As Sure as the Dawn (24 page)

“I’ve tried, Prochorus. I have.”

“How did you try tonight, Cam? You started it.”

Camella looked as though he had struck her. Rizpah bit her lip, embarrassed to be witnessing such an argument, yet unable to escape it.

“You’ve always given in to your emotions. It’s what got you into trouble in the first place, isn’t it?”

“Are you going to start throwing my past in my face, now, too?”

“I don’t have to, do I? You’re the one who can’t forget. You wallow in it.” He noticed Rizpah. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said again and left.

Camella looked up at her. “You think I’m in the wrong, too, don’t you?” she said, mouth jerking. “Go ahead. Blame me. Everyone does.” As Rizpah left the booth, Camella finally noticed her daughter huddled and crying silently in the back corner. “Oh, Lysia,” she said, her face crumpling.

Rizpah grieved for all of them.

What’s happening to us, Lord? We were all so close in Ephesus. Is it the strain of the journey? Or did we hide our sins so well, we only thought we knew one another? If we go on like this, we’ll be useless to you.

She came up behind Atretes. He was so still, she didn’t think he had heard her approach until he spoke.

“So you have your shield in place.”

Pushing out from Rizpah, Caleb turned and put his arms out to Atretes. “He wants to play with you,” she said, smiling.

Atretes rose and took him. Brushing past her, he strode away. Rizpah followed him to a vacant booth near the back corner of the courtyard. It was isolated from the others. The torch burned outside. Rizpah hesitated, wondering what the others might say if she went in with him.

Atretes reclined in the fresh straw and sat Caleb beside him. Caleb immediately flopped over and tried to eat a handful of dried grass.

“No, no,” she said and stepped over quickly. Kneeling, she sat him up and plucked pieces from his mouth. “No, Caleb,” she said firmly when he tried to eat more. Removing her shawl, she spread it and set him on it. Uttering a sharp squeal, Caleb flapped his arms like a bird wanting to take flight and dove forward again.

Atretes chuckled. “It’s nice to know my son won’t lie back and let a woman tell him what to do.”

“I don’t want him grazing,” Rizpah said in annoyance and sat down close to Caleb, watching over him lest he stuff straw into his mouth again. He arched his back and rocked on his stomach, making funny noises. Tucking his legs under, he pushed himself up with his hands. “He’ll be crawling soon,” she said.

Atretes studied her. She had put up walls since their encounter in the fanum. “If I were a civilized man, I suppose I’d apologize for . . .”

“It’s forgotten, Atretes.”

His mouth tipped. “I can see how forgotten it is,” he said, admiring the color filling her cheeks.

His sultry look unnerved her. Rather than retreat, she spoke what was on her mind. “Why were you angry with Agabus and the others?”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. He leaned back against the partition wall. “They’re fools.”

Though he looked physically relaxed, she felt his coiled tension and the anger building in him. It was a constant presence, just beneath the surface. The lightest stirring wind was enough to roll in the highest tide. He turned his head and looked at her, his blue eyes as beautiful as they were frightening. “For all their grandiose claims, they have about as much faith in your god as I have,” he said. “None!”

She was deeply troubled by his observation. “They’re struggling against the bonds of this life, like all the rest of us.”

“They don’t believe what they preach, and I’m sick of listening to them talk endlessly about this god of yours. They talk about death having no hold over them.” He gave a dark laugh. “All I had to do was touch one of them to show the hold it has.”

“Agabus dropped his hands because he didn’t want to fight with you.”

“He dropped his hands because he was afraid I’d kill him. I wanted him to know his faith isn’t a shield against anything.”

“Faith is all we have.”

“If that’s so, what kept me alive? I have no faith.”

“You live by faith just as we do, Atretes.”

“I don’t believe in the old gods anymore, nor will I ever hold to yours!”

She refused to be intimidated by his wrath. “We all live by faith in this world, faith in
something.
Your faith lies in yourself. Don’t you see? You think because you survived ten years in the arena you can go on surviving in the same way, with brute strength and a sword. Agabus and the others have chosen to believe in a power greater than themselves. Even when our faith is weak, God
is
our strength.”

He gave a dry laugh and looked out at the courtyard where others gathered in warmer camaraderie. He was free, and yet he still felt as though he had his back against a wall. Rizpah looked at his stony face and was saddened.

Why can’t I reach him, Father? Why does he refuse to listen?

“Atretes, someday, everything you’ve learned will be of no use to you.”

His expression was sardonic. “And you think the words they commit to memory will keep them alive?”

“God’s words will always prove true and right, no matter who questions them.”

Atretes saw in her what he had seen in Hadassah the night she spoke with him in the lower-level dungeons. She had far more fire than the slave girl, more passion, but they shared a common peace. Despite circumstance. It was the kind of peace he hungered for and knew he could never have. “At least you
believe
what you say.”

“So do they, Atretes, but they’re young and untried.”

“They’ll be tried,” he said heavily, “tried and then crucified.”

She was silent for a long moment, his words preying heavily on her heart. “Perhaps you’re right. They might die like so many others have. But you don’t understand the fullness of it, Atretes, or the rightness of it. Whatever comes, they will not be lost.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you think I am.”

She looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

Her bluntness always surprised him. He smiled in wry amusement, but his eyes were cold. “Geographically.”

Tangled in the shawl, Caleb cried loudly. Rizpah picked him up and sat him on her lap. She unwound the shawl from around him. When his legs were free, he kicked, wanting to be put down again. Spreading the shawl, she kissed Caleb’s neck and put him back on his stomach. He pushed himself up and gave a gurgling laugh. Smiling faintly, Atretes watched his son.

“We’re so much like Caleb,” she said. “You and I and all the rest of the world. We want to walk upright. We want to run. But we become entangled by our own will. We allow sin to bind us as strongly as any shawl around our son. And don’t we do the same thing he does? Cry out for help, each in our own way? Struggle and fail, in and of ourselves?”

His face was so still and enigmatic, she wondered if he could ever understand what she wanted him so desperately to know. “God lifts us up out of the mire, Atretes. No matter how many times we stumble and fall because of our own foolishness and stubborn will, Jesus is there holding out his hand to us. If we take hold, he removes the sin from our lives and sets us down again on solid rock. He is the rock. And gradually, through his tender mercies, he also transforms us into his likeness and brings us into the throne room of God.”

His expression revealed nothing. Nor did he say anything. Ignoring her, he watched Caleb play for a long time. He didn’t even look at her. She was filled with such frustration that she wanted to jump on him and pound the words through his thick skull.

He laid back in the straw and put one arm behind his head. “Take him and go.”

Letting out a soft sigh, she rose and did as he commanded.

Far into the night, Atretes lay staring at the beams above him. He had known his silence frustrated her, and frustrating her had given him some satisfaction. Yet her words continued to plague him. And he knew why.

A year ago, a dream had tormented him night after night in the hill caves outside Ephesus. He had been sinking into a bog, about to drown in it, when a man dressed in glowing white appeared.
“Atretes,”
he said and held out his hands to rescue him.

Both palms had been bleeding.

Theophilus came to the inn late that night and called everyone together. When Atretes remained in his booth, he made no comment.

“There’s a ship leaving for Rome the day after tomorrow,” he announced to the gathering. “It’s an Alexandrian freighter, fourth dock from the north end of the harbor. Stevedores are loading her now. I’ve arranged passage for all of us.” He tossed a pouch of gold coins to Bartimaeus. “Dispense the money so that all can purchase provisions for the journey.”

As the others talked among themselves, Theophilus took Rizpah aside. “Walk with me to the gate.” He glanced across the compound to where Atretes sat with his back against the post. The ex-gladiator watched the proceedings with cold intensity.

Tucking his fingers into his belt, Theophilus took out several gold coins. “Since Atretes is too bullheaded to take money from me, I’ll give it to you.”

Rizpah put her hand over his. “I appreciate your concern, Theophilus, but Atretes brought gold with him.”

He hesitated, perusing her face lest it be pride that held her back. It wasn’t, and he nodded. “Enough to get him to Rome anyway,” he said. “He must have left a vast fortune behind.”

“None of it counted against his desire to return home.”

Theophilus’ mouth turned up in a mirthless smile. “Of all the races I’ve faced in battle over my twenty-five years, I found the Germans the fiercest and the most determined to regain their freedom. They are an unrelenting people. The Jews are much the same, but Titus has almost succeeded in exterminating them. Those few who survived the holocaust in Judea have been scattered across the Empire.”

“The hunger for freedom is innate in all men.”

“With godly purpose. The trumpet of Christ blares, and by his grace, I heard. Pray to God that Atretes will also.”

“I do pray. Constantly.”

“No doubt,” he said and touched her cheek.

“Will it cost a great deal to make the journey to Germania?”

“More than he has on him. We’ll learn if he’s wise enough to accept help.”

Rizpah saw him out the gate. As she turned, she came up against Atretes.

“You had a lot to say to one another,” he said, his eyes almost black.

“Theophilus is a friend.” She was alarmed at the wrath she saw in his eyes.

“Your friend, perhaps. Not mine.”

“He could be yours, Atretes.”

“What did he give you?”

“He offered us money to buy provisions for the journey to Rome.” She saw his face harden. “I knew you wouldn’t want me to take it, so I didn’t.”

“I’ll purchase supplies tomorrow morning.”

“He said you haven’t enough to make the journey to Germania.”

“I’ll get what we need when we need it.”

Rizpah was dismayed at his tone. She had no intention of asking how he intended to do that.

“The next time you speak with him, tell him if he touches you again, I’ll kill him.” With those words, he strode out the gate, heading in the opposite direction of Theophilus.

Rizpah heard him pound on the locked gate long after dark. The proprietor let him in and she rose slightly, watching him cross the compound to his booth. He walked unsteadily and fell into the hay. She lay back, heart pounding in disquiet.

The next morning, as she knelt with the others in prayer, he rose and left the inn. Others noticed as well.

“Would you like to go with us to the marketplace?” Porcia said.

She declined, forcing a smile and confidence she was far from feeling. Had Atretes gone out to drink again? She prayed not. If he returned without having taken care of his responsibilities, then she would decide what was best to do.

She played with Caleb until he fell asleep and then lay down beside him in a beam of sunlight. The warmth felt good. She traced Caleb’s features lovingly, marveling at his perfection. Curling herself around him, she fell asleep with an inexplicable assurance that all would be well if she left Atretes and herself in God’s hands.