A Stray Drop of Blood (5 page)

Abigail obeyed, slipped quietly from the chamber. And determined to return soon to ensure that her mistress’s thoughts did not lead to undue burden.

She headed for the kitchen, where Dinah was hard at work, as always. For a moment, Abigail paused to watch her. In so many ways, Dinah reminded her of Mother. The voice, the way she moved. And since Dinah had never had children of her own, she knew she had a special place in the woman’s heart. These moments in the kitchen beside her gave Abigail a feeling of home. Here she was an orphaned slave, but with two women who thought of her as a daughter. One she could work beside, one who could teach her.

Dinah pulled down a stack of clay bowls and started singing a psalm. Abigail moved into the room, joining her voice in the hymn. She had helped in here enough over the years to slip into the rhythm seamlessly. They finished the song together as they worked, then Dinah drew in a satisfied breath.

“
Did you hear any news in the marketplace today?”

“
Very little.” Abigail checked the bread dough. It had risen sufficiently, so she shaped it into loaves. “You know they stop talking when we come. Not that they do not like us, but they know we serve Romans, and I believe it is they that cause most of the grumbling these days.”

“
Yes.” Dinah rinsed some vegetables. “There is much unrest. Andrew mentioned that another rebellion was discovered and quieted just last week.”

“
I am glad that the master seldom has cause to be involved with such things. I understand our people’s cry for freedom, but at the same time, it is a good house we serve. Master is not a tyrant, even if Caesar is.”

Dinah laughed. “Speak like that in the markets, and you will be turned over to the high priest for treason.”

Abigail shared her smile. “Did Andrew mention who was leading this last uprising?”

“
No, I do not believe he knew. I suppose no one mentioned it today?”

“
No. The only thing of any interest was the gossip about that teacher.”

“
You do not suppose he could be a rebel, do you? Simon heard that some are calling him the messiah.” Dinah picked up a knife and began cutting the greens.

“
The news I heard about him has been more the complaining of the Sanhedrin than anything else. Apparently the man healed a cripple on the Sabbath or some such thing. Nothing to indicate that he is planning to free Israel from Rome.”

“
Yes, well, Simon also said he is preaching spiritual rebirth and salvation, of all things. As if the Law is not enough for us.”

Abigail retrieved a bowl from the shelf. “I have heard very little about him, to tell the truth. I suppose I will reserve judgement on the man.”

“
Mm. Oh, is Vetimus coming tomorrow?”

“
Yes,” Abigail replied. “I cannot wait to see little Claron again. The child gets more adorable every time I see him.”

Dinah smiled in response. “The poor thing. I hate seeing someone so small with such an illness. To think he will never run with the other boys–”

“
Do not bemoan his future yet.” Abigail borrowed Dinah’s tone for the reminder. “Perhaps he will grow out of it.”

“
Or perhaps that teacher will heal him.” Her tone was sarcastic, a reprimand for Abigail’s reprimand.

Abigail smiled. There were no words for a moment, just the methodic sounds of a busy kitchen. Dinah was the first to speak again. “I imagine Mistress and Master will be arranging your marriage soon.”

“
What?” Her hands stilled, and her voice sounded flat and incredulous to her own ears.

Dinah did not interrupt her chopping. “You will be in your fourteenth year in but a month. It is time for you to be a wife.”

“
But I am a sl–”

“
Surely you have caught on in the past years. Mistress did not want to procure a girl to serve here forever. She wanted a companion, a daughter that she could raise.” She finally stilled her hands and looked at Abigail. “She wants the best for you.”

Abigail had no response. Certainly she knew that most young women her age were betrothed or married. But the very thought of leaving yet another home, one where she loved and was loved in return . . . it did not bear thinking about. “I need to check on the mistress.”

It was the one excuse that Dinah would not argue with.

Abigail found her mistress exactly where she left her. She put a small hand on Ester’s shoulder. The woman sighed at the touch but did not alter her unseeing gaze.

“
It will be all right, will it not, Abigail? When my son returns, I will see that life has shaped him into a good man?”

“
Of course,” Abigail replied dutifully. “Come now, Mistress, let us get you changed. You are meeting Mistress Julia for the midday meal, remember?”

Ester sprang up. “I had forgotten! What would I do without you, Abigail?” She headed for her closet. “You go change yourself first. I will get everything ready in here.”

Abigail knew Ester wanted a few moments to gather her wits again, so she obliged. She went to her little room and lit the lamp, more than happy to slip out of the course tunic she wore to the markets–it was her own rule, not Ester’s, that she be seen as a slave by the populace–and into the fine, pale linen she wore at home. She knew that Ester would have a belt for her, as always.

Thinking of such things was far preferable to the topic that Dinah had planted in her mind.

~*~

Abigail followed Julia’s handmaiden up onto the roof of the general’s house. The two ladies were in the courtyard sipping their wine and had dismissed the girls to their own meals. Over the past years Abigail had become good friends with Elizabeth, a Hebrew girl a bit her junior whom Julia had purchased soon after her own arrival.

“
Did you see Julia’s necklace?” Elizabeth settled down with her bowl. “It is absolutely divine. I do not even recognize some of the jewels.”

Abigail nodded and took a bite of food, not bothering to reflect on the lack of respect her friend showed her mistress when out of her company. She would never refer to Ester by her given name to another. She deserved every morsel of respect Abigail could give her. As for Elizabeth–she could govern or not her own thoughts as she chose.

When Abigail made no other response, Elizabeth sighed and grew abnormally silent. Her food remained untouched. Then she said, “The general gave me as wife to Cleon a few days ago.”

Abigail was glad she did not have any food in her mouth. “Cleon? The kitchen–”

“
The only Cleon in the house.” Elizabeth pushed her bowl away. “The old and loyal servant who deserved a nice young wife since his died on the passage from Rome.”

Abigail was not sure what to say. “He is . . . a kind man.”

Elizabeth nodded reluctantly. “He is very kind, very gentle, and very dull. But I had hoped that when it came time for me to go to a man, it would be to someone more exciting.”

Questions filtered into Abigail’s mind, but modesty censored most of them. “Such as whom?”

“
The general.”

Again, Abigail was glad she had nothing to choke on. “What? Elizabeth, he is your mistress’s husband!”

“
I keep forgetting how innocent you are. Surely you, the one who has been taught the Law, know that all female servants are legally the wives of their masters if he so chooses. Why are you so surprised that I would hope for that?”

She fumbled for an argument. “Well, for one thing, the general is even older than Cleon–”

“
But a general, not a kitchen slave.”

“
He would never give you his whole heart.”

Elizabeth met her gaze, brown eyes meeting brown eyes as always, but with some new spark that Abigail did not like. When the younger spoke, it was more softly than usual. “Do not be naive, Abigail. Someone like us cannot hope for the heart of any man whose heart is his to give. A free man will never give it, and a slave’s belongs to his master. We are lucky if we can find favor in our master’s eyes. I have already been sold twice. I do not wish to repeat that again.”

“
I am sorry–”

“
Do not be sorry!” Elizabeth stood, slashing a hand through the air. “I am sick of your pity. We both know that my mother was a harlot and yours an upstanding widow. Do not feel sorrow that my first master sold me because his son turned rebel and fled to the hills before I came of age. It will only make you feel better about yourself to pity me, and you do not need that. You have it good enough as it is!”

“
Elizabeth–”

“
Just wait, Abigail. Someday soon you will understand what I mean.”

Abigail felt her brows pull down, the anger bubble up. “Are you a prophetess now? Shall we call you Anna?”

Her friend ignored her. “Maybe the prefect will give you to Simon, since his wife is barren. Or maybe old Cleopas himself will–”

“
Stop!” Abigail’s voice grew loud for the first time in the conversation, and she stood to emphasize her point. “Speak how you will of your own masters, but mine you will treat with the honor they are due.”

“
Always the good little slave.” Elizabeth turned to face the Praetorium.

Without another word, Abigail left the roof. Surely this day would forever be fixed in her memory as one stained by unwelcomed truth.

Chapter Four

Abigail glanced once more at the table, set and ready for their guests. She heard the commotion at the door, Simon answering. She slipped behind Ester as she and Cleopas moved to greet Vetimus, his expecting wife, and their small son. The small family had a new luminosity about them, especially little Claron.

When he hopped about without a limp, Abigail forgot herself. “Claron! Your leg!”

The little boy grinned. “It is better! The Lord healed me!”

Ester and Cleopas looked first to each other, then to the parents of the suddenly whole boy. Vetimus put a possessive hand on his son’s small shoulder. “Phoebe and Claron were in Capernaum visiting her sister. The Nazarene was there.”

“
Who?” Ester never heard as much gossip as the rest of them, since she rarely went into town. And Abigail rarely bothered her with the stories of the latest rebel.

“
His name is Jesus.” Phoebe smiled and put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “I have heard the most remarkable stories of the man. I had no idea he was in the city, of course, but as Camilla and I were shopping, Claron got away from me and ran up to this stranger.”

“
He was nice,” Claron interjected in his little-boy voice. “He bent down and picked me up and smiled at me. Then, when Mother came to get me, he put me down again and I could walk!”

“
It was a miracle.” Phoebe fairly beamed.

Ester, disbelief in her eyes, held out an arm. “Why do we not go in to dinner, and you can finish the story?”

The visitors followed Ester and Cleopas into the other room, but the conversation did not stop. Abigail trailed behind, careful to listen as Phoebe continued the tale. “Some are calling him Messiah, but I do not know exactly what that means. He is a Jew, though, so I was hoping you may know a bit more about it, Ester.”

Her mistress looked uncomfortable. “There have been many prophecies, of course, but most are disputed. The general populace holds that they portend a Christ, a man who will come as a king to deliver Israel. Others, my father included, held that the Scriptures speak of no such individual, but rather to many different men who have already come and gone. I do not know.”

Phoebe’s face fell. “This was no king, certainly. But nevertheless, he healed my child, without even being asked. It was as though his very touch contained magic.”

Vetimus laughed. “Have you been in Persia, my love? There is no magic.”

“
Power, then.”

Claron piped up. “I knew he could make me better.”

He grinned into the looks of shock everyone sent him.“He is God. And God can heal anybody.”

Did Abigail ever have such faith as this child? Not in her recollection. Then again, no messiah had ever healed her.

“
Which god, though?” Phoebe shook her head. “Apollo? Jupiter?”

“
God
,” the boy insisted. “He made me better.”

Cleopas smiled at the child. “Indeed.” He turned to his wife. “I, too, have heard of this Jesus of Nazareth. For a while, when people first started wondering as to the possibility that he is a messiah of some sort, there was question that perhaps he was a rebel. We kept an ear on the stories coming in about him but were not worried. It seems he is more concerned with preaching repentance and telling stories and healing people than with Rome. A rabbi.”

“
I hear he fed five thousand people with just a few loaves and fishes.” Vetimus’s lips twitched into a grin.

The other adults laughed over that one, and Phoebe’s eyes twinkled. “Stories certainly have a way of growing with the telling, do they not?”

The conversation turned to other far-fetched stories they had heard over the years, many of them about senators and Augustus himself. Abigail took the opportunity to sweep the child out the room, as she always did, and into the kitchen.