Herod glanced over his shoulder again. For an instant he looked every bit the man whose enemies were breathing down his neck. He blinked, and the veil of bold confidence slid back in place. He petted his mother's hand. "Have faith, Ima. I'm doing what's best for the family. Father would have done the same." He helped his mother into the sturdy wagon. "That's not so bad, is it?" He draped a finely woven blanket over his mother's lap.
"I will need a warmer blanket," Cypros said.
Herod snapped his fingers and a household slave jumped to do his mother's bidding. "I promise you, Ima, no harm will come to you."
Lydia took comfort in Herod's quiet determination.
Avda escorted a pretty, almond-eyed young woman to his wagon. "This is Kitra."
Lydia gave the terrified girl an encouraging smile and patted a cloth-covered grain bag. "I'm glad for your company."
Ori murmured a shy greeting. Benjamin pulled his thumb out of his mouth. "We're going to Idumea. Do you want to come?"
"I hate Idumea," Kitra grumbled, climbing into the cart.
Avda rested his arms on the sideboard. "Is everybody comfortable?"
Lydia and the boys nodded.
Kitra pouted her red lips. "The remedy you made for my upset stomach has worn off already."
"Give it more time to work," Avda advised patiently.
Kitra wrinkled her nose and plunked down next to Benjamin.
Avda's calm brown eyes settled on Lydia. "I may not be able to stay by your side if duty calls. Do you want a weapon to defend yourself?"
Kitra gasped. "A weapon?"
"Um... I have had a knife-throwing lesson," Lydia said. The brief, wonderful time she'd spent with little James seemed as though it had happened ages ago instead of mere weeks. Avda's sons looked up at her with the same awe as little James. She pushed away her grief and hugged Ori and Benjamin until they squirmed, then tickled them. Raising her voice above their squeals of laughter, she said, "A small dagger or a large knife will do."
Avda managed a weary grin. "I knew you would be good with them."
"I'm honored to have earned your trust."
"And I promise to do all in my power to help you reunite with your son."
Lydia pictured little James's happy face. "For the first time, I'm glad he is in Galilee."
Kitra leaned between them. "Herod has called for his horse."
A low buzz filled the air. Herod stood apart, tall and broad-shouldered. A white stallion was brought forward. He mounted the tall warhorse with ease, and rode to the soldiers assigned to clear a path through the Dung Gate.
"Can he do it?" Lydia asked. "Can Herod get us away safely?" The plan called for them to dash south to Idumea, to join forces with Herod's brother Joseph.
Avda nodded, dug through a small clothes basket, and drew out an old, old dagger. "It belonged to my grandfather, who was a friend to Antipater and a supporter of John Hycranus long before Herod was born. Our families have been aligned for many, many years."
"Then you have no choice. You must go with Herod. You must leave Jerusalem."
"Yes. Our fortunes rise and fall together." His eyes searched hers. She was aware of what he wanted. He wanted her to say the words back to him—our fortunes rise and fall together—but she couldn't. Her heart whispered one name over and over again—Kadar, Kadar, Kadar. She looked away.
Avda exhaled heavily, laid the dagger beside her, climbed up onto the cart's small bench, and readied the reins.
Silence descended over the caravan in anticipation of the signal to move out. Ori and Benjamin pressed up against her. Stark fear froze Kitra's face. Tension built like a billowing storm cloud over the palace courtyard. Herod rode up and down the line, throwing out words of encouragement and assurance to his nervous followers—close to eight hundred souls counting the women promised to Pacorus's harem.
The wait seemed interminable. The tension intolerable. Then a terrible noise filled the night. The high-pitched trilling of the men assigned to distract the enemy and allow Herod to escape. Lydia's breath backed up in her lungs. Kadar. He was risking his life for them, for her. Keep him safe, Lord. Please keep him safe.
"To Idumea," a soldier roared, and Herod and his men dashed toward the gate.
Clanging noises and gruesome cries arose, then the donkey cart lurched forward. Lydia tightened her arms around Ori and Benjamin as they rolled through the Dung Gate. Dead bodies littered the ground. The wagon in front of them slowed. Herod’s white horse appeared out of nowhere and whirled in a circle. Sword dark with blood, Herod waved them on. "Go! Don't stop. Go. Go."
They bumped and rumbled onward. The night closed around them. Lydia and Avda and Kitra kept looking back, expecting to find their enemies bearing down on them. How soon before Hasmond's soldiers gave chase? Could they outrun Hasmond? When would they reach safety?
Herod galloped by on his horse, sitting tall in his saddle. "Be of good cheer, Hama. All will be well."
"Keep leading and we will follow," Avda called back.
The sound of weeping came from a nearby wagon. Kitra burst into tears.
Lydia felt Benjamin's little shoulder begin to shake.
"I want to go home," Ori confided, his voice small and frightened.
Lydia patted their slim backs.
"I want my mother," Kitra wailed, burying her head in her lap.
Lydia bit back a rebuke. Kitra was still a girl. Lydia hadn't been brave at that age, either.
Realization struck.
Lydia had been the same age as Kitra when Judas the Zealot had taken her captive. Tremendous guilt smothered Lydia every time she recalled how she had cowered before Judas, and later had given in and behaved toward him as one would a true husband. Now she could see she'd merely behaved like the young, frightened, sixteen-year-old girl she was at the time. Her burden crumbled and scattered like dust on the wind.
The wagons slowed. Herod swept by again. "Press on. Press on!" A moment later the pace quickened.
Lydia pulled Benjamin onto her lap. "Kitra, come sit with me."
The distraught girl scooted under her arm."I hate this."
"I do too," Lydia assured her.
"Try to sleep," Avda said over his shoulder.
Lydia leaned back against a sack, settled the boys and Kitra, and closed her eyes. Where was Kadar? Why hadn't he and the diversionary force caught up to them yet? Captured. Injured. Dead. Countless scenarios darted through her mind. Spare him, Lord. Please spare him.
The rattling of the cart slowly lulled her, and she fell into an exhausted sleep. The next thing she knew, she was startled awake by the sound of a loud crack.
The caravan ground to a halt.
Heart racing, she sat up. "What's wrong? Where are we?"
"A wagon tipped over," Avda said, sounding bone-tired.
A sliver of yellow flickered across the dark edge of the horizon. They had made it to morning without being caught. "Do you think Hasmond decided not to give chase?" she asked.
Avda rolled his shoulders. "The coming day will tell the full story."
Kitra and the boys woke.
Word of the trouble ahead rippled back to them. A wheel had come off Cypros's carriage. Herod's mother was dead. Kitra gave a strangled cry. Lydia hugged her.
Avda jumped to the ground and raced forward.
An old woman in a cart ahead of them swayed back and forth in time to her mournful keening. Lydia cringed and foreboding filled her. Was the terrible accident the start of the evil that would befall them?
Herod's white horse clopped up beside them. "What's wrong?"
"Your mother is dead," someone announced tactlessly.
Herod howled like he'd been stabbed. Sliding off his horse, he fell to his knees, and beat the ground with his fist. "No! No! No!"
Avda's sons pressed up against Lydia. She comforted them, wishing she could do the same for Herod.
Avda came running back and knelt beside Herod. "Do not despair. Your mother is alive."
"Praise heaven," Lydia
said, echoing the relief of those around her.
Wild-eyed, Herod clasped Avda's arms. "You spoke to Ima?"
"I did," Avda said with an exhausted smile. "She reprimanded me for not having my basket of ointments for her scraped hands."
Herod scrubbed his face. "Scrapes?"
"All minor," Avda assured him. "No one was seriously hurt. But I think we should abandon the carriage."
Looking like he had an ox strapped to his back, Herod heaved to his feet. "Get what you need while I move my mother and sister to a new wagon."
Avda shot a relieved look at Lydia. "Eat," he instructed before leaving to attend to Cypros.
Lydia fed the boys and prepared a small meal for Avda. She glanced behind the caravan. Why hadn't Kadar and the other men caught up with them yet? What had happened to them?
Avda and Herod returned. A loud murmur swept through the caravan at the same time. People were pointing and staring. Lydia stood. The glow of the rising sun cast an orange glow over riders and horses racing across a barren wilderness, a vast wasteland stretching for miles in all direction.
"Our men or theirs?" Herod asked.
Lydia held her breath and stretched up onto her tiptoes, straining her eyes, hunting for him. For Kadar. Lord, let him be alive.
A rear guardsmen raced toward them on a gray horse. Throwing up a cloud of dust, the man brought his horse to a halt next to Herod. "Obodas and his men made it out."
A rousing cheer went up.
The riders came closer and closer. She still didn't see him. He wasn't with them. Her stomach knotted.
Avda hopped onto the wagon and stood next to her, then lifted his arm. "See, at the very back? He made it."
A short distance behind the main body of soldiers came a few stragglers. Two men shared one horse, accounting for their slower pace. Beside them a soldier rode slumped over his saddle, and another man was leading his horse, the sun glancing off his yellow-golden hair.
She hugged her arms and smiled until it hurt.
Horses and men pushed upstream through the jubilant throng. Dirty-faced and bleary-eyed, the soldiers managed tired smiles and nods of acknowledgement.
The brawny, thick-necked commander of the bloodied band left his horse with another soldier and hustled over to Herod. "Hasmond is hard on our heels. He will be upon us within the hour."
Lydia's smile crumpled.
Fear and doubt flashed across the faces of those around her.
Herod squeezed the commander's shoulder. "You and your men get some food and rest." Herod leaped atop one of the large boulders scattered across the low knoll. His supporters gathered around. "We can't outrun those who want us dead." Herod was a commanding and reassuring leader. A thirty-five year old man in the prime of his life, Herod's voice was firm and assured, his gestures and attitude strong and masculine. "We will make our stand here. Together we will fight for our lives, fight for our families, fight for our destiny."
A roar of approval went up. Avda remained silent.
Lydia rubbed her arms. "Is Herod as good a soldier as people say?"
Avda exhaled heavily. "I'd be more confident about the coming battle if we had more men. Herod and his soldiers are experienced and battle-tested, but he's asking a lot from his three hundred and fifty men, a hundred of whom haven't have had time to recover from last night's contest."
Herod raised his battered sword. "Men, take up your weapons if you have them. Arm your wives, arm your aged men and women, arm your children. Prepare to battle to your last breath." High-pitched trilling filled the air. Grinning fiercely with affection for his followers, Herod sheathed his sword, jumped to the ground, and strode off, issuing orders to his aides.
In his wake, still mounted, came Kadar, leading two horses.
The sight of his pained face and blood-soaked tunic sent another wave of fear through Lydia. "Are you hurt?" she called out, jumping to the ground.
Kadar climbed off his horse. "No, but Old John nearly had his arm cut off."
Men swarmed around the injured man and carried him off. Stable boys took charge of the horses.
Kadar walked toward her.
"I couldn't stop worrying about you," she confessed.
Kadar stopped close to her, so near his long golden hair brushed over her shoulder and his warm breath spilled down her neck. "Didn't anyone tell you, my valkyrie? Barbarians are hard to kill."
He was trying to tease a smile out her, but she wasn't fooled. The exhaustion and anguish in his bright blue eyes told the true story. She reached her hand to his face and stroked his stubbled chin. "I'm just glad you're safe. That's what I know."
"Lydia?" a child's querulous voice called out.
Ori's summons brought Lydia to her senses. She bumped up against Avda's wide chest and spun around. "Old John is hurt."
"I heard," Avda said avoiding her eyes. His many friends and admirers, however, glared at her with open disapproval.
Her face heated. "I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean—"
"We will speak of it later," Avda said, his voice clipped.
Kadar interceded. "Don't hold this against her, Hama."
Hands fisted, Ori stood beside his father, glaring up at her. The boy might not understand she'd just shamed his father in spectacular fashion, but he was clearly aware she'd hurt Avda. And in turn, she'd failed at the sole task Avda had asked of her—to make a happy home for his sons.
"Forgive me," she whispered.
Avda's broad shoulders sagged. "Go join Cypros and watch over her while I tend to Old John."
She turned and fled. Father and Aunt Sarah had called her boisterous, said she was overly flirtatious and forward. They were half right. She was too lively and open for her own good. And a kind, decent man had been hurt and his reputation besmirched because of it.
Winded and wretched, she paused outside Cypros's wagon. She knew what she had to do. She would release Avda from his promise, and encourage him to find a woman who could control her impulses.
CHAPTER 25
Kadar helped Herod push the last wagons into place. "Did you have to bring along all five hundred of Pacorus's proposed harem?" He could hardly hear himself over the babble of questions and suppositions batted around by the worried women circling them. Kadar shook his head again, amazed a man running for his life would burden himself with a pack of frightened women.
Herod laughed. "At the moment it doesn't seem like the best tactical move I ever made, but if I manage to deliver these girls to safety, their fathers will remember and will be indebted to me."
Kadar stared over the women's veiled heads toward the cloud of dust boiling closer and closer to the ring of wagons standing alone in the middle of a vast desert wasteland. "You have to be alive to collect the debt."
Herod cinched his sword belt. "Walk the perimeter with me. I want to see for myself it's secure."
They moved off a short distance to observe the camp from the enemies' vantage point. Herod held the high ground—if the miserable mound of land could be called that. And shelter? The small boulders and bushes scattered about couldn't provide cover for a good-sized deer. Water and feed for the animals were both in short supply. Of course, Hasmond wasn't any better supplied than they were, and his army was three times the size of theirs. There would be no long, drawn-out standoff.
"What do you think?" Herod asked.
"The battle could go either way."
"I keep asking myself what my father would do." Herod turned grim. "But it's no help. I'm going with what my gut tells me. Today is either the end or the beginning for me. If I fail, at least I will go down with a sword in my hand." He narrowed his eyes at Kadar. "What I can't figure out is what you are doing out here."
Kadar opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.
Herod laughed and thumped him on the shoulder. "It's too late to run now. I'm going to go check on Old John and my mother and Mariamne. You should go speak to the Onias girl. And don't tell me you don't want to, because I know you do." Still smilin
g, Herod dashed off toward the makeshift enclosure.
Kadar massaged his clammy forehead and studied the sturdy wagon where Lydia was sheltered.
He wanted to go to her, but he wouldn't. Thundering Thor! What had she been thinking, stroking his cheek for everyone to see? Her obvious feelings for him were damaging her reputation and her future prospects. He needed to keep his distance for her sake.
A swirl of wind kicked up the dust, spraying fine grit into his face. He turned his back on the makeshift camp and frowned at the small army closing in on them. How was Lydia holding up? The desolate surroundings had to be stirring up memories of when she'd been held captive by Judas the Zealot.
Then there was Old John. The grizzled soldier, who stroked and touched his weapons with a lover’s caress, had lost his arm. His soldering days were over, the poor devil. Kadar scrubbed his eyes with his palms. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if such a thing happened to him.
When he went into battle today, he'd be fighting to avenge Old John and Antipater, and to destroy those determined to destroy Antipater's sons. Kadar's loyalty to Herod, Phasael, Joseph, and Pheroras flowed as strong as it once had for his fellow Northmen.
He pulled the hammer-shaped amulet free and clutched it. "Thor, Odin, and Freyja...hear me now! Give me the strength of ten warriors."
His gods seemed far, far away. He tucked the amulet back under his tunic.
He wanted to pray to Lydia's God, to Old John and Herod's God.
Kadar stared at his wilderness surroundings. Would the God of Israel even hear him?
An all-encompassing calm settled over him. And he knew beyond all doubt he was meant to be here, meant to answer this call, meant to fight this battle.
***
Another death scream pierced the clang and clash of swords. Lydia covered her ears and pushed back against the unyielding wagon wheel. The battle had been raging for what seemed like hours with no sign of slackening. Cold and frightened, she couldn't stop shaking and worrying.
The enclosure formed by the wagons was surprisingly large. Avda, Ori, and Benjamin were at the opposite end, and her view of them was blocked by the draft animals milling about the center ground.
The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 20
