Read A Voice in the Wind Online
Authors: Francine Rivers
Aroused, yet inexplicably disgusted, Marcus pressed her away from him. “Another time, Arria. This is hardly the place.” He was too aware of other things. Laughter came from the house. A gay melody was being played on a pan flute. He wanted to drown himself in wine tonight, not a woman.
Arria looked distressed, but try as he might, Marcus could feel nothing for her.
The torchlight flickered, drawing his gaze back to the statue. Watching him, Arria tried to control her tumultuous emotions. Her mouth tightened as she saw Marcus study Antigonus’ statue of the young lovers with far more interest than he had looked upon her. She longed to hear him beg the way Chuza did.
But Marcus was not like Chuza, and she didn’t want to lose him. He was rich, he was handsome—and there was something about him, a restlessness and deep passion, that appealed to her.
Swallowing her pride, Arria slipped her arm through his. “You do like the statue, don’t you? It’s quite good. I doubt Antigonus will part with it. He’s in love with them.”
“We’ll see,” Marcus said.
They returned to the house and rejoined the party. Pensive, Marcus reclined on the couch near Antigonus. The wine flowed freely as they talked politics. Bored, Arria mentioned Marcus’ fascination with the statue of the lovers. Antigonus’ brows dropped and he changed the subject. Marcus suggested the possibility of future financial needs, bemoaning the cost of putting on games for the mob, parties for the aristocracy, and other expensive obligations of political office. Antigonus soon saw the need for generosity.
“The statue will be in Valerian gardens by the end of next week,” he offered grandly.
Marcus knew the way Antigonus’ mind worked. He conveniently forgot promises when he was drunk. Smiling slightly, Marcus poured himself and Antigonus more wine. “I’ll take care of the arrangements,” he said and signaled one of the slaves.
Antigonus’ countenance fell as Marcus gave orders to have the statue removed to the Valerian villa within the hour.
“You
are
generous, Antigonus,” Arria said. “Especially to Marcus, who has so little regard for true beauty.”
Leaning back indolently, Marcus smiled at her mockingly. “True beauty is rare, and seldom recognized by the one who possesses it.”
Flushed with anger, Arria rose gracefully. Smiling, she placed a slender jeweled hand on Antigonus’ shoulder. “Go carefully, dear friend, lest you sell yourself to a plebeian’s ambition.”
Antigonus watched her walk away and then grinned at Marcus. “Fair Arria has heard about your tryst with Fannia.”
“One woman is a pleasure, two a curse,” Marcus said and turned the conversation back to politics and eventually to building contracts. He might as well make use of Antigonus’ advent into the senate. By sunrise, he had all the guarantees he needed to spread his own name as a builder throughout Rome and fill his coffers with gold talents.
His goal would be achieved. Before he reached the age of twenty-five, he would surpass his father’s wealth and position.
5
Hadassah stood straight among the long line of Jewish men and women as richly dressed Ephesian slavers walked through the captives, looking for the healthier prospects. Some measure of protection had been offered the Jewish captives as long as they marched with Titus, but now that he had departed for Alexandria, slavers fell upon them, picking over them like vultures looking for carrion to devour.
Seven hundred of the fittest and most handsome men had gone with Titus, marching south again with his legions to see the remains of Jerusalem before the journey to Egypt. From there, they’d sail to Rome. Titus would present his captives in the Triumph and send them into the games in the arena.
One woman cried out as a Roman guard stripped her of her ragged tunic, allowing the slaver a closer examination. When she tried to cover herself with her hands, the guard struck her. Sobbing, she stood still beneath the two men’s perusal.
“She isn’t worth a sesterce,” the slaver said in disgust and moved on. The Roman threw the torn tunic against her.
The most beautiful women had long since been used by the Roman officers and then sold off in the cities through which they marched. It was a motley group that was left: old women and children mostly, and others who were too unattractive to have drawn attention from the Roman soldiers. Yet, though they weren’t beautiful, they had a quality about them. They had survived months of grueling marches and hardship. In every city through which Titus passed, games had been held and thousands of captives had died. Yet these few remained alive.
When Titus had taken the Herodian princess Berenice as his mistress, there had been a brief time of hope that the Jews would be spared more games. They prayed that Berenice would deliver them as Queen Esther had done centuries before. However, Titus’ love for the beautiful young princess did not bring salvation to her people. Arenas in Caesarea Philippi, Ptolemais, Tyre, Sidon, Berytus, and Antioch ran with Jewish blood. Of the thousands to leave Jerusalem, these few gaunt women remained.
Hadassah had suffered as the others. Death traveled with the captives on the road, taking them through heat, dust, meager rations, sickness, and Roman victory celebrations. When Titus’ legions and the captives reached Antioch, less than half of those who had been taken from the Holy City remained alive.
The people of Antioch poured from the city to welcome Titus as a god. Doe-eyed women followed the handsome emperor’s son, their children trailing after them. Recently, the free Jews of Antioch had been fighting amongst themselves, fanning the hatred of the Syrians. Clods had struck Hadassah and the others as they walked, while Syrians shouted insults at the captives and demanded they be destroyed. Roman guards finally drove the attackers back. Word spread that the Syrians wanted Titus to take the free Jews of their city along with him, but Titus refused and grew annoyed at their unceasing demands. After all, what was he to do with more Jews on his hands? Their country was destroyed, their Holy City in ruins, and he had all he needed for the games. Who wanted them?
The Syrians demanded that the brass tables on which were engraved Jewish privileges be removed from Antioch, but again, Titus refused. He went one step further and, for reasons known only to himself, made a proclamation that the free Jews of Antioch were to continue to enjoy all the privileges they had always known. If they didn’t, the Syrians would answer to Rome.
While the lives of the Jews of Antioch were thus secured, the lives of the wretched captives were increasingly precarious. Determined to avoid any future conflicts in the Roman province of Judea, Titus set about scattering the Jewish survivors throughout all the countries of the Roman Empire. Able-bodied slaves were always in demand, and vast numbers were purchased in lots, roped together, and marched to ships bound for every province in the Empire.
Some Jews were sent down into the bellies of a hundred ships, where they would spend the remainder of their lives manning the oars. Others were sent to Gaul to lumber trees and provide timber for expanding Roman cities. Large groups were shipped to Spain to work cattle or toil in the silver mines. Hundreds more were sent to Greece to cut and carry marble in the quarries. The most rebellious and proud were sold to their ancestral enemies, the Egyptians. They’d die shoveling and loading sand onto barges—sand destined for the arenas of the Empire where it would soak up Jewish blood shed as entertainment for the Roman mob.
The best captives had been sold; the weakest and ugliest now remained. Hadassah was among the last few hundred to be dispersed. The dealer who now surveyed them was purchasing weavers, field hands, household servants, and prostitutes. Clenching her hands, she prayed she’d be delivered of the last.
“What about this one?” a Roman soldier said, yanking a woman from the line.
The dark Ephesian looked at her in distaste. “Ugly beyond anything I’ve ever seen.” He moved on, speaking disparagingly of the women who remained. “Remember that I am buying slaves to serve the shrine prostitutes in the temple of Artemis. They must be somewhat attractive.”
Hadassah’s heart pounded sickeningly as he approached her.
Lord, let him pass me by. Let me be invisible
. Better to clean slops than serve a pagan goddess.
The slaver paused before her. Hadassah stared down at his feet, shod in fine leather sandals that were stitched with bright colors. The rich linen of his robe was blue and clean. She felt cold and sick as he continued to stare at her. She didn’t raise her head. “This one has potential,” the man suddenly said. He took her chin and tilted her face up. She looked into his cold eyes and almost fainted.
“She’s too young,” the soldier said.
“How was she passed over?” The dealer turned her face to the left and to the right. “Let’s see your teeth, girl. Open your mouth.” Hadassah’s chin trembled as she obeyed and he studied her teeth. “Good teeth.”
“She’s too thin,” the Roman said.
He tipped her face again, studying her closely. “Decent food will alter that.”
“She’s ugly.”
The slaver glanced at the young soldier and smiled. “Not so ugly you haven’t taken an interest in her. Have you been using her?”
Affronted and repulsed by the suggestion, the Roman legionnaire stiffened. “I’ve never touched her.”
“Why not?”
“She is one of the righteous.”
The dealer laughed. “‘One of the righteous,’” he sneered. “All the more reason I should buy her. Half the men of Ephesus would like nothing better than to have access to a righteous Jewess.“ He looked at Hadassah again, his full mouth stretching in a smile that made her stomach turn.
A muscle jerked in the Roman soldier’s face. “What’s it to me if you pay thirty pieces of silver for a girl who will be dead before you reach Ephesus?”
“She looks healthy enough to me, and she has endured this long. I doubt the rigors of what she’d be required to do in the temple would kill her.”
“I’d bet my salt ration she’ll kill herself before you reach Ephesus.”
“Why would she do that?”
“You obviously know nothing of Jews. This one would rather be dead than serve what she considers a pagan god.” He grabbed the front of Hadassah’s tunic and yanked her forward. “But here. Take her. One less Jew for me to worry about.”
Hadassah went cold as the slaver looked at her again. Sweat broke out on her skin. The blood left her face and she swayed. The Roman’s fist tightened roughly on her tunic, holding her up for the Ephesian’s continued inspection.
The slaver studied her closely, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you are right. She looks ready to drop dead right now.” He gave a contemptuous flip of his hand and moved on. “All these foul Jews. I’d rather have Egyptians.”
The young soldier released her and started to follow. Impulsively, Hadassah grasped his hand. “May God bless you for your mercy,” she said and kissed it.
He jerked his hand from her. “You thanked me once before. Do you remember? I gave you a scoopful of grain and you…” He grimaced. “I’ve watched you pray. Mile after mile, month after month, praying. What good has it done you?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“What good?” he said, angry and seeming to want an answer from her.
“I don’t know yet.”
He frowned slightly, searching her eyes. “You still believe, don’t you? You’re a fool. All of you are fools.” He started to turn away, then looked at her again, his face rigid. “I did you no favor. Temple slaves are very well treated. Especially the prostitutes. You may have cause to curse me in time.”
“Never.”
“Get back in line.”
“I will never curse you,” she said and did as he bade her.
The slaver bought ten women and departed. A Greek slaver came the next day. Hadassah was purchased as a household slave. Roped with ten other women, she was led through the streets of Antioch. Small dark boys ran alongside the women, pelting them with dung and calling them crude names. One Jewess screamed at them hysterically and the dung became stones. The slaver’s guards chased the boys off and then stripped and beat the woman who had screamed at them. To worsen her humiliation, they made her walk the rest of the way naked.
Ship masts rose before Hadassah and the smell of the sea washed over her, bringing with it piercing memories of Galilee and her father and mother, her brother and sister. Blinded by tears, she stumbled along with the other women as they were prodded up a gangplank onto the ship.
Hadassah climbed down steep steps and walked the narrow aisle between rows of rank-smelling galley slaves who manned the oars. Black-skinned Ethiopians, blue-eyed Britons, and dark-haired Gauls stared at her without emotion as she passed. A second ladder was lowered into the hull. A sickening stench of feces, urine, sweat, and vomit rose to meet her.
As she descended, she saw shadowy shapes moving. It was a moment before her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she realized she saw the second crew of galley slaves. “Women,” a slave said in Greek, the single word telling how many years it had been since he had seen one.
The ropes were loosened and the grate was slammed down. Locks were set. Within seconds the naked woman was grabbed, her scream quickly smothered as other more horrible sounds came. Whimpering, Hadassah scrambled away and tried to shut out the sounds of the desperate struggling in the darkness. A fight broke out between two men. The darkened hull took on the semblance of a roiling Sheol, and Hadassah frantically hid herself in the farthest recesses of darkness.
Finally the struggle ended, and Hadassah heard a woman sobbing hysterically. When someone kicked her and told her to shut up, the woman crawled feebly through the rank mess on the planks. When she came close, Hadassah reached out and touched her. The woman jerked sharply and Hadassah spoke softly. “There is space here, beside me.”
She could feel her violent trembling as the woman huddled next to her in the darkness. Her shaking increased. Hadassah touched cold, clammy skin. She had no words to comfort her, though she wanted desperately to do so. The woman started to cry again, stifling the sound this time against her raised knees.