Do Your Utmost: Chapter 15

Writing Update: I've finished the writing and initial editing! Even though there are parts of the book I still feel could be better, I'm calling it finished for now. The rest of the chapters are scheduled to be posted over the next month.

Fifteen: To The House of Carpas

Mark jumped to his feet. For a moment he continued staring at the empty space, as if expecting Alexander to reappear. Then he turned to Timothy. “You were right after all.”

Timothy shook his head. He could not believe that he had let down his guard so much; even knowing Alexander’s character he had not been watching, had stopped expecting trouble.

“What is going on?” Philip was frowning, confused by their reaction.

“Are you sure that it was Alexander the coppersmith who sent those letters?” Mark was already convinced, but he asked anyway.

Philip shrugged. “That was the name signed. Whoever the man is, he has a full understanding of the things going on in Troas, and a persuasive style. We accepted the information, which has been accurate so far, and never questioned whether it was meant for harm.”

“He is persuasive all right.” Mark said. “I brought him here as a friend, and he tried to keep us from connecting with the Christian community. But why?” He turned to Timothy, voicing the question that Timothy too had been asking himself.

What possible purpose could Alexander have for this charade? He must have realized that they would figure out what was going on eventually.

“There is little point in asking these questions now,” Timothy replied. He turned to Philip and Loukas. “If Carpas is in prison, where should we go to find the books and parchments that Paul requested?”

“His wife would know.” Philip replied. “The family has been keeping a low profile, to avoid attracting attention, but they will be glad to help you and Paul—it was he who first brought the gospel to this town.”

“Then take us to her house.”

“We cannot set out until it is dark,” Philip explained, “the house is watched by Carpas’s enemies, who would delight in the chance to cause further disturbance.”

“There are hours of daylight left!” Mark exclaimed. “Must we wait so long, doing nothing?”

“We cannot put Carpas’s family in more danger than is absolutely necessary.” Philip said firmly.

Timothy lay down on the cot to rest, hoping that the time would go faster, while Mark sat with their visitors at the table, discussing church life in Troas and Cyprus to pass the hours. At some point he dozed off, and when he awoke, the room was much darker. Mark and the others were standing now, and they had opened the door to look out on the street. Even with the door open, there was little daylight in the room, and Timothy sat up.

“Is it time to leave?” he asked, quietly.

“Perfect.” Mark spoke in a hushed tone. “There are still people walking about, so we will not be too conspicuous, but the light has faded enough that someone cannot be recognized from across the street.”

Bending over the side of the bed, Timothy pulled out his sandals and slipped them onto his feet. He saw that Mark had already put on his cloak and sandals, and was holding Timothy’s cloak over his arm. When Timothy stood up, he held it out to him, and Timothy threw it over his shoulders, holding it close across his chest.

Joining Philip and Loukas at the door, he bent his head to hear the shorter man’s whispered instructions. “We will go first, you and Mark follow several paces behind us. In two smaller groups we will be less noticeable. I am known to Carpas’s wife, and she will let us in through the back door.”

Timothy almost smiled in the half-dusk, wondering if these elaborate precautions were truly needed. Still, when Philip slipped out the door and headed down the street, he waited a little before closing the door and setting off after them. Mark strode along next to him, impatient to reach their destination. Every few steps he had to pause, and allow Timothy to catch up. Ahead of them, their guides were only vague outlines, moving splashes of darker grey in the twilight.

There were a few other people on the street, but they were uninterested in Timothy and Mark, hurrying along with bent heads, focused on getting home for the night. When the two men in front of them turned a corner, Timothy almost missed it. He would have continued straight along, but Mark pulled at his elbow, and they ducked down the same side-street that Philip and Loukas had taken, quickening their pace to keep them in sight.

Another sharp turn right away, then one in the opposite direction. Timothy tried to keep the layout of the city in his mind, but he soon became confused about which direction they were facing. At last, Philip came to a halt at a wooden gate. He tapped thrice, short and sharp, then waited for a full minute and tapped again, once. There was a short delay, before the bolts thudded back into their sockets and the hinge swung open.

Philip and Loukas slipped through the gate, and Timothy and Mark, who had hung back a little, moved forward to follow them. The gate began to close, but Philip leaned back and whispered something, and it was caught and held by an unseen hand while Timothy and Mark stepped through.

They were in a courtyard paved with stone. Somewhere, water was running, and the occasional noises from the street behind them were swallowed by its cheerful gurgling. Philip was moving forward, to the back door of the house. As he approached, it opened, and all four of them stepped inside.