An Echo in the Darkness

  Phoebe tapped.

  Iulius put his hand out, and the old woman waited, looking at him curiously. “Yes, my lady,” he said to Phoebe. He took a cloth and laid it on the couch where Prisca had sat. He put her peach on it and added all the fruit from the platter as well. Tying the corners of the cloth, he handed it to the old woman.

  “Is she fattening me up?” Prisca said gruffly, embarrassed and overwhelmed.

  “Eat in good health and pleasure,” Iulius said. Phoebe tapped again. He nodded. “Yes, my lady,” he said, laughing, and looked at Prisca. “She reminded me to give you more wool.”

  “Working me to death,” Prisca muttered and glowered at Phoebe. “It’s only right you give me peaches.”

  Phoebe’s eyes twinkled in response.

  Eyes filled with tears, Prisca patted Phoebe’s shoulder and headed for the archways into the bedroom. “Can the others come and see her?” she said as Iulius escorted her out of the room and into the corridor to the steps.

  “Not too many at once. She tires easily.”

  Prisca looked around at the grandness of the inner courtyard and fountain. The house was so grand, but so depressingly quiet. “Does she have no children or grandchildren to comfort her?”

  “Her son, Marcus, has never married. He is somewhere in Palestine. It’s doubtful he will return anytime soon. Her daughter, Julia, has been married several times but has no children. She’s here in Ephesus.”

  “She knows of her mother’s condition?”

  “She knows, but she has a life of her own.”

  Prisca recognized a wealth of information in what Iulius didn’t say. “She doesn’t come to visit with her mother.”

  “Her mother’s condition depresses her. She hasn’t been here in some weeks.” He was unable to keep the dislike from his voice.

  Prisca shook her head sadly. “When they’re young, they trample on your toes. When they grow up, they trample on your heart.”

  Iulius opened the front door for her. “You are the first person who has come to see her, Mother Prisca.”

  “And I will come again,” she said firmly, then went out the door.

  Iulius stepped outside. “Mother Prisca, I would ask a favor of you.”

  “I will grant it if I can.”

  “Bring Hera with you next time. Lady Phoebe hasn’t seen a child since she was struck down.”

  The old woman nodded and went on.

  He returned to the upstairs room. “You’ve been sitting long enough,” he said and took Phoebe up in his arms, carrying her back inside. He laid her gently on her side on her sleeping couch. He talked with her, telling her what was going on in the household and what news had come from the outside world as he massaged her back. “Rest awhile,” he said. “I’ll bring up your meal.” He left the room.

  Phoebe knew as soon as he did so that another slave entered and sat close to watch over her should she need anything. She was never left alone. She listened to the birdsong coming from the balcony. Oh, to have the wings to fly away, to be free of the body.

  Yet the Lord had kept her here like this for his purpose. Phoebe relaxed, clothing herself in the Lord’s promises. Hadassah had been right. She knew what Adonai wanted of her. It had come to her as clearly as words spoken aloud. Gradually, she had given up the inner struggle and surrendered completely to him. And in those moments, those infinitely precious moments, she did fly free, clear up into the heavens.

  Pray, the voice had said softly. Pray for your children.

  And so Phoebe did, hour after hour, day after day. And so she would for as many years as the Lord would give her to do so.

  Lord, I hold Marcus up to you. Lord, turn my daughter’s heart . . . Lord, I beseech you. Father, forgive them . . . Abba, take them in hand . . . In the name of your Son, Jesus, I plead . . . O Lord God of heaven and earth, save my children. . . .

  30

  As dawn tinged the horizon with rose, Hadassah stood on the street below Julia Valerian’s villa. She had left Alexander’s apartment before dawn to avoid further conflict with him. He didn’t understand her determination to return to Julia. He felt it was foolish, wrong—and now that she looked up at the face of the elegant dwelling place, she wondered if he wasn’t right.

  Fear, her old enemy, returned in strength. Fear had always been Satan’s stronghold on her. Even with all the time that had passed, she suddenly felt like the child she had been when she had waited for death among the throng of captives gathered in the Women’s Court of the great temple. How had she forgotten what it felt like to be afraid for her life? It filled her now, bringing with it trembling in her stomach and limbs and cold sweat. She could taste it, like the link of a metallic chain in her mouth. And she despaired and doubted.

  Why am I back here, Lord? Didn’t you rescue me from this life and this woman? Why am I here again? Was I wrong in what you asked of me?

  But she knew the answers to her questions before asking him. He had said it over and over. He had lived it. Hadn’t her path been set long ago before she had ever met Julia Valerian? God’s will be done, whatever it might be. At this moment, in this place, it was a frightening prospect.

  Trust me, the still small voice seemed to say over and over. Trust me.

  Her hand shook as she put it on the gate latch. Her mind filled with the image of Julia’s face, twisted grotesquely in hate. She remembered the blows of her mistress’s fists and her screams of rage. She remembered being kicked until she lost consciousness. And when she roused again, she had found herself in a dungeon with other Christians, awaiting death.

  O Lord, if you would but take this bitter cup from me. . . .

  Her fingers whitened on the latch but didn’t open it. She could hardly breathe.

  “Is this the place, Rapha?” The servant who had carried her few things moved closer to her. He glanced up at the stone facade above.

  Hadassah shuddered slightly, remembering all the vile things she had witnessed in this house. She looked up again. She could change her mind. Even now, if she chose, she could go back to Alexander. God would forgive her.

  Wasn’t I doing your will there, Lord? Couldn’t I remain with him and help the sick?

  But as she stared up at the cold stone villa, she knew God had sent her here. Turning away from Julia Valerian now would mean turning away from the Lord, and without him life had no meaning.

  Yes, she remembered the dungeon, cold, dank, fetid. Wasn’t it there in the darkness that she had truly seen the Light and been warmed by it? Wasn’t it there she had found the peace God had always promised her? Wasn’t it there that God had truly set her free?

  “Rapha?” the servant said, questioning. “Do you want to go back?”

  “No. This is the place,” she said and opened the gate. Leaning heavily on her walking stick, she went up the steps ahead of him. Her bad leg was aching terribly by the time she reached the door. She took a deep breath and applied the knocker.

  No one answered.

  “No one is home, Rapha,” the servant said, relieved.

  Hadassah knocked again, more loudly, and listened for movement within the house.

  Silence.

  “I will recall the litter.” He turned back, stepping down to the step below her. Shifting his burdens, he held his hand out to support her.

  “No. I must go in.” She was concerned by the lack of response within the villa. Where were Julia’s servants? She lifted the latch and pushed. It gave easily, and the door swung open.

  “Rapha, no,” the servant said, frightened.

  Ignoring him, she entered the antechamber and looked around her. “Leave the things by the door.”

  “But I can’t leave you here—”

  “Leave them and go. I will be fine.”

  He stood nervously, looking around. The place had a deserted air about it. Obeying reluctantly, he closed the door behind him and shut her into the silent house.

  The tap of her walking stick on the marble tiles echoed into the peristyl
e. The fountain was still, the water stagnant. She looked into the triclinium and saw faded cushions and a dusty table. The marble statuary was gone, though the east wall was still emblazoned with a mosaic of Bacchus cavorting with some wood nymphs.

  Turning away, Hadassah limped to the stairs leading to the upper chambers. When she reached the top, she paused to rest. The pain in her leg was so intense she trembled. She listened again but still heard no one. After a moment the pain eased, and she continued down the open corridor to Julia’s chamber.

  The door was open.

  Her heart fluttered so fast within her breast, it felt like a bird frantic to escape. Standing on the threshold, Hadassah looked in.

  Julia was not in the bed.

  Hadassah entered the room and saw it was in disarray. It smelled strongly of an unemptied slops basin. Looking out on the balcony, Hadassah saw Julia. She was alone and dressed in a threadbare ankle-length tunic. A breeze molded the tunic to her waif-thin body. She clutched the wall as though for support, and her face was turned toward the eastern hills. Her expression was so utterly forlorn, Hadassah wondered if she was thinking of Atretes. He had once built a beautiful villa for her in those hills, intending to take her there as his wife.

  Hadassah remained where she was watching Julia intently, wondering if she was the same or if circumstances had changed her. Julia lowered her head, and the light breeze stirred the dull tendrils of dark hair about her face and shoulders. She looked like a hurt child. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. As she turned away, she saw Hadassah in her veils and started in fright.

  “Rapha,” she gasped.

  Hadassah had never heard her sound more vulnerable.

  The fear that had coursed so strongly through Hadassah vanished. She remembered singular moments of sweetness in Julia. She had been a girl of gaiety and passion. Filled with sadness, Hadassah looked at her now—thin, pale, and ravaged by disease.

  She limped toward Julia, the sound of her walking stick tapping the tile floor. Julia stared, eyes wide, uncertain.

  “Please forgive me for coming unannounced to your chamber, my lady. No one answered the door.”

  “You are welcome,” Julia said formally as she sank weakly onto a couch near the wall and drew a soiled blanket around her shoulders. “And I am alone. Like rats, Didymas and Tropas have deserted the sinking ship.” Her mouth twisted sardonically. “Not that they were of particular use to me.” She glanced away and said quietly, “I’m relieved they’re gone. It saved me the trouble of selling them.”

  “Is Prometheus also gone, my lady?”

  “No. I sent him out into the city to find work.” She lifted a shoulder indifferently. “He may or may not come back. He belonged to Primus, not me. Primus was my husband, such as he was.” Her gaze lifted to Hadassah’s veils, and a small frown flickered over her pale brow. She fidgeted with the blanket nervously. “Why are you here, Lady Rapha? You touched me and nothing happened. The physician said there was no hope.” Her chin tipped. “Have you come back to see if your magic will work this time?” Her show of disdain did nothing to disguise the fear and hopelessness that had settled into her features.

  “No,” Hadassah answered softly.

  Julia felt ashamed, but she needed some sort of self-defense and so clung to disdain of others. “Perhaps you aren’t the miracle worker everyone says you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Anguish settled on Julia’s face, and she wrapped her arms around herself again. She looked away. “Then why are you here?”

  Hadassah came closer. “I’ve come to ask if I may stay with you and take care of you, Lady Julia.”

  Julia’s head jerked up in surprise. “Stay with me?” Swallowing, she gazed at the veiled woman, defenseless, her loneliness and vulnerability exposed completely. “I have no money to pay you.”

  “I ask for none.”

  “I have no money even to buy bread for you.”

  “I have money enough to provide for both of us.”

  Julia stared at her in amazed confusion. “You . . . would provide for me?” she said tremulously. “Why?”

  “Because I must.”

  Julia frowned, not understanding. “You mean the physician changed his mind and sent you here to care for me.”

  “No. The Lord sent me.”

  Julia stiffened slightly. “The Lord?” she said in a choked voice. “Which god do you worship?”

  Hadassah felt her withdrawal as strongly as if it had been physical. She saw also the wariness and fear behind Julia’s careful look. She moved closer and put her walking stick in front of her, using it as support. She knew God called her now to utter the same words she had said to Julia once before, words that had brought wrath and violence, words that had brought a sentence of death upon her.

  O Lord, do you test me so soon? And then she felt ashamed. How many times in the past had she failed to speak out before that final night with Julia? Lord, forgive me. I denied you every time I was silent, every time I let an opportunity pass.

  “I believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

  Silence fell over the balcony. Even the breeze seemed to still. Only Hadassah’s words of faith seemed to echo in the air.

  Julia shuddered and looked away, her face white and strained. “I tell you truthfully, Rapha. Your god did not send you to me.”

  “Why do you say this?”

  “Because I know.”

  “How do you know, Lady Julia?”

  She looked up at her, eyes wide and full of suffering. “Because if any god has reason to bear a grudge against me, it is this one.”

  Hadassah was filled with hope by her answer. “There is but one thing I would ask of you,” Hadassah said when she knew she could speak without weeping.

  “Now it comes,” Julia said sarcastically. “Yes. What do you want of me? What price must I pay?”

  “I ask you not to call me Rapha.”

  Surprise filled Julia’s face. “And that’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “It is a title I’ve never been worthy to hold. It was a name given me out of kind but mistaken motives.”

  Julia gazed at her uncertainly. “What do you wish me to call you?”

  Hadassah’s heart beat wildly. She had thought to reveal herself, but something within her held her back. O Lord, I am not like the Hadassah of Purim who saved her people. I am so much less than that. Father, show me who I am to her. Give me a name into which I can grow. A name Julia can use with ease.

  And it came to her, like a whisper. She smiled. “I would ask you to call me by the name of Azar.”

  Azar. Helper.

  “Azar,” Julia repeated. “It’s a pretty name.”

  “Yes,” Hadassah said, feeling a sudden lightness of heart and giving thanks for it. “Azar.”

  “I will call you by that name,” Julia said in agreement.

  “Then whether I stay or go is your choice, my lady. I will do as you wish.”

  Julia sat in silence for a long moment. Full of doubt and distrust, she was afraid to say yes. Why would a Christian come to take care of her? What was there in it for her? If Rapha . . . Azar knew all she had done, she would turn away. And Julia knew it was only a matter of time until someone told her.

  “I don’t believe you’ll stay,” she said. “Why would you? All of Ephesus knows about you. You are much in demand.” No one would give up fame and wealth for a life of drudgery and solitude with a dying woman. She wouldn’t. It made no sense.

  Hadassah came nearer and lowered herself painfully onto a seat facing Julia. “I will stay.”

  “A few days? A few weeks? A month or two?”

  “Until the end.”

  Julia searched the veils, trying to see the face behind them. She couldn’t. Perhaps Rapha . . . Azar . . . whatever her name was, was old. Certainly the labored way she moved and her strangely rasping voice bespoke a woman of substantial ye
ars. Maybe that was it. She was tired and needed the rest of caring for one person rather than many. And what did any of it matter if Rapha-Azar would give her word?

  “Do you promise?” Julia said shakily, wishing she had a scribe at hand so that an agreement might be put in writing.

  “I promise.”

  Julia released her breath slowly. How strange it was. Two words uttered by a woman she didn’t even know, and yet she was certain she could believe her. She could trust her. Perhaps it was in the way Rapha-Azar said those words.

  Suddenly, Julia was filled with an inexpressible sorrow. “I promise.” She heard another voice speaking those words, saw laughing dark eyes filled with an indulgent affection.

  “I promise. . . .”

  Marcus had once spoken those words to her, and where was he now? What had his promise meant? Her own brother had lied to her. How could she believe anyone?

  With such desperate circumstances, how can you not? a voice seemed to whisper.

  Every moment, she lived with fear. Death was a most terrifying fact of life, but what she had feared most was facing it alone. “Oh, Azar,” she said, “I’m so afraid.” Her mouth worked as her eyes filled with tears.

  “I know what it is to be afraid,” Hadassah said.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. From the time I was a child, fear almost consumed me.”

  “How did you overcome it?”

  “I didn’t. God did.”

  Julia was immediately uncomfortable. She didn’t want God mentioned. And she didn’t understand. She only knew that any reference to Hadassah’s god distressed her. It made her remember things she wanted desperately to forget.

  And now, Azar said her god was the same one. “What pathetic irony,” she murmured miserably.

  “What is?”

  “My life is in utter shambles because of one Christian, and now you come and offer to take care of me.” Shivering, she closed her eyes. “All I know is I need someone. Anyone.”