“Agabus dropped his hands because he didn’t want to fight with you.”
“He dropped his hands because he was afraid I’d kill him. I wanted him to know his faith isn’t a shield against anything.”
“Faith is all we have.”
“If that’s so, what kept me alive? I have no faith.”
“You live by faith just as we do, Atretes.”
“I don’t believe in the old gods anymore, nor will I ever hold to yours!”
She refused to be intimidated by his wrath. “We all live by faith in this world, faith in something. Your faith lies in yourself. Don’t you see? You think because you survived ten years in the arena you can go on surviving in the same way, with brute strength and a sword. Agabus and the others have chosen to believe in a power greater than themselves. Even when our faith is weak, God is our strength.”
He gave a dry laugh and looked out at the courtyard where others gathered in warmer camaraderie. He was free, and yet he still felt as though he had his back against a wall. Rizpah looked at his stony face and was saddened.
Why can’t I reach him, Father? Why does he refuse to listen?
“Atretes, someday, everything you’ve learned will be of no use to you.”
His expression was sardonic. “And you think the words they commit to memory will keep them alive?”
“God’s words will always prove true and right, no matter who questions them.”
Atretes saw in her what he had seen in Hadassah the night she spoke with him in the lower-level dungeons. She had far more fire than the slave girl, more passion, but they shared a common peace. Despite circumstance. It was the kind of peace he hungered for and knew he could never have. “At least you believe what you say.”
“So do they, Atretes, but they’re young and untried.”
“They’ll be tried,” he said heavily, “tried and then crucified.”
She was silent for a long moment, his words preying heavily on her heart. “Perhaps you’re right. They might die like so many others have. But you don’t understand the fullness of it, Atretes, or the rightness of it. Whatever comes, they will not be lost.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you think I am.”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes.”
Her bluntness always surprised him. He smiled in wry amusement, but his eyes were cold. “Geographically.”
Tangled in the shawl, Caleb cried loudly. Rizpah picked him up and sat him on her lap. She unwound the shawl from around him. When his legs were free, he kicked, wanting to be put down again. Spreading the shawl, she kissed Caleb’s neck and put him back on his stomach. He pushed himself up and gave a gurgling laugh. Smiling faintly, Atretes watched his son.
“We’re so much like Caleb,” she said. “You and I and all the rest of the world. We want to walk upright. We want to run. But we become entangled by our own will. We allow sin to bind us as strongly as any shawl around our son. And don’t we do the same thing he does? Cry out for help, each in our own way? Struggle and fail, in and of ourselves?”
His face was so still and enigmatic, she wondered if he could ever understand what she wanted him so desperately to know. “God lifts us up out of the mire, Atretes. No matter how many times we stumble and fall because of our own foolishness and stubborn will, Jesus is there holding out his hand to us. If we take hold, he removes the sin from our lives and sets us down again on solid rock. He is the rock. And gradually, through his tender mercies, he also transforms us into his likeness and brings us into the throne room of God.”
His expression revealed nothing. Nor did he say anything. Ignoring her, he watched Caleb play for a long time. He didn’t even look at her. She was filled with such frustration that she wanted to jump on him and pound the words through his thick skull.
He lay back in the straw and put one arm behind his head. “Take him and go.”
Letting out a soft sigh, she rose and did as he commanded.
* * *
Far into the night, Atretes lay staring at the beams above him. He had known his silence frustrated her, and frustrating her had given him some satisfaction. Yet her words continued to plague him. And he knew why.
A year ago, a dream had tormented him night after night in the hill caves outside Ephesus. He had been sinking into a bog, about to drown in it, when a man dressed in glowing white appeared. “Atretes,” he said and held out his hands to rescue him.
Both palms had been bleeding.
14
Theophilus came to the inn late that night and called everyone together. When Atretes remained in his booth, he made no comment.
“There’s a ship leaving for Rome the day after tomorrow,” he announced to the gathering. “It’s an Alexandrian freighter, fourth dock from the north end of the harbor. Stevedores are loading her now. I’ve arranged passage for all of us.” He tossed a pouch of gold coins to Bartimaeus. “Dispense the money so that all can purchase provisions for the journey.”
As the others talked among themselves, Theophilus took Rizpah aside. “Walk with me to the gate.” He glanced across the compound to where Atretes sat with his back against the post. The ex-gladiator watched the proceedings with cold intensity.
Tucking his fingers into his belt, Theophilus took out several gold coins. “Since Atretes is too bullheaded to take money from me, I’ll give it to you.”
Rizpah put her hand over his. “I appreciate your concern, Theophilus, but Atretes brought gold with him.”
He hesitated, perusing her face lest it be pride that held her back. It wasn’t, and he nodded. “Enough to get him to Rome anyway,” he said. “He must have left a vast fortune behind.”
“None of it counted against his desire to return home.”
Theophilus’ mouth turned up in a mirthless smile. “Of all the races I’ve faced in battle over my twenty-five years, I found the Germans the fiercest and the most determined to regain their freedom. They are an unrelenting people. The Jews are much the same, but Titus has almost succeeded in exterminating them. Those few who survived the holocaust in Judea have been scattered across the Empire.”
“The hunger for freedom is innate in all men.”
“With godly purpose. The trumpet of Christ blares, and by his grace, I heard. Pray to God that Atretes will also.”
“I do pray. Constantly.”
“No doubt,” he said and touched her cheek.
“Will it cost a great deal to make the journey to Germania?”
“More than he has on him. We’ll learn if he’s wise enough to accept help.”
Rizpah saw him out the gate. As she turned, she came up against Atretes.
“You had a lot to say to one another,” he said, his eyes almost black.
“Theophilus is a friend.” She was alarmed at the wrath she saw in his eyes.
“Your friend, perhaps. Not mine.”
“He could be yours, Atretes.”
“What did he give you?”
“He offered us money to buy provisions for the journey to Rome.” She saw his face harden. “I knew you wouldn’t want me to take it, so I didn’t.”
“I’ll purchase supplies tomorrow morning.”
“He said you haven’t enough to make the journey to Germania.”
“I’ll get what we need when we need it.”
Rizpah was dismayed at his tone. She had no intention of asking how he intended to do that.
“The next time you speak with him, tell him if he touches you again, I’ll kill him.” With those words, he strode out the gate, heading in the opposite direction of Theophilus.
Rizpah heard him pound on the locked gate long after dark. The proprietor let him in and she rose slightly, watching him cross the compound to his booth. He walked unsteadily and fell into the hay. She lay back, heart pounding in disquiet.
The next morning, as she knelt with the others in prayer, he rose and left the inn. Others noticed as well.
“Would you like to go with us to the marketplace?” Porc
ia said.
She declined, forcing a smile and confidence she was far from feeling. Had Atretes gone out to drink again? She prayed not. If he returned without having taken care of his responsibilities, then she would decide what was best to do.
She played with Caleb until he fell asleep and then lay down beside him in a beam of sunlight. The warmth felt good. She traced Caleb’s features lovingly, marveling at his perfection. Curling herself around him, she fell asleep with an inexplicable assurance that all would be well if she left Atretes and herself in God’s hands.
* * *
When Atretes returned, he found Rizpah asleep in the straw, his son snuggled against her. He stood for a long time just looking at her. It was a luxury he seldom was afforded. He wanted her in ways beyond the physical, ways he couldn’t even understand, and that fact filled him with unease. His weakness for dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties made him wary of this woman; he had the heavy premonition that she could cut his heart into smaller pieces than Julia ever had.
Annoyed, he put his burdens down. The thud and rustle of hay awakened Rizpah. Her brown eyes were cloudy as she sat up and brushed away curling strands of dark hair with the back of her hand. “You’re back,” she said and smiled.
His blood warmed even as his defenses rose. “Take a look and make sure we have all we need,” he said tersely.
Rizpah wondered how one man could remain angry so long over a trifle. She wanted to say something about Theophilus, but knew it would do no good. Atretes would choose to think what he wanted and protestations from her would only serve to make matters worse.
Atretes crouched down and watched as she opened a sack and sifted her fingers into a mixture of dried lentils, corn, beans, and barley. He had purchased dried fruit and some dried meat as well. She picked another pouch. “Salt,” he said. “That amphora contains olive oil. The other, honey.” He lifted the full skins from his shoulders and set them down more carefully than he had the others. “Wine. Watered, so it’ll last at least a week.”
She lifted her head and looked at him, her expression full of light. She was so lovely, his heart jumped. “You’ve done well,” she said and her simple statement of praise broke through the barriers he had painstakingly erected around his heart. Yet as the tender emotions swelled, so too did his inner cry of alarm.
Retreating into his fortress of anger, he glared down at her. “And that surprises you,” he said with biting sarcasm. “Do not doubt this, woman. I will get my son to Germania by my own resources and without help!”
Stunned and hurt, Rizpah watched him walk away and wondered what on earth she had done wrong now.
15
They boarded the Alexandrian freighter during the predawn hours. There were more passengers this time, one hundred fifty-nine in all, and deck space was precious. Several wealthy passengers had sent servants ahead, and they had set elaborate shelters and prepared beds for their masters, leaving little room for others who had wives and children.
Small sturdy crafts powered by half a dozen oarsmen attached lines and towed the ship from dockside into the deeper waters of the Gulf of Corinth. For two hours they sat becalmed, and then the wind came up. The sails flapped and filled, and the ship sailed down the wide passage toward Actium and the Mediterranean.
Camella was quiet and pensive as she watched her daughter talking with Rhoda.
“They’re very fond of one another,” Rizpah said, observing them as well.
“Rhoda’s never done anything to hurt Lysia. It’s only me she tries to hurt.”
“As you do her.”
Camella glanced at her sharply, feeling the gentle reprimand. “She succeeds.”
“So do you. You’re both very capable in that regard. It’s painful to hear, even more painful to watch.”
Camella grimaced and drew her blanket around herself. She leaned back, staring up at the sail. “I don’t know why we say the things we do,” she said wearily. “I don’t even remember when it started. Sometimes just the way she looks at me makes me want to slap her face.” She looked at Rizpah. “I made a mistake. I know it. I don’t have to be reminded of it all the time. She’s always watching me and waiting for me to do something wrong.”
“The same way you watch and wait for her to find fault.”
“That’s not fair!”
“It’s true,” Rizpah said gently. “One of you has to stop.”
Camella looked away again. “If I knew how, I would.”
“You’ve heard the Word of God as clearly as I have, Cam. Pray for her.”
“Easier said than done,” she said, so full of resentment there was room for nothing else.
“Empty yourself. Obedience to God is seldom a matter of ease, but it always brings blessing.” She picked Caleb up from his nap and went for a walk on the deck. It was cold. She far preferred the small tent shelter, but Camella needed time alone to think.
“Join us, Rizpah,” Rhoda said as she came near. Rizpah saw how her gaze flickered to the small shelter where her sister-in-law sat.
“I need some exercise,” Rizpah said, sensitive to Camella’s feelings. She didn’t want Cam or Rhoda thinking she was taking sides.
Agabus and Tibullus stood near the bow, talking to several passengers. Parmenas and Eunice were with Theophilus while their three children sat on the deck nearby playing a game of pick-up sticks. Niger and Bartimaeus were standing near the mast, talking together. Several soldiers sat gambling near the door to the hold. Timon and Porcia were struggling to work together and reerect their small tent shelter, which had collapsed. Mary, Benjamin, and Barnabas were nearby, playing in a coil of ropes.
Rizpah found Atretes leaning against the bulwark of the shipowner’s cabin, his arms crossed. He stared out at the southern hills, appearing not to hear a word Peter was saying to him. She debated joining them, then decided against it.
Others walked the deck. A swarthy Macedonian passed by her, and she was filled with disquiet at the way he assessed her.
Though the wind held steady, it was slow going down the Gulf of Corinth. The sun rose and fell several times before they sailed past Patrae and Araxos on the coast of Greece. Sailing out of the gulf, they headed west, passing by the southern tip of Cephalonia. Beyond lay the Ionian Sea.
One day rolled tediously into another until a ship was sighted. “It’s a two-banked hemiolia!” an officer shouted to the captain, causing general alarm to all those who were aware that such a ship was favored by pirates. “It’s heading straight for us!”
The ship, sometimes referred to as a one-and-a-halfer, was powered by rowers as well as under sail. It sped through the waters, while their own Alexandrian ship moved sluggishly, burdened by cargo and indifferent winds.
“It’s Illyrian, Captain, and coming fast!”
Passengers began to panic. Theophilus shouted for order and commanded the women and children get below.
“There’s no room!”
“Make room!”
“I was told the Roman fleet patrolled these waters!” one of the wealthy passengers shouted. “Where is it? Why aren’t they protecting us?”
“There’s a squadron out of Brundisium, but they can’t be everywhere at once. Now, move!”
Atretes watched the passengers scrambling for possessions while others ran for the portal to the ladder below. Theophilus was shouting orders. Men were cursing. Women and children were screaming. Two slaves carrying a small but obviously heavy trunk were pushing their way through the throng at the command of their master.
“Set up the catapults!” Theophilus was shouting, watching how the oars of the hemiolia rose and fell with speed and precision driving the ship through the water.
Atretes swore and looked around the deck for Rizpah.
“Peter! Where’s Peter?!” Porcia cried out as Timon pushed her and the three other children toward the portal to the cargo decks.
Atretes looked down at the boy by his side. “Go with your father!” he said.
“I want to
stay with you!”
Atretes gave the boy a hard shove in the direction of Timon and ran toward Rizpah, who was standing outside her tent shelter, staring in terror at the oncoming ship. She gasped in pain as he grasped her arm and yanked her toward the door of the owner’s cabin. The hemiolia was so close, Atretes could see armed men on the main deck. “Get in there and bar the door!” he said in a voice low with fury.
Atretes knew his dagger was no match for the battle that was coming and looked for a better weapon.
“Atretes!” Theophilus shouted and tossed him a spear.
A volley of arrows zinged over the narrowing span of water between the ships, one just missing his head. Others found their marks in the passengers still trying to get below. Screams of pain and panic rent the air. The captain shouted orders.
The line of oars on one side of the hemiolia went up sharply and retracted. The ship swung hard around.
Atretes’ heart constricted at what he saw.
“They’re outfitted with ravens, centurion!” a soldier shouted.
Theophilus had already seen the movable boarding bridges being rotated about the stump-mast set in the prow of the hemiolia. Beneath the outer ends of two he could see the sharp spike. If dropped aboard the Alexandrian freighter, the spike would penetrate and hold them fast. “Fire!” he commanded and the catapults were released, sending jars of oil across. They shattered on the deck at the same time the soldiers released a volley of flaming darts.
The hemiolia swung round and came hard against the Alexandrian. The blow rocked Atretes on his feet and sent screaming passengers down the ladderway. The ravens dropped, and Illyrians charged across, screaming war cries.
Rather than throw the spear, Atretes used it as a pugil stick. Giving his own war cry, he brought the end hard against the side of one Illyrian’s head and then came around to slice the throat of another. Dodging a sword, he rammed his shoulder into his attacker, knocking him backward into several others.
The crash of blade against blade echoed across the deck, as well as the screams of dying men. Leaping to the higher deck, Atretes felt a sharp sting along his right shoulder as an arrow shot by him. Enraged, he threw his spear, skewering a bowman and pinning him against a barrel.