Marcus filled his lungs with the crisp air and let it out again, feeling free. He laughed and lifted his eyes to the heavens with a thankful heart. He wept at the same time. Was it really that astoundingly simple? I believe.
He glanced at Cornelius eagerly, responding to the new Spirit within him. “What do I do now?”
“You are to return to Ephesus.”
The words came like a physical blow.
“What did you say?”
“You are to return to Ephesus,” Cornelius said again, frowning slightly.
Marcus stood, dripping wet, feeling as though his heart had been wrenched from him. He stared at Cornelius, a man he didn’t know, and wished he had never asked the question. “Why do you tell me this?” he said hoarsely, angry that his joy should be stripped away so quickly.
“These are the words that were given to me. ‘Tell Marcus to return to Ephesus.‘” Cornelius put his hand on Marcus’ arm. “Do you know what the Lord wants of you there?”
Oh yes, he knew. The appalling fullness and mercy of the command struck his heart, but his mind rebelled against it.
“I know,” he said grimly.
God wanted him to forgive his sister.
33
“Tell me another story like the one you told me yesterday,” Julia said as Azar helped her to the couch on the balcony. “Something exciting and romantic.”
Hadassah’s heart sank. Over the past weeks she had told Julia many stories that had been told to her as a child. They were stories meant to reveal the attributes of God’s love and mercy, but Julia saw no significance other than as entertainment. They didn’t touch her heart. Was she always to be this way, wanting distraction from the pain of illness, blind to the truth of life.
She wanted something exciting. Romantic.
Hadassah wanted to shake her and tell her of Sheol and Satan, of Jesus coming again and taking judgment on the world, on her. Did Julia want to be among those cast into the fiery pit for all eternity? Was she so blind to the truth that was proclaimed every dawn of every day? Christ is risen. Christ is Lord. Christ reigns. Christ will judge.
“Why are you so quiet?” Julia said.
If you reign, Lord, why am I so defeated?
“Tell me a story, Azar.”
Hadassah let her breath out slowly, trying to rid herself of irritation. Julia was no less demanding than she had ever been. Bracing herself, Hadassah helped Julia lie down. She covered her with the blanket and limped to the other couch. She sat down carefully, pain shooting up her bad leg. She stretched it out and rubbed it as she felt Julia watching her and waiting. She tried to think of a story that would suffice.
“It came about in the days when the judges governed Israel, that there was a famine in the land. And a certain man of Bethlehem in Judah went to sojourn in the land of Moab with his wife and his two sons. . . .”
Julia leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to her companion’s rasping voice. The story sounded familiar, but she didn’t mind. She couldn’t remember the details or events and it would serve to amuse her for a while.
“The sons took for themselves Moabite women as wives; the name of one was Orpah and the name of the other Ruth.”
Julia opened her eyes in dismay. “Is this the story where her husband dies and the girl goes back to Judah with her mother-in-law and meets some farmer?”
Hadassah fell silent. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, struggling against the anger that rose within her. “Yes, my lady.”
“I’ve heard it.” Julia gave a pained sigh. “But go ahead and tell it anyway. Just make the man she meets a soldier instead of a farmer, and throw in a few battles.” When Azar said nothing, Julia turned her head and looked at her, perplexed. She was so still. With the veils hiding her face, Julia couldn’t even begin to guess her thoughts. That disturbed her. Had she offended her? “Very well,” she said, with pained tolerance. “Tell it however you want.”
Hadassah didn’t want to tell her the story at all! She shut her eyes and breathed in slowly, disturbed by the anger that rose within her. It was anything but righteous. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Julia was still looking at her.
“Are you angry with me?”
She sounded like a child who knew she had displeased her mother. Hadassah started to deny her anger and changed her mind. “Yes,” she said frankly. “I am angry.” She didn’t know where the admission might lead, but she wasn’t sorry she had spoken openly.
Julia blinked. “But why? Because I’ve heard the story before? I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It was amusing in its way. I only asked you to change a few details to make it more interesting.” She turned her face away and added in a fractious tone, “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“You may have listened to the story before, but you failed to hear it.”
Julia’s head snapped around again, her eyes glittering with sudden rebellious anger. “I heard it. I’m not stupid. I could tell you the whole story myself. The mother was Naomi, who later called herself Mara because she was bitter she lost her husband and two sons. Isn’t that correct? And the farmer’s name was Boaz. A ridiculous name, if you ask me. Bow-azz. Why not something strong like Apollo? At least then you’d know he was handsome! And Ruth was the perfect daughter-in-law, a woman of excellence. ‘Woman of excellence!’ She was a drudge who did everything her mother-in-law wanted her to do. Glean in the fields, Ruth. Sleep at his feet, Ruth. Marry Boaz no matter how old he is. Give your first child up.”
She turned her head away. “The poor girl had no mind of her own,” she said with sneering disdain.
“Ruth had a mind of her own. A strong mind and heart, and she gave both to God and was blessed for it.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“The farmer she married made her the great-grandmother of King David. Even Rome has heard of King David,” Hadassah shot back.
Julia turned her head again, her mouth curving coolly this time. “Do I detect pride in your voice, Azar? Was that contempt I heard?”
Heat flooded Hadassah’s cheeks. She looked at Julia’s smug expression and was filled with shame. She was proud. She had burned with it at Julia’s disdainful words.
“Israel may have had one King David,” Julia conceded haughtily, “but Rome has had the great Julius, Caesar Augustus, Vespasian, Titus. Didn’t that young man reduce ancient Jerusalem to a pile of rubble?”
Hadassah remembered Titus all too well. “Yes, my lady, he did.”
At her quietly spoken words, the coldness left Julia’s eyes. A frown flickered across her brow, and her mouth softened. “Were you there when it happened?”
“I was there.”
Julia bit her lip and looked away again, troubled. “I’m sorry I reminded you of it. Sometimes I say things without even meaning them.”
It was surprising words like these that filled Hadassah with confusion about Julia. Was she arrogant and disdainful? Or was she sensitive? Did her abrasive manner merely serve to hide a deeper vulnerability?
Lord, help me. I used to love her like a sister. Now I dislike her so much it’s hard to stay in the same chamber with her. I sit and listen to her constant complaints and demands, and I want to scream at her about the suffering she caused me. Help me see her through your eyes, Father.
As she prayed, she began to relax again. Julia was blind and deaf to the truth. She was ignorant. Did one reprove a blind woman for her inability to see? Did one become angry with the deaf for not hearing?
Julia was a lost sheep who had dined on poisonous plants and wandered among the briars. Pursued by wolves, she had entered swift waters that swept her downstream. Like all of humanity, she hungered for what was missing from birth and sought desperately to fill the emptiness within. She had embraced Calabah’s lies, given in to Caius’ dark passions, allowed her conscience to be seared by Primus’ abominable practices, and fallen in love with Atretes, a man filled with violence and hatred. Was it any wonder she was now w
eighted down by her sin, even dying of it?
Compassion filled Hadassah. Her body warmed with it, and the ache in her leg eased.
“I wanted to tell you the story of Ruth because it’s about a woman who was the daughter of an incestuously begun race that embraced pagan practices. Yet she had a heart for God. She chose to leave her homeland and family and follow her mother-in-law. She said, ‘Your God will be my God.’ God blessed her greatly because of her faith, not just during her own lifetime, but down through generations. We are all blessed through her.”
Julia gave a curt laugh. “How are we all blessed through a Jewish woman who died centuries ago?”
“Ruth is named in the lineage of Jesus of Nazareth, the Savior.”
Julia’s face stiffened at the mention of his name. “I know you believe he is a god, Azar, but does that mean I must?”
Hadassah was filled with sadness at the stubbornness she saw in Julia’s expression. “No,” she said. “You will believe what you choose to believe.”
Julia yanked her blanket higher and clutched it closer. “If Jesus is a god, he’s a god with no power.” Her hands whitened on the covers. “I knew someone a long time ago who believed in him, and it did her no good at all.”
Hadassah closed her eyes and lowered her head, knowing it was of her Julia spoke. Julia didn’t sound the least bit regretful, and she found herself wondering if Alexander wasn’t right after all. She was in danger here. Maybe it was pride that had brought her to Julia and not the Lord’s calling at all. Satan was the master deceiver. She wanted to get up and walk away, to close the door behind her and forget Julia Valerian. She wanted to leave the prideful young woman to her fate. There would come a day when every knee would bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. Even Julia.
Why did you lead me here, Lord, when she has a heart of stone?
And yet, lead her he had. She wanted to deny it now and couldn’t. The sense of purpose had been too strong, too pervasive. It still was. She was the one who was weak and vacillating.
Strengthen me, Lord. Strengthen me for your purpose. I don’t know what to do about her.
She lifted her head again and saw Julia staring up at the sky, blinking back tears. “What’s wrong, my lady?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes,” she said, shutting her eyes tightly. She was in so much pain even a healer, who spent her life around those in pain, couldn’t imagine it.
Hadassah rose. “I’ll prepare a draught of mandragora for you.”
Julia listened to the tap of Azar’s walking stick and the slight drag of her foot. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. Azar’s presence and manner reminded her piercingly of another she had known. It was thoughts and memories of that other that plagued her now, but she knew she could never speak aloud of what she had done. As much as she longed to purge herself, she did not dare. It was useless wanting to relive the past. It was depressing to contemplate the future. Even the present was becoming increasingly unbearable.
Azar was all she had, and Azar was a Christian.
Hadassah. Oh, Hadassah! What have I done?
Julia promised herself she would never tell Azar what she had done to a slave girl who had done nothing wrong but love her. Better to die with guilt than die alone.
Azar returned with the mandragora. Julia drank it eagerly, longing for peace and thinking to find it in drugged oblivion.
34
While Julia slept, Hadassah sat in the peristyle pouring out her heart to God. She hadn’t expected the confusing feelings that would be stirred up in her by returning to this villa. Each time a thought came knocking on the door of her mind, she viewed it cautiously. Was it true? Was it honorable? Was it pure or lovely? Was it of good repute? Too many were not, and she pressed them away. Yet, the dark thoughts kept pounding.
It was so much easier to keep her focus on the Lord when she was alone. It was when she was caring for Julia that her armor seemed too thin against the darts that came.
She warred against the thoughts of the past and those feelings now, turning her mind purposefully to praising the Lord. She recounted all those lives he had touched over the past two years. She thanked him for the life of Antonia and her son, for Severina and Boethus, and dozens of others. She prayed for Phoebe and Iulius. She prayed for Marcus, but thoughts of him turned her mind back again to the past. So she prayed for Alexander instead. She hadn’t expected to miss him so much.
The front door opened, interrupting her quiet time. She was almost relieved when she saw Prometheus enter. She felt her spirit lighten, for she often sat with him here, listening to him and talking about the Lord. She hadn’t revealed her identity to him, but found their previous camaraderie renewed and even heightened. She no longer saw him as a boy in bondage, but as a young man set free.
She watched him stride across the antechamber and enter the peristyle. The look on his face held her silent. He was greatly distressed. He walked to the fountain without noticing her in the alcove. Leaning over, he put his hands on the marbled edge of the well. He swore. Leaning down, he splashed the water over his face, rubbing it around the back of his neck. He swore again. He washed his hands and scrubbed at his face, but it didn’t seem to help his plight. He was shaking badly.
“Prometheus?”
His body jerked in surprise, and she saw color mount into his face. His shoulders sagged, giving him a defeated look as he raised his head. He didn’t look at her.
“You look upset.”
He turned to her. His eyes were bleak. “I didn’t know you were there, Lady Azar.”
“I’m sorry I startled you.”
His gaze flickered away uncomfortably. “How is Lady Julia?”
“She’s sleeping. I gave her a draught of mandragora for the pain.” Something was terribly wrong and she hoped he would feel free to unburden his mind. “Sit awhile. You look tired.”
Prometheus came reluctantly to the alcove and sat opposite her. His gaze fixed on her hands loosely clasped in her lap. “Were you praying?”
“Yes.”
The muscle moved again. “I pray all the time. It hasn’t done me much good.”
“What’s wrong, Prometheus?”
He bent forward and raked his hands through his hair. Without warning, he started to cry, not quietly, but with deep wrenching sobs that shook his body.
Hadassah leaned forward and put both hands on his head. “What’s happened? How can I help you?” she said, near tears at his distress.
“I thought it was finished,” he sobbed. “I thought when I came to the Lord, he’d wash me as white as snow and forget my sins.”
“He has.”
Prometheus raised his head, tears pouring down his cheeks, his eyes blazing with anger. “Then why does the same thing happen over and over again?”
“What do you mean?”
He put his head in his hands again. “You couldn’t understand.”
“I understand you’re discouraged. So am I.”
He raised his head, surprised. “You? But you’re so strong in the Lord.”
“Strong?” Leaning back, she sighed. “I’m the weakest of women, Prometheus. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing here or why I came or what the Lord wants of me or whether I want to do what he wants. Life was much easier with Alexander.”
“Lady Julia is difficult.”
“Lady Julia is impossible.”
He gave her a pained smile in understanding and then frowned, distracted by his own problems. He let his breath out slowly. Hands clasped between his knees, he stared at the floor. “No less impossible than I am. I guess some of us just can’t be saved.”
“You are saved, Prometheus.”
He gave a bleak laugh. “I thought so.” He looked at her, eyes moist and tormented. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Why do you say this?”
“Because I met a friend today, and he made me aware of it. We talked a long t
ime. I was telling him about the Lord. He was listening to me so intently, and I was so happy. I thought he was going to accept Christ.” He gave another bleak laugh and swallowed. “And then he touched me. I knew when he did, it wasn’t the Lord he wanted at all.”
Hadassah didn’t understand. “What did he want?”
“Me.” Color crept up his neck into his face. He couldn’t look at her. “It all came back,” he said grimly. “All the things I’ve tried so hard to forget.” He looked up at the corridor and around at the archways and steps. “I remembered Primus.”
Hadassah caught the deep sadness in his voice and wondered about it. Surely he did not miss Primus.
Prometheus leaned back, looking weary and miserable. “I was owned by a master who had a booth under the stands at the arena. You probably don’t know what that means.”
“I know.”
His face reddened. “Then if I tell you that’s where Primus first saw me, you’ll understand what he was.” He looked away and was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, the words came clipped and void of emotion. “He bought me. He brought me here to this house.”
“Prometheus—”
“Don’t say anything,” he said in a tortured voice, his eyes haunted. “You understand I was his catamite. You don’t understand how I felt about it.”
She wove her fingers together, praying for God’s wisdom, for she saw Prometheus was determined she understand everything, and she didn’t feel prepared to handle it.
“Primus loved me.” His eyes filled with tears again. “There were times I loved him, too. Or, at least, had feelings that pointed in that direction.” He bent forward again, head down so she couldn’t see his face. “My first master was cruel. Primus was gentle. He treated me well. It’s all so confusing.” His voice became quiet, almost a whisper. “He took care with me, and what he did . . . well, sometimes it felt good.”