Stooping before the burning coals, she ladled heavy gruel into a wooden bowl and set it before him. She ladled a smaller portion for herself and sat down opposite him. She pushed a basket toward him and uncovered the unleavened bread it held.
“You said you would tell me about Hadassah.”
“Eat first.”
Mouth grim, Marcus broke the bread and dipped a portion into the gruel. After one taste, he gave in to his hunger. She filled a clay cup with wine and put it before him. When his bowl was empty, she filled it again, then sat down and watched him eat. “Were you fasting or starving yourself to death?”
“Neither.”
She finished her own small portion. Noting his empty bowl, she raised her brows slightly. “More? I have plenty.”
He shook his head, then gave a bleak laugh of self-mockery. “Thank you,” he said simply.
She stacked the two bowls and set them aside. Rising stiffly, she made her way across the room and gave a soft groan of relief as she sat down on some worn cushions. “My name is Deborah.” She looked at him and waited.
“Marcus Lucianus Valerian.”
“Hadassah had an older brother named Mark. Hananiah began his training as a potter when he was very young, but he said Mark showed great talent. Hananiah saw himself as a simple potter. Mark was an artist.” She nodded toward a shelf cut into the thick clay wall. “He made that urn when he was twelve.”
Marcus glanced up and saw that the boy’s work rivaled what he had seen in Rome.
“Mark was fifteen when they left for Jerusalem.”
Marcus studied the urn with a sense of sadness. If he had shown such promise at twelve, what might the boy have achieved had he lived? “A pity he died so young.”
“A pity for us. A blessing for him.”
Marcus glanced at her darkly. “You call death a blessing?”
“Mark is with the Lord, as are his mother and father and sisters.”
A swift arrow of pain struck his heart. “Would you think it a blessing if I told you Hadassah was torn to pieces by lions? Would you think it a blessing if I told you people cheered as she died?” His own sister among them.
“You are very angry, Marcus Lucianus Valerian. What is at the heart of it?”
He clenched his teeth. “I came here to hear about Hadassah, not talk about myself.”
She folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him enigmatically. “There is little to tell. Hadassah was a quiet girl who did what was asked of her. There was nothing remarkable about her. She was timid. Every time Hananiah took his family to Jerusalem, you could see that child was terrified. Her faith was not very strong.”
“Not strong?” He gave a harsh, incredulous laugh.
She studied him. “Not as I remember her.” When Marcus gave no explanation, she shrugged. “Hadassah would have been happy to stay in this village her entire life, to marry, have children, and never venture farther than the shores of the Sea of Galilee, which she loved. She was comfortable in the security of family and friends and those things familiar to her.”
“All of which her god stripped from her.”
“So it would seem.”
He put both hands lightly around the clay cup on the table before him. “Who were her friends?”
“Girls and boys of her own age. None to whom you can speak.”
“Why not? Because I’m a Gentile?”
“Because her family wasn’t the only one that didn’t return from Jerusalem. There are many empty houses in our village.”
Marcus winced. He was ashamed. Ashamed of his manner toward the old woman. Ashamed he was a Roman. He stood and walked to the open doorway. He stared out at the dirt street. A soft wind was stirring the dust. A woman walked down the street, a large jug balanced on her head as her children skipped alongside her. An old man sat outside his house, his back against the wall.
“What was Hadassah like when you knew her?” the old woman asked from behind him.
He lifted his gaze to the clear sky. “The first time I saw her I thought she was just as you say: unremarkable. Half-starved. Her head had been shaved. Her hair was just growing back. She had the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”
He turned and looked at the old woman. “She was afraid of me. She shook every time I came close to her. In the beginning. Later, she said things to me that no one would have dared.” He remembered how she had come to him in Claudius’ gardens and pleaded for the lives of the slaves. And how, at the same time, she had pleaded for him.
“Please, Marcus, I beg of you. Don’t bring the sin of innocent blood upon your head.”
He closed his eyes. “I’d look for her and find her in the garden at night. On her knees. Sometimes on her face.” He opened his eyes again, his face tightening. “Always praying to her unseen god. Her Christ.”
He said the word like a curse.
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Later on, even during the day, I’d know just by the look on her face that she was praying. As she worked. As she served.” He shook his head. “You said she had little faith, but I tell you, I’ve never known anyone with a more stubborn faith than hers. No amount of logic would dissuade her. Not even the threat of death. Not death itself.”
Tears spilled from the old woman’s eyes, but she was smiling. “The Lord refined her.”
Her words roused Marcus’ deepest anger. “Refined her into what? A worthy sacrifice?”
Deborah looked up at him. “For his good purpose.”
“Good purpose? What good was there in her death? Your god of old was content with the blood of lambs.” He gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. “You want to know why Hadassah died? Because his son isn’t content with the old sacrifices. He wants the blood of his believers!”
Deborah raised her hand slightly. “Sit, Marcus. Be still and listen.”
He sat on the stool and put his head in his hands. “Nothing you can say will make a difference.” Yet the soul-hunger within Marcus weakened his resolve to hold his anger as a shield. He felt tired, spirit-spent.
Deborah spoke gently, as to a child. “If a centurion ordered a legionnaire to go into battle, would he not go?”
“Hadassah wasn’t a soldier.”
“Wasn’t she? Rome builds armies to take land and people captive, to expand the boundaries of the Empire to the farthest reaches of the known world. But Hadassah was a soldier in another kind of army, one that fights a spiritual battle to free the human heart. And in that war, God’s will prevails.”
“She lost her battle,” he said hoarsely, seeing in his mind’s eye Julia gloating as Hadassah faced death.
“You’re here.”
Deborah’s softly spoken words struck hard. Marcus scraped the stool back and stood. “Have you any more wisdom to impart?”
Old Deborah looked up at him placidly and said no more.
Marcus returned to the deserted house. Furious, he kicked the door shut and swore he wouldn’t open it to anyone again.
26
Hadassah entered Julia’s house in silence. She had known the moment Alexander led the way up the street where she was and to whose villa she was going. She recognized the feeling swelling in her belly, for she had had long acquaintance with it. Fear. Yet, she knew God’s hand was in this, and so she prayed as Rashid carried her up the marble steps and Alexander knocked on the door that she would know what God willed of her when the time came.
A young servant woman opened the door. Hadassah didn’t recognize her. The girl’s eyes fixed upon Hadassah even as she greeted Alexander with grave respect. The servant drew back as they entered, bowing as Rashid carried Hadassah into the antechamber.
Distressed, she whispered for Rashid to put her down. He obeyed and held his arm out for her to use as support. “This way, my lord,” the slave girl said, flustered and not even daring to look at Hadassah again. She walked quickly toward the stairs.
Hadassah looked around the bare antechamber. She recalled that there had been two marble statues of nymphs
in this room, one on each side. Now only the potted palms remained, and they were dying for lack of care. The walls had once been covered with Babylonian tapestries. They were now bare. The marble pedestals that had held Corinthian vases filled with flowers were also gone.
Leaning heavily on Rashid’s arm, Hadassah limped toward the stairs. When she reached them, Rashid swept her up in his arms again.
“What’s wrong?” he growled close to her ear as he carried her up the steps.
“Nothing,” she said, glancing down into the peristyle as he carried her up the steps. The fountain was still running, but around it was a thick layer of dirt clouding the tile murals.
The girl tapped lightly at the bedchamber door, and a young man opened it. Seeing his face, Hadassah recognized him immediately. Prometheus. He had been her only friend in this household.
“My lord,” Prometheus said in grave greeting, obviously relieved and pleased to see Alexander. He bowed. “Please, come in.” He drew back, his arm extended toward the center of the room. “Lady Julia is resting.” He looked at Hadassah as Rashid carried her past, his expression one of curiosity rather than awe or recognition.
Hadassah’s fear vanished the moment she saw Julia lying on the bed. Shocked by her appearance, she gasped softly. Rashid stopped.
Prometheus passed them and went to the bed. Bending down, he touched Julia’s shoulder. “My lady, the physician has come.” She roused. Putting her hand out, she allowed him to help her sit up. Pushing the damp tendrils of hair back from her pale face, she looked across the room with bleary eyes. Clinging to Prometheus’ arm, she rose clumsily.
“Oh!” Hadassah said, a catch in her throat. “Put me down, please.”
Rashid knew in that instant they were in the lion’s den.
“Rashid,” she said.
He set her on her feet as she asked, but caught hold of her arm with unyielding fingers. “Do not get close to her.”
Hadassah didn’t hear him. She had eyes only for Julia. She was dressed in a faded red robe, her hair braided in a crown. She looked so thin and ill as she held her hand out, as regal in bearing as ever, to Alexander. He bowed over it as he would a young queen. “My lady,” he said gently.
“Would you care for some wine?”
“No, thank you, Lady Julia.”
“It’s just as well. What I have to offer isn’t very good,” she said, and Hadassah knew she had been drinking heavily. Julia turned her head and looked at her. “Is this the famous Rapha?” There was a tinge of mockery in her tone.
“Yes,” Alexander said. He saw that Hadassah stood a good distance from the bed and Rashid had firm hold of her arm as though keeping her there. He frowned slightly and glanced at the Arab’s dark, set face. Sudden alarm swept through him at the look on Rashid’s face. What was wrong? He caught the Arab’s eye and gave a faint raise of his brows. Rashid looked back at him fiercely, then his gaze flickered from Lady Julia to Rapha. He looked at Alexander again and jerked his head toward the door.
Alexander’s heart dropped.
“My servant told me about you,” Julia said, looking at the veiled woman. “It is said you can perform miracles.”
Hadassah took a step toward her and winced as Rashid’s fingers bit into her arm.
“Miracles only occur for those who are deemed worthy,” he said, his voice darker than Hadassah had ever heard it.
Julia smiled brittlely and looked at Prometheus. “What did I tell you?” The vulnerability Hadassah had glimpsed an instant before was now replaced by an implacable coldness. Julia looked at Alexander. “And how much will it cost me to have the great Rapha dispense her healing touch upon my poor unworthy body?”
Alexander felt a sudden, deep surge of dislike.
Hadassah pulled her arm from Rashid’s grasp and limped toward the bed.
“Rapha! Do not!” Alexander said, afraid she would remove her veils as she had for Phoebe Valerian. The girl on this bed was like a malignancy.
Julia, not understanding, backed from her, eyes wide with fear. Hadassah held out her hand. Julia blinked, staring at it. She raised her eyes and stared at her in question, trying to see what was behind the veils. She started to reach out, but just before their fingers brushed she drew her hand back sharply. “You have not told me what I must pay,” she said haughtily, her hand a fist against her chest.
“Your soul,” Rashid said darkly at the same time Hadassah said, “Nothing.”
Julia looked between them in confusion. “Which is it?”
“I thought you called for a physician,” Alexander said with forced humor. He stepped into the gap between Julia and Hadassah. Taking Julia gently by the arm, he turned her toward her bed. “Let me examine you and see what the trouble is. You may have your servant present if you so wish.”
“I don’t care,” Julia said dismally, having long ago lost all sense of modesty.
Hadassah limped toward the bed. “You may go, Prometheus.”
Prometheus glanced at her sharply.
Julia’s face paled. “How did she know his name?”
“Rapha knows many things,” Rashid said. “She can look into the soul.”
Hadassah turned sharply. “You may go also, Rashid.”
He lifted his head slightly, eyes dark and steady on Julia Valerian.
“Why does he look at me like that?” Julia said, her voice trembling slightly. “As though he’d like to kill me.”
“Go!” Hadassah said.
Rashid’s expression did not change. “I will go, but I will not go far.”
Julia trembled as she watched the Arab turn and leave her room. “I’ve never laid eyes upon him before tonight, and he stares at me with such hatred I can almost feel it!”
“It’s your imagination, my lady,” Prometheus said soothingly, but he, too, wondered at what was happening.
“Just keep him out of here,” she said nervously, then gave her full attention to Alexander and Hadassah. “Do you want me to remove my clothing?”
“Not yet.” Alexander gestured for her to sit on her bed. He set a stool close and sat down. He began by asking questions about her illness, listening with such acute attention that she relaxed and let all her troubles spill forth, from Calabah’s defection to Primus’ perfidy. She took his silence for understanding and his nods for empathy.
Alexander felt neither.
“And after all that, he stripped me of all my money before he deserted me.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.
She talked for a long time. Alexander allowed her to go on and on, though he already suspected what was wrong with her. A brief examination would confirm the matter in his mind. He sat and listened, wondering what the relationship had been between this incredibly self-centered young woman and Hadassah. Lady Julia’s bitterness grew as she talked, but along with it came a clear picture of the extent of her own immorality.
Finally, she had exhausted herself. “Is there anything else you want to know?”
“I think you’ve told me enough,” he said quietly. “Remove your robe.”
Julia did so without the least compunction. She drew the faded red garment back off her shoulders. With a faint smile, she watched Alexander’s face to see if there was the least glimmer of admiration. There wasn’t.
Alexander studied her from head to foot, but nothing more showed on his face than intense clinical interest. “Lie down please.”
Julia’s self-confidence waned. She did as he told her, seeming ill at ease. “I used to have a beautiful body.”
Hadassah moved closer to the bed.
The examination took a long time and reduced Julia to tears of pain and mortification. Alexander was methodical and thorough. He had a strong stomach, but once the extent of Julia’s disease was revealed, he struggled to hide his repugnance. “You may cover yourself again.”
She did so quickly, unable to look at him.
Leaving the bedside, Alexander crossed to a basin. He washed his hands carefully.
Pouring the water into a potted plant, he filled the basin and washed again.
Hadassah limped closer and touched Julia on the shoulder. She jerked slightly and glanced up. “Oh,” she said, sighing in relief. “I’ll be healed now, won’t I?”
“Only God heals, my lady.”
“God?” A glimmer of fear crossed her face. “Which god?”
Alexander spoke before Hadassah could. “Which god do you worship?” he said, drying his hands quickly as he walked back to the bed.
“Any one you say I should. I’ve been faithful to Artemis and Asklepios. I’ve given offerings to a dozen others.”
Alexander put his hand beneath Hadassah’s elbow and applied enough pressure to move her aside.
Julia looked between them, fear shining in her eyes. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?”
Alexander dropped the damp cloth onto a small table. “You have a venereal disease,” he said bluntly. “A very virulent variety that I’ve never seen before.” He shook his head. “Perhaps if I’d seen you sooner . . .”
“Sooner? Are you saying nothing can be done?”
He glanced at Hadassah. “Other than prescribe salves to soothe the eruptions as they occur, no. There isn’t anything I can do.”
Julia blinked, her face going white.
“I’m sorry,” he said. The words came out flat, emotionless.
“You don’t sound sorry at all!” Julia stared at him for a long moment, and then her face convulsed. “What’s the matter? Haven’t I enough money? Is my name not grand enough? Who are you to say no to me!”
In all his experience, Alexander had never taken such a deep dislike to anyone as he did to this young woman. It wasn’t simply due to realizing she was a member of the family who had sent Hadassah into the arena. He had never met anyone so saturated with herself. Many of her symptoms bespoke of a life of dissipation and self-indulgence. She had the pallor and emaciation of a lotus-eater—one who used the fruit for its drugging qualities—and her breath smelled strongly of cheap wine. Her sexual exploits were beyond the commonest decency. He wondered if there was anything this young woman hadn’t done and felt certain there wasn’t.