An Echo in the Darkness

  “I wasn’t asking you, you fool!”

  “Do you wish me to send him up to you, my lady? Or shall I send him away?”

  “Let me think!”

  Julia stared, unseeing, past the balcony railing, reflecting briefly on the past. Prometheus had been very fond of Hadassah. In fact, it was Prometheus’ admiration for the slave girl that had roused the terrible beast of jealousy and hatred in Primus. Julia further remembered it was much of this that brought on so many of her own troubles. Sometimes, late at night, Prometheus would sit with Hadassah in the peristyle, and they would talk. Primus said her little Jewess was seducing the boy, but Julia knew there had never been that kind of relationship between them. Her lip curled. Hadassah had been too pure for that. Yet, no matter how innocent the discourse between Hadassah and Prometheus, trouble had come from it.

  What a fool he was to come back! She could do whatever she pleased with him. Slaves who ran away and were captured were often thrown to the dogs in the arena. She could think of far worse things to do to him.

  The echo of roaring lions filled her mind, and she gripped her head, moaning softly. “What does he want?”

  “He didn’t say, my lady.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “I didn’t think it my place.”

  She didn’t want to think about the past. Prometheus would only be a reminder. “Send him away.”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  “No, wait!” she said. “I’m curious.” What would possess a runaway slave to return to a master or mistress who would more than likely order him tortured and killed? Surely he must know what she would like to do to him. Upon hearing Primus was gone, he had probably taken a wiser course and fled the villa as soon as Didymas left the antechamber.

  “If he’s still waiting below, send him up,” she said. “I’m curious to hear what he has to say for himself.”

  Julia was surprised when, a few minutes later, Didymas escorted him into the bedchamber, then came to the balcony to tell her “Prometheus, my lady” in a voice devoid of emotion.

  “I wish to speak with him alone,” she said, lowering the cloth from her eyes and gesturing impatiently. Didymas hurried from the chamber.

  Taking a deep breath, Julia tossed her cloth aside and rose from her couch. She snatched up a robe and put it on as she entered the bedchamber.

  Prometheus stood in the middle of her room. She glanced at him, expecting him to prostrate himself before her or plead tearfully for mercy. Instead, he stood silent, waiting. Her brows rose.

  Besides his grave dignity, his appearance was very changed. He was taller than she remembered, and he had grown more handsome over the past few years. He had been a mere boy when Primus bought him from the slavers in the booths beneath the arena stands. Now, he was a handsome young man of fifteen or sixteen, his hair cut short, his face clean-shaven.

  “Prometheus,” she said, drawing out his name with dark meaning. “How nice of you to return.” She saw no fear in his face and wondered at his calmness.

  “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, my lady, and ask that I may return to serve you.”

  Stunned, Julia stared at him. “Beg my forgiveness and return?”

  “Yes, my lady. I’ll serve you as you wish, unless you deem otherwise.”

  “By otherwise, you mean if I should decide to have you killed?”

  He hesitated and then said softly, “Yes, my lady.”

  She was amazed at his attitude. Clearly, he was in no doubt of his highly precarious situation, but he seemed unafraid. Or perhaps he was as good a hypocrite as the ones who performed in the theater.

  She smiled faintly. “Serve me as I wish? Considering your previous position in my household, that’s an interesting proposition.” Her glance flickered over him. He blushed and lowered his head. She was surprised more by that than anything else. Surely all the time he had spent serving Primus’ various aberrant passions had obliterated all modesty.

  Her mouth curved in a mocking smile. “Do you not realize you broke poor Primus’ heart when you so cruelly deserted him? He was madly in love with you.”

  Prometheus said nothing.

  “You should be ashamed to have treated your master so unkindly,” she said sardonically, enjoying his discomfort. “You should be groveling.”

  Prometheus didn’t move.

  Strangely, he intrigued her. And it had been a long time since anything had distracted her from her illness.

  “Did you ever love him?” She saw the boy swallow convulsively and knew she was plumbing emotion below the surface. “Look at me and answer truthfully. Did you ever really love Primus, even for one tiny little instant? Answer me!”

  “No, my lady.”

  “What did you feel for him?”

  He raised his eyes and looked at her. “Nothing.”

  She gave a laugh of pure satisfaction. “Oh, how I wish he could hear you say that.” She saw the small frown that crossed his forehead. Her pleasure faded. Did he think her cruel to say that? What about all she had suffered at Primus’ hands? Didn’t Primus deserve to suffer as well? He should have suffered more!

  She turned away and walked to the table that held the jug of wine. “For all Primus’ politic charm and public gaiety, Prometheus, he is a vicious and vindictive man who uses people for his own ends. He sucks them dry and then leaves the empty husks behind.” Her throat closed. “But you should know all about that, shouldn’t you?” she said in a choked voice.

  She left the jug untouched and turned to look at Prometheus again. Her mouth curved into a bitter smile.

  “I was glad when you ran away, Prometheus. Do you know why? Because it hurt Primus. Oh, it hurt him terribly. He grieved over you as one would grieve over a beloved wife who betrayed him.” She gave a bleak laugh. “For a little while, he understood how I felt when Atretes deserted me.” She looked away, wishing she hadn’t spoken of her lover. The merest mention of his name brought a rush of pain and sense of loss. “Not that Primus was ever sympathetic.”

  Regaining control, she looked at Prometheus again, head high. “Do you want to know something else, slave? You became my one small defense against Primus’ innumerous cruelties later on.”

  Prometheus looked troubled. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  He sounded sincere. “For him?” Her mouth curved bitterly. “You needn’t be. He found a means of getting his revenge.”

  “For you, my lady.”

  His grave sincerity dazed her briefly. He spoke as though he was indeed sorry. “Sorry?” she said, taking defense in her intellect. For what reason? Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I’ll bet you’re sorry, Prometheus.” She tilted her head back slightly, studying him coldly. “You’re sorry now because you know what I can do to you.”

  “Yes, my lady. I know.”

  It was a simple statement, uttered with complete acceptance. He wasn’t afraid to die.

  Just as Hadassah hadn’t been afraid to die that day she walked out onto the sand.

  Julia blinked, trying to flee the memory. “Why did you come back?”

  “Because I’m a slave. I had no right to leave.”

  “You could be a thousand miles from Ephesus by now. Who would know if you were slave or free then?”

  “I would know, my lady.”

  She wondered at his answer, for it made no sense to her at all. “You were foolish to return. You know very well I despise you.”

  He lowered his eyes. “I know, my lady. But it was right that I return, whatever the consequences.”

  She shook her head. Crossing the room, she sat down weakly on the end of her sleeping couch. Cocking her head to one side, she studied him. “You’re very different from what I remember.”

  “Things have happened to change me.”

  “So I can see,” she said with a mocking laugh. “For one thing, you’ve completely lost your mind.”

  Amazingly, he smiled. “In a manner of speaking, I gave it away.” His eyes shone with an inner, unfathomable jo
y.

  Julia felt her spirits lift slightly just looking at him. A strange, soulful hunger filled her. Struggling against it, she studied him from head to foot and back to head again. She liked what she saw. He was like a marvelous work of art.

  His smile died at her intimate perusal, and his cheeks deepened in color.

  “You are embarrassed,” she said in surprise.

  “Yes, my lady,” he said frankly.

  How was it possible, after all he had done with Primus, that he could be so sensitive? She was touched. “I’m sorry to stare, Prometheus, but it’s clearly evident the gods have been very good to you. Beauty and good health.” Her smile grew wistful. “The gods have not been so kind to me.”

  “Can nothing be done for you, my lady?”

  His question was clear acknowledgment of her sad physical state. She didn’t know whether to be angry at his impudence or thankful she didn’t have to try to keep up a false front. She shook her head slightly. Anger took strength, and she had little to spare.

  “I’ve tried everything,” she said, amazed at her own frankness. She spread her hands and shrugged. “As you can see, nothing has done much good.”

  Prometheus looked at her openly then, assessing her in a way that made her want to weep. “Do they say what’s wrong with you, my lady?”

  “One said it was a wasting illness of some kind. Another said it was Hera’s curse. Another said it’s the Tiber fever that comes and goes.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  There it was again. He was sorry. For her! How pathetic she must be that even a lowly slave should feel pity! Chilled, she stood and drew her robe more tightly around her.

  She walked toward the balcony, concentrating on moving with grace and dignity. Marcus once had said she walked like a queen. She stopped beneath the archway and turned to face him. Lifting her chin slightly, she forced a smile, a cool smile full of womanly awareness.

  “You are very beautiful, Prometheus. Well built. Strong. Very male. I might find interesting use of you.” Her words were calculated to cut him, and she saw they did. His wounds must still be very raw that she could manage it so easily. Or had she become as adept at wounding others as Calabah and Primus? The thought disturbed her greatly. She had expected to feel in control of the situation. Instead, she felt ashamed.

  She let out her breath softly. “Do not look so distressed,” she said gently. “I merely wanted to see your reaction, Prometheus. I assure you, my interest in men has long since waned. The last thing I want or need right now is another lover.” Her mouth curved wryly.

  Prometheus was silent for a long moment. “I can serve in capacities other than—”

  “For example?” she broke in wearily.

  “I could be a litter bearer, my lady.”

  “If I had a litter.”

  “I could be a message carrier.”

  “If I had someone to whom I wanted to write a letter.” She shook her head. “No, Prometheus. The only thing I need now is money. And the only thing I can think to do with you is take you down to the slave market and have you auctioned off. There are any number of men like Primus in this city who would pay most handsomely for a young man who received the specialized training you did.”

  His silence was like an anguished cry in the room. She felt it. She saw it, too. His eyes were moist. He didn’t speak, but she knew he wanted to plead. Yet, he stood silent, rigid with self-control. Oh, how he must wish he had never returned.

  Something long forgotten was awakened within her. Compassion stirred soft wings within her breast. She felt his anguish and, for the briefest moment, shared in it. He wanted to run away again, and who, least of all her, could blame him?

  “You have no liking for that fate, do you?” she said very quietly.

  “No, my lady,” he said, voice trembling.

  “Would you rather I sold you to the editor of the games? They would make a gladiator out of you.”

  He looked defeated. “I won’t fight.”

  “Surely you can fight. You look strong enough. They would train you before sending you into the arena. You would have a chance of survival.”

  “I didn’t say I can’t fight, my lady. I said I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s against my religious beliefs.”

  She stiffened, torturous memories of Hadassah returning to haunt her again. Why now? She clenched her hands. “You would fight if your life depended on it!”

  “No, my lady. I would not.”

  She looked at him again, closely, and insight came. He was exactly like Hadassah. “Did the gods send you here to torment me?” Her head began to throb again. Pain blurred her vision. She gave a soft cry. “Ohhhh . . .” She pressed her hands against her temples. “Why do you come to me now?” She couldn’t think past the pounding in her head. Feeling faint and struggling against nausea, she stumbled across the room and sank down on the end of her sleeping couch. “Why did you come?”

  “To serve you.”

  “How can you serve me?” she said with biting sarcasm.

  “I will serve you however you need, my lady.”

  “Can you cure me of this affliction?” she cried with bitter mockery.

  “No, but I’ve heard of a doctor in the city . . .”

  She clenched her hands into white fists. “I’ve seen so many doctors, I’m sick of them! I’ve been to every temple there is! I’ve prostrated myself and pled for mercy before a dozen idols. I’ve impoverished myself with buying votive offerings from bloodsucking merchants. What good has it done me? What good, I ask you! What good?!”

  He came closer, speaking gently. “This doctor of whom I have heard is said to have an assistant who has worked miracles.”

  She gave a cynical laugh and looked up at him. “How much does a miracle cost these days?” Her lips twisted bitterly. “Take a look around you, Prometheus. Is there anything of any real value left?” She looked around the barren room herself, ashamed. “All I have left is this villa, and it’s already encumbered by debt.” Even as she revealed the facts to him, she wondered why she admitted her utter humiliation to a slave.

  “What is your life worth to you, my lady?”

  Her anger evaporated at his question, fear taking its place. She looked up at him again and was filled with misery. “I don’t know. I don’t know if my life is worth anything at all. No one cares what happens to me. I don’t even know if I care anymore.”

  Prometheus went down on one knee before her and took her cold hand in his. “I care,” he said very quietly.

  She stared at him, amazed. She wanted desperately to grasp hold of the hope he offered her, and, for one brief instant, she almost did. Then she was afraid to believe him. After all, why should he care? She had never been kind to him. In fact, she had always treated him with disdain and disgust. It made no sense that he would care about her now. What if this was some terrible trick . . . ? She felt fear gnawing at her.

  Out of her fear came anger.

  Oh, she knew why he cared! She could almost hear Calabah’s voice echoing in her head, reminding her of the way things really were. “Naturally, he cares,” she would say. “He’s worried about his own skin.” The echo of Calabah’s dark, mocking laughter rang in her ears.

  Julia removed her hand from his. “How touching,” she said brittlely, glaring down at him. She stood shakily and moved away, head high, heart racing, as she allowed anger to rule her thinking. But she did not have the strength to sustain her anger, and it quickly gave way to despair, and despair to self-pity.

  “Don’t think I believe you. Not for a minute,” she said, her back to him. “No one cares,” she whined, her lip trembling. “You’re just like all the rest. Smiling and pretending when you really hate me and wish I was dead. Every time Didymas walks into this room, I can see the look in her eyes. I know what she’s thinking. She’ll dance on my tomb.” Perhaps she would have her killed before that day came!

  She turned and saw he was stand
ing again. His expression was solemn but still not afraid. She looked at him for a long moment, oddly comforted by his calmness. How long had it been since she had felt that way?

  “I will keep you,” she said finally, wondering even as she said it why she was doing so. What was she going to do with him? What good was he to her?

  A flicker of relief crossed his face. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “I’ll have to think about your duties. But not right now.” She trembled with weakness. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and she felt sick. She put her hand out. “Help me to my bed.”

  He did so, lifting her feet gently onto her sleeping couch.

  “I’m so cold,” she said, shivering. “I can’t seem to get warm anymore.”

  Prometheus covered her with a blanket. Without her telling him what to do, he took a dry cloth and gently dabbed the beads of perspiration from her brow. “I’ll add wood to the brazier, my lady.”

  “There isn’t any wood.” She avoided looking at him, ashamed of her poverty. How far she had fallen since he had first known her.

  Prometheus added another blanket.

  Julia plucked at it. “Do you think you could find this physician of whom you spoke?”

  “Yes, my lady. He has become well known in the city. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find him.”

  “Go, then, and see what he says.” She watched him stride toward the open doorway. “Don’t come back if you don’t succeed in speaking with him. I’m afraid what I would do to you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She saw that he did. “You may go, and may the gods go with you.” He went out the door. She sank back in dejection.

  Perhaps Prometheus would have better luck with the gods than she did.

  24

  Alexander sank onto the soft cushions of his new couch and let out his breath in a long, drawn-out sigh of exhaustion. “If anyone else comes, Rashid, send them away.”

  “Where is Rapha?”

  “She’s writing the treatments into the log. She’ll finish soon.”

  “Do you want to eat now, or will you wait for her?”

  Alexander opened one eye and looked at him drolly. “I’ll wait for her.”