“I don’t know if I drowned, Mother. I know I felt resurrected.” He held her hand, which was still delicate and graceful. “And I know now that Jesus is alive. I see his presence in the world around us.” He remembered Hadassah saying the same thing to him once. At the time he had thought it foolishness. Now it seemed so clear and inescapable. “I see him most in the hearts of people like Deborah and Cornelius and a dozen others I’ve met since then. But I saw him long before that.” He had seen the Lord in the life of a simple slave girl.
“Ha . . . da . . .”
He lowered his head and put his hand over hers.
“Ha . . . da . . .”
“I remember her, too, Mother. I remember everything about her.”
“Ha . . . da . . .”
“I miss her, too.”
“Ha . . . da . . .”
He raised his head, struggling against the grief that still hit him at times. “She is with the Lord,” he said, wishing he felt comforted by that knowledge. Yet her loss was like a wound that never healed. Hadassah. A word that was synonymous with love to him. How could he have been such a fool?
“Ahhh.”
“Shhhh,” he said, trying to ease his mother’s agitation. Her eyes were so intense, almost wild. “We will not speak of her again if it upsets you so much.”
She blinked twice.
“She must rest, my lord,” Iulius said, ever protective. “The physician said—”
“Yes, you told me.” Marcus lifted his mother in his arms and carried her back into the bedchamber. “We’ll talk again later,” he said, kissing her cheek.
Marcus straightened and looked squarely into Iulius’ face. He gestured toward the door. Iulius went out.
The girl who had dropped the tray on his first day home took the seat near the bed to watch over his mother. “Call for me when she awakens.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Marcus closed the door of the bedchamber behind him. Iulius stood at the railing overlooking the peristyle. Marcus looked at the older man with narrowed eyes. “Exactly what is the relationship between you and my mother?”
Dark color rose into Iulius’ face. “I am her slave, my lord.”
“Her slave?”
“I’ve seen to her care since she was struck down.”
“And before that?”
Iulius’ voice was level. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”
Marcus’ anger rose swiftly. “Who are you to command me?”
“I grant you that I am your slave, my lord, but I tell you this: If you speak one word that reflects unkindly upon your mother’s character, I will strike you as your father would have done and curse the consequences!”
Astonished, Marcus stared at him. Iulius knew as well as he that such words were enough to have him crucified. “You’ve answered my question with your rash words.”
“Not rash, my lord. Heartfelt. She is the gentlest of ladies.”
He clenched his teeth. “Does my mother love you in the same way you love her?”
“Of course not!”
Marcus was not so sure. He had entered the room several times when Iulius was alone with her. The slave’s voice had held a distinct tenderness when he spoke to his mother, and once, when Iulius had lifted her from the chair, she had laid her head upon his shoulder, content.
Marcus was not sure how he felt about their relationship, not sure he had a right to feel anything. Where had he been when his mother needed him? Iulius had devoted every moment to her care, seeing to her every need. He was watchful and protective. Iulius’ devotion was not a matter of duty, it was a continuing act of love.
Marcus put his hands on the rail. Suddenly he was ashamed. “I’m jealous by nature,” he confessed. “It’s not something of which I’m proud.”
“You love your mother.”
“Yes, I love her, but that doesn’t give me an excuse to make accusations against you. Forgive me, Iulius. Without your care, my mother wouldn’t be alive. I am grateful to you.”
Iulius was amazed at the change in Marcus. There was a new humility in him that he had never seen before.
“You need not be concerned about anything, my lord. To your mother, I am a slave and nothing more.”
“You are more to her than that.” He had seen the look in his mother’s eyes when Iulius spoke with her. He put his hand on Iulius’ shoulder. “You are her dearest friend.”
37
Days passed. Marcus waited for someone to mention his sister, but no one did. Finally, he became curious and asked how long it had been since Julia visited.
“About six months, my lord,” Iulius said.