As they made their way out the city gate, Nicholas asked, “We have no strongbox or servants to guard the, uh, bags. Is this not too trusting of people we may meet along the way?”
“No,” said Epiphanius. “It is because I know we cannot trust them that we have no guard. The thief sees only what he wants to see. If we go with a guard, the thief sees something to steal. If we carry it as any sack of seeds, then to him, it is.”
Nicholas tried not to care what was in the bag, but he did. He stiffened at each man who passed them by, studying his face for signs that he might be a robber. At one point the main road curved through a wooded grove, and there lay the road to the drifter camp. He gazed into the shadows of each tree, certain a bandit would spring from behind a trunk at any moment, but none did.
When they reached the estate, his father led him aside from the house and beyond the barley fields. “Where are we going?” asked Nicholas. He wanted to get the gold into a strongbox as soon as possible.
“I’m going to show you why we sell,” said his father. They came to the family tomb, a narrow passage cut into the rock of a hillside. Epiphanius motioned him inside. Nicholas hesitated. The only time he remembered being in the tomb was when his grandmother died. He would never play there. It felt like a place of sadness and waiting.
He followed his father inside. As they paused to let their eyes grow used to the dim light, Epiphanius said, “What we have, has been given to us by Christus. And he has given it that we may give to others. Promise me that you will use our wealth, not for your own pleasures, but for the honor of Christus.”
Nicholas thought of Quintus and all the other slaves his father had set free. He wanted to do that too. “I promise,” he said.
Epiphanius moved past several stone sarcophagi and came to one farther in. “Can you slide this open?” he said. Nicholas reluctantly took hold of the stone lid. He shoved it aside at an angle, exposing a corner.
“Good,” said his father. “You have the strength. Can you see inside?”
“Who lays there?” asked Nicholas.
“No one.”
Click here to go to beginning of the book
“No,” said Epiphanius. “It is because I know we cannot trust them that we have no guard. The thief sees only what he wants to see. If we go with a guard, the thief sees something to steal. If we carry it as any sack of seeds, then to him, it is.”
Nicholas tried not to care what was in the bag, but he did. He stiffened at each man who passed them by, studying his face for signs that he might be a robber. At one point the main road curved through a wooded grove, and there lay the road to the drifter camp. He gazed into the shadows of each tree, certain a bandit would spring from behind a trunk at any moment, but none did.
When they reached the estate, his father led him aside from the house and beyond the barley fields. “Where are we going?” asked Nicholas. He wanted to get the gold into a strongbox as soon as possible.
“I’m going to show you why we sell,” said his father. They came to the family tomb, a narrow passage cut into the rock of a hillside. Epiphanius motioned him inside. Nicholas hesitated. The only time he remembered being in the tomb was when his grandmother died. He would never play there. It felt like a place of sadness and waiting.
He followed his father inside. As they paused to let their eyes grow used to the dim light, Epiphanius said, “What we have, has been given to us by Christus. And he has given it that we may give to others. Promise me that you will use our wealth, not for your own pleasures, but for the honor of Christus.”
Nicholas thought of Quintus and all the other slaves his father had set free. He wanted to do that too. “I promise,” he said.
Epiphanius moved past several stone sarcophagi and came to one farther in. “Can you slide this open?” he said. Nicholas reluctantly took hold of the stone lid. He shoved it aside at an angle, exposing a corner.
“Good,” said his father. “You have the strength. Can you see inside?”
“Who lays there?” asked Nicholas.
“No one.”
Click here to go to beginning of the book
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