As Sure as the Dawn(139)

Varus stood. “You are here and alive by the power of Tiwaz!”

Atretes looked at him. “Not because of Tiwaz, brother. Jesus Christ kept me alive so that I could come home with this man and this woman and tell you the truth!”

Varus’ face reddened. “What truth? The truth this Roman has fed you?”

“You doubt my word?” he said in a dangerous tone.

Varus, incensed, still reeled with jealousy over the way Anomia had looked at his brother. “You’re a fool if you believe what any Roman says!”

“Enough,” Freyja said.

Atretes rose.

Rizpah grasped his arm. “Atretes, please. This isn’t the way.” He shook her hand off and stepped forward.

Freyja stood between her sons. “Enough, I say! Enough of this!” She held her hands out. “Sit down!”

The two men sat slowly, glaring at one another.

“Atretes has been gone for eleven years, Varus. We will not quarrel on his first night home.”

“He will bring a curse upon us with his talk of forsaking Tiwaz!”

“Then we will speak no more of gods this evening,” she said, giving Atretes a look of anguish and appeal.

Atretes wanted to convince them and glanced at Theophilus for help. Theophilus shook his head slowly. Annoyed and feeling deserted, Atretes glanced at Rizpah, expecting encouragement from her. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed. Their silence angered him. Shouldn’t they be proclaiming the name of Jesus Christ? Hadn’t they done so the moment they arrived? Why were they silent now? Why weren’t they shouting the truth for Varus to hear?

“Please,” his mother said, beseeching him, “no more quarreling tonight.” She had waited so many years to see her son again, expecting peace to follow, and within an hour of his arrival home, her family was at war within itself. She looked at Rizpah, beautiful and dark. What of the vision all those years ago? Had she been wrong?

“As you wish,” Atretes said, mouth set. He gestured impatiently for one of the slaves to fill the horn again. When it was, he held it between both hands. He let out his breath and glanced at his brother. “Are you chief?”

Varus’ mouth curved bitterly. “With my crippled leg?” he gave a harsh laugh and looked at Theophilus. “I’ve Rome to thank for it.” Atretes saw hatred as dark and violent as his own had ever been.

“Rud leads,” Usipi said when Varus volunteered no further information. “And Holt stands as his under-chief.”

“They are good men,” Atretes said. Though older than he, both men had been loyal to him in the past. “I didn’t see them outside.”

“They left a few days ago to meet with the Bructeri and Batavi chiefs,” Usipi said, mentioning two tribes that had been allied with the Chatti against Rome.

“Another rebellion?” Atretes said.

“The Romans burned our village last year,” Usipi said. He started to say more but Varus gave him a quelling look. Usipi ruffled his son’s hair and fell silent. Varus made a point of glancing at Atretes and then looking straight at Theophilus before he drank from his horn. They would not discuss Chatti matters before a Roman.

Theophilus knew enough from past experience with Germans to see the way of things. These men had more courage and pride than common sense. Domitian lacked the military glory of his father, Vespasian, now dead, and his brother, Titus. He lusted for any opportunity to prove himself. If the Chatti were foolish enough to join with other tribes and start another rebellion against Rome, they would play right into Domitian’s hands. He wanted to warn them, but held his tongue. Anything he said now would merely rouse further suspicions.

He had come for one purpose: to present the gospel of Jesus. Before he could warn Atretes, the man had taken the sacred bull by the horns, proclaiming Christ with all the grace and love of a warrior slashing his blade. It would take a long time to overcome the damage done this night.

Caleb slid from Rizpah’s lap and toddled over to a cousin not much older than himself. Plopping down before the little girl with blonde braids, he flapped his arms and let out a gusty cry. Marta laughed.

Freyja turned the conversation to the children and then on to the simpler things of life. They reminisced about better times, retelling stories about Atretes’ childhood. The laughter lessened the tension. The slaves kept Varus’ and Atretes’ and Usipi’s horns full. Theophilus set his own aside. He was well aware that Germans like their beer and mead. He had been told once by a fellow centurion that some tribes debated only after they were so drunk they were incapable of pretense, but reserved their decision making for a time when they were sober.