As Sure as the Dawn (67 page)

She thought of threatening him with exposure, but knew she couldn’t. Just as the sacred vow of secrecy and blood prevented the men from revealing who the Roman’s killer was, it bound her, too. If she exposed him, she would lose the others’ trust.

She wanted the dagger in her hands again.

Frustrated, she turned her thoughts away from it. It didn’t really matter. It was only a matter of time now before everything fell into place and she had all she deserved. Even if the woman revealed Rolf now, Anomia doubted Atretes would forgive her. He was Chatti through and through. It wasn’t in him to forgive. She smiled.

She had won already. Oh, if they but knew. The war was almost over. Soon, they would know it. All of them. A few careful hints, and Atretes would take his revenge. Rolf would die in punishment for his lapse. When Atretes killed him, the loosening hold the Ionian and her weakling god had upon him would be broken. Tiwaz would reign supreme in his life again. He would be their warrior chief. No mention would ever be made of the Chatti needing a savior or bowing down to another god. She would see to that.

Anomia laughed in profane delight, reveling in the knowledge that she, and only she, had accomplished the task Tiwaz had set before her. The Roman was dead, the Ionian cast out.

What more could Tiwaz ask of her?

Soon she would have the power she craved, and with it, the man she wanted. Atretes.

A tapping awakened Rizpah in the predawn hours.

“Woman,” came a gruff whisper, “I’ve left something for you. You’d best get it before the animals do.” She heard running footsteps.

Rising sleepily, she opened the door and went outside to see who had come, but they were already gone. Bread, cheese, a skin of honeyed wine, and a dead rabbit had been left for her on a woven reed mat. She thanked God for the food and for the heart that had been moved by him to give it.

Two, at least,
Theophilus had told her.
Perhaps more.

Were they praying for her? She prayed for them all morning as she made a fire and roasted the rabbit.
Whoever they are, Lord, watch over them and protect them. Let their faith deepen.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Green beans and squash had sustained her, but this was a feast straight from heaven.

Needing to wash, she headed for the small stream nearby. She found the place where she always took Caleb to bathe. Wading in, fully clothed, she let the tears come as she bathed. Marta was good with Caleb, and he loved little Luisa. He was safe. She was comforted in knowing that, though she would never stop missing him. He was part of her, just as Atretes was, and the separation was as painful as if flesh had been torn away.

Who will teach my son about you, Lord? If Atretes doesn’t turn back, who will teach Caleb the truth? Will he grow up the way Atretes did, trained to be a warrior, schooled in feuding among neighbors and his own people? Will he be like Rolf or Varus or Rud and a hundred others? Lord, please be with him. Make him a man after your own heart. Please, Lord.

When she came out of the stream, she wrung the water from her hair and loosened the folds of her garments. Her mind was so occupied with praying that she didn’t hear the man approaching, nor see him standing in the trees. When she did, she stumbled back, fear her immediate reaction, then anger swiftly following.

“Did you come to kill me, too, Rolf?”

He said nothing. He just stood there in the shadows, silent, motionless, but she saw in his face what no words could have expressed. Fear and anger dissolved as she was moved by deep compassion. She came up the bank until she stood within a few feet of him. He looked so young, so wounded.

“You can talk to me. I’ll listen.”

His throat worked. She waited, tears brimming in her eyes as she saw the suffering in his.

“I was deceived. I . . .” He looked down at the ground, unable to look into her eyes. She saw his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “I
let
myself be deceived,” he amended and looked at her again. “He just stood there and let me do it. He said . . .” His face worked. “He said . . .”

“He said he forgave you,” Rizpah said in a trembling whisper, when he couldn’t finish. She saw clearly how love had broken through his walls.

Rolf started to cry. “He spared my life, and I took his.” He hadn’t wanted to give in to unmanly tears, but they came, hot and heavy. He couldn’t restrain them. Remembering Theophilus’ face as he stabbed him the second time, he sank to his knees, his head in his hands, sobs wracking his body.

Rizpah put her arms around him. “I forgive you, too,” she said, stroking his hair as she would a hurt child’s. “Jesus forgives you. Take your heavy burdens to the Lord, for he is gentle and humble in heart; and you will find rest for your soul. His yoke is light and easy, Rolf, and he will give you rest.”

Atretes came awake abruptly, breathing heavily as he stared up at a beamed roof. His heart slowed from its racing pace as he realized he lay in the straw of the bachelors’ longhouse, surrounded by the rattling snores from the others who lay strewn nearby, blown down by whatever wind of passion had come upon them. Too much ale, too much living.

His body ached and his head throbbed from too much wine. He had drunk until he couldn’t stand the night before, but not enough to drive the dreams away, nor fill the emptiness he felt.

He thought about Rizpah. He could still see the look on her face after he had hit her. Something else he couldn’t forget. He tried to justify himself. If she had told him who the murderer was, everything would be settled by now. Theophilus’ death would be avenged, and they could go on as they had.

The Spirit within him revolted at such thinking. It wouldn’t give him peace, plaguing him constantly. He tried to lie to himself, but the truth was there, inside him.

“Feed the sheep.”

He groaned. Sitting up, he rubbed his face. The headache intensified, his stomach churning. The dream was still too vivid in his mind, vivid enough to bring physical consequences. Stumbling to his feet, he barely made it out the back of the longhouse before he vomited. When the spasms were over, he leaned heavily back against the building, squinting against the afternoon sunlight. What time of day was it?

And what did he care? He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t doing anything.

He had forgotten what it was like to live without hope, without love.

The strength of his body was wasting away. He seemed to spend every day lamenting. He felt a heavy hand upon him. His vitality was draining away as though the fever of rage sapped his strength. Not a night went by that he didn’t dream of death or of life so painful he didn’t want to live it. He saw the countless faces of men whose lives he had taken. He saw Bato dying by his own hand. He saw Pugnax chased down and torn to pieces by dogs. Sometimes he ran with him, heart in his throat, hearing the growls and feeling the snapping teeth behind him.

Then there were the dreams of Julia putting Caleb on the rocks and laughing when he couldn’t get to him before the waves did. She always vanished as he ran into the crashing surf, trying desperately to find his son in the cold, frothing water. And then he’d see Caleb, always out of reach, swirling and dipping and sucked under by the dark currents.

Worst of all, he dreamed of Rizpah standing outside the grubenhaus, weeping. “Why didn’t you do what he asked of you? Why didn’t you feed the sheep?” And everywhere he looked were people he knew, lying dead—in the meadows, beneath the trees, in the longhouses, along the streets of the village, as though struck down during normal chores and living. Rud, Holt, Usipi, Marta, Varus, his mother, the children, all of them,
dead!

“Why didn’t you feed the sheep?” Rizpah would weep as she had this morning before he had awakened. And then she, too, was gone, swallowed by the encroaching darkness, and he was left alone, facing unspeakable terror.

Atretes wanted to shake away the memory of the dream.

“Feed the sheep.”

“I tried!” Atretes groaned aloud. Angry, he looked up into the sky. “I tried, and no one listened!”

“Are you talking to yourself now, Atretes?”

He turned sharply at the soft, faintly mocking voice and saw Anomia standing at the corner of the longhouse. She smiled at him, a slow, provocative smile, and came into the open. As she walked toward him, he couldn’t help but notice her body, lush and graceful. “A long night of drinking?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh. A headache, as well.” She dangled a leather pouch. “I have something in here that will make you feel better.”

He grew wary at the glowing look in her blue eyes. She came closer, close enough that he could smell the sweet musk scent she had rubbed on her body. Desire stirred. When she looked up into his eyes, he felt the hunger in her, insatiable, dark, beckoning . . . and his flesh responded.

“Shall I make you feel better?”

The temptation lay before him, stark and bold. He struggled against it. “Where’d you come from?” He glanced back in the direction from which she had come. “It’s hardly a beaten path.”

Anomia’s eyes barely flickered. She still smiled, but he felt her anger as strongly as he had felt her passion and knew the cause of it. “I was gathering herbs in the forest. Every morning about this time I go by myself to replenish my stores. Sometimes I go in the evening as well. Tonight, for instance. It’ll be a new moon in a few days. There are things I need to gather in preparation.”

“Indeed?” His blood caught fire, though his mind cooled with deeper understanding.

“Indeed,” she said, smiling again, a faint, toying smile that plucked his nerve ends. She let the leather pouch swing back and forth on the end of her finger. “Shall I mix a little of this in some wine?”

“I’ve had enough wine.”

“Ale, then, if you like it better. Or honeyed mead.”

His head pounded harder. Maybe a little wine would help. Turning, he went back inside the longhouse. When he filled a horn and turned, she was standing in the shadows. “How the mighty fall,” she said, sounding amused. He didn’t know whether she was looking at him or the others passed out in the hay.

“We were celebrating.”

She laughed softly. “Celebrating what?”

“I don’t remember. Does it matter?” He brought the horn to her. When her fingers brushed his, his blood stirred. She opened the small pouch with her teeth, and he found himself staring at her mouth. She added the herbs, swirled the brew slowly, moistening her lips before she took a sip of it herself, and then held the horn up to him, her eyes glowing.

“Drink all of it, Atretes.”

He drank, his gaze still fixed upon her. He drained the horn. “Not too bad,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Now, sit.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“You sound like a belligerent child. Are you afraid of me?”

He gave a derisive laugh.

“Then do as I ask. You want to get rid of the headache, don’t you?”

He sat cross-legged in the hay. She moved behind him and began to knead his temples.

“Relax, Atretes. I’ll do you no harm.” She was laughing at him. He forced himself to relax, feeling ridiculous for his hesitance. He crushed the feelings of warning within him.

“Are you having dreams?”

“They never stop,” he said, feeling the effects of whatever she had put in the ale. The pain was departing. She smoothed his hair back. Her hands were like magic, strong, yet gentle, knowing just where to press and give. He felt, too, the unspoken intimacy as she explored his muscles.

He heard the hay rustle behind him and felt her warm breath on the back of his neck. His body went hot.

“Does this feel good?”

Too good, he thought, but couldn’t bring himself to draw away. How long since he had felt the heat of something besides wrath? Not since he had held Rizpah in his arms the night before Theophilus had been murdered.

Rizpah.

Anomia’s hands gripped his shoulders. “I can make you feel better.”

Her whisper sent his mind reeling. Sucking in his breath, he closed his eyes, fighting the lust rising within him. Like a sharp bang, he heard a cell door closing, and he was back in the ludus. With an uttered curse, Atretes jerked from her and stood.

“What’s wrong?” Anomia said, startled by his retreat. He moved a few feet away from her. She had felt his desire through her fingertips. What had happened to break the mood? “Tell me, Atretes.”

“Nothing!”

“Did I do something?” she said.

Atretes glanced back at her. She looked all innocence and hurt confusion. “I don’t know. Did you?” His breath still came hard, and he raked a shaking hand back through his hair. His best friend had been murdered. He was estranged from his wife. His child was being raised by his sister. He was living the wild life he had longed for as a youth! And he had just toyed with thoughts of adultery. He laughed mirthlessly. What could possibly be wrong?

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said bitterly. Nothing other than the fact that his life was in shambles.

What had happened to the peace he had known?

God, if only I could go back to those few weeks after I was baptized and married Rizpah. I was never more happy than I was then. I’ll never be that happy again. Was it all a dream, Lord, a chance idyll before reality struck? Were you playing a cruel joke on me? Do you even exist?