“It’s a testimony to the power of Tiwaz that you’re still alive,” Anomia said.
Atretes gave a cold, derisive laugh. “Tiwaz deserted me long before I reached Capua. All your god offers is death.”
“Atretes!” Freyja said, astonished that he would speak so and dare the powers that had sustained their tribe’s very existence.
“I speak the truth, Mother. Tiwaz is powerless compared to Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God. Tiwaz can kill. Christ raises the dead.” He looked at Theophilus, his eyes fiery with excitement. “Tell them!”
“Tell us nothing, Roman,” Anomia said, in a voice cold with authority.
Incredulous, Atretes looked at her again. His face reddened with anger. Who was this girl to speak thus in his own home? “Theophilus will speak and you will listen or leave.”
“You are no longer chief of the Chatti, Atretes,” she said smoothly, in complete control. “You no longer command.”
Atretes rose slowly. Anomia merely smiled, seeming almost pleased to see his anger flaming higher.
“You’re in my home, Anomia,” Freyja said.
Anomia turned her head. “Do you wish me to leave?”
It was a quiet question, spoken in feigned surprise, but Rizpah felt the atmosphere grow cold. She sensed the subtle challenge.
Freyja raised her chin in grave dignity. “He is my son.” She put her hand over the pendant she wore, meeting Anomia’s cool look with studied intensity.
Anomia gave a nod. “So he is.” She rose gracefully from the thronelike chair. “As you wish, Freyja.” She looked at Atretes again, noticing with satisfaction the way his gaze moved down over her body and back up again. He was a man of earthly passions, and those passions could be used to cloud his thinking and serve her purposes. She smiled at him.
Atretes watched her leave. The sway of her hips conjured lustful thoughts and roused strong memories of times with women in the cold stone ludus cell. He frowned, disturbed, then turned and sat down again. Varus was staring after Anomia with hungry eyes, his gaze lingering on the door she closed after herself.
“Isn’t she a little young to be a priestess?” Atretes said dryly.
His mother looked at him in faint warning. “Tiwaz chose her as a child.”
“She’s a seer?”
“She hasn’t experienced visions as I have. Her gifts lie in sorcery and the black arts. Pay her respect, Atretes. She has great power.”
“You mustn’t challenge her,” Marta said, clearly frightened of the younger woman.
“She hasn’t the power of God,” Atretes said disdainfully.
“She has the power of Tiwaz!” Varus said, his emotions still running high.
“Our people revere her as a goddess,” Freyja said, her slender hands loosely folded on her lap.
“A goddess,” Atretes snorted. “You want to hear of power? Rizpah was killed by Mattiaci warriors. I watched her die, Mother. With my own eyes.” He saw their doubts, felt them. “If there’s one thing I’ve seen in plenty the last eleven years, it’s death.” He pointed to Theophilus. “This man laid his hands upon her and prayed in the name of Jesus Christ. I watched her awakened from death. The wound sealed. I swear on my sword, it’s the truth! Nothing I have ever seen in the sacred grove matches Jesus Christ. Nothing even comes close!”
Filled with anxiety, Freyja stared at her son. What was it about this name, Jesus, that made her insides shake? “There are many gods, Atretes, but Tiwaz is and has always been the only true god of our people.”
“What has Tiwaz brought the Chatti other than death and destruction?”
Marta gasped, eyes wide with fear. Even Usipi drew back. Varus’ eyes flamed.
“You must not speak so,” Freyja said. “You offend our god.”
“Let him be offended!”
“Atretes,” Theophilus said softly.
He ignored the appeal for silence, giving vent to his rising anger. “Where was Tiwaz when our people cried out to him in battle against the Hermunduri? In your father’s time, Mother, did the Chatti win the battle for the river and salt flat? No. The Hermunduri butchered us. They almost wiped us out, by your own telling. Where was Tiwaz then? What power did he show? Where was this great god when Father and I fought against Rome? Did he or Dulga or Rolf or a hundred others achieve victory over the enemy? No! They fought valiantly and died while crying out the name Tiwaz. And I was put in chains!”
“Enough!” Varus said.
Atretes ignored his brother, his gaze riveted to his mother. Her face was stark white. Atretes calmed, regretting his harshness, but he would not be silenced. “I believed, Mother. I was his disciple. You know of my devotion. I bled for him and drank the blood from the sacred horn. I sacrificed. I killed for him and proclaimed his name aloud in every battle I fought from Germania to Rome to Ephesus. And all I’ve ever known is death and destruction. Until seven days ago.”