As Sure as the Dawn

by Francine Rivers

  “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?

  Unbidden, other voices came to him.

  “She told me to tell you she loves you and she always will.”

  “I give you a solemn vow, Atretes. I will never lie. Even if it costs my life.”

  Anomia saw his torment and hoped it was the passion she had roused in him that caused it. She rose and came to him. “Come back to us, Atretes.”

  “I am back.”

  “Not the way you were. Oh, I remember you, all passion and fire and strength. You were like a god. Everyone would have followed you to Hades if you’d asked it of them.”

  He shut his eyes. Jesus, his soul cried out.

  He could see Theophilus’ face and hear his voice. “Feed the sheep.”

  “Leave me alone,” he said roughly.

  “You’re in torment,” Anomia said with feigned sympathy, secretly glorying in it. It made him vulnerable. “I can see your anguish. I share it. I can help you. Let me help you. You could be the man you once were, Atretes. I know you can. Let me show you the way.”

  I am the way.

  One of the men roused from sleep. Anomia drew back into the shadows so she wouldn’t be seen. She clenched her hands, throbbing with impatience until the man sank back again with a loud groan.

  By the time she was able to return to Atretes’ side, his mood had changed. Too immersed in his dark reverie, he paid her no heed. She laid a hand upon his arm and felt his muscles tense. “I must go,” she whispered, cursing the place and circumstance. “Come out with me tonight, and we’ll talk.”

  He didn’t hear her, too absorbed in his thoughts of Rizpah. He ached for his wife, all the while resenting her hold on him with every ounce of his will.

  “You act as though you’ve been bewitched,” Anomia said, angry and full of jealousy that he should be so indifferent.

  “Maybe I am,” he said grimly. “Maybe I am.”

  53

  Atretes spent the day in feasting and nursing his grievances against his wife. She had chosen to stand in the way of justice, hadn’t she? She had chosen to live without him. Why should he allow the woman to plague his every waking thought? He seared his burning conscience with excuses.

  Dulled further by drink, he let his imagination wander. Anomia came to speak with one of the men, and when she looked at him, sultry invitation glowed in her pale blue eyes. When she left, he remembered other women who had been brought to him. Once he had wanted his mind wiped clean of his past so they wouldn’t pollute his marriage bed. Now he dredged up the memories, living them again, hoping past pleasures might drive away the present pain. Instead, he fell into a deeper, more confusing despair.

  The men around him did not help. After the long months of winter inactivity, they craved action. But until a war was declared, they had little to do but drink and talk about the battles they had won. No one talked of losses. They told bawdy tales, each trying to outdo the other. The laughter grated. Arguments over trivial issues erupted in fights between younger warri
ors hungry to prove their manhood.

  Atretes didn’t join in. He sat in a far corner, his expression enough to warn others away. He drank with purpose, to drown his pain. And failed.

  The noise grew louder, men arguing over a dice game. His head was spinning from the ale. Rising, he headed for the back door, wanting to be alone.

  Pale moonlight cast an eerie glow as he stumbled into the forest. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. He heard a soft voice beckon him and his heart jumped. “Rizpah?” he whispered, looking around him.

  But it was Anomia in the darkening shadows.

  Anguished, he went to her without thinking. She took his hand and drew him deeper into the darkness. “I knew you’d come,” she said and was in his arms. She was rapacious, the force of her passion rocking him. “I knew you’d come to me.” Her voice was feverish with desire, reminding him of another time, another woman. The memory slashed across his mind, opening old wounds.

  Julia. She was like Julia had been, on fire with lust.

  “What are you doing here?” he groaned, sluggish from the ale he had drunk.

  “You wanted me here. I knew when I looked in your eyes tonight.”

  “I came out to think.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Anomia moved against him, her nails digging in. “You came out to be with me. You want me as much as I want you.” Her voice was like an animal growl in the hollow of her throat. “I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. You’re burning up with it the way I am.”

  Her body moved. Her hands moved. He couldn’t breathe. “Don’t.”

  “Why are you stopping me? You want this. You’ve wanted me since the first.” She let her head go back, wanting him to press his mouth to the curve of her neck. “Do it, Atretes. Do what you want.”

  “Rizpah said to tell you she loves you and she always will.”

  Atretes looked down at Anomia and felt the hot breath of hell in his face. Her throat was an open grave. He shoved her away from him and stumbled back. “No.” He struggled against the drink-induced cloud in his head. “No.”

  Anomia came close, her flowing hair drifting with the cool night wind. He felt a strand of it like the gossamer web of a spider across his eyes. “You want me,” she breathed, her hands spreading over his chest. “I can feel your heart pounding.”

  “You’re like Julia,” he said raggedly.

  “Julia? Who’s Julia?” Her hands slipped away, her eyes narrowing.

  Atretes drew back from her, dizzy from the ale.

  “Caleb’s mother,” he said without thinking, the cold night air intensifying the effects of the ale.

  Caleb’s mother? Anomia’s eyes gleamed. She came closer.

  He swayed slightly, his laugh bitter. “Julia, lovely wanton Julia. She came to me in the temple of Diana, dressed like a harlot, bells on her ankles. She was beautiful, like you, and as corrupt as decaying flesh.”

  Corrupt as decaying flesh? Anger flooded her being, cold and calculating. “I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

  “Love,” he sneered. “What do you know of love?”

  She shook, hot tears moistening her eyes—tears of fury. “I know what it’s like to ache for someone and have them be indifferent to you.” How dare he treat her this way? She was a high priestess, more powerful than his own mother, more powerful than Gundrid. Half the men in the village were in love with her! Some would give their souls to taste what she was offering him!

  Atretes saw her tears and regretted his harsh words. Perhaps she did love him. Vanity blinded him to the cunning heart that lay beneath the innocent facade.

  Anomia knew. He was so proud, so full of himself. She put her hand on his arm, her hair floating up with the breeze, strands of it tangling around him. “Other men have wanted me.”

  “I have no doubt,” he said hoarsely.

  “I saved myself for you. I’m a virgin. No other man has had me. I waited for you.”

  He looked at her, stunned. It never occurred to him that a virgin could have the mind of a harlot.

  His body responded. He knew what she was offering, and the temptation shook him. “No,” he said before he could change his mind.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve been down this road before, and I won’t walk it again.” He’d be lost if he did. He knew what it was like to be chained to a woman because of lust.

  “You want me,” she said again, coming so close her body brushed his. “I can feel how much you want me.” Her touch was like fire. “The Ionian doesn’t love you the way I do.” She slid her hands up, relishing her sense of power when she felt his heart pounding against her palms. “If she did, she would’ve come to you weeks ago, begging for you to take her back.”

  Atretes cringed at the thought.

  Anomia brushed against him again and heard him suck in his breath. “I’ve waited so long for you. I’ll never hurt you the way she has. Just this once, Atretes.” Once and he would never be able to say no again. “Just once. No one has to know.”

  He would know.

  Atretes caught her wrists and took her hands from him. “She’s my wife, Anomia, and you know the law.”

  Her eyes flashed and then cooled again. “You have a wife who doesn’t want you. You have a wife who’s a foreigner and doesn’t belong here. You’ve already come to realize that or you wouldn’t have abandoned her.”

  He stepped back, wanting distance between them, needing it so he could think clearly. Abandoned. The word struck like an arrow, piercing him with guilt. With a groan, he stumbled away from Anomia.

  Cold rage swept through the priestess. It came over her like an onrushing tide, jealousy in the crashing of waves. She watched him stumble and waited for him to fall. When he did, she approached him stealthily and knelt down beside him.

  “You said someone named Julia bore your child,” she murmured, brushing his hair back from his face.

  “She ordered him put on the rocks to die.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Roman women do that. They throw their children away when they don’t want them. If Rizpah hadn’t taken him, he would’ve died.”

  “Don’t pass out yet, Atretes,” she murmured, pinching him hard in the side. “She took your son? Without you knowing?”

  “A slave girl brought him to her.” He thought of Hadassah standing in the torchlight corridor of the dungeon, her face serene. “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” He remembered how she had stood in the mouth of the cave where he had lived after Julia betrayed him. “The heavens tell of the glory of God, and their expanse declares the work of his hands,” she had said, looking out at the night sky. It was from Hadassah’s lips he had first heard the gospel of Jesus Christ and in her that he’d first seen the peace God could bring into a life.

  He could see the stars now, looking up through the branches of the tree under which he sat. What he wouldn’t give to feel that peace again.

  Forgive your enemies.

  Jesus forgave.

  Theophilus forgave.

  Anomia saw him grimace as though he was in pain. He groaned, his head lolling back and forth. “Rizpah. . . ,” came the soft insidious voice that seemed to be worming its way inside his head. “I love her.”

  “Not that. Did she bring the child to you?”

  Troubled and drunk, he didn’t think. “No. I had to hunt for him. All I knew was a widow had him.”

  “A widow?”

  “She lost her own child.” Atretes rubbed his face, trying to clear his head. “I took Caleb from her, but he wouldn’t nurse from anyone else.”

  “Bewitched.”

  “As I’m bewitched,” he said bleakly. “She bewitched me from the first moment I laid eyes on her. Can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop.” All he wanted to do was sink into the void of dreamless sleep. And closing his eyes, he did.

  Anomia’s mouth curved. He was too drunk to realize the power he had just placed in her hands. She leaned close, nuzzled his nec
k, and then whispered in his ear. “But you will. Just wait until you realize . . .”

  She pulled his head back. The ale he had drunk had rendered him unconscious. She touched his face, marveling at how handsome he was, feeling bitter and thwarted in her desire, hungry for her own revenge at being scorned. If she couldn’t have him, the Ionian certainly wouldn’t.

  “A pity you didn’t want me.” She pressed a hard kiss to his unresponsive mouth. “You’re going to have so much to regret.”

  She left him sleeping in the woods.

  54

  Atretes awakened to someone calling his name. He thought he imagined it. Sitting up, he realized he was in the woods. His tunic was drenched with night dew, the stars still bright against the darkened sky. What was he doing out here?

  He remembered leaving the longhouse, wanting to get away from the noise, needing quiet to think.

  He vaguely remembered Anomia. He felt unclean, and niggling worry ate at him.

  “Atretes!”

  He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but the voice was so urgent, he roused himself.

  “Atretes! Where are you?”

  “Over here,” he said, grimacing.

  Herigast appeared. He was out of breath from running. “You’ve got to come with me. Gundrid and the Thing have had your wife taken from the grubenhaus.”

  “What are you talking about?” Atretes said, shaken by a wave of nausea. “Taken her where?”

  “To the sacred grove for trial. Anomia said she’s been with other men.”

  The fog left Atretes’ mind and his head snapped up. He’d warned Rizpah never to speak of her past, for he knew the cost if it ever became known. “What did you say?”

  “Anomia said you told her your wife had been with other men before you.”

  He swore softly and tried to get up. His blood went cold as he sat down hard again. “Julia!” He remembered rambling bitterly about Julia!

  “Are you listening to me?” Herigast said, grabbing the front of his tunic and shaking him. “They’re going to kill her unless you tell them Anomia’s lying!”

  “I will never lie,” Rizpah’s words haunted him again. He knew she would tell the truth, even if her life was forfeit.