Free Return to Exile by Lynne Gentry Page B

his soul.
    Ruth came and stood in front of him, her head cocked to the side. Her thoughtful perusal gave him the feeling she was checking for more than the accuracy of her work. “As the persecution and plague worsen, it has become difficult for the church to assemble. They’re less likely to risk coming together for worship when there’s no bishop to explain the Scriptures. Without regular fellowship and encouragement, I fear, some believers will recant, desert their faith, and flee the city to protect their families.”
    “I can’t say as I blame them.” Cyprian considered his reflection in Ruth’s huge blue eyes. He didn’t like what he saw. A broken and tired man who questioned the validity of a faith that required so much suffering in addition to the weighty sacrifice he’d already made—or, for that matter, that Caecilianus had made. Where was the just and loving God the bishop had introduced him to? The path they’d chosen that day in the proconsul’s chamber had changed everything. Were he given the choice today, would he do the same? Would he look Aspasius in the eye and boldly proclaim himself a follower of Christ? Or would he do everything he could—including deny his God—to retain the leverage to free his wife? How foolish his bravery seemed now.
    He didn’t need a mirror to know that the man he’d been was no more. “Tell me what you want me to do, woman, for I have no answers of my own.”
    “Help the church.”
    “Isn’t that what I’m doing if I ask Felicissimus to take over the liquidation of my properties?”
    “No one knows better than I what you have already done and intend to do for the cause of Christ.” She lifted the mirror to his face. The hardened features staring back at him were not a shock. “But I think God is asking for more.”
    “More?”
    “You should assume your rightful position as head of the church.”
    Cyprian placed the mirror facedown upon the table. “No.”
    “Barek may have grown taller in stature since his father’s execution, but with each passing day he seems to grow smaller in confidence.” She took in a sharp breath. “You are the bishop they need. The one to share the Scriptures and offer words of hope. The one to lead them through their fear.”
    Cyprian pulled away, the empty space in his soul bigger than ever. “I agree that Barek may not be up to the task, but there must be someone better suited to provide the spiritual guidance these people need.”
    “Who else but you?” The reluctance in her voice, no more than the faint flapping of a bird with an injured wing, drew him to her side. Before he could stop himself, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, as if his support were the only thing keeping her upright. “Caecilianus adored you. You trained at his feet. Did you not proclaim yourself the future bishop of the church that day in Aspasius’s office?”
    “It was the proclamation of a desperate and foolish man.” Cyprian backed away.
    Ruth took Cyprian’s hands, pressing her need into his. “My husband confidently gave his family into your care.” Her voice hiccupped, but she kept going, determined despite the sudden flow of tears. “He would be more than confident that the church should bein the hands of no one else.” The request had taxed the last of her strength, but she managed to sob out the only thing that did not need to be said. “Oh, Cyprian. I miss him so.”
    “As do I.” Cyprian gathered her into his arms once again. “Your grief is one more reason Aspasius must pay.”
    “Promise me you will let the Lord deal with Aspasius.”
    He could not bring himself to confess the vengeance in his heart. “Ruth, I . . .”
    “Know this, Cyprianus Thascius: I shall die if I should lose you twice.” She melted against him. Months of bottled anguish poured forth.
    When she’d cried herself out, she pulled away silently. She slowly lifted her tearstained cheeks. Red-rimmed eyes took him in, but he