As Sure as the Dawn(154)

Theophilus told them stories.

An anxious young mother came looking for her son. “You shouldn’t be here. Anomia told you we were to stay away from this man. Do you want the wrath of Tiwaz to fall upon us?”

The child balked and whined. “I want to hear the end of the story.”

“Obey your mother,” Theophilus said gently from where he sat. “The story can wait for another time.”

“You others,” the young mother said, waving her hands. “Go home and leave this man alone before Anomia finds out you’re here. Go!”

Theophilus sat by himself for a long while, his head down. With a sigh, he rose and went back to his work stripping bark and splitting lumber for his grubenhaus. He sensed someone watching him. Pausing, he looked around and saw a man standing in the shadows some distance away. He couldn’t make out who he was, and the man made no move to approach him. Theophilus returned to his work. When he glanced up a moment later, the man was gone.

* * *

Rizpah was tired of hearing Varus and Atretes shouting at one another. Her head ached. It seemed to be the Chatti custom to drink before carrying on a serious debate. Other men had joined them until the longhouse was crowded with warriors, most drunk on beer, some on honeyed mead. Even the young warrior Rolf was in attendance, sitting near the wall, his expression morose, his blue eyes glittering as he listened, but he didn’t join in.

Varus’ stubborn refusal to listen met head-on with Atretes’ stinging sarcasm. Rizpah cringed inwardly as his remarks succeeded only in driving Varus into a towering rage. Had Atretes forgotten everything Theophilus had taught him?

She wished Freyja was present, for Atretes’ mother would’ve known how to soften this maelstrom into rational debate, but she was in the sacred woods, meditating and praying to Tiwaz.

God, help her to see!

Rizpah wanted to cry out for them to stop, but she knew it would be to no avail. Whenever she spoke, no one listened, not even Atretes when he was this caught up in his emotions. At first, she thought it was because she was a woman. Yet others were treated with respect. They were heard. Their words were heeded.

Atretes told her Chatti men brought a dowry of livestock to the woman, and the woman gave the man weapons. Marriage was a partnership made for a lifetime, and the woman shared in the man’s adventure. She carried supplies of food to the battlefield and even remained to encourage her husband and sons in the fighting. Chatti men believed there resided in women an element of holiness and a gift of prophecy, which explained why Freyja and Anomia were held in awe.

It wasn’t until Rizpah accidentally overheard a conversation between Freyja and Varus that she understood why no one listened to what she had to say. Anomia made sure no Chatti would listen, for the young priestess had warned everyone that she was an Ionian witch who had come to deceive them.

Rizpah said nothing to Atretes about this for fear of what he would do. Anomia roused passions in him that were best left untapped, and the less he had to do with her, the better.

Rizpah could do nothing but accept the situation. She listened as they shouted back and forth, praying with quiet dignity and perseverance all the while she served them.

God, show me what to do. Show me how to do it. Give me your love for these people. Let me hide myself in your peace and not let the storm shake my faith.

Even as she served food to the men debating with Atretes, she meditated on the Scriptures Shimei and Theophilus had taught her. Around her, other men filled their horns with honeyed wine and beer. She went over psalms that spoke to her of God’s sovereignty, his provision, his love—all while the men argued.

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. Over and over, she said the words in her mind, slowly, to calm her nerves, then even more slowly, to savor and treasure them as they brought forth the peace she craved, a peace beyond understanding.

She didn’t think anyone noticed.

“Guilty! How am I guilty?” Varus raged, standing on his good leg, his face contorted.

“Sit down and hear me out!” Atretes shouted.

“I’ve heard enough! Bow down to this weakling god of yours, but I won’t. Forgive? I’ll never bend my neck to him.”

“You’ll bend your neck or go to hell!”

Frightened, Caleb put his hands against his ears and started to cry. She picked him up and held him close, speaking quietly to allay his fears. Atretes became impatient. “Take him outside! Get him out of here!”

She left the longhouse, thanking God for the respite. She let her breath out in relief and nuzzled her son’s neck. He smelled so good to her. “He’s not angry with you, little one,” she said, kissing him. “He’s angry at the world.”