She didn’t press him. They entered the triclinium, and Marcus took her to her couch before reclining on another. He declined the wine Iulius offered. Phoebe whispered instructions to Iulius to bring bread, fruit, and sliced meat for him and then waited patiently for Marcus to speak, knowing that her questions would be deflected. Marcus had always hated being interrogated about his life. She would learn more by listening. For now, he seemed content to pass the time with news of ships coming in and the cargoes they brought.
“One of our ships came in from Caesarea and brought in some beautiful blue cloth and embroidered goods from an Eastern caravan. I can bring you whatever you want.”
“I’ve little need for embroidered goods, Marcus, but I would like some of the blue cloth—and wool if you have it.” With it, she could make dresses for her widows.
“Some came this morning from Damascus. The finest quality.”
She watched him pick at the meal as he talked about imports and exports, his routine, people he had seen. And all the while she listened, she knew he had not spoken what was really on his mind.
Then he said, surprising her, “Did Hadassah ever discuss her family with you?”
Surely he knew more than she. He had been deeply in love with the slave girl. “You never talked with her about her family?”
“It never seemed important. I assumed they died in Jerusalem. Did she ever tell you anything about them?”
Phoebe thought back for a long moment. “If I remember correctly, her father was a potter. She never told me his name, but she said people came from other districts to watch him work and talk with him. She had a brother and a younger sister as well. Her sister’s name was Leah. I remember because I thought it such a pretty name. Hadassah said she died when they were taken into the ruins of the Jewish temple and held captive in the Women’s Court.”
“Did her father and mother die in captivity also?”
“No. Hadassah said her father went out into the city to teach about Jesus. He never returned. Her mother died later of starvation, and then her brother was killed by a Roman soldier when the city fell.”
Marcus remembered how thin Hadassah had been the first time he saw her. Her head had been shaved, and her hair was just beginning to grow back. He had thought her ugly. Perhaps he had even said so.
“The daughter of a potter in Jerusalem,” he said, wondering if that knowledge would help him in any way.
“Her family was from Galilee, not Jerusalem.”
“If they were from Galilee, what were they doing in Jerusalem?”
“I’m not sure, Marcus. I seem to remember Hadassah saying something about her family returning to Jerusalem once a year during the Jewish Passover. They came to celebrate Communion with other believers of the Way.”
“What’s Communion ?”
“It’s a meal of wine and bread partaken by those who embrace the Christ as their Lord. It’s eaten in memory of him.” It was so much more than that, but Marcus wouldn’t understand. She saw the question growing in his eyes and the darkening of his countenance. Did he suspect?
“You seem to know a great deal about Christian practices, Mother.”
She didn’t want to alarm him and so took the easier way. “Hadassah was in our household for four years. She became very dear to me.”
“I can understand how Father might have grasped for immortality with his last breath, but—”
“Your father sought peace, Marcus, not immortality.”
Marcus stood, agitated. He sensed the change in his mother and was afraid of what it meant. He didn’t want to ask. He had already lost Hadassah because of her uncompromising faith in her unseen god. What if his mother now worshiped the same god? His stomach knotted at the mere thought.
“Why are you asking all these questions, Marcus?”
“Because I’m thinking of taking up your suggestion and going in search of Hadassah’s god.”
Phoebe drew a soft gasp, her heart lighting with joy. “You will pray?”
“No, I’m going to Judea.”
“Judea!” she said, stunned by his answer. “Why must you go so far away?”
“Where better to find a Jewish god than in a Jewish homeland?”
She tried to recover from the shock of his announcement, grasping at the small flame of hope in what his words implied. “Then you believe Hadassah’s god does exist.”
“I don’t know if I believe in anything,” he said flatly, crushing her. “But maybe I’ll understand her better and feel closer to her in Judea. Maybe I’ll find out why she embraced this religion of hers with such tenacity.” He leaned against a marble column and stared out into the peristyle where he had spoken with Hadassah so often in the past. “Before I left Rome the first time and came here with you and Father, my friends and I used to sit for hours drinking wine and talking.”