“I need a small bowl,” she said, and Iulius brought one to her. She mixed the herbs with salt and made a poultice, which she bound to the wound. She sat down on the edge of Marcus’ sleeping couch and drew her hand across his brow. “I will stay with him,” she said.
“Lady Julia came to see him. Lord Marcus commanded me to take her back to her room.”
“Did he speak with her?”
“No, my lady.”
Hadassah sat thinking. She put her hand on Marcus’ bare chest and felt the firm beat of his heart. “See if she’s awake, Iulius. If so, bring her here so she can see that her brother is sleeping. It will set her mind at ease.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Julia came in, leaning upon Iulius’ arm. Hadassah rose from the edge of Marcus’ sleeping couch. She took Julia’s hand and nodded for her to sit where she had been. Julia took her brother’s hand. “He’s so pale.”
“He’s lost blood.”
“Will he be all right?”
“I think so, my lady,” she said, then added to encourage her, “No vital organ was struck. We’ve cauterized the wound. The poultice should prevent infection.”
“He didn’t want me here,” she said, putting her hand over his where it looked small and white against his large, strong, tanned hand. “He told Iulius to take me back to my room.”
Hadassah came close and put her arms around her. She stroked the tangled hair back from Julia’s face.
Julia leaned against her side and closed her eyes, feeling comforted. “I was afraid you’d left me, Azar.”
“You need not fear, my lady.”
“I know that in my head, but my heart . . .” She sighed, struggling against the invading weakness. This small effort was almost too much for her. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.”
Hadassah felt her trembling. “You must rest now, my lady. Your brother will be fine in a few days.” She bent to help her rise.
“Iulius can help me back to my room. You stay with him. Please. I trust him in your care.”
Hadassah touched her cheek. “You’re thinking of others above yourself.”
Julia’s mouth curved wryly. “Am I? Or is it only that my last hope rests in him?” She leaned upon Iulius as she left the room.
Hadassah remained with Marcus through the night. He roused once and looked at her with dazed eyes. Frowning, he mumbled. She rose and leaned down. “What is it, my lord?” she said and put her hand on his forehead. It was cool.
He grasped the edge of her veils and tugged weakly. Her heart leapt. Straightening quickly, she gently loosened his fingers and sat again, trembling.
He moved again, relaxing into sleep, and her gaze moved over him. He filled her with wonder, for he was strongly built and beautifully made. She thought she could sit like this forever and just look at him. Tears pricked her eyes and she looked away. She prayed that the passion she felt for him might be transformed into agape. The memory of his kisses, given her so long ago, still sent her pulse racing. She prayed God would wipe it from her mind. Still the longing persisted. He moved again, restless and in pain. She reached out and took his hand. At her touch, he calmed.
“Why, Lord? Why do you do this to me?” she whispered desolately. There was no answer.
As the dawn sent rays of sunlight over the wall of the balcony, Marcus awakened. Sluggish and disoriented, he turned his head and saw Azar sitting beside his sleeping couch. He rose slightly and sucked in his breath, immediately remembering the attack of the night before. Hadassah raised her head.
Wincing at the sharp pain in his side, he swore and lay back.
She put her hand lightly over his. “Lie still, my lord, or you will reopen the wound.”
As she drew back slightly, Marcus captured her hand and pinned it down beneath his own. “You remained with me all night?”
“Lady Julia was concerned for you.”
“She need not be. It’s a superficial wound.” He loosened his grasp on her, holding her hand lightly rather than captive.
“Perhaps, my lord, but a little lower and your attacker might have struck a vital organ.”
“A little higher and he would have slit my throat.” He frowned. “You tremble,” he said, curious. She withdrew her hand, and he frowned.
Hadassah’s heart raced as he studied her intently. What was he thinking? His gaze moved down and fixed upon her hands clenched in her lap. She tried to relax. Now that he was awake, she should call Iulius to tend him. She rose, but she had sat too long. Her bad leg cramped, drawing a gasp of pain from her lips before she could catch herself. Clenching her teeth, she took a step back, ashamed of her awkwardness.
Marcus noticed, but didn’t care. “You’re not going, are you?” he said. Frowning, he looked up at the veils again. He could see the shape of her face beneath, but made out no distinctive features. A thin line had been cut and the edges embroidered so that she could see out, but he couldn’t see behind that wall of colored gauze. She lowered her head and turned slightly, and he knew, though the gesture seemed natural enough, she was avoiding his perusal and his touch.
“You should eat, my lord. I’ll ask one of the servants to have food brought up to you.”
Marcus wanted her to stay. He wanted to know more about her. He wondered why she roused his curiosity. As she turned toward the door, he grasped for any excuse. “The bandage seems to be slipping.” Azar turned back, her head tilting slightly to study it critically. “Do you see?” he said and gave it a tug, gritting his teeth against the stab of pain.
“It will remain tight enough, my lord, if you stop pulling at it.”
He grinned. “I will stop pulling at it if you sit and talk with me.”
“You aren’t a little boy anymore, my lord.”
His grin softened into a wry smile. “No. I’m not, Lady Azar.” He pointed toward the chair. “Sit and speak to me as a man and not a boy.” He would use whatever means he had available to spend more time with her, even commanding her as master of his household. She roused his interest more than anyone had in a long, long time.
She sat where she had been, but he sensed the distance she put between them. “You speak with Julia by the hour but can’t seem to abide my company for even a few minutes.”
“I’ve just spent the night with you.”
He laughed. “I was asleep.”
“Your sister is very ill, my lord.”
He had the feeling his interest embarrassed her. “I’m merely curious about you,” he said frankly and sat up. Grimacing with pain, he set his feet on the floor.
“You must rest—”
“I’m sluggish with rest.” And his head ached from far too much wine.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Not enough to keep me on my back like an invalid as you’re intent upon treating me.” He would leave the art of self-pity to his sister.
When Azar turned her head away, he wondered if his appearance bothered her. He wore a loincloth and nothing else. Considering her occupation, he thought the possibility remote but dragged the covering across his lap in case. “Should Lady Julia have need of you, I’m sure she will send Lavinnia running to fetch you.”
She looked at him again. “What caused this breach between you and your sister, my lord?”
“A bold question,” he said, annoyed by it. “We’ll speak of other things.”
“This plagues you most.”
“What makes you think that?” he said, his mouth curving into a mocking smile. “Do you think you can see into me on such short acquaintance?”
She hesitated. “Are you at peace with the way things are?”
“At peace? My mother is paralyzed. Julia is beneath my roof again, dying of a foul disease brought on by her own promiscuity and foul living. You must admit these are hardly circumstances to make for peace, Lady Azar.”
“Are you so pure you can condemn her, my lord?”
His eyes darkened. “Let’s just say I limited my experiences to the o
pposite sex.”
She said nothing.
“Do you doubt my word?”
“No, my lord, but sin is sin.”
He felt heat flood his face. “How much has my sister told you about Calabah?”
“I know of Calabah.”
“Sin is sin? Did Julia tell you they were lovers? That alone should tell you something about the depth of her depravity.” He arched an imperious brow in condescension. “Did she bother to tell you her husband was a homosexual as well, with a proclivity for young boys? Prometheus was one of them. That’s the reason I didn’t want him in my house.”
“Prometheus repented and gave his life to God,” she said softly. “He returned of his own free will to serve Lady Julia. She said he ran away from Primus. He became a Christian and returned to your sister’s household. If not for him, my lord, your sister would have had no one. Her servants had all deserted her.”
“I concede you that,” he said grimly, then regarded her ruefully. “This isn’t the conversation I hoped to have with you.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Nevertheless.”
“You hold on to your anger against her like a shield. Why, I don’t know. I wanted you to understand your sister was alone except for Prometheus. Whatever he was before—”
“Very well,” he said impatiently, cutting her off. “I’ll send for him if it pleases you.”
“That wasn’t my reason for telling you this. Prometheus is well. Lady Julia gave him his freedom. It was a purely unselfish act on her part. He has work to do for the Lord. It’s Julia who concerns me. And you. You mustn’t abandon her.”
Heat surged up in him. “I haven’t abandoned her. She’s here, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s here. You’ve given her shelter, food, servants to care for her. Yet you withhold from her what she needs most.”
“And what’s that?” he said derisively.
“Love.”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “Forgive me for keeping you from your duties, Lady Azar. You may go.”
Hadassah rose slowly. She took up her walking stick. “Please, my lord. For her sake and yours, forgive her for whatever she’s done.”
“You don’t know what she’s done,” he said, furious and wishing she would leave quickly.
“Nothing is so terrible it can’t be set aside in the name of love, in the name of God.”
“It’s because of love I can’t forgive her.”
His passionate words left Hadassah more perplexed than before. Only one thing was certain in her mind. “Until you can forgive her, you’ll never know the fullness of what it means to be forgiven yourself. Please, think on this. You haven’t much time left.”
Marcus did think on it long after Azar left. Despite his desire to put her words out of his mind, they kept repeating over and over. They cut him deeply. He remembered the relief and joy he had felt on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. He longed for those feelings to return, for somewhere along the road home he had lost sight of what he had found. It had taken the words of a veiled cripple to remind him again. And he didn’t like it.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he stood and went out onto the balcony. He didn’t know if he could set the past aside. He didn’t know if he could forgive, let alone forget. He wasn’t Jesus. He was a man, and the loneliness was sometimes so unbearable . . . God so distant. He had felt close to him in Galilee. Here he felt alone.
Azar was right. Peace would elude him until he obeyed the command he received in Galilee. He had felt briefly the tremendous relief of forgiveness on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Forgiveness received could not be withheld. He must pour it out upon his sister, whether he wanted to or not.
Yet he still warred with his desire to punish her for what she had done, to make her suffer as she had made others suffer.
“I can’t. . . .” Bowing his head, Marcus prayed for the first time since returning to Ephesus. Simple words, from his heart.
“Jesus, I can’t forgive her. Only you can. Please . . . help me.”
45
Julia lay on her sleeping couch, a cool cloth over her eyes. Hadassah had left to speak with the cook about preparing her a broth that might soothe her stomach. She hadn’t been able to eat in three days, not since Marcus had ordered Iulius to remove her from his room. She couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus and the way he had looked at her. She put a trembling hand over the cloth, pressing it against her throbbing head. She wished she could die now and have the pain and misery of her life over and done.
She heard someone enter her room and close the door. “I don’t feel hungry, Azar,” she said bleakly. “Please don’t press me to eat. Just sit with me and tell me another story.”
“It’s not Lady Azar.”
Julia froze at Marcus’ voice. She lowered the cloth, thinking she might be imagining him here. “Marcus,” she said in tentative greeting. Seeing he was real, she prepared herself for the inevitable attack.
He watched her sit up shakily and rearrange the coverings and cushions. Her hands were trembling as she pushed her hair back from her face. She was thin and white as death.
“Sit. Please,” she said, gesturing gracefully toward the seat Azar usually occupied.
He remained standing.
Julia could tell nothing from his expression. His handsome face was like a stone facade. He seemed in good health despite the recent attack on his life. She, on the other hand, was growing worse daily. She wanted to weep as his dark eyes moved over her. She knew what she looked like with her scraggly, thinning hair, her emaciated body, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. The fever was upon her again, wilting her strength and making her tremble like an old woman.
She smiled up at him sadly. “You once took as much pride in my beauty as I did.”
His mouth curved ruefully.
Her heart beat heavily with dread at his silence. “Have you changed your mind, Marcus? Are you going to send me somewhere far away where you can forget you have a sister?”
“No. You’ll remain here until you die.”
He spoke of her death so matter-of-factly that she went cold. “You’re eager for that day, aren’t you?” She lowered her gaze, for his had become sardonic. “So am I.”
“A ploy to make me pity you?”
She glanced up, hurt by his disdain. “Your pity is preferable to your hatred.”
Marcus let out his breath and walked across the room. He stood at the foot of her couch. “I’ve come to tell you I’ve set my mind against hating you.”
“A difficult decision, no doubt. I’m ever so grateful.”
Her tone roused his anger. “Did you expect more?”
She had no strength left for self-defense. “Why do you come to me now, Marcus? To see what’s befallen me?”
“No.”
“I am cursed,” she said, fighting the tears she knew he hated. “You can see how accursed I am.”
“The gods I called upon don’t exist, Julia. If you’re cursed, it’s by your own deeds.”
She looked away. “So that’s why you’ve come. To remind me of what I did.” She gave a bleak, humorless laugh of despair. “You needn’t. I look back upon my life with loathing. I see the wretched things I did as though scenes are painted on these walls I stare at every day.” She balled one thin white hand against her heart. “I remember, Marcus. I remember it all.”
“I wish to God I didn’t.”
She looked up at him then, eyes dark with anguish. “Do you know why I sent Hadassah to the arena? Because she made me feel unclean.”
Heat poured through his body, the sort that drove a man to wrath and acts of violence. He gritted his teeth. “I want to forget what you did to her.”
“So do I.” The dark circles beneath her eyes proclaimed the ravages of illness. “But I don’t think it’s possible.”
“I have to forget or go mad.”
“Oh, Marcus, forgive me! I didn’t know what I was doing.”
&nbs
p; His eyes flashed. “You knew,” he said coldly, unable to abide her lies.
Julia closed her eyes, her mouth trembling. For once she was honest with herself. “All right,” she said in a choked voice. “I knew. I knew, but I was so consumed with misery myself that I didn’t care what I did to anyone else. I thought if Hadassah was dead, everything would be the way it used to be.” She looked up at him desperately. “Can you understand that?”
He stared at her coldly. “And was it?”
“You know it wasn’t.” She looked away from his cold face. “I loved her, too, Marcus, only I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
“Loved her?” he said, eyes blazing. “You loved Calabah.”
“I was deceived by Calabah.”
“You walked into that relationship with your eyes wide open. I warned you myself, but you wouldn’t listen. Don’t tell me now you didn’t know.” Marcus turned and walked toward the archway to her private balcony, unable to stand being near her.
Julia looked at his rigid back and wanted to weep. “I don’t expect you to understand. How can you? After Hadassah died, I felt this horrible void. Not just because you cursed me and left that day, but because . . . because Hadassah was the only one who ever really loved me.”
Marcus turned on her. “Your self-pity sickens me, Julia. What of Father and Mother? Didn’t they love you enough? What of me?”
“It wasn’t the same kind of love,” she said softly.
Marcus frowned.
“You know what she was like. Hadassah loved me for who I was, not for who she hoped I’d be. No expectations. No conditions. She saw me at my worst and still . . .” She shook her head, looking away.
Silence filled the room.
“Everything went bad,” Julia said bleakly. “Life soured.” She looked up at him, eyes pleading for his forgiveness.
“I don’t want to hear this, Julia.” He turned away. “I can’t listen to it.”
“I didn’t know what was missing until Azar came. Oh, Marcus, she’s like Hadassah. She’s—”
Marcus turned, and she saw the pain in his eyes and the anger he tried so hard to deny. She knew it was her fault both were there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Marcus,” she whispered brokenly. “What more can I say?”