As Sure as the Dawn (63 page)

Varus wasn’t bothered by the loss of the oxen and horse and even declined Atretes’ offer of another section of land to compen~sate. And though Freyja said no more about the incident, it was clear to Anomia as well as others that the high priestess was looking upon her son’s foreign wife with growing warmth and curi~osity.

Anomia watched Rizpah do her usual chores. The woman seemed unaware of the effect her kindness to the Hermunduri had had upon the villagers, but Anomia knew and writhed inwardly with jealousy. Out of Anomia’s heart flowed evil thoughts. A raging river of them raced through her blood. She coveted Atretes, desiring him with an intensity that shook her with burning envy and sensuality. She despised Rizpah, relishing thoughts of harming her, devising schemes to destroy her. For now, she could do nothing.

But a time would come.

Several days passed during which Rizpah felt the subtle change in the villagers’ attitude toward her. Some greeted her, though they didn’t linger to talk. She even found Varus studying her at odd times during the evening.

The men went out hunting, and Rizpah set herself to the task of cleaning out several stalls and taking the manure out to the garden behind the longhouse. Caleb followed her, playing on a patch of grass while she hoed the manure into the soil around the bean plants. She said a psalm of praise and worship that Theophilus had helped her memorize. The joy of the Lord filled her as she repeated the words again and again, the richness of the promises making her heart sing.

“Lady Rizpah?”

Startled, Rizpah turned, brushing a few damp tendrils of dark hair back from her forehead. Helda stood a few feet away at the edge of the garden. None of the women had ever sought her out before. Rizpah smiled and gave her a simple greeting.

Helda approached her shyly. “I made this for you,” she said and held out a pile of folded cloth in both hands.

Laying the hoe aside, Rizpah brushed off her hands before accepting the gift. “Thank you,” she said, mystified.

“It’s a tunic to replace the one you gave the Hermunduri girl,” Helda said. “It would’ve made things easier had someone been so kind to me.” She gave a dip of respect and left quickly. Rizpah loosened the folds carefully and gave a soft exclamation of pleasure. The handwoven linen outer garment was ornamented with a lovely pattern of purple. She had never possessed anything so lovely.

Laying it carefully aside, she finished the work in the garden and then put the hoe away. She toted water and heated it for washing. Setting out a few wooden toys Atretes had carved for Caleb, she left him to play while she went into one of the clean stalls to wash. When she finished, she donned the long under tunic. Leaving her own worn outer tunic draped over the wall, she drew on the one Helda had made for her. Tying her belt, she gathered the soiled work tunic to wash.

Varus returned before Atretes or Freyja. He put the horses in their stalls and then herded the cattle into the area at the back. One of his Tencteri slaves remained to fill the mangers with feed while he limped down the corridor and opened the gate to the living quarters.

Rizpah greeted him warmly. Her serenity never failed to irritate him. She continued stirring the thick porridge of beans, corn, lentils, and chunks of salted venison. The rich aroma made his mouth water and his resentment rose even higher. Crossing the room, he sat down on his chair, stifling a groan as he stretched out his bad leg. Atretes was off hunting again, he supposed. He rubbed his leg and winced as pain licked up his thigh into his hip. Hunting was one of many pleasures he could no longer enjoy.

Rizpah poured mead and brought it to him, knowing the strong drink would ease his pain. Varus’ eyes flickered to her face and then down over her as he took the horn and drained it. She returned to the cook fire.

Wiping the froth from his mouth with the back of his hand, Varus studied her with a frown. “Where’d you get that garment?”

She was surprised he had addressed her, but before she could answer, Freyja opened the front door and entered.

“She said she’s been having the dreams for two days,” Anomia said, entering just behind her.

“Did you give her an amber amulet to wear?” Freyja said with a quick smile of greeting to Varus and Rizpah. Caleb forgot his toys and came to her, having long since lost his shyness where his grandmother was concerned.

“I gave my last piece of amber to Reka,” Anomia lied, not wanting Freyja to know she had traded for mandrake and belladonna. Freyja bent to pick up her grandson and kissed him.

Annoyed that a child usurped her attention, Anomia glanced balefully at Rizpah. She froze, fury rising in her like a hot geyser. “Where did you get that tunic?”

Rizpah looked between Varus and Anomia. Neither of them ever spoke to her and the fact that they had meant something was wrong.

When Freyja turned and looked at her, her eyes widened as they swept over her.

Straightening, Rizpah touched the neckline of the outer garment. “One of the women gave it to me,” she said, wary at revealing Helda’s identity.

Anomia stepped forward, fingers curling into fists at her side. “What woman would dare give
you
such a garment?”

Rizpah lowered her hands to her sides. “It was a gift.”

Anomia eyes flashed. “From whom?”

Rizpah said nothing. Freyja set Caleb down and straightened. Anomia took a step forward. “Answer me!”

“What do you mean to do?”

“That’s none of your concern! Now tell me!”

Freyja put her hand out for silence. “I doubt any offense was meant by the gift.”

“Tiwaz will take offense,” Anomia said, trying to regain control. The hot blood pumped through her veins until it was all she could do to curb the rage filling her. This foreigner had no right to such a garment! If anyone was entitled, it was she, not this interloper!

Varus stared at Anomia, glimpsing for the first time the rabid nature hidden beneath the seductively beautiful face and body. Revulsion and fear filled him.

“Tell me who it was!” Anomia said, her voice low and trembling.

Rizpah remained calm, disquieted but not afraid. “Someone who was showing me a kindness.”

“Kindness! It’s
blasphemy!”

Surprised at the accusation and not understanding it, Rizpah put a hand against her heart. She looked down over the garment she wore in confusion. “What do you mean?” She looked at Freyja for explanation.

“Take it off!” Anomia screamed, teeth bared.

Rizpah looked at her, repulsed by her arrogance. It was pride and jealousy that burned in her blue eyes. Simple, childish jealousy.

“Do as she says,” Freyja said quietly, greatly disturbed.
“Please.”

Dismayed, Rizpah removed the outer garment. Folding it with care, she held it out to Freyja. Before she could take it, Anomia snatched it away and flung it into the fire.

Rizpah gasped. “How could you burn anything so lovely?”

“You have no right to it!”

“And Mother Freyja did not? I’m sure the woman who gave it to me would have been delighted for her to have it rather than to have it so heedlessly destroyed in a fit of childish temper.”

Freyja was astounded that Rizpah would speak so boldly, and to Anomia of all people.

Rizpah let out a sigh and watched the garment burn. The stench of burning linen filled the air. She looked at Anomia again and shook her head. How many hours had Helda put into making that beautiful garment?

“Now tell me who gave that tunic to you!” Anomia said in a low, searing voice.

Rizpah remembered how furtively Helda had come to her, proffering the gift in secret. She saw now in the young priestess’ face that Helda had risked a great deal in giving her such a gift. “A friend gave it to me,” she said, wishing she understood the full significance. She began stirring the stew again, not wanting it destroyed as well through her own lack of attention.

“A friend?” Anomia said with venomous sarcasm. “You have no friends among
loyal
Chatti,” she said, unwittingly setting herself against Freyja who knew her daughter Marta held Rizpah in highest esteem, and with good reason.
“Give me the name of the blasphemer!”

An inexplicable calmness filled Rizpah as she looked into Anomia’s virulent blue eyes. “No.”

Freyja and Varus were no less astonished than Anomia.

“No?” Anomia said, her voice trembling.

“Divine the information yourself if you think you have so much power.”

Enraged, Anomia took a step toward her, hand raised. Freyja caught her wrist before she could strike. “I’ll handle this,” she said firmly.

Anomia jerked free, shaking with rage at being defied by a foreigner and then thwarted by a kinswoman. “A curse on you, and your god be cursed!” she snarled at Rizpah, angered all the more because she looked back at her placidly. Casting a rancorous look at Freyja, she left the longhouse.

Freyja clutched the amber amulet between her breasts, her stomach tightening in fear. Varus was no less affected. The power of Tiwaz had radiated from Anomia. It was as though the young priestess was the embodiment of the god.

Rizpah let out her breath softly. “I’m sorry, Mother Freyja. How did I give offense this time?”

Mouth dry, Freyja looked at her, amazed that she was so composed. Didn’t she know what she had just faced? “Whoever gave you that garment wove the emblems of our sacred tree into it,” she said. “Oak leaves and acorns are sanctified symbols of long life and fertility.”

Varus gave a dismal laugh. “It would seem at least one of our tribe wishes you well.”

“Varus, please,” Freyja said, giving him a quelling look.

Rizpah understood all too clearly how her wearing the garment would bring offense. “I’m sorry,” she said, concerned more about the consequences to Helda than to herself. What would happen to her if Anomia found out? “I’m sure the woman meant no offense to you or Anomia, Mother Freyja. As Varus said, she was only wishing me well.”

“No,” Freyja said, disturbed. “She was doing more than that.” She was sure it was the subtle implications of the gift that had caused Anomia to lose control so completely. “Gundrid wears the symbols, as do Anomia and I.”

Rizpah was distressed. “But everyone knows what I believe, don’t they?” she said in dismay. “Jesus is my Savior and Master, Mother Freyja,
not
Tiwaz. Why would anyone give me a garment meant for a priestess?”

“To cause trouble,” Varus suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Freyja said and knew Anomia shared the same perceptions. “The woman who gave you the gift honors you as a spiritual leader.”

“The disease of deception is spreading among our people,” Anomia said, looking around at the circle of men sitting in the lamplight of her house before her altar. “Tiwaz has spoken. The hour has come to act.”

She had chosen each man carefully, nurturing their animosity and disappointments, stirring their passions until they were enslaved. Some, she knew, came only because of loyalty and not conviction. “You have burned the incense and presented your offerings. You have drunk the blood and eaten the flesh of the sacrifice. Tiwaz has revealed to us what we must do. Now we will learn who among us will have the honor of carrying out his will.”

Taking the white linen cloth from one side of the carved altar, she loosened the folds with solemnity. Uttering an unholy incantation, she laid it upon the ground in the middle of the circle. With great ceremony, she made sure all the wrinkles were removed and it was stretched out flat and smooth upon her earthen floor.

Turning again, Anomia took a silver bowl from the left side of the altar. Each man had placed within it a piece of wood inscribed with a rune he held personally sacred. She shook the bowl gently, murmuring another incantation as she did so. Once, twice, thrice, and again. Seven times she shook the bowl. Then she cast the wooden chips upon the white cloth.

Four bounced onto the earth and were quickly taken up by their owners and restrung and hung around their necks. Three others were turned over so that the runes didn’t show. Anomia turned these and returned them one by one.

Anomia took the five remaining chips and put them back in the bowl, going through the ritual once again. When she cast the chips onto the white cloth, four were faceup, one facedown. The four were taken up quietly by their owners.

Eyes glowing, Anomia looked at the young man to whom the charge fell. She took up the piece of wood and held it out in the palm of her hand. “Tomorrow. At sunrise.” She saw his eyes flicker once and recognized doubt. Her own eyes narrowed and chilled. “Tiwaz has given you another chance to redeem yourself,” she said, deliberately bringing up his past failure and raking his pride. “Be grateful.”

With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Rolf took the chip and clenched it in his fist. “For our people.”

“For Tiwaz,” she said and gave him the ceremonial dagger.