Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 2

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 2

© 2021 by Amber Wright

THE TRAVELER

Andronika was a harlot. The very word sent a nauseating feeling through Junia. No, not Andronika—she must have been killed and her murderer must have left that note. My Fil’os was never bad! She was only poor, but not bad. She heard Martha continue in a broken voice.

“I’ve lost her…and now it’s all my fault. We had little money and little to eat. I had to work long hours. I neglected her…”

“It’s not your fault.” Junia heard herself speaking softly. “We should have helped—if only we had known. She would not have done this if we had.”

“We like to work for our keep. Our family always has. It makes us feel disgraced to beg, but oh—now is the worst disgrace! I should have begged. I should have asked for her.” Martha ended her woeful tale in a wail, kneeling onto the ground with her hands covering her face.

Junia started to reach out to comfort the woman but felt frozen in place, her knees locked, her eyes staring into a blank scene. But in her thoughts she saw an image of her friend Andronika’s sweet smile and inside she screamed, Great Pah’tehr, save us from this evil world we live in!

~

Twenty-three year-old Demetrius Aenos listened to the woman wailing on the ground and watched as another woman walked over to her. The rest of the company of women parted, waterpots on hips and atop heads, all whispering among themselves. He caught one woman speaking as she walked quite near the short, leafy tree he was resting under.

“I’m proud to say my daughter would never do such a horrible thing! Imagine that, she…”

Demetrius closed his ears. He would hear no more. Not about harlots, at least. His mother had been one—not by choice, but by circumstance. Then nobody would befriend her. She was considered too filthy…unfit to be cleaned even when she had wanted to be clean. She had spent her last days with him alone. They had begged for food, slept in the streets and in the byways…wherever they could find a place. They traveled from city to city—until somebody would notice them and chase them on again.

He sighed. So many unpleasant memories he wished to forget. Was the grave the only way out to forget the past?

~

“Andronika—on the streets for hire!” Judith began with a gasp and her words broke into Junia’s ears like a rough slap.

“I’ll see you later.” Junia, wakened from her thoughts with a start, swallowed at the huge lump inside her throat.

She glimpsed Judith nod as she walked away in a whirl. She had to get home before she erupted into tears. She had no wish to be embarrassed this morning. It would be too much.

The sunshine-spell had been broken. Now a numb pain filled deep inside her. Her friend was lost…somewhere near and yet far, far away. Away from God’s grace and love. Away from the peace and clean beauty that Junia thrived in. How did it happen? How could Andronika choose such a life? She found her foot slipping…and knew the answer. It had only taken one simple slip—and that’s how Andronika had fallen.

Junia glanced up wildly at the city gateway overhead, feeling the air rush into her face. Surely, she would not be doubly humiliated today, adding to the tears she felt dripping down both of her cheeks despite her violent attempts to swallow them back. She grasped the air for something solid to catch her from landing onto the hard, rocky ground.

Something caught her arm.

Junia looked to see the hand that broke her fall. It was a strong-looking hand, she noticed even through her veil of tears. Her vision cleared. Then she saw him. The stranger. The dark, tall, fierce-looking handsome stranger. Somehow she could sense compassion through his hard set of dark eyes as he stood her up.

In silence, Junia gaped up at him. His features were bold and handsome although muddy with apparent travel, and his dark eyes were large and expressive. He pushed back his dark brown hood. Dark hair curled over his ears, glistening in the sunlight. He looked like a Roman warrior. Even better, tougher than the Romans who came to collect tax money from the city. This young man was rugged with more hair, not reeking with fragrance and sleek like a pig.

“Are you hurt?” The stranger asked her.

Junia tried to move her tongue, to say something. But her tongue would not budge. She watched the stranger’s eyes move around anxiously. Who was he?

~

Demetrius swallowed. Is this girl mute? Under her layer of black eyelashes, a set of unusual blue eyes stared up at him.

“Are you alright?”

At that, she nodded and her voice was quiet, “Thank you.”

He tried to swallow again but felt his mouth too dry. He took the gourd from his waist, nodding towards her mostly filled waterpot. “May I?”

The girl nodded and carefully filled his gourd for him. He drank the cool water thirstily, and held his gourd out again.

She refilled it, looking up at him inquisitively. “Where do you come from, sir?”

He felt his heart jar, then relax. “I travel.”

“Are you a merchant?” Her dark violet-flecked blue eyes lit up and then fell when he shook his head. “Perhaps a rich man on a business trip?”

“I have come here on business, yes.” He tried to sound casual but felt his heart hammering away, worry gripping his insides. “But I’m not rich. Actually, I’m…”

He blinked and gave himself a mental shake. No details, Demetrius, and no poverty confessions. “I’m not rich.”

“And your business is?” The strange girl prompted him in a hopeful tone.

He felt a frown wrinkle his brow, and he abruptly put his gourd away. “Thank you for the water, girl.”

He started to walk off briskly.

~

I have met a traveler, and he is neither a merchant nor rich. Junia felt awed by the simple fact. Her heart tripped up a beat as she saw the stranger whirl back around, heading straight towards her. His frown still etched into his brow, and she wondered what she had said to upset him. Or maybe even thought.

“Where can I find the house of Demas?”

“The deacon?” Junia squeaked.

“Yes, the deacon who calls himself Demas.” The sharp tone he used cut her deep. “Where?”

“How do you know him?” She found her voice shaking. Do travelers always speak so rudely? Perhaps I change my mind about wishing to marry one.

“By chance.” He turned his frown away. “Where do I find him?”

“He lives past the market street, five houses down.” Junia bit onto her lip, wondering if she had done the right thing—telling this stranger where Deacon Demas lived.

“Thank you.” He gave her a piercing stare. “My mother was a harlot if that gives you any peace of mind of how I know him.”

Harlot. The word made her wince. Andronika’s face flashed across her mind. When she focused her vision again, she saw that the stranger was walking briskly down the market street, looking as if he could trample lions if they chanced to be in his way. Her insides coiled, matching her whirling thoughts. What did that young man want with Deacon Demas?

Life had certainly become confusing, complex. Would the mysteries never end? Or the pain? And why did the world have to wreck so many human lives—to the people she loved? She read the answers in the little pain she felt inside her. What will be, she realized, will be. She could not—and would not—stop it. God had a plan for each of them to follow. It was up to her to follow the plan made for her, even when the way was hard and the costs were great. The vision of the noble was often painful.

Junia felt a lone tear slide down her cheek. Pain would only bring forth something worth living for—if she could but wait. Time would heal the hurt. Someday, there would be sunshine inside her stormy heart again. She moved her feet numbly along, passed through the blur of morning marketing and pushed open the gate that opened into their garden.

She was home.

Hugging the waterpot so she would not drop it, Junia burst into the two-story villa with wetness splashed across her cheeks. She used her sleeve to wipe her sticky face, the thick cloth making her eyes sting and cling to her skin roughly. She let the waterpot clank onto the kitchen table. And then she let her tears flow.

“What is the matter, dear child?” Her mother’s arm wrap around her. Her answer came out in little jerks, “It’s Andronika—she’s making—her living…disgracefully. She needed money!”

“So I heard.” Eunice Gaius said quietly.

Junia turned to stare at her mother. “Who?”

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother