangs shot through his skin and as he lifted his hand up the venomous beast hung there. Every eye was on Paul. The natives saw the chain of the prisoner hanging from his wrist and the viper hanging from his hand. A murderer! they whispered. He has escaped from the sea but the vengeance of the gods will not let him live. Paul shook his hand violently. The viper relaxed his hold and fell back into the blazing fire. The natives watched Paul to see the poison swell his hand and arm and body as they knew a viper's poison would and to see him fall down dead. They looked and looked again watching for a long time. But nothing happened. Paul seemed entirely unaffected. They were perplexed. Then talking to one another they swiftly changed their minds. This man whom the very serpents could not harm whom could he be? He must be a god, a murderer one hour, a god the next, so their simple minds worked leaping from one extreme to the other. The wrecked crew found that they had been shipwrecked on the island of Malta. Some of the sailors had harbored at the island many times before for it was on their regular sea route. But they had not recognized it earlier, for the bay in which they were shipwrecked was on an entirely unfamiliar side of the island far from the big harbour. Fortunately the governor of the whole island named Publius had his lands in the very part of Malta on which they had been wrecked. He invited them to his home and took them in, feeding and lodging them, and giving them all the attention that he possibly could. They stayed with him for three days, by which time the kindness and the rest, the good food and the dry shelter, made the awful weeks of the tempest seem like a nightmare from which they had awakened. What return could they make to Publius? He was rich and they were all stranded without any possessions. Surely they could do nothing except to thank him. Yet there was a great anxiety on the mind of Publius. His old father was very ill, burning with fever and weakened by dysentery. Paul heard of this and went into the room where the old man lay ill. He kneeled down by the bedside and asked God for that power which again and again had flowed through him. He then laid his hands on the father of Publius. The fever left him and the wasting disease dried up. Like wildfire the news was spread through the island of the great wonder worked at the hands of Paul. Publius had received more than he had given. Others came to be healed from different parts of Malta, and when they were healed they paid all honour to Paul and his companions. Again this strange prisoner's greatness had shown out. He drew the reverence of men who forgot his chains and only saw his wonderful character. As the winter drew on toward spring they would go down to the great harbour of Malta, which was filled with ships that had put in there during the months when the Mediterranean was closed for sailing. When the grey of the cloud skies and the drive of the harsher winds melted before the summer days, and the warm wind began to come up from Egypt with the birds of spring, the harbour began to be full of movement. The sailors caulked and scrubbed the decks, sliced ropes, repaired the sails, and hoisted them on fresh spars. The merchants were opening their warehouses and bringing out the grain and goods from store. The porters ran over the gangways and into the holds, carrying the great earthenware jars of grain and wine. Among the ships in the harbour was a great grain ship from the Egyptian coast which had put in here for the winter on her way from Alexandria to Italy. On her prow the picture of two men was painted, the twins, Castor and Pollux. The twins were gods whom the Romans thought of as their great protectors and helpers in time of need. Especially the sailors said that if the Dioscuri came aboard the ship, though invisibly, she would ride through any storm safe to harbour. One of the great Roman writers, Epictetus, who himself did not put faith in the twins, told the people to have the faith in God which the sailors had in Castor and Pollux. He says, Be mindful of God. Call him to be thy helper and defender, as men call upon the Dioscuri in a storm. When the master and the captain of the ship, and Julius with the soldiers and the sailors, saw a great Roman vessel in harbour with that name upon her, they would remember their shipwreck, and would wish to sail on a ship with such a name of good fortune as the Castor and Pollux. They took passage on board, and once more, after these months on Malta, they found themselves with the swing of the waves under their feet and their faces turned toward Rome. From Malta to Sicily, where they dropped anchor in the harbour of Syracuse, was a short sail. After three days there, probably loading and unloading cargo, they sailed out again to find themselves in the teeth of an unfavorable wind. After much tacking they ran into Regium, the city on the other side of the Straits of Messina, on a strip of land under the shadow of the great brown mountain range that runs down to form the toe of Italy. They had to wait only a single day in Regium harbour for the breeze that they wanted, for the wind veered round to the south and they were able to hoist sails and run swiftly northward. It was the last stage of the long perilous journey since the day when, in the autumn of the previous year, they had slipped out of the harbour of Caesarea. The very ship seemed to rejoice. She lay herself out to complete the race with a great final sprint. The coast of Italy slipped past on their right as the Castor and Pollux plowed through the waters that leapt from her side and left a shining wake behind her. Riding the seas like a queen, she shook the spray from her prowl, making the blue hills of the sea divide, shearing a glittering scatter in her stride, and leaping on a full tilt with all sails drawing, proud as a war-horse snuffing battle pawing. At last they saw, over the starboard bow, a dark pall of smoke rising from a mountaintop. Vesuvius said the sailors to the travellers. They had already passed Etna and Stromboli, and knew these strange fire mountains which sometimes threw out blazing lava and red hot stones. As they turned into that loveliest bay in the Roman world, they saw, under the very foot of the smoking mountain, the gleam of white temples in the sun, and on the beach the gay life of a brilliant and lovely Roman pleasure-city. Yet within thirty years of Paul's passing, that mountain was to pour down her side's hideous streams of burning lava, which would overwhelm this city of Pompeii. The castor and Pollux, with Pompeii on her starboard, sailed northward up the bay till, in the northeast corner, she rounded the mole of the inner bay of Putioli. Exercising the proud right which she possessed, as a member of the great Alexandria Putioli fleet, she sailed right into harbor with her top sails still unfurled. With a creaking of a ridge and a rush the sailors furled her mainsail, her top sail, and her foresail. The anchor splashed, the rudder paddles were raised and strapped. Paul, standing at the bow, would see, curving up over the ridge of the hills, the white busy pavement of the road to Rome. CHAPTER XXXIV It is the castor and Pollux, one old sailor on the quay at Putioli would say to another, as the Alexandrian grain-ship ran into the harbor. They would know her well, as the ships belonging to the fleet of provision vessels ran regularly to and from Putioli and Alexandria, but there would be a new stir of eagerness among the loungers on the quay that would soon spread to the town, when it was noised among them that there were prisoners on board from the far away province of Syria and Judea. As the prisoners and the centurion Julius, with other soldiers came off the ship, a group of men crowded round Paul with eager friendly smiles. They had never seen him before, but they knew his name from friends, like Priscilla and Aquila, who had known Paul in Athens and Corinth and Ephesus, and who were now living in Rome. Do stay with us, they pleaded, and Paul, whose courage and strong help on board direct ship had made Julius think more of him than ever, was able to persuade the centurion to stay for a few days at Putioli. It is likely that Julius would not need much persuading, for this was the first Roman city that he had been in for a long time, and he would be eager to hear the talk about the young emperor Nero and his cruelties, and all the gossip of the army. He would be glad also to go again to the amphitheater at Putioli and watch the play. Meanwhile the group of Christians went off in triumph with Paul with him in their homes, to hear him speak of the great things that had happened to him and to the brethren, as all the worshipers of Christ then called one another, in Achaia and Macedonia, in Asia, and in the far away cities on the edge of the Roman world, Antioch and Damascus and Jerusalem. Seven days passed like a flash, and it seemed impossible to believe that at last they must wrench themselves away from Paul. Before he started, however, they would tell him of the cruel power of Rome, of how young Nero, thrown as emperor, was beginning to kill everyone who stood in the way of his whims, and had even slain his own mother, Agrippina, only last year. Of the gladiators kept and trained simply to kill one another, and of the slaves brought from far away places, from Syria and Spain, and strange slaves were beginning to come from savage islands far, far over the Alps and beyond even Gaul called Britain. The Britons made splendid gladiators to fight the lions. Paul turned his back upon the sea, and with his fellow travelers climbed the consular way over the hills behind Putioli. He felt proud to be a Roman citizen, for Roman rule, even though it was often cruel and hard, was generally just and strong. Every nerve in Paul's body tingled at the courage of Rome, the daring that had spread the rule of those few people on the hills of the Tiber, right over the whole world of that day. It was just in line with his own world-embracing courage, but he wished with even a greater daring to draw all the people in that Roman Empire into the way of Christ, from the barbarians of the islands of the North Sea to the black-skinned Ethiopian of Africa, and from the mighty pillars of Heliopolis in Syria to the pillars of Hercules that guarded the western gate of the Mediterranean. His audacious thought leapt across the flaming ramparts of the world, for he dared to dream of founding an unseen kingdom of the Spirit over all the earth, not by the sword, but by heroic love. Jesus Christ throned above emperors and kings, consuls, and generals. That was Paul's ambition. These thoughts must have surged like a stormy sea in the mind of the chained but conquering Paul as he strode along the way. One hundred and seventy miles of that road lay between himself and the great city. When they had trudged on for nineteen miles, they saw to the right the Via Appia climbing over the hills from Brundizium, and joining their own road at Capua where they would rest for the night. Again they went on till the road dropped and then ceased altogether, for before them lay a dismal marsh of reeds, through which a canal had been cut. Julius took a barge, and he with his company sailed and were towed by mules through these pontine marshes. As night fell the gnats of the marshes came buzzing around them and stinging, and all through the dark the great frogs croaked continuously. Strong as he was, Paul sometimes fell into deep sadness. It came over him in these marshes. The malaria of the place may have infected his body and depressed his spirit. Luke, as he walked by Paul's side, watching him with the love of a brother and the skilled eye of a physician, saw this growing gloom and was troubled by it. After they had landed from the barge at the north end of the canal through the marshes and were once more on the road, Paul and Luke and the others saw, on the way, a band of men hurrying toward them. The men were beginning to salute the party of travelers. Yes, indeed, it was a group of Christians who had hurried out for forty-three miles along the Via Appia to meet Paul at the Appii Forum, a traveler's resting-town. It may well be that old friends of his were there, Aquila, for instance, and John Mark, who had parted with him in anger thirteen years before, but was now his friend again. What a change Luke noticed in Paul as they met these friends. His stride was firm and strong again, his eye lighted. It was the miracle of the power of friendship, and Luke wrote it down that when Paul saw them, he thanked God and took courage. Between the town of the Appii Forum and the city of Rome, another group of friends met Paul at the three shops, where there were a general store, a blacksmith's forge for shoeing any horse that might have cast a shoe on the stone way, and a refreshment house. At last the long white road crossed the shoulder of the Alban Mount. Right and left the road was lined with glittering marble towers and monuments, the tombs of noble Roman men and women. But at that moment Paul had no eyes for these. On his right the great aqueduct gleamed in the light as it ran on its thousand arches from the Latin hills across the plain. His companions would tell Paul that it was only finished ten years ago, and would speak of the thousands of slaves who had toiled to build it, yet they could not draw his look to the wonderful work. Paul was not captured even by the glory of the Sabine hills that rose in the fresh green of spring away to the right, and behind them the gigantic rampart of the Apennines. His eyes traveled down the way, stretched in front of him for twelve miles, straight and taut as a strong bow line, for at the end, crowning her seven hills with marble temple and imperial palace stood the capital of the world whose rule ranged from Jerusalem to Spain, and from Africa and across the Alps and the forests of Europe to the savage islands of Britain, Paul saw Rome. Years before this day he had written to his friends, I must see Rome, for his far-seeing brain told him that to capture Rome for his Christ was to hold the key to the conquest of the whole world of his day, and what his eye saw his heart dared. He turned the stumbling block of imprisonment into the stepping-stone of world conquest, when he said, I appeal to Caesar. And now, when he came over the Albin Mount on the Appian Way, his burning ambition was realized. His body was chained, but his mind flew along the road to Rome. Aquila or Mark or one of the others who had come out to meet him would point to the great palace of the Caesars on the hill that was the heart of Rome, the palaces that Augustus Tiberius and Caligula had built. Beyond the palaces and above the valley where the Forum lay stood out the citadel of Rome on the Capitoline Hill. The travelers passed the tombs of the sun of Lars Porcina of Clusium and of a hundred other great Romans, and the shining temple of Hercules. Then they went down the slope of the hill and crossed the sacred stream of Almo, down which, the Roman legend said, the baby's Romulus and Remus had floated in their wicker basket into the Tiber to the foot of the hill on which they founded Rome. At last Paul passed under the new Arch of Drusus and was beneath the shadow of the very wall of Rome. His footsteps rang on the stones under the arch of the Capina Gate. He was in Rome. The multitudes of Rome thronged the streets. The crowds stood aside as Julius led his band of prisoners up the slope of the Celian Hill to the camp of the foreign legion. There was the clatter of arms, the salute, the words of explanation, and Paul was in the keeping of the Pretor, the prisoner of the Emperor Nero. Paul the Dauntless by Basil Joseph Matthews Chapter 36 Mightier Than the Sword The sharp rattle of armor fell upon the ears of Paul when he awoke next morning. Looking up he saw the Roman soldier who was to guard him. The spring sunlight coming through the doorway glinted on the guard's crested brazen helmet and on the breastplate and while the short broadsword with which the victories of Rome were won hung from a belt bound around the soldier's tunic. As at Caesarea, so in Rome, Paul was always to be guarded by a soldier. He was free, however, to live in his own hired house, though at every moment Paul was reminded by the clink of the chain on his wrist that he was a prisoner. He awoke for the first time in the city of which he had dreamed for years, heard the hum of its busy streets, and, as he went out into the sunshine, saw the palace upon the hill from which the world was ruled. He went out to look at Rome that first day, perhaps to choose a house in which he would live. If so, he probably passed the theatre of Marcellus and crossed the bridge of Fabricius under which the sullen yellow tiber ran, full of the reins of early spring. The middle of the bridge rested on an island. Paul would see that many who passed and met him as he crossed Fabricius' bridge were of his own race. Over the river he found the Jewish quarter. He discovered his old friend's Priscilla the Roman with her Jewish husband Aquila, possibly in the Jewish quarter, but more probably on the Aventine Hill, carrying on there and his handicraft as tent-makers. Paul then rented his house possibly near that of his friends. Three days later he sent word to the leading Jews saying he would like to talk with them. They came to him and sat on the floor together, waiting for him to speak with the wandering soldier listening, although he could understand little enough of what was going on. Probably Aristarchus was there and Luke who recorded what he heard. Paul wished the men of his own race to know why he was a prisoner in Rome. Brothers, he began, although I have done nothing against our people or our ancestral customs, I was handed over to the Romans as a prisoner from Jerusalem. They meant to release me after examination, as I was innocent of any crime that deserved death, but the Jews objected, and so I was obliged to appeal to Caesar, not that I had any charge to bring against my own nation. This is my reason for asking to see you and have a word with you. Then he lifted up his hand and shook the chain that dangled from his wrist. I am, he said, wearing this chain because I share Israel's hope. We have had no letters about you from Judea, they replied, and no brother has come here with any bad report or story about you. We think it only right to let you tell your own story, but as regards this sect of yours, we are well aware that there are objections to it on all hands. Any letters that may have been written from Jerusalem to Rome about Paul may have gone down with the ship from Myra on the Malta coast. As there was not time to carry on any full discussion then and there, they arranged to come one morning and spend all day in discussion with Paul. They fixed the day and came to his quarters in large numbers. Paul explained what the reign of God meant and tried to persuade them about Jesus from the Law of Moses and from the prophets. Some were quite convinced by what Paul said, others argued. All day they talked, with intervals when they would take some dried fruit and bread together. At last the day was gone and the stars came out, but still they could not agree among themselves. Paul was weary and felt disappointed that here again the most difficult task was in dealing with the Jews themselves. As they were moving to leave the house, he broke out into one last word. It was an apt word, he said, that the Holy Spirit spoke by the prophet Isaiah to your fathers, when he said, Go and tell this people, you will hear and hear but never understand. You will see and see and never perceive. For the heart of this people is obtuse, their ears are heavy of hearing, their eyes they have closed, lest they see with their eyes and hear with their ears, lest they understand with their heart and turn again and I cure them. Be sure of this, he went on, that this salvation of God has been sent to the nations, they and his free hand pointed across Rome, they will listen to it. So the Jews went out and Paul turned toward the men of many nations who lived in Rome, the men whom he saw as he walked in the streets and crossed the bridges and trod the forum with his guard. As he walked from his house Paul saw here a gang of slaves lurching along to lay bricks in a new building which Nero was placing on the side of the Palatine hill, there a Greek merchant from Corinth hurrying by, his mind full of the prices of fruit which he had just landed at the wharves. As he crossed the bridge Paul saw, by the Tiber, the ship-porters, Negroes, Gauls, Britons, Belgians, Spaniards, running with bare feet to and fro across the gangways from the ships to the warehouses, with boxes of spices, dates and raisins, crates of early oranges, jars of wine, sacks of wheat, marble slabs, cheeses, silks, the produce of the east and west all brought to the hub of the world. He went through many narrow streets where the houses were huddled together and built of wood on brick foundations. In a corner he would see young fellows throwing dice, their eyes feverishly glaring at the tiny squares as they laid their steaks, heedless of the throngs of people who lingered or hastened by. As Paul neared the Palatine hill, on which the gorgeous palaces of the emperor Nero stood, he would see here a Roman noble on his horse, there a swaying litter carried on the shoulders of slaves, and as the breeze caught the silken curtains of the litter and blew them aside, Paul would see the proud face and rich auburn hair of a high-born Roman lady. Passing round the side of the Palatine hill, Paul's eyes looked down the splendid pavements of the Forum, the greatest glory of Rome, with its forest of gleaming columns, its mighty arches on which the story of the victories of the armies of Rome was carved, its cool colonnades whose marbles shimmered in the reflected light from the splashing fountains. Among the columns under the portico of a temple he would see groups of men discussing the rebellion of a distant frontier tribe or the newest lecture by Seneca. Farther on in the Forum he would see some young dandies of Rome lounging and discussing the latest scandal about the wild young emperor, while others gathered round some carved lines on the steps on which they were following a gambling game. Beyond these again on his right Paul saw a cloistered place within which was a beautiful pool of water, and beside the cloister stood a circular temple from the center of whose pointed roof a thin trail of smoke rose and lazily drifted away. These lovely buildings were the temple and cloisters of the Vestal Virgins, who tended the sacred fire which burned perpetually through the centuries. In that same Forum he saw a pillar like a shaft of sunshine, it was covered entirely with gold. From that pillar along the arrow-straight Roman roads men measured their distance from Rome, whether they lived in Damascus or Chester, on the Nile or the Euphrates, the Danube or the Sain, or dwelt at the pillars of Hercules or upon the shores of the Hellespont. It was in this Rome of golden palaces and festering slums, of free bread and circuses, gladiator fights and wild beast shows, this imperial, eternal city whose strong rule, sometimes tyrannous but generally just, made the whole Mediterranean its lake, that Paul lived out his days for two years, unmolested and unhindered as he spoke and wrote in his home or among the soldiers. The months went by but Paul's trial was not held, the distance to Jerusalem and Caesarea for getting evidence was great, and in any case the law moved slowly. Paul's name went through the city, men and women came to him from the very house of Caesar himself to learn of the way, but there also came to him the common people and slaves, they were all equal before him. Beside the Romans and the slaves whom he saw, Paul had about him some of his best friends, Luke and Aristarchus, who had come with him from Caesarea, Timothy, who had rejoined him from the shores of the Aegean, John Mark, from whom he had parted so many years before and who was now a close friend, Epaphras, a fellow prisoner and new friends like young Dimas. One day Paul was delighted as the door of his house was darkened by the entrance of a man to look into the face of his old friend Epaphroditus, he had come right along the Agnation Way from Philippi, across the Adriatic Sea from Derachium to Brundizium and thence along the Appian Way to Rome. Epaphroditus carried with him a bag with a gift from the friends in Philippi to Paul, who was full of joy, not only at seeing his friend and receiving the gift, but at knowing that the brothers in Philippi, so far from forgetting him, still loved him and longed to see him. But Epaphroditus fell ill in Rome so that Paul was afraid that he would die, however he recovered, and Paul, when Epaphroditus was well, began to dictate a letter to the people at Philippi, which Timothy sat and wrote out with his reed pen on the long roll of papyrus. Through the whole Praetorian Guard, said Paul, and everywhere else it is recognized that I am a prisoner on account of my connection with Christ. The outcome of all this I know will be my release. My eager desire and hope is that I may never feel ashamed, but that now as ever I may do honor to Christ in my own person by fearless courage. Stand firm in a common spirit, fighting side by side like one man for the faith of the Gospel. Never be scared for a second by your opponents. Then he talks to them about Epaphroditus, who is going to carry this letter back to Philippi. Epaphroditus is my brother, my fellow worker, my fellow soldier, and your messenger to meet my once, writes Paul. I think it necessary to send him at once, for he has been yearning for you all. He has been greatly concerned because you heard he was ill, and he was ill, nearly dead with illness. So I am especially eager to send him, that you may be glad when you see him again. Value men like that, for he nearly died in the service of Christ by risking his life to get to me. And he ends up the letter, the brothers beside me salute you, all the saints salute you, especially those of the imperial household. So though Paul was chained, the fetters could not tether his free spirit. He sent across the seas to the men whom he loved, words that no executioner could kill and no persecution stamp out. His pen was mightier than even Rome's sword. Paul greatly wished to help his old friends across the Aegean sea in Ephesus, as well as those whom he had never seen up the Lycus valley at Colossae and at Laodicea. So he dictated letters to those two places also, possibly even before that to the church of Philippi. The letters were alike in some parts, but other parts were different, so that the words would help the people who read them in their special difficulties. He also sent to a friend in Colossae one of the most beautiful and human, as well as humorous, letters that he ever wrote. It was to plead for a young runaway slave who had come to Paul. Onesimus had run away from his master Philemon of Colossae. He had stolen some of his master's goods. When Onesimus reached Rome by some strange circumstance he met Paul. His whole life was changed. Paul led the slave Onesimus into a wonderful freedom, the liberty of the reign of God which Jesus Christ came to bring. He now felt sure that he ought to go back and ask his master's forgiveness, yet he trembled at the idea, for Philemon would have the power and the right even to break his legs as a punishment. It was decided that Onesimus was to go back to his master and take his chance. Paul, fortunately, knew Philemon of Colossae as one of the men who had become a Christian, so he wrote to him. As Paul the old man, who nowadays is a prisoner for Jesus Christ, I appealed to you on behalf of my spiritual son, born while I was in prison. It is Onesimus. Once you found him a worthless character, but nowadays he is worth something to you and to me. I am sending him back to you and parting with my very heart. Perhaps this was why you and he were parted for a while, that you might get him back for good, no longer a mere slave, but something more than a slave, a beloved brother, especially dear to me, but how much more to you as a man and as a Christian. If he has cheated you of any money or owes you any sum, put that down to my account. At this point Paul took the read from the hand of Timothy who was writing the letter and wrote down, This is my own handwriting. I, Paul, promise to refund it. This made it a legally binding document, but he goes on, not to mention that you owe me over and above your very soul. So Paul pleads for poor Onesimus, who in company with Titchicus is to go across the seas back to Colossae. Paul himself was hoping to be freed soon, for he writes at the end of the letter to Philemon, Get quarters ready for me, for I am hoping that by your prayers I shall be restored to you. At last all these letters for the Lycus Valley were written and signed, rolled up and sewn for safety into their canvas cases. Paul's friend Titchicus, proud to be chosen for the difficult and glorious task of carrying the words of the apostle across the seas, had his wallet full of food, his bottle hanging by his side, and in his pouch the passage money for the ships. With Onesimus beside him, Titchicus would kneel for the blessing of Paul and a last prayer for their journeying. They then left the house for their pilgrimage. As they turned to take their last look at Paul, he would wave a hand to them, and as he did so they saw the glint of the fetter that bound him a prisoner of Nero and heroic ambassador in chains. Titchicus and Onesimus, descending the Aventine hill, past the Circus Maximus, took the right branch where the ways forked, leaving the Latin Way on their left, they went striding down the Appian Way and up the hill, then along the leagues of splendid road with the aqueduct on their left, the glorious purple Albin Mount ahead, and the clear sharpness of the morning like wine in their veins. Refusing the Puteoli road on their right, they sped along the way that led to Brundizium, whence a ship would bear them across the Adriatic down the sparkling Corinth gulf, and again from Sancria, past Athens and over the Sea of Islands to Ephesus. So they passed on, leaving maybe one letter at Ephesus, and bearing the other precious rolls on up the Lycus Valley to Colossae. As trembling Onesimus stood with bowed head in the marble courtyard, while his master Philemon and the gentle lady Afia read the letter from Paul, the faces of the master and mistress would grow less stern toward their runaway slave, they would forgive him, because he was indeed sorry, and had of his free will come back to serve them. He was no longer the sullen slave who did not live up to the meaning of his name, Onesimus, but the glad slave of Christ, and therefore a happy servant to his master, a real helpful at last. As Titicus went out smiling with joy at this happy picture that he would have to tell Paul about when he returned, he would grasp the remaining Colossae roll, and go down to deliver it to the elders of the church. It would be read aloud in one of the homes where the brothers met, perhaps in that of Philemon himself, they would hear the straight strong words of Paul, away with anger, rage, malice, slander, foul talk, tell no lies to one another, you have stripped off the old nature with its behavior and put on the new nature, which is renewed in the likeness of its creator for the knowledge of him. In it there is no room for Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, sithian, slave or freeman, Christ is everything and everywhere. They would need to remember that last sentence when they heard Paul's words, saying that the runaway slave Onesimus was one of themselves. Titicus, that beloved brother and faithful minister and fellow servant in the Lord, will give you all information about me. Paul wrote, the reason why I am sending him to you is that he may find out how you are and encourage your hearts. He is accompanied by that faithful and beloved brother, Onesimus, who is one of yourselves. They will tell you of all that goes on here in Rome. Titicus would tell them how Paul lived in Rome, a prisoner chained to a soldier, yet still the great, radiant, heroic Paul. Then they would crowd round, Titicus, to see the words at the end of the scroll in a different handwriting. Dissalutation is in my own hand. From Paul. Remember I am in prison. Grace be with you. End of Chapter 36 Epilogue. More Than Conqueror Remember I am in prison. The rest of Paul's life is a silence, and his death is darkness, where the whispers and the swift gleams of light only make the silence deeper and the darkness more impenetrable. We know that as the shadows deepened the dauntless hero became more and more lonely, a solitary heroic figure in the darkness before the dawn. Paul's friends left him, Dimas, the young companion who promised so finely, had seen the glitter and the pomp of the world, and could not see the glory of the chained hero. So Dimas, Paul sadly wrote, in his love for this world, has deserted me, and gone to Thessalonica. One friend, Crescians, was sent on an errand to Gaul. Titus had crossed the Adriatic to Dalmatia. Only Luke, the loved physician, still stood at Paul's side. They were comrades to the end. What happened in the darkness? Was Paul tried and declared innocent, set free for a little while, to go out again on the highway of his adventure for God, only to come back to face more dreadful charges under the judgment of that monstrous creature Nero? Or was he condemned at the end of the two years named in Acts? In any case the time came when, as an ancient tradition that bears upon it the stamp of truth declares, he walked out with firm step along the path of death to the place of the three fountains, and there laid his head upon the block, while the sword of the Roman executioner ended that dauntless life. Silence and dense darkness are over it all, yet out of the prison, out of the silence and the darkness, comes a voice. It is the voice of the hero, who, trembling and astonished, had long years before laid down the flail of the persecutor at the feet of his risen lord on the road to Damascus, and had in that hour began to run the course of his great adventure, a course that had carried him up the steep ascent over mountain pass and by robber den, under blazing sun and through blinding blizzard, traveling on in peril from city to city across the empire, often without food and in rags, laboring with his own hands, tossed on the sea and shipwrecked, stoned by the Jews, beaten with Roman rods and torn with scourges, chained, imprisoned, and at last led out to his death, yet unafraid to the end. And that valiant voice out of the darkness rings triumphantly across the centuries, I have fought the good fight, I have run my course, I have kept the faith. Nor did Paul carry his secret away with him. He throws open the door and reveals the hidden source of all his strength and courage, for he says, We are more than conquerors through him who loved us, for I am certain, neither death nor life, neither angels nor principalities, neither the present nor the future, no powers of the height or of the depth, nor anything else in all creation, will ever be able to part us from God's love in Christ Jesus our Lord. End of Epilogue