“I hoped you’d never ask certain questions,” she said, her voice choked with tears. She searched his face. “I’m sorry the truth hurts you so.”
Anguish filled him, twisting his insides. And anger, too, though at what or whom he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he felt other than at war with himself and with what she had just told him. But some things were very clear.
“Do you know what they do to women like you in Germania?” he said hoarsely. “They shave off their hair and throw them in the bog. That’s the quick way. Most of the time, the girl’s father or husband cuts off her nose and whips her. If she survives, she’s cast out of the village and left to fend for herself.”
Rizpah said nothing. Caleb crawled back to her and sat at her feet, flapping his arms happily. “Mama . . . mama . . .” She bent forward to pick him up.
“Don’t touch him!”
She flinched and drew back slowly, her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes shut. Caleb started to cry.
Atretes scooped him up, knocked some tasseled cushions from the couch, and set him among them. Momentarily distracted, Caleb was content.
“How many others know about your past?” Atretes demanded, pacing again.
“Everyone in the church of Ephesus.”
He stopped and stared at her, the muscles in his face jerking.
“Were you proud of it to tell so many?”
Her eyes welled with tears. “No! I shared my testimony when I accepted Christ, and then whenever the Lord called upon me to do so.”
“Why?”
“To help others find their way out of the same kind of darkness I lived in.”
Anger surged through him. “Why did you tell me? Why in Hades did you tell me now?”
“You asked. I said I’d never lie to you,” she said very quietly.
“Better had you done so!”
“Better for whom?”
“What am I supposed to do about it?”
Dear Lord, is this what it comes to? She looked into Atretes’ blue eyes and saw death staring back at her.
“What do you expect me to do now that I know all about you?”
God, still my trembling heart. He’s hurt and angry, and it’s within his rights to take my life. Your will be done. I will trust you. I will trust Caleb to your keeping. Only, Lord, please . . .
“Tell me!”
“You’ll do whatever you feel you must.”
Was she challenging him? Did she dare? Atretes drew his dagger from his belt and crossed the room. He caught her by the throat and pulled her to her feet. “What I must.” Her eyes flickered and then became calm, accepting. When his fingers tightened, she didn’t raise her hands to defend herself. “What I must.” He could feel her pulse racing beneath his thumb, but she made no plea.
Unbidden, the memory of his last meeting with Julia came to him. She had been hysterical, clinging to him, swearing the child she carried was his. Had she not been pregnant, he would’ve killed her for being unfaithful. Later, he had told Hadassah that even if Julia laid the babe at his feet, he’d turn and walk away, even knowing the child was his.
Lies, lies . . . Julia, Rome, all the rest, lies.
He looked into Rizpah’s dark eyes and knew she had told him the truth about everything. “I will never lie,” she had said shortly after arriving at the villa in Ephesus. No matter the cost.
He saw no fear in her eyes, only sadness. She stood before him, her life in his hand, and said not a word in self-defense. “I will give you a solemn vow, Atretes. I will never lie.” His heart beat faster. One thrust of his dagger and it would be finished. Or he could squeeze. . . .
The palm of his hand grew clammy with sweat. “I should kill you.” The room was silent except for his own harsh breathing.
“I deserve death. I know that. A hundred times over.”
His chest tightened at her words and at the look of grief in her eyes. His mind filled with the faces of men he had killed.
“It’s by God’s grace my life is different,” she said.
He let go of her. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, trying to deny everything she had told him.
“I’m sorry, Atretes,” she said, trying not to cry and make it worse for him. “I never thought the choices I made mattered. My mother was dead. My father . . .” She lowered her head. “I didn’t care what happened. It was painful enough staying alive without thinking about how I did it. But I was wrong, so wrong.”
She put her hand on his arm. When he drew back sharply, she tensed instinctively, expecting a blow. His eyes narrowed darkly and he stepped back, his hand clenched.
Whatever he meant to do to her, she had to finish.
“Jesus shed his blood so that I could be cleansed of what I’d done. He forfeited his own life for every one of us, forgiving us all our sins. He opened a new path for any who choose to take it, and I did. And I will continue to do so, no matter the cost. I cling to Christ with all my heart. And I won’t let go.”
Atretes remembered Hadassah standing in the corridor of the dungeon. “Though he slay me . . .”
“He offers you new life, Atretes,” Rizpah said, “if you but receive it.”
All her concern seemed to be for him rather than herself. “So, like this unseen god of yours, I’m supposed to forget everything you’ve done. I’m supposed to forgive?”
“You won’t forget any of it any more than I can,” she said quietly. “Remembering how I lived and what I allowed myself to become makes me that much more grateful for what Jesus has done for me.”
“I’m happy for you,” he said with a sneer. “But don’t expect anything from me.” The dagger felt like lead in his hand. He slipped it into the sheath tucked in his belt. “I forgive nothing.”
The muscles in her face jerked, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t protest or argue or plead, all of which he’d expected her to do. “I need to think what I’m to do now,” he said flatly.
“What about Caleb?” she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
“Wean him. Starting now.”
She closed her eyes, and he saw his words had been harder to bear than any blow he might have given her.
He went to the door. “Don’t leave this room. Do you hear me? If you do, I swear by Tiwaz, I’ll hunt you down like a dog and kill you.”
* * *
Theophilus returned and found Rizpah sitting on the floor, Caleb asleep in her arms. He could tell things hadn’t gone well with Atretes. “Where is he?”
“He was here earlier and then left.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
She shook her head.
Considering Atretes’ disposition, the German might do any number of things to get himself into more trouble. Get drunk. Pick a fight with some Roman soldiers. Or worse. He’d find himself a harlot and spend the night with her, very likely breaking Rizpah’s heart.
“I’ll take you back to the baths.”
“Atretes told me to stay here.” Her voice broke and she looked up at him bleakly. “I told him about my past. I told him everything.” Her eyes welled and spilled over. “Everything.”
“God help us.” He knelt down beside her and put his arms around her, feeling her body shaking with sobs.
25
Atretes wandered the streets of Grosseto until he found an inn at the northern end of town, far from the fort and legionnaires. He ordered wine and sat at a back table. It was a mean place, a far distance from the fort, which drew dockworkers and wagon drivers who wanted quantity rather that quality in their drink. They were loud and profane, but no one bothered him.
Rain pounded the roof, adding to the din. He drank heavily, but couldn’t seem to drive what Rizpah had said from his head.
Liar, thief, harlot.
He kept seeing her eyes, dark with grief as she told him. She bore no resemblance to the person she had described. She had left all she knew to go with him to Germania for his sake and Caleb’s, and not once complained over the physic
al hardships. She had saved his child from death. She withheld herself from him despite his efforts to make her compromise her morality.
Liar? Thief? Harlot?
He groaned, pounding his fists on the table.
The place grew quiet and still. He lifted his head and saw everyone was staring at him. “What are you looking at?” They turned their backs, pretending interest elsewhere, but he could feel the tension in the room. No doubt they thought him mad. He could feel the hard, heavy beat of his heart, the heat of his blood. Maybe he was mad.
He ordered more wine. It was brought quickly by the proprietor himself, who didn’t dare make eye contact before departing. Atretes filled his goblet and clutched it in his hand.
What was he supposed to do about what Rizpah had told him? In Germania, he would have killed her. It would have been demanded of him by the elders. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it and veered off from why he reacted that way.
Liar, thief, harlot. It kept repeating in his mind.
He buried his face in his hands. And what was he? A butcher of men.
He wanted to go home, home to Germania! He wanted to go back to the life he had known before he had ever heard of Rome. He didn’t want to think about anything else. He wanted life to be simple again. He wanted peace.
But was life ever simple? Had he ever known peace of any kind? From the time he was old enough to hold a knife and then a framea, he had been trained to fight. He had gone to war against other German tribes who entered their territory and then against the Romans who thought to enslave them. And hadn’t they?
Ten years he had lived with their hand around his throat, fighting for his life, all the while entertaining them.
Shoving the stool back, he got up and headed unsteadily for the door. The rain was pounding outside. As he went out, he stumbled over something and heard a soft groan. Swearing, he braced himself against the door frame and looked down. Someone small and thin scrambled out of his path. A young girl. She huddled against the wall, staring up at him with wide, dark eyes. Her face was pale and thin, her dark hair tangled and unkempt. He judged her no more than ten or twelve and grimaced at the dirty rags she wore.
“I lived where I could. Under bridges, in crates near the dock, in doorways . . .”
He shut his eyes and opened them again, thinking his wine-sodden brain had concocted Rizpah as a child. But the girl was still there. She was shivering violently, whether from cold or fear, he didn’t know. Perhaps both.
When he moved, she cowered back, seeming to grow smaller before his eyes. “I won’t hurt you,” he said and took a coin from the money pouch in his belt. “Here. Buy something to eat.” He tossed it at her.
She tried desperately to catch it, but her cold fingers wouldn’t close around it. The precious coin dropped with a small plunk into the muddy puddle. With a soft cry of despair, she dropped on her knees in front of him and felt around in the mud trying to find it.
Atretes stared down at her, his heart twisting in disgust and pity. No human being should live like this, especially not a child! He shut his eyes again and saw Rizpah on her hands and knees in the mud.
“Did I sell myself? Yes. When I was so hungry and cold I didn’t think I could live through the night.”
The girl’s weeping was like salt on an open wound.
“Leave it,” Atretes said gruffly. Hungry and desperate, she paid him no heed. “I said, Leave it!” She scrambled back again, frightened. When he stepped toward her, she raised her arms to ward off a blow. “I won’t hurt you.” He took another coin from his pouch. “Here.” She didn’t move. “Take it.” He held it out. She looked into his face and then at the coin. “Take it,” he said quietly, as though coaxing a frightened, hungry animal with a morsel of food. Still distrustful, she watched him warily while her muddy fingers closed around it. “Hang onto it this time.”
“An aureus,” he heard her say as he walked into the rain. “You give me an aureus! The gods bless you, my lord. Oh, the gods bless you!” she said, weeping.
Atretes kept walking, hardly feeling the cold wind. The effect of the wine gradually lessened, making him feel even more raw. He reached a narrow bridge crossing a stream just north of Grosseto. The sky lightened as dawn came. He was tired and depressed. His head was pounding.
He wondered if Rizpah had stayed in the room the way he had commanded her or if she’d gone to the baths. Considering what she had told him and his frame of mind when he’d left, he could expect her to be gone by the time he returned.
What about his son?
What a fool he was! He headed back into the town.
Roman legionnaires passed him. The sound of their hobnailed sandals made his muscles tighten. He saw the gates of the fort. The tabernacles lining the street in front of it were opening for business. There were things he had wanted to buy yesterday, but he doubted they’d be necessary now.
The inn was quiet when he reached it. He strode along the corridor and stopped at the door of their chamber. He put his hand on the latch and then paused. Instead of going in, he stood outside, listening, tense. There was no sound from within. It was well past dawn. So much for her obedience! Swearing under his breath, he opened the door and entered. He’d rest before he went looking for her.
Rizpah was standing near the window. She turned, relief filling her face. “You’re all right! Thank God.”
She still wore the same torn, dirty tunic. She hadn’t even washed her feet. “You didn’t go to the baths.”
“You said to stay here.” When he said no more, she walked to the couch and sat down, her knees too weak to hold her.
He wondered if she’d been standing at the window all night, waiting for him. She looked it. He turned away from her, disturbed by the emotions churning inside him. She hadn’t run away. She’d done as he commanded and waited for his return.
No matter the cost.
He looked around and saw Caleb wrapped in a blanket and sleeping comfortably among the pillows he had tossed on the floor the night before.
“Where’s Theophilus?”
“He went out to look for you a few hours ago.”
He looked at her again and knew that whatever she had been, she was someone else now. He couldn’t see that other person in her, no matter how hard he tried. And he knew something else. He trusted her. It was a piercing realization and one that filled him with a sense of peace such as he hadn’t known in years. He didn’t care what she’d been; he knew what she was.
“You never killed anyone,” he said simply. Nothing she had done to stay alive was worse than what he was.
His words amazed her, for in them she knew he exonerated her for everything she had done. Thankfulness and joy filled her and then softened as she realized he had also revealed something deep and dark and painful about his own life. He condemned himself. She rose and came to him. “Your sins are no greater than mine, Atretes. The Lord doesn’t measure the way man does. He—”
“We won’t talk of any of it again,” he said and stepped by her.
She turned, watching him cross the room and pick up the wine pitcher. Finding it empty, he swore and set it down. He looked around, distracted, undecided, restless. She’d never seen him look so tired and drawn. “Rest, Atretes,” she said gently. “We’ll continue on when you’re ready.”
He stretched out on the larger couch and put his arm up behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, his body tense.
She took a blanket from her couch. He studied her as she came to him, taking in each feature as though he had never seen her before and was trying to read who she was by the way she looked. She put the blanket over him. He caught her wrist as she started to turn away.
“You said there was a room at the baths where you could wash in private.”
“Yes,” she said, heart racing.
He let her go. Removing his belt, he dropped it with the money pouches on the floor beside the couch. “Take what you need and go. Take Caleb and bathe him as well.??
?
She was taken aback with surprise. “Th-thank you,” she stammered softly, wondering silently at his reasons. Was his decision a test or sign of trust? Either way, what did it matter? She knelt down and took a few copper coins from the pouch. Rising, she went and picked up Caleb from the pillows. Opening the door, she glanced back and saw Atretes watching her.
“We won’t be long.”
There were few patrons at the baths in the morning and most were women with children. For a second copper, a bath attendant washed her tunic while she bathed with Caleb. He loved playing in the water. When she finished, she rubbed the scented oil on her skin and scraped it off with the strigil.
On the way back to the inn, she used the last few coins to purchase enough bread and fruit to feed them all. Water would have to do for she hadn’t enough money to buy wine, but then, perhaps Atretes had had his fill the night before.
She entered the room quietly, certain that Atretes would be asleep. He wasn’t. He lay on the couch as she had left him. Theophilus had returned as well and was asleep on the couch nearest the wall. Atretes relaxed as she entered the room. He moved, making himself more comfortable, and fell asleep even as she watched.
A test, she thought and wanted to brush the hair back from his face.
Rizpah longed to sleep as well, but there was Caleb to tend. Having slept all night, he was wide-awake and in a mood to play. She made sure there was nothing on the floor or within reach to harm him and sat with her back against the door, trying to keep watch. Caleb was content, entertaining himself among the cushions.
* * *
The tot’s baby chatter awakened Atretes. Rolling over, he watched his son push a cushion across the floor. Sunlight streamed in the window revealing an hour well past noon. Rizpah lay curled on her side against the door. Atretes studied her, taking pleasure in the sight of her. He rose and crossed the room quietly.
As he lifted her, he felt the slight dampness of her tunic from having been washed the night before. He laid her on her couch and stood over her, letting his gaze take in every curve and plane of her body. He curled a strand of dark hair around his finger, rubbing it between his fingers. To look at her, no one would guess she’d lived in the streets of a city like Ephesus, stealing and trading her body to stay alive. She looked young and unsullied. He let the strand of hair uncurl. She shivered slightly, curling on her side. He looked for her blanket and realized she had given it to him.