Little James scurried over to Judith, wrapped his arms around the hunchbacked woman, and scrunched his face in mock fright. "Scary! I like scary stories best. Grandma knows, don't you?"
Judith patted his back. "You and your scary tales."
He gave Judith's wrinkled cheek an affectionate peck. "Do you want Kadar to teach you to throw a knife, too?"
Judith chuckled. "No child. You go, and I'll watch."
He raced to Kadar. "Do you want me to go first?"
The giant man turned his piercing blue eyes on Lydia. "Who should go first, you or your son?"
They both knew the question went beyond knife-throwing lessons. Little James cast her a hopeful look. There was no denying he was happy and well-loved. Though relieved and glad for his sake, there was a small, dark corner of her heart that wished it weren’t so, because then she wouldn't have to make a decision. She would have no choice but to take her son and run. Could she justify taking him from a safe home for a future filled with uncertainty and dangers too numerous to count?
She forced a false smile to her lips, one years in the perfecting. "My son must go first. I wouldn't have it any other way."
Kadar raised a brow.
She smoothed her tunic. "Have we chosen a target? Or may I throw the knife wherever I like?"
He threw his head back and laughed.
Her face heated.
Little James clasped her hand. She squeezed his small fingers. She couldn't remember the last time she was this happy.
Kadar led them away from the others and propped a sack of barley against a large stone. Little James took aim and hit the target on his first try. She clapped the loudest while he ran to retrieve the knife. "Thank you for everything," she murmured to Kadar.
"You didn't need me. Judith had already decided to allow you to see your son." Kadar tugged on the neckline of his tunic. "Ah. About what happened earlier."
Little James returned and pressed the bone-handled weapon into her hand. Kadar and little James peppered her with a slew of advice, but the only suggestion she remembered as she prepared to hurl the surprisingly heavy dagger was to keep her eye on the target.
She threw the knife, it sailed true, but dropped just short of the barley sack. Little James whooped and clapped and went to pick up the knife.
Kadar's chest puffed. He crossed his arms. "Well done, my valkyrie, for a first attempt."
She frowned. "Valkyrie? You called me that before. What does it mean?"
A faint flush showed beneath his fair skin. "Brynhild's people believe Valkyries are birds of prey hovering over the battlefield deciding who will live or die. But among my people they are seen as virgin warriors who arm themselves with helmets and swords and ride horses into battle beside Northmen." He shrugged. "Watching you brings those beautiful, unattainable creatures to mind."
"I'm not a virgin." She gulped. Why had she felt it necessary to point out the obvious?
Little James came skipping back, handed the knife to Kadar, then pointed. "Here comes Nathan with the Paschal lamb." He raced off, and the campsite came alive with joyous exclamations and hectic activity.
Lydia hugged her arms and watched little James talk excitedly to young Achan. "He's absolutely wonderful."
Kadar's warm breath filled her ear. "Woman, you're still a virgin."
Her face heated. "You are aware I'm a twice married—" She stumbled over her words. No one, except her, viewed her forced marriage to Judas the Zealot as a legal union. "I was married—"
"Marriage be damned," Kadar hissed. "Have you ever taken a man between your legs willingly?"
Vivid recollections of Judas the Zealot and Uncle Jacob's suffocating weight pinning her in place made the air back up in her lungs. "No, never willingly."
"Then you remain a virgin in spirit. You'll know it to be true when you finally marry a man of worth."
The conversation should mortify her, but as always, Kadar's rough voice and calm presence soothed instead. "My father's idea of a man of worth and mine are not the same."
Kadar drummed his fingers against his sword belt. "Don't worry about the man from Parthia. My gut tells me the scheme will fall through. Promise me you won't do anything drastic in the meantime."
She stared at his sword hand. "I want to believe you, but—"
"If you run, I will track you down and haul you back here, so don't even try."
"Me?" Her eyes went back to his sword, and her stomach pitched. "Are you going to kill my father?"
"Go to your family and your son, and don't worry over what I might or might not do."
Torn between wanting to run to little James and never stop hugging him and wanting to spend as much time as it took to convince Kadar not to seek revenge, she gripped her shaking hands together. "Don't kill him. Not for me. I—"
"It has nothing to do with you." Kadar's eyes remained cool. "Your father did me a great wrong."
"Kadar, please—"
"There's nothing to discuss." He stepped back. "Go celebrate Paschal with your family."
"Wait. Don't go. Just because you can't eat the Paschal lamb with us doesn't mean you need to leave."
Kadar pointed toward the others. "Your sister is coming this way, and she's not pleased with us."
"Look at me," Lydia demanded.
Beautiful, ferocious blue eyes locked with hers.
She swallowed. "This talk is far from finished. Come for me tonight, after everyone has gone to bed."
"Do you recall what happened last time I tried sneaking into your room in the middle of the night?"
"Tell me you will come."
Kadar expelled an exasperated breath. "Bring Brynhild with you, and wait for me by outside the back door."
She nodded. "Where will you go till then? I hate the idea of you walking around Jerusalem alone while everyone is feasting." Idol worshippers could not share in the sacred rituals commemorating the day God freed his people from Egyptian bondage.
He broke eye contact. "I'll make out fine. I've been alone for almost all of my life. I'm used to it." Then he turned and walked away.
Alexandra came alongside Lydia. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be overjoyed at seeing little James."
Lydia searched for her son among the throng of people amassing in the campsite. "Where is he?" What a horrible mother she was, already losing track of her dear boy.
Alexandra kissed her cheek. "Boys don't stop running. They could be anywhere, but I think I saw Nathan, Achan, and James walking Judith back to her tent."
Lydia rubbed her arms and watched Kadar until he disappeared behind a screen of olive trees. He never looked back, not even once. "Do you need help with the Paschal lamb?"
Alexandra frowned. "Did you and Kadar argue?"
Lydia shook her head. Why did her heart keep telling her Kadar was the man for her when reason and experience screamed otherwise? She'd been wrong before. "We've never spoken about..." a chill went through Lydia "... about what happened with Judas the Zealot."
"I didn't want to upset you."
"I wanted to explain. Why I went willingly to Judas."
"He beat you." Alexandra clasped Lydia's hand. "You had no choice."
"He hit me with a strap. That was not so terrible, but when he drank too much..." Lydia shuddered. "After months went by...and I was with child, I started to believe those hills and caves were my destiny, and I accepted my fate. He was the father of my baby. So I went to him and tried to be a good wife." The confession opened up wounds that refused to heal. "Were you..." Lydia's voice broke "...are you disgusted with me?"
Alexandra hugged her. "No. Never. You did nothing wrong. Your strength amazes me. Father abandoned you to the rebels, and you did what you had to do to survive. Don't waste a moment feeling shame."
"What I did makes me doubt myself."
Alexandra set her at arm's length. "About Kadar. You are in danger of losing your heart to him?"
Lydia nodded. Truth was, he already owned part of her heart.
&n
bsp; "I admire Kadar, and am very fond of him, but he is an idol-worshipper." Kindness and sympathy gentled Alexandra's voice. "It can never be."
Lydia's throat closed. "It can never be," she repeated. But her heart beat for him, repeating the same melody—she and Kadar were meant for each other, she and Kadar were meant for each other.
But how could she love the man who planned to kill her father? Had the time she spent in captivity warped her thinking? Was her heart leading her astray again? How could she be sure of anything ever again?
Her eyes strayed to the path Kadar had taken. He’d promised to come to her. A spine-tingling mix of anticipation and apprehension pulsed through her. If she was already condemned because of her past, did it really matter what she chose to do now?
She hugged her arms. She would meet him alone, without Bryn. For one night of her life, she was going to enjoy the kisses of the man of her choosing.
CHAPTER 16
The inner gates of the Temple opened and the second wave of worshippers spilled into the outer courts, bringing the pungent smell of blood with them. Men brushed by James's sedan chair, hauling skinned, gutted carcasses strapped to wooden poles. The baaing of the lambs and kid goats next in line to be killed took on a frightened keening, as they sensed they would join the thousands of animals put to death today in accordance with the Law directing every family to offer a sacrifice to the Lord.
After spilling the animals’ blood, the priests removed the choice meats for burning on the Altar of the Lord, and the worshippers were then required to take the remains home, roast the meat, and consume a feast to the Lord in remembrance of the day the Lord delivered His people from bondage.
Another round of nausea hit. James managed not to gag. Roasted lamb. He hated the very smell. Through force of will he choked down his allotted portion, but the block of meat always sat like a rock in his stomach. Today, the way he felt, eating the Paschal meal might be the death of him. He leaned back in the sedan chair, rested against the cushioned chair back, and massaged his pounding head.
Physician Hama crouched down next to his chair. "I told you it was too soon to leave your bed."
"Stop worrying. You are worse than an old woman."
"I liked you better when you were unconscious."
"Which means you won't take offense when I say the foul concoctions you keep pouring down my throat are better company than you are."
Hama exhaled a heavy breath. "I don't understand why you insisted on leaving your bed."
James recalled Lazarz's smug smile. "I want the culprit who pushed me down the stairs to see I am very much alive, and mostly alert, just in case he's thinking of paying me a visit with the intention of finishing the job."
"Guards are posted outside your door."
James sat forward and waited for the dizziness to pass. "A few coins slipped into the guards’ hands, and there goes my protection."
The inner court emptied and the third group of Jews, the group of the lazy, shuffled ahead. James took an instant liking to the odd collection of people—Jews like him, who didn't quite fit in or conform. In Moses' day, these people would have been the last stragglers to sprinkle blood on their doorpost to ward off death, the last to leave Goshen when Moses led his people out of captivity, and the last to cross the Red Sea after Moses parted the waters.
James's amused pondering came to an end when he spied Saad limping toward them. Wonderful. Just wonderful. Talkative company was the last thing he needed.
Saad stumped to a halt. His eyes were red and swollen from the plentiful tears he'd shed over Antipater's death. "How are you? Can I serve you in any way?"
"The last thing I need is anyone else fussing over me." James put his hands to his head, sure it was about to split open.
Saad’s shoulders sagged. "Forgive my meddling. I don't know what to with myself since—"
"Don't apologize," James said sharply, then exhaled. How did his sisters manage to always be so pleasant and kind? It was exhausting. Simply exhausting. He started over. "Come by my room later today. It could use a good tidying."
Saad brightened. "As you wish."
"As I wish," James muttered, then signaled the litter-bearers to move on. The two over-sized servants lifted his chair and, performing their duty too enthusiastically, they pushed through the crowd and deposited James in front of the line of priests holding blood-slicked bowls of gold.
James struggled to stand. Hama and Saad helped him to his feet. In no shape to reject assistance, James leaned heavily on Physician Hama and surveyed the priests.
The fire from the altar blazed in the background. The bawl of lambs and kid goats competed with the chanted prayer from the Levites lining the Temple stairs. James gritted his teeth against his own bitterness. Born into a priestly family, he ought to be standing with them.
He spotted his old friend Pinhas. James nodded a greeting. Pinhas smiled warmly. A country priest and experienced stonecutter, Pinhas had tutored James during the short time James had lived and worked with the stonecutters and developed his passion for the art and craft of building.
Those designated to offer up the animals approached the priests. The hiss of blood splashing into bowls soon replaced the baaing.
James touched the ugly scar that marred his face. Like the lambs sacrificed to the Lord, priests must be without blemish. He would never serve as a priest, thanks to his father's corrupt dealings with Judas the Zealot.
His chest tightened as he watched Pinhas catch blood in a rounded bowl and hand the steaming vessel to a waiting priest. The bowl was passed from priest to priest until it reached the last man, who sprinkled the blood over the roaring fire burning on the altar. The fire spit and crackled, and smoke billowed heavenward.
Then the dead carcasses were hoisted onto hooks, and gutted and skinned. Just the way James had been hollowed out and stripped of purpose the day the outlaws attacked his family, sliced his cheek open, and wreaked havoc on his sisters' lives. James's fist balled. Curse his father and his blind ambition.
Pinhas separated out the fatty portions of meat from the entrails and placed the choice morsels in a bowl. Another priest salted the meat, and another carried the bowl to the altar for burning. The aroma of roasting meat soon overlaid the coppery smell of blood.
Pinhas's eyes met James’s. The stonecutter had spent hours encouraging James to forgive. Forgive? Hah. Pinhas and others could lecture until they were blue in the face. James's father could say, promise, or threaten all he liked, but James was never going back home, and he was certainly never going to forgive the man.
The ceremony came to end. James continued to stare at the flaming altar. A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Herod's gruff voice filled his ear. "I heard you were half dead."
James swung his head around. Stabbing pain lanced through his skull. He clutched his forehead. "You heard right. However, my love of proving others wrong pulled me through, and here I am."
"I'm glad you survived." Lines of grief showed on Herod's face, making him appear older and somewhat vulnerable.
James flopped down onto the sedan chair. "I am sorry for your loss."
Herod paled.
"We need to speak," James said hurriedly, to cover the awkward moment.
"I can't spare the time." Herod turned to go.
James slid forward on his seat and spoke urgently, just softly enough that only Herod would hear. "I know who provided the poison."
Herod swung around. His eyes were two narrow slits. "What did you say?"
James swallowed, and his vision blurred at the edges. "I'd rather discuss this in private."
Herod jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Follow me. I want my brothers to hear what you have to say."
James gave the gesture to move out and the litter bearers obeyed.
Saad fell in beside him, but Physician Hama blocked the way. "James should retire to his room."
Herod's chest puffed. "Why?"
Hama wasn't intimidated. "It will be more convenie
nt for me if my patient is in bed when his body gives out."
James sat up straighter. "For heaven's sake, I'm not made out of eggshell."
Herod frowned. "I won't keep him long."
Hama shrugged and moved aside. "You know where to find me when he collapses."
"Very well. Go with Hama, then. I will meet you—" Herod's voice receded into the distance.
James's vision blurred sickeningly, he swayed, and then tumbled off the chair.
***
A terrible smell startled James awake. Hama loomed over him. Herod and his three brothers stood behind the physician, staring down at him. James clutched the blanket laid over his chest. He was in his room. In his own bed. He squeezed his eyes closed. No, he hadn’t. He couldn’t possibly have fainted in the middle of the Temple grounds. "I must have made quite the spectacle sprawled on the stone floor."
"Saad said you looked like a dead bug," a guttural voice said from across the room. "I'm sorry I missed it."
"I'm sorry to disappoint." James said peevishly. "You exhibit an inordinate amount of interest in our family, Barbarian."
Kadar's rumble of laughter didn't improve James's mood. "Someone has to watch over you."
"Why is the barbarian here?" James asked.
"Forget Kadar." Herod's implacable tone made it clear Kadar would be staying. "Tell us what you know."
"James should rest," Hama said.
Herod widened his stance. "He talks, then he rests."
Hama headed for the door. "I need to check on your mother."
"What did you see?" Herod demanded.
James's eyelids felt heavier than Corinthian columns, but he managed to pry them open. "I stumbled upon Lazarz while he was handing Antipater's cupbearer a vial." James had his reasons for protecting red-headed Niv. The lie couldn't hurt the cupbearer, as that dolt had already been put to death. As for Lazarz, the murderous fiend could rot in Hades. "Lazarz spotted me and chased me through the Baris. I thought I lost him, but—" James shrugged. "When I woke I heard about your father and I put the pieces together. Lazarz didn't throw me down those stairs because he was in a bad mood." James smoothed the bedcovering. "I saw him snooping around outside my room this morning. I imagine he came back to finish what he started."
The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 12
