The people drew back in fear, their whispers louder.
Atretes stared at her, awestruck. “You’re both speaking German.”
“Yes,” she said, eyes alight. “Yes! The Lord has given us the gift of tongues that we might bring the good news. Oh, Atretes, God is with us!”
Freyja recoiled inwardly at the words. Fear filled her as she looked from Rizpah’s shining face to Theophilus, who stood so calm beside her. She sensed power, terrifying, awesome power, and her hand tightened upon Atretes’ arm.
“You speak of repentance?” came a woman’s mocking voice, and silence fell again, heads turning. A current of deep emotion spread through the gathered crowd, and the people parted like a sea, opening a way before a beautiful young woman who stood just outside the door of one of the longhouses.
“Ania,” Atretes breathed in shock, his heart jumping.
Rizpah glanced at him, recognizing the name of his first wife, and her joy evaporated. Overcome by shock, she looked at the young woman, who was more beautiful and sensual than any she had ever seen. And young, so young, not more than twenty. How could this girl be his first wife? Long, flowing blonde hair curled about her face and shoulders and spilled down over her back to her waist. She was dressed in white like Atretes’ mother and wore a similar pendant. Her mouth curved as she walked toward Atretes with a singular grace that drew his attention to the lush, perfect curves of her body. Many bowed their heads as she passed by, but no one touched her as they had Freyja. The silence pulsed, and she didn’t stop walking until she stood before him. Her gaze drifted over him provocatively.
“Ania is dead,” she told him, her voice cool and melodious. “I’m Anomia. Do you remember me?”
“Her little sister,” Atretes said. He gave a surprised laugh. “You were just a child.”
Anomia arched one brow. “You’ve been gone eleven years, Atretes. You’ve changed, too.” She lifted a slender hand with long, elegant nails and placed it lightly over his heart.
Rizpah saw his eyes flicker in reaction.
Theophilus watched Anomia, feeling the darkness within her like a palpable force repelling him. As though sensing his perusal, she turned her head slowly and looked straight at him with cold, opaque blue eyes. Without blinking, her gaze drifted smoothly from him to Rizpah. She smiled contemptuously, dismissing her, and gave Atretes her full attention again.
Theophilus looked at his friend’s face. It was clear to anyone looking that Atretes felt the potency of Anomia’s seductive charms.
Heart sinking, Rizpah prayed fervently that God would give her husband discernment and wisdom—as well as the strength to avoid temptation.
Anomia laughed softly, basking in her power. “Welcome home, Atretes.” At last, at long last . . . the way to what she had always wanted was standing before her.
33
“We will talk,” Varus said and dismissed the villagers with promises that Atretes would speak with them on the morrow. He gestured toward the great longhouse built of rough-hewn timber and smeared over with clay so that it looked as though it had been painted with colorful designs.
Almost as an afterthought, Atretes turned to Rizpah and put a protective arm around her. He nodded to Theophilus to go ahead of him. Freyja and Anomia entered the dwelling first, followed by Varus. Marta and her husband, Usipi, entered last with their four children.
Rizpah was surprised at the immensity of the house and even more surprised to hear cattle lowing within. The long rectangular building stretched out before her. The front portion, where the family lived, was simply furnished with benches, beds, and chairs covered with otterskin. The greater part toward the back was divided into stalls for the cattle, horses, and pigs. The ceiling was high and beamed with rough-hewn timbers. It was warm and permeated with the strong odor of manure.
Varus poured a sparkling gold fluid into a horn. “Beer!” Atretes said, laughing and removing his arm from Rizpah as his brother offered him the horn. He drained it. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he let out a gusty sigh of contentment.
Anomia sat in an otterskin chair, her elegant hands resting gracefully on the carved arms. She looked like a queen reigning over her subjects as she watched Atretes with a catlike smile.
Atretes glanced at Theophilus and saw he was empty-handed. He looked at Varus coolly. “Is it no longer a Chatti custom to show a guest hospitality?”
“He looks like a Roman pig to me.”
Rizpah’s heart stopped at the insulting words. Atretes went rigid beside her, his face flushing with anger.
“Theophilus is my friend.”
Varus frowned.
“You don’t deny he’s Roman?” Anomia said smoothly, stirring the currents of animosity. “Have you forgotten so easily what Rome has done to your people? To you?”
Atretes glanced at her and then returned his hard gaze to his brother. “Three times this man saved my life. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.”
Rizpah put her hand on Atretes’ thigh, thanking God that he hadn’t forgotten everything in his joy of being among his people again. Atretes put his hand over hers as though to reassure her and make a proclamation. Anomia’s eyes narrowed at the gesture.
“Then we are all thankful to him,” Freyja said, instilling more warmth into her voice than she felt. She came close and crouched down before Rizpah. Holding her hands out to Caleb, she smiled. “May I hold my grandson?”
“Of course,” Rizpah said, drawn to her. She released her son, but Caleb turned in her arms and clung to her, hiding his face between her breasts. Embarrassed, she spoke softly to him in Greek, trying to ease his fears.
“He doesn’t speak German?” Anomia said in disdain.
“No,” Atretes said. “I was the only one who spoke German until this night.”
“How very odd,” she said with the faintest inflection of skepticism.
Rizpah stroked Caleb’s hair and felt him relax. She turned him around in her lap so that he faced his grandmother. When Freyja spoke to him again, Caleb pressed back.
“Give him to her,” Atretes said impatiently, and when Rizpah started to comply, Caleb began to cry. Freyja shook her head and rose.
“No, Atretes. I’m no more than a stranger to him now,” she said, her eyes moist with tears. “Let him come to me of his own accord and in his own time.”
Rizpah ached for her.
Eyes cold, Varus waved his hand and watched as a horn was filled and handed to Theophilus. A slave girl served Rizpah a small goblet of wine sweetened with honey and herbs. Varus limped to a large otterskin chair and sat down. Glaring at Theophilus, he rubbed his crippled leg. “How is it you owe a Roman your life, Atretes?”
“Once, aboard ship, he blocked a sword blow that would have killed me. The second time, he pulled me from the sea when I was unconscious. The final time, he got me out of Rome before Domitian could send me back into the arena.”
“We saw you taken and thought they would sacrifice you in a Roman triumph,” Usipi said.
“The Roman commander sold me to a slaver who dealt in gladiators,” Atretes said grimly. “They chained me into a wagon and took me to Capua.” He could almost feel the brand they had burned into his heel in that foul place. The beer turned sour in his mouth. Grimacing, he rolled the empty horn between his hands. “I fought in Rome and then in Ephesus. I earned my freedom there.”
“It’s a testimony to the power of Tiwaz that you’re still alive,” Anomia said.
Atretes gave a cold, derisive laugh. “Tiwaz deserted me long before I reached Capua. All your god offers is death.”
“Atretes!” Freyja said, astonished that he would speak so and dare the powers that had sustained their tribe’s very existence.
“I speak the truth, Mother. Tiwaz is powerless compared to Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God. Tiwaz can kill. Christ raises the dead.” He looked at Theophilus, his eyes fiery with excitement. “Tell them!”
“Tell us nothing, Roman,” Anomia said, in a v
oice cold with authority.
Incredulous, Atretes looked at her again. His face reddened with anger. Who was this girl to speak thus in his own home? “Theophilus will speak and you will listen or leave.”
“You are no longer chief of the Chatti, Atretes,” she said smoothly, in complete control. “You no longer command.”
Atretes rose slowly. Anomia merely smiled, seeming almost pleased to see his anger flaming higher.
“You’re in my home, Anomia,” Freyja said.
Anomia turned her head. “Do you wish me to leave?”
It was a quiet question, spoken in feigned surprise, but Rizpah felt the atmosphere grow cold. She sensed the subtle challenge.
Freyja raised her chin in grave dignity. “He is my son.” She put her hand over the pendant she wore, meeting Anomia’s cool look with studied intensity.
Anomia gave a nod. “So he is.” She rose gracefully from the thronelike chair. “As you wish, Freyja.” She looked at Atretes again, noticing with satisfaction the way his gaze moved down over her body and back up again. He was a man of earthly passions, and those passions could be used to cloud his thinking and serve her purposes. She smiled at him.
Atretes watched her leave. The sway of her hips conjured lustful thoughts and roused strong memories of times with women in the cold stone ludus cell. He frowned, disturbed, then turned and sat down again. Varus was staring after Anomia with hungry eyes, his gaze lingering on the door she closed after herself.
“Isn’t she a little young to be a priestess?” Atretes said dryly.
His mother looked at him in faint warning. “Tiwaz chose her as a child.”
“She’s a seer?”
“She hasn’t experienced visions as I have. Her gifts lie in sorcery and the black arts. Pay her respect, Atretes. She has great power.”
“You mustn’t challenge her,” Marta said, clearly frightened of the younger woman.
“She hasn’t the power of God,” Atretes said disdainfully.
“She has the power of Tiwaz!” Varus said, his emotions still running high.
“Our people revere her as a goddess,” Freyja said, her slender hands loosely folded on her lap.
“A goddess,” Atretes snorted. “You want to hear of power? Rizpah was killed by Mattiaci warriors. I watched her die, Mother. With my own eyes.” He saw their doubts, felt them. “If there’s one thing I’ve seen in plenty the last eleven years, it’s death.” He pointed to Theophilus. “This man laid his hands upon her and prayed in the name of Jesus Christ. I watched her awakened from death. The wound sealed. I swear on my sword, it’s the truth! Nothing I have ever seen in the sacred grove matches Jesus Christ. Nothing even comes close!”
Filled with anxiety, Freyja stared at her son. What was it about this name, Jesus, that made her insides shake? “There are many gods, Atretes, but Tiwaz is and has always been the only true god of our people.”
“What has Tiwaz brought the Chatti other than death and destruction?”
Marta gasped, eyes wide with fear. Even Usipi drew back. Varus’ eyes flamed.
“You must not speak so,” Freyja said. “You offend our god.”
“Let him be offended!”
“Atretes,” Theophilus said softly.
He ignored the appeal for silence, giving vent to his rising anger. “Where was Tiwaz when our people cried out to him in battle against the Hermunduri? In your father’s time, Mother, did the Chatti win the battle for the river and salt flat? No. The Hermunduri butchered us. They almost wiped us out, by your own telling. Where was Tiwaz then? What power did he show? Where was this great god when Father and I fought against Rome? Did he or Dulga or Rolf or a hundred others achieve victory over the enemy? No! They fought valiantly and died while crying out the name Tiwaz. And I was put in chains!”
“Enough!” Varus said.
Atretes ignored his brother, his gaze riveted to his mother. Her face was stark white. Atretes calmed, regretting his harshness, but he would not be silenced. “I believed, Mother. I was his disciple. You know of my devotion. I bled for him and drank the blood from the sacred horn. I sacrificed. I killed for him and proclaimed his name aloud in every battle I fought from Germania to Rome to Ephesus. And all I’ve ever known is death and destruction. Until seven days ago.”
Varus stood. “You are here and alive by the power of Tiwaz!”
Atretes looked at him. “Not because of Tiwaz, brother. Jesus Christ kept me alive so that I could come home with this man and this woman and tell you the truth!”
Varus’ face reddened. “What truth? The truth this Roman has fed you?”
“You doubt my word?” he said in a dangerous tone.
Varus, incensed, still reeled with jealousy over the way Anomia had looked at his brother. “You’re a fool if you believe what any Roman says!”
“Enough,” Freyja said.
Atretes rose.
Rizpah grasped his arm. “Atretes, please. This isn’t the way.” He shook her hand off and stepped forward.
Freyja stood between her sons. “Enough, I say! Enough of this!” She held her hands out. “Sit down!”
The two men sat slowly, glaring at one another.
“Atretes has been gone for eleven years, Varus. We will not quarrel on his first night home.”
“He will bring a curse upon us with his talk of forsaking Tiwaz!”
“Then we will speak no more of gods this evening,” she said, giving Atretes a look of anguish and appeal.
Atretes wanted to convince them and glanced at Theophilus for help. Theophilus shook his head slowly. Annoyed and feeling deserted, Atretes glanced at Rizpah, expecting encouragement from her. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed. Their silence angered him. Shouldn’t they be proclaiming the name of Jesus Christ? Hadn’t they done so the moment they arrived? Why were they silent now? Why weren’t they shouting the truth for Varus to hear?
“Please,” his mother said, beseeching him, “no more quarreling tonight.” She had waited so many years to see her son again, expecting peace to follow, and within an hour of his arrival home, her family was at war within itself. She looked at Rizpah, beautiful and dark. What of the vision all those years ago? Had she been wrong?
“As you wish,” Atretes said, mouth set. He gestured impatiently for one of the slaves to fill the horn again. When it was, he held it between both hands. He let out his breath and glanced at his brother. “Are you chief?”
Varus’ mouth curved bitterly. “With my crippled leg?” he gave a harsh laugh and looked at Theophilus. “I’ve Rome to thank for it.” Atretes saw hatred as dark and violent as his own had ever been.
“Rud leads,” Usipi said when Varus volunteered no further information. “And Holt stands as his under-chief.”
“They are good men,” Atretes said. Though older than he, both men had been loyal to him in the past. “I didn’t see them outside.”
“They left a few days ago to meet with the Bructeri and Batavi chiefs,” Usipi said, mentioning two tribes that had been allied with the Chatti against Rome.
“Another rebellion?” Atretes said.
“The Romans burned our village last year,” Usipi said. He started to say more but Varus gave him a quelling look. Usipi ruffled his son’s hair and fell silent. Varus made a point of glancing at Atretes and then looking straight at Theophilus before he drank from his horn. They would not discuss Chatti matters before a Roman.
Theophilus knew enough from past experience with Germans to see the way of things. These men had more courage and pride than common sense. Domitian lacked the military glory of his father, Vespasian, now dead, and his brother, Titus. He lusted for any opportunity to prove himself. If the Chatti were foolish enough to join with other tribes and start another rebellion against Rome, they would play right into Domitian’s hands. He wanted to warn them, but held his tongue. Anything he said now would merely rouse further suspicions.
He had come for one purpose: to present the gospel of Jesus. Before he could war
n Atretes, the man had taken the sacred bull by the horns, proclaiming Christ with all the grace and love of a warrior slashing his blade. It would take a long time to overcome the damage done this night.
Caleb slid from Rizpah’s lap and toddled over to a cousin not much older than himself. Plopping down before the little girl with blonde braids, he flapped his arms and let out a gusty cry. Marta laughed.
Freyja turned the conversation to the children and then on to the simpler things of life. They reminisced about better times, retelling stories about Atretes’ childhood. The laughter lessened the tension. The slaves kept Varus’ and Atretes’ and Usipi’s horns full. Theophilus set his own aside. He was well aware that Germans like their beer and mead. He had been told once by a fellow centurion that some tribes debated only after they were so drunk they were incapable of pretense, but reserved their decision making for a time when they were sober.
Rizpah felt Freyja studying her and smiled at her mother-in-law. Though the woman was high priestess for a pagan god, Rizpah did not feel the misgivings she did when she had looked upon Anomia. She saw no enemy when she looked at Atretes’ mother. She saw instead a woman who was deceived by a cunning adversary.
Lord God of mercy, help us to open her eyes.
“Sunup comes early,” Usipi said. “The burning is over and we’ve fields to plow.” He embraced Atretes. “We have need of you,” he said quietly, his words full of hidden meaning. “We’ll fight as we did in Hermun’s time.” Marta gathered the children, who didn’t want to leave Caleb. She kissed Atretes and let him hold her for a moment, then followed her husband from the longhouse.
Varus rose. Supporting himself with a walking stick, he made his way to a sleeping bench. “Let the Roman sleep in a stall.”
Atretes took offense, but it was too late. Varus sat heavily on his sleeping bench and fell back. Freyja covered him with a blanket. “You can sleep over there,” she told Theophilus, nodding toward a far corner.
“A stall will do, my lady.” He took up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Pushing open the gate dividing the animal shelter from the family’s quarters, he entered the corridor.