by Tessa Afshar
“God, if you have any room in your heart for thieves, help us this night,” I said. I felt hopeless. I knew I did not have the strength to carry Father all the way home. A few staggering steps were one thing. But a trail that had required one full hour of fast walking was beyond me.
I readjusted the route in my mind from the convoluted paths I had originally planned on, to the most direct road. It made the distance considerably shorter.
Still impossible.
At the rate I was stumbling along, it would take us two or three hours to get home. My body could not bear such a task.
Paul’s words reverberated in my mind. “Love never gives up. Never loses faith. It is always hopeful. Love endures through every circumstance.”
I hefted Father back over my shoulder and, bent over in half like a decrepit crone, lurched forward. This was love. Love that would not give up. Love that would not lose hope. Love that would endure even this impossible burden.
One step at a time, I forced my feet forward. My lips were cracked and bleeding after half an hour. My throat had grown parched. Pain shot through my back, and spasms of agony seized my shoulders, my neck, my stomach. There was no part of me that was not in anguish. But I clung to Paul’s words.
“God of love, give me the strength,” I whispered.
I was weeping with exhaustion and pain by the time I arrived at the villa. The sun would rise soon. I laid Father gently on the soft grass. Opening the side door, I carried him those last few steps and placed him on the tiled floor. He had lost consciousness long since.
“Dionysius.” I tried to shout my brother’s name. Only a croak emerged. Someone heard that pathetic whimper and fetched him.
“Lord be merciful!” he cried. “What has happened?”
“Fetch a physician,” I said, then collapsed on the ground in a dead faint.
I woke to the sound of eerie shrieks. I jerked up and winced. My whole body was a mass of writhing pain. Muscles ached and locked. My head pounded. A gentle hand pushed me back into bed.
“Don’t try to rise.”
“Justus?” He was sitting on a chair to my right, which explained why I had missed him. My neck would not allow my head to rotate that far. The eerie shrieks beat against my skull again.
“What is that?”
Justus hesitated. Slowly, memory returned. “My father?”
“The physician is trying to set his bone. It’s a bad break.”
“I must go to him,” I cried, and tried to get out of bed. Sinews and muscles mutinied against me, refusing to move the way I wanted. I stumbled and almost fell.
Justus caught me in his arms and gently laid me back on the mattress. “You are too weak to rise. He is not alone. Dionysius is with him.”
I had started to shiver and could not stop. I felt like I would never be warm again. Justus poured hot spiced wine into a goblet and held it out to me. “Drink this.”
My stomach rebelled. I shook my head. Justus moved to the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat next to my hip.
Through the thin sheet, I could feel the push and pull of long muscles as he moved, holding the cup to my mouth. “Drink. The physician added a tincture to the wine that will help you.”
I took a sip to appease him. “More,” he said, pushing the glass back against my lips. I turned my head.
“Always stubborn.” He placed a hand under my head and lifted me a fraction. Even that small movement made me wince. “You need this. It will help the pain. Now drink.”
I drank a few mouthfuls and grimaced. “Tastes like goat spit.”
“Stop complaining and listen.”
“What? I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. The screams have stopped.”
I pushed the sheet off and again tried to rise. “I need to find out what has happened.”
Justus put his hand on my shoulder and shoved. I fell back on the pillow. “You need to remain in bed. If I could trust you to be reasonable, I would go and find out news of your father’s condition.”
“Please!” I could not stop the flow of tears. They dripped down my cheeks and rolled off my chin, onto his hand. “Please take me with you, Justus.”
His expression grew taut. For a moment, he stared at me. “Quit that!” he commanded. I cried harder. Swearing under his breath, he came to his feet. “I must have lost my mind.” Bending, he lifted me against his chest. “Just for one moment. Then I am returning you to bed. And I don’t want a single objection out of you. Do you understand?”
I nodded. In spite of his words and his exasperated tone, his touch was gentle. It still hurt. Every part of me protested at being moved. Not wanting him to revise his decision, I didn’t even dare to wince.
“Why do you think he is quiet?” I asked, my voice quivering with dread.
“He is probably asleep. As you should be.”
At Father’s door, Justus paused to announce our presence to Dionysius, and only after my brother bid us enter did he heft my weight to push the door open. In the semidarkness of the chamber I saw Father, pale and unconscious, stretched out on his bed. His broken leg was bandaged thickly from the sole of the foot to the knee.
“Father,” I whispered, my voice broken.
Dionysius vacated the only comfortable chair in the room. “Set her down here.”
Justus placed me on the chair. Guilt gnawed at me as I gazed at Father’s ashen face. Galatea was bathing his forehead and feet with rose water. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed the cloth over his skin. She seemed to have aged over the course of a few hours. I wondered what she had witnessed to put that dazed look on her face. I realized that my own unconsciousness over the past few hours may have been a mercy.
The room was shrouded in quiet, but Father’s shrieks of pain still rang in my ears. I would never forget those screams, nor forgive myself as the cause of them.
The physician was clearing away the paraphernalia of his art, which he had spread on a square table near Father’s bed. The fearsome bronze instruments seemed more adroit for torture than delicate surgery. A few pieces were red with blood. I swallowed hard, knowing if I were sick, Justus would carry me off before I had a chance to ascertain Father’s condition for myself.
“How is he?” I asked, trying to sound steady. Trying to appear sane.
The physician turned in my direction. He had a thick shock of white hair and neatly trimmed brows. His fine tunic with its purple embellishments had become soiled with gore and blood.
Some physicians are sycophantic in their bedside manner, desperate to make a good impression. Others are pleasant, even charming. Then there are those who care nothing for anyone’s opinion save their own. Clearly this man belonged to the third category. “You should be in bed,” he said shortly.
“That is what I said!” Justus agreed.
“I will return there at once, if you would answer my question.”
He turned back to his instruments, cleaning them in a bowl of water and wine. “It is a dangerous break. The easiest fracture to treat is the one that occurs in the middle of the bone. A clean break, like so.” He drew a line in the air to demonstrate. “Your father’s bone has been broken close to the top, near the joint, which makes it at once more painful and harder to treat. Worse yet, the edges are fragmented.” He drew a jagged line in the air. “We have stretched the muscles and sinew of the leg so that I could set the fragments in their right place. At best, the leg will be shorter. We will know in three days if the leg can be saved at all. With such a break, gangrene is likely to follow.”
The room tilted. I felt the blood drain from my face. Leaning forward I pressed my hands against my thighs. “What happens if you can’t save it?”
“I shall have to amputate, of course,” he said, as if I were an imbecile for asking such an obvious question.
I felt like someone had punched me in the belly.
“That’s enough,” Justus barked. Without another word, he swung me back up into his arm
s and carried me out.
There are some burdens the mind is not equipped to carry. Father had howled with the pain of his crushed bone. I could not give voice to the wail of my soul. I had meant to help my father. Instead, I had destroyed him. Something inside me crumbled. Crumbled beyond repair.
Justus stood for a moment and gazed at me as I curled into a ball of misery. Then, without a single platitude, he gathered me in his arms and held me on the bed until the physician’s tincture took effect and I fell into a restless sleep, too exhausted even for grief.
CHAPTER 24
WHEN I AWOKE NEXT, I found Delia keeping vigil next to me. A hammer was pounding in my head.
“Delia,” I croaked. Her chin jerked up. “How is my father?”
“The same as the last time you asked. Sleeping.”
“His leg?”
“Too early to tell.” She set her wool aside and came to stand by my bed. “I will fetch you hot vegetable soup and bread. First, drink this.” She held a cup of spring water to my lips and I drank thirstily.
“Who is with Father?”
“Dionysius and Galatea never leave his side. Justus is with them now, though he was here most of the morning.”
I pushed myself into a sitting position. As an athlete I was familiar with injury and pain. But I had outdone myself the night before, straining and pulling muscles I did not know I possessed. Gritting my teeth, I swung my knees out and managed to sit at the edge of the bed. Before Delia could leave my chamber I called her name.
“Do you know where Theo is?” I asked, my voice expressionless.
She remained mute.
“I don’t want you to violate his confidence. I merely ask that you tell him about Father. He should know. Whether he comes or not is up to him. But he would want to know how perilous my father’s injury is.”
Delia gave a jerky nod of her chin and left. My head had cleared substantially since the last time I had awakened with Justus as my nurse. Questions swirled in my mind. Why had no one inquired about the events of the previous evening? I had dragged home the grievously injured master of the house in the middle of the night and fainted at my brother’s feet. Everyone must be bursting with curiosity. It seemed remarkable that no one had asked me what had taken place.
As hard as I tried, I could not explain away this mystery. I pushed myself to my feet. By holding on to a chair, I found that I could stand. Or at least stoop. I hobbled like an aged soldier who has been wounded in too many battles.
I was still wearing Theo’s clothes. Removing them took an inordinately long time with muscles that went into spasms and seized upon the merest activity. Delia had left a pitcher of water on a stand. It must have been hot when she had fetched it, but had grown lukewarm since. Flinching, I performed a cursory wash and donned a fresh tunic. Shoving a tunic over my head was one thing. Bending over to tie the straps of a sandal was beyond my body. I walked barefoot to Father’s chamber.
Justus and Dionysius were speaking in low tones. Galatea seemed glued to Father’s side, wearing the same rumpled clothing and bruised look as the last time I had seen her. I limped over to the bed.
The men shot to their feet at the sight of me. I waved a soothing gesture, hoping they would not try to bundle me back to bed. I tried to look unshaken as I sniffed at Father’s bandage. To my relief, it smelled clean. If his flesh turned putrid, there was nothing any surgeon could do. They would have to amputate the leg to save his life, and even that would not guarantee a full recovery. Father could spend the rest of his days as a cripple. He could suffer chronic pain without remedy. He could die.
Because of me.
I turned and faced the men. No sense in delaying the unavoidable. Best drink this poison quickly.
“This is my fault.” My voice had turned wooden like the rest of me. “I did this to him.”
“Of course it is not your fault,” Dionysius assured. “Father told us that you would say that.”
“He spoke to you?” This was an unexpected twist. I rubbed my temples. “When?”
“After you fainted. Justus had already arrived. Father sent everyone else out and told the two of us what happened.”
I was being enveloped in a whirlwind. My stomach heaved. “You seem very calm about it,” I said.
My brother opened a hand in a philosophical gesture. Did they teach that in rhetoric classes—that calm, unperturbed air in the face of gravest betrayal? If so, I wished I could receive such instruction.
“He had given me his word, and I had hoped he would stand by it. But I suppose, under the circumstances, the pressure proved too great and he caved in.”
“By Zeus’s snarled beard, Dionysius, what are you prattling about?”
My brother stopped mid-explanation, dismissed Galatea, closed the window, and barred the door in Father’s chamber before saying another word. I was left stewing in my welter of thoughts, trying to untangle Dionysius’s words.
“I am disappointed, of course,” my brother said, once he had ensured our privacy. “Disappointed and hurt that he would break his word to me.”
“Break his word to you?”
“I wish you had called on me when you saw him creeping out of the house, though I suppose you had no time. It is a wonder you managed to change your clothes so quickly and still keep up with him.”
“Dionysius, either I have lost my mind, or you have the wrong story. In spite of the plentiful evidence for the former, I would wager my silver on the latter.”
Justus came to his feet. “Ariadne, try to calm yourself. I know that Galenos is the Honorable Thief. He confessed it to me this morning. You need not fear that I will expose him. I will never betray him.”
My legs gave beneath me, and I sat hard at the end of Father’s bed. Justus knew!
“Galenos also said that you followed him last night, hoping to prevent him from another theft. No one blames you for what happened to him.”
I rested my head in my hand. “Well, you should. And you have everything wrong.”
“Father explained what happened,” Dionysius said. “You called out to him, hoping to persuade him to return with you. It was an accident, Ariadne. Surprised by the sound of your voice, his foot slipped, and he fell. The responsibility rests with him, not you.”
Justus drew near enough to take my hand in his. His hold was gentle, reverent. “Galenos said that you carried him for two hours.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t fathom where you found the strength to manage such a feat. But I have never heard of a more courageous act.”
I choked on a maniacal laugh. Father’s story was superb, featuring enough hint of truth to make it plausible. Here was reprieve. Salvation. I could hide under Father’s bushel of lies. I could hold on to Justus’s growing admiration. Claim that reverent look in his eyes as my due.
I turned my head slowly, taking in the white figure on the bed. Love brimmed over my heart. Love and pain. He had sacrificed enough for me. He would not be reduced in Dionysius’s eyes again for my sake. It was time I discharged my own debts.
Truth can be a sharp sword. A bitter companion. With this truth, I would cut the cord that bound Justus to me. He would hate me after this. I pulled my hand out of his and stood.
“Let me tell you a different tale. Father is the Honorable Thief. That much is true. I saved him from capture once, at Brutus’s house.” I turned to Justus and gave him a short nod. “You were right about that. It was me, that night, in the trees. After that, I helped Father rob another house.”
“What are you saying?” Justus asked, his voice faint.
“I am saying that I, too, am a thief. We needed the money. When his ship sank, Father was left with a mountain of debt. Most of it is paid off now. But moneylenders are not interested in ‘most.’ They want everything they are owed.”
The muscles of my back were quivering. I sank back on the bed. “We needed to rob two more houses, and we would be free. The Honorable Thief only robbed dishonest men. Why do you think Corinth ador
es him? He is more hero than criminal. I told myself we were doing more good than harm. Father wished to give up, even then. I was the one who pressed him to continue.
“Then you returned, Dionysius. You and Paul, and Father grew enchanted with your Christ. He walked away from that life. Walked away from it for good.”
I held a shaking hand out to my brother, palm up. “He never broke his word to you. I was the one who left the house last night. He came in pursuit of me.”
Justus had turned to stone. It was as if his mind, usually quick as a lightning strike, had frozen, incapable of comprehending my words. I twisted the hilt of the knife and pressed in the sharp edge of one more truth. “He climbed the wall after me, trying to persuade me to stop. The climb was too difficult for him. I turned back to help him. But I was too late. His foot slipped and he fell.
“This?” I pointed to the bandaged leg. “This is my doing. Father had asked me to stop. Theo, too. I would not admit they were right. I was convinced I knew better.”
I would have knelt at my brother’s feet if my stiffening muscles had allowed. “Dionysius, Father did not break his word to you. I am the one responsible.”
He took two long strides and came to stand before me. To my stupefaction, he extended his arms and gently, gently held me as if I had given him good news instead of confessing to being a liar and a thief. When he looked at me, his tearstained eyes were not brimming with judgment and anger as I expected. Instead, I found pity. Pity and an ocean of compassion.
“I forgive you,” he said.
I finally began to understand what it was to be guilty, to run out of excuses. And what it was to be absolved. It dawned on me what Paul meant when he said, “Love endures through every circumstance.” Dionysius’s love had endured the burden of my culpability. It had washed away my debt to him. A giant boulder seemed to lift off my chest.
My brother could not free me from my self-condemnation, of course. I still bore the weight of my actions. Still, his forgiveness had lightened that weight. It had purchased a cup of hope for my future.
