The First Valentine

February 14, 269 AD

by

Terry Wright

The clanking of keys drew my attention to the cell door. My heartbeat staggered as Preceas, the jailer’s daughter, entered. She came today, as she did every day. Sometimes she stayed for hours, sometimes only minutes.

As the door creaked open, a rat scurried out. Preceas entered with a smile and sat next to me on the cold stone slab. Her hand felt warm on mine. The door slammed closed. Looking into her deep green eyes, my burden seemed much lighter with her near.

            Her chest lifted with a slow breath. “The festival begins tomorrow. They put my name in the jar this morning. I hope a handsome man’s hand will find it.”

            I shook my head. “Ah, my dear Preceas—what good will it do? Emperor Claudius has banned matrimony in a wretched plan to expand his army with unmarried young men. When I am gone, who will be left to defy his law?”

            “Dear Valentine,” she said. “Love will not die with you. Those you have married in secrecy will remember you. Look about the floor here, scattered with notes and flowers, all gifts from young lovers.”

            I glanced around the cell, only lit by sunshine beaming through a high window. Many well-wishers had tossed their tokens of support through the bars. The sight warmed my heart but the terror of that night still lingered in my mind.

The soldiers' footsteps had echoed down the hall, getting closer as the young couple finished their vows in the candlelit chamber below the church. They had barely escaped when the door burst open. I was dragged before the Prefect of Rome and condemned to die. Now, stripped of my priesthood, they planned to beat me to death with clubs and cut off my head with a sword—only because I favored love over the word of Claudius the Cruel.

She must have sensed my mind had wandered, and set her hand lightly on my shoulder. “Do not despair, oh Valentine. Lovers will remember your name throughout the Empire and across the seas, for all time.”

Looking into her eyes, I said, “It is not for myself I am concerned, young Preceas. It is for the future. What will this world become when law restricts love in favor of war and killing?”

Stooping, she picked up a rose from the floor and handed it to me. “Let love be the flower and adversity be the thorns. See how love is on top of the stem, triumphant?”

I took in the sweet fragrance of the flower. From my pocket, I gave her a note, thanking her for her friendship. I had signed it, Your Valentine.

Suddenly, the cell door swung open. Six hairy-armed guards rushed in. They pushed Preceas aside and yanked me up from the slab. “Time to die, Valentine.”

My heartbeat raced. I tried to resist but it was useless. As they dragged me from the cell, I heard her screaming. Was she right? Would lovers remember this day and the name Valentine forever?