On the twelfth day, Freyja waited until Atretes went out with Usipi to hunt. She took the path that had been worn from the back of the longhouse to the glen and Theophilus’ grubenhaus. Crossing the open space, she saw Rizpah working in the garden. She looked like any other young woman going about her daily chores, but as Freyja came nearer, she heard Rizpah talking to herself as she loosened the soil and plucked weeds. The poor woman had gone mad.
“Rizpah?” she said cautiously.
She glanced up in surprise, and Freyja saw the ugly yellowing bruise on the left side of her face. “You startled me,” Rizpah said and straightened. She brushed back a few loose tendrils of dark hair with the back of her hand. “Did Atretes send you?”
Freyja’s heart sank at the look of hope in her dark eyes. “No.”
“Oh,” Rizpah said softly and looked toward the village. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the tears, and then looked at Freyja again. She felt the older woman’s discomfort and sympathy and smiled. “How is Caleb?”
“Marta’s taking care of him.”
Rizpah nodded. “I knew I could depend on you to see to his needs,” was all she said, her smile filled with gratitude. She made no protest, uttered no heart-wrenching appeal or angry accusations, but Freyja felt the terrible toll of separation. Rizpah was not mad at all. She was resolved. She had set her course, and no wind would change it. Freyja wished she could understand.
“Why won’t you tell Atretes who killed Theophilus?”
“Because he would kill the man.”
“Is that so hard to understand?”
“Are you eager for more blood?”
“Of course not, but neither do I condone murder.”
“Nor do I, Mother Freyja.” She thought of the ceremonial dagger hidden in the tree. She searched Freyja’s face for subterfuge and saw none. She thought of showing her the dagger and finding out whether it was Gundrid or Anomia behind Theophilus’ death, and then decided against it. Not only Rolf would die. How many others were involved?
“I want to understand,” Freyja said.
“Theophilus told me not to tell Atretes who it was,” she said simply.
“But why? Surely the Roman would want his life avenged.”
“No.” Rizpah smiled gently. “Jesus forgave those who crucified him. Theophilus forgave as well. I can do no less.”
“Atretes can’t.”
“He can if he so chooses.”
“He won’t. It’s not in his nature to forgive the way you mean. It’s not the Chatti way.”
“It’s not in anyone’s nature, Lady Freyja, but it’s the will of God.” Her eyes filled again. “In Christ, anything is possible, even changing a man’s heart. I pray for that constantly, that God will change Atretes’ heart. And mine.” She couldn’t ask God to do something in Atretes’ life that she wasn’t willing to have done in her own.
Freyja wished she had brought her something—bread, cheese, a shawl to keep her warm.
Rizpah saw her dilemma and smiled. “The Lord is with me, Mother Freyja.”
Freyja felt a shivering warmth within her at Rizpah’s words and saw a look of serenity that was beyond anything she had ever felt in her life. How was it possible? “It’s not right that you’re the one punished.”
“I thought that at first, but it was deception. This isn’t punishment. It’s war. Theophilus battled against the forces of darkness that live and breathe in this place, and now I must stand in his place.”
Freyja paled and drew back.
Rizpah saw her fear. “You know what I mean, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes that you understand. And you’re afraid. But I tell you this: Christ’s love casts out fear, Mother Freyja. If you will let Jesus redeem you, you need never be afraid again.”
“I didn’t come to speak of your god,” Freyja said, disturbed by the feelings that gripped her, wondering yet again what it was about the name Jesus that made her shake inside. She clutched the amber pendant to protect herself, praying the spirit would not come upon her again.
It had not since Theophilus touched her.
Rizpah was saddened to see her so afraid. “The Lord will bring to light the things hidden in the darkness and disclose the motives in a man’s heart.” Or that of a woman. She wondered if Freyja had played an unwitting part in the tragedy, and knew if she had, it would distress them both to know it. “I can’t set Atretes’ feet on the path to murder. I won’t. If he goes that way, he will go of his own free will and not with my assistance.”
Freyja knew there was no use in talking to her. The young woman was set upon her strange task. However misguided she was, she sought only to protect Atretes from himself, not hurt him. Perhaps, given time, she would come to understand and accept that feuding and revenge were ingrained in their lives.