He carried Hadassah up the steps and lowered her when they reached the upper corridor. She swayed slightly. He caught her hand to steady her. It was ice cold. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. She shook her head and took her hand from his, preceding him down the corridor and into the bedchamber.
She recognized Iulius at once. He had been Decimus’ personal servant, and she had had little discourse with him. He sat beside Phoebe’s bed, his face lined with worry. The slave girl spoke softly to him, and he rose and came toward them. Bowing deeply, he said, “Thank you for coming, my lord.” He bowed again to her. “Rapha,” he said, and there was great respect in that single word—and great hope as well.
Hadassah looked toward the bed and the woman lying upon it. She walked slowly toward it, each step bringing back piercing memories. Phoebe’s hair lay against the cushions. Her skin was pale, almost translucent.
While questioning Iulius, Alexander examined Phoebe. Iulius told him how one of the servants had found her lying on the tiles out on the balcony, how she uttered strange sounds and couldn’t move anything but her left hand.
While they talked and Alexander worked, Hadassah stood close by studying Phoebe intently. Her face was lax, her mouth sagging slightly, one eye dull. She muttered garbled words at Alexander once as he examined her.
“She was working very hard, my lord,” Iulius went on. “Too hard. She spent every day down at the tenements near the docks visiting sailors’ widows. She’d be up late at night weaving cloth for tunics.”
“I’ll need to speak with her son,” Alexander said, drawing up her eyelid and leaning closer to study her.
“He sailed for Judea some months ago. There’s been no word from him since.”
Hadassah’s heart sank. Judea! Why would Marcus want to go to that war-torn country? Yet a pang came as she remembered the flower-splashed hillsides of Galilee.
Alexander put his head against Phoebe Valerian’s chest, listening to her heartbeat and breathing. “Has she any other children?” he said, straightening.
“A daughter.”
“Here in Ephesus?”
“Yes, but they don’t see one another,” Iulius said.
Alexander stood and moved away from the bed. Iulius followed.
Hadassah moved closer to Phoebe. She saw a chain around her neck and a small medallion lying against her white skin. Leaning down, she took the small medallion and turned it in the palm of her hand, expecting to see one of the many gods or goddesses Phoebe had always worshiped in her lararium. Instead, she found the engraving of a shepherd holding a lamb over his shoulders.
“Oh!” she breathed softly, and warmth and thanksgiving spread through her. Phoebe’s eyes moved, one seeming to focus in confusion on her veils. Hadassah leaned down closer and looked into Phoebe’s face, studying her intently. “You know the Lord, don’t you?”
Alexander spoke with Iulius a few feet away. “She’s suffered a brain seizure.”
“That’s what the other physician said,” Iulius said. “Can you help her?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Alexander said flatly. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I’ve seen a few cases like this before, and all you can do is make her comfortable until it’s over. Mercifully, I don’t think she’s aware of what’s going on around her.”
“And if she is?” Iulius said in a choked voice.
“That’s a possibility too painful to think about,” Alexander said grimly. He glanced across the room and saw Rapha leaning down over the woman, something clutched in her hand as she spoke softly to the woman in the bed.
Iulius saw as well and returned to the bedside. He looked at Hadassah uneasily. “That’s very important to her.”
“I hope so,” she said quietly. She raised her head, looking through the blue veils at Alexander and Iulius. “What gods does she have in her lararium?” Iulius tensed at her question, and he said nothing. “You can tell me the truth without fear, Iulius.”
He blinked, startled that she knew his name. “None,” he said, believing her completely. “She burned her wooden idols over two years ago. The other physician said a god had put his hand on her. Is that what you think is wrong? That one of the gods she disposed of has put a curse on her?”
“No. The God your mistress serves is the only true God, and he does all things to good purpose for those who love him.”
“Then why has he done this to her? She loves him, Rapha. She’d exhausted herself in service to him, and now the physician says there’s nothing that can be done, that I should let her die. The other physicians said the same thing. One even left poison to end her life quickly,” he said, nodding toward the colored vial on the table near the bed. “What can I do for her, Rapha?” His face was lined with despair.