Land of Silence

by Tessa Afshar

  For the first time I wondered if Ethan truly loved me. He may never have spoken those words, but in every other way he had stood by me. My eyes filled with tears. I raised a shivering hand to caress his cheek. “Ethan, I—”

  “Am I interrupting?” A half-amused, half-impatient voice inserted itself with annoying insistence into my happy thoughts. Decimus Calvus bent to retrieve Ethan’s dagger from the ground, flipping it into the air, allowing it to twirl and capturing it, hilt first, with disconcerting speed.

  “You are,” Ethan said, pulling me closer, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder. “But I am too grateful to you to bear you any ill will.”

  “Whereas I resent having a dagger pulled on me.”

  The breath caught in my chest. I pulled myself out of Ethan’s arms. “No, please! He meant nothing by it. It was the response of a moment. He would never have harmed you.”

  “Oh, I think, considering what he believed I was about to do to you, he would have harmed me with great pleasure. Or tried.” Decimus Calvus surveyed Ethan through narrowed eyes, then laughed. With unexpected speed, he flipped Ethan’s dagger up in the air again and sent it flying toward him. Ethan plucked it with ease midair, the hilt resting comfortably in his broad palm. The Roman raised a dark brow. “Well, well. How clever of you.”

  He turned to look at me. After a long moment he said, “Considering the circumstances, I suppose I can forget about your show of violence toward a representative of the empire.”

  Ethan bowed his head a fraction. “Thank you. For Elianna and her father.”

  My father approached us then. He had been speaking to my mother, no doubt recounting our adventure and reassuring her of our safety, and had missed the drama that had unfolded between the Roman officer and Ethan.

  “My lord, come and partake of refreshments,” he said to Calvus. “My servants shall wash your feet and see to your comfort. While you eat and drink, I will gather a few trinkets for you. A token of our appreciation for your kindness.”

  The Roman shrugged. “I did my duty. No more.”

  “You saved our lives, for which we thank you, my lord. Tell me, have you a wife back in Rome? A mother or sister? I have beautiful lengths of fabric fit for a queen.”

  Calvus’s face grew shuttered. “I have a wife I have not seen in two years. She will appreciate a length of fabric to keep her warm, since I cannot.”

  I was surprised to hear he was married. Given the way he had held me and spoken to me earlier, I had assumed him to be a bachelor. I had forgotten that Romans could be lax about their marriages, especially the soldiers who lived far from home and family. It was no business of mine. Faithful husband or not, he had saved me from a horror I could not have borne with ease, and I owed him much.

  “I will fetch you food,” I said.

  “You will not.” Ethan’s tone sounded unusually stern. “You are in no condition to play mistress of the house. Elizabeth will see to Decimus Calvus. You need to rest.”

  To my amazement, he swung me up in his arms and began to walk toward the stairs that led to my chamber. “Benjamin, I will take care of Elianna. Please add to the centurion’s gifts a length of the green linen at my expense.”

  My mother, now aware that I felt unwell, ran to our side. “Are you hurt? What happened?” she cried. Her hands fluttered before her like confused little birds.

  Hastily, I tucked my veil over my torn dress. “I am well. My ankle twisted when I jumped from the cart. It’s a trifle. No need to worry.”

  “This is the centurion I told you about, Elizabeth.” Father patted her arm. “He and his men came to our rescue before those bandits could rob us.”

  “Bandits a stone’s throw from the walls of Jerusalem.” My mother pressed her temples. “What next? Will the Temple itself be pulled down about our ears?”

  “Of course not. We are all well, as you see,” I assured her.

  Ethan shifted me in his arms. I could feel the muscles of his chest tighten against my cheek. “I know you must see to the centurion, Elizabeth. Perhaps you would send one of your servant girls to help Elianna? A wash, I think, and fresh clothes. And herbs to help her rest. I will remain with her until the servant arrives.” He gave my mother a reassuring smile, his face a study of tranquility. No one would have guessed that minutes before he had pulled a knife on a Roman centurion.

  My mother, soothed by the air of calm he exuded, sighed. “You are right. It won’t do to ignore an officer of the empire.”

  Ethan strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time, as if I weighed nothing. In my chamber he came to a stop, still holding me in his arms.

  “You can put me down now,” I said.

  “You are shivering.”

  Now that the danger to Ethan was past, my body was starting to fall apart. My teeth began to chatter and I felt assailed by dizziness again. “It’s nothing,” I managed to say. “I am fine.”

  Ethan ignored my words and looked about him in the empty chamber. He seemed to consider my bed for a moment, but instead of taking me there, he grabbed a blanket from a chest and sat against the wall near the door, with me still cradled in his arms. He wrapped the blanket around me, tucking the edges under until I felt its warmth start to seep into my icy limbs.

  I traced the pattern of stars that adorned the corner under my chin. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

  He lowered his lashes. “If I take you to your bed, I’ll have to let go of you. I can’t seem to bring myself to do that yet.” His eyes bored into me. “Can you tell me what happened out there? You don’t have to, if it proves too hard. But I should like to know.”

  I slipped my hand back under the blanket, where I could clench it unnoticed. My stomach churned at the thought of telling him the details of the attack. Of the bandit’s brutal hands on me. Of my fear. Of my father’s rejection. But I sensed that knowing was important to Ethan. Healing, even. He would be able to live with the truth better than with the images his imagination might awaken.

  With halting words, I told him what had happened.

  He turned the color of ash when I described my helplessness as the thief grabbed me. I did not detail the man’s offenses. But by Ethan’s expression it was plain he knew that the thief had touched me in ways no one had. Not even Ethan. When I told him about making the man’s nose bleed, Ethan threw his head back and laughed. To my own surprise, I started to laugh as well.

  “You should have seen the Roman knock him on the head. He went down like a felled tree. I wished I had hit him that hard.”

  “I wish I had hit him much harder.” His voice had turned icy and sharp.

  “We are terrible. Remember what Solomon said?” I forced myself to sound obnoxiously prim. “‘Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles.’”

  “What would Solomon know about it? He had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, our wise king. He could spare one or two. Whereas I—” he pulled me up against his chest—“only have you. I can’t afford to be quite so generous with evil men.”

  I pulled my hand out from under the blanket, dislodging it. Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “That son of a she-dog. Look at what he did to you.”

  I looked down and saw a large bruise near my collarbone, already turning purple. Shoving up the torn fabric of my dress, I lowered my head. My cheeks were burning.

  Ethan put a finger under my chin and lifted it. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you understand?”

  “My father wouldn’t agree with you.”

  “What can you mean?”

  I shrugged, pretending an indifference I was far from feeling. “After it happened, I ran to him. For comfort, I suppose. For an embrace, a reassuring touch. Anything. He pushed me away. He didn’t want me, Ethan.”

  “In this, you are wrong, Elianna. I don’t believe he turned away from you because of your shame. Or even because of Joseph.”

  I winced. Sometimes Ethan’s habit of forthright speaking could b
e like sitting in a room filled with sharp knives. Eventually, you were bound to cut yourself. “Why then?” My voice sounded small and young in my own ears.

  “Because of his shame. Elianna, do you know how horrifying it must be for a father to have to stand by and watch his daughter come under attack, and be utterly helpless to stop it?”

  “What could he have done about it? He did his best to come to my aid. There were simply too many of them.”

  “The heart is not always conversant with the ways of wisdom. It has its own logic. Your father will feel that he let you down. If he won’t look you in the eye, it is his own shame that drives a wall between you. Not yours.”

  “He has never forgiven me, you know. For Joseph. For what I did.”

  Ethan’s eyes softened. I thought for a moment that he might kiss me and sat mesmerized, unable to move. A noise on the stairs distracted me, and then one of the servant girls burst through the doors, forgetting to knock. She skidded to a halt when she saw me in Ethan’s arms.

  Her face turned a curious shade of purple. She pulled her scarf lower over her forehead and cleared her throat. “Your mother sent me with this medicine, mistress.”

  If Ethan felt embarrassed, he did not show it. “Give it to me and I will make sure she drinks it. Now fetch some hot water for a wash as well as a tray of food. Broth, I think, to settle her stomach.”

  My eyes grew round. I had not told him of feeling nauseated. How he had deduced that, I could not fathom. He ignored my wide-eyed perusal. “I will remain with Elianna until you return,” he told the servant girl.

  “Yes, master.” She handed the silver goblet to Ethan and ran out.

  I rolled my eyes. “Now there will be trouble.” I wriggled, trying to get up. His arms wrapped around me like bands of iron.

  “Be still. I want you to drink this.”

  I nestled back into the comfort of his embrace and, grasping the goblet, took a small sip. It tasted bitter and smelled like a wet sheep. Wrinkling my nose, I pushed it back at him.

  Ethan took the goblet and placed it on the ground without comment.

  I sighed, relieved that he had not chosen to fight me over drinking the contents. I should have known better. My relief came to an abrupt end when he spoke into the silence.

  “Elianna, I don’t want to wait anymore. It’s time we married.”

  ELEVEN

  Wait for the Lord;

  be strong, and let your heart take courage;

  wait for the Lord!

  PSALM 27:14

  MY MOUTH FELL OPEN. “What . . . what brought this on?”

  “Give me an answer.”

  “Soon.”

  “No. Not soon. Soon means later in your tongue. I want to marry now.”

  “You barely even wanted to marry me two years ago! Why this sudden haste?” I glared at Ethan, forgetting the tenderness he had shown me for the past hour.

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “I see I offended you by asking you to wait after our betrothal. But it was for your sake as much as my own that I insisted on that condition. I didn’t want you to be forced into the arms of a husband before you were ready.”

  I shrugged and looked away. “Who said I wasn’t ready?”

  “I did. And it was no easy task to wait, I assure you. For quite some time, I’ve had to battle my own desire for you, resist my longing to start our life together.”

  I gasped. “You never showed it.”

  At last, he was telling me the words I had been desperate to hear. Ethan wanted me. He wasn’t marrying me out of duty or resignation. He wasn’t marrying me to please his father and mother. He wanted me.

  He shifted, bringing my face around with resolute fingers until our eyes met and clung. “Have I been so obtuse? Of course I wanted you, Elianna. Why do you think my father approached yours in the first place? I knew if I did not claim you soon, another man with no qualms about your age would grab you from under my nose. So I devised this long betrothal. But I have waited long enough. You turned eighteen five months ago. I don’t wish to delay longer.”

  My stomach turned into a painful knot. I felt as if in one stroke he had delivered both life and death to my soul. I still could not face the thought of marriage. Grasping at the most obvious problem, I said, “I cannot marry you yet, Ethan. My parents need me.”

  “Then we will help them together. I will add my efforts to yours in order to make their lives easier.”

  “That’s not right!”

  “What’s not right is how you make us wait for no good reason. I shouldn’t have to sit against the corner of your room and flinch when a servant girl walks in. I shouldn’t have to fight myself every time I want to hold you. Kiss you.”

  I took a sharp breath. “You said you would wait. For Joseph’s sake.”

  He nodded. “I sensed how crushed you were when he died. Not merely because you lost a beloved brother, but with a weight of guilt I could not fully fathom. Although you tried to hide it, I sensed that you felt responsible for his death.

  “I thought with time you would learn that you are not at fault. In truth, I would be willing to wait if I thought it would help you. Help heal this wound in your heart. But time is only making your sorrow worse. You try to hide this mountain of guilt beneath your work, and still it follows you. You aren’t getting better. Joseph’s death still haunts you. You have paid enough for whatever indiscretion you are convinced you committed, Elianna. It’s time you put it behind you.”

  I flung myself out of his arms and stood trembling before him. He did not try to stop me, but remained leaning against the wall, his legs bent at the knees where I had rested not one moment ago. “You know nothing about it, Ethan. Ask my father, if you don’t believe me. Ask him about my disgrace.”

  He waved a hand in the air, as if he could sweep my words away with one gesture. “I know how your father feels. And though I hold him in high esteem, he is wrong in this. No doubt he will relent eventually; one day he will regret his own treatment of the daughter he once treasured. But by then, your heart may shrivel. You could be destroyed under the weight of remorse. Living here is not good for you, Elianna. In this house, you are constantly reminded of Joseph’s death and the fault you think you bear.”

  “The fault I know I bear!”

  “Explain it to me, then. Explain how you are culpable for this tragedy.”

  I paled. “You already know—”

  “As it happens, I do not. You have never spoken of it.”

  I owed this to him. This truth. This suppurating wound. This horror. But I could not say it. The words clung inside my throat and refused to leave. I shook my head.

  He took a deep breath. “If we marry, you will have me by your side every day to care for you. And at least you will be out of this place of sorrow.”

  “Perhaps in a few months when—”

  “No, Elianna. I’m done waiting.”

  I bit the side of my thumb. The thought of marrying Ethan, moving into a home of our own, going to sleep in his arms, and waking up in their gentle embrace made my bones melt.

  Then he said, “If the Lord wills and we have children of our own, you will be too busy loving them to worry about your father. In them, you will find your healing.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face.

  I did not trust myself with the life of a child. What if I managed to harm my own baby with my incompetence? I could not bear the thought.

  I almost thanked God aloud when the door swung open and the servant returned, her arms heavy with a laden tray. Heaven had sent me a reprieve from having to give Ethan an answer.

  “Here you are,” I mumbled. “I need to change out of this tunic. It’s sticky with sweat and that man’s blood.” I said this not only because it was true, but also because Ethan could not remain in my chamber once I started disrobing. He gave me a hard look that told me he knew exactly what I was doing.

  At the door, he turned. “I will want an answer this week, Elianna. I won’t stand for more
delay.”

  The following morning, Ethan sent word that his brother’s wife had borne her child, a plump boy with ruddy skin and dark eyes, according to my mother, who went immediately to visit. Both were healthy, thank the Lord. With the bustle of the new birth, Ethan grew busy for a few days and did not come to our house. Disappointment warred with relief in my chest. I missed him every hour. Then again, he couldn’t press me about the matter of our marriage if he wasn’t present.

  Two days after our terrifying experience with the Judean thieves, Decimus Calvus came in person to fetch my father, as he had promised, and accompanied him to the tax collector’s booth. To my surprise, my father seemed to hold the centurion in high esteem.

  “That’s a good man, even though he is a Roman,” Father said. “He stepped in to ensure the publican’s rates remained reasonable when I paid our taxes.”

  The next afternoon, Calvus sent my father an official letter that would render military road inspections easy and painless when we imported goods from other regions. My father had not asked for such a favor. Calvus offered it freely.

  In exchange, my father invited him to our house on most days and welcomed him with open arms. He was served the best wine and the choicest meat and never left our home empty-handed.

  One morning I saw him leaving with a cart full of fabrics, blankets, towels, and an extremely expensive purple cloak we had been saving for one of our wealthiest customers. My eyes bulged. A year’s worth of an honest general’s salary wouldn’t cover the price of everything piled up in that cart. I would be the first to admit that we owed the man a great debt, but surely my father had grown excessive in his generosity. We could not afford to give so much merchandise away.

  Calvus noticed me goggling at him and the hard line of his mouth softened. He had eyes the color of flint, but when he smiled, they turned a warm gray color. “Lady Elianna.” He gave me a formal nod.

  “My lord.”

  “Call me Decimus. Surely we are friends after all we have been through together.”