A Voice in the Wind (46 page)

“I lost the baby this morning,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she smoothed the blanket across her abdomen. There was no pain anymore, just this listlessness that seemed to suck her down. She couldn’t rid herself of the terrible sensation of emptiness and loss, as though more had been taken out of her than tissue. It was as though a part of her had been taken as well, and now she realized she’d never get it back again.

Marcus tipped her chin and searched her face. “You had an abortion, didn’t you?”

Her eyes shimmered with tears. “Caius didn’t want a child, Marcus.”

“Did he tell you to do this?”

“No, but what else could I do?”

He touched her cheek gently. “You’re all right?”

She nodded dully and lay back. “Calabah said I’ll feel better in a few days. She said it’s normal to feel depressed afterwards. It’ll pass.”

Calabah. He should have known. He brushed the hair back from her temple and kissed her lightly. He moved away, rubbing his hand around the back of his neck. If he said anything against Calabah, it would only drive Julia into further involvement with her. Julia was too much like him in some ways. She didn’t want her life dictated.

“It’s all right, isn’t it, Marcus? There’s nothing wrong with what I did, is there?”

He knew she wanted him to say he agreed with her decision to abort the child, but he couldn’t. He had always avoided the subject when it arose because it left him feeling uncomfortable. But Julia needed comfort. He came back and sat with her. “Hush, little one. You didn’t do anything that hundreds of other women haven’t done before you.”

“Caius will want me again, now. I know he will.”

Marcus’ mouth tightened. He had come to talk with her about Caius, but today wasn’t the day to add to her troubles. She didn’t need to know her husband’s betting losses were mounting at an alarming rate. Even if she was aware, what could she do if she had no influence over him?

“I’ll tell Mother and Father you lost the baby and you need time to rest and recuperate.” She was far too vulnerable and transparent now to face them. One look at her face and Father would see she was full of guilt over something, That would begin the questioning, which would lead to a hysterical confession. The rifts in the family were already wide enough without adding this to them.

Marcus took Julia’s hand and held it tightly. “Everything will be all right.” He blamed Caius for making her think she had to abort her child to regain his love. He brushed a tear from her cheek and rubbed it between his fingers. He wanted revenge on Caius, but anything he did would only harm Julia. He felt helpless. “Get some sleep, Julia.” He kissed her hand. “I’ll visit you again tomorrow.”

She clung to his hand with both of hers as he stood. “Marcus? Please. See if you can find Hadassah. Calabah sent her from the room to…” She stopped, her eyes shadowed. “She hasn’t come back and I want her to sing to me.”

“I’ll find her and send her to you.”

He went out to the peristyle. Several slaves were standing and whispering among themselves near the fountain. As soon as one noticed him, they scattered to their chores. “Have you seen the slave girl Hadassah?” he said to one washing the pool tiles.

“She went into the gardens, my lord. She hasn’t returned.”

Marcus went out beneath the arches to find her. When he did, she was sitting with her knees drawn up tightly against her chest, her face hidden.

“Julia needs you,” he said. She didn’t raise her head. “Did you hear me? Julia needs you.”

She said something then, but the words were muffled against her knees. She put her hands up over her head and he saw her fin-

Rome

gers were caked with earth. He closed his eyes. “I know about it,” he said, realizing what she had been sent to do. “It’s over now. Try to forget it. She’ll be fine in a day or two, and Caius won’t be angry with her. Neither of them wanted a child.”

She looked at him then. Tears streaked the smudges of dirt staining her ashen cheeks. Her eyes were full of grief and horror. She came to her feet and he grimaced at the blood stains on her soiled tunic. She spread her hands out in front of her, staring at them, her body trembling. “‘Dispose of it,’ she said. A tiny child balled up in a cloth and dumped on the floor like garbage. A child…”

“Put it from your mind. Don’t think about it anymore. Besides, Julia wasn’t far enough along for it to matter. It wasn’t really a child—”

“Oh, God…” Her fingers dug into her soiled tunic. “Not a child,” she repeated his words in a moan of grief and then looked at him with a fierce despair. ‘“For You have formed my inward parts; You have covered me in my mother’s womb… My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed, and in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them…’”

The hair rose on Marcus’ neck. She spoke like one of the temple oracles, and the look in her eyes pierced him. “Stop it!”

She only wept more, speaking now in Aramaic, her head thrown back. “
Yeshua, Yesbua, saloch hem kiy mah casu lo yaden
,” she said brokenly. “Jesus, Jesus, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

Marcus caught hold of her shoulders. “Stop it, I tell you!” He wanted to shake her from her trance, but she looked up at him clear-eyed.

“Are you Romans so foolish you have no fear? God knows when a’sparrow falls to earth. Do you think God doesn’t know what you do? Do you care so much for shallow pleasures that you would kill your own children to have them?”

Marcus let go of her and drew back. She stepped forward, clutching his white tunic in her blood- and earth-stained hands. “Have you no fear?”

He grasped her wrists and freed himself. “Why should I fear?” He cared nothing about her god, but her accusation stung, angering him. “But you should. You speak rash words for a slave. Have you forgotten Jerusalem so soon? I’ve never heard of a Roman woman murdering her nursing infant so she could roast it for dinner!”

She didn’t back away from his anger. “No less an abomination before God, Marcus! But is one woman driven mad by starvation the same thing as what’s been done here? What excuse has Julia, surrounded by comfort? She is sane. She thought this through. She made this
choice
.”

“What else could she do? She didn’t want a child and neither did Caius. Her marriage is disintegrating.”

“And killing her child will help put things right again? Do you believe because you don’t want something, it’s your right to destroy it? Is human life so cheap to you? Do you think Julia won’t be judged?”

“Who will judge her? You?”

“No,” Hadassah said, her face crumpling and tears coming again. “
No
!” She shook her head, her eyes closed. “It’s not for me to condemn anyone, no matter what they do, but I fear for her. God knows.” She covered her face with her hands.

Her god and his infernal laws again
, Marcus thought, pitying her. “Hadassah, you needn’t be afraid for her. This isn’t Judea. She won’t be taken out and stoned. Rome is civilized. There’s no law against a woman having an abortion, if that’s her choice.”

Her eyes flashed as he had never seen them. “Civilized! What of God’s law? Do you think he won’t judge?”

“You worry too much about what this god of yours might think. I doubt he cares.”

“You think because you don’t believe, he doesn’t exist. You worship gods you create with your hands and imagination, and deny the Most High God who created you from dust and gave you life. In the end, it won’t matter whether you believe or not, Marcus. A higher law than man’s does exist, and not your emperor nor all your legions nor all your worldly knowledge can stand against—”

Marcus clapped his hand across her mouth before she was heard. “Be silent!” She struggled and he shoved her back out of sight of the house. “Are you such a fool, Hadassah? Speak no more of this accursed god of yours!” he ordered, his heart pounding. What she spoke was blatant subversion and could get her killed.

He held his hand clamped firmly over her lips, shaking her once to make her stop fighting him. “You will listen to reason! What power but Rome, Hadassah? What other power is there on earth that can compare? You think this almighty god of yours is so powerful? Where was he when you needed him? He watched Judea torn by war, his city and temple turned into rubble, his people made into slaves. Is this a god with power? No. Is this a god who loves you? No! Is this a god I should fear?
Never
!”

She stilled, looking up at him with an oddly pitying expression. He gentled, wanting her to see reason. His hand was
wet
with her tears. He spoke softly. “There’s no power on earth but that of the emperor and of Rome. It’s the Empire that holds the peace together.
Pax Romana
, Hadassah. It comes at high cost. Believing there’s anything else is a slave’s dream for freedom, and an invitation to death. Jerusalem is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Your people have been scattered across the earth like chaff. Don’t cling to a god who doesn’t exist, or, if he does, who clearly wants to destroy his chosen people.”

He took his hand away slowly and saw the marks his fingers left on her skin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said. She was so pale and still.

“Oh, Marcus,” she said softly, looking straight into his eyes as though to beseech him.

His name never sounded so sweet on a woman’s lips. “Give up this faith you have in an unseen god. He isn’t there.”

“Can you see air you breathe? Can you see the force that moves the tides or changes the seasons or sends the birds to a winter haven?” Her eyes welled. “Can Rome with all its knowledge be so foolish? Oh, Marcus, you can’t carve God in stone. You can’t limit him to a temple. You can’t imprison him on a mountaintop. Heaven is his throne; earth, his footstool. Everything you see is his. Empires will rise and empires will fall. Only God prevails.”

Marcus stared at her, mesmerized by what she said and speechless with frustration that she could speak with such conviction. Nothing he had said had reached her. A sudden, swift fear for her rolled over him like a wave, and in its wake came a fierce anger at
her stubborn faith in her in visible god
.

“Julia sent me to find you,” he said tautly. “Will you serve her as you always have, or shall I find another to replace you?”

Her demeanor changed. It was as though she drew a veil down over her face. She lowered her head and clasped her hands in front of her. Whatever feelings and beliefs she embraced so passionately were now carefully hidden within her. Better that they stay there. “I’ll go to her, my lord,” she said quietly.

My lord
. He was once more master; she, the slave. Marcus felt the chasm between them like an open wound. He straightened and looked down at her coldly. “Wash yourself and throw away that tunic before you go to her. She needs no reminders of what she’s done.” He turned and left her.

Hadassah watched him go, her eyes burning with tears. A soft breeze blew through the garden. “Yeshua, Yeshua,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Have mercy on him. Have mercy on Julia. Oh, Lord, have mercy on them all.”

21

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Atretes raked his hands back through his hair. He had grown so accustomed to the sound, he hardly heard the hobnailed shoes of the guard passing by on the iron bars above his head. Unless he had had the dream. Then he heard the heavy footsteps and saw the shadow of the guard. Restless, he rose in the darkness of his cell, wondering how near dawn it was. Better to be in the courtyard going through the rigorous exercises. Better to have a sword in his hand. The dream left a memory of the black forests of his homeland so strong that he thought he’d go mad in the confinement of this cell.

He picked up the stone idol from its corner alcove. He ran his fingers lightly over the dozen pendulous breasts that covered her chest and belly. Tiwaz had deserted him in Germania, and he needed a god to worship. Perhaps this one would do. Artemis appealed to Atretes’ sensuality. Bato said that for an offering of money, the temple priestesses assisted devoted followers in “worship.” Atretes had visited the temple of Isis and come away sated, if vaguely disquieted by his visit. Women worshiped as well, with priests available to them for a fee. Rome had its pleasures.

Torchlight flickered overhead and he heard the guards talking. He set the idol back in its alcove and sat on his stone bench. Leaning back against the cold stone, he closed his eyes and dreamed of his mother again, prophesying before a burning pyre: “
A woman with dark hair and eyes
…” He hadn’t had the dream in months, not since the night before he killed Tharacus and saw the two young women in the orchard beside the road to Capua. Yet tonight it had been so powerful and so real that it lingered like an echo in the darkness. The woman of whom his mother spoke was near.

Rome was full of women with dark hair and eyes. Many who attended the pregame feasts were incredibly beautiful. Some offered themselves to him. As a means of insult, he ignored them. That he tried the emperor’s patience was only a matter of satisfaction. Atretes no longer feared being crucified or thrown to the animals: the Roman mob would never allow it. With eighty-nine kills to his credit, thousands poured into the Circus Maximus just to see him fight. The emperor was no fool. He wouldn’t waste such a valued commodity over a matter as insignificant as pride.

Yet Atretes gained no pleasure from his fame. In fact, he found it served to further enslave him. More guards were assigned to him, not to prevent the escape which he now knew was impossible, but to prevent an adoring populace from tearing him apart.

His name was splashed across walls all over the city. Flowers and coin were thrown down to him before and after he fought, and gifts from amoratae poured into the ludus daily. He couldn’t appear anywhere outside the ludus without a dozen trained guards around him. Visits to Pugnax’s inn were no longer allowed because of the riots they caused. His mere presence at a feast often made women faint. When he was on the sand, his name was shouted over and over by thousands until it sounded like the deep pulsing heartbeat of a primeval beast.