A Stray Drop of Blood (35 page)

“
No.” Abigail searched his face as though for a hidden wellspring that she found not there, or dry. She sounded vaguely disappointed when she said, “You would not. Good day, Titus. Menelaus.”

This time, they let her go. Menelaus moved closer to his friend. “He is a beautiful child. He looks like a catamite.”

Titus snorted. “I suspect that was Abigail’s point in mentioning that Jason was a good man. I would wager that our friend bought the child to keep him from such a fate.” He shook his head. “His heart had become soft.”

“
I know.” Menelaus sighed. “He became a better man than I can ever hope to be.”

Titus glared at him for a moment, then just rolled his eyes and strode toward the door.

Chapter Twenty-Four

They had never gotten to finish their conversation. It was her fault, and it ate at her. He had looked so sincere as he spoke of the man he called Christ, so genuine in his desire that she listen. And Ester had ignored him. The topic made her uneasy, and she had stated that she was tired. He was always such a gentle man. He had looked at her, knowing she lied, but he had not forced the issue. He knew it would do no good, that the more he pushed, the farther she would flee from his words.

She had thought, as she lay in bed beside him that night, falling into the realm of slumber, that someday she would have to listen. To keep putting him off when he brought up the teacher would eventually anger him. So the next time, she would at least hear him out.

Now there was no next time at all. How cruel was God to snatch her husband away when there remained something unfinished between them? And to take as well her son, the only other one who had heard Cleopas’s words and would be able to explain them to her? She did not want to live without Cleopas. She
could
not live, knowing in his last moments he was disappointed in her. Jehovah was supposed to be merciful as well as just–where was his mercy when he stripped a woman of both husband and son in one fell blow, leaving her alone, forsaken, and unforgiven?

She wanted to escape it, needed to escape it, but could not. She tried to do so by turning inward, forgetting the presence of the world in which those dearest to her were no more. But inside, it was no better. Her mind was tormented.

She could hear Abigail’s voice continually, calling her back, begging her to return. But she could not. For her daughter’s sake she would, but there was so much else to be battled. And how could she look at Abigail, large with child, and know that the babe’s father would never again smile at them? How could she look at the boy Jason had brought home and not see the compassion that had been shining in her son’s eyes, now extinguished?

Why did God take two men who were strong and good, who were working for righteousness and pursuing His precepts, and leave the murderous, traitorous wretches unharmed? It was not fair. And was it wise? The more good men he took, the fewer there would be to teach the rest of them. Now there was no one to lead her, no one to love her.

She wanted to die. But on the other hand, she feared death as she feared nothing else. Was she good enough, clean enough, righteous enough to enter Paradise, or would she be thrown into the pit of weeping and gnashing of teeth?

She wanted Cleopas. She wanted Jason. She wanted Abigail’s sweet voice to tell her it had all been a cruel joke, that they were well and sitting beside her. Then she would return. She would open her eyes. She would live again. Only then.

~*~

Abigail sighed when Ester moaned. There had been so many days with no changes in her. Abigail felt the tears of frustration welling up. She wanted to lash out, at the world, at Ester, at anyone. She wanted to demand that the woman she loved so much love her in return, love her enough to fight. She wanted to demand that Ester give her babe a chance to know her.

But nothing worked. No pleas, no words, nothing could touch the widow who through sickness of heart and body now looked so old and weak. And though Abigail knew it was selfish, she hurt to realize she did not mean enough to Ester to call her back. She was angry with the woman for taking the easy path when she herself did not have that option. She had to live for her child. Should not Ester have to live for
her
?

But she was not Ester’s child. That became very clear. No matter how many times Ester claimed she was a daughter, no matter how much she rejoiced when the marriage to Jason made it legally so, she very simply was not. Ester’s love for her did not run so deep. It was not enough to combat the pain of her loss.

Perhaps it would have been better for them all if Cleopas had never come to Silas’s house, had never bought her. Then she would not have been compelled to love again, to open her heart to these people that would only leave her, as her father had done, as her mother. If she had just remained closed off, this would not hurt so much. It would be better to be a simple slave, working in a kitchen somewhere with no other cares. Then she would not be educated enough to recognize her own inadequacy, she would not be praying so fervently that her child was a son to carry on the Visibullis legacy.

She prayed more too–she prayed a curse upon the man who had done this to her. Barabbas. Every time she thought the name, new rage boiled up inside her. Barabbas. The Son of a Father had taken away both a father and a son, had left her son fatherless, had left her mother sonless. And for what? Did he actually expect to liberate Jerusalem from Rome? Was he fool enough not to realize that even if he gained control of the walls, of the Praetorium, there would be more soldiers that came to win them back? Rome was too large, too mighty, and too prideful to let a band of outlaws take over one of their legions. Fighting was useless. Until God gave them their nation back, it could not be won.

She took a modicum of comfort in knowing that Barabbas would meet the penalty for his murders. And on the dawn of the day when the execution was scheduled, Abigail awoke knowing she would find a way to be there. No one would want to let her, but she would not be stopped. She would go outside the walls of the city, climb the hill to Golgotha, and be there when the destroyer hanged.

When she entered the kitchen, the others were there already, talking among themselves. After the Passover meal the night before, for which she could not stay awake, she expected them to all be solemn and introspective. Instead, there was an air of anticipation in the room. When she entered, Andrew turned to her with a smile.

“
Drusus is at the gates. I must go meet him and lead him here. And it seems there is some excitement in the city today: Jesus whom they call Christ has been arrested.”

Abigail sighed. “Why do they arrest a teacher?”

Dinah gave a dry laugh. “Because he offends the Sanhedrin and proclaims himself Messiah. The difficult part will be finding something to convict him of before the court of Pilate. Simon was out in the markets today and heard the talk. He will be brought to the Fortress of Antonia soon, where Pilate will pass judgement on him, as well as the other criminals who are to be crucified today.”

Barabbas. Abigail straightened, suddenly determined. “I am going.”

Her announcement was met with a moment of silence followed by an explosion. Andrew’s arguments were the loudest. “You cannot go out into the crowds in your condition, Abigail, it is absurd! And besides, I have to meet Drusus, and Simon is needed here.”

She leveled a gaze at him filled with all the defiance that filled her. “I do not need an escort. And I do not need your approval. I have not left this house in a fortnight, and I am about to go mad. You have heard Ester in her delirium–she is troubled by Cleopas’s opinions about this rabbi. I will go and find out what becomes of him; perhaps some new information will settle her mind. Have you thought of that?”

They apparently had not, as it silenced them momentarily. Then Dinah insisted, “You still cannot go alone, dear one. It is not safe. Simon said a mob is growing–”

“
Then no one will take notice of one small woman with child, will they?” Abigail grabbed her head covering from where it sat nearby and draped it over her hair. Not waiting for a response, she headed for the door. “Dinah, you will watch Samuel for me, will you not?”

Andrew was only a step behind her. “Abigail, this is foolish. Go back inside.”

“
No.” She inclined her head a bit so she could look over at him but kept walking. “You can walk with me until our paths separate, if it will make you feel better.”

“
Why are you so determined?” He put a restraining hand on her arm that she simply shrugged away from.

She knew that to give him her real reasons would result in being physically forced back to the house. He would not approve of her lust for revenge. “I already told you.”

“
Abigail, be reasonable.”

She turned on him, spinning around and letting him see the rage she had been so careful to hide. “I have been reasonable all of my life, Andrew. I was reasonable when I was sold. I was reasonable when my master insisted I learn. I was reasonable when their son took me to his bed. I was reasonable when I was given to him, I was reasonable when I married him. I have had to be reasonable in the face of his death. What has reason ever done for me? I am educated enough to know how miserable I am, but too weak to do anything about it. Well today I will act like the mistress Jason made me. I will go where I please.” She spun around again and stalked off.

She got only a few steps away before Andrew was back at her side. “I am sorry for pushing you,” he said quietly. “But I am only concerned for you, my friend. Be careful, keep yourself safe, and leave if things get volatile. Promise me.”

“
Of course I will.” She placed a hand on her unborn child. “I have the babe to think of. I am merely stifled and curious.”

“
I understand.” He smiled and lightly touched her shoulder. “I must part from you here. Be cautious, and do not be long. Ester will miss you, and Drusus may wish to speak with you about her, as you have attended her the most.”

“
I will not be long.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. When he headed for the gate where the cousin would be, she turned toward the Fortress of Antonia. Her thoughts were not long on Andrew or the traveler he would meet.

The closer she got to her destination, the thicker the crowds became. As she made her way to the court of the building, she heard a roar go up from the mob gathered outside, and she increased her pace. She ended up on the edges of the assembly, near one of the entries into the fortress. She asked a man near her what was happening.

“
Jesus of Nazareth was tried before the Sanhedrin this morning.” His face betrayed his agitation. She could not tell if he approved or disapproved. “He was convicted of blasphemy and brought here. Pilate sent him away once already, to Herod, who sent him back. He has only just arrived again. He is there.” He pointed to the balcony overlooking the crowd, where she recognized Pilate seated. Guards held a man nearby; the prisoner had been beaten badly and could barely stand. From the distance, she could not see the rabbi’s features.

Pilate appeared to be putting a question to Jesus, but the man just turned his head away, refusing to answer. Abigail’s brows came together. She had met Pilate several times and knew him to be a man eager to please. The question today would be which group he wanted to placate.

“
Rumor has it,” someone said from the other side of her, obviously to whomever would listen, “that Pilate’s wife had a dream last night warning him not to get involved with this man’s sentence.”

“
She would,” Abigail said under her breath. “She has dreams about everything.” Someone nearby chuckled.

Pilate rose at that moment, moving to face the crowd. “I find no guilt in this man!” he proclaimed, loudly enough to gain the attention of the masses, who hushed to hear him. “But your courts have found him guilty. Shall I release him to you for the Passover?”

A deafening roar went up, and Abigail could not make out what they were calling for. Her head began its customary throb behind her eyes at the noise.

Pilate could apparently hear better from his position than she could from hers, for his face adopted a look of confusion at what met his ears. “Shall I release the teacher,” he inquired again, “or Barabbas?”

She felt her face freeze. Surely he would not, could not release the leader of the rebellion against Rome. It could not even be an option. But she watched as another man was thrust forward by the centurions, one of which she recognized as Titus, even from this distance.

This time, the crowd was silent for a heartbeat before responding, and this time, their pleas were intelligible even to Abigail. It started in many places throughout the crowd. She could hear the voices, hissing around her. One man spoke from right behind her, commanding over her head, “Call for Barabbas!”

“
No!” She wheeled around even as the people took up the chant.

“
Give us Barabbas!”

Pilate looked as uncomfortable as Abigail felt, obviously not anticipating this response. He glanced over his shoulder at Jesus. “What shall I do with the man they call the King of the Jews?”

Again, it was a hiss of prompting that preceded the crowd’s shouts of “Crucify him!”