Bread of Angels

by Tessa Afshar

  One man, a Jew named Avraham, agreed to meet with her in the market after sunset. He stood behind the cover of a high wall, his face half-enveloped in the corner of his cloak.

  “Some believe the magistrate’s allegation that your father tried to defraud Mistress Dione,” he said. “For myself, I know Eumenes is innocent.” He rubbed his jaw as if it ached. “I have known him long enough to be certain of his honesty.”

  “My father would never rob anyone,” Lydia said, her voice hot with indignation. “I am surprised his friends are so quick to condemn him.”

  “Dione is a powerful resident of this city. It is hard to doubt her word, especially accompanied by a document that bears your father’s seal.” He stared at his feet, dirty from the dust of the road. “I have tasted of her greed firsthand. She robbed a cousin of mine with her tricks. He was like a brother to me, yet I was helpless to come to his aid. He had to leave Thyatira after Dione finished with him. He has never returned.” Avraham readjusted his cloak to ensure his face remained covered.

  “You should be aware of one thing: Dione has warned every man in our trade not to assist Eumenes in any way. So even those who wish to help your father find their hands tied.”

  He cleared his throat. “I am sorry, but I cannot openly lend your father aid as he deserves. She is a Roman and I am a Jew. She could crush me with one word. A small bribe and my business would be wrecked.”

  “I understand.”

  Avraham pulled out a purse. “This is not much. I owe more than this to your father, who helped me when my trade was on the verge of bankruptcy. Because of his generosity, I recovered. Take this. May it be of some service. And may the Lord be with you.”

  Lydia took the purse and thanked the man. She thought over his words. It seemed not only had they lost their reputation, their workshop, and their home, but they had lost their country as well. There was no place for them in Thyatira any longer. If Dione were standing before her, she would have spit in her face.

  In spite of Lydia’s best efforts, Eumenes developed a fever. The physician said his wounds showed signs of corruption. He treated the lacerations with aloe and packed them with soft lamb’s ear leaves. Eumenes did not complain, though Lydia knew his pain was grave.

  “Has no one come to see me?” he asked on the fourth day of his recovery.

  “I have not told anyone where you are. I thought it best to remain hidden for now. When Dione finds out that the purple she stole from you is a sham, she is liable to grow somewhat indignant.”

  He gave a pale smile. “I wish I could see the look on her face when she first makes that discovery. Every single one of Eryx’s formulas is useless. She won’t see a single copper coin from my purple. She has a strong arm, I bet.”

  “A strong arm?”

  “When she gets mad, she throws things. Far. A priceless amphora full of perfume. Her silver chalice. A small slave. A strong arm.”

  “She will certainly throw a fit.”

  Eumenes stifled a groan. The physician had given Lydia a costly potion to help alleviate his pain. She poured a little of the mixture in his wine, then waited until he fell asleep before she withdrew.

  Lydia had not told Eumenes the details of her visit with Avraham, dreading that the ill news might affect his precarious hold on health. He needed to recover his strength before they could speak of their future.

  Every day, while he slept, she returned to Dione’s house, hoping to speak to Jason.

  Her initial anger toward Jason had simmered to a deep ache. She thought she understood his reaction. It was natural that he should believe the word of a beloved mother. Either Eumenes was a thief or Dione was. There was no other option. Of course Jason had to accept his mother’s claims.

  With the passing of days, Lydia hoped that his feelings for her would prove more powerful than his indignation. Even if he believed Eumenes a thief, in time, he must wish to hear from Lydia, if only to accuse her of wounding him.

  But the gates of his home remained closed to her. She trudged back to the inn day after day, taking precautions to ensure she was not followed.

  Jason wanted no part of her. Unless she convinced him of her innocence, she would lose him as well as her home. If he believed her, however, he might be able to convince Dione to allow Eumenes to practice his trade in his home city once again. Perhaps, for the sake of her son, she would be content with owning their land, if not Eumenes’s knowledge.

  That afternoon, Lydia altered her usual course. Recalling Jason’s love for horses, she circumvented the villa and headed to the stables instead. She recognized a groom who had once accompanied Jason on one of his visits to her home. The young man was trying to control an excited horse. The animal, his glistening black pelt shining even in the shade, rose on graceful hind legs, jerking his head back in a bid for freedom from the groom’s hard hold.

  “Behave, Drakon,” the groom shouted.

  “Have you seen Jason?” Lydia asked, stepping forward.

  “Mind you don’t get too close, mistress! This is a monster more than a horse, with the temper of Medusa.” After several minutes, the fire in the horse’s temper finally seemed to run its course, and he stood still, his nostrils blowing great puffs of air as he recovered from his exertions.

  The groom wiped his sweating neck with a thick forearm. “None but Master Jason can handle this animal. In his hands, the horse melts. One word from the master, and he will charge and attack like a legion of soldiers. Another word, and he becomes as docile as a lamb. Without the master here, the horse is not safe.”

  Just then, Drakon turned his head so that Lydia could see his face fully for the first time. The memory of her father’s words rang with sudden clarity in her mind:

  “He attacked me on purpose. . . . And right here—” Eumenes had pointed to the middle of his forehead—“there was a white mark that looked like a half moon with a tiny speck next to it that resembled a star. . . . It was perfectly proportioned, as if drawn by the hand of an artist. . . .

  “If not for this young man, it would have gone on to trample me to death. I don’t know how, but my friend here charmed that animal into calm. One word from him, and the horse stopped its thrashing.”

  This was the horse her father had described, this Drakon. Black and unusually shiny, with a perfectly proportioned white half moon and star in the middle of his forehead.

  Her throat grew parched until she could barely swallow. The beating of the blood in her ears drowned every sound in the stables. She thought furiously of the events that had brought Jason into their lives, and she understood with a sickening clarity what had truly transpired five months before.

  Jason had not happened upon her father in his moment of need; he had not saved him. On the contrary, Jason had been the source of Eumenes’s accident. He had intentionally set his monster of a horse on her father. His rescue and further care had all been a ruse. A pretense.

  So the plot against Eumenes had begun long before Dione’s offer of partnership. How far back did their treachery go? How deep did it plunge?

  Jason was not an innocent victim of his mother’s manipulation. He was a willing tool of it, a poisonous dagger thrust into their lives in the pursuit of more wealth.

  Mother and son must have heard of Eumenes’s talent, seen a sample of his incomparable work, and decided they wanted it for themselves. And they had come up with their wicked ploy. So simple. So effective. She was the perfect fool, falling into his plans without a moment’s resistance.

  Perhaps he had first seen her in the market. Or spied on her as she left the house on some innocent errand. He had taken the measure of her, no doubt, and known how remarkably easy it would be to manipulate and deceive her.

  She was just a step to grind his boot on, on the way to grasping the mysteries of Eumenes’s purple.

  Jason had never cared for her. Never loved her. Every declaration, every tender moment had been a sham, a greedy ploy to rob her of her inheritance.

  Lydia cou
ld not breathe. To be deceived by Dione hurt. But to be betrayed by Jason—Jason, whom she had trusted and loved—that was enough to wither a soul.

  They had lost everything because she had seen a pair of brilliant green eyes and believed their false promises.

  Shame descended on her then—stifling, burning shame, gagging her like a murderer’s choke hold.

  EIGHTEEN

  How long will you torment me

  and break me in pieces with words?

  These ten times you have cast reproach upon me;

  are you not ashamed to wrong me?

  JOB 19:2-3

  BLINDLY, LYDIA RAN, desperate to be anywhere but in that place where he ruled like a king. For days, she had haunted Dione’s home, frantic to find Jason and seek his help. Now, when she was determined to avoid him, she ran straight into his filthy, treacherous arms.

  “Lydia! Where have you been? I have searched everywhere for you.”

  To her astonishment, he gazed at her with a perfect imitation of love, the old expression that used to melt her from the inside transforming his features into a mask of caring. Everything in her rose up in a bitter storm of fury. Words burned on her tongue, tripping to leave a trail of accusation.

  Caution interfered.

  If he played the lover, he had a reason. She needed to understand his motives before revealing that she had discovered his true nature.

  She tried to look neutral. “Have you? That is strange. I have come to your house day after day, seeking you. They never allowed me entry.”

  “That stupid slave. I will tend to him. He did not tell me.” He pulled on Lydia’s arm. “Come. We need to speak. There is a small cottage here where we can have some privacy.”

  The cottage must have belonged to a steward or head groom. A woman, probably his wife, was bent over a fire, cooking something that smelled of onions and garlic and fried pork. Lydia’s stomach turned. Jason waved the woman out, and without a word of objection or a single question, she scooted outside.

  Why had Lydia never noticed how his servants acted around him? Not with affection or loyalty, but with an unquestioning fear that hinted at his treatment of them. She had assumed it was Dione’s rough tongue that held them in check. Now she saw they acted the same around Jason.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked without preamble.

  “With my father.”

  The good-natured mask cracked a little. “And where is he?”

  “Not at home, since we no longer own our house.”

  He made a waving motion with his hand. “All that is forgiven. I have spoken to my mother. Master Eumenes may return. I have told her how I feel about you, and she has changed her mind about his continued punishment. He made a mistake. I believe he has learned his lesson.”

  Lydia crossed her arms. “Why would you want him to return?”

  “As I said, my feelings toward you have not changed.”

  “That is true.”

  The green eyes narrowed, became acute. “I don’t understand your attitude, Lydia. Your father stole from my mother. I should think you would be grateful for my clemency.”

  “I think you will find it was the other way around. We were the ones robbed.”

  He made a sound of frustration in his throat. “It matters not what Eumenes has convinced you to believe.” He took her hand. She felt as if she were being caressed by a snake. It took her whole strength not to snatch her fingers away.

  “What matters is that I want you back.”

  “Do you?”

  “Why should we get caught in our parents’ quarrel? I know you will not abandon your father. So let him return to the business he loves. And you alongside him. We will resume where we were forced to leave off.”

  Lydia withdrew her hand. She had heard all she needed to hear. “How is Eryx faring?”

  Jason looked at her sharply. “He manages well enough.”

  “Not if he is using the formulas my father gave him.”

  The color left Jason’s face. “Perhaps you should explain what you mean.”

  Lydia’s smile was cold. “Or perhaps you should start by explaining a few things to me. Tell me about Drakon. Tell me about the horse you have trained to attack and withdraw. Tell me about the day you met my father and slithered your way into our lives. Tell me about your insistence that Eryx work for us, while he snooped his way around every batch of dye we made. Tell me about my father’s thirty lashes, or the fact that our home no longer belongs to us. Perhaps you should explain.”

  Jason raised a brow. “Comprehension has dawned at last, has it? Thank the gods. I thought I would choke if I had to pretend to be enamored of you one more day.”

  Lydia swallowed bile. “Do not fret. You are no longer required to play the lover around me. There is still one thing I don’t understand. Why did you keep insisting that I stop working? It could have made no difference to you.”

  Jason shrugged. “We knew Eryx could manage to sneak his way around one of you. The two of you together, however, would be more difficult to mislead.”

  Lydia nodded, pretending that his crushing words had no effect on her. “I thank you for speaking truth at long last.” She turned her back, intending to leave. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, his touch hard enough to hurt.

  “Let me go,” she said, her voice low.

  “Not until I have what I want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The formula for the purple. Tell me where your father is. If he gives us what we ask, we will take care of you both. He can still practice his craft so long as it is not in Thyatira. You can leave in peace. My mother is even willing to give you a heavy purse to start you on your journey.”

  Lydia laughed. She was shocked by the bitter sound that emerged from her throat. That was not Lydia’s laugh. It was not the laugh of a sixteen-year-old girl who believed the world, in spite of its many sorrows, was still a good place. A place where happiness could knock on your door and come in to stay. This new laugh belonged to someone older and harder.

  “If you think I believe any promise that comes out of your mouth, you must be mad.”

  Jason dragged her against his chest. His arms clasped her with bruising force. “You will tell me what I ask. In peace or with blows, I care not.”

  Once, when Lydia was younger, a man had taken to following her. She had found his unwanted attention alarming. Something about his manner had made his admiration feel threatening. When her father found out Lydia’s dilemma, he gave her a useful private tutorial on men and their anatomy. It was a lesson she had never had to use. Now it came to her like a sunburst, his words and the hours that he had made her practice just the right defensive move.

  She pulled her knee back. Then with all her strength brought it up and struck.

  Jason’s hands went slack. He doubled over, his face turning a puce color. Apparently there was more than one way of making purple, she thought with a smirk.

  At first, a strange sound emitted from his throat, no louder than a whisper, but more intense, filled with agony. Lydia stepped away, and he fell to his knees. He managed to take a breath finally, and as he let it out, emptying his lungs of pain, a whistling howl left his twisted mouth.

  The woman who had occupied the cottage earlier burst back inside, her eyes wide. She took in the scene: Jason on his knees, purple in the face, his hands clutching his groin, words failing him; Lydia rubbing bruised arms. The woman bit her lip. But as she left, Lydia saw her shoulders shaking with wicked mirth, and she joined in, laughing and crying all the way back to their chamber in Master Atreus’s inn.

  NINETEEN

  I came naked from my mother’s womb,

  and I will be naked when I leave.

  The LORD gave me what I had,

  and the LORD has taken it away.

  JOB 1:21, NLT

  “YOU WENT TO SEE JASON?” Her father’s face, bright with fever and pain, filled with understanding as he waited for her to speak. Her heart overflowed
with thankfulness as she studied that visage. Here was a good man, a kind man, honest and clean. Jason and Dione could not take that from her. They could not rob her of all the years of affection and protection that Eumenes had bestowed on her. The gift of his love would be hers to keep forever.

  “How did you know?”

  “I thought you would want to meet him. To plead our cause. I take it from your expression it did not go well. Did he refuse to believe you?”

  Lydia dropped her eyes as she confessed the truth. “It is worse than that.” Word after bitter word, she forced herself to tell of her discovery. “So you see,” she said in the end, “you have been cursed with a fool for a daughter.”

  Eumenes squeezed her fingers. “I fear it is worse even than that. You have been cursed with a fool for a father, for I believed him too. I confess I did not think him worthy of you, though I never said so. I told myself that if your heart longed for him, I should do what I could to win him for you.

  “When I went to see Dione that first time, she told me that she would forbid him from coming to you again unless I became her partner. She said our station in life was beneath her son. At least as her partner, I could improve my lot in society.”

  Lydia choked. “That is why you agreed to become her partner?”

  “I kept you too busy to notice. Jason stopped coming after that. I saw her threat was genuine, and I believed Jason too weak to resist her demands. I never dreamed he was a willing partner in a terrible scheme. Though I believed him too dependent on his mother, I never thought him dishonest. That is why I sealed the contract. You see, child? They misled both of us.”

  Lydia started to shake with sobs. “I feel so ashamed. He has left me utterly humiliated.”

  “No, Lydia! The shame is all his, my beautiful girl. His, the offense. His, the guilt.”

  “For my sake, you lost your home. Your future.” She did not add that his reputation and friendships were lost to him as well. Eumenes knew, of course. He had lived in Thyatira all his life. He understood how his imprisonment and conviction would affect his place in society.