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Martyrs!” answered by cries of “Caecelian!”
    Now that a decision had been announced, the crowd would turn ugly. It looked like everyone
    in town was now in the forum, but I couldn’t catch sight of Maron or Peter.
    If I were Peter, where would I be? I thought wildly. By now, he’d be frightened. Maybe he’d
    found some hiding place. As the press of bodies carried me closer to the church, I spied a pair of
    skinny legs which might have been Peter’s, then lost sight of them. I pressed myself in the
    direction where I’d seen them and caught a glimpse again, just as the boy stumbled and was
    about to be trampled. I jabbed my elbows into the nearby legs and hauled him up by his arm.
    “Peter!” My heart flooded with joy and relief, followed by anger. “Why did you go running
    off after your mother told you to stay in the shop? She’s worried to death about you.” I gave him
    a shake.
    “I wanted to see what was happening.”
    I picked him up and he clung to my neck, his legs wrapped around my waist. I was slick with
    sweat, my hair separating into ringlets. I craned my neck, looking for an opening in the mass of
    people, to take us back to the shop. It seemed impossible to make our way through that ocean,
    trying to move opposite to their surge. Exhausted and paralyzed, I looked around again. The
    street leading to Urbanus’ house was only a few yards from us. It felt safe and familiar to me
    after my weeks of study there with Aurelius, but did I dare?
    I made my decision and started pushing out of the crowd towards Urbanus’ street. Going that
    direction, we were moving with the crowd and the danger was that we’d be pushed along too
    fast, and I would lose my footing. Using Peter as a wedge, I forced us between close-packed
    shoulders, trying to keep a little ahead of the heaving crowd.
    “Watch it,” a boy my age snarled, and shoved me back, hard. I felt my knee buckle and
    dropped Peter.
    “Peter!” I bent, frantic to lift him before he was trampled. I gathered him up, scraping my
    knuckles and seeing his tunic rip under someone’s spiked sandal. Still bent over, I lurched
    forward, trying to regain my balance. Finally, we were expelled into the side street, like a pit
    popping from an olive. I fell onto all fours, dropping Peter again.
    I paused to catch my breath and stood. “You can walk now,” I told him. “We’re going to see
    one of my friends.” I hope , I added mentally.
    We reached Urbanus’ front door and I banged desperately. A door slave opened the door just
    a slit.
    “I’m a friend of Aurelius Augustine. Please let us in,” I pleaded.
    The slave squinted at us and tilted his head. I could tell he was about to slam the door to the
    panicked peasant woman with her skinny little boy. “Please! Tell Urbanus friends of Aurelius
    need protection!”
    I could hear sandals pounding the street behind me, more trouble-makers rioters racing
    towards the trouble.
    Then, to my joy, I saw Aurelius emerge behind the slave. “Leona? Let her in,” he ordered the
    slave.
    We were admitted, and the door slammed and bolted.
    “What are you doing here?” Aurelius demanded.
    “Peter ran away from the shop to see what was going on, and I went to find him.”
    18

    I was caked with sweat and dust, my head pounded, my knees and knuckles stung, and my
    throat was on fire. Blood trickled down Peter’s knees, and the remains of his dusty tunic hung off
    his skinny body like the flag of a defeated army.
    I had forgotten about my foot, but now I looked down and saw that it was bleeding, one
    toenail peeled off. As soon as I saw it, it started to sting and throb again.
    “Your foot!” Aurelius gestured to the slave, and in a few minutes the slave boy returned with
    a basin of perfumed water. The slave boy knelt to wash my feet, but I gestured to Peter. “Please.
    Can you get him cleaned up and find him something decent to wear?”
    Aurelius nodded to the boy, who led Peter away with surprising