When Rizpah came up next to him, he pulled her close.
“Home,” he said, his fingers combing into her hair. “We’re almost home!” Laughing, he kissed her, opening her mouth, giving release to his excitement.
Rizpah gasped when he released her, falling back a step, her cheeks bright red. She looked startled and uncertain. Grinning down at her, Atretes took Caleb and sat him on his shoulders as they went on. “I used to hunt in those hills. Over there is swampland and a bog. Beyond that, just over that hill, is my village.” But when they came to the clearing, only charred and decaying remains of a long-ago burned village remained. Atretes walked out into the open, looking around. A portion of a huge longhouse remained, grass growing up between the broken-down beams and collapsed walls. Beyond, he saw the burned timber roofs of the grubenhaus. The sunken huts had caved in, leaving shallow hollows in the earth.
The old anger stirred in him. Rome!
Eleven years ago, he and his mother had laid his father in a funeral house not twenty feet from where he stood. Many other funeral houses had burned that night, but the village had been intact. A few months later, his people were scattered or dead, and he, a captive, had been chained in a wagon and on his way to the Roman ludus.
Several hundred people had once lived here. Where were they now?
Throwing his head back, Atretes gave a shout that reverberated. Frightened, Caleb started to cry. Atretes swung the boy down from his shoulders and half tossed him to Rizpah. Walking away from her and his son, he shouted again, louder, the sound of his deep voice carrying into the forest. If his people were anywhere near, they would hear and know he had returned.
The sound of his battle cry was so much like that of the attacking Mattiaci that Rizpah shuddered. Theophilus came and stood beside her. “I never made it this far north, but I can guess what happened.” He kicked at a burned and rotting piece of timber.
“I’m afraid,” she said. “And I’m not even exactly sure what frightens me.” She looked up at him. “Do you think Atretes understands, really understands, what it means to be a Christian?”
“No. But then, neither did I in the beginning.”
“Nor I. Did you see the look on his face when he walked into the clearing?”
“I saw.”
“O God, help us. I love him so much, Theophilus. Maybe too much.”
“He has given his life to God. The Father won’t let him go.”
“But what can I do?”
“Walk in the Lord’s way and pray. Pray, beloved, and don’t stop.” Leaving her, he walked toward the German. “Do you want to camp here for the night or go further north?”
“Here. And we build a big fire.”
Theophilus felt the German’s anger like a black force. “I’ll gather wood.” He removed his packs, took a small ax from one of them, and headed for the woods.
Atretes gave another shout.
No answer came.
A few minutes later, the sound of Theophilus chopping wood echoed softly. Swearing, Atretes turned.
Rizpah’s heart broke at the look on his face. All the years of dreaming, all the months of travel and hardship, and they came to this: a burned out, deserted village. She set Caleb down and went to her husband. “We’ll find them,” she said, wanting to instill hope in him. “We won’t stop looking until we do.”
“They’re all dead.”
“No. We smelled smoke. You said rodung, and Theophilus told me fire is used by your people to release forest lands.”
Theophilus strode across the clearing and dumped an armload of wood near the collapsed longhouse. “They wouldn’t leave their sacred grove,” he said with excitement, as though it had just occurred to him.
Atretes looked half startled. “You’re right.” Grabbing up his pack, he headed across the clearing, framea in hand. Rizpah ran for Caleb while Theophilus shouldered his share of the gear.
They walked quickly, weaving their way through the trees. The wind changed, and Rizpah smelled smoke again, stronger this time.
Atretes stopped beside a gnarled pine. A ring of black bark had been cut away and runes carved into the smooth surface. “This marks the boundary of the sacred wood. The grove is a mile from here. That way.”
Theophilus shrugged off his pack. “We’ll wait for you here.”
Atretes glanced at him in surprise. “You’re afraid of Tiwaz?”
“No, but your people wouldn’t listen to me about the Lord if I desecrated their sacred wood by entering it.”
Atretes’ respect for Theophilus grew. Even so, he knew the only thing that would keep the Chatti from killing the Roman would be God himself. Theophilus knew this as well. With a nod, Atretes left them. Rizpah set Caleb down to play. The child found an acorn and tried to eat it. “No, no,” Rizpah said, stooping. She took it from his mouth and tossed it away.