“No?”
“No,” Decimus said firmly. “But you have a decision to make. It’s best if you have all the facts before you when doing so.”
Marcus knew if he didn’t go with his family to Ephesus, he’d never see his father alive again. He stood, rolled it up again, and held it out. His father didn’t take it.
“Whatever your decision, all that’s listed in that document is yours as of now. Stand at its helm or break it up and sell it piece by piece. Do with it as you will. With proper management, Julia has more than enough to keep her comfortably for life, and I’ve seen to arrangements for your mother.”
Marcus glared down at him. Had his father simply given up? Wasn’t he going to fight this at all? For Decimus Vindacius Valerian to simply concede to death was unthinkable. And yet, there it was, staring Marcus in the face, along with the fact that even by surrendering and lying down to die, his father held an iron control.
“Ah, yes, Father, as always, you’ve seen to everyone. Julia’s estate in my hands, Mother’s life arranged to the moment of her death, and even my life all neatly tied up!” He held the scroll up. “In one breath, you tell me you’re dying and then strip away my freedom by handing me all you’ve built and worked for, handing me your life, in a document.” He crushed it in his hand. “And then you have the unmitigated gall to tell me I have a choice in what I will do!” He tossed the crumpled scroll on the desk among the others.
“What choice?” he said and left.
Trophimus smiled as Hadassah stepped up to his booth with her basket. “We’ve missed you, little sister.”
“I’m back at the Valerian villa,” she said quietly, her eyes shadowed. When she had been sent to Julia, she had returned to the night meetings. As soon as Julia moved in with her parents again, she obeyed Marcus’ command not to leave the villa unless ordered to do so.
Trophimus understood. Hadassah had brought her dilemma before the others, and they had tried to help her decide what the Lord would have her do. To worship God with the others, she would have to defy her masters. As a slave, Hadassah must serve and obey them. Marcus hadn’t said she couldn’t worship God, only that she couldn’t worship with the others. She had decided she must obey him and pray and worship as she had done before meeting Trophimus.
“Are you on some mighty errand today?” Trophimus said, wondering if she had changed her mind and needed to be with others who shared her faith.
“My mistress had a sudden craving for apricots.”
The merchant could tell she was troubled, but he didn’t press her. “A craving she will have to suffer, I’m afraid. None of the fruit vendors have had apricots in weeks. A blight on the crop in Armenia.”
“Oh,” she said too bleakly.
“Does your mistress always crave what’s unavailable?” Hadassah looked up at him and he frowned. He patted her hand. “Such is the restless spirit, little sister. We’ll give her figs instead— choice, delicious African figs.” He picked the best and placed them in her basket. “And I’ve just gotten cherries from Pontic Cerasus. Here, taste a few. I’ll give you a good price.”
“You always give a good price,” she said, trying to match his mood. She ate one of the cherries. “Lady Julia would like these, I think. They’re very sweet.”
Trophimus selected only the best cherries. He could contain his curiosity no longer. “What troubles you, little sister?”
“The master is dying,” she said softly. “He thinks returning to his homeland will bring him peace.” She looked up at Trophimus, her dark eyes wide and troubled. “He was born in Ephesus.”
Trophimus hesitated. Words of concern and caution sprang to his lips. But she needed encouragement, not dark stories about an even darker city. “I’ve heard Ephesus is the most beautiful seaport in all the Empire. The streets are white marble and lined with columns and fanes.”
“They worship Artemis,” Hadassah said.
“Not everyone,” he said. “There are Christians in Ephesus. And the apostle John.”
Hadassah’s eyes lit up. John the apostle! For as long as she could remember, John had been part of her life. To others, he was one of the exalted, one of the blessed who had been chosen by the Lord to walk with him during his last three years on earth, and therefore he was treated with reverence, even awe by believers. John was among the first chosen by the Lord. He had been present at the wedding in Cana, where Jesus turned the water into wine. He had seen Jesus raise Jairus’ daughter. He was on the mountain when Jesus was transfigured and Elijah and Moses came to speak with the Lord. John was nearest Jesus during his agony in the Garden. It was John who had occupied the place of intimacy at the Lord’s last supper. John overheard the trial. He stood at the cross with Mary. He had been at the tomb and saw the empty grave clothes, and he had been one of the first who believed.
And John was her last link to her father, for he had been with Jesus the day the Lord had touched her father and raised him from the dead.
She loved John almost as much as she had loved her own father. She could remember sitting on her father’s lap in an upper room in Jerusalem during the celebration of the Last Supper during the city’s Passover. She had fallen asleep in her father’s arms, listening to John and her father and the others talk about the Lord—what he had said, what he had done. John had been a friend of her father’s. If only she could get in touch with him . . . but Ephesus was a large city. The chances of finding John were almost negligible. The small glimmer of hope that Hadassah had felt sputtered and died.
Trophimus went on. “I heard once that Jesus’ mother, Mary, came with him to Ephesus. Oh, what a blessing it would have been to meet the woman who bore our Lord.” He looked at Hadassah with a smile, then noted her trembling. His eyes filled with concern, his large hand covered hers. “What do you really fear, little sister?”
She drew in a quivering breath. “Everything. I’m afraid of what this world holds dear. I’m afraid of suffering. Sometimes I’m afraid of Julia. She does terrible things without thought of the consequences. Trophimus, my courage fails with every opportunity the Lord gives me. Sometimes I even wonder if I am a true believer. If I were, wouldn’t I be willing to risk my life to speak the truth? Would suffering a painful death matter?” Her eyes glistened with tears. Most of all, she was afraid of the feelings Marcus roused in her. They grew more and more powerful.
“Was Elijah brave in the face of Jezebel’s threat?” Trophimus said. “No. He had just destroyed two hundred priests of Baal, but he ran from a woman and hid in a cave. Was Peter brave when our Lord was taken by the guards? Fear made him deny three times that he knew the Lord. Hadassah, Jesus himself sweated blood in the Garden and prayed the cup would pass from him.” He gave her a gentle smile. “God will give you courage when you need it.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “What will I do without all of you to encourage me?”
“You have the Lord. He sustains the soul.”
“I will miss you and the others so much. Even when I couldn’t be there with you, I could stand in the garden and worship with you. Ephesus is so far away.”
“We are part of the same body, little sister. Nothing can separate us from the Lord, and in him we are all one.”
She nodded, taking strength in what he said, though it didn’t take away her sadness. “Please keep praying for the Valerians, especially for Julia.”
Trophimus nodded. “And we’ll pray for you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “We will see each other again when we’re with the Lord.”
He watched Hadassah disappear into the crowd. He would miss her. He would miss her sweet voice and the look on her face when she sang psalms. Her humble spirit had touched him and his wife and the others deeply, more deeply than she could ever know.
God, protect her. Put angels around her. She will come against all the powers of evil in that city. Guard her from the evil one. Hedge her in and empower her with your Spirit. Make her a light on a h
illtop.
For the rest of the day, Trophimus prayed for her as he worked. He would call on the others to pray for her as well.
If Rome was corrupt and dangerous, Ephesus was the very throne of Satan.
Chapter 27
Hadassah stood on the deck of the Roman corbita, filling her lungs with the salt sea air. The high arc of the bow dipped and rose again, sending a splash of cool spray into the air. A strong wind blew, filling the square sails. Sailors worked the ropes. Everything reminded her of the Sea of Galilee and the sounds of the fishermen as they came in with their catches at the end of the day. She and her father had often walked along the shore near the docks and heard the men shouting back and forth.
Hadassah glanced at the sailors working around her and remembered her father’s words. “Peter was such as these. And James and John. Sons of Thunder, the Lord called them. They were sometimes profane and often full of pride.”
God chose men like these; Hadassah found hope in that. Jesus hadn’t chosen men the world would have chosen. He had picked ordinary men, with obvious faults, and made them into something extraordinary through the indwelling of his Holy Spirit.
Lord, I am so weak. Sometimes I feel so close to you I want to weep, and sometimes I can’t feel your presence at all. And Marcus, Lord . . . why am I so drawn to Marcus?
The wind caressed her face as she turned again to watch the sparks of light reflecting off the deep blue of the water. It was all so beautiful—the sights, the smell, the sense of freedom as the ship moved on the broad expanse of water. Pushing the disturbing thoughts and longings from her mind, she closed her eyes and gave thanks for her life, for the beauty God had created, for God himself.
You are here, Lord. You are here and all around me. Would that I could always feel your presence so profoundly. Oh Lord, that I may one day bow before you and worship you forever.
Marcus came up from below decks and saw her at the bow. He hadn’t seen her in four days, and his senses quickened. As he approached, he took in the slender curves of her body and the way the strands of dark hair fluttered around her head. He stood right beside her, drinking in the sweetness of her serene profile. She didn’t notice him, for her eyes were closed and her lips moved. Entranced, he watched her. She seemed filled with the purest kind of pleasure, as though she were breathing it in deeply.
“Praying again?” he said and saw her start. She didn’t look at him, but he was sorry he had shattered her serenity. “It seems to me you pray unceasingly.”
She blushed and lowered her head, still saying nothing. What could she say when he had caught her in the act of worshiping God again when he had commanded her not to do so?
He wished he hadn’t spoken, but had stood, instead, beside her, drinking in the peace of her contentment—especially since it seemed he could have none of his own. Marcus sighed. “I’m not angry with you,” he said. “Pray as you like.”
She looked at him then, the tender sweetness of her expression piercing him. He remembered how it felt to kiss her. He lifted his hand and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Her expression altered slightly, and he lowered his hand.
“Mother said Julia was being very difficult,” he said as casually as he could, wanting her to relax with him. “I take it she is improved?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Her quiet, subservient response made him clench his teeth in irritation. He looked from her out to sea as she was doing. “I never noticed how a properly respectful attitude in a slave could put such distance between two human beings.” He looked at her again, direct and commanding. “Why do you build walls between us?” He wanted to rip down her defenses and take hold of her. She didn’t answer, but he saw she struggled. “Is it always to be my lord, Hadassah?”
“As it should be.”
“And if I want it otherwise?”
Feeling thrown off-balance by his words, Hadassah reached out and gripped the bulwark. Marcus put his hand over hers and the heat of his touch shocked her. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he clasped it and held it where it was, captive. “My lord,” she said, imploring.
“Have you stayed below decks with Julia because she needs you, or in order to hide from me?” he demanded roughly.
“Please,” she said, wanting him to release her, frightened by the rush of sensations his touch aroused in her.
“Please me. Call me ‘Marcus’ the way you did in Claudius’ garden so long ago. Do you remember? Marcus, you said, as though I meant something to you.” He hadn’t meant to speak so boldly nor reveal so much of his feelings for her. It was as though he could no longer keep the words buried inside. She stood very still, looking up at him with those beautiful dark eyes—and he wanted her. “You told me once you pray for me.”
“I always pray for you.” She blushed vividly at that admission and lowered her head again. “I pray for Julia and your mother and father as well.”
Hope restored, his thumb rubbed along the smooth skin of her wrist, feeling the wild pulse. “What you feel for me is different from what you feel toward them.” He raised her wrist and pressed his lips against it where her pulse beat. When he felt her muscles jerk, he released her. She stepped back from him.
“Why do you do this, my lord?” she said on a soft catch of breath.
“Because I want you,” he said and she looked away, embarrassed. “I have no intention of hurting you.”
“You would hurt me without even knowing you were doing so.”
Her words annoyed him. “I would treat you well.” He turned her chin back so that she looked at him. “What do you fear most, Hadassah? Me or this nonexistent god of yours?”
“I fear my own weakness.”
Her answer surprised him and sent a rush of heat through his body. “Hadassah,” he said in a hoarse whisper, spreading his hand against the silky smoothness of her cheek. She closed her eyes and he felt her longing as intently as his own. But she raised her hand and pressed his away, opening her eyes to look at him in quiet pleading.
“When a man and woman come together with the blessing of God, it is a holy covenant,” she said, looking out at the surrounding sea. “Such would not be the case with us, my lord.”
His mouth tightened. “Why not?”
“God doesn’t bless fornication.”
Astonished, he felt the heat pour into his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed, and he was angry that such a ridiculous statement by a naive slave girl should embarrass him. He hadn’t been embarrassed by anything in years. “Does your god disapprove of love?”
“God is love,” Hadassah said softly.
He gave a soft laugh. “Words of a virgin who knows not of what she speaks. Love is pleasure, Hadassah, the ultimate pleasure. How can this god of yours be love when he sets laws against the purest natural instinct and act of man and woman? What is love other than that?”
The wind changed directions and the sailors shouted at one another. Marcus gave a soft sardonic laugh and looked out at the rippling water, the small flashes of light and color, never expecting her to answer.
But words came to Hadassah, words read by Asyncritus many times to the gathering of believers, words written by the apostle Paul, inspired by God, and sent to the Corinthians. A copy of his precious letter had found its way to Rome. She could hear those words now so clearly it was as though God himself had engraved them upon her mind, and those words applied to this man and to this moment.
“Love is patient, Marcus,” she said softly. “Love is kind. Love doesn’t act unbecomingly or seek its own. It is not provoked, nor does it take into account a wrong suffered. Love doesn’t rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails . . .”
Marcus gave her a mocking smile. “Love like that is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible for God,” she said with such certainty and gentle conviction that he frowned.
“M
arcus,” Decimus’ bland voice came from behind them, and Marcus stiffened. He turned and saw his father standing a few feet away, looking between the two of them. Marcus straightened and smiled faintly. It was obvious his father was wondering what he and Hadassah had been discussing so intently.
“Is Julia better today?” Decimus said, addressing Hadassah.
“She’s sleeping well, my lord.”
“Has she eaten anything?”
“A bowl of soup and some unleavened bread this morning. She is much improved.”
“Did she dismiss you?”
Hadassah blinked. “She—”
“It’s the first time in three days that Hadassah’s been out of those fetid quarters,” Marcus cut in. “Should not even a slave have one breath of fresh air and a moment of rest?”
“As your sister is still in those quarters, it is proper for Hadassah to be there with her, tending to her needs.”
Hadassah’s eyes pricked with hot tears of shame. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord,” she said and took a step. Julia had sent her from the cabin with soiled linen and dishes, and she had thought to linger only a moment or two in the fresh sea air. She should have returned directly rather than so selfishly enjoy herself.
Marcus caught hold of her wrist. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said to her. Seeing her distress and knowing he was part of it, he let go of her. He watched her until she was below decks before he spoke.
“She hasn’t left Julia since we boarded the ship a week ago,” he said, glaring at his father. “Did you have to berate her for standing in the sun and breathing fresh air for one brief moment?”
Decimus was surprised by Marcus’ passion. Berate was a strong word for the gentle reminder he had given Hadassah. Yet he had hurt her. He had seen that as well as Marcus when she turned away. How deep, he wondered, were Hadassah’s feelings for his son? “I’ll speak with her.”
“To what purpose?” Marcus said, rigid with anger.
“To whatever purpose I deem appropriate,” Decimus said warningly. His son stepped past him. “Marcus,” he said, but Marcus strode across the deck and went below.