“You must go. Now.”
“Atretes told you about the contest.”
“He didn’t have to tell me. The whole village knows. You won’t survive the night if you stay here.”
“If it’s God’s will I die, then I die.”
“And what of my people? Will they die also because of your Roman pride? How far will you drive us into the forest? How many lives will you take before you relent and leave us to live in peace?” She struggled for self-restraint. “Why did you ever come here?”
“No one knows I’m here among the Chatti. When I resigned my commission, Titus suggested Gaul or Britannia. I didn’t inform him otherwise.”
She was perplexed. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying if I die tonight, no one will come to avenge me.”
She was troubled by his words. Did he welcome death? “Have you forgotten my son? He calls you his friend and has sworn to protect you. Your death will set Atretes against his own people.”
Theophilus had considered that and had spoken with Atretes. He had also spent the afternoon praying for him. “Atretes’ battle isn’t against his people, but the power that holds you all captive.”
She didn’t understand and shook her head. “You speak in riddles. The only power that tries to hold us captive is that of Rome.”
“It’s not the power of Rome of which I speak, Lady Freyja.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Stay with me for a time and I’ll explain.”
“How much time will it take?” she said, wary of him.
He held his hand out toward an inviting patch of sunlit green. “I’ll keep you no longer than the time it takes for the shadows to come across the glade.” An hour. One hour, Lord. Please.
She sat in the sunshine and listened to him tell of beginnings, of earth and man created by God, and of an arch deceiver who entered a garden.
Freyja began to tremble. She broke out into a cold sweat at his words, her heart pounding out a warning. “I can’t listen to you,” she said and rose.
He rose as well, looking at her with kind eyes. “Why not?”
She clutched the pendant between her breasts. “You are the serpent in our garden, not Tiwaz.”
“I never spoke the name Tiwaz.”
“Veil your words as you will, I know you speak against him.”
“You tremble, my lady.”
“Tiwaz is warning me not to listen to you.”
“Indeed, he would, for the good news of Jesus Christ will set you free.”
Her knuckles whitened on the pendant. She drew back further from him. “You will die tonight. Tiwaz will rain his wrath down upon you for trying to turn me against him.” She turned, wanting to flee the glade and him, but forced herself to walk with dignity.
“And if I live, Lady Freyja?” Theophilus called out to her before she reached the edge of trees.
She turned, her face pale and strained. “You won’t.”
“If I do, will you listen to me then? Will you hear me out to the end of what I have to tell you?”
Conflicting emotions warred within her. “You’re asking me to betray my god.”
“I’m asking you to listen to the truth.”
“The truth as you see it.”
“The truth that is, my lady. The truth that has been and always will be.”
“I won’t listen to you! I won’t!” She turned away again and hurried through the woods, putting as much distance between herself and this Roman as she could.
Closing his eyes, Theophilus lifted his head. “Jesus, help me.”
* * *
Atretes came for Theophilus at dusk. “I’ve prayed as you asked,” he said grimly, “but I think you’ll be with Jesus before this night is through.”
“Your confidence instills me with hope, my friend,” Theophilus said with a dry laugh.
“Rizpah won’t eat. She said she’ll pray until it’s over.”
Theophilus wondered where Freyja was, but didn’t ask. He took up his belt and put it around his waist, adjusting it so that the gladius was at the proper angle. “I’m ready.” He said no more as he strode through the woods, Atretes at his side. With every step, he sent a prayer to heaven.
The men were gathered at the boundary of the sacred wood. Some were drunk and shouted insults at his approach. Others laughed, excited at the prospect of seeing Roman blood let. Theophilus could feel Atretes growing more and more angry the closer they came. The men saw and felt it also, and the gathering grew quieter because of it.
Young Rolf stood beside Rud, eyes as blue and fierce as Atretes’. His long red hair was partially covered by a galea, a leather cap, as well as the metal cassis that covered it. The helmet bore runes of victory, carrying the name Tiwaz. Rolf held a long, broad slashing weapon called a spatha in his right hand, and in his left hand, an oval shield made of wood on which was carved the image of the god he served. The horned, twofold being, bearing an ax in one hand and a scythe in the other. The pagan god, Tiwaz.