As Sure as the Dawn (35 page)

“What did you find out that you’re not telling me, Roman?”

Theophilus looked at him grimly. “Pugnax is dead.”

“Dead? How?”

“He was sent to the arena on charges of harboring an enemy of the emperor.”

Atretes swore under his breath and moved away. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Pugnax got what he wanted, a chance for more days of glory.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Atretes turned and looked at him.

“Domitian fed him to a pack of wild dogs.”

“Dogs?” he said, sickened. There was no worse shame than for a man to be fed to wild animals. It was a death of humiliation. He looked at Theophilus and frowned. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Domitian ordered the lanista at the Great School questioned.”

“Bato,” Atretes said dully. His heart sank.

“Domitian imprisoned and tortured him. When that didn’t avail him the information he sought, he pitted the lanista against another African. Bato wounded him, and the crowd gave the
pollice verso.
Your friend turned the dagger on himself instead.”

A heaviness gripped Atretes. His spirit sank into black despair. Groaning, he turned away, not wanting the Roman to see his feelings. Two more deaths could be accounted to him.

Theophilus knew he was stricken. “Domitian will answer for what he’s done,” he said quietly, putting his hand on Atretes’ shoulder.

Atretes shook his hand off. “Answer to whom? His brother, the emperor?” he sneered, his pale blue eyes glittering with angry tears. “To Rome, who craves human sacrifice for its altars of
entertainment?”

“To God,” Rizpah said, standing on the other side of the cryptoporticus, Caleb in her arms.

“My apologies, Rizpah,” Theophilus said. “I didn’t want to awaken you.”

“It’ll be dawn soon,” she said, looking up at the openings in the vaulted ceiling. “I’ll make myself and Caleb ready.”

Theophilus looked from her to Atretes, sensing tension between them.

“What are you looking at?”

Theophilus gave him a level look. “Gather whatever you intend to take. We’ll leave within the hour,” he said and went to do likewise.

As the sun came up, Theophilus, Atretes, and Rizpah, Caleb bundled and tied on her back, melted into the throng leaving Rome. The sky was smoke gray, and the air smelled heavily of soot and ash. They walked to the side of the road among the peasant sojourners while wealthier citizenry in their chariots took possession of the road, making haste for the safety of their country estates.

Rizpah shifted Caleb’s weight. Though she had settled him with ease at dawn, each milestone they passed seemed to add pounds to his small frame. When he began to wriggle and cry from the lengthy confinement, she untied the shawl and removed it, riding him more easily on her hip. After another mile, he was petulant; she, exhausted.

Theophilus noticed her weariness. “We’ll rest by that stream.”

Atretes said nothing, keeping the same distance between them that he had set at dawn. Theophilus glanced at him as he dumped his pack. Whatever had happened between them the night before still preyed as heavily on Atretes’ mind as on hers. They made a study of not looking at one another.

Rizpah winced as she set Caleb down. She sat beside him near the stream. With a squeal of delight, the babe took off crawling straight for the burbling water. “Oh, Caleb,” she said, exhausted and vexed. She longed to sit down and soak her aching feet in the cool water, but knew Caleb couldn’t be caged any longer.

“Sit down and rest,” Atretes said in a tone of equal frustration. She paid him no heed and rose. Muttering something in German, Atretes planted a hard hand on her shoulder and pushed her down again. “I said
sit!”
Scooping Caleb up off the grass, he strode down the bank, the infant dangling under his arm like a sack of meal.

Face flushed, Rizpah rose, annoyance and alarm momentarily overcoming her weariness. “Don’t carry him like that, Atretes. He’s a child, not a sack of grain.”

Theophilus suppressed a smile as he watched Caleb’s legs bob. “Let him go. Caleb will come to no harm in the arms of his father.”

She glared after Atretes, fighting back tears. “I wish I shared your confidence,” she said dismally. She bit her lip and looked away.

Theophilus leaned back on his pack. “Go ahead and cry for him, Rizpah. It’ll give you some ease.”

“I wouldn’t be crying for him. I’d be crying for myself.” She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. “He’s the most frustrating, bullheaded, thick-skinned . . .” Struggling with her tumultuous emotions, she sat down and lowered her head to hide her face from Theophilus’ scrutiny.

“What happened last night?”

She blushed vividly. “Nothing that should have surprised me,” she said grimly.

Theophilus was left to wonder. He had ideas of his own, but hoped they were incorrect. He had seen how Atretes looked at her. He smiled to himself. If he were a few years younger, or she a few older, Atretes wouldn’t have a clear field where she was concerned. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but give him time.” He received a hot look that surprised him and gave him a hint of what happened. His outrage was swift. “Did he—”

“No,” she said quickly and looked away, embarrassed. “He changed his mind.”

That’s something,
Theophilus thought. A man’s decency could be destroyed after a couple of years in a ludus. Atretes had spent over ten years in them.

“He’s been chained, beaten, branded, and trained like a prize animal, Rizpah,” he said, feeling compelled to explain the barbarian. “He won’t become civilized overnight.”

“I didn’t do any of those things to him.”

“No, but you’re more of a threat to him than anything else he’s faced so far. His emotions are on fire.”

“I didn’t fan them.”

“Your proximity is enough to do that, or haven’t you noticed?”

“The only emotion Atretes possesses in any great quantity and quality is
anger!”
she said, her dark eyes glittering.

“He’s had to hone it to survive. Can you blame him?”

“I can blame him for what he does to me,” she said, hurt that Theophilus of all people should defend him.

“And how far will it get you toward what you want?” He saw his question made her uncomfortable. It would appear Atretes’ emotions weren’t the only ones on fire. “Aren’t you hiding behind your own anger right now because he hurt you? Love him the way you’ve been called to love him. If you can’t, how in God’s name is he going to know the difference between what he’s had and what you and I offer?”

What was she offering? “It’s not that easy.”

His smiled gently. “Is it ever easy?”

“You don’t understand,” she said weakly and looked down at her clasped hands. How could he when even she didn’t fully understand herself.

He laughed softly. “I’d bet my salt he said the same thing to you last night.” He lay back on his gear. “‘Frustrating, bull-headed, thick-skinned . . . .’” he said, repeating her own words as he made himself comfortable. He gave a wide yawn and closed his eyes. “You two are a matched pair.”

Piqued, she sat silent. As Theophilus dozed in the sunshine, she thought deeply, praying that the Lord would cleanse her of her ill feelings and renew a right spirit within her.

“Keep my mind set on you, Father. Atretes is hardheaded, insensitive, boorish, impossible,” she whispered, so as not to awaken Theophilus.

Forgive as you have been forgiven.

“Lord, I didn’t deserve such treatment. I meant to comfort, not entice him. And he thought to use me like a harlot.”

Forgive . . .

“Father, remove my attraction to him. I pray you will dissolve my feelings where he’s concerned. They’re distracting and disturbing, and it’s hard enough walking this road without feeling pulled by my weak flesh. I don’t want to go to Germania. Couldn’t you change his mind? Maybe a small village in Northern Italy? Germania is so far away and if his people are anything like him . . .”

I desire compassion and not sacrifice.

The remembered Scripture made no sense to her in the face of her tumultuous feelings, but she knew whatever she thought or felt, God called her to obedience. Jesus said
forgive,
and she would forgive whether she felt like it or not.

Continuing to pray, she rose and walked along the high bank. “I don’t want to forgive him, Lord. I need your heart if I’m to do so. My own is shrivelled beneath of the heat of Atretes’ anger and my own. I want to slap his face and scream at him. If I were a man and had his strength—”

Beloved, be still.

Pausing, Rizpah bowed her head, ashamed, her heart aching.

“If it’s your will for me to forgive him, Lord, then please change my heart, because it’s black right now, so black I can’t see my way up out of the hole Atretes threw me in last night. Help me do your will. Show me another side of him.”

She heard Caleb’s squeal and headed along the bank again. She saw them below through a screen of leafy branches. Atretes sat on the sandy bank, his legs spread wide, Caleb sitting between, facing him. Caleb clung fast to his large hands, pulling himself up into a standing position and taking a wobbly step toward him. His chubby legs buckled, and he sat down hard. When he started to cry, Atretes picked him up, nuzzled his neck, and kissed him.

Her chest tightened, and her anger melted away. The same barbarian who had assaulted her last night rocked his son with a tenderness that bespoke his love louder than any shouted proc~lamation. When Caleb was calm again, Atretes set him down on the sand once more and ran his hand gently over the dark baby-fine hair. Caleb flapped his arms happily.

Rizpah watched them through her tears.
I asked, Lord, and you’ve answered.

Steeling herself, she went down the embankment. Her misgivings remained as to what Atretes’ manner might be, for last night was still a raw wound, leaving her cautious. A small cascade of rocks loosened beneath her sandaled feet. She saw Atretes stiffen and glance back. His expression tightened, then he turned back to Caleb, ignoring her. The tot gave a delighted squeal, flapping his arms. “Mama . . . mama . . . mama . . .”

She sat down on a rock and drew her shawl around her shoulders. The air was cool, or was it just her frame of mind? She watched her son grasp Atretes’ fingers and pull himself up again. He gave a squeal and tipped, almost pitching over. Atretes shifted his leg, supporting him. Caleb’s tiny fingers dug into the tanned skin of Atretes’ muscular thigh.

Disturbed by the German’s physical beauty, Rizpah lowered her gaze to her hands. Gathering her courage, she spoke before she let pride get in her way. “However much you want to protect your heart, it’s already too late, isn’t it, Atretes?” Feeling his cold silence, she looked at him, wondering if she had driven the thorn in deeper. She hadn’t meant to.

O Lord, give me words. Not my words that wound, but yours that heal.

She rose and came closer, but not so near she couldn’t retreat should Atretes decide to act the barbarian again. She wanted no misunderstandings as to her reasons for coming to him.

As though sensing her thoughts, Atretes cast her an impatient glance. “If you came to take him,
take him.”

“You can’t make anything easy, can you?” She fired back, then fell silent, struggling within herself. She wanted to hit him and cry over him at the same time. By what right was
he
angry with her? He was the one who had caused the breach between them with his reprehensible behavior.

“He’s had to hone his anger to survive. . . .”

She was dismayed, remembering Theophilus’ words. She wanted to understand Atretes, to make him see how different life would be with the Lord. But how did you reach a man like him who had been chained, beaten, used, and betrayed? Could he be reached when he was so set against love?

O God, help me.

“We’re all like children, Atretes. We want to stand and walk all on our own. And just like Caleb, we have to cling to something in the effort to pull ourselves up out of the dirt.” She looked at him. Was he even listening? Did anything she say matter to him? “Sometimes we cling to the wrong things and go crashing down.”

She gave a soft, broken laugh. Closing her eyes, she lowered her head and sighed. “I was as hopeless as you. In many ways, I still am. I can’t take a single step without the Lord holding me up. Every time I let go, even for an instant, I fall flat on my face again. Like last night.”

Raising her head, she opened her eyes and found him staring at her. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to race wildly. What had she said to make him look at her like that? What was he thinking? Afraid of the possibilities, she plunged ahead despite the hard intensity of his stare, eager to finish and be gone from him.

“I’m sorry I said hurtful words to you last night.” His eyes narrowed and she wondered if he believed her. “I’m sorry,” she said again, from her heart. “I wish I could promise it won’t happen again. I can’t.” A hundred excuses for why she had said what she had flew unbidden into her mind, but she choked off every one of them for a single abiding purpose: to make amends and build a bridge between herself and the cold, silent man sitting before her. “Please, Atretes, don’t hold on to anger. It will end up destroying you.”