Return to Exile (27 page)

*   *   *

BY THE
time Lisbeth reached the cottage to check on Maggie, surprisingly the child had fallen fast asleep curled up in Junia’s arms. “Why can’t adults forgive like children?” she whispered to herself, recalling the ice in Cyprian’s tone when he’d told her to go home. Not that she didn’t deserve his anger. His wife and baby son would be alive if she hadn’t come back.

After carefully tucking Maggie’s legs beneath the covers and raising a blanket over Junia’s shoulders, she lifted the lamp and searched the cottage. Naomi slept on a mat in one corner, but Barek’s pallet in the opposite corner was empty. While Barek pretended to be a man, he was really still a boy. He’d just lost his mother. He was probably still at the funeral pyre for some much-needed closure. She knew how lost and angry he must be feeling. All those years of not being able to find Mama’s remains had left a bitter hole that she’d filled with blame. Mostly blaming herself. It would be a while before Barek would feel like talking to anyone.

Lisbeth’s gaze moved on to the unmade bed, the one where Ruth and Cyprian had spent their last night.

Empty.

Her gut twisted. Maybe now was not the best time to work out some forgiveness between the two of them, but at the least she had to come clean. Tell Cyprian the truth about his future before it was too late.

She made her way back to the villa. From a Ziploc bag in her pack, she retrieved a photocopy of the historical account of Cyprian’s fate. Tucking the paper in her pocket, she turned and went in search of her husband.

35

H
EAT FROM THE BURIAL
fire had singed Cyprian’s brows and melted his anger and regret into an unbearable lump. His wife and son were dead, and he’d just told his first wife to take his daughter and leave. The losses were greater than anything Aspasius could ever take from him. Even his life.

Dreaming of a reunion with Lisbeth had kept him alive on that desolate beach. God had allowed her return. It was more than he deserved. Especially since he was the one who’d failed to wait upon God and taken things into his own hands. And, God forgive him, he was the one who longed to seek solace in her arms. To make amends for the hurt he’d caused.

It wasn’t Lisbeth’s fault that Ruth had died. More than once, he’d been privy to Lisbeth’s ability to perform miraculous medical procedures. She’d saved patients Roman doctors would have left for dead. She would have saved her dear friend had there been any way.

And the accident wasn’t Ruth’s fault either. She was more than a concerned mother. She was a friend who would have thrown herself in front of that bull to save Lisbeth.

Snowflake-shaped bits of ash floated in the dwindling smoke. Cyprian rubbed his damaged brows. He wasn’t mad at Lisbeth. He
wasn’t even angry at Ruth for insisting on accompanying their search for Maggie and Junia.

He was mad at himself.

He alone bore the responsibility of placing Ruth in harm’s way. And he didn’t mean the thundering hooves of a peddler’s beast. He and Ruth should never have married. No matter how Ruth downplayed the danger and played up the advantages, the vision of his fate continually played in his head. The day was coming when he would stand before Aspasius and face the ultimate test of his faith. If he knew his death was to be the end of it, he could have rested easily. But the voice deep in his soul kept whispering that it was only a matter of time before Ruth’s fate mirrored his. He’d tried to warn her, but she would hear none of it.

So, out of a misplaced desire to honor his word to Caecilianus, he’d pushed aside the hazards and made vulnerable those he’d grown to love, accomplishing, in fact, the exact opposite of what he’d sought to do. His poor judgment had not cost Ruth her life in a dirty tenement alleyway. No, Ruth lost her life the moment he agreed to their marriage
.
It was up to him to right this wrong. To make it up to her by securing the future of the church. Time was of the essence.

God, show me what to do.

Suddenly the northerly winds shifted. A gust of warmth blew in from the desert and shoved away the winter season. Tiny flecks of ash swirled in the moment of rebellion. Spring had arrived, and it would be put off no longer. The time for evading Aspasius had ended.

Cyprian passed through the wrought-iron gate and hurried toward the stables. He slid open the heavy barn door and stepped into the darkness. “Pontius!”

He’d always felt more at home amid the smell of parchment and ink than the manure of his father’s stables. At the building’s far end, his friend wept before one of his father’s prize mares.

Pontius startled at his arrival and quickly wiped his eyes. “My lord, what brings you to the stables?”

Cyprian choked back the tears he’d yet to shed. “The good counsel of a good friend and the completion of a couple of important errands.” He lifted the wooden scoop from a peg on the wall, loaded it with grain, and went to the stall.

“You’ve only to ask.”

“Ruth’s death has changed things. I’m afraid the morale of the believers will slip quickly.” Cyprian emptied the grain into the trough.

“The church has suffered a great loss.”

“We must do all we can to ease their suffering. Agreed?” Cyprian appreciated Pontius’s brief nod. “First, I need you to send Lisbeth and Maggie home.”

“I can understand your desire to spare them, especially after losing one wife and child, but you know Lisbeth won’t go without her mother and brother. If you intend to end this plague, how can you do so without a healer?”

“Lisbeth has trained several women in the church in the ways of providing sufficient medical care.”

“For those with measles. What of typhoid? We have no one who could do what she and Magdalena were able to do for Diona.”

“That is where the next errand comes in. Shutting down the transportation systems is the fastest way to stop the spread of measles. The sooner we accomplish this, the sooner we end both plagues and the sooner the persecution ceases.”

“A dangerous gamble without proper support.”

“One that will require cash. Lots of it.”

Pontius’s brows shot up. “You intend to
buy
the senatorial support you need?”

“Yes.” Cyprian charged ahead. “I need you to commission Felicissimus to move forward with great speed and liquidate my prop
erties. Once the plague subsides, the senators will not have the patience to continue this war Aspasius has waged against Christians. They’ll want things to return to normal. Back to the prosperous days when Rome let their conquests believe whatever they wanted as long as they remained peaceful and paid their taxes.”

“If we plan well, we could end the plague and the persecution before Aspasius has a chance to end you.”

“Either way, I’m ready to face the future.”

36

T
HE DOGS WERE FAr
too distracted by Ruth’s funeral fire to notice Lisbeth. Neither Cyprian nor Barek were anywhere to be found. Barek had probably headed for his beloved ocean, and Cyprian for his devoted friend Pontius.

Lisbeth closed the cottage door, slipped through the back gate, and ducked into the night. Since Maggie had lost her flashlight, she was forced to rely on moonlight and memory to find the stables.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet. Several paces into the darkness, a twig snapped. She stopped, listened, then checked her surroundings one more time. Waves pounded the shore in the distance, but the crashing rhythm didn’t camouflage the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. She blinked, hoping to force her eyes to adjust. Before she could get her bearings, someone grabbed her from behind. The thick arm wrapping her throat instantly cut off her ability to cry out for help. As she was pulled tightly against a heaving chest, a hand came down hard across her mouth, clamping it shut.

She struggled, clawing at her attacker’s arms and hands.

The man dragged her from the path, his breath coming in short, labored huffs. “Scream, and I’ll snap your neck.”

Every muscle in her body tensed. The voice belonged to the same
man who’d had his boot on her face when she’d awakened for the first time in this century.

Felicissimus.

She pounded her fists on his thick arms.

Once he had her completely concealed in the shadows, he whispered in her ear. “Ready to make a deal?”

Deal?
What kind of deal?
Fear ripped through her. Why hadn’t she exposed him in the presence of witnesses? Hoping to outsmart him and make a run for it the moment he released her, she nodded.

“Remember, scream and you’ll not be the only one to die.” He kept his arm around her neck but slowly lifted his smelly fingers from her mouth. She sucked in air as best she could despite the pressure he kept on her windpipe. When she didn’t scream, Felicissimus slowly released his hold on her neck. “Good girl.”

She broke free and whirled. “What do you think you’re doing?” She swung a fist in his direction.

He caught her wrist before her blow made contact with his jaw. “There are those who’d be only too happy to ask you the same question.”

“Me? I’m not the traitor. I can’t believe you have the guts to look Cyprian in the eye after what you did.” She jerked her hand away and took a step back. “Let alone come to his church and then his wife’s funeral and pretend to be his friend.”

“Weren’t you doing the same?”

“I . . . uh . . . no!”

“That wasn’t you weeping in the shadows while Cyprian’s second wife burned in the flames?”

She started toward the path. “I don’t have to listen to—”

He snagged her arm. “There’s obviously been a little misunderstanding between us. I want to clear it up before someone gets hurt.”

“So you decided to assault me?”

“
Assault
is an ugly word.
Persuade
fits my purposes far better.”

“Persuade me to do what? Forget what a snake in the grass you are? Good luck.”

“I’m sure we can come to a workable agreement.”

“Agreement?” Anger pent up for the past six years spewed forth. She hadn’t liked him from the beginning. Cyprian had tried to convince her otherwise, but she should have followed her gut. “It was you who told Aspasius when and where Ruth and I would be that day the soldiers captured us in the market, wasn’t it.” Lisbeth poked his shoulder. “We were the bait to draw Caecilianus and Cyprian out, weren’t we.”

“Speculation at its worst.” Felicissimus chuckled. “Difficult theory to prove at best.”

“I saw you leave Aspasius’s palace.” Lisbeth felt her voice go up a notch.

“You saw a loyal Christian doing his part to bridge the gap between his Lord and his sovereign,” Felicissimus countered.

“Don’t think you can claim you were there trying to end persecution. Do you think I’m an idiot? You bragged about becoming the rightful bishop of Carthage!”

“Could it be possible that what you thought you heard was distorted by your overwrought emotions of the day? You have no idea what I’ve done to save Cyprian’s life.”

“No one would believe you.”

“Oh, I think the church will.”

“I don’t know what you’re up to or what you possibly hope to gain by taking over the church, but I know what I saw. And I plan to tell Cyprian.”

“Well, now, that’s the very reason I called our little meeting. I find
your
presence in Cyprian’s home as surprising as you find
mine
.” He leaned in. “I think there are those who would find it equally as disturbing to know you are
not
where you belong.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Merely reminding you.”

“Of what? How despicable you are?”

The gloating smile in his voice made her cringe. “You’re still officially the property of Aspasius Paternus.” He had her there. He knew it. And the fact that she could tell he intended to use this piece of information drew her up short.

“So?”

He rubbed his palms together. “Since you have the most to lose, I think it’ll make this situation simple.”

“What do you want?”

“You forget what you saw in the palace of the proconsul, and I’ll forget who I’ve seen in this house. Cyprian, you, your bewitching mother, and, most important of all, your beautiful little daughter.”

Terror prickled Lisbeth’s skin. “What do you know about Maggie?”

“I inquired around after your little search party set out. Word is how closely your little jewel resembles the exiled patrician evading justice . . . Christian to the core, dense as a gravestone, and yellow as a chicken egg.”

She lunged for his throat. “Leave Maggie out of this!”

He pried her hands loose with a chuckle. “So can I assume we have a deal?”

“What about Cyprian?” Her entire body was shaking. “How do I know you won’t turn him over to Aspasius just to get him out of your way?”

“You don’t.” Felicissimus laughed. “What you do know is that I obviously lack your sentimentality. Therefore, the best thing for you to do is tread very carefully and pray your
husband
never suspects a thing.”

37

I
N THE ANIMAL KINGDOM,
unchecked herds can multiply and overwhelm their habitat. Disease is nature’s way of eliminating the weak and less desirable. If plagues were meant to winnow the chaff from humanity, how did snakes like Felicissimus continue to thrive?

Lisbeth watched the slave trader slither into the shadows. How could someone who called himself a Christian act with such malice? She swiped angry tears from her cheeks. What was she going to do? Protecting Maggie meant she could say nothing. Saving Cyprian required she tell him everything. How could she do both at the same time and not get someone killed?

Still shaking from her unexpected encounter, Lisbeth prayed for wisdom as she stepped into the warmth of the barn. In the dim light her heightened senses worked to place the low, mournful sounds of someone wrestling with a huge sorrow. Once her eyes adjusted she spotted her husband standing before the stall of one of his father’s prize Arabians. His face was buried in its mane, and his shoulders were shaking as he emptied his grief.