A Voice in the Wind (20 page)

“I don’t believe the purpose of life is to be happy. It’s to serve. It’s to be useful.”

“For a slave, perhaps that is true,” he said and looked away. He felt weary. Weary to his very bones.

“Are we not all bond servants to whatever we worship?” Her words brought his head up and around to her again. His handsome face was rigid with arrogant disdain. She had offended him. Frightened, she bit her lip. How had she dared speak so freely to a Roman, who could have her killed by mere whim?

“So, by your own words, since I serve myself, I am a slave to myself. Is that what you are saying?”

She took a step back, the blood draining from her face. “I plead your pardon, my lord. I’m no philosopher.”

“Don’t retreat now, little Hadassah. Tell me more that I might be amused.” But he didn’t look amused.

“What am I that you would ask me anything? Have I any wisdom to impart to you? I am a mere slave.”

What she said was true. What answers did a slave have to offer him and why had he stayed in the garden with her? Something nagged at him. He did want to know something from her. He wanted to ask what exchanges she had made with her unseen god to have gone through what she’d been through and still have the look of peace he had seen and envied. Instead, he said briskly, “Was your father a slave also?”

Why was he tormenting her? “Yes,” she said quietly.

“And what was his master? What did he believe?”

“He believed in love.”

It was so trite, he winced. He had heard it from Arria and her friends often enough. 7
believe in love, Marcus
. It was, he supposed, why she spent so much time at the temples, partaking of it, satiating herself with it. He knew all about
love
. It left him exhausted and empty. He could lose himself in a woman, drown in sensation and pleasure, but when it was over and he left, he found himself still hungry—hungry for something he couldn’t even define. No, love wasn’t the answer. Maybe it was as he always supposed. Power brought peace, and money bought power.

Why had he thought to learn anything from this girl? He already knew the answer for himself, didn’t he? “You may return to the house,” he said curtly, moving aside so she could pass.

Hadassah looked up at him. His handsome face was deeply lined, reflecting his troubled thoughts. Marcus Valerian had everything the world had to offer a man. Yet, he stood there, silent and oddly bereft. Was all his arrogance and affluence only an outward sign of an inner affliction? Her heart was moved. What if she told him about the love she meant? Would he laugh or have her sent to the arena?

She was afraid to speak of God to a Roman. She knew what Nero had done. She knew what was happening every day in the arena. So she kept what she knew secret.

“May you find peace, my lord,” she said softly and turned away.

Surprised, Marcus glanced at her. She had spoken so gently, as though to comfort him. He watched her until she was out of sight.

9

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Marcus found himself watching the young Jewess every time he was at home. He wondered what it was about her that fascinated him so much. She was devoted to his sister and seemed to sense Julia’s every mood and need, seeing to her with gentle humility. Bithia had served Julia before Hadassah, but the Egyptian had had no fondness for her. Julia was high-strung and difficult. Bithia
obeyed
. This young Jewess
served
. Marcus could see it in the way she put her hand on Julia’s shoulder when his sister was in one of her restless moods. He had never seen anyone but his mother touch Julia in that way. What was most amazing was that Hadassah’s touch seemed to soothe his sister.

Father’s announcement of Julia’s marriage had put the home in an uproar, and Hadassah to the test. As soon as the words were out of Father’s mouth, Julia had flown into a fit of hysteria, and it had been hovering near the surface ever since.

“I won’t marry him! I won’t!” she screamed at their father the evening he had told her. “You can’t make me! I’ll run away! I’ll kill myself!”

Father slapped her across the face. He had never done such a thing before, and Marcus was too surprised to do anything but sit up from the couch and slam his goblet on the table.

“Decimus!” his mother gasped, clearly as shocked as he was that Father would do such a thing. Not that Julia didn’t deserve it. Even so, to slap her in the face was unpardonable.

Julia stood in stunned silence, her hand pressed against her cheek. “You hit me,” she said as though she couldn’t believe it either. “You hit me!”

“I will have none of your hysterics, Julia,” their father said through his teeth, his face ashen. “You speak to me in that tone of voice, and I will slap you again. Do you understand?”

Her eyes filled with tempestuous tears as she clenched her hand at her side.

“What I do, I do for your own good if you but had the sense to understand it. You will marry Claudius Flaccus. He is well respected and he holds considerable property in the Apennines, which you profess to love even more than Rome. And he was a considerate and faithful husband to his wife before she died. He will be so to you as well.“

“He’s old and decrepit.”

“He is forty-nine and in good health.”

“I won’t marry him, I tell you! I won’t!” Julia cried out again and burst into tears. “I’ll hate you if you make me. I swear it. I’ll hate you until I die!” She ran from the room.

Marcus started after her, but his mother’s gentle voice stopped him. “Marcus, leave her be. Hadassah, see to her.” Marcus watched the girl hurry from the room.

“Was that necessary, Father?” Marcus grated, his own temper simmering despite his coldly polite calm.

Decimus stared down at his hand, his face pale and strained. Clenching his fingers into a fist, he closed his eyes, then left without a word.

“Marcus,” his mother said, laying her hand firmly on his arm when he started to rise and follow, “leave him alone. It will not help Julia if you take her side in this.”

“He had no right to strike her.”

“He had the right of a father. Much of what is going wrong with the Empire has to do with fathers who have not disciplined their children. She had no right to speak to your father the way she did!”

“Perhaps not the right, but certainly the reason! Claudius Flaccus. By the gods, Mother! Surely you are against this match.”

“Indeed not. Claudius is a fine man. Julia will have no cause of grief from him.”

“Or pleasure.”

“Life is not about pleasure, Marcus.”

Marcus shook his head angrily and left the room. He paused, then turned toward Julia’s room. He wanted to see for himself that Julia was all right. She was still crying, but not so hysterically, and the young Jewess was holding her like a mother, stroking her hair and speaking to her. He stood unnoticed in the doorway watching them.

“How could my father think of marrying me off to that wretched old man?” Julia whined, clutching the girl like a talisman.

“Your father loves you, mistress. He desires only your good.”

Cautiously Marcus backed out, but remained in the corridor, listening.

“No he doesn’t,” Julia cried. “He doesn’t care about me at all. Didn’t you see him hit me? All he cares about is having control over me. I can’t do anything without his express approval, and I’m sick of it. I wish Drusus were my father. Octavia can do anything she pleases.”

“Sometimes that kind of freedom doesn’t come from love, my lady, but lack of care.”

Marcus expected another outburst from Julia at that quiet, volatile statement. A long silence followed. “You say the strangest things, Hadassah. In Rome, if you love someone, you let them do whatever they wish…” Julia’s voice trailed off.

“What do you wish to do, mistress?”

Marcus eased forward and saw Julia sit quiet for a moment, confused and troubled. “Anything,” she said, frowning. “
Everything
,” she amended and stood in agitation. “Except marry flaccid Claudius Flaccus.”

Marcus’ mouth twitched at her estimation of Claudius. He watched his sister cross the chamber to her vanity. She picked up a small Grecian vial of expensive perfume. “You can’t understand, Hadassah. What can you know? Sometimes I feel I’m more a slave than you are.” With a soft cry of frustration, she threw the vial across the room, shattering it against the wall. The perfume splattered and ran down the mosaic tiles of children gamboling in a profusion of flowers, filling the chamber with its cloying scent.

Julia sat down heavily and wept again. Marcus expected Hadassah to see him in the doorway when she fled his sister’s rage, but she never turned around. She rose and went to his sister. Kneeling down, she took Julia’s hands and spoke to her softly, too softly for him to hear.

Julia stopped crying. She nodded as though in answer to something Hadassah asked. Still holding her hands, Hadassah began to sing softly, in Hebrew. Julia closed her eyes and listened, though Marcus knew she didn’t understand the language. Nor did he. Yet, standing in the shadows, he found himself listening, too—not to the words, but to Hadassah’s sweet voice. Troubled, he left.

“Has Julia calmed down?” his mother asked when he joined her by the fountain.

“So it would appear,” Marcus said, distracted. “That little Jewess is casting a spell over her.”

Phoebe smiled. “She is very good for Julia. I knew she would be. There was something about her that day Enoch brought her to us.” She ran her hand through the clear water of the pool. “I hope you will not fight your father in his decision.”

“Claudius Flaccus is hardly exciting for a girl of Julia’s temperament, Mother.”

“Julia doesn’t need excitement, Marcus. She breeds it within herself. It could burn her up like a fever. She needs a man who will steady her.”

“Claudius Flaccus will do more than steady her, Mother. He’ll put her to sleep on her feet.”

“I don’t think so. He’s a brilliant man and has much to offer.”

“Indeed, but has Julia ever shown an interest in philosophy or literature?”

Phoebe sighed heavily. “I know, Marcus. I’ve thought of the difficulties ahead. But whom would you have your father choose? One of your friends? Antigonus, perhaps?”

“Absolutely not.”

She laughed softly at such a quick response. “Then you must agree. Julia needs maturity and stability in a husband. Those traits are not usually found in a younger man.”

“A young girl wants things other than maturity and stability in a man, Mother,” he said dryly.

“A young girl with any common sense realizes that character and intelligence far outlast charm and handsome features or build.”

“I doubt such wisdom will mollify Julia.”

“Despite the histrionics, Julia will bend to your father’s decision and be the better for it.” She folded her hands and looked up at him. “Unless you provoke her to rebel.”

His mouth tightened. “She doesn’t need provoking, Mother. She has a mind of her own!”

“You aren’t blind to the influence you have over your sister, Marcus. If you were to speak with her—”

“Oh, no. Don’t drag me into this. If I had any say, Julia would choose whom she pleases.”

“And whom would your sister choose?”

His mind flashed to the handsome young rogue at the arena. A peasant most likely. He was annoyed to be reminded of the episode. A muscle tightened in his jaw. All young girls were fools for handsome faces; his sister no exception. Even so, that didn’t alter his opinion. “Claudius Flaccus is not suitable for her.”

“I think you’re very wrong, Marcus. You see, what you have not been told is that your father didn’t go to Claudius Flaccus. He came to us. Claudius is in love with her.”

Claudius Flaccus and Julia exchanged wafers of wheat called
far
before the watchful eyes of two senior priests of the temple of Zeus. Julia was pale and emotionless. When Claudius took her hand and kissed it lightly, she looked up at him, her cheeks blooming red. Decimus stiffened, expecting an outburst. He saw tears filled her eyes, and he knew his daughter was capable of making a fool of herself before them all.

There was a stillness in the temple chamber, the marble idols seeming almost watchful. Marcus’ face was a grim mask, his dark eyes flashing. He had argued long and hard against this marriage. He had suggested
coemptio
, or bride-purchase, a marriage easily dissolved by divorce. Decimus refused to consider it.

“You will
not
make such a suggestion to Claudius and bring shame on our family! Haven’t you considered it far more likely he’d want to divorce your sister in the long run? For all of Julia’s beauty and delightful high spirits, she is vain, selfish, and volatile. Such a combination quickly wears on any man. Or haven’t you learned that with Arria?”

Marcus paled in anger. “Julia is nothing like Arria.”

“Marriage by
confarreatio
to a man like Claudius will assure that she doesn’t become like her.”

“Have you so little confidence in your own daughter?”

“I love her more than my own life, but I am not blind to her faults.” Decimus shook his head sadly. He knew that beauty faded quickly when embodied by selfishness, and Julia’s charm was a tool of manipulation. Marcus saw only what he wanted to see in his sister—a high-spirited, willful child. He didn’t see what she could become if allowed free rein. On the other hand, with the proper husband, Julia could mature into a woman like her mother.

Julia needed stability and direction. Claudius Flaccus would provide both. Granted, Decimus agreed, he was not a young girl’s dream, but there were more important things: honor, family, duty. Decimus wanted to assure a respectable future for his daughter, and no amount of rationalization on the part of his hot-tempered son would dissuade him from it. Freedom without license bred destruction. Someday, perhaps both of his children would understand and forgive.

Decimus watched his daughter raise her chin slightly and give Claudius a brave smile. He felt a surge of pride and relief. Perhaps she had the sense to realize what a good man she had just married, and perhaps her adjustment would go more smoothly than anyone expected, himself included. By the gods, he loved her so. Perhaps she wasn’t the fool he feared she was. He took Phoebe’s hand and squeezed it lightly, satisfied to witness Julia married before the priests by
confarreatio
, the more traditional union, which couldn’t be dissolved and would last until death. His eyes burned with tears, remembering his own marriage day and the love he had felt for his frightened bride. He loved her still.