Rome in Flames by Kathy Lee Page A

foot touched something. I picked it up and carried it towards the nearest lamp.
    It was a gold bracelet – probably one that Anna, the maid, had been wearing. The master’s wife had lent her several of them. Would she notice if one disappeared? The bracelet was heavy and plain, not richly decorated like most of her jewellery. But it was gold, and gold is always valuable.
    My heart was beating fast. I tucked the bracelet into a fold of my tunic. Looking round to make sure no one had seen me, I walked towards the stables as casually as I could. Tiro wasn’t there. Only the horses, moving restlessly in their stalls, saw me go in and hide the bracelet next to my money.
    â€˜You took a long time,’ said Rufus, when I returned.
    I told the boys about Quintus and Anna. They didn’t seem at all surprised.
    â€˜It’s Saturnalia,’ said Clemens, as if that explained everything.
    * * *
    The master’s wife didn’t appear to notice that a bracelet had gone missing. Even when Saturnalia was over, no one said anything about it. Gradually, I forgot to feel anxious over it. I stopped having nightmares about being found out and punished.
    I didn’t tell Tiro what I had done because I knew he wouldn’t approve. There were some things Tiro would never do – stealing, lying, gossiping, or hurting people. He said that his god didn’t like that sort of behaviour.
    I felt curious about this god of his. I hadn’t forgotten the day when Tiro prayed and my leg stopped bleeding. (The wound had healed completely by now. All you could see was a line of faded scars.)
    â€˜Tell me about the gods of your people,’ I said one day.
    Tiro looked surprised. ‘My people worshipped the spirits of animals. The snake for his wisdom, the lioness for her courage . . .’
    â€˜Not those,’ I said. ‘Who was the god you asked to heal my leg? Father , you called him.’
    Tiro said, ‘I prayed to the one true God, the maker of heaven and earth. There are no other gods. They don’t exist, except in people’s minds.’
    This seemed a weird idea to me. ‘You really believe there’s only one god? What’s he like, then?’
    â€˜He’s like a father,’ said Tiro. ‘He loves me as my father loved me. Whenever I talk to him, he hears me. I can’t see him, but he sees me, and he knows all about me.’
    â€˜How do you know? If you can’t see him, how can you possibly know what he’s like?’
    Tiro said, ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Jesus of Nazareth?’
    I shook my head.
    â€˜He lived in the land of Judea, far to the east. He looked like an ordinary man, but he was God’s Son born on earth. He said, “I have come to bring good news to the poor, and freedom to the captives.” And he said, “Anyone who sees me has seen God, my father.” That’s how we can know what God is like.’
    â€˜Where is he now, this Jesus?’ I asked. ‘Have you met him?’
    Tiro said, ‘He was killed by the Romans, thirty years ago. They crucified him. But he was God’s son – he was stronger than death itself. After three days, he came alive again, and many people saw him. I’ve talked to one of them – he’s an old man now, but he remembers everything. He saw Jesus being taken up to heaven, back to God, his father.’
    I thought this story was very strange. And yet my mind kept returning to it. I remembered my own father – how much he loved me, how much I missed him. I almost wanted to believe in Tiro’s fatherlike god, and I wished I could meet Jesus, who came to bring freedom to captives.
    Freedom – I longed for it. As I kneaded the dough in the hot kitchen, or piled wood on the fire, my mind was often far away. I was back in my own country. I could go where I wanted and no one could stop me. No master could buy or sell me. No cook could order me