An Echo in the Darkness(142)

Julia looked at her bleakly. “To what purpose, Lady Azar? I can’t change what happened. Claudius is dead, and that’s that. And it’ll always remain partly my fault that he is.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Julia gave a harsh laugh. “That’s exactly what Calabah said.”

Hadassah was startled. “Calabah?”

“Yes, Calabah Shiva Fontaneus. Oh, I can tell you’ve heard of her. Everyone’s heard of Calabah.” Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. “She used to live here with me. She was here almost a year. She was my lover. Does that shock you?” She yanked her hand away.

“No,” Hadassah said quietly.

“Calabah said we don’t have to regret the past. All we have to do is set our mind on enjoying the present.” She gave a caustic laugh. “I told her about Claudius once. She laughed and said I was foolish to have any regrets.” Perhaps she was being foolish now telling Azar so much.

“But you did.”

“Did what?”

“Feel regret.”

“Briefly, right after he died. Or maybe it was more fear than regret. I don’t know. I was terrified someone was going to poison me. Every one of Claudius’ servants loved him. He was very good to them.” She was quiet a moment, thoughtful. Claudius had been kind to her as well. He had never spoken a harsh word to her despite her lack of manners and decorum as his wife. The realization made her feel ashamed. “Lately, I’ve been remembering things I said to him, things I wished I hadn’t.”

She pushed herself up and walked the few steps to the balcony. Leaning on the wall, she looked toward the sea. “I think about Caius, too. My second husband.” She could remember the look on his face just before he had died from the poison she had given him. She’d done it slowly, over a period of weeks. It wasn’t until the very end that he’d realized . . .

She bowed her head. “What use is there in regret?”

“Regret drives us to repentance, and repentance leads us to God.”

“And God drives us to oblivion,” Julia finished with a jerk of her chin. Why did Azar always come back to God? “There’s a warm wind coming in from the sea,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. “I wonder what ships are coming in. My father owned a whole fleet. He brought in merchandise from every port in the Empire.” He and Marcus had often argued about what the people wanted. Father said grain for the starving masses. Marcus said sand for the arenas. Marcus had proven right and gained the use of six of Father’s ships. With those ships, he had begun amassing his fortune. Marcus was undoubtedly one of the wealthiest men in the Empire by now, while here she lolled in relative penury, dependent upon a stranger’s kindness for her very sustenance.

Where was Marcus now? Was he still in Palestine? Did he still hate her?

She could almost feel it across the miles. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she knew his hatred for her burned within him. Marcus had always been determined in whatever he set out to do. And he was set upon hating her forever.

Depressed, she turned away. She didn’t want to think about Marcus. She didn’t want to feel guilty about what she had done. She had only been trying to protect him from himself. Hadassah, a mere slave, had shamed him with her refusal to marry him.

Besides that, Julia thought, Hadassah caused dissension in my household. Primus had hated Hadassah because Prometheus’ affections were turned from him. Calabah had never really said why she hated the slave girl, but hate her she had. Intensely. Julia remembered her own anger toward the slave but not the root cause of it.

But she would never forget her brother’s last words to her before he left the arena. “May the gods curse you for what you’ve done!”

Shivering, she sat down on her couch again and dragged the blanket around her shoulders.

“You’re cold, my lady,” Hadassah said. “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

“No. I’m tired of being inside.” She lay back and curled on her side, looking at Azar expectantly, like a child awaiting a bedtime story. “Tell me another story. Any kind of story. I don’t care.”

Hadassah began to tell the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. She got as far as Jesus telling her he was the Living Water when she saw that Julia, lulled by the sound of her voice, had fallen asleep. Rising, Hadassah adjusted the blanket over her. She stroked the damp tendrils of hair back from her temple.

When would the stories serve to open Julia’s eyes instead of close them? And yet, despite the sick woman’s inner blindness, Hadassah felt a flicker of hope. What Julia had said about Claudius had surprised her. It was the first indication that she had regrets or felt even partial responsibility for anything. During the past weeks, Julia had stopped being fractious. Now, her moods were darker and deeper, as though her mind was mulling over the past . . . taking inventory before the end.