For over an hour she had talked about herself, her ailments, her grievances, her pain, her suffering. Yet she saw none of what was happening to her as consequences of her choices, of her lifestyle, of seeking pleasure at every altar known to mankind. And her words rang discordant. Wasn’t it her right to find pleasure, to enjoy life the way she chose? What was wrong with it? Ah, and she wanted him to hand her a cure so she could go on doing whatever she pleased. She didn’t care about his career, his principles, his feelings. She demanded he make her well when it was by her own hand that she was sick unto death.
Alexander felt no pity for such a woman as this.
All he could think of was Hadassah, body torn and racked with pain, suffering months of convalescence. Never once had she uttered a complaint or cast blame on anyone. A day did not pass, nor ever would, that she would not be in pain because of the injuries she had suffered in the arena, and the scars she bore destroyed any chance for a normal life.
And here, this sick and sickening young woman cried out for help, not in humility, but in demand—and she herself was the cause of all of it.
“It’s not fair! It’s not my fault I’m sick!”
“Isn’t it?” Alexander put his instruments into his carrying case.
“Give me something to make me better! I know you can find a cure if you put your mind to it.”
“I’ve many patients.”
“I don’t care about your patients. What do they matter in the face of my suffering?”
The sound of Julia’s strident voice raised the hair on the back of his neck.
Hadassah limped over to him and put her hand on his arm. “Alexander.”
He heard the gentle appeal and reacted with anger. “Don’t even ask it!”
“Please.”
“Do you hear nothing?” he whispered fiercely.
“I hear the voice of someone lost.”
“And not worth finding. No,” he said again, firmly. The contrast between the two young women hardened his heart and set his mind.
“Won’t you even consider—”
“I’ve examined her, Rapha. You touched her. That’s all we can do.”
Julia dissolved into tears.
“Alexander, please listen to me . . . ,” Hadassah began.
He closed his case firmly and picked it up. “I can’t afford to listen to you,” he hissed. “I’m not going to risk my reputation and career on someone I know is going to die.” His words were loud enough for Julia to hear—and cruel enough to silence her.
Hadassah turned toward the bed, but he caught hold of her arm and headed her for the door. “Rashid!” At Alexander’s nod, the Arab strode across the room, caught Rapha up in his arms, and carried her out.
Prometheus entered the room and watched them go. He saw Julia weeping on the bed and looked at Alexander. “You can do nothing?”
“The disease has taken too firm a hold.”
Outside in the cool night air, Alexander breathed deeply. The atmosphere within Julia Valerian’s villa had been oppressive. It reeked of corruption.
He walked alongside Rashid as he carried Hadassah down the steps. She made no protest. Rashid set her gently inside the litter and adjusted the cushions for her comfort. Alexander was afraid of what she would say to him within the privacy of the curtains.
She would only plead for that despicable young woman, and no one could touch his heart with pleading like Hadassah. He decided not to give her the opportunity. “I’ll walk,” he said and drew the curtains closed, shutting her inside the litter. “Go,” he commanded the bearers.
Tonight, he would not listen. Tonight, mercy sat ill with him.
The bearers lifted Hadassah within the litter and bore her down the street.
Rashid fell into step beside Alexander. “Her servant told me she is the daughter of Phoebe Valerian. Her father is dead. She has a brother named Marcus. He left Ephesus some months ago.”
“By all the gods, Rashid. I put her head right into the lion’s mouth, didn’t I?”
“Rapha must have known.”
“Why didn’t she say something?”
It was a question neither man could answer with any sense of satisfaction. Neither understood her. She never ceased to amaze and perplex them.
“The Valerian woman is dying, isn’t she?” Rashid said, staring straight ahead as he walked.
“Yes, she’s dying.” Alexander glanced at the stony-faced Arab. “A matter of mere months, I would guess.”
“First the mother. Now the daughter.”
He nodded and looked ahead again. “It does make one wonder if God is striking the Valerians down one at a time for what they did to Hadassah.” He wondered if Hadassah would interpret what was happening that way. She said Christ Jesus was the embodiment of love. Would a god of love take such vengeance?
Rashid was thinking of other things. “Will her death be painful?”
“And slow.”
Rashid’s stony face relaxed. “Good,” he said. “Justice is served.”
27
Marcus awakened beneath a beam of sunlight through the high window. He winced as pain shot through his head. Groaning, he rolled away from the light and bumped into the potter’s wheel. Swearing, he pushed himself up and leaned against it.
His mouth was dry, his tongue thick. He saw the wineskin he had purchased the night before lying flaccid on the floor. Each beat of his heart drove shafts of pain through his head. Even running his fingers through his tousled hair hurt.
A soft breeze stirred the dust around him, and he noticed that the door stood open. He thought he remembered closing it the night before, but then, he didn’t remember much of anything clearly.
Except the dream.
Closing his eyes, he tried to recapture the precious bits and pieces of it . . . Hadassah sitting with him on a bench in the peristyle of the villa in Rome . . . Hadassah with the lyre in her hands, singing softly of a shepherd. In his dreams, she was vivid, clear. He could see her face, hear her voice, touch her. Only when he was awake did she elude him.
As she did now.
Swearing softly, he gave up. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled across the room. Nauseated, he leaned heavily on the table and looked around the room for another wineskin. He saw the old woman instead, sitting in the shadows beneath the window.
“You!” he said and sat down heavily on the stool. He put his head in his hands again. The throbbing pain was excruciating.
“You don’t look well, Marcus Lucianus Valerian.”
“I’ve had better mornings.”
“It’s afternoon.”
“Thank you for the insight.”
She chuckled. “You bring back memories of my husband during Purim celebrations. According to our traditions, he would drink until he couldn’t tell the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordecai.’ Ah, but the next day, he would look like you do now. Pinched white. A tinge of green.”
He rubbed his face, hoping if he said nothing she would go home.
“Of course, he drank as part of a joyous holiday. You drink to forget.”
His hands stilled. He lowered them slowly and glared at her. “Why do you keep coming back here?”
“I brought you a jug of water. Drink some and then wash your face.”
He was annoyed that she spoke to him as though he were a boy she was reprimanding, but he rose shakily and did as she said. Perhaps when he finished doing as she asked, she would leave. He drank a cup of water and poured some into a basin. When he finished washing his face, he sat at the table again. “What do you want this time?”
Undaunted by his rudeness, she smiled. “I want you to walk in the hills and see the spring lambs and lilies of the field.”
“I’m not interested in lambs and lilies.”
She used her walking stick to stand. “You won’t find Hadassah’s spirit in this house, Marcus.” She saw his pained grimace, and her expression softened. “If you’ve come to Nain to
be close to her, I’ll show you the places she enjoyed most. We’ll start with a hillside at the east side of the village.” She walked toward the door.
Tilting his head, Marcus squinted his eyes at her. “Must I suffer your company along the way?”
“By the looks of you, I don’t think you could outrun me.”
He gave a bleak laugh and winced.
She stopped on the threshold. “Hadassah liked lambs and lilies.”
Marcus sat stubbornly at the table for a long moment. Then he rose. He snatched up the heavy robe from the floor, shook the dust from it, and went after her.
People looked at them strangely as they passed through the village. He supposed they were a strange pair, an old woman with her walking stick and a Roman suffering the aftereffects of his night of drunken indulgence. She stopped twice, the first time to buy bread, the second, a skin of wine. She made him carry both.
“They don’t trust you,” she said when they left the marketplace.
“Why should they? I’m a Roman.” His mouth twisted cynically. “I’m a serpent in their midst. Spawn of the devil.”
The hills were new green, the sky blue. Patches of wildflowers splashed color on the slopes. Deborah stopped and set her walking stick before her, leaning on it as she gazed upon the hills. “We can carry water from the well and tend our gardens. Hard work for little gain. But one night’s rain from God brings forth this.”
“You’re like her,” Marcus said heavily. “Seeing God in everything.”
“You see no power in what’s before you? No splendor? No miracle?”
“I see rocky hills with some new grass. A flock of sheep. A few flowers. Nothing extraordinary.”
“The most ordinary things of life are extraordinary. The sunrise, the rain—”
“Just for today, old woman, speak to me of other things than God. Or better yet, don’t speak at all.”
She gave a soft grunt. “Nothing is important in this world except as it pertains to the Lord. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re looking for him.”
“I looked. He doesn’t exist.”
“How is it possible to hold such anger against something you don’t believe in?” she said and continued along the path.
Speechless, Marcus glared after her in frustration. He noted that walking seemed to ease the soreness of her joints. She removed the shawl from over her head and lifted her face as though the sun felt good to her.
He caught up and walked alongside her. “I don’t believe in God,” he said vehemently.
“What do you believe in?”
Mouth grim, he stared straight ahead. “I believe in right and wrong.”
“Have you lived up to your standard?”
He winced, a muscle jerking in his jaw.
“Why don’t you answer?”
“It was wrong that Hadassah died. I want to find a way to set things right again.”
“And how will you accomplish that and live up to the highest standard you’ve set for yourself?”
Her words pierced him, for he didn’t know what to say. Looking back on his life, he wondered if he’d ever had a standard. Right had always been what was expeditious; wrong, not attaining his goals, not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. For Hadassah, life had been clear. For Marcus, nothing was clear. He was in a fog.
They reached the top of a hillside. In the distance, he knew, was the Sea of Galilee.
“It is not far,” old Deborah said. “Hananiah often took his family down to Capernaum and along the shores to Bethsaida-Julias.” She paused, leaning on her walking stick. “Jesus walked the same roads.”
“Jesus,” he muttered darkly.
She raised her hand and pointed north toward the far end of the sea. “On a hillside over there, I heard the Lord speak.” She lowered her hand to her walking stick again. “And when he was finished, he took two fish and broke a few loaves of bread and fed five thousand people.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible for God the Son. I saw it with my own eyes. Just as I saw him raise Hananiah from the dead.”
Her words raised gooseflesh on his spine. He gritted his teeth. “If he was the Son of God, why did his own people turn him over to be crucified?”
Tears filled old Deborah’s eyes. “Because, like you, we expected God to be something other than what he is.”
He frowned, studying her profile. She was silent for a long time before she spoke again.
“Two hundred years ago, the Maccabean overthrew the Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV and reconsecrated our temple. The name ‘Maccabee’ means hammer or extinguisher. When the Maccabeans regained power and entered Jerusalem, the people rejoiced by waving palm fronds.” Tears slipped down her aged cheeks. “And so we did again when Jesus entered Jerusalem. We thought he was coming in power, as the Maccabees had. We cried out, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’ But we did not even know him.”
“Were you there?”
She shook her head. “No. I was here in Nain having a child.”
“Then why do you weep as though you had part in his crucifixion? You had no part in it.”
“I’d like nothing better than to think I would have remained faithful. But if those closest to him—his disciples, his own brothers—turned away, who am I to think I’m better than they and would have done differently? No, Marcus. We all wanted what we wanted, and when the Lord fulfilled his purpose rather than ours, we struck out against him. Like you. In anger. Like you. In disappointment. Yet, it is God’s will that prevails.”
He looked away. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know you don’t. I see it in your face, Marcus. You don’t want to see. You’ve hardened your heart against him.” She started to walk again.
“As should all who value their lives,” he said, thinking of Hadassah’s death.
“It is God who has driven you here.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “I came here of my own accord and for my own purposes.”
“Did you?”
Marcus’ face became stony.
Deborah pressed on. “We were all created incomplete and will find no rest until we satisfy the deepest hunger and thirst within us. You’ve tried to satisfy it in your own way. I see that in your eyes, too, as I’ve seen it in so many others. And yet, though you deny it with your last breath, your soul yearns for God, Marcus Lucianus Valerian.”
Her words angered him. “Gods aside, Rome shows the world that life is what man makes of it.”
“If that’s so, what are you making of yours?”
“I own a fleet of ships, as well as emporiums and houses. I have wealth.” Yet, even as he told her, he knew it all meant nothing. His father had come to that realization just before he died. Vanity. It was all vanity. Meaningless. Empty.
Old Deborah paused on the pathway. “Rome points the way to wealth and pleasure, power and knowledge. But Rome remains hungry. Just as you are hungry now. Search all you will for retribution or meaning to your life, but until you find God, you live in vain.”
Marcus did not want to listen, but her words penetrated, causing him unrest. “One of our Roman philosophers says our lives are what our thoughts make of it. Perhaps therein lies the answer to how I’ll find peace for myself.”
She smiled at him—a tolerant, half-amused smile. “King Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived, and he said something similar hundreds of years before Rome existed. ‘For as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.’” She looked up at him. “On what does your heart dwell, Marcus Lucianus Valerian?”
Her question shot straight through his soul. “Hadassah,” he said hoarsely.
She nodded, satisfied. “Then let your thoughts dwell upon her. Remember the words she said. Remember what she did, how she lived.”
“I remember how she died,” he said, staring out at the Sea of Galilee.
“That, too,” the
old woman said solemnly. “Walk in her ways and see life through her eyes. Maybe that will bring you closer to what you’re looking for.” She pointed down the hill. “That’s the path she always walked with her father. It’ll take you down to the road and on to Gennesaret, and then to Capernaum. Hadassah loved the sea.”
“I’ll see you back to Nain.”
“I know my way. It’s time you found yours.”
His smile was pained. “You think you can evict me that easily, old woman?”
She patted his arm. “You were ready to go.” She turned away and started back along the path they had followed together.
“What makes you so sure?” he called after her, annoyed that he had been so easily led.
“You brought your coat with you.”
Bemused, he shook his head. He watched her go back along the path and realized she had bought the bread and wine for him, for his journey.
He sighed. She was right. There was no going back for him. He had stayed as long as he could bear in the house where Hadassah had lived as a child. All he had found there was dust and despair and memories that were like ashes in his mouth.
Marcus looked north. What hope had he of finding anything different along the shores of the Sea of Galilee? But then, hope had never been a part of this quest. Anger had. But somehow, along the way, his shield of anger had been stripped from him, leaving him defenseless. Emotions in turmoil, he felt naked.
She loved the sea, Deborah had said. Perhaps that was enough reason to go on.
He started down the hill, following the same path Hadassah had.
28
Alexander slammed his goblet of wine down, sloshing the red fluid onto the table. “She was the one who sent you to the arena, and now you’re telling me you want to go back to her?”
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“Over my dead body, you will!”
“Alexander, you said long ago I was free to do as I will.”
“Not something this stupid. Didn’t you listen to her? She’s eaten up with bitterness. There isn’t a remorseful bone in her body for anything she’s ever done.”