It seemed to Rashid that she prayed constantly. Sometimes Rashid heard her humming softly. At times, she would unclasp her hands and spread them, palms upward. Even during the day when she was seeing the sick, there was an air about her that made him think she was listening, contemplating something unseen.
Watching her filled him with a sense of peace, for he had seen amazing things happen in this booth over the past weeks. He was convinced that the God of Abraham had touched her with power.
As he improved, he sat on a mat outside and overheard other things. “She has the healing touch.” More than one person spoke these words to any who would listen. Word about Hadassah and Alexander was spreading, for some who came to see them were not from the narrow streets near the wharf or baths, but from across the city.
A small crowd gathered outside each morning. They could be heard whispering respectfully, waiting for the partitions to be drawn back and the booth opened. Some came because they were sick or injured and needed a physician’s attention. Others came to hear Hadassah’s stories and ask questions about her god.
A woman named Ephicharis came often with her little daughter, Helena. So, too, did a man named Boethus. He sometimes brought his wife and four children with him. He never left without giving Hadassah coin “for someone in need.” And always this offering was given to someone before the day had ended.
One morning, a young woman came to the booth. Rashid noticed her immediately, for she was a lovely finch among a flock of plain brown sparrows. Though she was dressed in a simple brown tunic with a white waist sash and a shawl drawn over her dark hair, her beauty captivated. A woman such as this belonged in silk and jewels.
Hadassah was pleased to see her. “Severina! Come. Sit. Tell me how you are.”
Rashid stared at Severina as she moved gracefully among the others. She possessed the radiance of a star shining in the heavens as she took the stool beside Hadassah’s writing table and said, “I didn’t think you’d remember me. I was here so long ago.”
Hadassah covered the woman’s hand with her own. “You look in good health.”
“I am,” she said. “I didn’t return to the Artemision.”
Hadassah said nothing, allowing her the freedom to say more if she chose. Severina raised her eyes again. “I sold myself as a household slave. The master who bought me is kind, as is his lady. She’s trained me as a weaver. I enjoy the work very much.”
“The Lord has been good to you.”
Severina’s eyes filled with tears. With trembling hands, she took Hadassah’s and pressed it between hers. “You were kind to me when I came here. You asked me my name. You remembered me. So simple a thing as that and yet important in ways you can’t imagine.” She blushed. Letting go of Hadassah, she arose. “I just wanted you to know,” she whispered and quickly turned away.
Hadassah rose clumsily. “Severina, wait. Please.” She hobbled over to where the young woman stood uncertainly on the edge of the circle of waiting patients. They spoke for several minutes while others watched. Hadassah embraced her, and Severina clung to her, then drew back and walked quickly away.
Rashid watched Hadassah’s stiff, awkward gait as she made her way back to her stool. He wondered if she was even aware that several patients who sat on the stone-cobbled street waiting to see the physician touched her hem as she passed by.
Each day brought improvement for the Arab. Alexander examined him daily and kept record of the amount of horehound and plantain he gave him, as well as the fenugreek poultices Hadassah bound to his chest. Perhaps these things, as well as the nourishing food and warmth of blankets and shelter, had had a part in saving him from death. But Rashid knew it was more than medicine or shelter that had restored his life. Because of his knowledge, he treated Hadassah with a respect bordering on reverence.
One thing, though, greatly troubled him. One evening he gathered his courage and sought an answer. “Are you his slave, my lady?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
Alexander was bent over a scroll on which he was writing. He glanced up at her answer. “She is free, Rashid. Just as you are free.”
Hadassah turned toward Alexander. “I am a slave, my lord, and will remain so until legally freed.”
Rashid saw that her statement annoyed the physician, for he put down his stylus and turned fully on his stool. “Your masters forfeited all rights to you when they sent you to the arena. Your god protected you, and I put you back together again.”
“If it was known I was alive, my lord, it would be within my lady’s right to demand my return.”