Outtake from my in-process novel Tychicus:

Tychicus: The Courier 

Chapter 8

Anarchy raged throughout the city streets. People ran, screamed, cursed, and accused. No logical explanation seemed apparent for the emotional whirlwind growing larger by the minute, creating energy of its own, and consuming all in its path. Any who stood to oppose it were either crushed, or hurled to the side, becoming the mangled debris left in the wake of a powerful storm. 

Demetrius caused the commotion. A prominent Ephesian silversmith, Demetrius produced and sold miniature figurines of the goddess Artemis. He was convinced that the spreading Christian movement was sure to deliver a death blow to his treasured way of life and, more importantly, to his treasured livelihood. Finally, he incited the fears of the local trade union members and provoked them into action.

I was stranded near the entrance of a market pavilion, trying hard to avoid being caught up in the flood of people flowing by. It seemed a literal river was raging past me, filling every crevice of the street, the pavilion, and even the gutters. I held tightly to the arm of a statue to Artemis that announced entry into the Patio of the Great Goddess, a grand place where the people of our city went to purchase items of beauty or to enjoy a lazy summer’s afternoon. I knew it was sacrilege to touch the goddess so, but I really had no choice. It was that, or be swept away by a mass of angry people who seemed to have no idea why they were angry.

“Grab me!” were the first words I could make sense of in many anxious minutes of holding on for my very life.

“I said, grab me! I will surely go to my death if you don’t. Here, grab my hand!” said a commanding voice that was not at all consistent with the boy’s appearance that met my eyes. He was a wiry youth dressed in peasant’s garb, and wearing the collar of a slave. Stretched out before me was his dirty hand—hard, and callused, it seemed as if it should belong to a man much larger and much older than the one before me. I faced quite the dilemma. If I reached for him, I would likely lose my own grasp, and we both would go to our deaths. But if I did not, well…well, I couldn’t just watch him go by, could I? I squeezed the goddess’ limb as tightly as I could with my left arm and reached for his outstretched hand with my right.

I grabbed his wrist and he grabbed mine. So tightly did we lock arms that nothing the mob could do would undo the grip. We were as one. In fact, strangely, from that moment on we truly were as one. In the midst of that chaos and panic, through the life-giving hold of one hand on another, a friendship was formed that, unknown to us at the time, was to last a lifetime. It was not the only time one of these hands would be extended to the other during desperate circumstances. 

“Hold tight; don’t let go!” I yelled over the noise of the throng.

“What do you think me, stupid?” he replied. “Just pull!”

I don’t know how we finally succeeded in pulling free from the mob. In one moment we were losing ground, being sucked along with the surging flow of humanity, and in the next we both were safely clutching the bent elbows of the white bleached goddess. I’ve always felt it was a supernatural hand that joined our two and provided the strength we so obviously lacked.

“My name is Onesimus,” the boy said as he fought to regain his breath. “I am grateful for your assistance. I owe my very life to you, I think!”

“My name is Tychicus,” I said, having to raise my voice above the din to be heard. “Don’t thank me for your life, thank my Lord and Master. I am sure it was His strength, not mine that prevailed.”

“To your lord and master then, whomever he may be, and wherever he may be, since only your hand presented itself to me, not someone else’s.” In his distraction, Onesimus nearly lost his hold of the goddess’ arm. He swung wildly to the side and was nearly torn away by a passing bull of a man swinging what appeared to be a chair leg through the air. I thought for a moment our desperate struggle was to have been for naught. 

“Perhaps we should speak of your benefactor at another time,” he managed to say as he regained his place on the statue’s pedestal and once again began to breathe. “I mean no disrespect, but I think our thoughts should remain on survival at this point.”

Onesimus was right. If anything, the scene was gaining momentum and becoming uglier and more volatile before our eyes. I could hear people shouting, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” Interestingly, none of those shouting turned to give homage to the goddess whose statue they were passing and upon whose pedestal I was standing. I was grateful for that, for surely, I, along with my new friend Onesimus, would be pulled from our perch and caused to pay dearly for our profanity. 

It was some time before the mob began to thin. When it did, I could hear some near the rear of the progression questioning others as to where they were going and what they were doing. I saw that several poor souls had been trampled by the mob and lay lifeless in the street. There was blood flowing in small streamlets, and clothing strewn about as if it were intentionally left behind to be used to wipe it up. I stood stunned, holding the goddess’ arm, and wondering what in creation had just happened.

I jumped to the ground with Onesimus following me. Carefully, we moved from our safe perch and began to inspect the scene before us. The street seemed suddenly and eerily empty, save for those hapless few who had given their lives in a sacrifice to confusion. Before long, I heard someone calling my name and turned to see a very welcomed face moving swiftly toward me.