An Echo in the Darkness

  What had he left her?

  Oh God, forgive me! Even as he prayed, he knew God was there . . . and he knew what he needed to do. Marcus entered the room quietly, unnoticed, but as he came closer, Azar lifted her head. Julia’s face was turned away. Azar let go of Julia’s hand and took up her walking stick and stood, drawing back for him to take her place. “Please don’t go,” Julia said, turning her head. Then she saw Marcus.

  He took the seat Azar left vacant for him. Julia’s eyes were dull and lifeless, utterly resigned to whatever came. He took her hand. “Julia, I was wrong,” he said huskily.

  Her mouth curved sadly. “No you weren’t.”

  “I said things in anger. . . .”

  “You have every right to be angry with me,” she said. “But let’s not talk of it ever again. I can’t talk about it.”

  He held her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry, little one,” he said, full of regret. He felt Azar’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and his eyes filled with tears.

  Julia curled her fingers around his. “Do you remember when I had the abortion, the first one in Rome? Calabah said it would be so easy, that once the problem of my pregnancy was over everything would be fine again. It never was.” She looked up bleakly at the ceiling. “Sometimes I find myself counting back and thinking how old that child would be today. I wonder if it was a boy or a girl.” She blinked back the tears.

  She swallowed convulsively and her fingers tightened in Marcus’ hand, clinging to him. “I killed my baby. As I killed Caius.”

  “What?” Marcus said softly, stunned.

  “I murdered him. Calabah gave me the poison, and I gave it to him in small doses so his death would seem natural.” She looked at her brother with haunted eyes. “But he knew what I was doing at the end. I could tell by the way he looked at me. It didn’t bother me until then, Marcus. And then I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

  She shook her head against her pillows, eyes tormented. “I kept telling myself it was justice. He was unfaithful to me with other women, not once but many times. He was cruel and evil. Do you remember when you came to me and asked if I’d slept with the Greek who owned the horses? I did. I did it to pay his debts. But mostly, I did it to pay Caius back for hurting me. He beat me for it. He would’ve beaten me to death if . . .” She closed her eyes, remembering how Hadassah had covered her and taken the blows.

  Marcus could see the rapid pulse in her throat. Her skin was white and beaded with perspiration. “It’s all right, Julia. Go on.”

  “She covered me.” Her eyes welled with tears that spilled over. “She covered me,” she whispered, amazed, as though she had just remembered the incident that had happened so long ago. Her face convulsed, and she looked away and said very quietly, “Did you know I told Hadassah to put Atretes’ baby on the rocks here in Ephesus?”

  She turned her head back again and searched his face. “You didn’t, did you? I’m full of terrible secrets, aren’t I? I loved him so much, and he hated me because I married Primus. I wished I hadn’t, but there was nothing I could do. Calabah made such terrible sense, but Atretes wouldn’t listen. When he turned from me, I wanted to hurt him, too, and I used my own child to do it. I used my own child. . . .”

  Marcus put his hand on her hair. “Hadassah wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

  “She told me my baby was a boy, a perfect baby boy, and I commanded her—”

  “She obeyed God above everyone and everything, Julia. You know she did. Your child lives. You can be sure of that.”

  The tears ran down the sides of Julia’s face, into her hair. “Oh, I hope so,” she whispered brokenly. “O God, please, I hope so. . . .” She drew in her breath, curling slightly on her side as pain gripped her. She wept softly, inconsolable.

  Azar mixed a mandragora into watered wine and held Julia so she could drink it. Julia relaxed slowly as Azar dabbed the perspiration from her forehead and murmured to her, touching her face tenderly. Sighing, Julia turned on her side and held Azar’s hand against her cheek.

  “She will sleep now,” Azar said and began to clean the room.

  Marcus could see Azar was exhausted, for as she gathered the clothes, her limp was more pronounced. He took her walking stick from her and set it aside. Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms. “As you will also,” he said and carried her to the sleeping couch against the wall.

  As he held her, he caught the subtle scent of her, and his heart began to pound heavily. She was slender and light, and he remembered catching Hadassah up in his arms once in the same manner. As he laid Azar down, he sensed her tension. The veil had shifted slightly, and he saw her scarred throat. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to gently touch her skin, and she stiffened, her hands flying up to press the veils to her face.

  Marcus drew back slowly, his heart racing. What was happening to him? “Azar . . . ,” he said hoarsely.

  “Go,” she said, her voice choked with tears. “Go away, please.”

  Marcus did as she asked, but rather than go to his own bedchambers for the night, he went downstairs again. Throwing a cloak over his shoulders, he went out of the villa.

  He had to know about her.

  Striding down the street, he headed toward the center of Ephesus. It was late, and crowds of people milled about, gathering on corners and in doorways to laugh and talk. He wove through them and kept going with purposeful strides. When he reached his destination, he pounded on the door with his fist. A servant opened it. “Office hours are—”

  Marcus pushed the door open and entered the antechamber. “Tell the physician Marcus Lucianus Valerian is here to see him on a matter of importance.”

  He paced the antechamber while he waited.

  Alexander entered, his expression cold. “Did Rapha send you?”

  “I didn’t come about my sister,” Marcus said and noticed Alexander’s eyes narrow. “I’ve some questions I’d like answered.”

  Alexander’s mouth curved wryly. “Questions about your health?”

  “Questions about the woman you sent to take care of my sister.”

  “I didn’t send her, Valerian. In fact, if I could have my way, Rapha would still be here with me!” With that, the physician spun and walked away.

  Undaunted, Marcus followed him toward the inner courtyard. Alexander turned to face him, eyes dark with anger. “Rapha is wasting her time on your sister. I told her that when we first saw her. There’s nothing she can do unless she can call down another miracle from God.”

  “Another miracle?”

  “You don’t even know what you have in your house, do you, Valerian?”

  “Then tell me.”

  “It began months ago when we were called to the house of an idol maker whose wife had been in labor two days. When I examined her, I knew the baby would have to be removed or she and the child would die. Rapha said no. She touched the woman’s abdomen. The child turned and came out. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers at Marcus. He gave a hard laugh. “Your sister called for us because she’d heard of Rapha’s reputation. She wanted a miracle, too. She didn’t get one.”

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “You’ve a singularly nasty way of speaking about Julia. Surely you’ve taken care of other women who’ve lived as freely as she has.”

  “More than I care to recount.”

  “And you commend them all to oblivion?”

  “Promiscuity has its own rewards.”

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed, and he considered the other man for a moment, then shook his head. “Your dislike of my sister goes far deeper than some generalized distaste for her lifestyle. It’s personal.”

  “I’d never seen your sister before the night Rapha and I were called to her villa. But even on short acquaintance, I found her to be one of the most self-centered women I’d ever met. Frankly, I was more than willing to leave her to her fate.”

  “But Azar had other ideas.”

  Alexander was silent for a moment. He wanted t
o strike Marcus, to call Rashid in to finish what he had tried to do with his treasured knife. But he knew both options were impossible. He was allowing his feelings to get in the way of his better judgment. He forced himself to answer calmly. “She didn’t like the fame she was receiving. People were beginning to look upon her as a goddess. She said God is Rapha, not her. That’s why she left.”

  “She could have gone anywhere. She could have left Ephesus all together. Why did she choose to attend my sister?”

  “Maybe she took pity on her, Valerian. Why question your good fortune? Your sister had no money. Rapha had more than she wanted.”

  “What?” Marcus said, stunned.

  “Rapha provided for your sister until you returned and moved her into your villa.” Alexander saw this information was new to Marcus and wished he had kept silent. “Money means nothing to Rapha. She gives it away as fast as she receives it.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would she help Julia?”

  “You’re never going to understand, Valerian.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know if I ever will.” How many people were there in the world who would give up fame and fortune to care for someone who had tried to kill them?

  After a moment, Marcus muttered in a troubled voice, “She reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  Alexander went cold, small prickles of apprehension licking up his spine. He studied Valerian’s face.

  “I know she comes from the district of Galilee,” Marcus said.

  Alexander’s dread grew. “How do you know that?”

  “I recognize the accent. And she’s a Christian.” He shook his head and glanced at Alexander, then frowned slightly at the look on the young physician’s face. The man was afraid! “You know something about her, don’t you?”

  Someone entered the antechamber. As the sound of footsteps came near the courtyard, Marcus turned slightly and caught a glimpse of a man in long, flowing white robes. The man halted and looked at him with unblinking dark eyes under a red burnoose with a black band.

  “You!” Marcus said, recognizing him as the man who had attacked him near the Artemision.

  Rashid drew his blade.

  “Put the knife away, you fool!” Alexander shouted.

  “Who is this man, Amandinus?” Marcus demanded. “And what has he to do with you?”

  “I am Amraphel Rashid Ched-or-laomer,” the Arab said coldly.

  Marcus assessed him disdainfully. “I suggest you inform me of the reason you tried to slit me open in front of the Artemision. Then you may attempt to do so again.” His eyes glittered. “But I warn you, I am not so easily murdered when attacked face-to-face.”

  “Rashid, don’t be a fool!” Alexander said.

  A dark, pulsating silence ensued as Rashid measured Marcus. Many young Roman men enjoyed the sport of training for hand-to-hand combat. Valerian was strongly built, and Rashid saw no fear in his eyes.

  “You do not respond?” Marcus mocked. He addressed his next words to Alexander who stepped between them. “Who is this man to you, Democedes?”

  “A hot-headed fool,” Alexander said, angry to be placed in this position. “Put the knife away, Rashid.”

  Rashid ignored the command. Valerian had recognized him. One word from Valerian and Rashid knew he would be dead. If not for his oath to Rapha, he would kill Valerian right now. “What does this Roman pig want?”

  “Answers! Now!” Marcus demanded imperiously. “Who is this man?”

  “He’s already told you,” Alexander said, angered by Valerian’s innate arrogance. Perhaps it was bred into Romans to think they could command anyone they chose. He fixed Rashid with a furious glare. “Have you forgotten your oath?”

  A muscle ticked by Rashid’s right eye. He glared at Marcus a moment longer and then slipped the knife expertly into the scabbard attached to his cloth belt. His hand remained lightly on the hilt.

  It was clear to Marcus that he wasn’t going to get any answers from Alexander. The physician stood by, looking between the two of them with an air of annoyance. “What have I to do with you, Ched-or-laomer?” Marcus said, directing the question directly to the stony-faced Arab.

  Black eyes burning like coals, Rashid stood contemptuous and silent.

  Alexander knew one slight movement on either’s part and one or both of them would die. “As Rashid is too stubborn to speak his mind, I’ll tell you he’s given his oath not to raise his hand against you again.” Alexander didn’t add the conditions upon which Rapha had gained that oath.

  Marcus was derisive and unconvinced. His look made it clear he thought Alexander was behind it.

  “Think whatever you will, Valerian, but I had nothing to do with his attack on you. Rashid has a mind of his own,” he said, glaring at the hard-faced Arab who had placed him in the untenable situation. Valerian had friends in high places. One word to the right ear and he and Rashid and Hadassah would find themselves in the arena. And this time, no one would come out alive.

  “As you found it necessary to extract an oath, you know more than you’re telling me,” Marcus said.

  “I know he’s blood minded and irrational! But that might be due to the fact that his Roman owner left him for dead on the steps of the Asklepion.” Alexander gave a brittle laugh. “It was my ill fate that Rapha chose him from all the rest to take back to the booth where I started my medical practice. We treated him there.” He gave Rashid a dark look. “Unfortunately, he lived.”

  “Not all Romans are contemptible,” Marcus retorted.

  “Have you ever owned an Arab?” Alexander asked to confuse the matter.

  “I’ve never in my life left a slave to die on the temple steps, nor would I. And to answer your question, no, I have never owned an Arab slave.” He gave Rashid a scornful look. “Nor do I ever intend to have one.”

  Rashid grinned coldly.

  “I told you it was a case of mistaken identity,” Alexander said to Rashid, hoping the fool would have the good sense to keep up the ruse. “Perhaps now, you’ll believe me.”

  “Should I accept the word of a Roman?” Rashid said.

  Marcus stepped closer. “What was the name of this owner of yours?”

  “Rashid is a freeman now,” Alexander said when it became all too clear Rashid had no intention of gracing Marcus with a response to anything he said.

  “By whose authority?” Marcus demanded, not turning his back on Rashid. “Yours, Democedes?”

  “By all that is decent and just! Should I save a man and give him back to the ones who very nearly caused his death?”

  Marcus was surprised at Democedes’ anger. It seemed far too intense, far too passionate. What reason had he for such depth of emotion regarding Romans and their slaves? He studied him, considering his words. “Do you make a habit of rescuing those who were discarded in such a despicable manner?”

  Alexander was grateful the subject had moved away from Hadassah, while disturbed that he must now defend his medical practices.

  “I needed patients on whom to practice my skills.”

  “Practice?” Marcus said with distaste.

  “Like most physicians, I despise the practice of vivisection,” Alexander said angrily. “This seemed my only other alternative for studying human anatomy. If one loses an abandoned slave, no one cares. When I did this, I chose carefully, treating only those I thought I could save. Either that, or challenging cases that gave me opportunity to try to affect a cure.”

  “How many of these experiments of yours died?”

  A muscle jerked in Alexander’s cheek. “Too many,” he said, “but fewer than would have if I hadn’t interceded. Perhaps you’re like so many others who don’t know what happens beyond your own private little kingdom. Anyone who’s observed the practices of the temple can tell you the priests only take in those whose chances of survival are good. They nurse slaves back to health in order to sell them and pocket the money. The rest of the poor souls left on the steps are abandoned by everyone. I’ve seen
a few who suffered with particularly repulsive diseases dispatched by the priests before dawn. That way their bodies can be removed before the crowds come with votive offerings.” His mouth curved cynically. “After all, it wouldn’t be good for business to have worshipers see so many dying on the steps of a temple honoring a god of good health and healing, would it?”

  “Is this how you found Rapha?”

  Alexander froze at the question. He thought quickly and saw a way to protect her identity while still telling the truth. “She was the first,” he admitted. “I’ve never since treated anyone so grievously injured. It was by the grace of God she lived at all, Valerian, not by my skills.”

  “What made you choose her then?”

  “She would say it was God. Perhaps it was. I just knew when I saw her that I had to do everything I could to keep her alive. It wasn’t easy. She suffered months of pain, and she’ll bear the scars of what happened to her for the rest of her life. That’s why she’s veiled, Valerian. Whenever someone saw her face, they turned away.” His mouth curved sardonically. “It’s an unfortunate trait of mankind, isn’t it? Most people don’t see past surface scars to the beauty within.” He stared coldly into Marcus’ eyes. “And some just want to satisfy their morbid curiosity.”

  Marcus’ eyes flashed. “You think that’s all there is to my being here, don’t you? That I want my curiosity satisfied?”

  “Isn’t it? Whatever mystery you think there is, Valerian, it’s in your own mind. Rapha’s reasons for covering herself are obvious and well founded. Anyone with half an ounce of decency would respect her wishes. It might be good for you to think of her feelings, especially since it’s Rapha alone who stands between your sister and the hottest fires of hell!”

  Marcus looked between the two men and knew he would learn nothing more here. He strode across the antechamber to the door.

  As it slammed, Rashid looked back at Alexander. “Do you think he believed you?”

  “Why shouldn’t he? I told him the truth.”

  “Not all of it.”