An Echo in the Darkness(118)

Rashid fell into step beside Alexander. “Her servant told me she is the daughter of Phoebe Valerian. Her father is dead. She has a brother named Marcus. He left Ephesus some months ago.”

“By all the gods, Rashid. I put her head right into the lion’s mouth, didn’t I?”

“Rapha must have known.”

“Why didn’t she say something?”

It was a question neither man could answer with any sense of satisfaction. Neither understood her. She never ceased to amaze and perplex them.

“The Valerian woman is dying, isn’t she?” Rashid said, staring straight ahead as he walked.

“Yes, she’s dying.” Alexander glanced at the stony-faced Arab. “A matter of mere months, I would guess.”

“First the mother. Now the daughter.”

He nodded and looked ahead again. “It does make one wonder if God is striking the Valerians down one at a time for what they did to Hadassah.” He wondered if Hadassah would interpret what was happening that way. She said Christ Jesus was the embodiment of love. Would a god of love take such vengeance?

Rashid was thinking of other things. “Will her death be painful?”

“And slow.”

Rashid’s stony face relaxed. “Good,” he said. “Justice is served.”





27

Marcus awakened beneath a beam of sunlight through the high window. He winced as pain shot through his head. Groaning, he rolled away from the light and bumped into the potter’s wheel. Swearing, he pushed himself up and leaned against it.

His mouth was dry, his tongue thick. He saw the wineskin he had purchased the night before lying flaccid on the floor. Each beat of his heart drove shafts of pain through his head. Even running his fingers through his tousled hair hurt.

A soft breeze stirred the dust around him, and he noticed that the door stood open. He thought he remembered closing it the night before, but then, he didn’t remember much of anything clearly.

Except the dream.

Closing his eyes, he tried to recapture the precious bits and pieces of it . . . Hadassah sitting with him on a bench in the peristyle of the villa in Rome . . . Hadassah with the lyre in her hands, singing softly of a shepherd. In his dreams, she was vivid, clear. He could see her face, hear her voice, touch her. Only when he was awake did she elude him.

As she did now.

Swearing softly, he gave up. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled across the room. Nauseated, he leaned heavily on the table and looked around the room for another wineskin. He saw the old woman instead, sitting in the shadows beneath the window.

“You!” he said and sat down heavily on the stool. He put his head in his hands again. The throbbing pain was excruciating.

“You don’t look well, Marcus Lucianus Valerian.”

“I’ve had better mornings.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“Thank you for the insight.”

She chuckled. “You bring back memories of my husband during Purim celebrations. According to our traditions, he would drink until he couldn’t tell the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordecai.’ Ah, but the next day, he would look like you do now. Pinched white. A tinge of green.”

He rubbed his face, hoping if he said nothing she would go home.

“Of course, he drank as part of a joyous holiday. You drink to forget.”

His hands stilled. He lowered them slowly and glared at her. “Why do you keep coming back here?”

“I brought you a jug of water. Drink some and then wash your face.”

He was annoyed that she spoke to him as though he were a boy she was reprimanding, but he rose shakily and did as she said. Perhaps when he finished doing as she asked, she would leave. He drank a cup of water and poured some into a basin. When he finished washing his face, he sat at the table again. “What do you want this time?”

Undaunted by his rudeness, she smiled. “I want you to walk in the hills and see the spring lambs and lilies of the field.”

“I’m not interested in lambs and lilies.”

She used her walking stick to stand. “You won’t find Hadassah’s spirit in this house, Marcus.” She saw his pained grimace, and her expression softened. “If you’ve come to Nain to be close to her, I’ll show you the places she enjoyed most. We’ll start with a hillside at the east side of the village.” She walked toward the door.

Tilting his head, Marcus squinted his eyes at her. “Must I suffer your company along the way?”

“By the looks of you, I don’t think you could outrun me.”

He gave a bleak laugh and winced.

She stopped on the threshold. “Hadassah liked lambs and lilies.”