A Voice in the Wind (64 page)

She sat down beside Julia again and laid her hand over hers. “I suggested Primus because any other man would expect certain predictable favors from you, favors you may not wish to grant to anyone but this gladiator. Primus would make no demands on you.”

“He would surely expect something in return.”

“Financial support,” Calabah said.

Julia rose. “I don’t need another man like Caius depleting me of every resource I have.”

Calabah watched her, feeling satisfied. Julia was walking along the path she had planned for her long ago in Rome. Excitement tingled along her nerves at the power she had, a power Julia didn’t even recognize. Not yet. But soon.

“You needn’t worry about that, Julia,” she said smoothly, her melodious voice almost hypnotic. “Primus doesn’t gamble, nor would he throw money away on lovers. He’s faithful to his companion, who adores him. Primus lives simply, but he would like to live well. He rents a small villa not far from here. You could move in with him there until you regained control of your money. He has an extra bedchamber. Once you established legal right to your estate, you could buy a larger villa in a better area of the city. Closer to the temple, perhaps.” Her mouth curved mockingly. “Or closer to the ludus, if you like.”

Julia stood silent for a long moment, emotions flickering across her beautiful face. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

Calabah smiled, knowing she’d already made up her mind.

32

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Hadassah was drawing water from the well in the peristyle when one of the slave girls came and said she was wanted in the master’s chambers. Phoebe stood behind the couch on which Decimus reclined, her hand resting on his shoulder. His pale cheeks were sunken, his eyes enigmatic and watchful. Phoebe’s gaze flickered to Hadassah’s small harp.

“We didn’t summon you to play for us, Hadassah,” she said solemnly. “We have questions to ask. Please sit.” She gestured to a stool near the couch.

Hadassah felt the cold chill of fear rush through her blood as she sat before them. Back straight, hands clasped on her lap, she waited.

It was Decimus who spoke, his voice roughened by pain. “Are you a Christian?”

Hadassah’s heart fluttered like a fragile bird taking wing within her. A single spoken yes could mean her death. Her throat closed.

“You have nothing to fear from us, Hadassah,” Phoebe said gently. “What you tell us will go no further than this room. You have our word. Please. We only want to know about this god of yours.”

Still frightened, she nodded. “Yes, I’m a Christian.”

“And all this time I thought you were a Jew,” Phoebe said, amazed that Decimus had been right about her.

“My father and mother were from the tribe of Benjamin, my lady. Christians worship the God of Israel, but many Jews did not recognize the Messiah when he came.”

Decimus saw his son enter through the adjoining study. Marcus stopped when he saw Hadassah, a muscle moving in his jaw.

“Messiah?” Phoebe said, not noticing him. “What is this word
Messiah
?”

“
Messiah
means ‘the anointed one,’ my lady. God came down in the form of man and lived among us.” Hadassah held her breath and then said, “His name is Jesus.”

“
Was
,” Marcus said and entered the room. Hadassah tensed when he spoke. He saw her cheeks bloom with color, but she neither moved nor looked up. He gazed at the gentle curve of her neck and the soft strands of dark curling hair that lay against the nape of her neck. “I’ve done some investigation on this Jewish sect over the past few weeks,” Marcus said roughly.

He had paid men to research the cult, and they had brought him the name of a retired Roman centurion who lived outside Ephesus. Marcus had ridden out to talk with him. He should have been pleased with what he learned, for it could shatter this faith Hadassah had. Instead, he had been depressed for days, avoiding the moment when he would speak with her again.

And now she was spreading this cancerous story to his own father and mother.

“This Jesus the Christians claim as their messiah was a rebel crucified on a cross in Judea. Hadassah’s faith is based on emotion rather than fact, on a desperation for answers to unanswerable questions,” he said, directing his statements to his parents. He looked down at Hadassah then. “Jesus wasn’t a god, Hadassah. He was a man who made the mistake of defying the powers in Jerusalem and paid the price for it. He challenged the authority of the Sanhedrin as well as the Roman Empire. Just his name was enough to cause insurrection. It still is!”

“But what if it’s true, Marcus?” his mother said. “What if he is a god?”

“He wasn’t. According to Epaenetus, a man I’ve met who saw what happened back then, he was a magician of some repute who performed signs and wonders in Judea. The Jews were hungry for a savior and were easily convinced he was their long-awaited messiah. They expected him to expel the Romans from Judea, and when he didn’t, his followers turned on him. One of his own disciples betrayed him to the high court. This Jesus was sent to Pontius Pilate. Pilate tried to free him, but the Jews themselves demanded he be crucified because he was what they termed a ‘blasphemer.’ He died on a cross, was taken down and entombed, and that was the end of it.”

“No,” Hadassah said softly. “He arose.”

Phoebe’s eyes went wide. “He came back to life?”

Marcus swore in frustration. “No, he didn’t, Mother. Hadassah, listen to me.” He knelt and turned her roughly to face him. “It was his disciples who said he arose, but it was all a hoax planned to further the spread of this cult.”

Hadassah closed her eyes and shook her head.

He shook her slightly. “
Yes
. Epaenetus was in Judea when it happened. He’s an old man now and lives near us outside the city. I’ll take you to him if you don’t believe me. You can hear the truth for yourself. He was one of the centurions at the tomb. He said the body was stolen in order to make people believe that there had been a resurrection!”

“He saw this?” Decimus said, wondering why his son was so determined to shatter the slave girl’s precious faith.

Marcus saw nothing change in her eyes. He let go of her and stood. “Epaenetus said he didn’t see the body taken from the tomb, but that was the only logical explanation.”

“Right from beneath the noses of Roman guards?”

“Do you want to believe this ridiculous story?” Marcus said angrily.

“I want to know the truth!” Decimus said. “How is it this Epaenetus is still alive if he was a guard at the tomb? There’s a death penalty for neglecting duty. Why wasn’t he executed for failing in his?”

Marcus had asked the same question. “He said Pilate was sick of being used by the Jewish factions. His wife had been tormented by dreams before this Jesus was brought to him, but the Sanhe-drin and Jewish mob forced him to hand this messiah of theirs over for crucifixion. Pilate washed his hands of the whole matter. He wanted no further involvement with these religious fanatics and wasn’t about to sacrifice good soldiers over the missing body of one unimportant dead Jew!”

“It seems to me it would have been important to all concerned to make sure the body stayed
in
the tomb,” Decimus said.

“He arose,” Hadassah said again, calm before Marcus’ harangue. “The Lord appeared to Mary of Magdala and to his disciples.”

“Who probably lied to keep the story of this messiah going,” Marcus retorted.

“The Lord also appeared to more than five hundred others at one time,” Hadassah went on.

Marcus saw his mother’s desperate hope for anything that might help his father. She had put her faith in gods and goddesses, in physicians and priests, in spiritualists and healers, and all any of them had done was sap his father’s strength.

“Mother, don’t put yourself through this. It’s a lie perpetuated by self-serving men.”

Hadassah turned slightly on her stool and looked up at him. Her father self-serving? John and all the rest? She thought of her father going out into the streets of Jerusalem to speak the truth.
Why
? She had cried out to him.
Why
? And now as she looked at Decimus, Phoebe, and Marcus—and saw suffering, despair, and disillusionment—she knew how wrong Marcus was about everything. “What reason did they have to lie?” she said gently.

“Money, power, the esteem of men,” Marcus said, thinking he might finally break through to her and open her eyes. “Those are reasons for many men to lie.”

“Do you believe I would lie to you?”

He softened. He wanted to kneel down and take her hands and tell her he was sorry to hurt her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to love her. He wanted her for himself. But her faith in this nonexistent god stood between them. “No,” he said bleakly. “I don’t think you’d lie to me. I don’t think you are capable of lying to anyone. I think you believe every word of this wild story because you were raised to believe it. It was drummed into you from the time you were born. But it’s not true.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Marcus,” she said sadly. “You’re so wrong. It is true! Jesus arose. He’s alive!” She pressed her clasped hands to her chest. “He’s here.”

“He’s dead!” Marcus said in frustration. “Why won’t you listen to the facts?”

“What facts? The word of a guard who saw nothing? What did the men who followed Jesus gain? Not money or power or the esteem of men. They were reviled as the Lord was reviled. James was beheaded by King Herod Agrippa. Andrew was stoned in Scythia. Bartholomew was flayed alive and beheaded in Armenia. Matthew was crucified in Alexandria, Philip in Hieropolis, Peter in Rome. James the Less was beheaded by order of Herod Antipas. Simon the Zealot was sawn in two in Persia. And none of them recanted. Even in the face of death, they still proclaimed Jesus the Messiah. Would they all have died like that to preserve a lie? My father told me they were all afraid when Jesus was crucified. They ran away and hid. After Jesus arose and came to them, they were different men. Changed. Not from without, but from within, Marcus. They spread the Good News because they knew it was true.”

“What is the good news?” Phoebe said, trembling.

“That the Lord came, not to condemn the world, but to save it, my lady. He is the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in him shall live even if he dies.”

“On Mount Olympus with all the other deities, I suppose,” Marcus said scathingly.

“Marcus,” Phoebe said, embarrassed by his mockery.

Marcus looked to his father. “Hadassah’s right about one thing. Speaking of this messiah does bring suffering and death. Her own if she persists. This Jesus preached that man answers to god alone and not to any Caesar. If she helps to spread this religion, she’ll end up in the arena.”

Hadassah was deathly pale. “Jesus said render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, and to God, that which is God’s.”

“And by your own words, everything you are, everything you do is in service to this god of yours! Isn’t that so? He
owns
you!”

“Marcus,” Phoebe said, disturbed by her son’s intensity. “Why do you attack her so? She didn’t come to us to speak of her god. We summoned her here to ask her for ourselves.”

“Then leave well enough alone, Mother. Leave her god unseen and forgotten,” he said. “Her faith is based on a god who doesn’t exist and on an event that never happened.”

Silence fell over them. Hadassah spoke into it, like an echo in the canyons of their minds, a flicker of light in the darkness. “Jesus raised my father from the dead.”

“What did you say?” Phoebe whispered.

Hadassah raised her eyes. “Jesus raised my father from the dead,” she said again, no waver in her voice this time.

“But how?”

“I don’t know, my lady.”

Decimus sat forward slightly. “You saw this happen with your own eyes?”

“It happened before I was born. In Jerusalem.”

“Hadassah,” Marcus said, trying to curb his exasperation, “you only have it on the word of others that he did such a deed.”

Hadassah looked up, all the love she had for him revealed. “Nothing I can say will ever convince you, Marcus. Only the Holy Spirit can do that. But I
know
Jesus arose. I feel his presence now, here, with me. I see the evidence of his Word every day. From creation forth, the whole world is witness to God’s plan revealed through his Son. From the beginning, he prepared us. In the passing of the seasons; in the way flowers spring forth, die, and drop seeds for life to begin again; in the sunset and sunrise. Jesus’ sacrifice is reenacted every day of our lives if we but have the eyes to see.“

“But can’t
you
see? That’s simply the natural order of things.”

“No, Marcus. That’s God speaking to all mankind. And he will return.”

“Your faith is blind!”

Hadassah looked at Decimus. “If you stare into the sun and look away, you see the sun, my lord. If you stare at death, you see death. Where does hope lie?”

His eyes flickered. He leaned back slowly. “I have no hope.”

Marcus turned. He saw the dullness in his father’s eyes, the pain etched into his face. Marcus was suddenly filled with deep shame. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe it was better to have false hope than no hope at all.

“You may go, Hadassah,” Phoebe said, stroking Decimus’ shoulder in futile comfort.

For the first time, Hadassah did not obey a command. She knelt beside the couch and broke every unspoken law by taking her master’s hand in both of hers. Then she did the unforgivable by looking straight into Decimus’ eyes and speaking to him as an equal.

“My lord, to accept God’s grace is to live
with
hope. If you but confess your sins and believe, the Lord will forgive you. Ask and he will come to dwell in your heart, and you will have the peace you crave. You only have to believe.”

Decimus saw love in her eyes, the kind of love he had always longed to have from his own daughter. Her plain features and brown eyes were alight with a warmth that came from within, and for a moment he saw the beauty his son wanted to possess. She believed the incredible. She believed the impossible. Not with stubbornness and pride, but with a pure, childlike innocence the world had been unable to mar. And without thought of the risk to herself, she offered her own hope to him if he could accept it.