An Echo in the Darkness(65)

“I must speak with Rapha.”

“The physician has left the city and will return tomorrow.”

“Rapha. I want to speak to Rapha.”

“She’s not here. Go away! There are other physicians at the baths. Take your trouble to them.” He shut the partition firmly and lay down on his bed again, his face rigid as he saw Hadassah had been awakened.

She sat up, rubbing her face. She grimaced as she looked toward the crack of light coming through the partition. “It’s morning.”

“No,” Rashid lied. “The moon merely shines.”

“So brightly?”

“Go back to sleep, my lady. There is no one to disturb you.”

“I heard someone—”

“You heard no one,” he urged gently. “You were dreaming you were back in Judea.”

She rubbed her face, then raised an eyebrow at him. “If I was dreaming, how is it you know they spoke in Hebrew?” She reached for her veils.

Alexander got up. “I’ll look,” he said, fully aware she couldn’t ignore someone’s plea for help no matter how badly she herself needed rest. He stepped over her and went to the partition. Peering out the crack, he saw a man walking away dejectedly. “There’s no one standing outside,” he said truthfully.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” He went to the back of the booth, where he took down a skin bag. Pouring water into Hadassah’s small clay cup, he added a portion of mandragora and took it to her. “Drink this,” he said, holding the cup to her lips. “You must rest or you’ll be no good to anyone. I’ll awaken you before I open the booth.”

Thirsty and exhausted, she drank. “What about Antonia?”

“Antonia is sleeping as you should be. We’ll go and see her tomorrow.” He covered her again and remained hunkered down beside her until the drug took effect. As soon as she drifted to sleep, he returned to his own mat.

Rashid sat watching Hadassah.

“Rest, Rashid. She won’t wake up for hours.”

The Arab reclined. “Did you hear what the Jew called her?”

“I heard. What does it mean?” Rashid told him. Alexander thought for a long moment, then nodded in satisfaction. “I think we have our answer.”

“Answer to what?”

“How to protect her. Henceforth, Hadassah won’t be known by name, Rashid. She’ll be known by the title just given her. She’ll be known as Rapha.”

The healer.





13

Marcus rode south for Jerusalem, following the road through Mizpah. He continued on to Ramah, where he stopped to purchase almonds, figs, unleavened bread, and a skin of wine. People withdrew from him. He saw a woman gather her children close and hurry them inside a small clay house like a hen protecting her brood of chicks against a predator.

He understood when he saw Jerusalem.

As he rode toward it, he felt the pall of death over the land. All Rome had talked about the conquest and destruction of Jerusalem. It had simply been another uprising successfully crushed by Rome’s legions. Now he saw for himself the annihilation of which Rome was capable.

Crossing the arid valley, he was staggered by what he saw. Where once a great city had stood were broken-down walls and buildings, blackened remains of burned homes—it was a land stripped bare of life. In a wadi behind a mount were tangles of bleached bones, as though thousands had been tossed heedlessly into the pit and left unburied. Two strategic towers had survived the demolition and stood like lone sentinels in the rubble.

Jerusalem, the “Dwelling of Peace,” was peaceful indeed. It had been reduced to an open graveyard.

Marcus made camp on a small hillside beneath a scraggly olive tree. Looking over the small valley, he could see the shattered remains of Jerusalem’s ancient walls. He slept fitfully, disturbed by the echoing silence of so many dead.

He awakened at the sound of hobnailed sandals on rock. He rose and saw a Roman legionnaire coming toward him.

“Who are you and why are you here?” the soldier demanded.

Marcus curbed his annoyance and gave his name. “I’ve come to see the house of the god of the Jews.”

The legionnaire laughed once. “What’s left of it is up there on that hill. They call it Mount Moriah, but it’s nothing when compared to Vesuvius. You won’t find much left of the temple. We’ve torn it down and razed it for materials to rebuild barracks and the township you see over there.”

“Were you with Titus during the siege?”

The legionnaire looked at him enigmatically. “I was in Germania. Under Civilis.”

Marcus studied the man more closely. Civilis had rebelled against Caesar and fought with the Germanic tribes during that brief uprising. Domitian had commanded the legions that brought the frontier back to order. Civilis had been brought to Rome to die and one out of every ten men under his command had been put to the sword in the field. Apparently the rest had been sent to duty stations throughout the Empire. Judea was considered the worst.