A Stray Drop of Blood (33 page)

He did not hesitate. He let out a roar that filled the air and charged. It was his place to save his father.

Too late. Before the sound ever pierced the air, the sword had pierced Cleopas’s chest. As Jason flew up, the life drained out of his father’s eyes and he sagged, empty, to the ground. Instead of paralyzing pain, it was lightning rage that burned through Jason, and he headed for the man who was even now taking flight.

The pursuit did not last long; they ran into an alley with no outlet, and the rebel apparently realized he would get no reprieve, so turned and headed back for Jason, sword raised.

He knew it was Barabbas. He did not know how he knew; he had never seen the face, but he had heard the description of the man. His beard was unkempt, his hair wild, but his eyes, even when lit with the taste for blood, were intelligent. He did not attack frantically, but rationally. Each thrust was calculated, each parry practiced. If he retreated a few steps, it was to better strike. Jason knew within seconds that his skill was at least matched. He would not let himself think that it may be outdone.

Somewhere in the background, he heard a shout that was his name, but it did not so much as distract him. Somewhere inside, he recognized the voice, recognized the warning within it, but he could not spare it any attention. He was fighting for his life, and he knew it. His every thought was on his movement, on what he could do next to direct death to the man across from him instead of inviting it to himself.

He was gaining the upper hand when a skirmish from the wall above them sent a piece of stone shattering to the ground behind him. The sound of splintering rock barely made it into his consciousness before it proved his destruction. Barabbas saw his opportunity and took it. He went on the offensive again and forced Jason back just one step.

Just one.

Jason stumbled, unable to find solid footing, and in that moment, his enemy’s sword struck.

For a second, the metal shaft that entered his stomach suspended him, kept him on his feet. He stared down at it before the pain had time to be felt, wondering if all the blood on the sword were his, or if his father’s were mixing in, too. Then the sword withdrew, and gravity took hold. He stumbled backward, fell, and the pain soared into his perception.

It was then that the shouts came into focus, the shouts that he realized only then had never ceased. It was Titus, and he was near. He heard him give the command to pursue and capture, he heard the sound of many feet obeying. But all he could see was the black sky above him, a few stars glittering very far away. He could feel a throbbing and did not know if it was the cadence of the soldier’s feet as they ran or his own heart rushing blood to the wound that would only ooze out and take his life with it.

Then a face blocked his vision. It was contorted in pain, but it was familiar and therefore welcome. “Titus.”

Titus knelt down, pressing a hand against the wound to try to stop the bleeding. “Jason. Be calm. I will get you help. My men are even now laying hold of the man who did this.”

“
He killed my father,” Jason wheezed, that emotional pain now joining the physical one that was slowly forcing all other awareness away.

“
Yes,” Titus admitted, “but he will be avenged. I swear that, Jason.”

Jason nodded, letting his eyes slide shut for a moment, then opening them again. Abigail, his poor Abigail. She had already lost so much, so many she loved. And with his father gone . . . “They will be alone.” His voice came out as little more than a gasp. “Mother and Abigail will be alone. Titus, swear to me they will be cared for.”

His friend gripped his hand. “Of course they will be. Jason, you will not die.”

The night had felt so heavy ever since he had taken Abigail to the general. Now it closed in, pressing down on his chest. Stifling his vision. “Tell my mother that Father died quickly, without suffering. Tell her I love her. And tell Abigail I am sorry that I will not meet our child. Tell her she is my sun, moon, and stars.”

“
Jason . . .” Titus glanced down at the hand he had pressed to the wound, and something shifted in his face. “I will tell them. They will be protected. I swear to you, my friend, that your family will be cared for.”

“
Ring.” Jason moved a finger within Titus’s hand. The Roman looked down at the heavy gold that encircled his middle finger, the one he had put on the day he left for Rome. The day he first met Abigail. “Tell Abigail to give it to Samuel. Tell him . . . tell him he is my son. I would have adopted him. I would have . . .”

The night weighted his chest, forced his eyes closed. The sweetest face he had ever seen filled his vision, words fought for a place on his lips. They emerged in Hebrew, no more than a breath. “Protect her, Jehovah. Sustain her. Show her your truth, your Son . . . my father, I give her to you.”

The darkness, once sluggish, pounced.

~*~

Titus slipped the ring off his friend’s hand as Jason’s eyes closed again. He watched as he coughed, gurgled, a stream of blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He watched as the one true friend he had ever hand, the one man never to be put off by his moods, struggled for another breath. He watched as the chest stopped heaving, as the soul fled the body on its way to wherever it went, leaving nothing but a corpse behind it.

Titus stood. His men were returning, the murderer in hand. The man was unconscious, but alive. “Marcus, Dominus, bring the bodies of the Visibullises. The city is ours again, and we are returning to the Praetorium.”

No one argued. No one ever argued with him. They merely fell in behind him obediently as he stormed off in search of the general.

He found him, but the news he delivered seemed to go unbelieved.

The general blinked, as if expecting him to change his story. “Both of them? How can it be that two of the three men that are dead are the Visibullises? Losing one of them would be bad enough–to lose both in one night?”

Titus nodded toward the two lifeless figures his men lowered to the ground. “It was Barabbas. We caught him moments after he took Jason’s life. He had rushed to the defense of his father.”

The general sighed and raked a hand over his hair. “This will not be an enjoyable task, but I must go inform the women.”

“
I am coming with you.” Titus stepped forward, his fist still closed around the ring. “I spoke with Jason before he died, and he made me swear to give them his messages, and that they would be taken care of.”

“
Of course they will.” The general’s voice sounded absent. “The house will remain theirs; they have enough wealth amassed to pay their taxes. And if Abigail has a son, it will be made all the easier.”

Titus only nodded silently and started walking. The general fell in beside him. After a moment of silence, the elder said, “You did well in apprehending Barabbas, Titus. You and your men will receive commendation.”

“
I will see him crucified for this. Allow me to be there when he is executed, Lord.”

“
Of course. But you are leaving in a few weeks–”

“
I would stay another six months in this infested pit if it was to see that barbarian meet justice.” Emotions crowded his mind, but he pushed them away. He was granite. He was ice. “He will pay for what he has done this night.”

“
Indeed.”

They arrived at the Visibullis house and approached the front entrance, pounded on the door. A voice called out from within asking who it was.

“
The general and Titus Asinius,” Titus answered.

He heard the bar being removed, and a moment later the heavy door opened. Cleopas’s man stood before them then, his face unyielding, as though already knowing what news they brought and refusing it. He stepped aside to let them in.

The commotion had brought the others out into the vestibule, and Titus looked around uncomfortably at the collection of Hebrews that remained of the Visibullises. The general cleared his throat and turned to Ester.

“
Which one?” Her lips already trembled, her eyes already filled.

He reached out and took her hand. “Both of them, Ester.” Before he could say more, she fell against him sobbing.

When Titus glanced at Abigail, however, he found her frozen. Her eyes turned toward him. “No. It cannot be.”

He stepped toward her, wondering if she would crumble as her mother had and what he would do if she did. “I am sorry, Abigail. Cleopas was struck down, and Jason rushed to his rescue. He would have killed the man, but a stone crumbled in his path, and he fell. I was not near enough to save him, but I spoke to him. He said to tell you both that he loved you, that Cleopas did not suffer, and that–” he found he had to swallow before he could go on. The intense gaze from her unblinking eyes was unnerving. “He said to tell you he was sorry he would not meet your babe. That you were the sun, moon, and stars to him. And to give this,” he said, holding out the ring, “to a boy. That he is his son, and he would have adopted him. I know not what that means.”

“
I do.” Calmly, she crouched down. It was only then that Titus spotted the child behind her. Too beautiful to be innocent, surely . . . what was he doing in Jason’s home? “Samuel,” he heard her say to the child as she handed him the gold, “this is for you, from Jason. He wishes you to have it, because he loves you and wishes you to be his son.”

The boy did not ask where Jason was now. He did not ask about the ring. He simply took it silently, clutching it in tiny hands, and wrapped his arms around Abigail’s neck. Titus stood by all the while feeling out of place and dissatisfied with these proceedings. But then Abigail released the boy, struggled back onto her feet, and turned with the same calm back to him.

Now her eyes looked to burn, but with fire instead of water. Suddenly, he understood her. She would not crumble. She would force others to. “Who killed my husband?” she demanded quietly.

“
Barabbas. We have him in custody, and he will be punished.”

“
You will tell me when he is scheduled to die.” Her voice would have sent a shiver down a spine made of weaker stuff than Titus’s.

He just nodded. “I will. Abigail, you will be taken care of. Know that.”

Abigail met his gaze. “You promised him, or you would not care what became of me. Do not pretend it is otherwise.”

Titus could not explain why the truth offended him so much. “You carry his son. Of course I care what becomes of you.”

“
No, you care what becomes of his son, and only because now it is the only child he will have. You said I would ruin his life.” She lifted her chin and gazed coldly at him. “It would seem Rome did that without any help from me.”

“
It was the rebels who did it.” Titus kept his voice quiet, so that only she would hear. “Jason died honorably.”

“
He was living honorably,” she hissed back, “which is what is of import.”

Titus was silent for a moment, watching her eyes as a storm moved through them. He found it echoed within him. Seeing that the general was pulling away from Ester, he drew in a breath. “These past months Jason was happy. I saw that. And now, knowing they were his last, I do not begrudge him what made him so content. I–I am glad he married you.”

She made no acknowledgment of the difficult words, did not look at him again. He seemed to have lost her somewhere, to some mist that swirled in her eyes and obscured any light within. He took the opportunity to leave her.

He went to Ester, took her hand in his. “Your husband did not suffer, and he died with honor. As did Jason, in Cleopas’s defense. He said to tell you he loved you.”

Ester nodded, but he was not certain she actually heard him. She looked ready to collapse.

“
We have much to attend to.” The general encompassed Abigail in his glance, though he had not said anything to her. “I will have someone bring you their bodies. And Ester, I will see that Julia comes to you in the morning.”

Ester made no response, just turned into Abigail and started crying anew. Titus turned and fled the house, in need of fresh air.

“
She will not recover easily from this,” the general said from beside him, presumably of Ester. He sighed. “At least Abigail did not fall apart. She will be able to support her mistress–mother. Whichever she calls her now.”

Titus did not reply. He had nothing left to say.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Abigail sat by the bed, eyes on Ester without seeing her still form. Ten days after their world fell apart, and yet another loss loomed. For a week Ester had merely sat, listless and disinterested in life. Then the fever had come. These last three days had been a blur of delirium and thrashing limbs. They had called in several physicians already and had even sent for Cleopas’s cousin Drusus.

Abigail closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. What more would Jehovah take? He had already snatched a father, a mother, a best friend. And now another father, a husband. Would he take another mother as well? Then what? Her babe? Would he strip her of all that mattered before finally ending her misery?

The others went about their duties, prepared for Passover. As if anything mattered. As if anything existed but this yawning emptiness inside.