Letter from Rome: A Historical Fiction Sequel
My Dearest Maximus,
Your letter reached me as the spring rains fell upon Rome, and as I read your words, I felt as though I could hear your voice whispering across the seas. Frugi, our messenger, was greatly delayed. I am sure he will tell you about his travels when you read this. Nevertheless, I wish to share the parts which amazed me most in light of what you said in your letter. Frugi, who carries letters to and from Rome, for us and for our friends, he bears many parchments amid his travels and endeavors to do so by land lest he lose some of the parchments. As he began his journey the temple guards stopped him, fearful he was carrying communication between the Christians, whose leader they had just crucified. Not long after they had stopped him, they got word that the men who were supposed to watch the tomb of Jesus, in the night, while asleep missed the theft of his body. This delayed him longer because they thought to scrutinize our letters again lest they fail to see code concerning a plot to steal the body. I hope they were not your men, lest you be punished for their weakness.
My heart aches with longing for you, but I find solace in knowing that you are well and that we may once again be reunited when Jupiter deems it so. Maximus, I read your words with a heart torn between pride and sorrow. You are a man of honor and duty, a soldier of Rome, yet you write of events so harrowing that even the strength of Mars would waver. You speak of Jerusalem as though it were a battlefield of hearts and minds rather than one of swords. It pains me to think of you caught between a people so divided, a city boiling with unrest.
Your words about this man, this Jesus, intrigue me beyond measure. You say he was innocent, yet the people who should have loved him most demanded his death? My dear husband, can you not see the great tragedy in this? And you—though a soldier, though bound by duty—your soul is troubled by it. I know you well enough to hear the questions in your words, even those unspoken.
You wonder if he was truly a god, for no man could endure what he did with such grace. Oh, my love, how often have we stood before the altars of our gods, offering sacrifice, pleading for favor, yet hearing nothing in return? But here, you write of a man who looked upon you—upon all of you—with love, even in his greatest agony. Could any mortal do such a thing? Would Jupiter, would Mars, show such mercy? I have never known our gods to do so. Frugi said there is belief that this Jesus has been raised from the dead, none of our gods have claimed to have been raised from the dead still less have we known any of man to be raised. How curious is all of this? How beyond comprehension? Even if his body was truly stolen, what grand insanity it would have to be for the many Jews who believe in Him to be as persuaded against their elders as Furgi says.
You have seen many battles, my husband, and you have witnessed death countless times. Yet never before have you written to me of one who haunts your thoughts, of a gaze that seared your soul. I cannot help but weep for you, for the burden you now carry in your heart. What war stirs within you now, my Maximus? A war not of flesh, but of the spirit?
And Pilate—ah, what a man of contradictions! You say he knew this Jesus to be innocent, yet he surrendered him to the will of the crowd? What kind of ruler is this, who bends to the voices of the people rather than to the weight of justice? Would you torture and kill a man by popular vote? Was it even popular or was this a riot? We Romans pride ourselves on our laws, yet here, a man was handed over to death despite his innocence. Is this not a betrayal of all we claim to uphold? And Herod—what a pathetic excuse for a king! A puppet, the Senators and you say, more interested in his indulgences than in his rule. How far the mighty have fallen, that Rome must prop up such weaklings to maintain order.
Oh, my love, my heart aches at the thought of you standing amidst such chaos. To see a man tortured beyond recognition, to bear witness to the cries of his mother, to hear the venomous chants of a people who should have embraced him—how could you not be changed by it?
Maximus, I know you to be a man of logic, of duty. But you are also a man of deep thought, though you may not often admit it. You ask if this Jesus was truly a god. I cannot claim to know the ways of the divine, but I do know this—no mere man, no common prophet, could endure what you describe and still offer love instead of hate.
My love, I know you do not write of your own suffering lightly, but I hear it between every line. Do not bear this alone. Whatever you have seen, whatever burdens your heart, I am here to share them with you. That is what we vowed, is it not?
And our daughter—fear not, my love. She grows strong, though she misses her father greatly. I see so much of you in her, in the way she carries herself, in the way she questions everything with that sharp mind of hers. She will be a woman of great wisdom, of great strength, and she will know the love of a father who serves Rome with honor, though I hope she shall get know hers since I did not get to know mine due to Roman conquest.
I am so grateful to Frugi for keeping us in contact, it must be so tiring traversing the coast, but he loves my cooking still, especially my bread and the chicken I butcher for him knowing how difficult it is for us to raise them, the time it takes.
May the gods, or perhaps this Jesus who haunts our dreams and wonders, disturbing our hearts, keep you safe until you return to me. I will wait for you, as I always have, as I always will. Return with haste my love!
With all my love and longing,
Cornelia
DCCLXXXII ab urbe condita
Written by Carter Carruthers with input from Nicole Schilling.
A reply to Carter Carruthers, "A Letter to Rome", Vivat Agnus Dei, April 9, 2023.
