“You don’t know that, Alexander. Only God knows her heart.”
“You’re not going back, Hadassah. That woman forfeited all rights to you the moment she handed you over to the editor of the games.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Alexander surged to his feet and paced in angry frustration. “I can’t believe you’re even thinking of this.” How could he reason with such thinking?
“Try to understand, Alexander. She needs me.”
He faced her. “She needs you? I need you. Our patients need you. Julia Valerian has servants. Let them take care of her.”
“I am her servant.”
“No, you aren’t,” he said adamantly. “Not anymore.”
“Her mother and father purchased me in Rome to be Julia’s handmaiden.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Time doesn’t change my obligations. I am still legally bound to her.”
“You’re wrong. In case you weren’t aware, a price must have been paid for you. A few copper coins! That’s how much she valued you. Not even a day’s wage for a common laborer.” He was angry more with himself than her, for he should have seen this coming. Foolishly, he hadn’t thought her sense of compassion and mercy would extend to a woman who had tried to have her murdered.
Over the past week, since they had seen the Valerian woman, Hadassah had refused everything but unleavened bread to eat and water to drink. She spoke with few patients, spending most of her time in prayer. Alexander thought he had understood. Of course she would be upset after seeing the woman who had sent her into the arena. Of course she would withdraw, perhaps even be afraid. He had even wondered briefly if she felt a sense of satisfaction in seeing how Julia Valerian was now suffering but was ashamed to admit it.
Not once had it occurred to him that she could or would put it all aside and want to go back.
“I fail to comprehend you,” he said, trying to regain his own calm and find reason so he could argue her out of her decision. “Are you punishing me because I won’t take that woman on as a patient?”
“No, my lord,” she said, surprised that he would think it.
“I can’t take her on, Hadassah. You know the laws in Ephesus. When a patient dies, the physician is held responsible. It’s the worst kind of arrogance and madness to take a case you know is terminal. You saw the sores and lesions.”
“I saw,” she said very quietly.
“Then you know the disease has spread throughout her whole body.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“There’s nothing I can do for her other than keep her drugged up to the end so she’ll feel little pain. She’s going to die, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. You touched her. You know.” He saw his words disturbed her. “And don’t give me that look. I know you say you have no healing power other than what God performs through you. Very well. I believe you. But when you took her hand, did anything happen?”
She lowered her head. “No,” she said softly.
“Has it occurred to you that the entire Valerian family is under the curse of God for what they did to you?”
She looked up at him again, his suggestion clearly stunning her. “Each one is precious in God’s sight.”
“Some more than others.”
“No! The Lord is impartial.”
“The Lord is just,” he said vehemently, thinking Julia Valerian was getting what she deserved. He wasn’t going to stand in God’s way. “I’m not going to forfeit my career and the chance of helping countless others in some vain attempt to save a woman who deserves everything that’s happening to her.”
“Who are you to judge?”
“Your friend! The one who received you from Charon. Remember? The one who sewed you back together! The one who l—” He broke off suddenly, stunned at what he had been about to say: The one who loves you!
“You would take credit that I’m alive?”
“Yes!” he said, exasperated. Grimacing, he gave a wave of his hand. “No!” Letting out his breath, he rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from her. “Partially.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “You’ve told me more than once you believe the Lord has his hand upon me.”
He faced her, desperation filling him. She was slipping away from him. He could feel it. “Yes. I believe God kept you alive so you could teach me.”
“And for no other reason?”
“The reasons all stem out of that. Don’t you see? If not for what you’ve taught me, what would’ve happened to Severina and Boethus and Helena and a hundred others who came to us at the booth outside the public baths? Where would Magonianus’ wife and child be now if not for you? How many others are there in this city who need the gifts your god has given you?”
His words didn’t dissuade her. “It’s a matter of honor that I return to Julia.”
“What honor? There’s only foolishness in putting your life back in the hands of a woman so decadent and corrupt she’s being eaten alive by the fruits of her choices. I suspect she’s done things so vile you couldn’t even comprehend them.”
Hadassah had lived with and served Julia for seven years. She knew a great deal more about her than Alexander ever would. A part of her had wanted to think back on those things, to hold those memories like a shield against the softening of her heart. But she knew she mustn’t. To dwell on the sins of Julia’s life would not please God. Far worse, it would keep her from doing his will.
“I gave my word before the Lord.”
“The Lord gave you to me.”
She smiled gently. “Because he knew when the time came, you would release me.”
“No, I won’t release you,” Alexander said. She sat quietly looking at him. He let out his breath. “You’re not thinking clearly. The instant you remove your veils and she sees who you are, she’ll have you tossed to the lions again. And then what will you have accomplished other than your own death?”
She lowered her eyes. “There is that risk.”
“A risk you needn’t take.”
She looked up again, the uncertainty he had sensed in her completely gone. “Great opportunity demands great risk.”
“Opportunity! Opportunity for what?”
“If it be God’s will, to lead her to salvation.”
Amazed, Alexander could only stare at her. “Why would you want her, of all people, to be saved from anything?” He saw tears well in Hadassah’s eyes, and his eyes widened in disbelief. She meant what she said. Could she really be that naive?
He went to her and took her hands. “I will never understand you,” he said hoarsely. “Anyone else would want to stand by her bed and watch her die for what she did. Yet, you . . . you grieve for her.”
“She was a child once, Alexander. Full of joy and sweetness. The world has done things to her.”
“No more than what she’s done to herself and others.”
“That may be,” Hadassah said sadly, “but what I ask to do is so much less than what was done for me.”
His hands tightened around hers. “I can’t let you go.” She was far too valuable to the lives of others . . . to him . . . while Julia Valerian was worthless in his sight.
“I can’t listen to you, Alexander. I must listen to the Lord.”
Her conviction baffled him. “Did God tell you in so many words to go back to her?”
“My heart tells me.”
“What about your head?”
She smiled. “I have thought it through.”
“Not enough.” He cupped her scarred cheek. “Your heart has always been as soft as mush, Hadassah. That woman is as hard as stone.” He spread his hand over the jagged ridges that disfigured her face, hoping she would remember the lions and who it was that had sent her to face them. He looked into her eyes and saw she did. “You’re needed here,” he said, thinking she would now see reason.
When she didn’t speak, he drew her into his arms, holding her close. His heart beat with a fierce protectiv
eness . . . and something more. Something he would not acknowledge. For if he did so, if he uttered the words pounding in his head, and then lost her, he would not be able to bear it. He spoke, his voice choked with emotion. “I’ll keep you safe. So will Rashid.”
She drew back from him. “Neither of you understand. I already have a Protector.”
“Yes, and God placed you here, with me, and he sent you Rashid, bloody-minded as he is. So listen to us!” He cupped her face, staring intently into her eyes. “I’m not going to let you throw your life away on someone like her.”
She took his hands from her face and held them tightly on her knees. “Each one of us is precious in God’s sight, Alexander. He counts the very hairs on your head.” She let go of him and rose.
“If you’re telling me he sees Julia Valerian as precious as you, I can’t believe it!”
She touched the green fronds of a palm. “Do you remember when you took me to the Asklepion to see the ceremonies there?”
“Yes. What about it?”
“There was an ensign carried before the procession of priests. A tall pole on which snakes were entwined.”
“Serpents on a standard. Yes, I know.”
“Your seal ring bears the same symbol.”
“Yes. It identifies me as a physician.”
“Just as the engraving you had carved on the door of this house.”
He frowned slightly. “Does that disturb you?” Of course it must. Why would she bring it up now unless it did? He should have explained. “I suppose it seems sacrilegious to you, but I don’t worship the ensign. I only use it to make known what I am—a physician. People see the serpent on a standard and identify it with the sacred snakes of Asklepios, the god of healing and medicine.”
Pensive, she lowered her hand from the frond. “When God brought the Israelites out of Egypt, he delivered up the Canaanites to be destroyed. Then our people set out from Mount Hor by the way of the Red Sea to go around the land of Edom.”
“What are you trying to tell me with this story?”
She went on as though she hadn’t heard him. “The people were impatient because of the journey. They spoke against God, and the Lord sent serpents among the people. Many died because of them.”
“I imagine that turned them around again.”
She looked at him. “Yes. They realized they had sinned. They went to Moses and asked him to intercede with the Lord, to ask that he would remove the serpents from them, and Moses did. The Lord told Moses to make a fiery serpent and set it on a standard. Moses obeyed his command. He made a bronze serpent and set it on the standard, and it came about that if a serpent bit any man he had only to look at the bronze serpent to live.”
Julia Valerian forgotten, Alexander’s curiosity was roused. “Perhaps the origin of the standard of Asklepios is the same as that of the Lord.”
“I don’t know,” she said, not denying the possibility. What God gave to man, man corrupted. “The first time I saw the standard, I remembered the history my father taught me. And I tell you now what he told me. The people saw their sin, they repented, they looked upon the standard God had given them, they believed in his power to restore . . . and they lived.”
He was perplexed.
She saw his confusion, recognized his resistance. Help me, Lord, she prayed and then went on. “My father heard Jesus say that just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so the Son of Man would be lifted up.”
He thought then he understood what she was saying, though not her reasons for it. “You speak of his resurrection.”
“No. I speak of his crucifixion. He was nailed to a cross and set up before all mankind. He is the standard.”
He went cold. “Why do you tell me this?”
“To help you understand why I have to go back to Julia.”
His anger returned full force. “To be crucified this time? To be nailed to a cross instead of thrown to the lions?”
“No, Alexander. To take the standard of the Lord and place it before her.”
Filled with fear for her, he stood and came to her, his mind seeking desperately for the argument that would sway her to sanity. Gently, he took her hands in his. “Listen to me, Hadassah. Think longer on this. You’re accomplishing great things here with me. Look how far we’ve come from that mean little booth outside the public baths. Look at what you’ve been able to do for others. People revere you.”
She pulled away. “What has been accomplished is of the Lord’s doing, not mine—”
“I know that,” he said, trying to interrupt.
“It is his name that must be glorified. Not the name of Rapha.”
He frowned. “I didn’t realize it bothered you so much to be called by that name.”
“I am not the healer, Alexander. Jesus is Rapha,” she said with tears in her eyes. “How many times must I tell you?” She placed her hand against her heart. “I am an ordinary woman who loves the Lord. That’s all I am.”
“And has not your Lord anointed others with the healing touch? Even I have heard of Jesus’ apostles who, by a mere touch, could heal the sick.”
“I am not an apostle, Alexander. Jesus ascended before I was born.”
“Then how do you explain the things that have happened through you? You may not believe in yourself, but people believe in you.”
She moved away from him. He realized his error the moment the words were uttered, and he tried to retract them. “I didn’t mean to say they see you as a god.” She turned. Her look drove him to honesty. “All right! A few do see you in that way, but you’ve done nothing to encourage them to do so. You have no reason to feel guilty.”
“It’s not guilt I feel, Alexander. It’s sorrow.”
He knew he was making a mess of it.
She spread her hands. Her smile was filled with tenderness. “You knew this day would come.”
He closed his eyes. He shook his head, wanting to deny it. She was putting her life at risk, and he was shaking. He looked at her and wondered. How could she be so fearless? How could he let her go?
“I don’t want you to go, Hadassah,” he said quietly, then smiled weakly. “I didn’t realize how much I’d come to need you.”
“You don’t need me, Alexander. You have the Lord.”
“The Lord can’t sit and talk with me. He can’t look at me with dark, fathomless eyes and lead me to find the answers I need. He can’t stir my imagination with a word, my heart with a touch—”
“He can do all of that, Alexander, and more.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know him like you do. I need you to speak to him for me.”
His words grieved her heart. “I’ve become your stumbling block.”
“Never,” he said fiercely, going to her. “Never,” he said again and reached out to pull her into his arms. He embraced her, keeping silent, knowing whatever he would say at this point would be fruitless and possibly hurtful.
Oh God, if you hear me, if you are there, protect her! Please, do not take her from me forever. . . .
“How long will you stay with her?” he said gruffly.
“Until the end.”
“Hers or yours?” he said, his mouth twisting sardonically.
And she answered softly, having weighed all possibilities: “Whichever comes first.”
29
Mother Prisca sat straight backed upon the couch Iulius had carried on the balcony for her. In all her eighty-seven years of life, she had never been more nervous. She had known Phoebe Valerian was an important and wealthy lady, but somehow she had been able to put aside position within the confines of her own poor tenement room. Here, in this beautiful villa with its grand views of the harbor and Artemision, she could not forget or ignore the social class chasm that yawned between them.
A slave girl brought a tray with an arrangement of fruit and delicacies. She leaned down, holding it before Prisca, and smiled encouragement. Prisca shook her head.
Iulius saw her tension, recogniz
ed it for what it was, and tried to put her at ease. “Please, Mother Prisca, be at home with us. How many times have you given us refreshment? And now you would deny us the pleasure of serving you?”
Mother Prisca shot him a look, then took a peach. “Satisfied?” She held it gently in her lap on the folds of her threadbare palus as though it were something too precious to eat.
Phoebe mumbled something, and Iulius bent down to her. Her good hand lay in her lap on a small copper plate. She tapped on it, and Prisca watched as the man listened intently. “Hera,” he said and glanced at Mother Prisca. “How is the child Hera?” Mother Prisca looked at Phoebe in surprise, her gaze flashing to Iulius in question. Nodding, he smiled. “Lady Phoebe can’t speak or move, but she understands what is happening around her.”
His words filled Prisca with a deep sense of pity and sadness. Hiding her feelings, she looked at Phoebe and tried to renew the old camaraderie she had felt toward the younger woman. “The little girl is fine. She still plays with her dolls in doorways. She asked why you hadn’t come lately, and I told her you were not well.” She ran her fingers lightly over the soft skin of the peach, remembering the child’s tears.
“Olympia and her son are doing well,” she went on. “She has found work at an eatery. Vernasia has decided to marry again. The man works in your son’s emporium and lives in the same tenement she does. I don’t think she’s done with grieving for her young husband, but she can’t support herself, now can she? Caius is older, past taking risks. He works on land. He’ll take care of her and her children, and maybe he’ll finally have a few of his own.”
Phoebe listened hungrily to each word about what was happening in the lives of the widows she had visited. When Prisca finished speaking, she sat silent and ill-at-ease. Phoebe saw the sadness etched deeply into the dear old woman’s face and wanted to reassure her. She tapped on her copper plate, using the code she and Iulius had painstakingly worked out. She knew he would understand and convey her message.
“‘The Lord has not forsaken me,’” Iulius said for her.
Tears sprang into Prisca’s eyes. She set the peach aside and rose stiffly. Bending down, she took Phoebe’s hand between hers. “That may be, child, but it grieves me to see someone as young as you like this. Better that it had happened to an old woman like me who’s lived all the years she cares to live.” She kissed Phoebe’s hand and pressed it for a moment before laying it down again. She turned away to go.