“I am sorry your friend was killed,” she said with all sincerity. “He was not like other Romans.” Seeing Rizpah’s eyes fill again, she wished she hadn’t spoken. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you more, Rizpah, but to see if I could help bring about reconciliation.”
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy,” Rizpah said softly, her eyes aglow with love.
Stifling the soft cry that welled within her, Freyja turned and hurried away.
“Tell Atretes I love him, Mother Freyja,” Rizpah called out to her. “Tell him I always will.”
Freyja paused and looked back. Tears running down her cheeks, Rizpah crouched again and plucked at some small weeds at the base of a small stalk of corn.
“I will tell him.”
But when she did, Atretes wouldn’t listen. “Even my mother betrays me!”
He took his possessions and moved into Rud’s longhouse with the warriors who had no wives.
51
Anomia was vexed by the amount of interest expended on the Ionian, but hid her feelings. She had called together the secret council twice since the Roman had been killed, and each time fewer came. Neither time had Rolf appeared. When she asked where he was, the men laughed about a young man’s lust, but Anomia sensed it was more than that.
Rolf should have sought her out. Several times she had seen him in the village since the night the lot was cast and the dagger was given to him. He always avoided her. If he didn’t come to her soon, she would have to seek him out. Pride chafed at the thought, but she needed the dagger. It must be returned to the sacred tree where it was kept with the other emblems of faith in Tiwaz. And it had to be placed there before the new moon.
She thought of threatening him with exposure, but knew she couldn’t. Just as the sacred vow of secrecy and blood prevented the men from revealing who the Roman’s killer was, it bound her, too. If she exposed him, she would lose the others’ trust.
She wanted the dagger in her hands again.
Frustrated, she turned her thoughts away from it. It didn’t really matter. It was only a matter of time now before everything fell into place and she had all she deserved. Even if the woman revealed Rolf now, Anomia doubted Atretes would forgive her. He was Chatti through and through. It wasn’t in him to forgive. She smiled.
She had won already. Oh, if they but knew. The war was almost over. Soon, they would know it. All of them. A few careful hints, and Atretes would take his revenge. Rolf would die in punishment for his lapse. When Atretes killed him, the loosening hold the Ionian and her weakling god had upon him would be broken. Tiwaz would reign supreme in his life again. He would be their warrior chief. No mention would ever be made of the Chatti needing a savior or bowing down to another god. She would see to that.
Anomia laughed in profane delight, reveling in the knowledge that she, and only she, had accomplished the task Tiwaz had set before her. The Roman was dead, the Ionian cast out.
What more could Tiwaz ask of her?
Soon she would have the power she craved, and with it, the man she wanted. Atretes.
* * *
A tapping awakened Rizpah in the predawn hours.
“Woman,” came a gruff whisper, “I’ve left something for you. You’d best get it before the animals do.” She heard running footsteps.
Rising sleepily, she opened the door and went outside to see who had come, but they were already gone. Bread, cheese, a skin of honeyed wine, and a dead rabbit had been left for her on a woven reed mat. She thanked God for the food and for the heart that had been moved by him to give it.
Two, at least, Theophilus had told her. Perhaps more.
Were they praying for her? She prayed for them all morning as she made a fire and roasted the rabbit. Whoever they are, Lord, watch over them and protect them. Let their faith deepen. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Green beans and squash had sustained her, but this was a feast straight from heaven.
Needing to wash, she headed for the small stream nearby. She found the place where she always took Caleb to bathe. Wading in, fully clothed, she let the tears come as she bathed. Marta was good with Caleb, and he loved little Luisa. He was safe. She was comforted in knowing that, though she would never stop missing him. He was part of her, just as Atretes was, and the separation was as painful as if flesh had been torn away.
Who will teach my son about you, Lord? If Atretes doesn’t turn back, who will teach Caleb the truth? Will he grow up the way Atretes did, trained to be a warrior, schooled in feuding among neighbors and his own people? Will he be like Rolf or Varus or Rud and a hundred others? Lord, please be with him. Make him a man after your own heart. Please, Lord.