Beloved Protector (Heartsong Presents) (11 page)

Andronicus only had time to pull his own sword and yell, “To arms!” before a group of men came out of seemingly thin air and attacked.

* * *

Tapat jerked her head up at Andronicus’s yell. Crassus was on his feet in an instant, his sword out and primed for battle. He planted his feet firmly in front of her, intent on defending her and the baby if the battle moved this way.

Chaos broke out all around. She hugged Hazaq close, her eyes widening in terror as a group of men swarmed the camp, their yells sounding loud amid the clanging of sword on sword.

She could see Andronicus slashing and swinging his sword, Arius at his side doing the same. They were hopelessly outnumbered. She placed a hand urgently on Crassus’s leg.

“Go, Crassus! Go and help them!”

He glanced down at her, his eyes glittering. “My orders...”

“Go,” she interrupted. “They will not harm me.”

He helplessly glanced back at where the fighting was fiercest. Celsus dropped to one knee as two men hacked away at him. Didius was warding off three others, his sword flashing left and right in a way only a soldier of Rome could accomplish.

Crassus looked down at Tapat again, his eyes full of anguish.

“Go,” Tapat whispered, and he turned and leaped across the distance to join the fight.

She sat frozen, unable to do anything except watch as the battle played out around her.

Huddled against the hill, no one took notice of her or Hazaq. The child’s screams couldn’t be heard above the cacophony. She cuddled him close, but the noise raging around him frightened him and he refused to be comforted. It didn’t help that her own fear was communicating itself to him, as well.

The Romans fought ferociously yet with great skill, their minds completely on the combat at hand.

She saw men fall to the ground, their lifeless eyes staring upward; she realized they were her countrymen. As yet, all the Romans were still on their feet. They fought with a skill and precision she had never seen before and hoped never to again. Their unified attack and defense allowed them to be seemingly in two places at a time. For the first time, she understood what Andronicus had meant about their concentration.

Her feelings were ambivalent. She understood all too well the Jews’ desire to be free from Roman oppression, but she also knew that she could never ask Elohim to intercede in something that would bring about the death of Andronicus, nor his men, who she had come to like and admire.

After several Jews fell to their deaths, the others began to disband and run away.

One man turned to escape over the hill and noticed her and Hazaq. His eyes took on a glittering hue and she realized that he believed her to be the consort of one of the soldiers. He rushed at her, yelling wildly.

Tapat pulled Hazaq beneath her and covered him with her body. At least when he struck her, the babe would be protected.

She glanced over her shoulder, her face settling into lines of resolution.

“Lord Jesus,” she whispered, “protect Hazaq and receive my spirit.”

She heard Crassus yell and saw him running toward them. Time seemed to slow as both men converged on her location almost simultaneously. The Jew raised his sword to strike, but Crassus leaped across the space, his body twisting in midair as he turned his sword up to deflect the blow.

Sword clanged against sword and Crassus landed on his back, sliding several feet across the ground. He didn’t have time to ready himself before the Jew slashed his sword down, catching Crassus across the chest and forearm. Crassus didn’t move again.

The Jew suddenly jerked forward, head thrown backward, eyes wide, mouth open. He crumpled to the ground, a Roman
pilum
protruding from his back.

Staring in horror, Tapat glanced up to see Andronicus, feet spread apart, facing in their direction, arm still poised from throwing the spear and the fury of battle flashing in his dark eyes. The remaining Jews scrambled away to safety. Arius and the others started to give chase, but Andronicus’s barked command stopped them in their tracks.

Arius stood immobile, his chest heaving and his bloody sword still in hand ready to meet any further attack, as the others rushed to Crassus’s side.

Tapat wanted to go to him as well but she was hindered by the still screaming Hazaq.

Crassus lay unmoving, blood oozing onto the sand from an injury she could not ascertain.

Hugging Hazaq close, Tapat began to weep.

Chapter 11

A
ndronicus could see his men’s concern as they moved back to make room for him to kneel next to Crassus. Crassus was the youngest among them and thus had been adopted by them all as a little brother.

Andronicus glanced quickly at Tapat, the fear that had sliced through him when he saw her attacked making his heart still thrum like a galley war drum. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her bottom lip quivering in an ashen face. Her whole body was shaking, but other than that, she seemed unharmed.

He felt for a pulse in Crassus’s neck and found it beating strongly against his fingers. He released a sigh. A pool of blood was forming on the sand beneath his hip, indicating the extent of the injury.

“He’s alive,” he told them and heard a collective sigh of relief.

“Praise be to Elohim,” Tapat cried softly.

Andronicus noticed the catch in Tapat’s fervent response. He quickly glanced up and saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. He wondered just how close she and Crassus had become in the past few days. He recognized the feeling clawing its way through his insides and was dismayed by the depth of his jealousy. He turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Did anyone see how many got away?” Andronicus asked while carefully turning Crassus over to undo the fastenings for his chest piece. Although the
lorica
segmentata
had deflected the slashing sword of his adversary, the weapon had slid down the iron chest piece and sliced through the lower leather section, piercing Crassus’s side. The wound was bleeding profusely, although it was fairly superficial, having missed any vital organs. He was more concerned with the gash on the young man’s head from hitting a rock when he landed. That was more than likely the reason Crassus was still unconscious, and head gashes tended to bleed heavier than any other kind of wound.

“Four, Tribune,” Arius answered and Andronicus heard the displeasure in his voice at having been held back from pursuing them.

Four assailants had survived out of fifteen. He once again felt fervent pride in his men. He doubted the Jews would be back anytime soon, because although they had escaped, they had not done so unscathed. Before moving to Crassus’s side, he had noticed a trail of blood leading away from their camp.

He also saw that each of his men was nursing minor injuries, but their concern was more for Crassus.

After removing Crassus’s armor, he lifted the side of his blood-red tunic, the symbol of his profession, and revealed the gaping wound in his side. Salvius handed him a cloth retrieved from their supplies. Andronicus tore it in two and used one piece to try to stem the flow of blood coursing from the open wound and the other to mop the blood from his forehead.

Crassus began to stir, and Andronicus almost wished it otherwise. It would be much better for the boy to remain unconscious for what he was going to have to do.

He looked up at Salvius and saw understanding in the other man’s eyes.

“Shall I stoke the fire?”

Andronicus nodded, his look grave. “And get me a
pugio.
” The short dagger would be much easier to use as a cautery than the longer gladius.

“What are you going to do?”

Tapat’s soft question invaded his worried reflections. With everything happening, he hadn’t noticed that the babe had stopped screaming. He quickly sought out the reason and noticed the child had cried himself into exhausted sleep, little hiccuping breaths denoting the trauma he had just been through.

“I have to cauterize the wound,” he told her. “Although it’s not deep, it will stay open and continue to bleed if it isn’t stopped.”

He thought she might object, but she nodded in understanding. “Shall I get you some salt?”

“I have it,” Salvius said, handing Andronicus the dagger and dropping the bag of salt at his side.

Crassus’s eyelids flickered and then opened lethargically. “Tapat?” he questioned in an anxious whisper.

“She is well,” Andronicus told him, jealousy once again twining through him like an insidious serpent. “You saved her life.”

If he lived to be a hundred years old, he would forever be in this young man’s debt for doing so. The thought of Tapat’s death chilled him to his very bones.

Tapat got up and came to kneel beside Crassus. Snugly holding the child with one arm, she reached out and pushed damp tendrils of hair from Crassus’s forehead.

“I owe you my life,” she told him, but he shook his head.

“No,” he rasped. “I owe you much more than that.”

Andronicus frowned at the look of understanding that passed between them. What lunacy was this? What could he possibly owe Tapat that was more important than life?

Tapat glanced at Andronicus. “Do you need some help?”

His frown deepened. “No. I need you to move away so I can get this done. Take the child elsewhere.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise at his surly command. She pressed them together into an uncompromising line. Nodding, she moved away but still remained close.

Crassus, also, was staring at him in astonishment, but he knew better than to comment. Andronicus ignored his inquiring look and placed the
pugio
in the fire.

“You know what I have to do?”

It was more a statement than a question. Crassus swallowed hard and nodded.

Didius stepped forward. “Do you need us to hold him?”

Andronicus lifted a brow at Crassus. It was up to the young man how these seasoned soldiers would perceive him in the future—strong or weak, boy or man. He would not make that decision for him.

Crassus’s mouth grew rigid. “I don’t need anyone to hold me.”

Salvius looked skeptically at Andronicus for confirmation.

“You heard the man,” Andronicus told him, putting just the slightest emphasis on the word
man.

Celsus brought a small stick and handed it to Crassus. Crassus thanked him with a look and placed it between his teeth. His nostrils flared outward as he nodded for Andronicus to do what he must.

Andronicus cleansed the wound first with water from his goatskin. His look held understanding when he saw Crassus tense against the burning pain.

“Ready?”

Crassus nodded, staring upward at the now dark and star-filled sky. Sweat beaded on his brow.

Andronicus pulled the dagger from the fire and, gritting his teeth, slowly pulled it across the wound, searing the edges of the cut together. He winced in sympathy at Crassus’s muffled scream. Although Crassus’s body jerked slightly, he forced himself to remain still by digging his hands into the desert sand.

Andronicus was impressed with the young man’s fortitude. He had known of stronger men than Crassus who cried like a baby when faced with a glowing hot instrument.

He took a handful of salt and carefully packed it around the wound, noting that the burning brought tears to the young man’s eyes. More than likely the pain from the salt was worse than the actual cauterization, but it was necessary to stave off infection. He then wrapped a bandage around Crassus’s waist, sealing the salt against the burn.

“Well, Didius,” Salvius commented, mouth twitching with humor, “I guess it’s up to you to milk the goat.”

Didius opened his mouth to object, caught Andronicus’s look and subsided.

“Seniority,” Andronicus reminded him, biting back a grin.

Didius glared at his chuckling companions but went to get the bowl for milking the goat.

Andronicus knew that their merriment was only a ruse to cover the depth of their concern over Crassus’s condition. Although such things came with the territory of being a soldier, it wasn’t any easier to accept when it was a friend in question. The relief and consequent humor came from knowing that the injury could have been much worse.

He caught Tapat’s look. He saw her tears of sympathy, but he also spied a suggestion of joy peeking out from beneath the pain. Something had transpired between her and Crassus that he didn’t understand, but he fully intended to find out what it was.

* * *

Tapat empathized with Crassus’s pain but was elated at what he had hinted to her. The young man had sought out every opportunity to speak with her about the Christian religion, at first to better understand the woman he loved, but then, as they talked more and more, she could see the dawning comprehension in his eyes. He was hungering for a peace that only Christ could give.

The
Pax
Romana,
Roman Peace, had brought nothing but savage oppression. True peace was a matter of the heart. Those enslaved to Rome might obey and serve, but an underlying fomenting of rebellion was always just beneath the surface.

Christ-centered peace was a total surrender of the will and came with knowing that you were right with the God who had created you, the God who created a world of order and harmony. Even when surrounded by war, famine, pestilence or other such calamities, there was the serenity of knowing that you could never be taken from the hand of Elohim.

She glanced at Andronicus and her heart responded as it always did when he was near. She knew without a doubt that she would die for him, but she could not live for him. As much as she loved him, she would never allow anything to come between her and the peace she had found in Jesus. How was it that after a few short days Crassus could see what years had not made clear to Andronicus?

Didius brought her a bowl of goat’s milk and she thanked him, but she set it aside with a still shaking hand. After such a long time of screaming, Hazaq was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted and she was reluctant to wake him. She would save the milk for when he awoke.

Andronicus made Crassus comfortable near the fire. Despite the oppressive heat, with Crassus being injured, he would surely feel chilled.

The others took the time to move the bodies of those slain to outside of the camp. Tapat had no idea what they were going to do with them. Frankly, she didn’t even want to think of it right now. Those sightless eyes were going to haunt her dreams for years to come.

Her people, but not her people. They shared the same race, but not the same beliefs. Still, even though they rejected His Son, she knew they were beloved by Elohim, as were these heathen Romans.

Andronicus gave assignments for the night watch. She noticed that Arius had yet to let down his guard. He stood tensely, searching the area just beyond the perimeter of the firelight. It didn’t surprise her that he would wish to continue his watch. Like everyone else, except Hazaq, their nerves were too taut for immediate sleep.

Salvius and Didius set up the tent, and Andronicus came and held out his hand to help her to her feet.

When she placed her hand in his, she felt again that connection that so confused her. He was the only man who had ever made her feel warm and safe yet, paradoxically, unsettled and apprehensive.

He pulled her to her feet but didn’t release her right away. She could see all kinds of questions forming in his eyes, questions she was afraid to answer; some she had no answer for.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, glancing over her again. “You’re still shaking.”

She tugged her hand loose and pulled her gaze away. “I am well.”

She could see he continued to search her with narrowed eyes. “I am sorry that you had to witness that.”

When she didn’t answer, he reached down and picked up the bowl of milk. She walked toward the tent and he followed. She settled on the blanket that had been positioned inside and Andronicus placed the bowl to the side. He then seated himself outside the front entrance.

She could see that he wanted to talk, but her emotions were too raw for her to think clearly. In this state, she would be no match for him if he decided to delve for information.

“I think I will try to get some sleep while Hazaq is doing so,” she told him. His tilted smile told her that she hadn’t fooled him.

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “I will be here if you need anything.”

The silence thrummed between them like an overtightened lyre.

Tapat curled onto the blanket and tried to sleep. An unending stream of images of the day’s events kept flashing through her thoughts. She tried to block out the horrific pictures—men in battle, men falling bloody to the ground, the angry Jew who had tried to kill her—but they refused to be stopped.

She finally turned to the only avenue that always brought her peace; she prayed. She prayed for Crassus especially, but also for the rest of them, and that the rest of their journey would be without further hazards.

Elohim had spared Hazaq and she was thankful. She only prayed that He would do the same for the young Roman. She still had so much more to tell him.

Eventually her brain took control and sent her into a deep, cathartic sleep.

* * *

Andronicus could hear the change in Tapat’s breathing and knew that she was finally asleep.

He hadn’t missed the fact that she hadn’t wanted to talk to him. She could talk to Crassus for hours on end, but she closed up like a clam whenever he was around. What did they find to talk about that was so interesting? He really wanted to know. He wanted Tapat to open up to him in the same way, and he wanted to see her eyes sparkle with the same shared excitement.

He sat watching her slumber for a long time. Unlike Tapat, his tense nerves fought sleep.

One by one his men finally dozed off, their twitching eyes signaling that their sleep was light. The day’s events had put them on guard and it would be some time before they would sleep deeply again.

As for himself, he had no concern that anything more would happen this evening. With Arius on guard, nothing would be able to sneak up on them again tonight. The man could scent an adversary half a league away.

The air grew chillier as the night progressed, a sure sign that they were getting closer to the Jordan River. He leaned into the tent and pulled a blanket over Tapat and the babe.

He brushed the hair away from her face and allowed his fingers to gently glide across her cheek. The action caused her lips to part softly and he jerked his hand away as though burned. His heart, which had finally settled from its erratic beat, once again took up its drumming rhythm.