As Sure as the Dawn(191)

“What’s wrong?” Anomia said, startled by his retreat. He moved a few feet away from her. She had felt his desire through her fingertips. What had happened to break the mood? “Tell me, Atretes.”

“Nothing!”

“Did I do something?” she said.

Atretes glanced back at her. She looked all innocence and hurt confusion. “I don’t know. Did you?” His breath still came hard, and he raked a shaking hand back through his hair. His best friend had been murdered. He was estranged from his wife. His child was being raised by his sister. He was living the wild life he had longed for as a youth! And he had just toyed with thoughts of adultery. He laughed mirthlessly. What could possibly be wrong?

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said bitterly. Nothing other than the fact that his life was in shambles.

What had happened to the peace he had known?

God, if only I could go back to those few weeks after I was baptized and married Rizpah. I was never more happy than I was then. I’ll never be that happy again. Was it all a dream, Lord, a chance idyll before reality struck? Were you playing a cruel joke on me? Do you even exist?

Unbidden, other voices came to him.

“She told me to tell you she loves you and she always will.”

“I give you a solemn vow, Atretes. I will never lie. Even if it costs my life.”

Anomia saw his torment and hoped it was the passion she had roused in him that caused it. She rose and came to him. “Come back to us, Atretes.”

“I am back.”

“Not the way you were. Oh, I remember you, all passion and fire and strength. You were like a god. Everyone would have followed you to Hades if you’d asked it of them.”

He shut his eyes. Jesus, his soul cried out.

He could see Theophilus’ face and hear his voice. “Feed the sheep.”

“Leave me alone,” he said roughly.

“You’re in torment,” Anomia said with feigned sympathy, secretly glorying in it. It made him vulnerable. “I can see your anguish. I share it. I can help you. Let me help you. You could be the man you once were, Atretes. I know you can. Let me show you the way.”

I am the way.

One of the men roused from sleep. Anomia drew back into the shadows so she wouldn’t be seen. She clenched her hands, throbbing with impatience until the man sank back again with a loud groan.

By the time she was able to return to Atretes’ side, his mood had changed. Too immersed in his dark reverie, he paid her no heed. She laid a hand upon his arm and felt his muscles tense. “I must go,” she whispered, cursing the place and circumstance. “Come out with me tonight, and we’ll talk.”

He didn’t hear her, too absorbed in his thoughts of Rizpah. He ached for his wife, all the while resenting her hold on him with every ounce of his will.

“You act as though you’ve been bewitched,” Anomia said, angry and full of jealousy that he should be so indifferent.

“Maybe I am,” he said grimly. “Maybe I am.”





53


Atretes spent the day in feasting and nursing his grievances against his wife. She had chosen to stand in the way of justice, hadn’t she? She had chosen to live without him. Why should he allow the woman to plague his every waking thought? He seared his burning conscience with excuses.

Dulled further by drink, he let his imagination wander. Anomia came to speak with one of the men, and when she looked at him, sultry invitation glowed in her pale blue eyes. When she left, he remembered other women who had been brought to him. Once he had wanted his mind wiped clean of his past so they wouldn’t pollute his marriage bed. Now he dredged up the memories, living them again, hoping past pleasures might drive away the present pain. Instead, he fell into a deeper, more confusing despair.

The men around him did not help. After the long months of winter inactivity, they craved action. But until a war was declared, they had little to do but drink and talk about the battles they had won. No one talked of losses. They told bawdy tales, each trying to outdo the other. The laughter grated. Arguments over trivial issues erupted in fights between younger warriors hungry to prove their manhood.

Atretes didn’t join in. He sat in a far corner, his expression enough to warn others away. He drank with purpose, to drown his pain. And failed.

The noise grew louder, men arguing over a dice game. His head was spinning from the ale. Rising, he headed for the back door, wanting to be alone.

Pale moonlight cast an eerie glow as he stumbled into the forest. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. He heard a soft voice beckon him and his heart jumped. “Rizpah?” he whispered, looking around him.

But it was Anomia in the darkening shadows.