And so she set her mind on Christ.
She weakened when she found the dagger. It lay half-hidden in Theophilus’ garden, the blade glinting in the spring sunlight. She picked it up before she realized what it was. The blade was stained by a streak of dried blood. Theophilus’ blood. She dropped it in horror, tears flooding her eyes. Dark, marauding thoughts stole into her mind, making her blood go hot and her muscles tense. What mercy had Rolf shown Theophilus when he plunged the dagger into him? Why should any mercy be shown him? She wished she could plunge the dagger into Rolf herself and give the wretch to the god he worshiped.
But her conscience recoiled at such thinking, and she responded in repentance. Rolf was unredeemed and incapable of understanding the truth. He was incapable of believing in God, incapable of pleasing the Lord or even seeking him. But she was. She knew. And still she had found herself indulging in thoughts of violent retribution.
God knew her heart. God knew her every thought. How was she any different from Atretes? The realization humbled her even more.
“Don’t tell him,” Theophilus had said. “He’s weak. He’ll want revenge.”
Hadn’t Theophilus’ words proven true? And now she found herself as weak as her husband, hungering for retribution, craving a man’s death. Atretes had turned away from everything Theophilus had taught him. Theophilus’ last words had been a commission, and Atretes had ignored it, too intent on vengeance. Was she going to turn away from the Lord as well?
“God, forgive me. Cleanse me, Lord. Make a right spirit within me,” she prayed, filled with compassion for her husband. There was no room for anger and hurt. How much worse must it be for Atretes, having been trained in violence for so many years. He had only just begun to know the Lord. What excuse had she who had followed the Lord for seven years? “God, help him. Turn him back.”
When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on the dagger again. What forces had worked on Rolf to drive him to kill Theophilus? Hadn’t Theophilus spared his life in the sacred forest? Theophilus said the young warrior hadn’t wanted to do the deed. Why had he? She picked up the dagger. The handle of bone was carved in the shape of a goat’s foot, runes etched the length of it. It was no ordinary weapon. She turned it over and saw the carving of a man with horns, holding a scythe in one hand and a framea in the other. Tiwaz.
Had Gundrid sent Rolf? Surely Freyja would not be a participant in such an abominable act. She couldn’t believe it of Atretes’ mother. Anomia, yes, but not Freyja. Never Freyja.
She thought of the young priestess who had no fear of God, even of the one she worshiped. Rizpah had seen the darkness behind her eyes. She had felt it every time the young woman looked at her. The day before Theophilus had died, she had revealed her true feelings. Anomia was a child of wrath, hostile, inflamed by hatred of the Lord.
Rizpah wondered if she should give the dagger to Atretes. She felt sick at the thought, knowing that more than Rolf would die if she did so. And what if his own mother had taken part in Theophilus’ death? What then?
She hid the weapon in the hollow of a tree near the stream.
Theophilus had given a commission to Atretes. “Feed the sheep.” But he had given her a commission as well. “Stand firm,” he had said. But could she?
“Stand firm.”
* * *
Again and again over the next days, his words came back to her, especially during the hours of darkness when she weakened and wanted to run back to the longhouse and beg Atretes to let her come home, when she wanted to give him the dagger and not think about the possible repercussions.
“Stand firm.”
Had Theophilus known she would be left alone? Would it have made a difference if he had?
“Stand firm, beloved.”
How many times had he said those words to her over the months of traveling from Ephesus to Rome and from Rome north across the Alps into the forests of Germania? “Stand firm. Stand firm.”
She lay down upon Theophilus’ pallet each night and prayed. Lord, I am weary with sighing. Every night I make my bed swim and dissolve this pallet with my tears. I am wasting away with grief.
She could almost hear Theophilus speaking to her. Closing her eyes, she took comfort from the memories of him. She thought of him sitting across the fire from her, smiling that tender smile of his.
Hadn’t he stood firm all these months, alone in this grubenhaus?
Other things he had said came to her: “Remember the Lord, beloved. Jesus delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son. Put your armor on. Gird your loins with the truth. Put on the breastplate of righteousness. Shod your feet with the gospel of peace. Take up the shield of faith and the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit. And pray.