As Sure as the Dawn (56 page)

“You’re saying I shouldn’t correct Atretes?”

“Gently. In private. And only if he’ll listen.”

“I’ve tried. I have things straight in my head and then I open my mouth and it comes out wrong. Sometimes, even when I have it right, he takes it wrong.”

“I’ve talked with him, too. And I rest in this: The Holy Spirit will work within Atretes without our help, perhaps in spite of it.” Unless Atretes ever decided to silence the still, quiet voice that had called him in the first place. Theophilus prayed unceasingly that would never happen. “Atretes is faced with a greater battle now than he ever faced in an arena.”

Rizpah knew and wanted to weep. “He’s losing the battle,” she said bleakly.
God, hasn’t he had to fight enough?

Theophilus watched her stand and catch up with Caleb. She took a rock out of his mouth and tossed it away. Wiping the dirt off his face with the hem of her shawl, she spoke to him gently, gave him a pat. She smiled as he headed for the mound of dirt Theophilus had piled up while digging out the grubenhaus, good rich dirt he would spread soon in order to prepare a field for planting.

She returned. It was a warm day, and yet she drew her shawl around her shoulders. “Atretes doesn’t listen to me anyway.”

“He listens. More important, he watches. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had his eyes on you.”

She gave a short laugh. “Not because I was a Christian.”

His grin made her blush. “True, he watched you with less than honorable intentions in the beginning, but what he saw was a beautiful young woman practicing her faith. Your walk with the Lord has had an impact upon him. It’ll continue to have impact.”

“My walk has been less than perfect, Theophilus.” How many times had she said words she regretted?

“That’s why I’m reminding you. The sin we need to be concerned about is the sin in our own lives. It’s the root of all human woe, the source of anguish. Let God deal with Atretes.”

She rose and caught up with Caleb again, bringing him closer.

When she came back again, he could see his words were troubling her. “He doesn’t seem to
see
what he’s doing. Or what’s happening around him. Anomia has such influence over these people. Varus hangs on every word she says. She has no fear of God at all, not even of Tiwaz, whom she worships.”

Theophilus was well aware what Rizpah was saying was true, but he didn’t want to talk about the young priestess.

“God speaks to these people every day. The Chatti are from the same root stock as we are. They’re descendants of Adam and Eve. Look around you, beloved, and rest assured all creation proclaims God’s glory to them. And even when they resist, even when they refuse to see, the Lord gave them another gift besides: a conscience.”

Theophilus leaned forward, intent to set her mind at rest. “Atretes’ conscience knew his inner motives and true thoughts before he was redeemed by Jesus and received the Holy Spirit. No matter how hard he tried to justify himself and his actions, the conscience God gave him wouldn’t allow it.”

He nodded toward the sacred wood. “Have you watched Freyja? Really watched her? She
struggles
against the forces holding her. She’s troubled by them. There’s no rest for her. Just as Atretes suffered his demons, she suffers hers. His conscience warned him instinctively of God’s judgment and hell to come, just as hers warns her now. His conscience tormented him because he had sinned, just as hers is doing now. Sin produces guilt.”

“But neither of them is responsible for what’s happened to them. It wasn’t Atretes’ fault he was made a gladiator.”

“Everything we do, we do by choice. Circumstances don’t alter right and wrong.”

“They would’ve killed him.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You know they would have, and he’d have died
unsaved.”

His mouth curved wryly. “You’ve seen Rolf. I should be dead right now. I
assumed
I would be dead when I stepped into the circle with him. I
assumed
it was time for me to die for the Lord. Rolf is younger, stronger, quicker, smarter. I had no shield the night I faced him, and God told me to get rid of my sword. Who prevailed?”

“You did.”

“No, Rizpah.” He smiled tenderly.
“God
prevailed.”

He took the rabbit from the spit and called Caleb to come eat with him. Rizpah watched him cut the rabbit in pieces and peel some of the meat away from the bone to cool for Caleb. While he waited, he played with the child as easily as he talked with her. Watching the man, her heart swelled with love for him.

Lord, what would we have done without him? Father, we never would have made it if you hadn’t sent him to us in Ephesus. Why can’t Atretes and I be more like him? The evidence of his faith radiates to everyone around him. My faith is paltry at best, and Atretes drives people away. O Lord, what would we do without Theophilus’ wise counsel?

And even as she thought these things, a sharp inexplicable pang of fear struck her.

She could feel the darkness closing in around them, trying to obliterate the light.

Atretes left the longhouse, blood pumping hot and fast with anger. If he’d stayed another minute, he would have pummeled his brother and taken on the rest. Let God rain brimstone on their heads! They deserved it.

He saw Marta sitting at her loom across the street and strode toward her. “Have you seen Rizpah?”

“She went along that way,” she said, avoiding his eyes, her face pale.

“Have you been crying?”

“Why would you think that?” Marta said, pushing the shuttle between the threads.

“Because you look it. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.” Her hands trembled as she worked the loom. She kept seeing the look on Rizpah face when she’d called Elsa and Derek away. Surprise. Hurt.

She felt ashamed.

“Is she with Mother?”

“No.”

He glanced at her sharply. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Say it like what?” She tilted her head, defensive.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Marta.” Was she going to set herself against him also?

“Why not?” she said, her own emotions playing havoc. “Because you might start yelling at me, the way you’ve been yelling at Varus and Usipi and the others?” She stood up. “Don’t ask what’s the matter with me, Atretes. What’s the matter with
you?”
She fled into her longhouse, weeping.

He stared after her, baffled and even more frustrated.

“She’ll be all right,” came a sultry voice from just behind him.

Turning his head grimly, he looked at Anomia. She was the last person he wanted to see right now.

She watched his gaze move over her as he turned and faced her. She had chosen her tunic carefully, well aware how the white linen fell smoothly against the lush curves of her body.

Atretes noticed. He couldn’t help himself. She savored the moment, breathing in softly, inhaling triumph. His eyes darkened in a telltale way.
Good.
She relished his lust, even more so because he fought his attraction to her. Let him fight it. His inner struggle would make the consummation so much sweeter. And fierce.

“We should talk,” she said.

“About what?”

So terse. His emotions were high. “I’ve been listening to what you’ve had to say. The god of whom you speak sounds . . . interesting.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly.

She smiled up at him. “Do you doubt me?”

“Should I?”

He was not like Varus, but that was good. Varus was boring, weak, and predictable. “Are you afraid to discuss this Jesus of yours with a high priestess of Tiwaz?”

His mouth tipped. “I’m still having trouble seeing Ania’s little sister as a high priestess of anything.”

She didn’t show how his words angered her. How dare he mock her like some foolish, weakling child? Concealing her true feelings, she pouted for him, feigning amusement. “Are you worried I might ask a question you can’t answer?”

His eyes flickered at the challenge. “Ask.”

“How can you or I be held responsible for what one man or one woman did thousands of years ago?”

He explained about Adam and Eve’s encounter with Satan in the same way Theophilus had explained to him, but she laughed.

“A neat but ludicrous story, Atretes. No wonder the men won’t believe you.”

“What’s ludicrous about it?”

She pretended surprise that he would even ask. “You can’t be so easily swayed,” she said, widening her eyes in dismay. “Think about what you’re telling us. Why should we feel guilty for the choice made by a man and woman thousands of years ago in a place you’ve never seen or even heard of? Were you there? No. Was I? No. Would you have stood by while your wife was being seduced? I have a hard time imagining it, but then . . .” She paused deliberately as though something unpleasant had occurred to her. She let her gaze drift toward the woods where the Roman was finishing his grubenhaus.

Glancing up, she saw Atretes’ gaze drift as well. He was a passionate man and a possessive one. It wouldn’t be too difficult to arouse his suspicions about his Roman friend and the fidelity of that little black-eyed Ionian witch.

Atretes frowned. Where was Rizpah? He had sent her outside, expecting her to return when Caleb calmed down. She had been gone for more than an hour. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone with a man, even Theophilus.

Anomia saw with growing irritation that she was forgotten. When he started to walk away, she reached out quickly and placed her hand lightly on his arm. “Where are you going, Atretes?”

“To find my wife.”

She saw how much he wanted to find her, and a surge of jealousy heated her blood. What did he see in that olive-skinned foreigner? “She’s in the woods with that Roman friend of yours,” she said, planting a seed.

Atretes didn’t like the way she said it. What game was she playing?

“One more question, Atretes, about this idea of some vague sin of which we’re supposedly guilty. Why do you think a Roman would want you to believe such things?” she said, pouring water on the seed she had planted. Looking up into Atretes’ handsome face, she offered up a silent prayer to Tiwaz that doubt would take root and spread.

Let Atretes turn from that outsider and come to me! Bring your minions to bear upon him. Make him mine!

Atretes patted her hand distractedly. “We’ll talk another time,” he said and walked away.

Anomia stared after him, lips parted, hands curling into fists.

Atretes strode down the village main street.

“She’s in the woods with that Roman friend of yours.”

He was annoyed that one remark could set his thinking on such a dark path. Rizpah had given him no reason to doubt her fidelity, nor had Theophilus. Yet one blatantly false comment sent his imagination flying! He knew what Anomia was trying to do, but knowing didn’t help. In the space of an instant, he had seen his wife in Theophilus’ grubenhaus, lying on the earthen floor, entangled . . .

A growling sound came from deep in his throat. He shook his head, trying to shake the thought out. Rizpah was nothing like Julia. It would never even occur to her to marry one man and have another as a lover. Yet he felt an urgency to find them, to set his mind at rest.

Nothing had gone the way he’d thought it would when he returned home. He had expected resistance to the new faith he brought, but he hadn’t expected other feelings to creep in. He looked around the village of rough-hewn buildings, dirty children running naked in the streets, and remembered the cobbled streets and marble halls of Rome. He sat in the longhouse, smelling the unwashed bodies of his kinsmen and remembered the pristine Roman baths filled with the aromas of scented oils. He listened to Varus and the others, drunk and shouting for the sake of argument, and thought about the long hours of quiet, yet invigorating discussion he had with Theophilus. Eleven years! Eleven long, grueling years he had dreamed of coming home. And now he was . . . and he didn’t belong.

He was more comfortable with Theophilus, a Roman, than he was with his own kinsmen. It disturbed him. It made him feel he was betraying his people, his heritage, his race.

He walked along the path and saw the clearing ahead. Theophilus sat near a small cook fire, sharing a meal with Caleb. He was talking, Rizpah, sitting opposite, listened intently. It was an innocent enough scene, two friends sharing a meal together, carrying on conversation, comfortable with one another. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did.

Theophilus saw him first and called a greeting.

Rizpah turned her head and rose. She smiled at him, and he felt the punch of desire, like a fist in his gut. And he felt something more. He knew, without a doubt, that he could trust her. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I wondered where you were,” he said roughly.

“Dada . . . Dada . . .” Caleb waved a partially chewed rabbit leg at him.

He laughed, relaxing, Anomia’s words completely forgotten.

“Isn’t this nice?” Rizpah said. “It’s so quiet, you can hear the birds singing. You have to see the inside of Theophilus’ house.” She wove her fingers with his. “Come look.”

Atretes had to duck his head to enter, but could stand straight once inside. Theophilus’ grubenhaus was larger than the others in the village, the structure overhead strong. “Good work, Theophilus!” he called back through the doorway. “You build like a German!”