by John Hagee
“Anyway, I hope the child is all right. And Rebecca.”
“They’re both fine,” Peter said. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was the closest he’d ever heard Naomi come to one. He wondered if she had experienced genuine remorse or if she merely wanted to soften his attitude toward her. He surprised himself by brusquely responding, “State your request, Naomi. My time is limited this morning.”
“Very well,” she said. “I need to leave for Rome immediately. Lucius has been taken ill and needs me. He had planned on joining me here this spring, but of course that’s out of the question now. I had no way of getting home until the seas opened again, and now that they have, I’ve been unable to make travel arrangements . . .”
She paused, and Peter thought he saw her hand shaking, but she quickly covered it by clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “Go on,” he prompted.
“I’m short of funds and the bank won’t extend any credit. Which is ridiculous, given my husband’s position.”
He exchanged a look with Antony. Not so ridiculous, Peter thought, considering what they now knew about the senator’s dire situation. “What do you want from me?” he asked.
Naomi took a deep breath and quickly said, “I want to hire the Mercury for the voyage. I’ll pay the crew as soon as we arrive in Rome and then send the Mercury back to you immediately, along with a generous fee for the use of the ship.”
“And why should I do that for you, Naomi?” Even if she could have paid him a small fortune—which he knew full well she couldn’t— Peter would never have let Naomi use his father’s private cutter.
This time her chin quivered, and there was no mistaking the tremble in her voice. “Please don’t make me beg, Peter.”
Her manner, as well as the statement, was so uncharacteristic that Peter couldn’t speak for a moment. Naomi looked completely unwell, and she was not faking it this time. Not only unwell, but undone.
The loathing he had felt for his supremely selfish sister began to meld into something akin to pity. For a long time Peter stared at her across the desk, his chin propped in the palm of his hand, the index finger tapping his cheek. She was pathetic. Truly pathetic.
Finally he leaned forward. “The Mercury is not available. But we have a cargo ship leaving for Rome in two days. I’ll make sure the captain has room for you—no charge. But no shenanigans, either. No histrionics. No ordering the crew around. You’ll keep to your quarters and do whatever the captain says. That’s the offer. Take it or leave it.”
Her eyes briefly flashed and her nostrils flared, but Naomi was far too desperate to allow herself the luxury of expressing outrage or any other emotion. She swallowed hard and nodded her head. “I’ll take it.”
Peter stood to signal that their meeting was over. “I’ll make the arrangements,” he said.
As Naomi rose from her chair, the struggle to maintain her composure was obvious. Peter was actually a bit embarrassed for her.
She paused at the door. “Thank you, Peter,” she said softly.
He suddenly couldn’t speak again, so he simply nodded, and she went out the door. Peter sat back down. He heard Naomi’s footsteps echoing on the dock, heard the gulls screeching as they swooped to the shore for crumbs, and it all seemed anticlimactic. It’s over, Peter thought. Finally over.
He supposed he should feel gleeful over the fact that Naomi was headed for utter humiliation when she arrived in Rome. In all likelihood, she would wind up destitute. And after all the misery she had caused, she would deserve whatever she got.
Peter did feel a certain relief, but it brought him no joy. Instead, he felt a deep sorrow. It was tragic to see someone you had once loved self-destruct.
Antony allowed Peter to sit in silence and collect his thoughts for a while, then asked, “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Peter said. “I think I’m going to be just fine.” He smiled slowly, then stood and stretched. “As a matter of fact, I think I’m ready to do something I’ve put off for a long time.”
Antony raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Peter. “What’s that?”
“How would you like to go for a sail?” Peter asked. “A short trip on the Mercury?”
“Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Peter said. “Just up and down the river. Kaeso has had the Mercury ready for travel for a few days, but he hasn’t had her out on the water yet. I thought you might like to help me do the honors.”
Antony brightened. “I’d love to. I’ve always wanted to see your father’s famous ship firsthand.”
Peter didn’t tell Antony that he’d never been on board the Mercury either. He had simply decided he wasn’t afraid of sailing anymore.
28
LIVIA HELD THE SMALL BOX UP TO THE SUNLIGHT, checking for minute imperfections. Not a single visible flaw; she took pride in that. The four sides of the wooden box had been covered with thin sheets of copper and polished to a brilliant sheen. The box lid had first been covered in copper, then overlaid with tiny strands of gold to form channels for the different colors of enamel. She had spent many hours forming the delicate gold wires into a series of undulating shapes, carefully hammering the heated gold to the surface, then filling the channels with various shades of blue enamel, each shade a bit paler than the previous, until they almost faded to white. The effect was like clouds hanging over the water. The work had been painstaking, but she was pleased with the results.
Several months’ worth of work lined the shelves in the workshop. Livia had finished dozens of items she would sell at the market in Caesarea and to the caravans that would soon be passing through. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets, earrings, and rings for fingers and toes. Decorative housewares. Even a matched pair of jeweled daggers. But the piece she was holding now was special: the box was for Jacob.
Livia didn’t know when she would give it to him, but it would be soon. She’d always known he would leave when spring arrived. It was March now, and while it was still cold, winter was all but over. Recently she’d heard Jacob asking Gregory when he thought the mountain roads would be clear enough to travel. That could only mean one thing: Jacob would be leaving soon. She planned to give him the box as a parting gift.
His departure would leave a void in her life, and just thinking about it put Livia in a melancholy mood. They had spent many companionable hours talking, laughing, and sharing their lives. They’d also argued over his obsession with Damian.
The last time he’d mentioned anything about Damian was a couple of weeks ago, after Pomponius had taken Jacob to meet Regulus. Evidently seeing Damian at the army post had whetted Jacob’s appetite to fulfill his so-called mission. Since then he’d been preoccupied, as if he were already distancing himself from her and Gregory.
Still, there were times when she and Jacob talked that she thought he was on the verge of telling her something important, perhaps revealing something he’d never shared before. He would lean toward Livia, an earnest look on his face, and then suddenly look away. Once he had even touched her arm and started to say something. For some reason she’d thought he was about to speak of his personal feelings for her. But perhaps she had just imagined that.
She couldn’t blame Jacob, though, for the inability to speak his deepest feelings; she’d experienced it for the first time herself. Livia had never had trouble speaking her mind. In fact, she usually had the opposite problem and spoke before she thought. But now, when it seemed to matter more than at any time in her life, she could not verbalize her feelings for Jacob. Not unless he said something about it first. And it was his place to speak of such things, wasn’t it?
That’s why the keepsake box was so important to Livia. She had put what she wanted to say to Jacob into the box—and if she had the courage to give it to him, then he would know how she felt.
Livia placed the box back in its hiding place. It was midafternoon, and she didn’t feel like starting another project. Jacob would be home soon, and perhaps she would help him work on
the improvised horse barn he was building. She wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he was gone and out of her life.
As she walked downstairs, Livia heard the sound of a horse approaching the tufa cone. They didn’t get many visitors on horseback, so she ran to the anteroom and peeked out. She saw Jacob gallop to a halt and dismount, and her heart rose in her throat. Why was he bringing the chestnut home? The barn wasn’t finished . . .
Her fingers fumbled as she unfastened the heavy drapery covering the opening in the tufa. By the time she rolled up the curtain and fastened it, Jacob had scrambled up the ladder and stepped inside.
“You’re home early,” she said. “And you brought the filly. She’s beautiful.”
Jacob didn’t reply for a moment, but he seemed excited. He took a deep breath and said, “I have good—I have some news.”
Livia’s practical streak asserted itself. “Then come in out of the wind and tell us about it.” She refastened the entry curtain and they walked into the dining area, where Gregory joined them around the low table.
“I got word from Regulus today,” Jacob said. “He’s sending Damian away tomorrow.”
“And you’re going after him,” Gregory said.
“Yes, I have to—”
Gregory held up a hand to stifle Jacob’s defensive reaction. “You won’t get an argument from me,” the older man said. He glanced briefly at Livia, who was struggling to keep an impassive expression on her face, and added, “You know how we both feel, but it’s your decision. I had hoped you would have thought things through by now and changed your mind, but so be it. We will wish you Godspeed.”
Jacob merely nodded, his stubborn jaw set in an unyielding line.
“You’ll have a good meal first,” Gregory said. “And then we’ll say our good-byes.” He stood and went to the cooking area to heat some stew and flat bread.
Jacob looked at Livia for a long time. His face softened, but he didn’t speak. Neither did she. Even if she’d known what to say, she wouldn’t have trusted her voice.
Finally Jacob rose and said, “I’ll pack my things.” He smiled briefly. “It won’t take long, seeing I have so few possessions these days.”
Livia watched him leave the room, then she slipped off to her workshop, where she stayed until Gregory called up the stairs that dinner was ready. She retrieved the box she’d made for Jacob and placed it in a leather pouch. Too soon, she thought. It’s too soon for him to leave.
She deposited the pouch in a niche in the anteroom and joined the men around the dining table. They made an attempt at normal conversation while they ate, but it required more effort than Livia was able to muster. When she did speak, she knew her voice sounded too bright, too false. When she tried to smile, her face felt heavy. But not nearly as heavy as her heart.
When they finished the meal Gregory cleared the table, and his absence deepened the silence between Livia and Jacob, who finally said, “I should be going. I want to be at the army post before dark. I’ll camp outside the gate so I’ll be there when—so I’ll be ready.”
As they got up from the table, Gregory came back with a small parcel. “I packed you a few things to eat later,” he told Jacob.
As Gregory said his farewell to Jacob, Livia quietly left the room. She wanted to say good-bye privately.
Gregory had lit the wall lamps in the anteroom, she noticed. The room was still somewhat dim, with only a faint stream of fading light spilling in through the ventilation shaft. Livia unlatched the curtain but let it hang loose after she extended the ladder. The wind had died down some, so the draft was not too bad in the anteroom.
She thought back to the first time she’d seen Jacob, the day they’d run from the trader who had tried to cheat her. Livia could never have imagined that the stranger who had climbed this ladder uninvited would become such an important part of her life.
And now he was leaving. Jacob had been with them for three months, and she couldn’t imagine living three days without him now.
She looked up as she heard Jacob enter. He paused by the far wall, the lamplight limning his rugged features. This is the way I’ll always remember him, she thought. She wanted to memorize the way he looked, the way he stood, the way he filled up a room just by walking through the door.
“I will miss you, Jacob,” she finally said. “And I wish you success, whatever that means for you.”
“Thank you,” he said as he moved toward her. “I will miss you too.”
“And I will pray for your safety.” They stood at almost exactly the same height, so it was easy to search his eyes, but impossible to read what was in his heart.
He nodded. “I will appreciate your prayers.”
“Go with God, then.” She allowed herself one last, long look into his eyes, then she turned to raise the curtain.
Jacob reached for her hand and stopped her. “Livia, come with me,” he blurted out.
She turned around in astonishment both at his words and the feel of her hand in his. “I don’t want to leave you. Come with me,” he repeated.
“I . . . I can’t do that.” The idea was preposterous. As much as she wanted to be with Jacob, it would be completely inappropriate for her to travel with him, and there was no way she was going to stand by and watch while he killed his enemy.
The expression on Jacob’s face told her that he realized the foolishness of the notion as soon as he’d spoken it. “You’re right,” he said. “But I’ll come back for you. After I find Damian, I’ll come back.”
“No, you won’t.” Her voice was soft, but Livia surprised herself by being able to say it so matter-of-factly. “You’ll forget about me.” She knew Jacob meant what he said—for the moment. But she also knew that his obsession with hunting down Damian would crowd out any intention of returning to Cappadocia.
“I could never forget you.” He brought her hand up, pressing her fingertips against his lips. “Never,” he murmured into her hand.
Livia’s heart swelled and she couldn’t stop the words that rose in her throat. “Don’t go, Jacob. Stay here . . . Stay with me.”
He gave her fingers a final kiss, then looked away. He squeezed her hand as he lowered it. “I can’t,” he said, meeting her glance again. “As much as I want to . . . I can’t.”
She slowly untwined her fingers from his. “No, not can’t. You won’t. There’s a difference.”
“Livia . . .” His voice trailed off. There was nothing left to say, and they both knew it.
“Go, then.” She raised the curtain and latched it above the opening, then moved to one side.
Jacob took a step toward the door. “Wait,” she said suddenly. “I have something for you.”
With a purposeful step, Livia moved to the niche below the wall lamp and returned with the leather pouch.
“What is it?” Jacob asked.
She took a deep breath and handed it to him before she could change her mind. “Something to remember me by.”
He looked down at the gift, then up at her. “This is the same . . .”
“Yes,” she nodded, her heart pounding. She knew he would recognize the leather pouch he had rescued, and that was why she had chosen it to protect her offering.
Jacob loosened the string and pulled out the box. “It’s beautiful,” he said reverently. “And you made it for me.”
“It’s a keepsake box,” Livia said. “You know, to store little things you want to save.” She couldn’t stop chattering nervously as he stared at the box she had designed especially for him. “Silly, sentimental things . . . memories . . .”
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I’ll treasure it.”
She didn’t know what she would do or say if he opened the box. At first she was scared he would, then scared he wouldn’t, and finally, disappointed that he didn’t.
Without looking inside, Jacob slipped the box back into the pouch and tightened the drawstring, then placed her gift inside the parcel from Gregory. “Good-bye, Livia.”<
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She managed to choke out a good-bye, then watched Jacob climb down the ladder and ride away. She stared until his retreating form was no longer visible, until she could no longer hear the hoofbeats of his horse, and even then she kept staring into the twilight.
After a while Gregory slipped up behind her and put his arm around her. “He’s gone?”
Unable to speak, Livia merely nodded.
“If it’s meant to be,” her uncle said, “he’ll return. And if not . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat.
Sweet Gregory. He was at a loss for words, but she knew how much he cared. “Thank you for understanding,” she said.
He leaned up and kissed her cheek, then said good night.
For a long time Livia stood in the doorway, watching the darkness descend, wondering how it happened that she had given her heart to a man who didn’t want it, wondering where Jacob would be when he finally opened the box, and wondering what he would think of the things she had placed inside. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done it—no, she would allow herself no regrets. But she did hope that tomorrow she wouldn’t feel quite as foolish and desperate as she did now.
Jacob made camp outside the army post, selecting a spot that was a good ways from the road but close enough to watch the gate. Before it was completely dark, he gathered plenty of wood for a fire. Some of the branches were still slightly damp from melted snow, so the wood popped and hissed as it caught, but before long he had a nice blaze going.
He was grateful for the fur-lined coat. The wind had died down, but it would still be a cold night, and the heavy coat would be much warmer for sleeping than the two light woolen blankets Jacob had had for his original journey to Caesarea.
Between the farewells with Gregory and Livia and the effort at getting a fire started, some of Jacob’s excitement had diminished. He tried to focus on the satisfaction he would feel when he had delivered justice to Damian, but Jacob’s thoughts kept wandering from his enemy to the friends he had just left. He was beginning to realize just how much he would miss them.
