An Echo in the Darkness(48)

Temple attendants were already moving some—not to care for them, but to get them out of sight so that they might not offend the eyes of early morning worshipers, some of whom had already arrived on plush, veiled litters born aloft by slaves. As the wealthy devotees alighted and walked up the steps, they kept their eyes straight ahead, focusing on the majestic temple rather than on the human suffering before it. They had their own problems to concern them and—contrary to those sprawled about them—the money needed for ceremonial offerings and prayers.

Hadassah bent to another man. She turned him gently and found he was already dead. As she rose, she felt weak and nauseated. So much pain and suffering, and yet only one of these pitiful creatures would gain Alexander’s full attention and medical assistance.

God, who is it to be? Whose life will you spare today? She looked around, confused and disheartened. Who, Lord?

She sensed someone watching her and turned. Several steps above her lay a large, dark-skinned man, his black, fever-glazed eyes staring at her without blinking. His features were aquiline, and he was wearing a soiled gray tunic.

An Arab.

He reminded her piercingly of the long march from Jerusalem when she had been chained with other captives. Men who looked very much like him had thrown dung at her and the other Jewish prisoners. Men like him had spit on her as she passed by.

This one, Lord? She looked away, her gaze passing again over all the others and coming back to the Arab above her.

This one.

Hadassah labored up the steps toward him.

His fingers worked beads swiftly with each prayer he rasped. To Vishnu.

She lowered herself painfully onto the marble step just below him and put her walking stick aside. She cupped his hand in hers, stilling his futile, repetitive pleas. “Shhh,” she said gently. “God hears your prayers.” His fingers loosened, and she took the prayer beads and tucked them into her sash for safekeeping should he want them later. She touched his forehead tentatively and assessed his eyes as he gazed up at her. She was surprised at the fear in his eyes. Did he think she was the specter of death beneath her veils? His breathing was labored.

She raised her head and motioned to Alexander. “Over here, my lord!”

Alexander hurried toward her. As he reached them, the man coughed. It came deep from his lungs, wracking his body. Alexander watched small spots of blood stain the pristine marble. “Lung fever,” he said grimly and shook his head.

“This is the one,” Hadassah said and slipped her arm beneath the man’s broad shoulders.

“Hadassah, the disease has already consumed his lungs. I can’t do anything for him.”

Ignoring him, she spoke to the Arab. “We’re taking you home with us. We will give you medicine and food. You will have shelter and rest.” She helped him into a sitting position. “God has sent me to you.”

“Hadassah,” Alexander said, his mouth flattening out.

“This one,” she said, and Alexander looked at her sharply. He had never felt such fierce determination from her before.

“Very well,” he said and put his hand heavily on her shoulder. “I’ll take him.” He drew her to her feet and set her aside. Handing her the walking stick, he looked around for help and called to two temple attendants. Eager to have the ill man removed from their midst, they lifted him easily to a rented litter.

Alexander looked at the Arab again. Drugs and time would be wasted on this one.

Hadassah lingered, looking at all the others they had to leave behind to die.

“Come, Hadassah. We must show these men the way,” Alexander said. She lowered her head in a way that told him she was weeping silently beneath her veils. He frowned. “I should’ve left you at the booth rather than bring you to see this.”

Her hand whitened on the walking stick as she walked with him. “Is it better to hide from what’s happening in the world than to know?”

“Sometimes. Especially when there’s nothing you can do to change it,” he said, slowing his pace to make it easier on her.

“You are changing it for one man,” she said.

He looked at the Arab being carried on the open-air litter. His dusky skin had a faint tinge of gray and sheen of sweat. Deep hollows were beneath his eyes. “I doubt he’ll live.”

“He will live.”

Alexander was amazed at her conviction, but he had learned from past experience to respect what she said. She had knowledge he couldn’t fathom. “I’ll do what I can for him, but it’ll be up to God whether he lives or dies.”

“Yes,” she said and fell into silence. He knew by the way she limped and held her walking stick that all her efforts were now concentrated on making her way through the crowded streets. He stayed just ahead of her with the litter to his left in order to protect her way. She was tired and in pain. She needed no careless passersby jostling her, and he meant to make sure none did.