An Echo in the Darkness(158)

Raking his fingers through his hair, he stood and went out onto the balcony. He didn’t know if he could set the past aside. He didn’t know if he could forgive, let alone forget. He wasn’t Jesus. He was a man, and the loneliness was sometimes so unbearable . . . God so distant. He had felt close to him in Galilee. Here he felt alone.

Azar was right. Peace would elude him until he obeyed the command he received in Galilee. He had felt briefly the tremendous relief of forgiveness on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Forgiveness received could not be withheld. He must pour it out upon his sister, whether he wanted to or not.

Yet he still warred with his desire to punish her for what she had done, to make her suffer as she had made others suffer.

“I can’t. . . .” Bowing his head, Marcus prayed for the first time since returning to Ephesus. Simple words, from his heart.

“Jesus, I can’t forgive her. Only you can. Please . . . help me.”





45

Julia lay on her sleeping couch, a cool cloth over her eyes. Hadassah had left to speak with the cook about preparing her a broth that might soothe her stomach. She hadn’t been able to eat in three days, not since Marcus had ordered Iulius to remove her from his room. She couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus and the way he had looked at her. She put a trembling hand over the cloth, pressing it against her throbbing head. She wished she could die now and have the pain and misery of her life over and done.

She heard someone enter her room and close the door. “I don’t feel hungry, Azar,” she said bleakly. “Please don’t press me to eat. Just sit with me and tell me another story.”

“It’s not Lady Azar.”

Julia froze at Marcus’ voice. She lowered the cloth, thinking she might be imagining him here. “Marcus,” she said in tentative greeting. Seeing he was real, she prepared herself for the inevitable attack.

He watched her sit up shakily and rearrange the coverings and cushions. Her hands were trembling as she pushed her hair back from her face. She was thin and white as death.

“Sit. Please,” she said, gesturing gracefully toward the seat Azar usually occupied.

He remained standing.

Julia could tell nothing from his expression. His handsome face was like a stone facade. He seemed in good health despite the recent attack on his life. She, on the other hand, was growing worse daily. She wanted to weep as his dark eyes moved over her. She knew what she looked like with her scraggly, thinning hair, her emaciated body, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. The fever was upon her again, wilting her strength and making her tremble like an old woman.

She smiled up at him sadly. “You once took as much pride in my beauty as I did.”

His mouth curved ruefully.

Her heart beat heavily with dread at his silence. “Have you changed your mind, Marcus? Are you going to send me somewhere far away where you can forget you have a sister?”

“No. You’ll remain here until you die.”

He spoke of her death so matter-of-factly that she went cold. “You’re eager for that day, aren’t you?” She lowered her gaze, for his had become sardonic. “So am I.”

“A ploy to make me pity you?”

She glanced up, hurt by his disdain. “Your pity is preferable to your hatred.”

Marcus let out his breath and walked across the room. He stood at the foot of her couch. “I’ve come to tell you I’ve set my mind against hating you.”

“A difficult decision, no doubt. I’m ever so grateful.”

Her tone roused his anger. “Did you expect more?”

She had no strength left for self-defense. “Why do you come to me now, Marcus? To see what’s befallen me?”

“No.”

“I am cursed,” she said, fighting the tears she knew he hated. “You can see how accursed I am.”

“The gods I called upon don’t exist, Julia. If you’re cursed, it’s by your own deeds.”

She looked away. “So that’s why you’ve come. To remind me of what I did.” She gave a bleak, humorless laugh of despair. “You needn’t. I look back upon my life with loathing. I see the wretched things I did as though scenes are painted on these walls I stare at every day.” She balled one thin white hand against her heart. “I remember, Marcus. I remember it all.”

“I wish to God I didn’t.”

She looked up at him then, eyes dark with anguish. “Do you know why I sent Hadassah to the arena? Because she made me feel unclean.”

Heat poured through his body, the sort that drove a man to wrath and acts of violence. He gritted his teeth. “I want to forget what you did to her.”