As Sure as the Dawn (48 page)

“Does he still wear it?”

“No. When I asked about it, he took it off and threw it away.” She straightened up, then took Caleb’s hand and moved away from the tree. She didn’t want her son near it.

“He’s coming back,” Theophilus said.

Atretes ran toward them, weaving between trees with the grace of a born athlete. “I saw the white horses,” he said, hardly out of breath. “A new path heads northeast. The village must be that way. Two miles, maybe three from here if we go straight across.”

“We go around,” Theophilus said. “I’ll put no stumbling blocks in the way of the gospel. When the Chatti accept the truth, Atretes, Tiwaz will lose his hold upon them and this wood will have no more importance than the land around it.”

“Then we’ll have to push hard to make it before nightfall.”

They found the outer reaches of the village at dusk. Several men in coarse woven tunics and trousers were herding cattle into a longhouse for safekeeping. Atretes’ shout scattered the cattle and brought the men at a run. When they came closer, their war cries changed to boisterous greetings.

“Atretes!”
Without releasing their weapons, they buffeted him joyfully while he laughed and gave as good as he received.

Rizpah stood by, staring, alarmed by their violent greeting. She had never seen men so rough looking and boisterous. When she glanced at Theophilus, she was relieved by his calm amusement. When the men’s excitement eased, they took full, bold notice of her and then looked at Theophilus. A tense silence fell.

“You bring a Roman with you?”

When the man stepped forward, Atretes made a swift movement, bringing the tip of his framea just below the man’s chin. “Theophilus doesn’t come as a Roman.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“I say it does.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he lowered his weapon. Atretes withdrew the framea, his own manner changed. “See to your cattle.”

The three men walked away, cold but subdued. Atretes watched them for a long moment and then glanced at Theophilus. Jerking his head, he took Rizpah’s hand and started down the road again.

Theophilus saw that the settlement wasn’t
rundling
style as he had expected, with homesteads grouped in a ring about a center space. It was a
sackgassendorf,
with buildings arranged on both sides of a central street. He counted eight large longhouses and more than twenty smaller dwellings, not including the gruben-haus, the meeting house. The far end of the street was blocked off for defense purposes.

Their arrival was noticed immediately, and news spread rapidly as adults sent children on the run from longhouse to longhouse. People came out of their homes and poured into the street, surrounding Atretes, talking and shouting all at once while he laughed and embraced one after another.

A blonde woman pushed her way through the crowd. “Marta!” Atretes cried out, and she flung herself into his arms, weeping. Atretes held her close while a man pounded his back. Laughing and crying, Atretes held her at arms’ length. Seeing someone else, he let out a shout and pushed his way through the crowd to a tall, powerfully built man who limped toward him. “Varus!” The men embraced.

Men, women, and children were talking excitedly, words rolling over one another, nothing understandable, and then a hush fell. Atretes and Varus still talked rapidly, not noticing as people moved aside for a woman in white. She walked sedately, nodding as people touched her lightly and moved back in respect. Her gray hair was braided and wound into a thick crown held by gold pins, and she wore a large amber stone encircled with gold and suspended on a thick gold chain.

Varus saw her first and clasped Atretes’ arm. Atretes turned and released his breath in surprise. “Mother,” he said and reached her in two long steps. Going down on one knee, he embraced her, his head resting against her breasts.

Weeping, Freyja stroked her fingers into his hair and tilted his head back. “My son,” she said, tears pouring down her pale cheeks. “My son has come home!”

Atretes was too filled with emotion to speak more and held tight to her. All this time, he had thought she was dead or a slave.

She kissed both his cheeks and then his mouth. “I knew you would return.” She stroked his hair back from his face tenderly. “Even when all those around me gave up hope, I
knew
Tiwaz would protect you and bring you back to us.”

As Atretes rose, she put her hand on his arm. Her gaze swept the crowd as though searching for someone and came to rest upon Rizpah.

Rizpah saw recognition flicker in the beautiful blue eyes so much like Atretes’. The woman smiled at her and said, “She is with you.”

“My wife, Rizpah,” Atretes said.

“And the child?”

“My son.”

A murmur went through the crowd, whispers of surprise and curiosity. “So dark,” someone said. Atretes took the boy from Rizpah and held him high so all could see. “His name is Caleb.”

“Caleb!” all shouted, and Rizpah expected Caleb to start crying from the boisterous, frightening sound that rose. Instead, he gave an excited laugh, reveling in the attention. Grinning, Atretes handed the child back to her. She held him close. She could feel everyone staring at her and heard those words again, “So dark . . .”

Freyja looked at the man standing beside her son’s wife and knew only that he was Roman. He looked back at her, eyes warm and without subterfuge. Fear gripped her, unreasoning and inexplicable. “Who is this man?”

Theophilus stepped forward and bowed his head in respect. When he spoke, it was in flawless German, even his accent matching that of the Chatti. “My name is Theophilus, my lady, and I come in peace as an ambassador for Jesus Christ, son of the living God.”

Freyja felt a tremor. She glanced up at her son. “Who is this Jesus Christ?”

Astounded, Atretes stared at Theophilus.

Theophilus answered, “Jesus is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.” He held his hands toward the stars beginning to appear in the sky. “‘For by him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, and in him all things hold together.’”

Rizpah’s heart raced as she realized she, too, understood every word spoken in German. What was more, she knew she could speak as well. “My lady,” she said, joy filling her as she came forward to stand beside Theophilus, “mother of my husband, I beg of you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to the God who created you, the God who loves you and calls you to repentance.”

The people drew back in fear, their whispers louder.

Atretes stared at her, awestruck. “You’re both speaking German.”

“Yes,” she said, eyes alight. “Yes! The Lord has given us the gift of tongues that we might bring the good news. Oh, Atretes, God is with us!”

Freyja recoiled inwardly at the words. Fear filled her as she looked from Rizpah’s shining face to Theophilus, who stood so calm beside her. She sensed power, terrifying, awesome power, and her hand tightened upon Atretes’ arm.

“You speak of repentance?” came a woman’s mocking voice, and silence fell again, heads turning. A current of deep emotion spread through the gathered crowd, and the people parted like a sea, opening a way before a beautiful young woman who stood just outside the door of one of the longhouses.

“Ania,”
Atretes breathed in shock, his heart jumping.

Rizpah glanced at him, recognizing the name of his first wife, and her joy evaporated. Overcome by shock, she looked at the young woman, who was more beautiful and sensual than any she had ever seen. And young, so young, not more than twenty. How could this girl be his first wife? Long, flowing blonde hair curled about her face and shoulders and spilled down over her back to her waist. She was dressed in white like Atretes’ mother and wore a similar pendant. Her mouth curved as she walked toward Atretes with a singular grace that drew his attention to the lush, perfect curves of her body. Many bowed their heads as she passed by, but no one touched her as they had Freyja. The silence pulsed, and she didn’t stop walking until she stood before him. Her gaze drifted over him provocatively.

“Ania is dead,” she told him, her voice cool and melodious. “I’m Anomia. Do you remember me?”

“Her little sister,” Atretes said. He gave a surprised laugh. “You were just a child.”

Anomia arched one brow. “You’ve been gone eleven years, Atretes. You’ve changed, too.” She lifted a slender hand with long, elegant nails and placed it lightly over his heart.

Rizpah saw his eyes flicker in reaction.

Theophilus watched Anomia, feeling the darkness within her like a palpable force repelling him. As though sensing his perusal, she turned her head slowly and looked straight at him with cold, opaque blue eyes. Without blinking, her gaze drifted smoothly from him to Rizpah. She smiled contemptuously, dismissing her, and gave Atretes her full attention again.

Theophilus looked at his friend’s face. It was clear to anyone looking that Atretes felt the potency of Anomia’s seductive charms.

Heart sinking, Rizpah prayed fervently that God would give her husband discernment and wisdom—as well as the strength to avoid temptation.

Anomia laughed softly, basking in her power. “Welcome home, Atretes.” At last, at long last . . . the way to what she had always wanted was standing before her.

“We will talk,” Varus said and dismissed the villagers with promises that Atretes would speak with them on the morrow. He gestured toward the great longhouse built of rough-hewn timber and smeared over with clay so that it looked as though it had been painted with colorful designs.

Almost as an afterthought, Atretes turned to Rizpah and put a protective arm around her. He nodded to Theophilus to go ahead of him. Freyja and Anomia entered the dwelling first, followed by Varus. Marta and her husband, Usipi, entered last with their four children.

Rizpah was surprised at the immensity of the house and even more surprised to hear cattle lowing within. The long rectangular building stretched out before her. The front portion, where the family lived, was simply furnished with benches, beds, and chairs covered with otterskin. The greater part toward the back was divided into stalls for the cattle, horses, and pigs. The ceiling was high and beamed with rough-hewn timbers. It was warm and permeated with the strong odor of manure.

Varus poured a sparkling gold fluid into a horn. “Beer!” Atretes said, laughing and removing his arm from Rizpah as his brother offered him the horn. He drained it. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he let out a gusty sigh of contentment.

Anomia sat in an otterskin chair, her elegant hands resting gracefully on the carved arms. She looked like a queen reigning over her subjects as she watched Atretes with a catlike smile.

Atretes glanced at Theophilus and saw he was empty-handed. He looked at Varus coolly. “Is it no longer a Chatti custom to show a guest hospitality?”

“He looks like a Roman pig to me.”

Rizpah’s heart stopped at the insulting words. Atretes went rigid beside her, his face flushing with anger.

“Theophilus is my friend.”

Varus frowned.

“You don’t deny he’s Roman?” Anomia said smoothly, stirring the currents of animosity. “Have you forgotten so easily what Rome has done to your people? To you?”

Atretes glanced at her and then returned his hard gaze to his brother. “Three times this man saved my life. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.”

Rizpah put her hand on Atretes’ thigh, thanking God that he hadn’t forgotten everything in his joy of being among his people again. Atretes put his hand over hers as though to reassure her and make a proclamation. Anomia’s eyes narrowed at the gesture.

“Then we are all thankful to him,” Freyja said, instilling more warmth into her voice than she felt. She came close and crouched down before Rizpah. Holding her hands out to Caleb, she smiled. “May I hold my grandson?”

“Of course,” Rizpah said, drawn to her. She released her son, but Caleb turned in her arms and clung to her, hiding his face between her breasts. Embarrassed, she spoke softly to him in Greek, trying to ease his fears.

“He doesn’t speak German?” Anomia said in disdain.

“No,” Atretes said. “I was the only one who spoke German until this night.”

“How very odd,” she said with the faintest inflection of skepticism.

Rizpah stroked Caleb’s hair and felt him relax. She turned him around in her lap so that he faced his grandmother. When Freyja spoke to him again, Caleb pressed back.

“Give him to her,” Atretes said impatiently, and when Rizpah started to comply, Caleb began to cry. Freyja shook her head and rose.

“No, Atretes. I’m no more than a stranger to him now,” she said, her eyes moist with tears. “Let him come to me of his own accord and in his own time.”

Rizpah ached for her.

Eyes cold, Varus waved his hand and watched as a horn was filled and handed to Theophilus. A slave girl served Rizpah a small goblet of wine sweetened with honey and herbs. Varus limped to a large otterskin chair and sat down. Glaring at Theophilus, he rubbed his crippled leg. “How is it you owe a Roman your life, Atretes?”

“Once, aboard ship, he blocked a sword blow that would have killed me. The second time, he pulled me from the sea when I was unconscious. The final time, he got me out of Rome before Domitian could send me back into the arena.”

“We saw you taken and thought they would sacrifice you in a Roman triumph,” Usipi said.

“The Roman commander sold me to a slaver who dealt in gladiators,” Atretes said grimly. “They chained me into a wagon and took me to Capua.” He could almost feel the brand they had burned into his heel in that foul place. The beer turned sour in his mouth. Grimacing, he rolled the empty horn between his hands. “I fought in Rome and then in Ephesus. I earned my freedom there.”

“It’s a testimony to the power of Tiwaz that you’re still alive,” Anomia said.

Atretes gave a cold, derisive laugh. “Tiwaz deserted me long before I reached Capua. All your god offers is death.”

“Atretes!” Freyja said, astonished that he would speak so and dare the powers that had sustained their tribe’s very existence.