Chapter 29

It had been very wearisome, sitting here day after day in his prison cell, with nothing to do but remember. Often he spent a whole afternoon recalling that eventful night when Marcellus and Marcipor had brought him out of the secret passage into the old quarry, and had taken him swiftly to the Gallio mansion, where the gallant Greek slave lay dying of his wounds… The Spirit of God had empowered him, that night, to heal Demetrius…And, after that, many agitated fugitives came with reports that the Gallios’ physician, one Sarpedon, was seeking in high quarters for his arrest…But God had withheld the hands of his enemies.

Perhaps God would save him this time, too; though Peter was not sure he wanted to be saved, this time. Life in the Catacombs had taken a heavy toll of him. He was gaunt, weak in the legs, hollow-eyed. Maybe his work was done. If there was anything further for him to do, he would try to do it. But if it should be his Father’s will to take him home now—to the House of Many Mansions—it would be a relief.

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One morning he fell to thinking about the day when Marcipor brought him the Master’s robe. Marcellus had sent it to him. Noble fellow, that Marcellus! And his bride! They had been very brave!…Only a little while, perhaps, and he would see them…Marcipor had brought the robe. Peter remembered its comforting softness when he had taken it in his arms. He had not tried to put it on over his huge shoulders. Somehow he didn’t want to put it on, anyhow. It was too sacred for that. They had laid it reverently upon the altar in the taper-lit chapel…It was there now. Every day the people knelt before it. He had tried to counsel them not to worship it, but they probably did…Well—he couldn’t blame them much. After all, it was the Master’s robe. If they needed something tangible to fix their eyes upon while they prayed for courage, what token of His presence could serve so well?

‘I have often knelt there beside them,’ Peter had admitted.

‘And worshipped the robe?’ wondered Mencius.

‘It stirred cherished memories, Mencius, and brought the Master very near. If that is idolatry, I think I shall be forgiven.’

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