As Sure as the Dawn (31 page)

Rizpah jumped when the door burst open, banging loudly against the wall as Atretes stormed in. Caleb yelped in fright and started to cry. She picked him up from the floor where she had been playing with him and rose.

“What’s happened?” she said softly and received no answer.

Atretes paced like a caged animal, pausing only long enough to pick up a wine goblet and send it crashing against a wall as he muttered blackly in German.

Pugnax entered and tossed a pouch of gold coins onto the table. “Take it and get out of here while you can.”

Atretes swept the pouch onto the floor.
“I’m
not tucking tail and running from that little—”

“Then you’ll be back in the ludus by tomorrow night! Just in time to get a good night’s sleep before the games begin!”

Atretes spat out a harsh word and kicked the table over. Rizpah drew back sharply.

“You knew what you were doing!” Pugnax said in accusation. “Did it salve your bloody pride? Will it when they have you in chains? By the gods, you may have me in chains as well!”

“Remind Callistus you kept me from breaking his neck!”

“What about her?” Pugnax said, nodding to Rizpah, who stood on the far side of the room trying to calm a screaming Caleb.

Atretes stopped and turned, his expression dangerous. “What about her?”

“Have you forgotten how things work? Domitian and Callistus will make her part of whatever they’ve planned for you. And it won’t be pretty.”

Atretes looked at her ashen face and remembered some of the things he had seen done to women in the arena, things too foul and depraved to even contemplate happening to a stranger, let alone
her.
He would rather forfeit his own life than see Rizpah harmed in any way, and the realization shook him.

“Let me take her,” Pugnax said.

Atretes turned on him. “Get out!”

“Her fate will be on your head.”

As Pugnax left, Rizpah came close to him and put her hand on his arm. “My fate is in the hands of the Lord, Atretes. Not in yours, not even in my own.”

Atretes looked down at her. If only he could believe in something as strongly as she believed in her Christ! What was it about this Christ that made his followers so sure of him? Atretes shook his head. Faith in anything of this world had been beaten from him long ago. “Take the gold and go to your friends. They’ll keep you safe.”

“My place is with you. God set me at your side.”

Atretes caught hold of her arm, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. “Don’t argue, woman! Do what I tell you!” He gave her a shove toward her small chamber just as someone rapped hard on the door. “A centurion and four soldiers just came in,” one of the bodyguards said through the closed door.

“Move,”
Atretes snarled at her, but she stood her ground, no fear in her eyes.

“If it’s the Lord’s will we go to Germania, he will deliver us.”

He turned at the familiar sound of hobnail sandals and the jangle of brass-studded belts. Soldiers were in the corridor outside.

“Get back in there,” he said, shoving her toward the doorway to her small chamber. “And keep the babe quiet.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Do as I say!”

She stood firm.

There was a stubbornness in her he knew could never be broken. “You’ll be in my way.” Before he could make her do his will, the door burst open, and two legionnaires took positions just inside on either side as a third, in the full crimson and polished brass regalia of a Roman centurion, appeared.

“You!”
Atretes said, his rage full-flower.

“I’m taking you under guard, Atretes,” Theophilus said in an uncompromising tone. “Give me your sword.”

Atretes drew it. “Where do you want it?”

Theophilus snapped his fingers, and two soldiers moved so that Atretes had to turn his head back and forth to watch them. Two more entered the room just behind Theophilus. “I’ll make myself clear. We’re taking you under guard, whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t do this, Theophilus,” Rizpah said, heart sinking at the sight of a loosened whip in the hand of one soldier and manacles and chains in the other.

“I have to,” Theophilus said grimly. “He’s left me with no choice.”

“What’d I tell you about trusting a
Roman?”
Atretes said. He spit on the floor at Theophilus’ feet and took a fighting stance.

“Move back, Rizpah,” Theophilus said.

“This isn’t right,” she said weakly, stepping forward so that she was almost between them.

“Make it easy, Atretes, or Rizpah might get hurt.”

“Don’t do this,” she said. “Please.”

“Don’t beg!”
Atretes said, furious to hear her pleading for him. Grasping her arm, he propelled her to one side. As he did so, his attention shifted just enough for the opening Theophilus needed.

“Now!”
The two soldiers in the room moved fast as two others entered.

“No!” Rizpah cried out.

Atretes felt the sting of the whip as it snaked around his sword arm. Conditioning overcame instinct, and he retained hold of his weapon. He turned the blade and cut the bond, but not in time to avoid Theophilus’ fist.

Atretes fell back from the stunning blow and felt the sting of another whip snaking around his ankles. Chains looped his wrist, staying his sword arm from making an accurate swing at Theophilus’ head. Theophilus hit him again, harder this time. Jolted back, Atretes felt his feet yanked from under him. He hit the floor hard. When he tried to rise, someone kicked him back and a heavy foot came down on his sword hand, but he held on.

Uttering a cry of rage, Atretes fought against the four soldiers who held him down until the hilt of Theophilus’ gladius cracked into the side of his head. He felt a sharp explosion of pain and then enveloping blackness as Rizpah cried out.

Theophilus sheathed his sword and looked across the room to where she stood, the screaming baby held close in her arms, tears running down her pale cheeks. She tried to go to Atretes, but one of the centurion’s men blocked her way. She looked at Theophilus then in hurt accusation and disbelief.

He smiled grimly. “He’s got a hard head, Rizpah.” His men put shackles on Atretes. “He’ll live.”

Atretes awakened on the wooden planks of a bouncing wagon, sunlight on his face. “Thank God,” he heard Rizpah murmur and felt her hand, cool and soft against his forehead. Disoriented, he realized his head was in her lap. When he tried to sit up, heavy fettering chains around his wrists and ankles prevented him from doing so.

“Don’t try to move. You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

He uttered a black oath in German and tried to rise again, yanking hard at his bonds. Pain exploded in his head, and her face doubled above him. A wave of nausea dissolved his strength, and groaning, he lay back.

“Rest,” she said, gently smoothing the cold sweat from his forehead. “Try to relax.”

Rest? He clenched his teeth, fighting down the nausea. Relax? He remembered Theophilus and his soldiers taking him down and knew every foot this wagon traveled brought him closer to death and her with it. She didn’t understand what was ahead or she wouldn’t sit so calmly stroking his forehead.

He should have left the banquet room the moment he recognized Callistus instead of giving in to his cursed pride and rage. Hadn’t the lanista in Capua told him his temper would be the death of him? Hadn’t Bato repeated the same warning at the Great School? Anger had given him an edge in the arena; it had given him strength and kept him alive. Not once had he thought what his anger might do to the innocent.

Each bounce of the heavy wagon sent stabs of pain through his skull. He needed to find a way for them to escape. Instead, grim images filled his mind. He felt fear for the first time in years, a fear that gnawed on his insides. He didn’t want to contemplate what Domitian and Callistus might do to Rizpah and his son, yet ugly recollections filled his mind. Better if he took her life now than let her suffer the torture and degradation of the arena.

And what of his son? If he wasn’t killed, he would be made into a slave.

Better he died now, too.

He closed his eyes tightly. “Where’s the baby?”

“Caleb’s with us. He’s asleep in a basket.”

He tested his bonds again, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Don’t move, Atretes.”

“I have to get free!” He jerked hard and tried to sit up again. Blackness closed in like a tightening tunnel, bringing with it nausea. He fought both.

“You can’t.” She put her arm across his chest. “Lie back. Please.”

The blackness receded slowly. He knew he couldn’t run and he couldn’t fight, but he still could manage to do what had to be done. And he had to do it now, before they arrived at their destination and she was taken from him.

“There’s a part of you that wants to fight.”
Hot tears burned his eyes and his throat closed. That part of him had made him wait just long enough to get her and Caleb killed. He swallowed hard and drew in his breath, fighting against the wave of nausea as he raised his head. “Can you loose me?”

“No. I’ve tried several times, but the chains are attached to rings in the side of the wagon. Theophilus secured them before we left the inn.”

“Didn’t anyone try to stop him from taking me?”

Rizpah bit her lip, remembering the throng of people and the shouting. She had feared a riot when Atretes was carried downstairs and out to the wagon, but Theophilus had announced that the great Atretes would fight again. No one had interfered after that. “No,” she said.

He understood all too well. The mob had what it wanted. “Help me sit up.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question me, just do it,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Rizpah said as she put her arms around him and helped him rise. His strong fingers bit into her shoulder, the weight of the chains linked between his wrists thumping hard against her. She winced. When he was sitting up, he grasped hold of the side of the wagon and pressed her back. Her heart jumped as his hand moved sluggishly up to encircle her throat.

“He’s taking us back to the ludus,” he said, his deep voice thick with emotion. His vision blurred and he fought the pain. He had to stay conscious. There was little time. “You don’t know what’s waiting for you there. I can’t let them. . . .” Breaking her neck would be quicker and less painful than strangling her. He moved his hand slightly, feeling her pulse. “Rizpah,” he said heavily, “I . . .”

Do it,
he told himself,
just do it and have it done.

Looking into his blue eyes, she saw his anguish and realized what he intended. Rather than be afraid, a deep compassion filled her. She touched his face tenderly. He closed his eyes as though her touch hurt. “He’s not taking us to the ludus, Atretes. I thought so, too, at first, but I know we can’t be going there.”

“Where else would he take us?” His thumb brushed the pulse in her throat. Warmth. Life. Why did he have to be the one to take it?

“We passed through the city gates.”

“The gates?”

“We’re no longer in Rome. We’re outside the city walls.”

His hand loosened. “We can’t be. The ludus—” The wagon gave a hard bounce and pain exploded in his head. Groaning, he grasped the side of the wagon more tightly, trying to hold himself up as the blackness closed in around him again.

She gave him what support she could. She had never seen his face so white and was afraid for him. “Theophilus isn’t taking you back to the ludus, Atretes.”

“Where else would he take me?”

“I don’t know.” She laid her hand against his cheek. “You must lie back.”

His vision became a long dark tunnel. “Capua,” he said with a groan, leaning back. He was too heavy for her, dragging her with him. His head banged against the floor of the wagon, and he groaned. “He’s taking me back to Capua.” He remembered the hole, the tiny cell in which the guards had locked him. There hadn’t even been room to sit up or stretch out his legs. He had been shut into darkness for days until he thought he’d go mad. “Better to be dead.”

She raised him slightly and laid his head upon her lap again. “We’re not heading south. We’re heading east.”

East?

Where was Theophilus taking them?

Rizpah dabbed the beads of perspiration from Atretes’ forehead and wished she could remove the pain as easily. “Be at peace, Atretes. We’re in God’s hands.”

He uttered a hoarse laugh and winced. “You think your god will get us out of this?”

“God has plans for our welfare. He will give us a future and a hope.”

“Hope,” he said bitterly. “What hope is there in this wagon?”

“All things work together for good to those who believe.”

“I don’t believe in anything.”

“I
do,
and whether you do or not, we’ve both been called to his purpose.”

The woman’s tenacious faith defied all logic. “I’m in chains again, you and the babe with me. There’s only one purpose in that.”

She ran her fingers slowly across his brow and smiled down at him. “God has seen me through worse situations than this.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Was she talking about the night they had left the Ephesian villa? Was she referring to the battle on the Alexandrian ship? “God’s gotten you out of nothing.
I
got you out.” He closed his eyes against the piercing glare and wondered how she could be at peace in these circumstances. What could possibly sustain her so? “And I’ll get us out of this, too. Somehow.”

“You haven’t gotten us out of anything. You’re always running
to
trouble, not away from it.”

He glared up at her, affronted. “You think your god is the one protecting you?”

“I know he is.”

He gave a hoarse laugh. “Who saved you from Sertes? Who saved you from the Macedonian?”

“Who saved you from death countless times? Is it by accident or design that you’re alive now?”

“I saved myself.” A frown crossed his forehead briefly as he remembered Theophilus blocking a sword thrust. His efforts then were negated by his actions now.

“Has there never been anyone who has stood between you and death?”