Beloved Protector (Heartsong Presents) (9 page)

Chapter 9

W
hen Tapat opened her eyes again, daylight was streaming in the open door and the babe was gone.

Bolting upright, she glanced over and noticed the mat across from her was empty, as well. Small prickles of apprehension shivered through her. Heart pounding, she quickly got to her feet and rushed outside, blinking against the already bright sunlight.

Crassus was sitting cross-legged on a wooden bench propped against the house and carefully feeding the babe with the modified stylus. Tapat slowly released the breath she didn’t even know she had been holding.

He glanced up when she approached but quickly dropped his eyes to the suckling child. She hadn’t missed the concern in his sad look, and she almost choked on the knot climbing its way up her throat. She quickly glanced around the area for some sign of Martha.

“You were sleeping so soundly, you didn’t hear the babe crying,” he told her uneasily. “We thought it best to let you get more sleep.”

“Where’s Martha?”

Andronicus answered her. He came and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tapat. The woman died during the night.”

Her face registered her shock and suspicion. Her bottom lip began to quiver, and he sighed.

“It’s not what you think,” he told her quietly, pulling her into his arms. “When I went to check on you and the babe, I found that the woman had stopped breathing. I removed her, trying not to wake you, and Celsus saw to her burial outside the village.”

She wondered how she could have slept so deeply that nothing of those events had aroused her. She had failed Martha.

The woman,
Andronicus had said. As though she were some unimportant piece of flotsam. As though she were not a beloved child of Elohim. She pushed out of his arms, filled with a sudden, inconceivable rage.

“Her name was Martha!” she spat furiously, tears suddenly blurring her vision. Andronicus lifted his brows in surprise at her vehemence. He frowned, trying to understand what was happening to her when she didn’t fully understand it herself. Once the tears started, there was no end.

She fought Andronicus as he tried to hold her once again, but he easily overcame her resistance. He held her quietly and allowed her grief to expend itself.

It horrified her that Martha had died alone with no one there to comfort her. It was something she had always feared for herself—dying alone with no one to even remember her name. It was why she was so determined to be there for her mother, to make certain that she didn’t die alone. And yet she had. Although Tapat had continued to care for her by bringing her food and supplies, she could not enter the Valley of Lepers and her mother had indeed died alone. In one of the caves.

It was hard to swallow past the knot in her throat. She felt numb, as though she had taken a massive dose of mandragora. But at least her mother had known of Jesus, the Christ. So in reality, she hadn’t really died alone because He promised to be with them always. It was that thought, more than anything, that had brought her the most comfort.

Did Martha know of Christ? Were the people in this village believers? The rudely carved cross that she had found in Martha’s house gave her hope that this might be so.

Andronicus finally allowed her to leave the comforting circle of his arms once her tears were spent. He studied her face closely, and she set her chin resolutely.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I am fine.”

She noticed Didius attaching the goat’s lead to their supply horse. The other horses were saddled and ready, as well. She turned to Andronicus in surprise.

“Are we leaving?”

He nodded. “We have a long way to go yet.”

“But the babe...”

“We have no choice. We can’t stay here.”

He handed Tapat a plate with a piece of bread, some cheese and dates.

“Go ahead and eat. The others have already done so.”

Celsus and Salvius had finished scouring through the other huts for tools or other items that might help them on their journey. Salvius had tried to give her a tunic he had found in one of the houses, but Tapat had adamantly refused despite the fact that hers was so threadbare it would probably not last another season. It bothered her to take things that weren’t rightfully hers; the soldiers, however, appeared to have no such scruples. She supposed that looting was just another part of what went into being a soldier.

Despite her lack of appetite, she carefully broke her bread into little pieces, fully aware of the soldiers’ impatience to be gone, but by taking as much time as possible to eat, it would give Crassus more time to feed the babe. The slower she ate, the more time the child had to suckle. It was a time-consuming operation, feeding one dropperful of milk at a time. She was thankful to the young soldier for helping her.

Arius stood impatiently near the horses, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched her choke down one piece of bread at a time as she warily kept an eye on him. She had the distinct feeling that he knew she was deliberately delaying them. She gave him a guarded look, which only made him smile wryly in return.

Although she had overheard him talk of killing Martha and the babe, she couldn’t make herself believe that he would have really done so, nor could she imagine Andronicus standing aside and allowing it. And despite herself, she liked Arius. He reminded her very much of Andronicus. She instinctively felt that she could trust him.

When the babe finally fell asleep again, Tapat set her plate aside, popped the last piece of bread in her mouth and rose to retrieve him from Crassus.

Seeing that she had finished, the soldiers quickly moved to mount the horses, but Tapat needed to do one more thing first. She hugged the babe close and hesitantly approached Andronicus.

“Please take me to where Martha is buried.”

He frowned in objection. “We haven’t time.”

“Please,” she begged him, ignoring the frowns of the other men. She also pleaded with her eyes, begged him, and his eyes darkened from their normal cinnamon color until she could see her own reflection.

He sighed in resignation and, shaking his head at what he considered her folly, he took her to where Celsus had buried the body.

Tapat stared forlornly at the freshly turned dirt. She knelt by the grave, brushing her hand across the sun-warmed surface. By Jewish law she had just made herself unclean, but she didn’t care. Her heart broke for the woman who had fought to keep her child alive while she was herself dying. Such devotion, such love, deserved respect.

She bowed her head and soundlessly mouthed a prayer as Andronicus shifted impatiently beside her. When she had finished, she stared at the grave and a lone tear wound its way down her cheek. She sniffed it back, determined not to give Andronicus cause to think her some emotional female who would be a burden to him and the men.

“I promise you,” she whispered to the grave, “I will see that your son has a home. I will teach him about Jesus, and, Elohim willing, one day you will see him again.”

“We should give him a name,” Crassus spoke gruffly from behind her. So intent had she been on her prayers, she hadn’t even heard him join them. “We can’t keep calling him ‘the babe.’”

He was right, of course. Crassus’s concern for the child was touching, especially knowing the Roman law of casting a babe aside if there was something wrong with the child or if it wasn’t wanted.

Tapat gazed lovingly into the infant’s face. This child was neither imperfect nor unwanted—that much was obvious by his mother’s devotion.

“I wonder what Martha named him?” she queried softly. Jews gave much thought to the naming of their children. It was not something to be taken lightly.

Andronicus came to stand beside her. He gently stroked a finger down the child’s soft cheek. Tapat noticed that his handsome face was wreathed with unease.

“You don’t think he will survive, do you?” Tapat asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

Andronicus shrugged. “He has shown himself to be a strong child. He is still very weak, but I would not doubt his will to survive.”

His words brought Tapat hope. In just the short time she had been caring for the child, she had come to love him. Who wouldn’t?

Andronicus smiled. “Why don’t
you
give him a name?”

“I agree,” Crassus grinned. “Who better?”

Tapat looked from one to the other. It was a daunting prospect. Because the babe was older than eight days, he would have been circumcised and given a name of his parents’ choosing, either a family name or something that would have explained his birth. If only she had thought to ask Martha before the sickness claimed her life.

They were right, though. A child needed a name. She would use Andronicus’s words to give him a name and a designation. She chose one in Hebrew.

“I will call him Hazaq,” she told them, cuddling the babe close, “because he is strong. And he
will
survive.” She glared at each man in turn, her fierce, uncompromising look daring them to disagree. They wisely remained silent.

All except Arius, who had just arrived at the burial site. He gave a soft snort and turned to Andronicus. “Tribune,” he called, “the day is only going to get hotter.”

Andronicus took Tapat’s arm and moved her toward the horses. She looked over her shoulder, the lone grave filling her with sadness. Would the people of this village ever return? Would Martha’s husband live through the coming siege and wonder what had become of his family? Or would the huts remain empty for years to come, slowly being eradicated by the sands of time? It made her heart heavy just thinking about it.

Andronicus gave Hazaq to Crassus and lifted Tapat into the saddle, then handed her the sleeping babe. Tapat ignored his searching look and carefully arranged the blanket over Hazaq to protect him from the hot Palestinian sun. She knew it was probably just her hopeful imagination, but he seemed to be much stronger today.

Holding Hazaq in her arms, Tapat had to grip the horse with her thighs to keep from falling off. Andronicus’s look of sympathy told her that he was aware of her predicament but that there was nothing else to be done. She settled back to endure the long ride.

* * *

Andronicus knew that at the end of the day, Tapat’s legs were going to hurt something fierce. He deliberately pulled back, well aware that his men didn’t like the slower pace.

He had hoped to make it to Pella in two or three days, but it now looked as if it would take much longer. They would need to stop periodically to allow Tapat to feed the babe. It was something he hadn’t counted on, but the Fates had dealt him a different hand. Or was it Tapat’s God who had done so? At least she seemed to think so.

They were fortunate to have found the village in which to spend the past evening; Tapat had used the word
blessed.
He doubted they would be so fortunate again this coming night. He almost sent up a prayer to Tapat’s Jewish God but then rebuked himself sternly. It was easier to believe in the capricious Fates than to believe in a God who would allow His Son to die mercilessly on a wretched cross. That form of punishment was used only for the most nefarious of crimes. Surely a true god would never allow his son to die in such a despicable way.

Arius led the way, followed by Andronicus leading Tapat’s horse. Crassus was behind her, with the others bringing up the rear.

The men were too well trained to complain about the dawdling pace. Only Crassus seemed content to plod along. Periodically he would push his horse to a faster pace to catch up with Tapat and ask after her welfare. His constant attention was becoming increasingly annoying to Andronicus.

Traveling through the hot desert countryside was a tedious business. Sweat poured from under his metal helmet and armor chest piece, yet he knew better than to travel without the protection that had helped to keep him alive so many times in the past.

They might be traveling in the desert, but the threat of attack was just as likely as when traveling through the tree-studded hills of Germania. The desert people knew their territory and were adept at keeping hidden among the rocks and crags. Those pockets of resistance still were scattered throughout the countryside and bent on eliminating as many of Rome’s forces as they could.

They were now making their way through an area known for cutthroats and bandits. Many people had lost their lives on this treacherous pathway, Jew and Roman alike.

Suddenly his soldier’s instinct went on alert. He could see by the stiffening postures of his men that they had the same reaction.

He glanced back at Tapat and found Crassus close beside her, his eyes seeking any hidden enemies that might be lurking about. For once, Andronicus was glad to see the other man’s protective attitude.

Knowing the danger, Andronicus didn’t object when Arius picked up their pace. He dropped back to take Hazaq from Tapat so that she could hold on to her horse with both hands. She reluctantly handed the child over. Having ridden for years, Andronicus had no problem holding on to Hazaq and his reins at the same time.

The eerie silence as they traveled along after the men’s earlier chatter was unnerving. Time seemed to drag. Anxiety mounted.

They finally made it through the area without mishap and, after traveling several more miles, the ease of tension among them was palpable. He returned the sleeping babe to Tapat, sensing her unease at having the child gone from her arms. She immediately hugged him close, her smile of appreciation warming Andronicus as effectively as the desert sun.

Andronicus waited until they were farther beyond the Jericho Valley before calling a halt in an area that sported a few trees that could be used to shade them while they rested. Hazaq had awoken earlier and was making a racket that let them know he wanted sustenance and he wanted it
now.
It was reassuring that the child could cry with such vigor.

They climbed from their horses, but Tapat remained seated until Crassus went to her and took Hazaq. Andronicus reached her side just as her feet touched the sand. She would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn’t been there to catch her.