As Sure as the Dawn (66 page)

Had Gundrid sent Rolf? Surely Freyja would not be a participant in such an abominable act. She couldn’t believe it of Atretes’ mother. Anomia, yes, but not Freyja. Never Freyja.

She thought of the young priestess who had no fear of God, even of the one she worshiped. Rizpah had seen the darkness behind her eyes. She had felt it every time the young woman looked at her. The day before Theophilus had died, she had revealed her true feelings. Anomia was a child of wrath, hostile, inflamed by hatred of the Lord.

Rizpah wondered if she should give the dagger to Atretes. She felt sick at the thought, knowing that more than Rolf would die if she did so. And what if his own mother had taken part in The-ophilus’ death? What then?

She hid the weapon in the hollow of a tree near the stream.

Theophilus had given a commission to Atretes. “Feed the sheep.” But he had given her a commission as well. “Stand firm,” he had said. But could she?

“Stand firm.”

Again and again over the next days, his words came back to her, especially during the hours of darkness when she weakened and wanted to run back to the longhouse and beg Atretes to let her come home, when she wanted to give him the dagger and not think about the possible repercussions.

“Stand firm.”

Had Theophilus known she would be left alone? Would it have made a difference if he had?

“Stand firm, beloved.”

How many times had he said those words to her over the months of traveling from Ephesus to Rome and from Rome north across the Alps into the forests of Germania?
“Stand firm. Stand firm.”

She lay down upon Theophilus’ pallet each night and prayed.
Lord, I am weary with sighing. Every night I make my bed swim and dissolve this pallet with my tears. I am wasting away with grief.

She could almost hear Theophilus speaking to her. Closing her eyes, she took comfort from the memories of him. She thought of him sitting across the fire from her, smiling that tender smile of his.

Hadn’t he stood firm all these months, alone in this grubenhaus?

Other things he had said came to her: “Remember the Lord, beloved. Jesus delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son. Put your armor on. Gird your loins with the truth. Put on the breastplate of righteousness. Shod your feet with the gospel of peace. Take up the shield of faith and the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit. And pray.

“You must be a doer of the Word, Rizpah. Remember the Scriptures. Let God’s Word enter your heart and bear fruit.

“Be steadfast. Set your mind on the things above. The mind set on the flesh is death, but the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace. Guard your heart, for from it flow springs of living water. Imitate the Lord. Walk in love.”

Scriptures came, flooding her mind.

“Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world.”

“I love my husband, Lord. I love my son.”

“I am the Lord your God, and there is no other.”

God’s Word came like a clap of thunder and then followed with a gentler rain.

“I am sufficient. I am sufficient. I am sufficient.”

And she wept, knowing what God asked of her.

“O Lord, you are my Rock and my Redeemer. You hear my supplication. You receive my prayer. You have heard the sound of my weeping. Help me to stand firm in you. Give me strength, Abba, for I have none of my own. Fill me with the knowledge of your will and keep me in the way everlasting. O Lord, my God, I live to worship you.”

And as Rizpah poured her heart out in surrender to the Lord, the God of the universe poured back into her love and assurance. She wept, and his Word comforted her. She was weak, and he strengthened her. Scripture upon Scripture came back to her, vital and alive, driving away fear and loneliness, obliterating all doubt. As the days wore on, dark forces closed in around her, but Rizpah clung stubbornly to Christ and her passion deepened.

“We can rejoice,” Theophilus had said during a time of tribulation. “We can pray. We can praise God.”

And she set her mind and heart upon doing these things, no matter what came against her.

“It’s been ten days, Atretes,” Freyja said and saw the flash of anger in her son’s eyes, clear warning he didn’t want to speak of his wife. But she had to speak of Rizpah. Ten days was too long for a woman to be on her own at the edge of the forest. And he knew it. She had watched his tension increase with every day that passed. Rizpah had no food other than what little might be growing in the Roman’s garden, and how long would that last? She had no protection, and Freyja felt the spiritual forces moving until the air trembled.

“You can’t leave her out there on her own.”

He was pale, his emotions raw. He continued staring into the fire, the muscle working in his jaw.

“You must bring her back.”

“No.”

“Caleb needs his mother.”

“He has you.”

“He misses
her. You
miss her.”

Swearing, Atretes stood abruptly. “Leave it be!”

She saw the pain behind his fury. He had expected Rizpah to capitulate. When he had returned from the funeral fire, he had thrust Caleb into his mother’s arms and sat before the fire. She had asked where Rizpah was, and all he had said was, “She knows who did it, but she won’t tell me. Until she does, she’s not welcome in this house.” He sat before the fire, leaving her stunned and filled with questions. “She’ll come,” he said, punching his right fist into his left palm. “She’ll come before morning.”

He had waited all night for her. When morning had come, he was still sitting before the fire, staring so intently into the flames that he didn’t even hear the pitiful wailing of his hungry son. She had taken Caleb to Marta who was still nursing Luisa. She had milk enough for two.

Now Atretes looked around the room. “Where’s Caleb?” he said, eyes blazing. “Did you take him to Rizpah?”

“I took him to Marta. He hasn’t been weaned.”

“He’s old enough.”

“He’s confused and frightened enough without doing that to him.”

“I don’t care,” Atretes said, running his fingers through his hair. “Do what you think best, only don’t give him to Rizpah. No matter how much she pleads, don’t let her touch him.”

“She hasn’t come to me. She hasn’t pleaded. She—”

“Enough! See to the boy and leave me alone!”

Varus spread the word through the village that Atretes had cast Rizpah out because she refused to tell him who had killed the Roman. No one understood her reasoning, least of all Varus, who carried the news. Why would the Ionian set herself in the path of vengeance over a man she had loved as much as Atretes? It made no sense. Her logic defied reason. Had the Ionian gone mad with grief?

Only Atretes knew it was not madness. It was her stubborn will that kept her from giving in. And knowing made him all the more angry.

People could talk of little else, though they didn’t dare do so in Atretes’ hearing.

On the twelfth day, Freyja waited until Atretes went out with Usipi to hunt. She took the path that had been worn from the back of the longhouse to the glen and Theophilus’ grubenhaus. Crossing the open space, she saw Rizpah working in the garden. She looked like any other young woman going about her daily chores, but as Freyja came nearer, she heard Rizpah talking to herself as she loosened the soil and plucked weeds. The poor woman had gone mad.

“Rizpah?” she said cautiously.

She glanced up in surprise, and Freyja saw the ugly yellowing bruise on the left side of her face. “You startled me,” Rizpah said and straightened. She brushed back a few loose tendrils of dark hair with the back of her hand. “Did Atretes send you?”

Freyja’s heart sank at the look of hope in her dark eyes. “No.”

“Oh,” Rizpah said softly and looked toward the village. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the tears, and then looked at Freyja again. She felt the older woman’s discomfort and sympathy and smiled. “How is Caleb?”

“Marta’s taking care of him.”

Rizpah nodded. “I knew I could depend on you to see to his needs,” was all she said, her smile filled with gratitude. She made no protest, uttered no heart-wrenching appeal or angry accusations, but Freyja felt the terrible toll of separation. Rizpah was not mad at all. She was resolved. She had set her course, and no wind would change it. Freyja wished she could understand.

“Why won’t you tell Atretes who killed Theophilus?”

“Because he would kill the man.”

“Is that so hard to understand?”

“Are you eager for more blood?”

“Of course not, but neither do I condone murder.”

“Nor do I, Mother Freyja.” She thought of the ceremonial dagger hidden in the tree. She searched Freyja’s face for subterfuge and saw none. She thought of showing her the dagger and finding out whether it was Gundrid or Anomia behind Theophilus’ death, and then decided against it. Not only Rolf would die. How many others were involved?

“I want to understand,” Freyja said.

“Theophilus told me not to tell Atretes who it was,” she said simply.

“But why? Surely the Roman would want his life avenged.”

“No.” Rizpah smiled gently. “Jesus forgave those who crucified him. Theophilus forgave as well. I can do no less.”

“Atretes can’t.”

“He can if he so chooses.”

“He won’t. It’s not in his nature to forgive the way you mean. It’s not the Chatti way.”

“It’s not in anyone’s nature, Lady Freyja, but it’s the will of God.” Her eyes filled again. “In Christ, anything is possible, even changing a man’s heart. I pray for that constantly, that God will change Atretes’ heart. And mine.” She couldn’t ask God to do something in Atretes’ life that she wasn’t willing to have done in her own.

Freyja wished she had brought her something—bread, cheese, a shawl to keep her warm.

Rizpah saw her dilemma and smiled. “The Lord is with me, Mother Freyja.”

Freyja felt a shivering warmth within her at Rizpah’s words and saw a look of serenity that was beyond anything she had ever felt in her life. How was it possible? “It’s not right that you’re the one punished.”

“I thought that at first, but it was deception. This isn’t punishment. It’s war. Theophilus battled against the forces of darkness that live and breathe in this place, and now I must stand in his place.”

Freyja paled and drew back.

Rizpah saw her fear. “You know what I mean, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes that you understand. And you’re afraid. But I tell you this: Christ’s love casts out fear, Mother Freyja. If you will let Jesus redeem you, you need never be afraid again.”

“I didn’t come to speak of your god,” Freyja said, disturbed by the feelings that gripped her, wondering yet again what it was about the name Jesus that made her shake inside. She clutched the amber pendant to protect herself, praying the spirit would not come upon her again.

It had not since Theophilus touched her.

Rizpah was saddened to see her so afraid. “The Lord will bring to light the things hidden in the darkness and disclose the motives in a man’s heart.” Or that of a woman. She wondered if Freyja had played an unwitting part in the tragedy, and knew if she had, it would distress them both to know it. “I can’t set Atretes’ feet on the path to murder. I won’t. If he goes that way, he will go of his own free will and not with my assistance.”

Freyja knew there was no use in talking to her. The young woman was set upon her strange task. However misguided she was, she sought only to protect Atretes from himself, not hurt him. Perhaps, given time, she would come to understand and accept that feuding and revenge were ingrained in their lives.

“I am sorry your friend was killed,” she said with all sincerity. “He was not like other Romans.” Seeing Rizpah’s eyes fill again, she wished she hadn’t spoken. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you more, Rizpah, but to see if I could help bring about reconciliation.”

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy,” Rizpah said softly, her eyes aglow with love.

Stifling the soft cry that welled within her, Freyja turned and hurried away.

“Tell Atretes I love him, Mother Freyja,” Rizpah called out to her. “Tell him I always will.”

Freyja paused and looked back. Tears running down her cheeks, Rizpah crouched again and plucked at some small weeds at the base of a small stalk of corn.

“I will tell him.”

But when she did, Atretes wouldn’t listen. “Even my mother betrays me!”

He took his possessions and moved into Rud’s longhouse with the warriors who had no wives.

Anomia was vexed by the amount of interest expended on the Ionian, but hid her feelings. She had called together the secret council twice since the Roman had been killed, and each time fewer came. Neither time had Rolf appeared. When she asked where he was, the men laughed about a young man’s lust, but Anomia sensed it was more than that.

Rolf should have sought her out. Several times she had seen him in the village since the night the lot was cast and the dagger was given to him. He always avoided her. If he didn’t come to her soon, she would have to seek him out. Pride chafed at the thought, but she needed the dagger. It must be returned to the sacred tree where it was kept with the other emblems of faith in Tiwaz. And it had to be placed there before the new moon.