A Voice in the Wind (53 page)

Belief in that god was the cause of this.

Belief in that god was going to get her killed!

He had to make her understand.

Marcus tipped her chin and saw the pink imprint of his fingers on her pale cheek. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but he could see they were carefully expressionless. He felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. “Hadassah,” he whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to protect you.” He laid his hand over the mark, wanting to cover it and make it go away.

Her eyes flickered to his and he saw an infinite sorrow and compassion in them. She gently laid her own hand over his as though to comfort
him
. He cupped her face, drawing her close and filling his lungs with the scent of her.

“Hadassah… oh, Hadassah …” He bent and kissed her. Hearing her soft gasp, his heart raced, and he dug his fingers into her hair, kissing her again. Her hands pressed palm-flat against his chest, but he pulled her fully into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. She stiffened, and then, for one brief, heady moment, she melted against him, her mouth softening beneath his, her hands clinging rather than resisting. Then, as though suddenly realizing what was happening, she struggled in panic.

He released her, and she jerked back from him, her eyes wide and dark. Her breath came in soft gasps that made his heart race. She stepped back.

“I want you,” he said softly. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

She shook her head and stepped back further from him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hadassah. I’m not threatening you with a beating. I want to love you.”

“I’m a slave.”

“I don’t need to be reminded. I know who and what you are.”

She closed her eyes tightly. No, he didn’t. He knew nothing about her, not really. Nothing that mattered. “I must go, my lord. Please.”

“Go where?”

“To my quarters.”

“I want to come with you.”

She looked at him again, her hand clutching the wool of her tunic. “Have I a choice?”

Marcus knew what she’d say if he gave her one. Against all natural human instincts, her cursed god demanded purity of his followers. “What if I said no?”

“I would beg you not to violate me.”

He flushed hotly. “
Violate
you?” The word cut him and roused his already heightened anger. “My family
owns
you. It’s no violation to take what I want from something that belongs to me. It’s a sign of the respect I have for you that I’d even—”

He stopped, hearing himself. For the first time in his life, Marcus was filled with an unspeakable shame. As he stared at her, for just an instant he saw himself as she must see him, and he winced.
Something
, he had called her.
Something
! Was that how he really thought of her? As a possession to be used without consideration of her feelings?

Marcus stared at her bleakly and saw how vulnerable she was. She was white and tense, a pulse throbbing in her throat. He longed to hold her, to comfort her.

“I didn’t mean that.” He came close to her and saw her body tense even more, but by obligation she had to remain. Running the back of his knuckles down her soft cheek, he sought some way to make amends. “I will not violate you,” he said. He tipped her chin. “I want to love you. You want me, too, Hadassah. Maybe you’re too innocent to realize it, but I know.” He ran his finger down her cheek. “Sweet little Hadassah, let me show you , what love can be. Say yes.”

She trembled, her body responding to the touch of his hand, the gentle huskiness of his voice, the sense of his growing desire— and her own. She could hardly draw breath at his closeness…

But what he spoke of was wrong. What he asked her to do would not be pleasing to God.

“Say yes,” he whispered. “One little word could make me so happy…”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Say yes,” he said heavily.

She closed her eyes.
God, help me
! she cried within her heart. She had loved Marcus for so long. The feelings he roused in her now were melting her inside, burning away her reason, making her forget everything but the feel of his hands. He kissed her again, his lips parting. She turned her face away.
Yeshua, help me resist these feelings
! Marcus’ hand touched her gently, and the shock of sensation made her draw back.

He closed his eyes, a strange sense of loss filling him at her withdrawal.

“Why must you, of all the women I’ve wanted, worship a god who demands purity?” He reached out again and cupped her face. “Give up this god of yours. All he does is deny you the few pleasures life has to offer.”

“No,” she said in a soft, but intent voice.

“You want me. I can see it in your eyes.”

She closed them, shutting him out.

He gave a harsh laugh of frustration. “Let’s see if you can say no one more time.” He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth again, releasing all the passion that had been pent up in him for weeks. She tasted like ambrosia and he drank of her until his own desire was nearly too heavy to bear. Then he finally let her go.

They were both shaking. Her eyes were full of tears and her face was white and strained.

Marcus looked down at her and knew he had done as he hoped. She wanted him. Yet the heavy ache within his body didn’t compare to the greater ache in his heart. He had made her want him in order to gain her willingness. Instead, he had erected an even higher wall between them. Would she ever trust him again?

“Very well,” he said with a mocking twist of his lips. “Go sleep on your cold little pallet and be warmed by your unseen god.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and turned away. Shutting his eyes, he listened to her soft, hurried footsteps as she left him.

Swearing, he let out a harsh breath, already paying physically for his folly. He crossed the room and poured himself wine. His body was shaking violently. He knew it was in reaction. He hadn’t been with a woman in weeks. Unbidden, Arria entered his thoughts and he grimaced. To think of her in the wake of his feelings for Hadassah sickened him.

Hadassah.

A
Christian
!

A scene came back to him of a dozen men and women tied to pillars and drenched in pitch, screaming as they were set aflame, acting as torches for Nero’s circus. Shuddering, Marcus drained his goblet.

Six trained bodyguards saw Atretes safely to the ship where Sertes was waiting for him. The gladiator dealer looked him full in the face. “The chains won’t be necessary,” he said, addressing the guards.

“But my lord. He’s—”

“Remove them.”

Atretes stood still as the shackles were taken from his wrists. A crowd of amoratae had followed him from the ludus through the city streets and now gathered on the dock. Some were calling his name. Others wept openly, grieving at his departure.

Atretes noticed Sertes had his own guards on board. The gladiator dealer smiled shrewdly. “For your protection,” he said smoothly. “In case you think about diving overboard and drowning yourself.”

“I have no intention of committing suicide.”

“Good,” Sertes said. “I’ve invested a fortune in you. I wouldn’t want to see it wasted.” He held his hand out. “This way.”

He entered quarters below deck that were smaller than his cubicle at the ludus. It smelled of wood and lamp oil rather than stone and straw. Atretes entered and removed his cape.

“We sail in a few hours,” Sertes said. “Rest. I’ll send one of the guards for you so you can have your last look at Rome and those who love you.”

Atretes looked back at him coldly. “I’ve seen all of Rome I ever want to see.”

Sertes smiled. “You’ll find Ephesus a city of unsurpassed beauty.”

Atretes sat on the narrow bunk when Sertes left. He leaned his head back and tried to see his homeland in his mind’s eye.

He couldn’t.

All he could see was the face of a young German warrior.

Phoebe summoned Hadassah to the peristyle. “Sit beside me,” she said and patted a space beside her on the marble bench. She crumpled a small piece of parchment as Hadassah sat down. “Caius is dead. He died early this morning. Decimus has gone to help Julia make the arrangements for his burial.” She looked at her sadly. “She’ll need you soon.”

Hadassah’s first thought was that she would be away from Marcus. Her heart sank. It must be the will of God. She couldn’t remain here if she was to be unscathed. What Marcus wanted, she should never give—not to any man but the one she would one day marry, if it was God’s will she ever marry. Perhaps this was the Lord’s way of protecting her from herself; she could not deny that from the moment Marcus had touched her, weakness had washed over her. She had forgotten God… she had forgotten everything but the wild sensations filling her. “I will go to her whenever you say, my lady.”

Phoebe nodded. Rather than feeling pleased, though, she was troubled. “Tragedy seems to pursue Julia. First Claudius, then she loses her child, and now her young husband.”

Hadassah lowered her head, thinking of Julia’s baby, discarded in the garden.

“I should feel more sorry for Julia than I do,” Phoebe said and rose. She walked along the pathway into the garden. Hadassah followed. Phoebe paused beside a flower bed and bent down to run her fingertips along the blooms. She glanced up with a smile. “I’ve enjoyed your company, Hadassah. We share a love of flowers, don’t we?”

Her smile fell away as she straightened, and she moved to sit on a nearby marble bench. “Your master’s illness is getting worse. He’s tried hard to hide it from me, but I know. Sometimes the pain in his eyes is so great …” She looked away, blinking back tears. “For so many years, he’s been obsessed with his business. I used to be jealous of how it consumed his time and his thoughts. It was as though something mattered more to him than I or the children ever could.”

She looked at Hadassah, motioning for her to sit beside her. “His illness has changed him. He’s grown so restless. He said to me the other day that nothing he’s ever done in his life matters or will last. That it’s all been vanity. The only time he seems to find any peace is when you sing to him.”

“Perhaps it’s less the music than the message, my lady.”

Phoebe looked at her. “The message?”

“That God loves him and wants him to turn to him for comfort.”

“Why would a Jewish god care about a Roman?”

“God cares about everyone. All men are his creation, but those who choose to believe become his children and share in the inheritance of his Son.”

Phoebe leaned forward and then started at the sound of another voice in the garden. Marcus was home. “Mother!” He came striding into the garden. “I just heard about Caius,” he said, his gaze flickering to Hadassah briefly.

Phoebe laid her hand over Hadassah’s. “You may go,” she said. She set her attention upon Marcus again and saw him watching Hadassah as she hurried down the path. A muscle moved in his jawüne. Phoebe frowned slightly. “Your father went to Julia as soon as word came,” she said.

Marcus sat beside her on the bench. “Don’t send Hadassah back to her.”

Surprised, she searched his eyes. “I don’t want to send her back, Marcus, but I have little choice.” She watched his expression closely. “Hadassah belongs to your sister.”

Marcus felt his mother’s intent perusal and turned away, debating whether to tell her Hadassah had taken a beating for Julia and almost died from it. If he did, his mother might change her mind, but Julia would never forgive him. He had no wish to hurt his sister, but he wanted Hadassah here, close to him. He knew the circle of friends Julia had formed since marrying Caius. He knew as well what they thought of Christians.

“Julia has more than enough personal servants already, Mother. If she asks for Hadassah, send her Bithia instead.”

“A thought that’s entered my own mind,” Phoebe admitted. “But it’s not my decision to make, Marcus.” She reached out to touch him. “Speak with your father.”

Decimus returned to the villa late in the afternoon. All the arrangements had been made for Caius to be entombed in the catacombs outside the city walls. Roman law forbade burial within the gates of the city, even if there was land enough on a private villa. Phoebe went to spend the night with Julia; Marcus had already been to see her early in the afternoon. Decimus thought his daughter amazingly calm under the tragic circumstances. Caius had been young and vital. The fever had ravaged him over the past weeks.

Now, as he rested, Enoch brought him wine. The room was cold and Decimus had him replenish the brazier with wood. Marcus joined him. “She’s taking Caius’ death well, isn’t she?” Marcus said and reclined on the couch, watching without much interest as the slaves served the evening meal.

“I think she’s in a state of shock,” Decimus said, sampling the beef, but finding he had little appetite for it.

Marcus’ mouth tightened. His sister was either in shock or relieved, he thought, but kept his thoughts to himself. His father and mother knew nothing of Caius’ jealous rages or brutality. Julia had proven so secretive, he might never have known if he hadn’t seen the stripes on Hadassah’s back and confronted his sister about it. He couldn’t grieve the fiend’s passing; for once, the gods had proven kind.

Marcus sought an opening to discuss Hadassah and her remaining with them, but his father was so preoccupied he found no opportunity. Decimus summoned Hadassah and, as she quietly entered the room carrying the small harp beneath her arm, Marcus’ senses quickened. He willed her to look at him, but she didn’t raise her eyes once as she took her place on the stool. He wanted desperately to talk with her alone.

“Sing to us, Hadassah,” his father said.

Marcus tried not to watch her, but every fiber of his being seemed focused on her. Seemingly casual, he watched the graceful movements of her fingers on the strings and listened to the sweetness of her voice. Then he remembered the softness of her mouth and had to look away. When he did, he encountered his father’s gaze.

“That will be all,” Decimus said and lifted his hand slightly. As she rose, Decimus spoke again. “Hadassah, you’ve heard of the Lady Julia’s bereavement?”