A simple timber structure was erected over the sunken room, the superstructure comprised of a gabled framework of slanting poles tied to a ridge pole that was held aloft on six uprights. The walls were made of rough-hewn planks, the roof was covered with thatch, the floor was beaten clay.
The grubenhaus smelled of clean, rich earth. It was cool inside now, but she knew in the winter with a small fire burning, it would be comfortably warm.
“What do you think?” Theophilus said from the doorway above and behind her. Startled, she glanced back at him. He rested one arm against the lintel and leaned down, smiling at her.
“It feels more inviting than Varus’ longhouse.” She immediately regretted her remark. She hadn’t meant to criticize.
As she came outside into the sunshine, Theophilus took Caleb from her and lifted him in the air, jiggling him and getting him to laugh. She smiled as she watched him play with her son. Atretes was so busy arguing with his kinsmen, he had no time for Caleb.
She noticed the dressed rabbit Theophilus had spitted and set over the fire.
“A good, fat one,” Theophilus remarked. “Stay and share a meal with me.”
“I’d love to stay, but share with Caleb. I’m not very hungry.”
He assessed her face and saw she was deeply troubled. “Things aren’t going well?”
“Well enough under the circumstances, I suppose,” she said evasively and saw his look. “He’s sharing the gospel. In fact, he’s shouting it to the very rafters. And Varus and the others shout right back about the power of Tiwaz.” She sat down and rubbed her temples. “He’s not listening to them. They’re not listening to him. No one’s listening to anyone or anything.”
“God works through people in spite of their shortcomings, beloved, and often through them.” He put Caleb down and gave him a pat on the behind.
She looked up at him bleakly. “I want to believe that, Theophilus, but when I watch Atretes and listen, I can’t see the difference between him and all the others, except that I love him. I wish he would bridle his tongue.”
Caleb sat down beside her and played with the grass. She ran her hand tenderly over his dark hair as she went on. “Varus and the others are stubborn and proud and fierce beyond all reckoning. So is Atretes. There are times when he looks ready to grab Varus by the throat and throttle him if he won’t believe in Jesus as Lord.”
“I’ve felt that kind of frustration before.” Theophilus grinned. “It was a long road to Germania.”
She smiled. She remembered as well—far better than he—and she didn’t want to see Atretes revert to the kind of man he had been.
Her head was aching. She rubbed her temples again. “It took a miracle to change Atretes’ mind about Jesus.”
“Miracles are happening around us every day, Rizpah.”
She rose, agitated. “You know the sort of miracle I mean. It would take the sun going down at noon to convince these people.”
“Sit,” he said gently, and she did so.
“Atretes hasn’t changed, Theophilus. He’s as angry now as he ever was. I’ve never seen a man so determined to have his way. And if he does, he’ll drag his people kicking and screaming into the kingdom of God, whether they want to be there or not.”
Restless, she got up and turned his rabbit.
His mouth curved in amusement as she sat down again. She was full of nervous energy. If she’d been in the army, he would have ordered her to run it off.
“Do you remember when you told us the Word of God is the sword of truth?” she said.
“I remember.”
“Well, Atretes has taken that to his heart. He slashes at his kinsmen with words. He batters them mercilessly with the truth. The gospel has become a weapon in his hands.”
Theophilus sat and clasped his hands between his knees. “He will learn.”
“After he’s driven these people back into the arms of Tiwaz?”
“They never left.”
“And this will make them want to leave? I fear for all of them, Theophilus. I fear for Marta and the children. I fear most for Atretes. He’s on fire for the Lord, but what of love?” She wondered sometimes if Atretes was more concerned with saving his pride than saving souls.
“What have you to fear, Rizpah?” Theophilus asked quietly. “Do you really think God’s plan will collapse over the frailties of one man’s temper?”
His quiet calm stilled the riotous thoughts whirling in her head.
She knew what he was really asking. Did she believe God was sovereign? Did she believe God had a plan for Atretes and her and these people? Did she have faith enough in Jesus to believe he would complete the work he had begun?
One question stood before her, stark and simple: Where lies your faith, Rizpah? In others? In yourself? Or in Me?
Tears pricked. “My faith is weak.” O Lord, my God, I’m such a poor vessel. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Why do you put up with me?
“You have what God has given you.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Who knows better than God what you need, beloved?”
She raised her face, letting the sun warm her. She wanted to hold onto his words, hold them tight. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “In the mornings, when we all pray together, Atretes is so calm. He’s happy. In the morning, I believe nothing will stop the Lord from fulfilling his purpose in our lives. I’m filled with assurance and hope.”
She looked at her friend, wishing she were more like him. “It’s later, when I listen to all the angry shouting, that I wonder who’s really in command.”
She looked up at the blue sky and the drifting white clouds. “Sometimes, I wish Jesus would come back now, this minute, and set things right. I wish he’d shake the earth and open all their eyes to Satan’s schemes. Then Varus and Freyja and Marta and all the rest who live in fear of Tiwaz would know.” She thought of the look on Marta’s face. The poor woman was afraid and ashamed. “I wish they could see Jesus and all his majesty and glory coming down from heaven. Then they’d know Tiwaz is nothing. Then they would be free.”
“Not everyone who saw the signs and wonders Jesus performed was convinced he was the incarnate Son of God.”
“Atretes was convinced.”
“Atretes was ready to be convinced. Someone had planted the seed before you met him.”
“Hadassah.”
“He was hungry for Christ. Miracles are no guarantee faith will follow and never more important than the message of salvation.”
“Yes. We wait and hope. And we pray.”
He smiled and said nothing.
She sighed. “Patience has never been one of my virtues, Theophilus.”
“You’ll learn.”
“It’s how I’ll learn that concerns me sometimes.” She gave him a wistful smile. “Don’t you wish Jesus would come back now and save us all this trouble?”
“With every breath I take.”
She laughed. “Thank God I’m not alone. I have an idea. Why don’t we build a house honoring the Lord and go inside and close the doors and never come out again.”
Though she jested, he saw the desperate unhappiness in her eyes. “What light can shine from a closed house, beloved? God wants us in the world, not hiding from it.”
Her smile fell away, her own frustration revealed. “Atretes isn’t hiding. He’s standing in the center of an arena again, lashing out at any who oppose him. He lambastes brother, kinsmen, and friends alike.” She waved her hand toward the village. “When I left, he was in the midst of a yelling match with Varus about the peace of God and what it could mean to the Chatti. Peace, Theophilus. How will they ever understand when this is the way he tells them?”
“He will learn, Rizpah. He will learn. We need to be patient with him.”
“As he’s patient with them?”
“No, as God is patient with us. Contrary to what you’re thinking right now, Atretes shouldn’t be your first concern. Our first obligation is to the Lord.”
> “I know, but . . .”
“You know, but are you acting according to what you know or what you feel?”
She sat down, feeling bereft. She had always been quick to speak and slow to listen. It was one of her failings, like Atretes’ quick, hot temper and long, seething memory.
Theophilus stood and turned the rabbit. “Look upon Atretes as a child in faith. He’s learning to walk by faith, the way Caleb learned to walk on his two legs. Remember how he stumbled and fell over and over at first. Sometimes he hurt himself. He was clumsy. He went where he shouldn’t go. And often he cried in frustration.” He straightened and nodded his head toward the sunny meadow. “Look at him now.” Caleb was toddling happily after a butterfly. “Every day, his feet are more sure.”
He smiled at her. “We’re the same way. We’re learning to walk with Christ. It’s a process, not a finished act. We make a decision for the Lord and are saved, but it doesn’t end there. We have to apply ourselves diligently to our own sanctification. What Scripture I know, I’ll give to you. You apply God’s Word in day-to-day practical living. The truth itself will witness to these people.”
“But look around you. There’s so much here that is contrary to what God tells us is right.”
“Our work isn’t to change the way these people live. It’s not to fight against a pagan idol any more than it’s for Atretes to try to beat into their heads a belief in Christ. Our work is to devote our own lives to pleasing God. It’s that simple. We’re to devote our efforts to learning to think as God thinks, to see ourselves and others through his eyes, to walk as he walked. That’s our life’s work.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t correct Atretes?”
“Gently. In private. And only if he’ll listen.”
“I’ve tried. I have things straight in my head and then I open my mouth and it comes out wrong. Sometimes, even when I have it right, he takes it wrong.”
“I’ve talked with him, too. And I rest in this: The Holy Spirit will work within Atretes without our help, perhaps in spite of it.” Unless Atretes ever decided to silence the still, quiet voice that had called him in the first place. Theophilus prayed unceasingly that would never happen. “Atretes is faced with a greater battle now than he ever faced in an arena.”
Rizpah knew and wanted to weep. “He’s losing the battle,” she said bleakly. God, hasn’t he had to fight enough?
Theophilus watched her stand and catch up with Caleb. She took a rock out of his mouth and tossed it away. Wiping the dirt off his face with the hem of her shawl, she spoke to him gently, gave him a pat. She smiled as he headed for the mound of dirt Theophilus had piled up while digging out the grubenhaus, good rich dirt he would spread soon in order to prepare a field for planting.
She returned. It was a warm day, and yet she drew her shawl around her shoulders. “Atretes doesn’t listen to me anyway.”
“He listens. More important, he watches. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had his eyes on you.”
She gave a short laugh. “Not because I was a Christian.”
His grin made her blush. “True, he watched you with less than honorable intentions in the beginning, but what he saw was a beautiful young woman practicing her faith. Your walk with the Lord has had an impact upon him. It’ll continue to have impact.”
“My walk has been less than perfect, Theophilus.” How many times had she said words she regretted?
“That’s why I’m reminding you. The sin we need to be concerned about is the sin in our own lives. It’s the root of all human woe, the source of anguish. Let God deal with Atretes.”
She rose and caught up with Caleb again, bringing him closer.
When she came back again, he could see his words were troubling her. “He doesn’t seem to see what he’s doing. Or what’s happening around him. Anomia has such influence over these people. Varus hangs on every word she says. She has no fear of God at all, not even of Tiwaz, whom she worships.”
Theophilus was well aware what Rizpah was saying was true, but he didn’t want to talk about the young priestess.
“God speaks to these people every day. The Chatti are from the same root stock as we are. They’re descendants of Adam and Eve. Look around you, beloved, and rest assured all creation proclaims God’s glory to them. And even when they resist, even when they refuse to see, the Lord gave them another gift besides: a conscience.”
Theophilus leaned forward, intent to set her mind at rest. “Atretes’ conscience knew his inner motives and true thoughts before he was redeemed by Jesus and received the Holy Spirit. No matter how hard he tried to justify himself and his actions, the conscience God gave him wouldn’t allow it.”
He nodded toward the sacred wood. “Have you watched Freyja? Really watched her? She struggles against the forces holding her. She’s troubled by them. There’s no rest for her. Just as Atretes suffered his demons, she suffers hers. His conscience warned him instinctively of God’s judgment and hell to come, just as hers warns her now. His conscience tormented him because he had sinned, just as hers is doing now. Sin produces guilt.”
“But neither of them is responsible for what’s happened to them. It wasn’t Atretes’ fault he was made a gladiator.”
“Everything we do, we do by choice. Circumstances don’t alter right and wrong.”
“They would’ve killed him.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? You know they would have, and he’d have died unsaved.”
His mouth curved wryly. “You’ve seen Rolf. I should be dead right now. I assumed I would be dead when I stepped into the circle with him. I assumed it was time for me to die for the Lord. Rolf is younger, stronger, quicker, smarter. I had no shield the night I faced him, and God told me to get rid of my sword. Who prevailed?”
“You did.”
“No, Rizpah.” He smiled tenderly. “God prevailed.”
He took the rabbit from the spit and called Caleb to come eat with him. Rizpah watched him cut the rabbit in pieces and peel some of the meat away from the bone to cool for Caleb. While he waited, he played with the child as easily as he talked with her. Watching the man, her heart swelled with love for him.
Lord, what would we have done without him? Father, we never would have made it if you hadn’t sent him to us in Ephesus. Why can’t Atretes and I be more like him? The evidence of his faith radiates to everyone around him. My faith is paltry at best, and Atretes drives people away. O Lord, what would we do without Theophilus’ wise counsel?
And even as she thought these things, a sharp inexplicable pang of fear struck her.
She could feel the darkness closing in around them, trying to obliterate the light.
38
Atretes left the longhouse, blood pumping hot and fast with anger. If he’d stayed another minute, he would have pummeled his brother and taken on the rest. Let God rain brimstone on their heads! They deserved it.
He saw Marta sitting at her loom across the street and strode toward her. “Have you seen Rizpah?”
“She went along that way,” she said, avoiding his eyes, her face pale.
“Have you been crying?”
“Why would you think that?” Marta said, pushing the shuttle between the threads.
“Because you look it. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.” Her hands trembled as she worked the loom. She kept seeing the look on Rizpah face when she’d called Elsa and Derek away. Surprise. Hurt.
She felt ashamed.
“Is she with Mother?”
“No.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Say it like what?” She tilted her head, defensive.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Marta.” Was she going to set herself against him also?
“Why not?” she said, her own emotions playing havoc. “Because you might start yelling at me, the way you’ve been yelling at Varus and Usipi and the others?” She stood up. “Don’t ask w
hat’s the matter with me, Atretes. What’s the matter with you?” She fled into her longhouse, weeping.
He stared after her, baffled and even more frustrated.
“She’ll be all right,” came a sultry voice from just behind him.
Turning his head grimly, he looked at Anomia. She was the last person he wanted to see right now.
She watched his gaze move over her as he turned and faced her. She had chosen her tunic carefully, well aware how the white linen fell smoothly against the lush curves of her body.
Atretes noticed. He couldn’t help himself. She savored the moment, breathing in softly, inhaling triumph. His eyes darkened in a telltale way. Good. She relished his lust, even more so because he fought his attraction to her. Let him fight it. His inner struggle would make the consummation so much sweeter. And fierce.
“We should talk,” she said.
“About what?”
So terse. His emotions were high. “I’ve been listening to what you’ve had to say. The god of whom you speak sounds . . . interesting.”
“Indeed,” he said dryly.
She smiled up at him. “Do you doubt me?”
“Should I?”
He was not like Varus, but that was good. Varus was boring, weak, and predictable. “Are you afraid to discuss this Jesus of yours with a high priestess of Tiwaz?”
His mouth tipped. “I’m still having trouble seeing Ania’s little sister as a high priestess of anything.”
She didn’t show how his words angered her. How dare he mock her like some foolish, weakling child? Concealing her true feelings, she pouted for him, feigning amusement. “Are you worried I might ask a question you can’t answer?”
His eyes flickered at the challenge. “Ask.”
“How can you or I be held responsible for what one man or one woman did thousands of years ago?”