“I love you, too,” he said hoarsely, unable to say more. His eyes were moist.
Hadassah released him and went out the gate. He closed it behind her and leaned his forehead against it. “God, protect her. Lord, be with her.” Turning away, Prometheus went up the steps to the deserted villa, repeating what she had taught him.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. . . .”
41
Marcus was coming out of the triclinium with Iulius when one of the servants admitted the veiled woman to the antechamber. “Rapha!” Iulius breathed in surprised pleasure and went forward, leaving Marcus standing alone.
The woman was leaning heavily on her walking stick but put her hand out in greeting. “Iulius, you are looking well. How is Lady Phoebe?”
“The same as when you left. We didn’t expect you this evening. Lady Phoebe has retired.”
“I tend Lady Julia.”
“You’re the one? Lady Julia said she was expecting a personal maid, but I never guessed . . .”
“Nor should you have.”
“How did this come to be?”
“The Lord brought us together. Where is she?”
“She was overwrought when she arrived. Lord Marcus had wine sent up to her. I checked on her a short while ago, and she was asleep.”
Marcus came forward, his smile sardonic. “As you’ve probably guessed, she’s drunk herself into a stupor.”
Hadassah’s heart quickened at the sound of his voice and approach. She looked up at him as he stopped before her. “Good evening, my lord.”
He studied her coolly. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I told you I would come.”
“Yes. I remember.” He frowned, feeling a pang of discomfort. “I thought tomorrow or the next day.”
“With your permission, I’ll go up to her now.”
“As you please.”
She limped toward the steps. It was clear she was tired and in pain.
“Rapha, wait,” Iulius said and went to her. He spoke too softly for Marcus to hear. She put her hand on his arm. Iulius shook his head and caught her up in his arms. Marcus watched him carry the woman up the steps.
Aggravated by her arrival, Marcus entered the peristyle. He sat in the small alcove he had often shared with Hadassah and leaned back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he listened to the fountain. He was perplexed by the veiled woman. She made him uncomfortable.
He heard footsteps coming down the steps. Opening his eyes, he sat forward. “Iulius, I would like to speak with you.”
Iulius strode across the peristyle. “She walked here,” he said upon reaching him. His tone was faintly accusing.
Marcus’ demeanor darkened. “I would have sent a litter for her tomorrow.”
“I had heard she had left Alexander Democedes Amandinus, but I had no idea she was ministering to Lady Julia. It’s amazing!”
“Why? Who is she that anyone would care where she is or what she’s doing?”
“She is Rapha.” Grim-lipped, Iulius beckoned one of the maids and told her to take a tray up to Lady Julia’s chamber.
“Oh! Rapha is here?” the girl said in bright surprise.
Marcus glanced at her. Did the whole household know of this woman?
“Indeed,” Iulius said, “and she’ll be remaining with Lady Julia indefinitely. Have a sleeping couch moved to her chambers and see that there is plenty of warm bedding. Rapha didn’t ask for warm compresses, but I think she’s in great pain from her long walk from Lady Julia’s villa.”
Marcus grew annoyed at the second mention of her walking. “Tell her she is free to use our baths,” he said coolly.
“Thank you, my lord. I’m sure she will be most grateful,” Iulius said.
Marcus glowered at him.
“One more thing, Lavinnia,” Iulius said to the serving girl. “She asked that no outsiders be informed that she is here. Tell the others. She wants nothing to interfere with her care of Lady Julia.”
“I will tell everyone.” The girl hurried off with an air of excitement Marcus couldn’t miss.
“One would think the proconsul had just entered the house, rather than a crippled slave woman in veils,” Marcus said dryly.
Iulius shot him a confounded look. “Is it possible you’ve never heard of her?”
“I’ve been away a long time, Iulius. Remember? And I’m filled with questions. For one: Who is she?”
“She is a healer. I heard of her at the marketplace not long after your mother was struck down by paralysis. It was said Rapha could heal with a mere touch of her hand. We sent an appeal that she come.”
“Obviously, she isn’t the miracle worker she’s reputed to be or Mother would be up and about walking and talking.”
“Rapha made no claims of any kind, my lord,” Iulius said quickly, “but it was she who convinced us that your mother understood what was happening around her. The other physicians who came all said it would be best to end her misery with a dose of hemlock.”
Marcus went cold. “Go on.”
“The physician who brought Rapha with him also suggested euthanasia. Rapha objected. She insisted your mother was aware, that her mind still functioned though her body did not. We were faced then with a terrible dilemma, my lord. What was best for your mother? Can you imagine what agony to be trapped within a useless body? I’d seen such fear and despair in your mother’s eyes, but didn’t know if she even knew what was going on around her. Rapha insisted she did and that she should live. She asked to be left alone with her, and when she readmitted us to the bedchamber, your mother was as she is now. Whatever Rapha said or did gave your mother hope. Equally important, Rapha gave her life purpose.”
“What purpose?” Marcus said, stunned by all he had been told.
“She prays. Unceasingly, my lord. From the moment she awakens and is carried out onto the balcony to evening when she is carried back to her bed, she prays. Of course, since you have returned home, she has spent more time with you.”
“Are you suggesting I’m interfering with her work?”
“No, my lord. Forgive me if I express myself badly. You stand in answer to many of your mother’s prayers. Your return home has served to reaffirm and strengthen her faith. You are solid assurance that God hears her prayers and answers.”
Marcus rose from the marble bench, his expression pensive. “You will forgive me if I still have doubts about this veiled woman. Lady Julia called her Azar, not Rapha. Perhaps she isn’t the same person of whom you speak. It’s a common enough practice for some women to veil themselves, and among them, I’m sure, are several cripples.”
“I’m sure you’re right, my lord, but there is no mistaking her. It’s less how Rapha appears than what you feel when she’s near.”
Marcus frowned. “What do you feel?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” Marcus drawled sardonically.
“Trust. Reassurance. Comfort.” He spread his hands. “In a strange way, her faith in God gives one a confidence in him as well, even those who don’t believe.”
“You don’t?”
“Because of your mother’s faith, I have come to believe, but there are times when I doubt.”
Marcus understood only too well. He now believed Jesus had come to earth, that he had allowed himself to be crucified as an atonement for man’s sin, and that he had been raised up from the dead. Yet, Marcus had difficulty believing Christ was sovereign. The world was too filled with evil.
It was these very doubts that roused his caution.
“Despite what you say, Iulius, I’m not so inclined to allow a stranger in our midst, especially one so mysterious as this one.”
“I am sure she has sound reasons for changing her name.”
“What might they be?”
“If you but ask, I’m sure she will explain.”
42
Opportunity to speak with Rapha-Azar eluded Marcus. Word had reached his representatives that he was b
ack in Ephesus. They came to see him, bringing with them records of the business transacted in his absence. He spent morning until evening of the next few days closeted with them in the bibliotheca. They urged him strongly to take the helm once again.
“The opportunities to make money now are vast, my lord, and your instincts have always proven sound,” said one. “What eludes us is crystal clear to you.”
Marcus’ own nature and inclination tempted him to grasp the opportunities he saw from the reports given him. It would be so easy to reenter the business arena and focus his attention on things other than the problems in his family. Just listening to his representative and looking over the reports made his mind hum with ideas on how to increase his wealth.
Yet some small voice in his head bade Marcus resist his inclination to pour himself back into the business of making money. What was his motivation? He had wealth enough to last a lifetime now. And his mother needed him.
And there was still the unfinished matter of Julia.
His conscience plagued him constantly regarding his sister, while reason held him distant. Each time he went up the steps, he felt the urge to see his sister, to talk to her about what had happened to him in Palestine. At the same time, another voice reminded him of what Julia had done to Hadassah.
“There. It’s finished,” she had said, her face distorted by glee and hatred, and he would remember again Hadassah’s body upon the sand.
Tonight, he was weary. He had spent most of the afternoon with Mother. He was tired of the sound of his own voice, exhausted with trying to think of pleasant things to say to amuse her. She gazed at him in a way that made him wonder if she understood his deeper feelings, those he tried so desperately to hide.
As he passed by Julia’s bedchamber to go downstairs to the triclinium for a simple evening meal, he felt the urging within him again. The door was open, and he heard a soft voice. He paused and glanced in.
His sister was sitting sideways on her sleeping couch while the veiled woman sat behind her, brushing Julia’s hair with long, smooth strokes. She was speaking to his sister. He shut his eyes tightly, for the scene reminded him piercingly of Hadassah. He opened his eyes again and watched Azar minister to Julia. He had seen Hadassah brushing Julia’s hair with those same unhurried strokes while singing some psalm of her people. His heart ached with longing.
God, will I never forget her? Is this your way of punishing me for my part in it?
He stood in the doorway, filled with dismay that something so commonplace should rouse such pain. How long would it take before the love faded and the memories became bearable? Did Julia feel any remorse at all?
The veiled woman turned her head slightly. Seeing him, she lowered the brush to her lap. “Good evening, my lord.”
Julia turned sharply, and he saw how pale she was.
“Good evening,” he said, keeping his voice cool and under control.
“Come in, Marcus,” Julia said, eyes pleading.
He almost did as she asked and then stopped himself. “I’ve no time this evening.”
“When will you have time?”
He raised his brow at her peevish tone and directed his attention to her servant. “Have you all you need?”
“Why don’t you ask me, Marcus? Yes, most gracious lord, we have all the physical comforts we could possibly want.”
Ignoring her, he spoke coolly to Azar. “When you’ve tucked your mistress in for the night, come to the bibliotheca. I’ve some questions that need answering.”
“What questions?” Julia demanded.
Hadassah wondered as well, her heart beating even more rapidly. Marcus stood rigidly in the doorway, staring at her with hard, dark eyes.
Julia sensed Azar’s tension. “You don’t have to tell him anything, Azar. You’ve nothing to do with my brother.”
“She’ll answer or leave this house.”
At his coldness, Julia’s tenuous control snapped. “Why did you bring me back here, Marcus?” she cried out. “To make my life more unbearable than it already is?”
Angry at her accusation, Marcus left the doorway and headed down the corridor.
“Marcus, come back! I’m sorry. Marcus!”
He kept going. How many times before had she wept to get her own way? Not this time. Not ever again. Closing his heart off to her, he went down the steps.
The cook had prepared a succulent meal, but Marcus had no appetite. Annoyed, he went to the library and tried to lose himself in reviewing some of the documents his representatives had left with him. Finally, he brushed them aside impatiently and sat staring glumly ahead, his emotions in turmoil.
He wished he hadn’t brought Julia back here. He could’ve paid her debts, seen she had the servants she needed, and left her in her own villa.
“My lord?”
Marcus saw the veiled woman standing in the doorway. He turned his mind from the dark memories to the problem at hand.
“Sit,” he commanded and gestured to the seat facing him.
She did so. He found it surprising that a cripple could move with such grace. She sat straight-backed, her body turned slightly so that she could extend her bad leg.
“Iulius tells me your name is Rapha, not Azar,” he said pointedly.
Hadassah bit her lip, wishing she could still the fluttering in her stomach whenever she was in Marcus’ presence. She had tried to prepare herself for this interview, but sitting here in this small room with him so close filled her with trepidation.
“Rapha is what I was called, my lord. It means ‘the healer’ in Hebrew.”
She spoke in a soft rasping voice that reminded him pleasantly of Deborah. Was it the accent?
“Then you are a Jew. It was my understanding from Julia that you were a Christian.”
“I am both, my lord. By race, I am a Jew, by choice, a Christian.”
Ever defensive, he took offense. His mouth curved in a cool smile. “Does that place you on a higher plane than my mother, who is a Gentile Christian?”
Stunned by his accusing question, she was filled with dismay. “No, my lord,” she said, explaining quickly. “In Christ, there is neither Jew nor Roman, slave nor free, male nor female. We are all one in Christ Jesus.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice softening as though to reassure him. “Your mother’s faith makes her as much a child of Abraham as I, my lord. Anyone who chooses becomes an heir to the promise. God is impartial.”
Her words eased his misgivings. “By anyone, you mean me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he had accepted the Lord in Galilee, but pride held him from it. “I’m told that you saved my mother’s life.”
“I, my lord? No.”
“Iulius said the physician who came with you suggested my mother’s life be ended with a draught of hemlock. You interceded on her behalf. Is that not so?”
“Your mother lives because it is God’s will she do so.”
“That may be, but Iulius said after you were alone with my mother, she was changed.”
“I spoke with her.”
“Only spoke?”
Hadassah was grateful for the veils that hid the heat that rose into her face. Unlike what she had done with Phoebe, she knew she could never show her face to Marcus. She would rather be sent back to the arena than have him look upon her scars with the same revulsion she had seen in the faces of others.
“I cast no spells, nor did I utter incantations,” she said, thinking it answered the question behind his words.
He held up his hand. He could sense her increased tension but could not fathom the reason for it. “I’m making no accusations, Azar. I’m merely curious. I like to know something about the people in my household.”
She was quiet a moment. “I knew when I looked in your mother’s eyes that she was aware. She heard what was being said and understood. She was afraid and in great distress over her condition. I think she would’ve drunk the hemlock Alexander offered gladly for no
other reason than to spare others the responsibility of her care. I simply told her what she already knew.”
“What she knew? What was that?”
“That God loves her, my lord, as she is. And she’s alive for a reason.”
Marcus ran his hand along the edge of the writing table, his thoughts in turmoil. He wanted to know more about this woman. “Iulius tells me you were very well known in Ephesus.”
Hadassah said nothing.
“Why did you give up your position?”
The cold abruptness of his question surprised her. “I chose to be with your sister.”
“Just like that. Why did you change your name?” The question came out harder than he intended.
“Because I am not Rapha. Jesus is the healer, not I,” she said, telling him what she had told Alexander and hoping he would better understand it.
“And Azar is your real name?”
“Azar means ‘helper.’ That’s the position I hold and all I hope to be.”
He caught the careful way she answered. “Why did you choose Julia?”
“I can’t answer that, my lord.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I know I’m where the Lord wants me. I do not know why he wants me here.”
He frowned darkly, for her words struck him on the raw, bringing back the conviction he had felt in Galilee. God wanted him here also. With Julia. He rebelled against what more he knew God wanted of him.
“I suppose, in your opinion, God loves my sister too and has a purpose for her life, such as it is.” Before she could respond, he waved his hand. “You may go.”
As soon as she did, he rose in frustration.
Perhaps he only needed to get out of the villa for a while. He went out into the corridor.
“Do you want the litter, my lord?” Iulius said, seeing the cloak a servant handed him.
Marcus swung the garment on. “I feel like walking,” he said, fixing the gold brooch at his shoulder. “If Mother awakens and sends for me, tell her I’ve gone to the baths.” He strode to the door and yanked it open. He went down the steps and slammed the gate behind him.
He headed for the men’s club where he had spent much of his time before leaving Ephesus, thinking he might find distraction in renewing old acquaintances. The night air cooled his anger, and by the time he reached his destination, he was relaxed. He was greeted with surprised welcome, his back pounded by half a dozen men he knew.