by John Hagee
“I’ll admit, I was hoping he wouldn’t be successful, and I’m relieved now that he won’t have the opportunity to try.”
“I’ve wondered why you didn’t seem to be mourning your father’s death.”
“We’ve been estranged for some time.”
“What if he’s alive, as Cassius claims, and he makes an appeal on their behalf ?” Lucius didn’t wait for her reply but asked, “What crime did they commit?”
“Treason. They refused to sacrifice to Caesar.”
“Your father couldn’t get that overturned. Domitian has become a fanatic about loyalty. He won’t be inclined to show any mercy,” he said emphatically, “and the Senate won’t challenge him on it, not in the foreseeable future, anyway.”
“If Father tried to get the case before the Senate, could you prevent it?”
“More than likely, yes. I could work behind the scenes to undermine his efforts.”
“I’m not ready to accept that he’s alive. He should have arrived several days ago—if the message Cassius received was authentic— and he still hasn’t shown up. But even if my father is dead, I’ll still need help to take control of his assets.”
“Your other brother, the one still in Ephesus—will he challenge the estate?”
“Peter has been sick all his life; he couldn’t handle the responsibility. I’ll make sure he stays in the family home, but I intend to take control of the business, and the money. If Peter tries to stop me, I’ll find a way to have him declared incompetent.”
Lucius whistled an appreciative sound. “You really do go after what you want, don’t you?”
“I told you, we’re a lot alike.”
“Let’s see if I have this right. You’re determined to be your father’s sole heir.”
“Yes, and I’m offering to share his vast fortune with you, if you’ll help me get my hands on it.” She scooted closer to him on the sofa and placed a proprietary hand on his chest. “I have other assets I could share as well,” she purred.
The senator responded by putting his arms around her and kissing her neck. Then he looked up and said softly, “Naomi, are you asking me to marry you?”
“I am indeed.” She laughed and repeated what he’d said to her earlier. “The idea has a lot of merit, don’t you think?”
29
“MY DAUGHTER DID WHAT ?”
“She got married, sir. Yesterday.”
Abraham sank onto one of the matching striped settees as the Egyptian slave—what was his name?—said he was there to pick up the rest of Naomi’s things and take them to her new home.
Again, Abraham was reminded of Elizabeth. She was the one who had always remembered names, then whispered them in his ear.
Naomi certainly didn’t waste any time, Abraham thought. He’d had several delays, and the trip from Syracuse had taken twice as long as he’d expected. Now that he’d finally reached his villa in Rome, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed, get a good night’s sleep, and then visit his banker first thing in the morning. Instead, his arrival had been greeted with the news that his daughter had gotten married and moved out. And to think he’d been worried whether she was even alive.
Abraham sat in stunned silence so long, the Egyptian finally said, “If you’ll permit me, sir, I’ll leave now.”
“Go,” Abraham said with a weary wave of dismissal, then called him back. “Lepidus”—that was his name, Abraham suddenly remem-bered—“ wait. Tell my daughter I want to see her. Here, tomorrow, at noon.” He emphasized each word by stabbing the arm of the settee with his index finger.
Lepidus bowed politely and left. For a moment, Abraham remained seated, his thoughts alternating between the happy realization that the Mercury had survived the storm and worried curiosity about his daughter. Naomi had come to Rome to find a husband of her own choosing—fine. He just hadn’t expected to be presented with a son-in-law after the fact. And as a father, he couldn’t help hoping that she’d chosen well, and that she hadn’t rushed into this marriage simply because she’d met a wealthy bachelor.
Had Naomi found the gold he’d brought on board the Mercury ? Probably. Kaeso would have known where to look if she hadn’t. Abraham had figured they would find the money and the letter of credit, and while he trusted Kaeso to use it wisely, he didn’t trust his own daughter. That’s why he had sent the message to Cassius. But what if Naomi hadn’t found the money at all? What if she’d been broke when she arrived in Rome . . . ?
Such speculation would accomplish nothing, Abraham told himself. Naomi was smart and resourceful—even more resourceful than he had given her credit for, apparently. Tomorrow he would find out what she’d been doing in his absence. In the meantime, he would find the caretaker and make arrangements to get the household running again.
As he walked through the villa—much smaller than his home in Ephesus, yet quite elegant—and outside to the cottage where the caretaker and his wife lived, Abraham kicked himself mentally. He had been so tired, not to mention surprised, that he hadn’t even thought to ask Lepidus whom Naomi had married or where they lived.
Silvanus, the caretaker, and his wife, Clara, greeted Abraham warmly. They were the only full-time staff he retained at his home in the outskirts of Rome, because he usually stayed there only a few weeks or months each year. When Abraham arrived, they would hire additional staff while he was in residence. He asked the couple to take care of that for him now, and Clara insisted he share their meal.
As they ate, Abraham told them about finding Lepidus when he’d arrived and learning that Naomi had gotten married.
“From the time she arrived,” Clara said, “that girl barely stayed around here long enough to sleep. And when she was here, she didn’t say two words.”
Abraham discerned from Clara’s miffed expression that Naomi’s “two words,” whatever they were, had offended the woman. Knowing his daughter’s tongue, Abraham wasn’t surprised.
“Clara.” Silvanus reproved his wife with a look. “I asked your daughter when you would be arriving,” he said to Abraham, “but she didn’t know. Then a few days ago she left and hasn’t been back. We didn’t know anything about a wedding.”
Abraham did not ask any more questions about Naomi; it was obvious these two wouldn’t have any idea what she’d been up to since she’d been in Rome.
“Did your wife make the trip with you this time?” Clara asked.
“No,” Abraham said abruptly. Then he apologized. “I’m too tired right now. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” He excused himself, returned to the villa, and went straight to bed.
Elizabeth, he thought as he laid his head on the pillow, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since you’ve been gone. He’d assumed that the house in Rome, which Elizabeth had visited only occasionally, would not remind him of her the way their home in Ephesus had. Yet in every room he had encountered something that brought Elizabeth’s face, her voice, her scent, back to him. It had been six weeks since she’d been killed, and he was beginning to think the desperate ache would never go away.
He’d also thought he was too strong, too tough, ever to cry himself to sleep; he was wrong about that as well. Abraham hadn’t broken down and wept since the night he buried Elizabeth. But he’d been through too much, fought too hard, faced too many obstacles: now it suddenly became too much to bear. He not only grieved, for the first time he indulged in self-pity.
I can’t deal with it anymore, he thought. A man needs to have his children with him. And when he lies down to sleep, he ought to have his soft sweet wife beside him. I can’t go on, Elizabeth. I just can’t . . .
The next morning, however, as he walked through the city, his outlook was brighter. He took hope from the glitter of the sun reflecting off the rich Italian marble of the buildings and monuments. He’d made it to Rome against impossible odds; now he would be just as persistent in his attempt to persuade the emperor or the Senate to intervene for his children’s release.
When he arr
ived at the bank, Abraham learned that Cassius was taking a holiday, but the banker’s assistant verified a key piece of information: Cassius had given Naomi an advance against the letter of credit, in spite of Abraham’s instructions to the contrary. Abraham was aggravated, but getting to the bottom of the matter would require waiting until he could talk to Cassius. He was even more aggravated to think that Naomi must be up to something devious. Why else would she want to withdraw funds from his bank? If she’d found the gold coins, she would have had plenty of money to live on until he arrived.
After visiting the bank, Abraham went to his office, where he enjoyed a warm reunion with Kaeso. The leather-faced captain was almost speechless when Abraham walked in. “I’d about given up hope,” he said, choking a bit on the words.
“Didn’t you hear that I’d sent a message?”
“Yes, but then you didn’t arrive. And Naomi said the note from you was a forgery. I didn’t know what to think.”
Abraham asked about the Mercury, and Kaeso described the repairs that would be needed. “I’ve been working night and day to get a complete estimate on what it would cost to make her seaworthy again,” the captain said.
“I want her ready to sail as soon as spring arrives,” Abraham told him.
“That will be pushing it, but I’ll make it happen.”
“The damage is not quite as bad as I would have imagined. Still . . .” Abraham could scarcely believe they’d managed to get the ship to Rome with both sails destroyed. “I want to give the crew a bonus.”
“I was hoping you’d suggest that.” Kaeso nodded his approval. “They put in a herculean effort to get us here.”
The captain described the voyage of the crippled ship in detail, and Abraham told how a huge piece of the main mast had helped him survive on the open sea. He also described how he’d walked to Syracuse wearing a pair of homemade shoes and a tunic made for a man half his size.
Kaeso roared and slapped a weather-beaten hand on his knee. “Now, there’s a story I’ll be telling for a long time to come.”
Before he left the office, Abraham gave instructions to send a messenger to Syracuse with a gift for Felix, the harbormaster, and a new cloak and two new tunics for Donatus.
Abraham was in a much better frame of mind after seeing Kaeso. But as he returned to the villa to meet his daughter, he recalled what Kaeso had said about Naomi thinking his message from Syracuse was a forgery. Why would she say that? Who else could have sent it? Who would even have known he’d been lost at sea and then used that information to say he’d been rescued? It didn’t make sense.
Unless she wanted to believe the note was a forgery simply because she wanted him dead. Or she wanted everyone else to think so, because his death would have been more convenient for whatever she was planning to do. Abraham began to have a very uneasy feeling— a feeling that mushroomed into dread when he got back to the villa and found out that Naomi was not coming.
Instead, Naomi had sent Lepidus with a letter. Abraham sat at the desk in his bedroom and opened the letter with a sense of foreboding that burned in his gut. “Dear Father,” she wrote—
I was relieved to learn you’d arrived safely in Rome. Forgive me for not coming to see you immediately, but I cannot spare the time. Because Lucius and I married rather quickly—
Rather quickly! Abraham shook his head and continued reading . . .
—without the fanfare of a large wedding, we are hosting a formal reception this Friday evening. With only three days left, I am working tirelessly to plan the kind of elegant event befitting my husband’s position as a senator. Lucius is a wonderful man, and I hope you’ll be happy for me, Father. I also hope you will attend the reception.
So she married a senator, Abraham thought as he laid the letter aside. That was her idea before she ever set sail for Rome. When Naomi made up her mind she wanted something, she didn’t stop until she got it. Abraham had no doubt that the reception she was now planning would be spectacular, something the guests would talk about for months.
He picked up the letter again and glanced at the bottom, where Naomi had written her husband’s name and the address of their home. The world came crashing in on him when Abraham read the name:
Senator Lucius Mallus Balbus
With an angry sweep of his arm, Abraham raked everything off the desk. A Grecian vase shattered as it hit the marble floor, but the sound was covered by the anguished cry that rose from his belly and roared out his throat.
The treacherous witch! How could his own flesh and blood do that to him? How could she marry the father of the man who had murdered Elizabeth and sent Jacob and Rebecca to Devil’s Island? How?
Abraham did not just yell and scream, he raged. Damian had robbed him of the most precious things in his life, and now his daughter had married Damian’s father. The betrayal pushed Abraham beyond the limit of what he could endure. As far as he was concerned, Naomi was no longer his daughter; he would disown her immediately.
And he would tell her immediately. He grabbed his cloak, stormed out of the room, and left the villa.
He had been walking for ten minutes, fuming silently and glaring at everyone on the street, when he realized he couldn’t confront Naomi in the heat of his anger. If Mallus were there, Abraham feared he would kill the man with his bare hands. He did not want to let go of his anger, but he did not want to kill a man in a blind rage. Rationally, he knew that Mallus was not the one responsible for Elizabeth’s death, but emotionally Abraham couldn’t help blaming the man who had sired a murderer.
Abraham walked the streets aimlessly, not knowing what to do, then finally realizing there was nothing he could do. Naomi had made her choice.
Over the next few days, however, Abraham began to wonder if Naomi was actually aware of the choice she had made. He and Elizabeth had never talked to their children about having a connection with Damian in the past. And it was doubtful that Naomi had been aware of Damian’s full name—Lucius Mallus Damianus—during the few weeks he’d been in Ephesus before arresting the Christians there. So it was possible she had never connected the man she’d married with her family’s persecutor.
But surely the senator would have told her he had a son. How could she not know? Unless Mallus had realized who she was and deliberately kept the information from her.
On Friday Abraham finally decided that the only way to find out was to talk to Naomi, and that the best time to do it would be at the reception that night. With other people around, he would be less likely to give vent to his anger, and Mallus would be less inclined to make a scene.
Naomi couldn’t have been happier. Guests were arriving—they were expecting hundreds of luminaries, including the emperor—musicians were playing, and she was directing it all.
Lucius’s home—their home, she reminded herself—was an architectural marvel. Built on different levels of the hillside, it was filled with priceless works of arts. A showplace home. And Naomi was the showpiece wife. She loved the role.
At each buffet table a steward steadily poured wine into an elaborate fountain. The wine flowed from the ornate silver bowl on top, decorated with clusters of gold grapes, into tiers of smaller leaf-shaped bowls before spilling into two dozen golden goblets circling the base of the fountain. As guests removed the full goblets, the stewards replaced them with additional goblets and repeated the process. The effect was delightful to watch and almost decadent in its extravagance.
The new gown she’d had made for the occasion was equally extravagant. The silk was the deep royal hue of lapis lazuli, and the bodice was decorated with tiny opals. Naomi wore a magnificent necklace of lapis and opals with matching earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. The jewelry was a wedding present from her husband, who had bought it, he said, because the fire of the opals matched the fire of her hair.
It had taken Naomi several hours to get dressed for the evening. She had bathed in perfumed oils, and Fulvia, who was an expert in the use of kohl, had helped her apply cosmet
ics while a beautician curled and styled her hair. When he had seen the results, Lucius had been lavish in his praise, saying, “No woman in Rome can match your beauty, Naomi.”
Now, as she stood by his side and greeted their guests, she smiled, recalling his words and the way he had fingered the stones draped gracefully around her neck. “You know,” he’d said, “the ancient Romans believed that lapis lazuli is a powerful aphrodisiac.”
“We’ll test that theory later,” she had promised with a laugh.
Her husband continued to introduce Naomi to a succession of dignitaries, including Marcus Cocceius Nerva, whom Lucius described as “an expert in the law and confidant to every emperor since Nero.” Nerva had a thin face perched on top of a very long neck, and Naomi instantly guessed from his dour demeanor that the senator was staunchly conservative.
Soon, a rather large, overbearing senator dragged Lucius to one side to lobby for some proposal he wanted to bring before the Senate. Naomi found the intrusion rude, but she supposed that was the price of being a public official. Lucius winked at her over the top of the man’s head, and she went to get a glass of wine.
Already flushed from the excitement, Naomi found that the glass of wine warmed her and lifted her spirits even further. She was searching for Lucius again when Lepidus approached and said that her father wanted to speak with her. She hadn’t been sure her father would accept the invitation and was rather hoping he wouldn’t, but she’d felt obligated to ask him. Well, she would treat him as graciously as the other guests, and she hoped he would be civil to Lucius.
Naomi followed Lepidus to one of the recessed alcoves off the wide hall to the banquet room. She’d almost forgotten what an imposing presence her father made; when she saw him now, he seemed to fill up the alcove.
“Father.” She held out her hands and kissed him on the cheek. His greeting was polite but his posture aloof.
“You look radiant, Naomi. Marriage agrees with you.”
His eyes did not match his words, she thought. He was trying to suppress a flare of anger.
