He leaned against a barrel and looked around with growing distaste. Julia had undoubtedly stroked Sertes’ palms with gold in order to have him brought to her. Brought like a whore to serve the rich girl’s passions.
His proud anger evaporated the moment the door opened and he saw her. “Oh, I thought you’d never get here,” she said breathlessly, and he knew she had run to him. She flung herself into his arms, digging her fingers into his hair as she raised herself on tiptoes.
With Julia Valerian in his arms, Atretes could think of nothing but the taste, feel, and scent of her. Only later did he remember his pride—and the shattering cost of an illusive sense of freedom.
Hadassah went to John at her first opportunity. A man who was past his prime, a fact that did not lessen the impact of his compelling eyes, answered her knock. He greeted her kindly and introduced himself as one of John’s followers. Then he brought her to the quiet lamplit room where the apostle was writing a letter to one of the struggling churches in the Empire. He looked up and smiled warmly. Setting his quill aside, he rose to take her hands and kiss her cheek. When he drew back, she didn’t let go.
“Oh, John,” she said, hanging onto his hands as though they were her only lifeline.
“Sit, Hadassah, and tell me what lies so heavily upon your heart.” She clung to his hands, not wanting to ever let go. Jesus had been crucified years before her birth, but in John, as in her father, she saw the Lord. In John’s dear face she found infinite compassion, love, the glow of fierce conviction, the strength of true faith. Strength like her father’s. Strength she so lacked.
“What grieves you so?” John said.
“Everything, John. Everything in this life,” she said in misery. “My faith is so weak. Father went out into the streets when the zealots were murdering people and gave his testimony. But I’m afraid to even speak the name of Jesus aloud.” She wept, ashamed. “Enoch bought me for the master because he thought I was one of his people. A Jew. They all still think I’m a Jew. Except for Marcus. He found out I was meeting with other Christians in Rome and forbade me to see them again. He said Christians are subversives who plot the destruction of the Empire. He said it would be dangerous for me to associate with them. Sometimes he asks me why I believe, but when I try to tell him, he never understands. He just becomes angry.”
The words came flooding out.
“And Julia. Oh, John, Julia is so lost. She’s done such terrible things, and I can see her dying inside, little by little. I’ve told her every story Father ever taught me, stories that built my faith. But she doesn’t really hear. She just wants to be entertained. She wants to forget. Once, just once, I thought perhaps her father began to understand . . .” She shook her head. She let go of John’s hands and covered her face.
“I know fear, Hadassah. Fear is an old enemy. I gave in to it the night Jesus was in the garden and Judas came with the priests and the Roman guards.”
“But you went to his trial.”
“I only went close enough to hear. I was safe among the crowd. My family was well known in Jerusalem. My father knew members of the court. But I will tell you, Hadassah, I never knew real fear until I watched Jesus die. I have never felt so alone as I did then, and it didn’t change until I saw the empty grave clothes in the tomb and knew he had risen.”
He took her hand. “Hadassah, Jesus told us everything and we still didn’t understand who he was or what he had come to do. James and I were zealous, proud, ambitious, intolerant. Jesus called us Sons of Thunder because we sought to call down the wrath of God on men who were healing in his name, but who weren’t following him. We wanted that power reserved only for us. We were such proud, blind fools. We knew Jesus was the Messiah, but we expected him to become a warrior king like David and then we’d reign beside him. It was impossible for us to believe this man who was God the Son had come to be the Passover Lamb for all of mankind.”
He smiled sadly and patted her hand. “It was Mary of Magdala—not James, not me—whom Jesus chose to be the first to see the risen Christ.”
She couldn’t see through her tears. “How can I have your strength?”
He smiled tenderly. “You have whatever strength God has given you, and it will be enough to carry out his good purpose. Trust in him.”
Chapter 30
Phoebe found Julia’s visitor impressive and disturbing. The woman spoke pure Latin, denoting her class, and though she appeared young, she carried herself with an elegant poise that bespoke worldly experience far beyond Phoebe’s own years. And the visitor was stunning, not because of the perfection of her features, for they were far from perfect, but because of the arresting quality of her dark eyes. Their intensity was almost unnerving.
Phoebe knew Julia had once considered this woman a close friend. It seemed strange, for they were so different. Julia was passionate about everything; this woman was cool and controlled.
Speaking softly to one of the servants, Phoebe told the girl to come to the doorway the moment Julia returned. While they waited, Phoebe served refreshments and carried on polite conversation. When the servant appeared and gave a subtle nod, Phoebe excused herself and went to speak with her daughter. Perhaps, Julia wouldn’t want to see this woman.
“Julia, you’ve a guest waiting in the peristyle.”
“Who is it?” Julia removed the soft veil from her hair and tossed it to Hadassah, waving her away with a graceful lift of her hand.
“Calabah Fontaneus. She arrived an hour ago and we’ve had a very interesting conversation. Julia?” Phoebe had never seen such an expression on her daughter’s face. She touched her lightly. “Are you all right?”
Julia turned haunted eyes to her. “What did she say?”
“Nothing really, Julia.” The conversation had centered around the beauty of Ephesus, the long voyage from Rome, settling into a new home. “What is it? You look pale.”
Julia shook her head. “I never thought I’d see her again.”
“Don’t you wish to?”
Julia hesitated, wondering if she could make some excuse: she had a headache from too much sun, she was weary from shopping, she had to get ready to attend Marcus’ feast this evening. . . . She put fingertips to her temple. She did have a headache, but she knew she couldn’t make excuses today. She shook her head. “I’ll see her, Mother. It’s just that I can’t see Calabah without thinking of Caius.”
“I didn’t know you still grieved him. You’ve seemed more yourself the last few months.” She kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I know you loved him very much.”
“I loved him madly.” She bit her lip and looked toward the doorway that opened into the corridor and peristyle beyond. “I’ll see her alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Phoebe said, relieved. Calabah made her uncomfortable. She wondered what her young daughter had in common with such a worldly woman.
Calabah was sitting in the shadows of an alcove, waiting. Her very presence seemed to fill the peristyle. Even the sunlight retreated behind a layer of clouds, casting the courtyard into soft shadows. Julia gathered her courage and walked sedately toward her, forcing her lips to curve into a smile of greeting.
“How delightful to see you again, Calabah. What brings you to Ephesus?”
Calabah smiled faintly. “I grew tired of Rome.”
Julia sat down with her. “When did you arrive?” she said, trying desperately not to show how she shook inside.
“A few weeks ago. I’ve used the time to get to know the city again.”
“Again? I didn’t know you’d visited Ephesus.”
“It was one of many cities I visited before I married. I feel more at home here than anywhere else.”
“Then you’ll stay? That’s wonderful.”
Dark eyes probed. “You’ve learned to dissimulate since I last saw you. The smile you wear looks almost sincere.”
Shaken, Julia didn’t know what to say.
“You left without a word, Julia. That was cruel.?
??
“It was Father’s decision to return to Ephesus.”
“Ah,” Calabah said, nodding. “I see. You had no time to say good-bye to friends.” Her mouth curved again, faintly mocking Julia this time.
Julia blushed and looked away.
“You said good-bye to Octavia,” Calabah said, her tone revealing nothing.
Julia looked at her beseechingly. “I couldn’t face you after Caius died.”
“I understood that,” Calabah said gently.
Shuddering, Julia admitted, “I was afraid.”
“Because I knew,” Calabah said. “Did you never stop to think? Darling, I knew everything. You shared your torment with me. I knew what Caius did to you for his own pleasure. You showed me the marks on your body. And we both knew what Caius would’ve done in anger. Julia, who else other than I could have understood what you were going through and the difficult decision Caius forced upon you? You should have trusted me.”
Julia felt weak before the stare of those dark, fathomless eyes. Calabah covered her hand. “Ours is a true friendship, Julia. I know you as no one else knows you. I know what you’ve done. I know who you are. I know what you’re capable of doing. You are very special to me. We are bound together.”
As though drawn by a power stronger than her own will, Julia leaned into Calabah’s embrace. “I’m sorry I refused to see you in Rome.” Calabah stroked her gently, whispering encouragement. “I felt you had some hold over me. It made me afraid. I know better now. You’re the only real friend I have.” She drew back slightly. “I think Caius knew what I was doing toward the end.”
Calabah’s mouth curved. “All should bear the consequences of their failings.”
Julia shivered. “I don’t want to think about it. Not ever again.”
Calabah ran cool fingertips over Julia’s forehead. “Then don’t,” she said soothingly. “Remember what I taught you, Julia. Caius was merely an episode. You have many things yet to experience as you grow into the person I know you will be. Everything will be revealed to you in time.”
Julia forgot all the reasons she had avoided Calabah and talked with her freely as she had in Rome. Calabah’s voice was so melodious and soothing.
“How do you like your life in Ephesus?”
“I would enjoy it more had I my freedom. Father has turned everything over to Marcus to manage. I have to beg him for every sesterce.”
“It’s unfortunate women leave themselves at the mercy of men. Especially when it’s so unnecessary.”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice. Or perhaps you enjoy your dependence?”
Pride smarting, Julia tipped her chin. “I do as I please.”
Calabah looked cool and amused. “And what pleases you? A love affair with a gladiator? You degrade yourself like Octavia.”
Julia’s lips parted. “How do you know about Atretes? Who could have told you?” she said in a hushed voice.
“Sertes. He’s an old friend.” She laid her hand over Julia’s again. “But I must tell you, Ephesus is already abounding in rumor that a daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in the Empire has taken Atretes as her lover. It will only be a matter of time before everyone in the city knows your name.”
Furious, Julia cloaked herself in hauteur. “I don’t care what people say!”
“No?”
Julia’s expression fell. “I love him. I love him so much I’d die if I couldn’t be with him. I would marry him if he were free.”
“Would you? Would you really? Is it love, Julia, or his beauty, his brutality? Atretes was captured in Germania. He’s a barbarian. He hates Rome with a passion beyond your understanding. And you, my dear, are every inch a Roman.”
“He doesn’t hate me. He loves me. I know he loves me.”
“Caius loved you, too. It didn’t stop him from using you for his own purposes.”
Julia blinked.
Satisfied, Calabah rose. “I must go. I’m very relieved and pleased we’re friends again.” She smiled. Her visit had been most gratifying. “Primus invited me to accompany him to your brother’s celebration of the proconsul’s birthday this evening,” she said and lightly brushed Julia’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I didn’t want to upset you by arriving unexpectedly.”
Julia was distracted. “I’ve met Primus. He’s one of the proconsul’s advisors, isn’t he?”
“He’s well versed on foreign manners and customs.”
“He’s handsome and amusing.”
Calabah laughed softly, her dark eyes veiled. “Primus is many, many things.”
Julia saw her to the door. When she closed it, Phoebe spoke from the stairway. “Is everything all right, Julia?”
“Everything is fine, Mother, just fine,” she said and tried desperately to believe it.
Chapter 31
Decimus was losing his battle. Immediately upon his return to Ephesus, he had paid homage at the temple of Asclepius, the god of healing. After consulting with the priests, he spent hours along a colonnaded pool, among the snakes. The fear and revulsion he felt as the writhing, slithering reptiles moved over his body should have driven out whatever evil spirits were causing his illness, but it didn’t.
When the snakes failed, Decimus consulted physicians who theorized that cleansing within would be a curative. He underwent emetics and purges and bloodletting until he was weak unto death. Still the illness progressed. Despondent, Decimus lapsed into a state of lethargy and hopelessness.
Phoebe suffered with him. Seeing him ashen from treatments and in such pain was agony to her. She bought drugs to ease his pain, but the poppy and mandrake left him half-conscious. Sometimes he refused to take them because he said he wanted to be aware of what went on around him.
As word spread about Decimus’ wasting illness, medical experts approached Phoebe with various theories and treatments, all guaranteed to bring the return of good health. Everyone wanted to help him get well. Everyone had a suggestion, a theory, a better physician or herbalist or healer.
Columbella, a spiritualist, convinced Phoebe that physicians shouldn’t be trusted; she claimed that they used patients they couldn’t cure to perfect new methods of treatment. Columbella said nonscientific methods would restore Decimus’ vitality and recommended her own potions and herbs, which had been passed down through the centuries. Health, Columbella insisted, was a matter of balance with nature.
Decimus drank her foul brews and ate the strange bitter herbs she prescribed, but they didn’t harmonize and balance the energies within his body as Columbella claimed they would. They neither harmed nor healed him.
Marcus took him to the baths to soak in the cleansing waters and introduced him to Orontes, a masseur reputed to have the healing touch. Orontes claimed massage could heal. When this, too, failed, Julia came to Decimus and said Calabah had told her he could heal himself if only he would tap into the resources of his own imagination and mind. She held his hand and encouraged him to concentrate and visualize himself in perfect health and it would be so. He almost wept at her unconscious cruelty, for by her words she blamed him for his illness and for being too weak to overcome it, when he had fought against it with every ounce of his will.
With each visit, he saw in his daughter disappointment and subtle accusation and knew she believed he lacked whatever “faith” it took to cure himself. “Try this,” she said one day and put a carnelian crystal around his neck. “It’s very special to me. It vibrates in harmony with the energy patterns of the gods, and if you can give yourself up to those vibrations, you will receive healing.” Her voice was cool, but then her eyes flooded and she lay across his chest weeping. “Oh, Papa . . .”
Her visits became less frequent and more brief after that.
Decimus cast no blame upon her. A dying man was depressing company for a beautiful young woman who was so full of life. Perhaps he had become a grim reminder of her own mortality.
Why couldn’t he die and have done w
ith it? A dozen times he contemplated suicide to put himself out of pain. He knew his family suffered with him, Phoebe most of all. Yet when it came down to carrying out a decision to kill himself, he found that he clung to life instead. Every moment, no matter how filled with pain, became precious to him. He loved his wife. He loved his son and daughter. Selfishly, perhaps, for out of love, he should release them—but he found he couldn’t. And he knew why.
He was afraid.
Long ago he had lost faith in the gods. They were no help, they were no threat. But what Decimus saw ahead was darkness, obscurity, an eternity of nothingness, and that terrified him. He was in no hurry to enter into oblivion, and yet it pulled at him. With the passing of each day, he felt a little more of his life slipping away.
Phoebe saw and was afraid as well.
Watching over him constantly, Phoebe sensed his inner struggle and suffered with him. She’d sought every expert and method there was and now had to stand by helplessly and see how he fought against the ceaseless pain, fought for life itself. Lacing his drink with strong doses of poppy and mandrake, she tried to give him what ease she could. Then she’d sit and hold his hand until he slept. Sometimes she’d go and sit in one of the alcoves where others wouldn’t notice her, weeping until she had no tears left.
What had she done wrong? What could she do to make things right? She prayed to every god she knew, gave offerings with an open hand, fasted, meditated. She cried out within her heart for answers and still she had to watch the man she’d loved since having glimpsed him as a young girl—the man who’d given her children and love and a wonderful life—die slowly, in agony.
Sometimes, in the stillness of night, when the silence was so heavy it rang in her ears, she lay as close beside Decimus as possible, holding him. And she prayed desperately, not to her own gods, but to the unseen god of a slave girl.
Atretes rose from his stone bench as his cell door opened and Hadassah stood in the torchlit corridor. They left the ludus together, both silent. Atretes felt the anger begin to grow within him. Where had Julia arranged for them to meet this time? In an inn? In the storage chambers of her brother’s villa? At a feast, where they could steal a few minutes together in a private room? His mouth tightened.