A Voice in the Wind (12 page)

Hadassah’s throat closed. She removed her overdress and gave it to the woman, leaving only the long gray tunic to cover herself. “Put this on,” she said softly. Shivering violently, the woman did as Hadassah instructed. Hadassah put her arms around the woman and held her close, stroking her foul-matted hair as she had stroked her mother’s.

“Blessed is the barren woman who never sees her child come to this,” someone moaned.

Silence fell upon the occupants of the hull. Only the creaking of the ship, the boom on the drum as a cadence was beaten out for the galley slaves, and the slide of the oars broke it. The grate was slammed back several times a day, and the rested slaves ordered above, while the exhausted were sent below. Sometimes a whip cracked sharply, drawing a gasp of pain from someone who was sluggish.

Day and night ran together. Hadassah slept, awakening when the locks were released and the grate slammed back as crews changed or meager rations were dispensed. The roll of the ship increased the misery of some as they lay ill in the fetid darkness. The air was close and foul. Hadassah longed for a breath of clean air and dreamed of Galilee.

A storm struck as the ship sailed along the Lycian coast. The ship rose high and crashed down against the waves as the wind moaned and screamed. The slaves panicked, scrambling for handholds and crying out in half a dozen languages for half a dozen gods to save them.

Icy water splashed down into the hull and ran back and forth, soaking Hadassah’s ragged tunic as she held onto a ship rib. Shivering, she clung fast and prayed silently amidst the screaming. The ship rose so sharply it seemed it would soar from the water. Then it dropped as suddenly, making her stomach drop with it. The hull struck the sea with a loud crack, and the entire ship shuddered as though it would fall apart.

“We’re going to die! Let us out!”

Men clawed frantically at the grate as more water poured down upon them. “Let us out!
Let us out
!”

As the ship rolled again, someone fell against Hadassah and broke her hold. She slid away and slammed against a beam as the ship rose again. The roaring sound of the sea was like a wild beast. The ship rolled to one side, and she felt cold water wash over her.
Oh, Father, help us! Save us as you saved the disciples on the Sea of Galilee
. She sought a hold and found none. Then something struck her heavily in the head, and sound receded. She floated in darkness, past feeling anything.

It was the steady cadence of the drum and of the dip of the oars that awakened her. The sound of the sea hitting the bow and lapping the sides of the ship soothed her throbbing temples. She thought she had been dreaming. Her head ached; her tunic was drenched, her hair as well. The hull was awash with seawater. Two slaves filled skins and hooked them to a rope to be lifted and emptied.

A woman sat beside her and touched her brow. “How are you feeling?”

“My head aches a little. What happened?”

“You hit your head during the storm.”

“It’s over then.”

“Long since. The crews have changed four times since it eased. I heard the guard say we are passing Rhodes.” She opened a soiled cloth and held it out to Hadassah. “I saved you some grain.”

“Thank you,” Hadassah said and took the offering.

“You gave me your tunic,” the woman said, and Hadassah knew who she was.

Days and nights melted together in dark silence. While filth, poor food, no privacy, and abuse dehumanized some, these things drove Hadassah to God. Her father had said suffering brought endurance in order that one might be strengthened for whatever lay ahead. She didn’t like to think about what lay ahead. There were too many horrible possibilities. Death came in too many ways.

God was all-seeing, all-powerful, all-present, and her father had always assured her that all things worked toward God’s good purpose. Yet she could find no purpose in what she and those around her suffered. Like herself, others had merely been in Jerusalem at the wrong time. They’d been trapped like rabbits before a pack of hounds. Zealot or Roman, she could see no difference. They were all men of violence.

Many family friends had believed that the end times of which Jesus had spoken were upon them, that the Lord would return and reign in their own lifetime. Some had even gone so far as to sell everything they owned and give the money to the church. Then they’d sat back to wait for the end. Her father was not one of these. He went on as always, working his trade.

“God will return in his own good time, Hadassah. He told the disciples he would come like a thief in the night. For that reason, I don’t think he’ll be expected. We only know he will come. It’s not for us to know when.”

Surely the destruction of the temple and city of Zion were signs that the end of the world was upon them. Surely the Lord would return now. She wanted him to come. She yearned for him. Yet, a deep sense within her warned against quick rescues. God didn’t always intervene. Throughout Scripture he had used pagan nations to bring Israel to her knees.

‘“Come, and let us return to the Lord;’” the woman whispered, “‘For He has torn, but He will heal us; He has stricken, but He will bind us up. After two days He will revive us; on the third day He will raise us up, that we may live in His sight.’”

Voice trembling, Hadassah took up where the woman had stopped, reciting the words of the prophet Hosea. ‘“Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth.’”

The woman took Hadassah’s hand. “Why is it only in darkness that we remember what sustained us even in the light? I have not thought of the words of the prophet since childhood, and now in this darkness they come to me more clearly than the day I heard them read.” She cried softly. “Jonah must have felt this same dark despair inside the belly of the whale.”

“Hosea was speaking of Yeshua and the Resurrection,” Hadassah said, without thinking.

The woman let go of her hand and peered at her in the darkness. “You are a
Christian
?” The word sounded like a curse. Frightened, Hadassah didn’t answer. She felt the chill of the woman’s animosity. The silence that grew between them was thicker than a wall. Hadassah wanted to say something, but could find no words. “How can you believe our Messiah has come?” the woman hissed at her. “Are we delivered from the Romans? Does our God reign?” She began to weep.

“Yeshua came to atone for us,” Hadassah whispered.

“I lived by the law of Moses all my life. Don’t speak to me of atonement,” the woman said, her face ravaged by bitter emotion and grief. She got up and moved away, sitting near several other women. She glared at Hadassah for a long moment and then turned her face away.

Hadassah put her head against her knees and fought against despair.

When the ship reached Ephesus, the women slaves were brought above deck and tied together again. Hadassah drank in the fresh sea air. After long days and nights in the belly of the ship, it was several moments before her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight and she could see around her. The docks were alive with bustling activity. Workers were everywhere, plying their trades. Darkly tanned
stuppatores
worked on scaffolding to caulk a ship docked beside the one that had carried Hadassah. To her left was another Roman vessel.
Sburarü
struggled up the ladders, shouldering sacks of sand. Plodding down the planks, they dumped the ballast into a wagon, which would haul the sacks away to an Ephesian arena.

Other workers called
sacrarü
carried grain sacks and dropped them on scales.
Mensores
then weighed them and wrote in ledgers. A man stumbled and a box fell into the sea. A naked
urinator
dove for it.

Orders were shouted in half a dozen languages from as many ships. A whip cracked again and the guard in charge of Hadassah’s group shouted for the women to go down the plank. They were led along a street lined with merchant stalls and filled with clamoring patrons. Many stopped and stared. Others shouted insults: “Foul stinking Jews!”

Hadassah burned with shame. Her hair was crawling with lice, her tunic stinking and stained with human excrement. A Greek woman spit on her as she passed and Hadassah bit her lip to keep from crying.

They were taken to the baths. A robust woman roughly stripped her of the ragged tunic and then shaved off all of her hair. Humiliated, Hadassah wished she could die. Worse came when the woman rubbed a foul-smelling salve into every curve and crevice of her body. “Remain standing over there until I tell you to wash,” the woman said tersely. The salve burned like fire. After several excruciating minutes, the woman ordered her into the next room. “Scrub yourself thoroughly or I will do it for you,” the woman said. Hadassah obeyed, grateful to rid herself of the crusted filth that had accumulated on her body during the long journey and voyage. The salve had killed the vermin.

She was doused with icy water and ordered to the baths.

Hadassah entered a vast room in which there was a huge pool shaped of white and green marble. A guard was present, and she hastened into the water to hide her nakedness. The man scarcely noticed her.

The warm water soothed Hadassah’s burning skin. She’d never been in a Roman bath before and looked around in awe. The walls were tiled murals that were so wondrously beautiful that it was a moment before Hadassah realized the scenes depicted pagan gods seducing earthly women. Her cheeks burned and she lowered her gaze.

The guard ordered her and the others from the pool and into another chamber where they were given gray towels to dry themselves. They were handed clothing, and Hadassah pulled the simple tan tunic and dark brown overdress over her head. She wrapped the red-and-brown striped cloth around her waist twice and tied it securely. The long frayed ends hung against her hip. She was handed a light brown cloth to drape over her bare head. She tied it at the back of her neck to secure it. Lastly, the shameful slave necklace was fitted on her and then a slate was hung around her neck.

The owner entered when they were finished. When he came to stand in front of Hadassah, he studied her carefully. Then he lifted the slate and wrote something on it before moving on to the next.

Roped together, they were taken to the slave market. The owner haggled with the auctioneer until a commission was agreed upon. Then a hawker was sent into the thronging quay to attract a crowd. “Jewish women for sale!” the hawker shouted. “Best of Titus’ captives at the lowest prices!” When a throng was gathered, the owner untied one woman and ordered her to stand on a huge round table fashioned like a potter’s wheel. A half-naked slave stood with a rope over his broad shoulder, awaiting the order to turn it.

Jests and insults were flung at the woman by the onlookers. “Strip her and let us see what you’re really selling!” one shouted. “Cursed Jews! Send them to the dogs in the arena!” The woman stood erect, eyes staring straight ahead as the wheel was turned so that those staring at her could see all sides of the merchandise offered.

However, there were those present who were in search of slaves for their households. One by one, the women were sold as a cook, a weaver, two seamstresses, a child’s nurse, a kitchen slave, and a water carrier. As each was sold, she was ordered down from the great wheel and led away on a rope by her new master. Hadassah felt bereft watching them go.

She was the last to stand on the wheel.

“She’s small and skinny, but she made the march to Antioch from Jerusalem, so she’s strong. She’ll make a good household slave!” the auctioneer said and opened the bidding at thirty sesterces as he had with the others. No one offered, so he lowered the price to twenty-five, then twenty, then fifteen.

A thin man in a white toga with purple trim finally purchased her. She came down from the wheel and stood before him, her head bowed in obeisance, her hands clasped. The longer he studied her, the tighter seemed the brass slave collar. When he yanked the cloth from her head, she glanced up just long enough to look into his dismayed eyes. “What a pity they shaved your head,” he said. “With hair, you might look more like a female.” He thrust the cloth at her, and she quickly retied it.

“I wonder which god is playing a joke on me this time,” he muttered in great annoyance as he took the rope that tied her wrists and began to walk briskly along the dock. Hadassah took two steps to his one, hurrying to keep up with him. Her side began to ache.

Procopus dragged her along behind him, wondering what to do with her. His wife, Ephicharis, would have his head if he took her home with him. Ephi despised Jews, calling them treacherous and worthy of extermination. Her best friend’s son had been killed in Judea. He shook his head. What had possessed him to buy the girl in the first place? And what was he to do with her now? Ten sesterces for this mite. Ridiculous. He had been wandering the docks, minding his own business, dreaming of sailing off to Crete and leaving all his troubles behind when he had followed that hawker. He’d been curious to see the Jewish captives and had felt an unfamiliar pity when this one had had no buyer.

He shouldn’t have gone to the docks today. He should have gone to the baths and had a massage. His head ached; he was hungry; he was furious with himself for feeling the least pity for this sprout. Had he kept his hand at his side, someone else would have her on a rope at this moment and he wouldn’t have this problem to deal with.

Maybe he would make a gift of her to Tiberius and thus get her off his hands. Tiberius liked young girls, especially those too young to get pregnant. He glanced back at her. Her wide brown eyes flickered up to his and then dropped quickly away. Scared to death. And why not? Most of her race was dead. Hundreds of thousands of them, from what he had heard. Not that the Jews didn’t deserve extermination after all the trouble they had been to Rome.

He frowned heavily. Tiberius wouldn’t want her. She was all bones and drawn skin and great, dark suffering eyes. Even a satyr couldn’t be aroused by such as this. Who else then?