As Sure as the Dawn (38 page)

“There are unspoken rules of proper behavior in a place like this,” Theophilus said grimly.

“I think it better if I go back,” she said. “You both stay. I’ll come later when there are fewer bathers.” Another woman walked by and glanced at Atretes with open interest.

“I’m not bathing with a bunch of gawking women around,” Atretes said loudly enough to be heard. The woman blushed and averted her gaze. “I had enough of that in the arena.” Others close by glanced at him with unveiled interest.

“We’ll see Rizpah back to the inn and then go to the fort,” Theophilus said. “You’ll be in the company of men only in the baths there.”

“Ha! Bathe with Roman soldiers? I’d rather my skin rotted from my bones!” His voice carried further this time and drew glances from several young men.

“Not even if you smell like a jackal?” Rizpah said and went back through the archway.

“A jackal?” Atretes said and followed her.

“Excuse me,” she said without pausing. “A
goat.
A bleating, foul-tempered goat.” She plunked Caleb in Atretes’ arms. Ignoring his protest, she went to the vendor of bath sets and purchased two. She turned and saw that Atretes had come into the antechamber after her.

“Don’t do that again,” he growled.

She tucked the strigil into his belt, leaving the other strigil and oil flask to dangle. She took Caleb. “It won’t hurt you to bathe. Don’t worry about all those women. I’m sure Theophilus will make sure you’re not molested.”

Theophilus suppressed a smile at the look of consternation on Atretes’ face as she walked away with the baby.

“Where are you going?” Atretes called after her, his voice echoing.

“Back to the inn.” She walked across the antechamber and disappeared through the doorway as half a dozen people entered.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to have a relaxing swim,” Theophilus said dryly. “You want to bathe first, or shall I?”

Swearing under his breath, Atretes yanked the strigil from his belt. Clamping it between his teeth, he strode back through the archway to the main baths, stripping off his belt as he went.

“Atretes, wait a minute!” Theophilus said, going after him. He grunted as Atretes slammed the belt and money pouches in his stomach. “The changing room is . . .”

Atretes stripped off his tunic and tossed it at him as well. Taking a couple of steps, he dove into the tepidarium. He came up in the middle and shook his hair back. The place seemed quieter. He struck out, swimming for the far end and, when he reached it, planted his hands on the side and lifted himself out of the water. Men and women paused in their various activities to stare as he strode along the portico. He entered the
calidarium
.

For a man who despised being the center of attention, he certainly knew how to become just that. Amused, Theophilus sat on a bench and leaned back to wait. It wouldn’t be long.

Inside the calidarium, Atretes opened the flask and poured scented oil into his palm. He rubbed the oil rigorously on his chest, shoulders, beneath his arms, and down his legs in a hurry to quit the place.

A man approached him. “Would you like me to massage that in . . .” The words dried up as Atretes’ head came up. The man held up a hand and retreated quickly.

Muttering under his breath, Atretes scraped the oil briskly from his skin and shook it off the strigil. As soon as the deed was done, he headed into the frigidarium and took a quick cold plunge.

Theophilus saw Atretes striding toward him, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist. Atretes snatched his discarded tunic from him and donned it. “Done,” he said and took his belt. As soon as it was on, he took the money pouches, tucked them securely in place, and jerked his head in dismissal. “Take your time.”

He strode through the archways.

Laughing, Theophilus followed him out the door into the street and fell into step beside him. “I’ve never seen a man so eager to forgo the pleasure of a relaxing bath.”

“Go and take your bath, Roman. I can find my own way back to the inn,” Atretes snarled without breaking stride.

“Like you, I feel less comfortable with women around. I’ll bathe at the fort. Besides, this old mule of Marius could use a good massage,” he said, making reference to the name often attached to legionnaires for the amount of gear they carried.

They walked along the stone street. White pebbles had been set between the larger cobbles to reflect the moonlight and give illumination to show the lay of the street ahead.

“How far to the mountains?” Atretes said grimly.

“There are mountains all the way. Even following the coast road to Genova isn’t easy for someone not conditioned to hard travel.”

“She hasn’t complained.”

“She won’t.”

Atretes took note of the pictured plaques suspended above several shops along the street. He saw two of interest. “We’ll rest
two
days instead of one.”

Theophilus’ brows rose slightly, but he nodded. “So be it.” Whatever Atretes’ reasons, Rizpah needed the rest. And it would give him more time to ask questions at the fort and learn what trouble may lie ahead. Last he heard, there were brigands working the road through the Graian Alps. Perhaps there was another, safer way. By sea to the Rhine or through another pass. He needed to find out.

“I leave you here,” he said. “The inn’s at the end of that street. I’ll take my time. Perhaps my absence will give you and Rizpah the opportunity to shore up the breach between you. Whatever happened the other night is eating at both of you. Sort it out.”

Atretes’ eyes narrowed as he watched the centurion walk down the street toward the west gate of the fort. A guard was posted, and Theophilus paused to speak with him.

When Atretes entered the chamber, Rizpah glanced up in surprise from where she was on the floor playing with Caleb. “That didn’t take long,” she said and looked past him. “Where’s Theophilus?”

Jealousy gripped Atretes without warning. “He went to the baths at the fort.” Tossing his cloak onto a couch, he looked at her grimly. Caleb was clutching the front of her tunic as he tried to stand on his own. Her expression was one of bemused question.

“I won’t ask if you enjoyed your bath,” she said. “You didn’t take long enough.” She caught Caleb before he fell, holding him up until he found his balance again.

“He’s getting too heavy for you to carry.”

“For long distances, yes.”

“I’ll carry him from now on.”

“Does that mean I get the gear?”

“No,” he said, not amused. “You wouldn’t last a mile.”

“You needn’t add Caleb to what you’re already packing on your back.”

“You’re weak.”

It was said so coldly, she almost dismissed his original concern on her behalf. “Weaker than you, yes, but not so weak I can’t carry my share. And Caleb,” she kissed the baby’s neck, “is my share.” She picked him up and stood. “Maybe by the time I reach your homeland, I’ll be as robust as any German woman.”

As she carried Caleb over to the couch, Atretes saw she was barefoot. Her feet looked dirty and sore from days of walking. He noticed other things as well. “How did you tear your tunic?”

“I caught it on a briar when I was coming back from the stream last night.” She sat on the couch, a little less relaxed than she’d been a moment before. She was dirty and felt unkempt. And why was he staring at her like that? She sat Caleb on her knees. “I’ll go back to the baths later when it’s quieter.”

“Over my dead body.”

“If you insist.” The look he gave her lacked all humor. “Atretes, I
need
to bathe. So does Caleb. I’ll wear my tunic, if it puts your mind at ease. I might as well wash it while I’m washing myself.”

He saw she was determined and, looking her over again, he thought she was right. “How long before the throng leaves?”

“Most of them will be gone in a couple of hours. There’s a small room reserved for nursing mothers. I would’ve gone in there.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“You didn’t give me the opportunity. Would you please sit down? You’re making me nervous pacing like that.”

He paused to pour himself some wine. His heart was beating fast. He was nervous, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. He wished Theophilus had returned with him. Whatever he might feel about the Roman, his company offered distraction from his feelings about Rizpah. Being alone with her now made him remember what he had done in the hypogeum. Was she remembering as well?

“Don’t Germans bathe?”

He turned and glared at her. “Yes, Germans bathe, but not in mass, men and women together. Germans have a sense of
decency.”

She thought it best to change the subject. “What was Ania like?”

“Ania?”

She hadn’t meant to ask, but now that the question had come without forethought, she pursued it. “Your wife. You said her name was Ania.”

“Why do you want to know about her?”

“It might tell me what you were like before Rome made a gladiator out of you.”

“She was young.”

“Just young? That’s all you remember?”

“I remember. I remember everything about her. She was beautiful. Blonde. Fair skin. Blue eyes.”

She blushed at his pointed perusal. She had never been so aware of her black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes.

“She died in childbirth,” he said and drained his goblet. “My son died with her.” The pitcher was empty. He slammed it down.

She closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t asked him anything. She thought of Shimei and Rachel and how her heart still ached for them. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

The compassion in her eyes made him soften and relax. “It was a long time ago.” The truth was, he had lied. He couldn’t even remember Ania’s face. Worse, the pain he’d once felt over her death was gone. Not even a twinge remained. They had been together in another time and in another world—one far removed from Rome. He cocked his head toward her. “Tell me about your husband.”

Her mouth curved and she stroked Caleb’s hair, putting him down again so he could move about at will. “He was kind, as kind as John and Theophilus.”

Atretes’ jaw tightened. He reclined on the couch, forcing himself to appear relaxed. “Just kind? That’s all you remember?”

“Baiting me with my own questions?”

“If you like. You’ve never said anything about him. I’d like to know what you were like before you became the mother of my son.”

He was in a strange, pensive mood. She wished she had kept silent, for there were currents of emotion running between them that could suck her down. “He was a master mason and worked very hard at his trade. Everything he did, he did for the Lord.”

“I suppose he was handsome and built like Apollo.”

“He wasn’t beautiful at all, not by most people’s standards. He was short and stocky and losing his hair. But he had beautiful eyes. That was one of the things that struck me about him when he first spoke to me. Have you ever had people look at you and there doesn’t seem to be anything behind their eyes? They look
at
you without ever really seeing you?”

Atretes had. Many times.

“Shimei was different. When he looked at me, I felt loved for who I was.”

Something about the way she said it piqued his interest. “Who were you that people looked at you without seeing you for who you were?” When she lowered her eyes, he frowned. Whatever she had been before marrying, it was something she was hesitant to share with him. “Maybe I should ask
what
were you?”

“Alone.”

His eyes narrowed on her. What was she hiding? “A safe answer that says nothing. I’m alone, which doesn’t say the half of what I am.”

“Perhaps we should talk of other things,” she said, heart beating dully.
O God, not now. He’ll never understand. Not in his present mood or state of mind.

Atretes stood, agitated. “You gave a vow you’d never lie to me.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

She said nothing for a long moment. “How much truth do you want, Atretes?”

“All of it.”

She looked up at him for a long moment. She was tempted, sorely tempted, to fall back into old patterns of self-preservation. But if she did, wouldn’t she be turning away from the Lord as well.
O God, let him be satisfied with a little of the truth and not demand all of it.

“My father drank,” she said slowly. “Heavily. Sometimes to the point where he didn’t know what he was doing. He would go into black rages like you and break things, sometimes people. My mother was one.” She took a shuddering breath, remembering. She didn’t want to talk about her father any more than Atretes wanted to discuss the arena. Clasping her hands together, she tried to keep from shaking. She watched Caleb crawling around the legs of the couch on which his father had just been reclining. “I ran away shortly after she died.” She didn’t want to remember what had happened then.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

He frowned, thinking of a small girl fending for herself in a city like Ephesus. “Where did you live?”

“Where I could. Under bridges, in empty crates by the docks, in deserted insulae, in doorways—anywhere I could find shelter, that’s where I lived.”

“And food?”

“I stole whatever I could get my hands on and lied my way out of it when I was caught. I became very skilled at both. I survived like one of those rats you see living on whatever they can find. The one thing I didn’t do was beg.” She gave a soft, bleak laugh of remembered despair. “I was too full of angry pride to do that.”

He said nothing for a long moment. “Did you ever . . . ?”

Her hands whitened. She looked across the room at him. Her dark eyes filling with tears and pain. She knew what he wanted to ask. Even after Shimei and redemption and salvation, the things she had done still filled her with shame and anguish.

“Did I sell myself?” she said for him. “Yes. When I was so hungry and cold I didn’t think I could live through the night.”

He felt sick. “How many times?”

“Twice.”

“Shimei?”

She shook her head. “He found me unconscious in the doorway of the insula where he lived. He took me to Claudia, an old woman of deep faith who lived alone. She fed me and cared for me until I was well. Shimei came often. He taught me how to read. They both loved me. I’d never been loved like that before. They took me to the body of believers in Christ. And they loved me, too. Just as I was, wretched and lost. Ruined. Forever, I thought. When Jesus redeemed me, he became my Savior, and Shimei asked me to be his wife.”