As Sure as the Dawn (20 page)

Women spoke nearby. Caleb began crying. Flipping the blanket off, Atretes sat up again, but the crying stopped. He could tell by her position, that Rizpah was nursing his son. The babe was content against the warmth of her breast, his hunger answered. Atretes lay back, stilling his own frustration.

The woman’s attitude toward him disturbed him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and wanting to explain why he had killed Gallus and Sertes’ spy. He wanted her to understand. As it was, she seemed to keep her distance.

He had been furious upon meeting Theophilus and thought Rizpah had known the man was a centurion beforehand. She had insisted she had known only that he was Roman. Grudgingly, he believed her, but it hadn’t improved matters between them. She far preferred the company of her religious friends than him.

He had sought her out yesterday and found her sitting in a sheltered corner, Caleb at her breast. She had been speaking softly to the babe as he nursed. She was so beautiful and serene, his heart squeezed tight. He stood unnoticed, above her and behind a barrel, watching his son suckle. The sudden longing that had swept over him had been so intense and acute he had hurt physically. He had thought all his emotions, save anger, had died long ago. Like a limb without the circulation of blood, he had been deadened. But now the blood flowed back, bringing numb emotions back to life—and with life, came excruciating pain.

Sensing his presence, she had glanced up. One look into her eyes and he had known he would never be able to say enough to make her think he had acted correctly in killing Gallus and the other. She had covered herself quickly, draping the shawl across her and Caleb as though forming some kind of protective barrier against him. Somehow, that act in itself hurt and angered him more than anything else she might have said or done. In her eyes, he was a murderer.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps that was all that was left of him. But whose fault was it? His or Rome’s?

Ever since setting foot on this wretched ship, he had been cut off from her. She was always in the company of the others, more often the women. When she was by herself, circumstances were such that he knew not to seek her out. He resented the influence the others had over her. It was his son she tended, not her own or one of theirs. Didn’t that give him some rights where she was concerned?

That bloody Roman centurion seemed to have no difficulty in speaking alone with her. Atretes had seen them standing on the prow of the ship, the wind whipping Rizpah’s hair. She talked to the centurion easily. And often. He had seen them laughing together once and wondered if he was the subject of their humor.

Every member of the group looked to the Roman for leadership, even Mnason who had seemed only too willing for the attention of such an exalted position. But the Roman had quickly taken up John’s standard. He rose before dawn to honor his god in praise and prayer. One by one, the others joined him until the predawn gathering had turned into a celebration!

Right now they were at it again. Atretes gritted his teeth beneath the blanket, listening. Theophilus was teaching them how to please their crucified Messiah.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

“Amen,” the others said in unified agreement, grating Atretes’ already raw nerves.

“Exercise your gifts as the Lord directs. Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil and cling to what is good.”

“Amen.”

“Be devoted to one another in brotherly love, giving preference to one another in honor. Be fervent in the Spirit, serving the Lord with joy.”

“Amen.”

“Persevere in tribulation, devoting yourself to prayer and contributing to the needs of the saints. Bless those who persecute you and curse you.”

Atretes jaw stiffened, pricked at being reminded of the curses he had called down on Theophilus’ head at their first meeting, curses he laid down every time he saw the man. He’d see Theophilus in Hades before he ever let him put a foot on Chatti land and had told him so!

“Rejoice with those who rejoice. Weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another. Do not be haughty in mind, but associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own eyes.”

These words from a
Roman?
Atretes wanted to rise up and laugh at the irony of it.

“Never pay back evil for evil, but respect what’s right in the sight of all men.”

And what was right by Roman standards was to strip all men of their freedom! Hadn’t they stripped him of his? What was
right?

“Be at peace.”

Pax Romana!
he thought bitterly.
Ha! Be at peace with Rome? Not while I have breath in my body!

“Be at peace with all men.”

Never.

“Never take your own revenge, but leave room for the wrath of God.”

I’ll call upon all the forces of the Black Forest to avenge myself upon you, Roman!

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

“Amen.”

“Remember, beloved, that God demonstrates his own love toward us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

Not for me, he didn’t.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world should be saved through him.”

“Amen,” the voices rang out joyously.

“Therefore, beloved, love one another.”

“Amen.”

“Love one another.”

“Amen!”

“Love one another as Christ loved you.”

“Amen!”

“Hear, O children of God. And know.”

“The Lord is our God, the Lord is one,” they said together. “And I shall love the Lord my God with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my might.”

“Praise be to God!”

“Glory to God in the highest!”

“Who reigns now and forevermore!”

They began to sing, their voices blending beautifully:

“He who was revealed in the flesh, was vindicated in the Spirit, beheld by angels, proclaimed among the nations, believed on in the world, taken up in glory, destined to return, to him be the glory now and forever more. Amen. Amen.”

A hush fell over the lower deck as the gathering of Christians knelt in a circle and began to pass around the bread and wine. Atretes had observed the ritual once and asked Rizpah about it. She had told him they were eating the flesh and drinking the blood of their Christ.

“And you call me the barbarian?” he had said in disgust.

“You don’t understand.”

“Nor do I want to.”

“If only . . . ,” she started to say and then fell silent. He had wondered at the look of infinite sorrow in her eyes before she turned away and rejoined the others.

As she was with the others now, joining them in their gruesome rite.

Had she left Caleb in the small bed she had made for him? Had she set her duties to his son aside, forsaking him for this god of hers? He threw off the blanket and rose. If she had, he’d drag her away from that gathering of flesh eaters and give her something to pray about.

Stepping around several barrels, he saw those gathered on their knees. His son was nestled in Rizpah’s arms. Beside her, a head taller, was Theophilus. Black hatred filled Atretes as he watched the Roman tear off a piece of bread and feed it to her. He followed that act by holding the cup of Christ’s blood to her lips so she could drink. Then he drank himself and passed the cup to Parmenas.

Anyone watching would think Rizpah and the baby belonged to the Roman!

Atretes’ heart pounded hard, hot blood surging through his veins. He clenched his teeth. Theophilus raised his head slightly and looked across the deck at him. Atretes glared at him.
I’ll drink blood, and it will be yours,
he vowed.

The offensive meal completed, they began their time of prayer. They spoke softly, bringing up needs and mentioning names. They prayed for John. They prayed for Cleopas. Black Hades! They were praying for
him.
Making a fist, Atretes sent up his own prayer to Tiwaz, the sky god of Germania.
Give me the life of Theophilus! Put it in my hands that I might crush it and send him to oblivion!

The heat rose so hot in him, he knew if he didn’t move to the other end of the deck where the Illyrians and Macedonians were still sleeping, he was going to kill Theophilus without thought of the consequences.

Rizpah glanced up at him as he passed them, her expression troubled.

He stood on the windward side of the ship, the cold breeze whipping his hair and numbing his face. The ship dipped with the rolling seas and a frothy wave burst high over the prow. The sun was coming up.

The ship’s captain shouted an order and sailors scrambled over the deck, readjusting ropes and securing two cargo crates that had inexplicably come loose. Another salty wave shot over the prow and Atretes spread his feet, bracing himself. Better the roar of the sea and stinging cold than the quiet voices and communal warmth of a group of religious fanatics.

Gripping the side of the ship, Atretes saw land in the distance. “What is it?” he shouted above the storm to a sailor nearby.

“Delos!”

The clouds opened and rain pounded the deck and him. Cold and soaking wet, Atretes remained where he was, stubborn, cursing life itself.

Rizpah appeared. Caleb wasn’t with her. He turned to her, angry. “Where’s my son?”

“In the shelter where it’s warmer.”

“Alone?”

“No.”

His blood went hot. “Who’s with him? The centurion?”

She blinked, surprised. “Camella is watching him.”

“Camella. The mother who never had a husband.”

She turned away. Atretes caught her arm. He felt her stiffen at his touch. “Stop avoiding me.”

“It’s not my intention to avoid you, Atretes.”

“I can feel your resistance.”

She forced herself to relax. “Why did you leave your shelter?”

“You think I should stay and listen? You think I should get on my knees with the rest of you? You think I’ll follow that bloody Roman of yours!”

Her dark eyes flashed up at him. “He’s not
my
Roman, Atretes, and it’s the Lord we follow, not Theophilus.”

“He feeds you like a pet.”

“My hands and arms were full with your son. Had you been beside me, I would have taken the bread from your hand!”

His heart beat fast. He looked into her dark brown eyes and saw something that warmed his insides. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she lowered her head. His temper rose again. “Why do you always avoid me?” he said roughly.

“I don’t.”

“You do. You’ve cut me off from my own son.”

She looked up at him again, her cheeks pale from the cold. “It’s you who avoid us.”

“I care nothing about them,” he said, jerking his chin in a sharp dismissal of the rest.

“Nor about me,” she said. “I even wonder sometimes how deeply you care for your own son. Do you love him? Or is it simply a matter of having what you think belongs to you?”

“You both belong to me.”

“Careful where you tread, my lord. You’re paying me a denarius a day. Remember?”

He was pleased to have made her angry and grinned down at her to show her so. “You look more yourself this morning. On fire.” She turned from him, and he yanked her back. Catching hold of both her shoulders, he lowered his head close to hers. “Take up your sword, Rizpah. Cross it with mine and see what it gets you. Do it. I’m sorely in need of a fight.”

She said nothing, but he saw it was a struggle. Clearly, it wasn’t fear that kept her silent, for he saw no evidence of it in her steady gaze. He loosened his hands, wondering if he had hurt her. It hadn’t been his intent.

“I wish you would join us and hear the good news,” she said with exasperating calm.

He cupped the back of her head and pulled her close, his lips against her ear. “I’ll embrace you, my beauty, but I’ll never embrace your god or your religion.” Breathing in her scent, he let her go, satisfied to see he had rattled her.

Rizpah retreated to the tent she shared with Camella and Lysia.

From where he stood with the others, Theophilus glanced at her as she ducked inside the tent and then looked at Atretes thoughtfully.

Safely inside the shelter, Rizpah picked up Caleb. He was in a mood to play, and she needed distraction from the feelings Atretes roused in her. Her heart was still racing.

“Are you all right?” Camella said, looking at her curiously.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You’re shaking.”

“It’s cold this morning.”

“You don’t look cold. You look . . . alive.”

Rizpah could feel the heat filling her cheeks and hoped dim light from the sunrise would conceal her embarrassment. She
felt
alive. She was trembling, her heart still pounding from the encounter with Atretes.

O God, I don’t want to feel this way again, not about
him!

“Lysia, why don’t you go and see if Rhoda needs any help this morning?” Camella said.

“Yes, Mother.”

Glancing at Rizpah, Camella picked up her blanket. “Did you speak with Atretes?” she said as she folded it.

“Is it that obvious?”

Camella set the blanket down and sat on it. “Not so the others would notice. Unless they were watching.”

“Are they?”

Camella grimaced. “Rhoda is. So is Theophilus, though for different reasons. Besides,” she said with faint amusement, “wherever Atretes is, everyone knows he’s there.”

“Who could ignore him when he’s in a temper and marching past us?”

“I wasn’t speaking of moments like that.”

“His beauty, you mean.”

“I’ve never seen a more handsome man, but even his beauty would pale if he didn’t possess some undefinable quality as well.” She took her shawl and drew it around her shoulders. “Had Theophilus not come aboard, Atretes might easily have become our leader.”

“God forbid.”

“Apparently, he did,” Camella said with a smile and then explained. “A man like Atretes will never walk unnoticed. He’ll either lead men to God or he’ll lead them away.”