“No, my lord. My only concern is Lady Phoebe. Your mother waits for her daughter’s return.”
Marcus looked away, his face set.
“She awaits Lady Julia in the same way she waited for you, my lord.”
A muscle jerked in Marcus’ cheek. “Thank you for your kind reminder,” he said sardonically.
“It might be wise to find out why Lady Julia hasn’t returned, my lord.”
“I could make an educated guess,” Marcus said in biting cynicism. “Calabah was against my sister having anything to do with Mother. She was afraid a little decency might rub off on Julia.” He gave a brittle laugh. “I doubt there’s much chance of that.”
“Calabah Shiva Fontaneus left Ephesus a year ago.”
Marcus glanced up in surprise. “That’s interesting. What else have you heard about my sister’s affairs?”
“Rumor had it Lady Julia’s husband also left a few months after you sailed for Palestine. As far as I know, he hasn’t returned.”
Marcus grew thoughtful. So, poor Julia was deserted. It was no more than she deserved. Hadn’t he warned her against Calabah and Primus? He could guess what had happened. Calabah would have used Julia until she grew tired of her, while Primus took whatever opportunity there was to systematically strip Julia of whatever money he could grasp.
What was her situation now?
And why should he care?
Julia had probably come to their mother for help and, seeing there was none, had left. Julia never did like to be around anyone who was ill. He remembered how she had run out of the room when their father had called the family to his deathbed.
Yet, he could not help but wonder.
“You say she looked ill?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He was filled with conflicting emotions, the strongest being anger against her. He was intensely aware of what the Lord wanted and equally intense in his struggle against it. He wanted to remember what Julia had done, to have a shield against more tender feelings. She deserved no tenderness. She deserved only judgment.
“Six months,” he said darkly. “Perhaps she died during that time.”
Iulius was disturbed by the cool indifference in Marcus’ voice. Did he truly hope his sister was dead? “And what if she hasn’t died, my lord? Your mother would have more peace of mind if she knew Lady Julia was safe and well.”
Marcus’ face hardened. He knew what Iulius said was true. If his mother had prayed for him, he knew she prayed for Julia.
The prospect of seeing his sister roused the heavy feelings that had lain dormant over the last weeks. The quiet before the storm was over, and the fierce gale of emotion now hit with a vengeance. He had sworn never to see or speak to Julia again. When he had made that vow, he had meant to keep it. Forever. Now he knew he had to put aside his own feelings and think instead of his mother’s needs. As for Julia, he could not care less what happened to her.
“Very well,” Marcus said grimly. “I’ll find out where she is tomorrow.”
He prayed to God she was dead and buried and that would be the end of it.
38
Hadassah brushed Julia’s hair with slow strokes. She noticed the coin-sized patches of baldness, another manifestation of the venereal disease. Julia had been very agitated today, suffering acute pain from the ulcers. Hadassah had given her a small dose of mandragora and added a special blend of herbs to her bath. Now Julia was drowsy in the afternoon sunlight, at ease. A breeze stirred the vine leaves, bringing with it the strong smells of the crowded city.
Running her fingers down the silky strands, Hadassah began to braid Julia’s waist-length hair. When she finished, she laid the braid over Julia’s shoulder. “I’ll get you something to eat, my lady.”
“I’m not hungry,” Julia sighed. “I’m not thirsty. I’m not tired. I’m not anything.”
“Would you like me to tell you a story?”
Julia shook her head, then glanced at her hopefully. “Can you sing, Lady Azar?”
“I am sorry, my lady. I can’t.” Infection and trauma had damaged her vocal cords so that she could only speak in a rasping voice. “I can play a lyre.”
Julia looked away. “I don’t have a lyre. There used to be one in the house, but Primus smashed it to pieces and then burned it.” She had been glad at the time, for the instrument had been a reminder of the slave girl who played it and sang songs about her god.
“I’ll ask Prometheus to purchase another.”
Julia put a trembling hand to her forehead. “Don’t waste your money.” She gave a sad laugh. How much had she wasted over the past years? When she thought of how much she had had, she could scarcely believe she had come to live like this.
Hadassah put her hand on Julia’s shoulder. “It’s the fever that makes your head ache, my lady.” Prometheus had set a small table beside the couch, on which sat a bowl of scented water and a small stack of rags. Hadassah wet one and wrung it out. She dabbed Julia’s face. “Try to rest.”
“I wish I could rest. Sometimes I hurt too much to sleep. Other times, I don’t want to sleep because I dream.”
“What do you dream?”
“All sorts of things. I dream about people I’ve known. Last night I dreamed about my first husband, Claudius.”
Hadassah stroked her forehead and temples. “Tell me about him.”
“He broke his neck when he fell from his horse.” She relaxed under Hadassah’s tender care. She felt like talking about the past today, unburdening herself of it. “He wasn’t a very good rider to begin with, and I heard later he had had several goblets of wine before coming to look for me.”
Hadassah put the rag aside. “I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t,” Julia said in a flat voice. “Not at the time. I should’ve been, but I wasn’t.”
“Are you now?”
“I don’t know,” she said and worried her lip. “Yes,” she said softly after a moment. “Sometimes.” Would Azar condemn her? Julia waited, tense. Azar reached over and took her hand. Julia was so grateful, she gripped the woman’s small, sturdy hand tightly and went on. “It was my fault in a way. You see, he was looking for me. I’d gone to a ludus to watch the gladiators practice. I was mad for them. One in particular. I’d asked Claudius to take me a dozen times before, but he didn’t approve. All he really cared about was his studies about religions in the Empire. And I was bored with all that, bored with him.”
She sighed. “I never would have married him if my father hadn’t forced me. Claudius was twenty years older than me, but he acted even older than that.” She went on, trying to justify her actions, but the more she talked, the more unjustified she felt. Why did what happened so long ago plague her so much now? The incident with Claudius was only one among so many others.
Hadassah put her other hand over Julia’s. “You were very young.”
“Too young for him,” Julia said. She let her breath out softly on a sad laugh. “I think Claudius loved me because I looked like his first wife, but I wasn’t anything like her. What a shock I must’ve been to him after the first few weeks of marriage.”
“Do you know what his wife was like?”
“I never met her, of course, but I gathered she was gentle and kind and shared his passion for learning.” She raised her head, looking at the veils, thankful she could see no face behind them. “I was none of those things. Sometimes I find myself wishing. . . .” She shook her head and looked away. “It doesn’t do any good to wish.”
“What do you wish, my lady?”
“That I had been a little kinder, at least.”
Hadassah wanted to embrace her, for it was the first time Julia had admitted even a twinge of remorse about anything.
“I don’t mean I wish I’d loved him,” Julia said. “I never could have loved him, but if I’d been . . .” She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. “There’s no use in it, I suppose. I’ve been told it’s useless to dwell on the past, and yet, that’s all I seem to have le
ft. Visions of the past.”
“Sometimes we have to go back and remember the things we’ve done and be cleansed of them before we can go on.”
Julia looked at her bleakly. “To what purpose, Lady Azar? I can’t change what happened. Claudius is dead, and that’s that. And it’ll always remain partly my fault that he is.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
Julia gave a harsh laugh. “That’s exactly what Calabah said.”
Hadassah was startled. “Calabah?”
“Yes, Calabah Shiva Fontaneus. Oh, I can tell you’ve heard of her. Everyone’s heard of Calabah.” Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. “She used to live here with me. She was here almost a year. She was my lover. Does that shock you?” She yanked her hand away.
“No,” Hadassah said quietly.
“Calabah said we don’t have to regret the past. All we have to do is set our mind on enjoying the present.” She gave a caustic laugh. “I told her about Claudius once. She laughed and said I was foolish to have any regrets.” Perhaps she was being foolish now telling Azar so much.
“But you did.”
“Did what?”
“Feel regret.”
“Briefly, right after he died. Or maybe it was more fear than regret. I don’t know. I was terrified someone was going to poison me. Every one of Claudius’ servants loved him. He was very good to them.” She was quiet a moment, thoughtful. Claudius had been kind to her as well. He had never spoken a harsh word to her despite her lack of manners and decorum as his wife. The realization made her feel ashamed. “Lately, I’ve been remembering things I said to him, things I wished I hadn’t.”
She pushed herself up and walked the few steps to the balcony. Leaning on the wall, she looked toward the sea. “I think about Caius, too. My second husband.” She could remember the look on his face just before he had died from the poison she had given him. She’d done it slowly, over a period of weeks. It wasn’t until the very end that he’d realized . . .
She bowed her head. “What use is there in regret?”
“Regret drives us to repentance, and repentance leads us to God.”
“And God drives us to oblivion,” Julia finished with a jerk of her chin. Why did Azar always come back to God? “There’s a warm wind coming in from the sea,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. “I wonder what ships are coming in. My father owned a whole fleet. He brought in merchandise from every port in the Empire.” He and Marcus had often argued about what the people wanted. Father said grain for the starving masses. Marcus said sand for the arenas. Marcus had proven right and gained the use of six of Father’s ships. With those ships, he had begun amassing his fortune. Marcus was undoubtedly one of the wealthiest men in the Empire by now, while here she lolled in relative penury, dependent upon a stranger’s kindness for her very sustenance.
Where was Marcus now? Was he still in Palestine? Did he still hate her?
She could almost feel it across the miles. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she knew his hatred for her burned within him. Marcus had always been determined in whatever he set out to do. And he was set upon hating her forever.
Depressed, she turned away. She didn’t want to think about Marcus. She didn’t want to feel guilty about what she had done. She had only been trying to protect him from himself. Hadassah, a mere slave, had shamed him with her refusal to marry him.
Besides that, Julia thought, Hadassah caused dissension in my household. Primus had hated Hadassah because Prometheus’ affections were turned from him. Calabah had never really said why she hated the slave girl, but hate her she had. Intensely. Julia remembered her own anger toward the slave but not the root cause of it.
But she would never forget her brother’s last words to her before he left the arena. “May the gods curse you for what you’ve done!”
Shivering, she sat down on her couch again and dragged the blanket around her shoulders.
“You’re cold, my lady,” Hadassah said. “Perhaps we should go back inside.”
“No. I’m tired of being inside.” She lay back and curled on her side, looking at Azar expectantly, like a child awaiting a bedtime story. “Tell me another story. Any kind of story. I don’t care.”
Hadassah began to tell the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. She got as far as Jesus telling her he was the Living Water when she saw that Julia, lulled by the sound of her voice, had fallen asleep. Rising, Hadassah adjusted the blanket over her. She stroked the damp tendrils of hair back from her temple.
When would the stories serve to open Julia’s eyes instead of close them? And yet, despite the sick woman’s inner blindness, Hadassah felt a flicker of hope. What Julia had said about Claudius had surprised her. It was the first indication that she had regrets or felt even partial responsibility for anything. During the past weeks, Julia had stopped being fractious. Now, her moods were darker and deeper, as though her mind was mulling over the past . . . taking inventory before the end.
Hadassah took up her walking stick and went back into the bedchamber. Setting the stick aside, she tidied the covers on the sleeping couch, then picked up clothing, separating soiled garments from discarded ones. She folded those that were clean and put them away. The rest she left dangling over her arm as she took up her walking stick again and left the room. Julia might eat something when she awakened, and Prometheus would be returning soon.
Holding her walking stick under her arm, she leaned on the railing as she went down the steps. When she reached the bottom, she turned to go through the peristyle to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Someone knocked on the front door.
Startled, Hadassah glanced back. No one had come to see Julia during all the weeks she had been with her. Alexander and Rashid never came at this time of the day and never bothered to knock. They knew she was upstairs with Julia and wouldn’t hear, so they entered unannounced.
Hadassah limped to the door and opened it.
The caller had already turned away and started down the steps. The man was tall, strongly built, and finely dressed. Hearing the door open, he turned with an air of reluctance and looked up at her grimly.
Hadassah caught her breath, her heart leaping. Marcus!
His dark brown eyes swept her from head to foot. He frowned slightly and came back up the steps.
“I’ve come to see Lady Julia.”
39
Marcus was surprised to see a woman in veils. He looked her up and down, and then frowned when she said nothing. “This house does still belong to Julia Valerian, does it not?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said in a rasping voice. Bracing herself with a walking stick, she stepped back so he could enter. He walked by her into the antechamber and was immediately struck by the emptiness of the place. It felt deserted. He could hear the fountain through the archways. The woman closed the door softly behind him, then limped past him, the soft tap of her walking stick echoing in the empty entryway. He found it surprising that Julia would have a cripple in her household. And why the veils?
“This way, my lord,” she said, preceding him to the steps.
He noticed the garments over her shoulder and surmised she was the laundress. “Where are the other servants?”
“There are no other servants, my lord. Only Prometheus and I. He’s taken work in the city.” She placed the garments in a neat pile at the base of the steps.
A cripple and a catamite, Marcus thought with dark humor. How Julia had fallen. Things must be bad indeed. He watched the servant mount the steps. She stepped up with her good leg and brought her crippled one next to it, one step at a time. It was a difficult process, probably a painful one as well. He felt pity, which was quickly overshadowed by curiosity about her foreign attire. “You are Arabic.”
“No, my lord.”
“Then why the veils?”
“I am disfigured, my lord.”
Which, no doubt, bothered Julia. He couldn’t imagine his sister even allowing a disfigured servant
in the household, let alone near her. A dozen questions rose in his mind as he went up the steps, but he held his tongue. All he needed to know, he would soon learn from Julia.
“She was asleep when I left her,” the slave woman said in a hushed voice. Marcus followed her into a bedchamber. He stopped beneath the archways and watched the servant limp out onto the balcony. She went to the couch and bent down, speaking softly so as not to startle its sleeping occupant.
“A visitor?” Julia said drowsily, pushing herself up. She turned slightly and allowed the servant to help her sit up.
Stunned, Marcus took in the change in his sister’s physical appearance. Equally shocked, Julia stared at him from hollowed eyes, her face so white she seemed to be carved in marble. She reminded him of the starving Jews who had arrived in Rome after the long, grueling march from their fallen Jerusalem. And remembering that, he was reminded again of Hadassah and what his sister had done to her.
“Marcus,” Julia said tremulously and held out her hand. “How nice of you to come and call.”
Did she suppose he had forgotten everything?
Marcus remained where he was.
Julia felt his hatred. She had seen the shock in his eyes and been briefly gratified, thinking perhaps now he would feel sorry for her and regret all the cruel things he had said. Now she saw how cold his eyes were, how rigid his stance. She lowered her hand, discomforted at the way he stared at her, his mouth set. Without a hint of mercy in his eyes, he glanced over her, taking in the ravages of her illness.
“It would appear you’re ill.”
Was he glad of it? She lifted her chin slightly, hiding her hurt. “You could say that, though it shouldn’t surprise you.” When he raised one brow, she smiled brittlely. “Don’t you remember your last words to me?”
“I remember them well, but don’t waste time casting blame on me for what’s become of you. Look to yourself. The choices you’ve made have more to do with the condition in which you now find yourself than anything I might have said.”
His indifference hurt. “So. You have come to gloat.”