Calabah tipped her chin back and looked into her eyes. “This gladiator owes you respect. Who does he think he is? The proconsul of Ephesus? Why do you allow him to treat you like a woman of convenience?” She took her hand away and shook her head. “You disappoint me, Julia.”
Hurt and shamed, Julia became defensive. “Atretes is the most famous gladiator in the Empire. He has over a hundred kills to his credit. They make statues in honor of him.”
“And these things make him worthy of you? You’re a Roman citizen, the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the Empire, a woman of substance. This Atretes is nothing more than a brute animal capable of fighting in an arena, a barbarian who lacks the least refinement. He should be honored that you chose him to be your lover—and grateful for every moment you spare him.”
Julia blinked, staring into Calabah’s dark eyes. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Calabah put her hand over hers, squeezing lightly. “I know. You think too little of yourself. You’ve allowed yourself to become his slave.”
Julia looked away again, further ashamed. Was she his slave? She remembered how she had pleaded with Atretes to stay and then run after him. It hadn’t stopped him. She had humbled herself, and he had turned his back on her.
“You must put him in his proper place, Julia. He’s the slave. Not you.”
“But he could earn his freedom.”
“I understand why you’re thinking this way, but think some more. Did you know that barbarians kill wives who take other lovers? They drown them in a bog. What if this gladiator did earn his freedom? What if you married him? Perhaps you’d be happy for a little while, but what if you tired of him? If you dared even look at another, he could kill you. In Rome, a husband has the right to kill an unfaithful wife, though few are so hypocritical as to ever do so. This man wouldn’t think twice about killing you with his own hands.”
Julia shook her head. “I’m not like you. I love him. I can’t help myself. I can’t give him up because of what I’m afraid might happen.”
“You don’t have to give him up at all.” Calabah rose from the couch.
“What do you mean?”
Calabah stood thoughtful for a long moment. “You could marry another man, a man you could trust implicitly. A man who would allow you complete freedom to do as you please. Under those circumstances, Atretes could remain as your lover as long as you wished. If you tired of him, there would be no harm done. Give him a token gift to salve his pride and send him on his way back to Germania or wherever else he might want to go.”
Julia shook her head. “I’ve been married before and hated it. Claudius was worse than my father. And Caius. You know what Caius was.”
“You’d have to pick the man very carefully.”
“The only man I’ve ever trusted is Marcus.”
“You can hardly marry your brother, Julia,” Calabah said dryly.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, her mind agitated by the thoughts Calabah threw at her. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples.
“Do you still trust your brother so much?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I wondered why you came to me for help with Atretes instead of him. Since you trust him, I assume he knows of your love affair and approves.” Tilting her head slightly, she studied Julia’s averted face. “He doesn’t know? What would he do if he did know?” Her sweet question held a tinge of mockery. “Your father has been very ill lately. Has Marcus loosened the reins or tightened them?”
Julia pressed her lips together. She couldn’t deny Marcus was becoming difficult. In fact, he was becoming all too much like Father. At the last feast she had attended, Marcus had almost dragged her from the room by the arm. He’d swung her into a private chamber where he had accused her of being excessive. When she demanded to know what he meant, he said her behavior among his guests reminded him of Arria. Clearly, he hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
Just thinking about it stirred her anger again. What was wrong with making every man in the room want her? Besides, wasn’t that why Marcus had wanted her as his hostess in the first place?
“First your father, then Claudius and Caius,” Calabah said. “And now you allow yourself to be ruled by your brother as well as a gladiator, a man who’s nothing more than a slave of Rome. Oh, Julia,” she said wearily. “When will you learn that you have the power within yourself to control your own destiny?”
Julia sat down, defeated by Calabah’s reasoning and her own turbulent spiraling desires. “Even if I knew a man I could trust enough to marry, I’d have to have Marcus’ consent.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’ve heard of marriage by usus, haven’t you?”
“Simply move in with a man?”
“An agreement could be drawn up between you and the man you chose, if you desired, though it wouldn’t be necessary. Marriage by usus is very simple and as legally binding as you wish it to be. Binding enough to regain control of your own money.”
Julia looked up.
“Many women use it to protect their estates,” Calabah said. “Let’s take an example. If this gladiator were free and did want to marry you, do you think he would allow you to control the money you would bring into the marriage? Do you think you could do as you wish? I’ve only met him once, but it was enough to see he would choose to dominate. If you were married to someone else by usus, he couldn’t exert that kind of control. You would have both your money and your freedom in your grasp, and there would be no way he could wrest either one from you. On the other hand, if you married him, everything you have becomes his.”
“And if the man I married by usus wanted to exert control?”
“You just walk out the door. It’s as simple as that. As I said, Julia, this kind of marriage is only as legally binding as you will it to be.”
The idea had appeal to Julia, but there was a problem. “I don’t know anyone with whom I could live.”
After a long, heavy silence, Calabah said quietly, “There’s Primus.”
“Primus?” Julia thought of the handsome young man Marcus frequently invited to his celebrations. Primus was well connected politically. He was handsome, charming, and often amusing—but there was something about him that repulsed Julia. “I don’t find him attractive.”
Calabah laughed softly. “It’s highly unlikely he’d be attracted to you either, my dear. Primus is in love with his catamite.”
Julia blanched. “You’re suggesting I marry a homosexual?”
Calabah looked impatient. “As usual, you think as a child, or one so mired in traditional thinking that you fail to see the benefit of anything else. I’m merely presenting you with an acceptable alternative life-style. You’re in love with this gladiator of yours, but you know if you married him, you’d have less freedom than you have now. With Primus, you could do as you want. Atretes could remain your lover, and you would have your money and your freedom. Primus is the perfect husband for you. He’s wonderful to look at, intelligent, entertaining. He’s a close friend of the proconsul. With Primus’ connections, you’d enjoy mingling with the highest levels of Roman and Ephesian society. Best of all, Primus is very easily managed.”
She sat down beside Julia again and laid her hand over hers. “I suggested Primus because any other man would expect certain predictable favors from you, favors you may not wish to grant to anyone but this gladiator. Primus would make no demands on you.”
“He would surely expect something in return.”
“Financial support,” Calabah said.
Julia rose. “I don’t need another man like Caius depleting me of every resource I have.”
Calabah watched her, feeling satisfied. Julia was walking along the path she had planned for her long ago in Rome. Excitement tingled along her nerves at the power she had, a power Julia didn’t even recognize. Not yet. But soon.
“You needn’t worry about that, Julia,” she said smoothly, her melodious voice almost hypnotic.
“Primus doesn’t gamble, nor would he throw money away on lovers. He’s faithful to his companion, who adores him. Primus lives simply, but he would like to live well. He rents a small villa not far from here. You could move in with him there until you regained control of your money. He has an extra bedchamber. Once you established legal right to your estate, you could buy a larger villa in a better area of the city. Closer to the temple, perhaps.” Her mouth curved mockingly. “Or closer to the ludus, if you like.”
Julia stood silent for a long moment, emotions flickering across her beautiful face. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
Calabah smiled, knowing she’d already made up her mind.
Chapter 32
Hadassah was drawing water from the well in the peristyle when one of the slave girls came and said she was wanted in the master’s chambers. Phoebe stood behind the couch on which Decimus reclined, her hand resting on his shoulder. His pale cheeks were sunken, his eyes enigmatic and watchful. Phoebe’s gaze flickered to Hadassah’s small harp.
“We didn’t summon you to play for us, Hadassah,” she said solemnly. “We have questions to ask. Please sit.” She gestured to a stool near the couch.
Hadassah felt the cold chill of fear rush through her blood as she sat before them. Back straight, hands clasped on her lap, she waited.
It was Decimus who spoke, his voice roughened by pain. “Are you a Christian?”
Hadassah’s heart fluttered like a fragile bird taking wing within her. A single spoken yes could mean her death. Her throat closed.
“You have nothing to fear from us, Hadassah,” Phoebe said gently. “What you tell us will go no further than this room. You have our word. Please. We only want to know about this god of yours.”
Still frightened, she nodded. “Yes, I’m a Christian.”
“And all this time I thought you were a Jew,” Phoebe said, amazed that Decimus had been right about her.
“My father and mother were from the tribe of Benjamin, my lady. Christians worship the God of Israel, but many Jews did not recognize the Messiah when he came.”
Decimus saw his son enter through the adjoining study. Marcus stopped when he saw Hadassah, a muscle moving in his jaw.
“Messiah?” Phoebe said, not noticing him. “What is this word Messiah?”
“Messiah means ‘the anointed one,’ my lady. God came down in the form of man and lived among us.” Hadassah held her breath and then said, “His name is Jesus.”
“Was,” Marcus said and entered the room. Hadassah tensed when he spoke. He saw her cheeks bloom with color, but she neither moved nor looked up. He gazed at the gentle curve of her neck and the soft strands of dark curling hair that lay against the nape of her neck. “I’ve done some investigation on this Jewish sect over the past few weeks,” Marcus said roughly.
He had paid men to research the cult, and they had brought him the name of a retired Roman centurion who lived outside Ephesus. Marcus had ridden out to talk with him. He should have been pleased with what he learned, for it could shatter this faith Hadassah had. Instead, he had been depressed for days, avoiding the moment when he would speak with her again.
And now she was spreading this cancerous story to his own father and mother.
“This Jesus the Christians claim as their messiah was a rebel crucified on a cross in Judea. Hadassah’s faith is based on emotion rather than fact, on a desperation for answers to unanswerable questions,” he said, directing his statements to his parents. He looked down at Hadassah then. “Jesus wasn’t a god, Hadassah. He was a man who made the mistake of defying the powers in Jerusalem and paid the price for it. He challenged the authority of the Sanhedrin as well as the Roman Empire. Just his name was enough to cause insurrection. It still is!”
“But what if it’s true, Marcus?” his mother said. “What if he is a god?”
“He wasn’t. According to Epaenetus, a man I’ve met who saw what happened back then, he was a magician of some repute who performed signs and wonders in Judea. The Jews were hungry for a savior and were easily convinced he was their long-awaited messiah. They expected him to expel the Romans from Judea, and when he didn’t, his followers turned on him. One of his own disciples betrayed him to the high court. This Jesus was sent to Pontius Pilate. Pilate tried to free him, but the Jews themselves demanded he be crucified because he was what they termed a ‘blasphemer.’ He died on a cross, was taken down and entombed, and that was the end of it.”
“No,” Hadassah said softly. “He arose.”
Phoebe’s eyes went wide. “He came back to life?”
Marcus swore in frustration. “No, he didn’t, Mother. Hadassah, listen to me.” He knelt and turned her roughly to face him. “It was his disciples who said he arose, but it was all a hoax planned to further the spread of this cult.”
Hadassah closed her eyes and shook her head.
He shook her slightly. “Yes. Epaenetus was in Judea when it happened. He’s an old man now and lives near us outside the city. I’ll take you to him if you don’t believe me. You can hear the truth for yourself. He was one of the centurions at the tomb. He said the body was stolen in order to make people believe that there had been a resurrection!”
“He saw this?” Decimus said, wondering why his son was so determined to shatter the slave girl’s precious faith.
Marcus saw nothing change in her eyes. He let go of her and stood. “Epaenetus said he didn’t see the body taken from the tomb, but that was the only logical explanation.”
“Right from beneath the noses of Roman guards?”
“Do you want to believe this ridiculous story?” Marcus said angrily.
“I want to know the truth!” Decimus said. “How is it this Epaenetus is still alive if he was a guard at the tomb? There’s a death penalty for neglecting duty. Why wasn’t he executed for failing in his?”
Marcus had asked the same question. “He said Pilate was sick of being used by the Jewish factions. His wife had been tormented by dreams before this Jesus was brought to him, but the Sanhedrin and Jewish mob forced him to hand this messiah of theirs over for crucifixion. Pilate washed his hands of the whole matter. He wanted no further involvement with these religious fanatics and wasn’t about to sacrifice good soldiers over the missing body of one unimportant dead Jew!”
“It seems to me it would have been important to all concerned to make sure the body stayed in the tomb,” Decimus said.
“He arose,” Hadassah said again, calm before Marcus’ harangue. “The Lord appeared to Mary of Magdala and to his disciples.”
“Who probably lied to keep the story of this messiah going,” Marcus retorted.
“The Lord also appeared to more than five hundred others at one time,” Hadassah went on.
Marcus saw his mother’s desperate hope for anything that might help his father. She had put her faith in gods and goddesses, in physicians and priests, in spiritualists and healers, and all any of them had done was sap his father’s strength.
“Mother, don’t put yourself through this. It’s a lie perpetuated by self-serving men.”
Hadassah turned slightly on her stool and looked up at him. Her father self-serving? John and all the rest? She thought of her father going out into the streets of Jerusalem to speak the truth. Why? She had cried out to him. Why? And now as she looked at Decimus, Phoebe, and Marcus—and saw suffering, despair, and disillusionment—she knew how wrong Marcus was about everything. “What reason did they have to lie?” she said gently.
“Money, power, the esteem of men,” Marcus said, thinking he might finally break through to her and open her eyes. “Those are reasons for many men to lie.”
“Do you believe I would lie to you?”
He softened. He wanted to kneel down and take her hands and tell her he was sorry to hurt her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to love her. He wanted her for himself. But her faith in this nonexistent god stood between them. “No,” he said bleakly. “I don’t think you’d lie to me. I don’t think
you are capable of lying to anyone. I think you believe every word of this wild story because you were raised to believe it. It was drummed into you from the time you were born. But it’s not true.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Marcus,” she said sadly. “You’re so wrong. It is true! Jesus arose. He’s alive!” She pressed her clasped hands to her chest. “He’s here.”
“He’s dead!” Marcus said in frustration. “Why won’t you listen to the facts?”
“What facts? The word of a guard who saw nothing? What did the men who followed Jesus gain? Not money or power or the esteem of men. They were reviled as the Lord was reviled. James was beheaded by King Herod Agrippa. Andrew was stoned in Scythia. Bartholomew was flayed alive and beheaded in Armenia. Matthew was crucified in Alexandria, Philip in Hieropolis, Peter in Rome. James the Less was beheaded by order of Herod Antipas. Simon the Zealot was sawn in two in Persia. And none of them recanted. Even in the face of death, they still proclaimed Jesus the Messiah. Would they all have died like that to preserve a lie? My father told me they were all afraid when Jesus was crucified. They ran away and hid. After Jesus arose and came to them, they were different men. Changed. Not from without, but from within, Marcus. They spread the Good News because they knew it was true.”
“What is the good news?” Phoebe said, trembling.
“That the Lord came, not to condemn the world, but to save it, my lady. He is the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in him shall live even if he dies.”
“On Mount Olympus with all the other deities, I suppose,” Marcus said scathingly.
“Marcus,” Phoebe said, embarrassed by his mockery.
Marcus looked to his father. “Hadassah’s right about one thing. Speaking of this messiah does bring suffering and death. Her own if she persists. This Jesus preached that man answers to god alone and not to any Caesar. If she helps to spread this religion, she’ll end up in the arena.”
A Voice in the Wind Page 50
