“I want to hear more about your theories,” he said as they ate. “First, the boil. How did you know what to do?”
“My mother treated a boil for a neighbor. I tried her method. By the grace of God, it worked.”
“By the grace of God.” He decided to remember those words. Perhaps they were more important than she realized. Perhaps in them was some of her power.
“I’ve seen you heal several people who’ve come to the booth.”
“I’ve never healed anyone.”
“Indeed you have. Boethus for one. You healed him. The man came with all manner of symptoms and went away cured. I obviously had nothing to do with it. I never even spoke with the man.”
Hadassah was disturbed. “All I offered Boethus was hope.”
“Hope,” Alexander said and tore off a small piece of bread and dipped it in his wine. “I don’t see that it’d make much difference, but go ahead. Explain.” He popped the bread into his mouth.
Lord, Lord, Hadassah prayed, he is so like Claudius, and Claudius never had the ears to hear. Holding the wooden cup between her hands, she prayed Alexander would not only listen, but comprehend.
“God created mankind to live in a love relationship with him and to reflect his character. People weren’t created to live independent from God.”
“Go on,” he said, waving his hand, impatient to hear.
She told of Adam and Eve in the Garden and how God had given them free will, and how they had sinned by believing Satan over God. She told him how they had been cast out of the Garden. She told about Moses and the Law and how every day, all day long, offerings were burned to cover sin. Yet, all those sacrifices could never wash it completely away. Only God had been able to accomplish that by sending his only begotten Son to die as the final atoning sacrifice for all mankind. Through Jesus, the walls were torn down and man could once again be with God by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.
“‘For God . . . gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life,’” she quoted. “Yet, for all this, most people still live in a state of separation.”
“And it’s this state of separation that causes disease?” Alexander said, intrigued.
She shook her head. “You see things only in the physical, Alexander. Disease can come when man refuses to live within God’s plan. Severina, for example. The Lord warned against the practice of prostitution. He warned against promiscuity. He warned against many things, and those who practice them bear the consequences of their sin. Perhaps many diseases are just that, consequences of disobedience.”
“And so if Severina were to obey the laws of your god, she would be well again. Is that it?”
Hadassah closed her eyes behind her veil. Lord, why did you let me live when I always fail in everything you give me? Why can’t I find the words to make him understand?
“Hadassah?”
Her eyes burned with tears of frustration. She spoke very slowly, as to a small child. “The Law was given that man might recognize his sinfulness and turn away from wickedness to the Lord. You see mankind as physical and seek solutions in that realm, but man is also a spiritual being, designed in the image of God. How will you ever learn who and what you are without learning who God is?” Her voice broke softly, and she saw his frown.
She bit her lip before going on. “Our relationship with God affects our body, yes. But it affects our emotions and our mind, as well. It affects our very spirit.” Her hands tightened on the wooden cup as she lowered her head. “I believe true healing can only happen when a person is restored to God himself.”
Alexander remained silent, thoughtful. He tore off another piece of bread and dipped it in his wine, giving himself extra time to think over what she had just said. His heart began to beat rapidly as it always did when an idea came to him. He ate his bread quickly and then drained his cup, setting it aside. Standing up, he dusted the bread crumbs from his hands and cleared a space on his worktable. Mixing soot with water, he prepared ink with which to write. Selecting a clear scroll, he sat and opened it, setting weights to hold it flat.
“Tell me a few of these laws,” he commanded, writing down “By the grace of god” as his first notation.
Did he hear nothing, Lord? Nothing at all? “Salvation is not in the Law.”
“I’m not talking about salvation. I’m talking about treating patients.”
“God! Why did you leave me here? Why didn’t you take me home?” It was a cry of pure anguish and frustration, and the hair on the back of Alexander’s neck stood on end. She was crying, clutching her head in her hands, and it was his fault. What would her god do to him now?
He left his stool and knelt before her. “Don’t call down the wrath of your god on me before you’ve heard what I have to say.” He took her hands and touched his forehead to them.
She snatched her hands away and pushed him back. “Get off your knees to me! Am I God that you should bow down to me?”
Astonished, he drew back. “Your god has set you apart. He hears you,” he said, rising and sitting on his stool again. “As you said to me once, I didn’t save your life. Nor can I explain how it happened. Your wounds were putrefying, Hadassah. By all the laws of nature and science that I know, you should be dead. Yet, here you are.”
“Scarred and crippled . . .”
“Otherwise healthy. Why would your god save you and not others?”
“I don’t know,” she said bleakly. She shook her head. “I don’t know why he saved my life at all.” She had thought she knew God’s purpose for her: To die in the arena. But it seemed God had another mission.
“Perhaps he saved you so that you might instruct me in his ways.”
She raised her head and looked at him through her veils. “And how do I do that when you have no ears to hear a word I say?”
“I hear.”
“Then hear this. What does the body matter if the soul is dead?”
“And how do you restore a soul if the body is moldering in disease? How does one repent without understanding what sin he has committed?” His mind was reeling with thoughts more complex than he could fathom at once.
Hadassah frowned, remembering her father telling of Josiah, king of Judah, whose servant had found the book of the Law and read it to him. Upon hearing it, Josiah tore his clothing, recognizing his own sin and the sin of his people against God. Repentance had come through knowledge. But she had no written copy of the Torah. She had no copies of the Memoirs of the Apostles. All she had was her memory.
“From now on you will no longer assist me, Hadassah,” Alexander said, setting his quill aside. “We’ll work together.”
She was alarmed. “I have no training as a physician.”
“Not in the way I have, perhaps, but you have more training than you realize. I’m versed in the physical nature of man, and your god has given you insights into the spiritual realm. It’s logical that we must work together in order to treat patients whose complaints are more complicated than a cut that needs immediate tending.”
Hadassah was speechless.
“Do you agree?”
She sensed something deeper at work than she or Alexander understood. Was this offer of God or the evil one? “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I need to pray. . . .”
“Good,” Alexander said, pleased. “That’s exactly what I want you to do. Inquire of your god and then tell me—”
“No!” she said hastily as his words set off alarm within her. “You speak as though I were a medium like those in the booths near the Artemision.”
“Then I’ll make an offering to your god.”
“The only offering God will accept is you.”
Alexander sat back slightly and didn’t say anything for a long moment. He smiled wryly. “I’m afraid I’m not that self-sacrificing, Hadassah. I don’t like lions.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not particularly fond of them myself.”
He laughed with her and then gre
w serious again. “Yet, you were willing to lay down your life for what you believe.”
“I didn’t begin my walk with God in an arena.”
His mouth tipped. “Where did you start?”
Tears came as warmth filled her. She liked this man. His desire to know and understand stemmed from his deep desire to help people. Perhaps it was God’s purpose that she instruct him in what she knew about the Lord. Perhaps there were answers in the laws that Moses had been given by God for the Israelites. Jesus had said he had come to fulfill the Law, not abolish it.
She held out her hand. Alexander took it, his own large and strong, closing firmly around hers. She eased from her bedroll, wincing as she knelt on the earthen floor. Taking his other hand, she drew him down so that they were both on their knees, hands clasped together, facing one another.
“We start here.”
Imitating her, Alexander bowed his head, concentrating on her every word.
He would write them down later.
6
Eudemas entered the triclinium and handed Julia a small scroll bearing a wax seal. Julia’s face paled noticeably as she took it and waved her away. Primus, sitting opposite her, smiled sardonically as she tucked it quickly into the folds of her Chinese silk tunic.
“Hiding something, Julia?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Then why aren’t you going to read your letter now?”
“Because I don’t feel like it,” she said tersely, not looking at him. She drew the crimson silk shawl around her and fingered the gold and adamas bracelet on her wrist. Primus noted how she grew more agitated at his perusal. His mouth curved as he continued to study her. She remained tense and silent, pretending not to notice. The vivid colors she chose to wear only intensified her pallor and brought out the deepening circles of sleeplessness beneath her eyes. Julia, who once glowed with lust and life, was now positively sallow with ill health. Trembling, she poured herself more wine and then stared into her gold goblet with dull eyes.
After a moment she glared at him. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Was I?” Primus’ smile grew taunting. “I was noticing how lovely you look this evening.”
She turned her head away, well aware his flattery was empty and vicious. “How kind of you to notice,” she said bitterly.
He took a delicacy from the tray. “Poor Julia. You’re still trying to plead your case to Marcus, aren’t you?”
She lifted her chin haughtily, her dark eyes flashing. “I needn’t plead my case to anyone. I don’t have to apologize for what I did.”
“Then why do you persist?” He ate the morsel.
“I don’t!”
“Ha. You’ve been begging and pleading for Marcus’ forgiveness ever since he left you at the arena. He returns every message you send.” He waved airily. “Just like that one, seal unbroken.”
She glared at him. “And how would you know what messages I send and to whom?”
Laughing softly, he selected a stuffed cow’s teat from the tray of rich delicacies. “I’ve always found it immensely entertaining to observe those around me.” He shifted his bulk to make himself more comfortable. “You, in particular, my sweet.”
“Did Eudemas tell you I wrote to him?”
“She didn’t have to. I could read the signs. You were drunk last night and maudlin. When you’re maudlin, you retire to your chamber early and write to your brother. It’s all too predictable, Julia. Predictable to the point of boring. You know very well he’ll never forgive you, yet you persist. I find his unrelenting hatred refreshing, but frankly, my dear, your relentless pursuit of his forgiveness has become pathetic.”
She didn’t speak for a moment, attempting to bring her heightened emotions under control. “He doesn’t hate me. He only thinks he does.”
“Oh, he hates you, Julia. He hates you absolutely. Never doubt that for a minute.”
His words lacerated her, and her eyes burned with the tears she held back. “I despise you,” she said with the dark wealth of her emotions.
He recognized her poor attempt at retaliation and mocked her openly. “Ah, I know, my dear, but then I’m all you have left, aren’t I? Calabah has left you and sailed away to Rome with pretty little Sapphira. Your friends avoid you because of your illness. You’ve received only one invitation in the last week, and I regret to inform you that Cretaneus was decidedly relieved when you sent your regrets. So, my dear, who but me do you have to keep you company?” He clicked his tongue. “Poor Julia. Everyone leaves you. Such a pity . . .”
“I can always count on your understanding, can’t I, Primus? By the way, did any of your hirelings ever find trace of your beloved Prometheus?” She tilted her head to one side, laying a fingertip against her chin, parodying a thoughtful muse. “Now why do you suppose it’s become more and more difficult for you to find lovers?” She spread her hands, her face opening with pretended realization. “Could it be your growing corpulence?”
Primus’ face darkened. “Your troubles and mine could’ve been avoided had you listened to Calabah and had that little Jewess of yours killed earlier.”
She grasped her wine goblet and hurled it at him, just missing his head. Breathing heavily with her frustration, she called him a foul name and rose from her couch, glaring across at him. “My troubles would’ve been avoided had I never made an alliance with you!”
He brushed the drops of wine from his face, his eyes glittering. “Blame me if you must, but everyone knows you made the choice.” He laughed darkly. “And now you must live with it. Or die . . .”
“You’re a despicable worm!”
“And you’re a stupid sow!”
“I should’ve listened to Marcus,” she said, struggling against tears. “He knew what you were.”
Primus smiled smugly, seeing he had almost succeeded in reducing her to hysteria. “He did, didn’t he? But then, so did you, Julia. You walked in with your eyes wide open, thinking everything would be exactly as you wanted it. And for a while, it was, wasn’t it, my sweet? Exactly as you wanted. Money, position, Atretes, Calabah . . . and me.”
She wanted to destroy him, to wipe that self-satisfied smirk from his face forever. But he was all she had left, and she knew it. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I’ve changed my mind about what I want.”
“Oh, dear. Another empty threat. I’m trembling.”
“Someday you may find my threats not so empty.”
Primus knew how sick she was—so sick he doubted she would survive. His eyes narrowed coldly as he embraced his secret wrath and felt warmed by it. “By the time you change your mind, you’ll have gone through all your money and it’ll make no difference, will it?” he said with deceiving calm. “Have you ever wondered why I remain with you? Do you think it’s because I love you?” He saw the tiny flicker of fear in her eyes and was satisfied. He knew Julia’s greatest fear was being alone, and alone she would be when the time was right. He would have his vengeance for every insult, every slight he had suffered from her. He would have his vengeance for Prometheus’ defection.
But for now, he pretended remorse at causing her to feel vulnerable. He raised his hand. “I’m sorry I said that,” he said with feigned regret, content he had accomplished part of his purpose. “Why do we argue so much, beloved? It comes to nothing. You must grow up, Julia. Accept what you are. You’ve drunk from the same well I have, and you’ve done it so long you can’t go back. I’m the only friend you have left.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said with acid sweetness and turned away.
“As you please, my dear. I suppose I’ll save my news for another time,” he said smoothly, laughing silently. “Something I overheard at Fulvius’ feast last night. About Marcus.”
She turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. “What is it this time?”
“Never mind,” he said with a wave of his hand. Let her sweat. Let her stomach twist and turn. Let her hope. “It can wait until another time when you’re more am
enable.”
“What foul gossip did you hear this time, Primus?”
“Gossip? Concerning your brother? He’s become rather dull from all accounts. No women. No men.” He laughed in derision, aware he had her full attention. “Poor Marcus. He doesn’t know how to enjoy life anymore, does he? He works, goes to the baths, goes home. Day after day after day. His greatest passion is hating you, and he does that so very well, doesn’t he? Such resolve. Such dedication.”
Julia’s face was stony, giving no hint to the anguish his words caused. She knew all too well Primus enjoyed his petty cruelties. The only way to defend herself was to pretend she felt nothing at all, but her stomach tightened with the effort, and her heart pounded.
She hated him so much a metallic taste filled her mouth. It would give her the greatest pleasure to plunge a knife into his fat belly and hear him scream. She would kill him if it didn’t mean her own death in the process. But then, maybe it would be worth it. After all, what did she have to live for now anyway? Why had she ever been born in the first place?
Her mouth twisted bitterly. “You heard nothing, did you? Nothing of any import. You hate Marcus because he’s twice the man you are or ever could be. He’s admired. He’s respected. And what of you? You’re nothing but an insect that thrives on lies and slander about those better than you.”
His eyes glittered. “Have I not kept all your secrets, Julia, beloved?” he said softly. “How your first husband died because of you, how you murdered your second. And what of your children? Do they yet cry out upon the rocks? How many others did you have torn from your womb before you cast away Atretes’ seed?” He saw her face go even paler and smiled. “I have kept your secrets locked away, haven’t I?” He put his fingers to his lips and puckered, blowing her a kiss.
She was shaking. How had he known these things? No one knew she had poisoned her second husband . . . no one, of course, but Calabah. Calabah, her trusted lover and friend, must have told him.
Primus shifted his bulk on the cushions, moving closer to the laden food tray. “I did hear something of great import that has given me cause to think. The question is, should I share this newfound information with you, oh most ungrateful of women.”