Blind Ambition

by Carol Ashby

  Valeria placed her fingers on his wrist to check his pulse. It was unchanged, weak and rapid but steady. “Only God knows, but he’s still alive now. Surely God wouldn’t have had us stop to help him if he wasn’t going to get well. Just keep praying.”

  Rhoda rested her hand on his good leg as her face relaxed. “God can make him better. I’m sure He’ll answer our prayers.”

  Valeria struggled to turn him onto his right side to keep pressure off his head wound. Then she climbed over him and out of the cart. He was a very tall man, so she had to bend his legs to get him completely in. Finally, she covered him with the striped blanket. Gaius had always said to keep injured men warm.

  Her hair had fallen across her face as she strained to maneuver the large man into position for the ride home. When she pushed it back, she felt the wetness on her forehead. Her sweat or his blood?

  “I don’t want his head bouncing around and getting hurt more, so I’m going to sit back here and hold him. You can drive us.”

  She climbed back into the cart and settled into the space she’d left for herself before lifting his head into her lap. Even though the cut in his scalp had mostly stopped bleeding, he still left a blood stain on her dress.

  Rhoda adjusted the blanket to cover the Roman’s feet before stepping away from him. After climbing up onto the cart seat, she picked up the reins and clucked to the horse. With a lurch, the cart started down the road toward the junction where they would take the faint trail that led to their farm.

  As they drove past the spot where the robbers had dumped everything from the packhorse, Rhoda whispered, “Scrolls. They must have been in his treasure box. Can I get them so he won’t lose them? Maybe they were his parents’, and they’re really special to him.”

  Valeria wanted to say they shouldn’t delay even a moment, but the pleading look in Rhoda’s eyes stopped her. Her little sister treasured the scrolls and codices that Gaius and Priscilla used to read to her. She often took them out and read them to herself because they helped her feel close to her parents again.

  “Yes, just be very quick about it. I want to get off the main road as soon as we can.”

  Images of what the robbers would do if they caught them swirled through her mind. It would be horrible enough to be found alone. How much worse would it be if they were caught helping the Roman?

  Rhoda handed the ends of the reins to Valeria and sprang down. First, she dragged his box to the back of the cart. She strained to lift it up onto the bed.

  “His box is really heavy.”

  “Maybe it’s a special kind of wood.”

  Rhoda pushed the box in beside his legs and left it open so she could pack everything back into it. She gathered the dozen or so codices and scrolls, brushing the dust off each as she ran with it to the cart.

  As she was picking up the last one, something rustled behind them. Both whirled to face it. Had the robbers returned?

  Valeria held her breath. The bushes parted...and there stood the Roman’s stallion. He had a bloody cut on his shoulder and was limping, but the faithful horse was following his master. He limped over to the cart and nuzzled the tribune.

  Valeria reached out for one of the hanging reins. The cut on the stallion’s shoulder wasn’t very deep. It would probably heal well if she treated it. If they both recovered, the Roman would have a way to get home.

  “Quick, tie this to the cart, and let’s get going.”

  Rhoda took the stallion’s reins, and he let her stroke his nose. “We can be the Good Samaritan to his horse, too.”

  When they reached the turnoff, Valeria eased herself out from under the tribune’s head.

  “Drive the cart around the bend and wait for me. I’m going to hide our tracks coming off the road.”

  As Rhoda drove forward, Valeria picked up a fallen tree branch. With it, she swept away the tell-tale marks of the horses’ hooves and the cart wheels. Then she gathered some more branches and scattered them across the trail. That should hide it from anyone who wasn’t a skilled tracker. If the robbers did return, they wouldn’t find an easy trail to follow to the farm.

  She ran up the trail and around the bend to where Rhoda was waiting. She climbed back into the cart and resumed her position cradling the Roman’s head.

  “I have him. Let’s go.”

  Rhoda slapped the reins, and they continued the jostling trip home.

  Valeria pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He didn’t look like a dangerous man at that moment, but no one looked dangerous when they were sleeping...or unconscious.

  The tribune had protected her when he stopped his officer from raping her, but what did that really mean? He might only have been in a hurry and didn’t want to wait. He might not have done it because he wanted to protect her at all. He had ridden off without even looking at her, so it seemed more likely that he was just an impatient man.

  Romans weren’t known for showing anyone mercy. She’d been praying desperately for deliverance, and God might have led him to do something that was totally against his normal inclination. It was probably wise to consider him a dangerous man until he gave her reason to think otherwise.

  He lay so still, so pale underneath his dark tan. She felt his wrist. The pulse was still there. What a relief...maybe. How fragile this man was who’d seemed so strong and proud and...invincible when he rode into the village and bought her berries. He looked anything but invincible now. What would he be like when he recovered? If he recovered...

  That thought triggered a shiver.

  What if he didn’t recover? Surely God wouldn’t have told her to bring him home if he wasn’t going to live, but what if his stirring hadn’t been a sign from God that she should risk trying to help him? What if he died? What if the Romans came looking for him and thought she’d killed him? They would see his horse and know he’d been with them. What would happen to Galen and Rhoda?

  She shook her head. Stop that! Stop second-guessing whether I’m obeying God in this. Surely everything would turn out all right, and this Roman would be grateful enough for them rescuing him that he would choose not to punish them for their faith. Still, even if he wasn’t going to be grateful, she had to take care of him now.

  Jesus had commanded her to love her enemy, to care for those who needed help, to pray for those who persecuted her. This had to be the right thing to do. Surely that was a sign from God as she knelt beside him on the road.

  And surely God would protect them. He could change the Roman’s mind about arresting the followers of Jesus. The tribune could choose not to enforce the governor’s decree. Maybe he wouldn’t be so dangerous after all.

  Her fingertips swept across his forehead, pushing his hair back again. Even if he didn’t change, Jesus always wanted His followers to love their enemies. Love wasn’t just an emotion. It was doing whatever it took, no matter the cost, to help a person who needed help.

  It was time to stop worrying about whether she’d made a wise decision. She had to be the Good Samaritan for this poor man. If anyone had ever needed her help, it was him. Peace settled over her as she closed her eyes and began to pray for him.

  It was still another three miles to the farm, and the afternoon was almost over. Galen would already be wondering where they were. Was he ever going to be surprised!

  Chapter 6: The Broken Roman

  Galen glanced out the cattle-shed door for the fifteenth time. The sun was much too low in the sky. Where were his sisters? There was always some variation in when they came, depending on how quickly Val sold her wares and whether they stayed a while to visit with friends, but it was already much later than normal, even for a slow market day. He’d heard the rumor that the raiders were waylaying travelers in the neighborhood again.

  If they didn’t come soon, he would get the ax and start down the path to look for them. At thirteen, he was growing taller all the time, looking more and more like a man and taking on manly responsibilit
ies. He would soon be the man of the house and protector of the family. Val saw him growing, but to her he was still just her little brother. He didn’t feel that way anymore.

  Galen finally heard the creaking of the cart as he was finishing up in the cattle shed. He stepped out, prepared to tease Rhoda about staying in town so long so he would get her chores done before she got home. His tease died on his lips when he saw the limping stallion tied behind the cart and Val sitting in the back while Rhoda drove. Val looked like she was praying, and his usually cheery little sister looked grim. Galen dropped his rake and trotted toward the cart.

  He was totally unprepared for what he saw when he looked over the sidewall.

  “Whoa! Rhoda’s always bringing home birds with broken wings or something, but a broken Roman soldier? Where did you find him?”

  “That’s not funny, Galen,” Rhoda retorted. “We found him by the road after the robbers jumped him, just like the Jew in the Good Samaritan story. We couldn’t just leave him there to die. God told Valeria we should bring him home, so we have.”

  Valeria shifted the tribune in her lap. “Galen, please lead the cart over by the porch. I think we can get him into my bed if we all carry part of him. He’s heavier than he looks. Once we get him in there, I can start tending his wounds.”

  Rhoda ran to open the door, then scurried back to help carry her share of the Roman.

  Galen’s eyebrows rose as he scanned the soldier. “He’s really big, Val. How did you ever get him into the cart?”

  “I got my shoulder under him and stood up. I don’t really know how I did that. God must have given me extra strength.”

  “We can try that again with my shoulder. I’m a lot stronger than you.”

  Valeria was not so sure. Galen was still only a couple of inches taller than her and not filled out. But he did do the heavy work on the farm, so it might work.

  “He’s too broad for one shoulder, so you take his right side and I’ll take his left. Rhoda can guide his feet.”

  Galen took hold of his legs and prepared to pull him out.

  “Be careful of his left leg. I don’t want the cut to start bleeding again. Just pull the right one if you can. I have to keep the back of his head from hitting anything.”

  As Galen pulled, Valeria supported his shoulders and slid along the bed of the cart.

  Once they had him positioned with only his chest still lying on the bed, each crouched at his side, wrapped one of his arms across their necks, and stood.

  Valeria struggled to support her half of him as they carried him into the cottage. God must have given her special strength in the forest. A clear sign that He wanted her to bring the tribune home. She wouldn’t question her decision anymore.

  Rhoda lowered his feet to the floor and pulled the covers back on Valeria’s bed.

  “Help me get him on his right side.” Muscle fatigue had her shaking when they finally got him on the bed and Galen stepped back.

  Valeria unwrapped the temporary bandage that she’d applied before moving him. As she’d feared, the cut had bled more during their trip home, but it appeared to have finally stopped.

  “Rhoda, please put the kettle on to boil. I need to clean and stitch his head and leg while he’s still unconscious. It will hurt too much if he’s awake, so I want to hurry. He could be waking up any time.”

  Galen’s eyebrow shot up. Valeria shook her head at him. Now was not the time for him to be joking aloud about the Roman looking much more likely to die than to wake up. She could see exactly what Galen saw, but God had told her to help the tribune. She would obey and trust Him to heal this man who’d lost enough blood to kill most people.

  As Rhoda started the water, Valeria went to the cupboard for the bottle of acetum, the antiseptic mixture of vinegar and plant oils that Gaius had taught her to make. It really stung in open cuts, but it also prevented infection. She gazed at him lying unconscious on her bed. He wouldn’t notice how much it hurt when she poured it on his wounds.

  Valeria clipped his blood-matted hair close to his scalp with her sewing scissors. After she trimmed a patch almost two inches longer and wider than the cut, his wound didn’t look so bad. As Gaius had taught her, she cleaned it thoroughly and applied the acetum before taking needle and thread to close it.

  She tapped her chin with her fist. How could she bandage a wound on the back of the head? She couldn’t wrap bandages around his face. Maybe she’d have to leave it uncovered and pray that she could keep it clean enough.

  His leg was a simpler problem. She’d helped Gaius treat a man who’d cut his leg with his ax, so she already knew how to treat the wound in his calf.

  She bit her lip as she tied off the last stitch, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. I thank You for keeping him unconscious through this, Lord.

  What would a soldier like him do if he awakened while she was working on him? Both the cleaning and the stitching would have felt like she was trying to hurt him. A wounded animal was the most dangerous kind, and he wouldn’t have known she was only trying to help him when he first awoke.

  She checked his pulse. Steady and somewhat stronger. His breathing was fast and shallow. Not quite what she’d like, but not too worrisome.

  Now that she had him home where she could care for him, he might survive his ordeal. He’d already survived the worst, but until he woke up, she could be sure of nothing. Only then would she know if he might live.

  She straightened up as she gazed down at him.

  Rhoda touched Valeria’s arm. “Now can we help his horse?”

  Valeria fought the sigh. She was already tired and might have a long night ahead of her if he didn’t awaken quickly, but the look on Rhoda’s face convinced her.

  “Galen, please tell him he’s among friends if he awakens and then come get me right away.”

  The sun had almost set by the time she finished treating the Roman. She stroked Rhoda’s hair and kissed her forehead before picking up a lamp. It might be well after dark before she finished with his horse.

  “We’ll need a bucket of water and my medicine bag. Time to be Good Samaritans to his horse, too.”

  Rhoda grabbed the bucket, hurried through the door, and headed to the well for the refill. As Valeria turned to pull the door shut, her gaze fell once more on the tribune.

  If he lives, God, please make him let us live as well.

  Chapter 7: Waiting

  The fire had burned down to embers. A faint glow appeared above the trees to the east. Valeria raised her head from the table. She’d spent the night there, listening to his breathing and praying for his healing. At last, she could stay awake no longer. She’d laid her head on her folded arms and dozed off for a few minutes.

  The Roman still lay motionless on her bed. He should have awakened long before this. She’d found him more than fourteen hours earlier, but he looked no different than he had lying across the road. If he was going to recover, why was he still unconscious?

  She had no experience with head injuries, but Gaius had brought his medical scrolls when he escaped from Rome. Soon it would be light enough to read. Maybe she would find some answers to her questions, some advice on what to do.

  As she gazed upon the tribune’s emotionless face, tendrils of unease wrapped around her. His face was deeply tanned, but his pallor was too much like the dead men by the road. His pulse seemed a little stronger and was steady enough, but his shallow breathing worried her. Twice in the night it had become so quiet that she’d checked for a pulse to see if he was still alive.

  The sky brightened from gray to pink-suffused blue. Soon Galen and Rhoda would awaken and come down for breakfast. Rhoda would be disappointed that he wasn’t awake yet. Galen wouldn’t be surprised. Last night his mouth had been grim as he looked at the Roman. He expected the wounded man to die.

  She rubbed her eyes before dragging herself to the tribune’s bedside. When she placed the back of her hand on his forehea
d, her breath caught. Did he feel warmer than he should? She bit her lower lip.

  Fever. Nothing could be worse. If his wounds infected, he would die. She sat beside him and touched his forehead again. He did feel warm, but her hands were cold in the brisk morning air. Maybe that was the problem.

  There was a more reliable test.

  Oh God, please don’t let him be fevered. She leaned over and placed her lips on his forehead.

  Galen was coming down the ladder as she sat back up.

  “Val, kissing the poor man when he can’t defend himself? For shame!”

  She ignored his comment. “No fever, praise God. When he wakes up, he’ll have passed the crisis.”

  Galen walked to the bedside and took her hand in his.

  “Cold hands.” He rubbed her small hand between his two larger ones. “I guess you’ll be kissing him again until these warm up. Good thing he’s unconscious. We wouldn’t want him getting the wrong idea about you.”

  He gazed down at the Roman. “Has he moved at all?”

  “No, but it hasn’t been a full day, and I prayed all night.”

  Galen’s eyes flipped from the Roman to Valeria and back. Then he shrugged as a smile leaked out.

  “He might look a little better. Maybe we won’t have to bury him after all. I have lots of other chores today, so that’s a good thing.”

  “Galen! Don’t talk that way with him maybe listening. He won’t know you’re joking like I do. If you have so many chores, you should get started.” With a smile, she shoved him toward the door.

  She sat down at the table again, leaned on her elbows, and rested her face in her hands. She sometimes stayed up all night as a baby was being born, but there were always other people to talk with and to share the joy of a new life coming into the world. This had been the hardest night vigil she’d ever kept.

  Rhoda climbed down from the loft and walked over to the bed.

  “I think he looks much better this morning, don’t you? Sleeping is a good thing when someone is trying to get better.”