A Voice in the Wind

by Francine Rivers

  “No,” she said in a soft, but intent voice.

  “You want me. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She closed them, shutting him out.

  He gave a harsh laugh of frustration. “Let’s see if you can say no one more time.” He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth again, releasing all the passion that had been pent up in him for weeks. She tasted like ambrosia and he drank of her until his own desire was nearly too heavy to bear. Then he finally let her go.

  They were both shaking. Her eyes were full of tears and her face was white and strained.

  Marcus looked down at her and knew he had done as he hoped. She wanted him. Yet the heavy ache within his body didn’t compare to the greater ache in his heart. He had made her want him in order to gain her willingness. Instead, he had erected an even higher wall between them. Would she ever trust him again?

  “Very well,” he said with a mocking twist of his lips. “Go sleep on your cold little pallet and be warmed by your unseen god.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and turned away. Shutting his eyes, he listened to her soft, hurried footsteps as she left him.

  Swearing, he let out a harsh breath, already paying physically for his folly. He crossed the room and poured himself wine. His body was shaking violently. He knew it was in reaction. He hadn’t been with a woman in weeks. Unbidden, Arria entered his thoughts and he grimaced. To think of her in the wake of his feelings for Hadassah sickened him.

  Hadassah.

  A Christian!

  A scene came back to him of a dozen men and women tied to pillars and drenched in pitch, screaming as they were set aflame, acting as torches for Nero’s circus. Shuddering, Marcus drained his goblet.

  Six trained bodyguards saw Atretes safely to the ship where Sertes was waiting for him. The gladiator dealer looked him full in the face. “The chains won’t be necessary,” he said, addressing the guards.

  “But my lord. He’s—”

  “Remove them.”

  Atretes stood still as the shackles were taken from his wrists. A crowd of amoratae had followed him from the ludus through the city streets and now gathered on the dock. Some were calling his name. Others wept openly, grieving at his departure.

  Atretes noticed Sertes had his own guards on board. The gladiator dealer smiled shrewdly. “For your protection,” he said smoothly. “In case you think about diving overboard and drowning yourself.”

  “I have no intention of committing suicide.”

  “Good,” Sertes said. “I’ve invested a fortune in you. I wouldn’t want to see it wasted.” He held his hand out. “This way.”

  He entered quarters below deck that were smaller than his cubicle at the ludus. It smelled of wood and lamp oil rather than stone and straw. Atretes entered and removed his cape.

  “We sail in a few hours,” Sertes said. “Rest. I’ll send one of the guards for you so you can have your last look at Rome and those who love you.”

  Atretes looked back at him coldly. “I’ve seen all of Rome I ever want to see.”

  Sertes smiled. “You’ll find Ephesus a city of unsurpassed beauty.”

  Atretes sat on the narrow bunk when Sertes left. He leaned his head back and tried to see his homeland in his mind’s eye.

  He couldn’t.

  All he could see was the face of a young German warrior.

  Phoebe summoned Hadassah to the peristyle. “Sit beside me,” she said and patted a space beside her on the marble bench. She crumpled a small piece of parchment as Hadassah sat down. “Caius is dead. He died early this morning. Decimus has gone to help Julia make the arrangements for his burial.” She looked at her sadly. “She’ll need you soon.”

  Hadassah’s first thought was that she would be away from Marcus. Her heart sank. It must be the will of God. She couldn’t remain here if she was to be unscathed. What Marcus wanted, she should never give—not to any man but the one she would one day marry, if it was God’s will she ever marry. Perhaps this was the Lord’s way of protecting her from herself; she could not deny that from the moment Marcus had touched her, weakness had washed over her. She had forgotten God . . . she had forgotten everything but the wild sensations filling her. “I will go to her whenever you say, my lady.”

  Phoebe nodded. Rather than feeling pleased, though, she was troubled. “Tragedy seems to pursue Julia. First Claudius, then she loses her child, and now her young husband.”

  Hadassah lowered her head, thinking of Julia’s baby, discarded in the garden.

  “I should feel more sorry for Julia than I do,” Phoebe said and rose. She walked along the pathway into the garden. Hadassah followed. Phoebe paused beside a flower bed and bent down to run her fingertips along the blooms. She glanced up with a smile. “I’ve enjoyed your company, Hadassah. We share a love of flowers, don’t we?”

  Her smile fell away as she straightened, and she moved to sit on a nearby marble bench. “Your master’s illness is getting worse. He’s tried hard to hide it from me, but I know. Sometimes the pain in his eyes is so great . . .” She looked away, blinking back tears. “For so many years, he’s been obsessed with his business. I used to be jealous of how it consumed his time and his thoughts. It was as though something mattered more to him than I or the children ever could.”

  She looked at Hadassah, motioning for her to sit beside her. “His illness has changed him. He’s grown so restless. He said to me the other day that nothing he’s ever done in his life matters or will last. That it’s all been vanity. The only time he seems to find any peace is when you sing to him.”

  “Perhaps it’s less the music than the message, my lady.”

  Phoebe looked at her. “The message?”

  “That God loves him and wants him to turn to him for comfort.”

  “Why would a Jewish god care about a Roman?”

  “God cares about everyone. All men are his creation, but those who choose to believe become his children and share in the inheritance of his Son.”

  Phoebe leaned forward and then started at the sound of another voice in the garden. Marcus was home. “Mother!” He came striding into the garden. “I just heard about Caius,” he said, his gaze flickering to Hadassah briefly.

  Phoebe laid her hand over Hadassah’s. “You may go,” she said. She set her attention upon Marcus again and saw him watching Hadassah as she hurried down the path. A muscle moved in his jawline. Phoebe frowned slightly. “Your father went to Julia as soon as word came,” she said.

  Marcus sat beside her on the bench. “Don’t send Hadassah back to her.”

  Surprised, she searched his eyes. “I don’t want to send her back, Marcus, but I have little choice.” She watched his expression closely. “Hadassah belongs to your sister.”

  Marcus felt his mother’s intent perusal and turned away, debating whether to tell her Hadassah had taken a beating for Julia and almost died from it. If he did, his mother might change her mind, but Julia would never forgive him. He had no wish to hurt his sister, but he wanted Hadassah here, close to him. He knew the circle of friends Julia had formed since marrying Caius. He knew as well what they thought of Christians.

  “Julia has more than enough personal servants already, Mother. If she asks for Hadassah, send her Bithia instead.”

  “A thought that’s entered my own mind,” Phoebe admitted. “But it’s not my decision to make, Marcus.” She reached out to touch him. “Speak with your father.”

  Decimus returned to the villa late in the afternoon. All the arrangements had been made for Caius to be entombed in the catacombs outside the city walls. Roman law forbade burial within the gates of the city, even if there was land enough on a private villa. Phoebe went to spend the night with Julia; Marcus had already been to see her early in the afternoon. Decimus thought his daughter amazingly calm under the tragic circumstances. Caius had been young and vital. The fever had ravaged him over the past weeks.

  Now, as he rested, Enoch brought him wine. The room was cold and Decimus had him repleni
sh the brazier with wood. Marcus joined him. “She’s taking Caius’ death well, isn’t she?” Marcus said and reclined on the couch, watching without much interest as the slaves served the evening meal.

  “I think she’s in a state of shock,” Decimus said, sampling the beef, but finding he had little appetite for it.

  Marcus’ mouth tightened. His sister was either in shock or relieved, he thought, but kept his thoughts to himself. His father and mother knew nothing of Caius’ jealous rages or brutality. Julia had proven so secretive, he might never have known if he hadn’t seen the stripes on Hadassah’s back and confronted his sister about it. He couldn’t grieve the fiend’s passing; for once, the gods had proven kind.

  Marcus sought an opening to discuss Hadassah and her remaining with them, but his father was so preoccupied he found no opportunity. Decimus summoned Hadassah and, as she quietly entered the room carrying the small harp beneath her arm, Marcus’ senses quickened. He willed her to look at him, but she didn’t raise her eyes once as she took her place on the stool. He wanted desperately to talk with her alone.

  “Sing to us, Hadassah,” his father said.

  Marcus tried not to watch her, but every fiber of his being seemed focused on her. Seemingly casual, he watched the graceful movements of her fingers on the strings and listened to the sweetness of her voice. Then he remembered the softness of her mouth and had to look away. When he did, he encountered his father’s gaze.

  “That will be all,” Decimus said and lifted his hand slightly. As she rose, Decimus spoke again. “Hadassah, you’ve heard of the Lady Julia’s bereavement?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “When I saw her today, she asked me to send you back. Pack your things and be ready at dawn. Enoch will take you to her.” Decimus felt his son’s reaction.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, no inflection in her voice to hint at her inner turmoil.

  “You have served us well these past weeks,” Decimus said. “I will miss your music and stories. You may go.” Bowing her head, she whispered a tremulous thanks and was gone.

  Marcus glared at his father in consternation. “Julia has no right to her!”

  “And you have?”

  Marcus bolted up from his couch. “You don’t know everything that’s gone on in that villa!”

  “I know enough of what goes on in this one! If this unfortunate tragedy hadn’t occurred, I would have sent Hadassah back to Julia by tomorrow morning anyway. Your feelings for her are inappropriate.”

  “Why? Because she’s a slave or because she’s a Christian?”

  Decimus was amazed that Marcus didn’t deny his infatuation. “Both reasons suffice, but neither concerns me. What does matter is that Hadassah belongs to your sister. I doubt Julia would appreciate the irony of your falling in love with her slave. And what would happen if you succeeded in seducing Hadassah and got her with child?”

  Seeing his son’s expression, Decimus frowned. “When we purchased Hadassah, your mother made a gift of her to your sister. Julia is my daughter, and I love her. I won’t jeopardize what little influence I still have with her over a slave on whom she has a strange dependence. Other than you, whom has Julia trusted? Hadassah. This little Jewess serves your sister with a single-minded devotion that’s rare. Hadassah loves your sister no matter what her faults may be. A slave like her is worth her weight in gold.”

  “That love and devotion almost got her killed a few weeks ago.”

  “I know Caius beat her,” Decimus said.

  “Did you know the beating was meant for Julia?”

  “Yes. Your sister and mother were blinded by Caius’ charm. I was not.”

  “Then why didn’t you prevent the marriage?”

  “Because I didn’t want to lose my daughter completely! I forced her into an unwanted marriage, and that turned out to be a disaster. I couldn’t interfere with one she chose for herself.” He winced in pain as he rose from the couch. It was a moment before the pain subsided and he could speak.

  “Sometimes, no matter how much you want to protect your children, you have to let them make their own mistakes. All you can do is hold on to the hope that they’ll turn to you when they need you.” He thought of Hadassah’s story of the Prodigal Son and grimaced.

  “Much of Julia’s trouble was brought on by her own actions.”

  “I know that! It’s always been that way, Marcus. But have you stopped to think? If not for Hadassah, your sister might be dead.”

  Marcus went cold. Torn by his love for Hadassah and his concern for his sister, he stared bleakly at his father.

  Decimus looked old and drawn, but he gave his son a level look back that asked for silence. Some things were best left unspoken. Though he would never speak of it, he knew a great deal of what had happened in Urbanus’ villa. Closing his eyes, he saw Julia as a child again, beautiful, innocent, winsome, running through the garden and laughing gaily. Then he remembered her as she had been today, withdrawn and pale, suffering so much he could hardly bear to see it.

  She had taken her father’s hand, looking up at him with dull eyes. “Just before he died, he looked at me and asked me to forgive him . . . ,” she said, seemingly in some terrible torment. “I loved him, Father. I did. I swear I really loved him.”

  Her nerves were stretched taut. She would tremble as she wept and then, suddenly, she would be very still, tears spilling down her pale cheeks, her thoughts inward. Calabah Shiva Fontaneus had come to call, having heard the news of Caius’ death, but Julia didn’t want to see her. “Just make her go away! Please! I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anyone!” It was the closest she came to losing complete control.

  Decimus hoped Phoebe would be able to give their daughter the comfort she needed, but somehow he doubted it. Something deep and hidden gnawed at Julia. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. He knew too much of what she had done already. His grandchild aborted, paying her husband’s gambling debts by prostituting herself. Whatever else she had done, he didn’t want to know. What he knew already hurt him worse than the disease that was eating away at his insides.

  “Don’t interfere in this, Marcus. I’m asking you to let it go. Hadassah has a goodness in her that slavery hasn’t ruined. She serves from her heart. Julia needs her, Marcus. What you want from Hadassah you could find on any street corner in Rome. Please, for once in your life, don’t take from others to serve yourself.”

  Heat filled Marcus’ face as he stared at his father for a moment, then a coldness swept over him. Lowering his eyes, he nodded silently, feeling as he did so that he was sentencing Hadassah to death.

  Wordless, unwilling that his father should witness the shaking that was taking him, he turned and left the room.

  Chapter 26

  For the fourth time that week, Julia told Hadassah to make preparations to go to Caius’ tomb outside the city walls. The journey took several hours, and Hadassah made sure there were provisions for a meal, blankets in case the day turned cold, and wine to soothe her mistress’s nerves on the way home. Julia had had constant nightmares since Caius’ death. She made gifts to the household gods, as well as to Hera, but nothing helped her. She couldn’t stop seeing her husband’s face as it had looked a few minutes before he died. He had opened his eyes and looked at her, and she was sure he knew.

  She was afraid to go to his tomb alone and so invited Octavia to accompany her today. Her mother thought it unhealthy to go so often. Marcus had gone with her once, but was so preoccupied that he was no good to her. She needed someone who could keep her from her thoughts. Octavia always had gossip to share.

  Four slaves bore the curtained conveyance aloft. Julia peered out as she and Octavia were carried through the crowded city streets to the gates. Hadassah had gone on ahead with several other slaves so that everything would be laid out when they arrived. Julia could feel Octavia studying her, but said nothing. She was nervous, her palms sweating. She felt nauseated and cold.

  Octavia looked Jul
ia over. Dressed in a white stola, her face ashen, her eyes dull and lifeless, her hair combed into a simple style, she looked tragic and vulnerable. Octavia was no longer jealous of her. She had heard rumors about Caius’ gambling and affairs. She smiled smugly. Julia deserved everything that he had done to her. If Caius had turned away from Julia and married her, things would have been different. Octavia cast another glance at Julia’s face. Apparently, she still loved him. Octavia relished her feelings of pity.

  “You’ve lost weight since I saw you a few weeks ago,” she said. “And you’ve cut yourself off from most of your friends. Calabah is very worried about you.”

  Calabah. Julia’s eyes flickered. She wished she had never met Calabah. If not for her, she would never have murdered Caius. She cast an uneasy look at Octavia. How much did she know about Caius’ illness? How much had Calabah said to her? “Do you see her often?”

  “Daily. I attend her gatherings as always. She misses you.”

  “What does she say about me?”

  “Say about you? What should she say?” Octavia frowned at her tone. “Calabah isn’t one to gossip, if that’s what you’re implying. You should know that, you being closer to her than I’ve ever been.”

  Julia heard the twinge of envy in Octavia’s voice and turned her face away. “I just haven’t felt up to seeing her lately. I can’t think of anything right now but Caius.” She drew the curtain aside slightly so she could peer out at the grassy, tree-studded landscape along the Appian Way. “I don’t know what Calabah expects from me.” She saw a bird take wing into the clear blue sky and wished she could be like that. She wished she could fly far, far away . . . so far away she would never have to see or hear of Calabah again. Just thinking about her made her so afraid. Calabah knew everything. “She would think me very foolish to be taking Caius’ death so hard. Just tell her I’m fine,” Julia said dully.

  “You should tell her yourself. You owe her that much.”

  Julia shot her a half-frightened look. “What do you mean? Why should I owe Calabah anything?”