As Sure as the Dawn

  Sertes became more direct. “One should be very careful about insulting the wrong Roman.”

  “I’ve learned many things during my captivity, Sertes. Even Caesar himself is afraid of the mob. And as you well know, the mob still loves me.”

  “You are also wise enough to know that the mob is like a fickle woman. Stay away from her long enough and she’ll forget. Besides, what the mob wants most is to see you fight again.”

  Atretes said nothing, but Sertes saw that the words had struck a raw nerve. Good. As he went down the steps with Atretes at his side, he saw a young woman with a baby, walking in the sunshine of the barren courtyard before the villa. At first, he thought it was Julia Valerian and was surprised. His spies had reported the relationship ended some months ago. They’d also informed him that Julia Valerian had been carrying a child rumored to be fathered by Atretes. He had ordered his spies to watch the house until the birth. They reported the child had been cast upon the rocks to die. A pity. Had the child been Atretes’ and lived, it might have proven very useful.

  Pausing, Sertes stroked his chin and watched the young woman with open interest. She was small and very nicely curved. She glanced their way. His smile broadened. She turned away again and disappeared around the corner of the building. “You always did have an eye for beauty.” He cast Atretes an amused glance. “Who is she?”

  “A household servant.”

  Sertes sensed Atretes’ annoyed withdrawal and wondered about it. He glanced in the direction the woman had gone, curious. “And the child? Is it yours?”

  “The child is hers.”

  Sertes said no more, but a seed of speculation had been planted in his fertile mind.

  * * *

  Rizpah turned and saw Atretes striding toward her. She knew he was angry. Everything about him exuded his foul mood. Shifting Caleb in her arms, she sighed, wondering what she had done to displease him now.

  “You’re not to leave the villa unless I order you to do so!”

  “You wish to make your son a prisoner, my lord?” she said, striving for calm.

  “I wish to protect him!”

  “As do I, Atretes. I’m within the walls.”

  “You will stay in the villa!”

  “What possible harm can come to Caleb out here? You have guards—”

  “Woman, you will do as I say!”

  Her hackles rose at his imperious tone. The man was impossible! She had never taken well to being commanded to obedience. Shimei had always dealt with her in a more gentle fashion than this thick-headed German. “If you are reasonable, I will obey. In this case, you aren’t.”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Press me, and I’ll throw you right out that gate.”

  She looked straight back at him. “No, you will not.”

  Hot color flooded his face. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because you’re as concerned for Caleb’s good health as I. I don’t know why you’re so incensed, Atretes. You watched me walk Caleb around the yard yesterday and the day before and had no objections. Today you look like a melon ready to burst.”

  Atretes struggled to hold his temper. She was right, which only maddened him further. He had watched her yesterday and the day before, and he’d found pleasure in doing so, possibly for the same reasons Sertes had just enjoyed watching her. She was beautiful and full of feminine grace. He seethed now. She knew, for the sake of his son, he couldn’t throw her out the gate. His hands sorely itched to throttle her. He had seen the look of speculation in Sertes’ eyes before he left.

  Rizpah saw the conflicting emotions in his face, anger overriding everything else. She should have handled things differently. She should have sealed her lips and gone into the villa and chosen a better time to state her opinions. She sat Caleb on her hip. “What’s happened that you think it necessary to keep Caleb in the confines of the villa?”

  Atretes watched his son grasp the front of her tunic, pulling it slightly. “It’s enough that I command you.”

  “Must we go through this again?” she said with strained patience. “Has it something to do with the friend that was visiting with you?”

  “He is no friend! His name is Sertes, and he’s editor of the Ephesian games.”

  “Oh,” she said. “He came to talk you into fighting again, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned. “Did he succeed?”

  “No.”

  She sensed there was something very serious behind his anger and not just the pique of a man’s pride. “You must tell me where the danger lies. I seem to have blundered and don’t know how.”

  He saw no other way to convince the stubborn woman but to tell her the truth. “If Sertes could find a way to force me to fight again, he would do it. He asked who you were. I said you were a servant. He asked about him.” He nodded curtly to his son.

  Her heart began to race as she sensed the danger. “And?”

  “I said the child was yours.”

  She let out her breath, her mouth curving ruefully. “That must have choked you.”

  “You think the situation amusing?” he said through his teeth.

  Rizpah sighed. In another moment, he wouldn’t be able to think clearly through the red haze of his rising temper. “No,” she said calmly. “I don’t think it’s amusing. I think it’s very serious and I’ll do as you say.”

  Her capitulation took him off guard. Speechless with frustration, Atretes watched her walk away. She went around the side of the villa. Still hungry for a good fight, he went after her. She was entering the back door of the villa when he caught up with her. Hearing him, she glanced back. “Would you like to play with your son for a while?”

  He stopped just inside the doorway. “Play?” he said, taken aback.

  “Yes, play.”

  “I haven’t time.”

  “All you have is time,” she said and entered the bath chamber.

  “What did you say to me?”

  She turned to face him. “I said, all you have is time. You’d enjoy playing with Caleb more than running around in the hills, jumping over rocks, or spending hours in your gymnasium lifting weights and terrorizing your guards.”

  A hot flush came over his face.

  “Here,” she said. Before he could think of a retort burning enough, she handed him the baby.

  His rage evaporated in a wave of alarm. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to find some clean linen. Caleb’s soaking through those wraps.” Hiding her amused smile, she walked away.

  Atretes grimaced. He could feel the dampness seeping through his fresh tunic. When his son began nuzzling his chest, Atretes held him away. “He’s hungry!” he shouted after her.

  Rizpah stopped beneath the archway. “Be at ease, Atretes. He’s not that hungry.” She laughed, and the musical sound floated around him in the marble-tiled chamber. “Besides, I doubt he’ll draw much blood. Not until he has teeth.”

  Alone with his son, Atretes paced nervously. Caleb squirmed and looked ready to cry, so Atretes held him close again, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. He found it ironic that he had faced death hundreds of times and never been reduced to the sweating fear he felt now holding a baby—his baby.

  Caleb’s tiny pudgy fingers grasped the ivory chip hanging from a gold chain around Atretes’ neck and stuffed a corner of it into his mouth.

  Scowling, Atretes tugged the gold chain and ivory chip, which declared his freedom, from his son’s mouth. He tucked it quickly out of reach inside his tunic, muttering under his breath about women who deserted their babies. His son’s lip quivered.

  “Don’t start crying,” he said gruffly.

  Caleb’s mouth opened wide.

  “By the gods, not again,” Atretes groaned. He winced at the howling wail that came forth. How was it possible for such a small child to make so much noise? “Very well. Eat it!” he said, pulling the chain out from beneath his tunic again and dangling it temptingly before his son
. Still whimpering, Caleb grasped the chip and gummed it.

  Atretes carried his son over to a massage table and placed him on it.

  “Rizpah!”

  Her name echoed off the marble, muraled walls around him. Startled, Caleb lost hold of the chip again and screamed. Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Atretes unwound the soiled wraps and tossed them in a heap near the wall. “You need a bath, boy. You stink.” He picked him up and carried him into the pool. Caleb stopped screaming as he felt the warm water of the tepidarium swirl up around him. Gurgling happily, he grabbed the chip again and pounded it against his father’s chest, splashing water into Atretes’ face.

  Supporting the babe under the arms, Atretes held him away and dipped him up and down in the water. Caleb squealed with delight, fists hitting the water. Atretes’ mouth softened and tipped up on one side. He studied Caleb as he splashed. The babe had Julia’s dark eyes and hair. Frowning, he wondered how much more of her was in him.

  Rizpah stood in the archway, linens draped over her arm. “You called, my lord?” she said sweetly. She came to the edge of the pool and watched him wash Caleb. She laughed. “He’s a baby, Atretes, not a soiled garment.”

  “He needed a bath,” Atretes said.

  Rizpah felt on fire with embarrassment when Atretes walked up the steps out of the pool, for the wet linen tunic molded Atretes’ body. Though he seemed not the least concerned at how much was revealed, she was unnerved. She looked quickly away and studied the muraled walls, scarcely realizing what the pictures depicted.

  Caleb didn’t like the cool air as much as the warm water and began fussing again. “Take him,” Atretes said, holding him out to her.

  Tossing the linens onto her shoulder, she did as he asked, relieved to be distracted. She kissed Caleb’s wet cheek. “Did you have a nice bath?” she said, laughing at his chuckle. She bounced him gently as she headed for the massage table.

  Atretes stood watching her. He had noted her discomfort when he came out of the pool as well as the way her gaze was quickly averted from his body. He recalled her embarrassment the day she fed the baby, too. The woman seemed to be an odd combination of contradictions: fiery and rebellious, unafraid to challenge him, and yet thrown into painful embarrassment by the sight of a man’s form. He frowned as he watched her.

  Her voice was soft and sweet. She laughed and leaned down, letting Caleb grab her thumbs. Kissing his chest, she blew air into his belly button. The baby gave out that funny chuckle again. Mouth curving, Atretes walked over to watch his son kicking and waving his arms happily. Rizpah ignored his presence and talked to the baby the whole time she swaddled him in linen, but as she lifted Caleb, she glanced up at him. Her expression held awareness.

  His pulse jumped and, with it, his mistrust. He’d seen beautiful dark eyes like hers before.

  Rizpah was disturbed by the intensity of his look, for it touched her in some instinctive elemental realm. When his gaze moved downward over her, she felt a rush of warmth. She drew back a step, holding Caleb against her like a shield. “You will please excuse me, my lord,” she said, eager to take Caleb and escape those predatory eyes.

  “No, I will not.”

  She blinked. “My lord?”

  “Take him into the triclinium.”

  “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  She hesitated, uncertain as to his motives, distressed by the emotions stirring within her.

  “Do I?” he said again, eyes narrowing.

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then do what you’re told.”

  Why must he use that tone with her? “Caleb is ready to be fed and put down to rest,” she said, trying to keep calm.

  “He can do both in the triclinium.”

  Seeing he had no intention of relenting, she carried Caleb out of the baths. The inner corridor was thankfully cool. She entered the lavishly furnished triclinium and sat down on a couch. Caleb fell asleep as he nursed. She wrapped her shawl around him and placed some cushions around him. Her hands shook as she folded them tightly in her lap and waited.

  Lagos entered. “Lady Rizpah!” he said in surprise. Since being admitted to the household, she had taken her meals in the servants quarters. What was she doing in the master’s dining room?

  “Atretes ordered me here,” Rizpah said, seeing the question in his eyes.

  “Oh.”

  Her nerves tightened as though the Spirit within her warned of the battle to come. “Why do you say it in that tone, Lagos?”

  “No reason.”

  “He wants to spend more time with his son.”

  Lagos could not imagine Atretes bouncing a baby on his knee, but said, “Of course,” to set her mind at ease. He had seen Atretes standing on the balcony overlooking the yard when Rizpah was taking the baby out for air. Silus and Gallus had also noticed and remarked on it. They made bets as to how long it would be before Rizpah warmed Atretes’ bed.

  Rizpah watched him tidy the pillows. “Say something, Lagos.”

  “What would you have me say?”

  “You know him better than I.”

  “I know him hardly at all, but what I do know is that he’s unpredictable and dangerous. And he has only one use for women.”

  “You talk as though he’s an animal.”

  “Not far from it,” Lagos said grimly.

  “He’s a man, Lagos. Like you. Like any other.”

  Lagos gave a nervous laugh. “Not like me, and not like any man I’ve ever known. He’s a barbarian gladiator, and believe me, Lady Rizpah, that’s as close to an animal as you can get.”

  They both heard Atretes’ footsteps. Rizpah put her hand protectively on Caleb; Lagos went to the archway and greeted his master. “Would you like your meal served, my lord?”

  Atretes looked across the room at her. “Are you hungry?” he said dryly.

  “Not very.” In truth, she wasn’t hungry at all. Lagos’ words had destroyed what little appetite she’d had.

  “Bring wine,” Atretes said, dismissing Lagos.

  Feeling his gaze on her, Rizpah took up Caleb and held him close, comforted by the warmth of his small body.

  Atretes looked at the way she held his son cradled tenderly on her thighs. “It’s occurred to me that I know very little about you,” he said, reclining on the couch opposite her and studying her face.

  Even when he relaxed, Rizpah sensed the alertness about him.

  “What happened to your husband?”

  Surprised and dismayed by the question, she said, “He died.”

  “I know he died,” Atretes said with a cold laugh. “You wouldn’t be a widow had he not. What I want to know is how he died.”

  She looked down at Caleb’s precious face, stilling the pain rising inside her. Why must he ask about such things? “My husband was struck down by a chariot,” she said softly.

  “Did you see it happen?”

  “No. He was on his way to work. Friends brought him home.”

  “He didn’t die right away?”

  “He died a few days later.” The memory of those days was still deeply etched into her heart.

  Atretes looked at her pale profile and was silent a moment. Clearly these memories were painful to her. Or was it pretense? Lagos brought in a pitcher of wine. “Leave,” Atretes said tersely. Lagos set the tray down quickly and departed. Atretes continued staring at Rizpah. He sensed he had probed open wounds. “Did you ever find out who was driving the chariot?”

  “I knew on the day it happened. The man was a Roman official.”

  “I wager he didn’t even stop.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Atretes’ mouth curved slightly. “It seems we share a common hatred of Romans.”

  His observation caused swift remorse. “I don’t hate anyone.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She paled, wondering. Hadn’t she overcome her feelings about what had happened? Was she still harboring anger against the man who carelessly cost
the life of a man for whom she cared deeply. Lord, if it be so, cleanse me of it. Search me and change my heart, Father. “It’s not the Lord’s will that I hate anyone.”

  “The Lord?”

  “Jesus, the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

  “Hadassah’s god.”

  “Yes.”

  “We will not talk of him,” he said, dismissing past, present, and future on the subject as he rose from the couch. He poured wine into a silver goblet. A second goblet was on the tray, but he offered her nothing.

  “It’s the one thing I would wish to talk about with you,” she said quietly.

  He slammed the pitcher down so hard she jumped. Caleb awakened and started to cry.

  “Pacify him!”

  She lifted Caleb to her shoulder and rubbed his back. He cried harder.

  “Make him stop crying!”

  She rose, distressed. “May I have your permission to leave the room?”

  “No!”

  “He’ll go back to sleep if I nurse him.”

  “Then do so!”

  “I can’t! Not with you staring at me!”

  He glared at her from across the couches. “You bared your breast for him in the kitchen four nights ago.”

  Heat flooded her face. “The circumstances were different,” she said tightly. Besides, she had been covered, her back to him.

  “How so? He was screaming then and he’s screaming now!”

  “Stop shouting!” She was immediately ashamed of her outburst. The wretched man brought out the worst in her! Apology sticking in her throat, she paced on one side of the room. She was so angry she was sure her milk was curdling into lumps of cheese. Caleb screamed louder.

  Atretes paced on the other side of the room, his face rigid as he glared at her. “By the gods, woman. Sit down and give him what he wants!”

  Shaking with frustration, Rizpah plunked down. Presenting her back to Atretes, she set about tending the baby. The shawl was wrapped around Caleb and she needed it to drape over herself for modesty. Her hands shook as she removed it.

  She let out her breath as Caleb began nursing and the room fell silent. She heard the scrape of metal against metal and knew Atretes was pouring himself more wine. Did he intend to get drunk? He was intimidating enough when sober. She didn’t even want to think what he would be like reeling from too much wine.