“Perhaps the child is Atretes’.”
“I don’t think so. No one has ever seen this woman with Atretes, my lord. But it is strange. When I asked about her at the insula where she lived, I was told she took the baby one morning and left. A man came the next day and collected her things. She hasn’t been seen in the city since.”
“Keep looking. I have a feeling there’s more to this than we yet know.”
* * *
Atretes pushed the door of Rizpah’s chamber open and peered in. Moonlight streamed down from a small high window, casting a soft glow of light over the room. The baby’s bed was empty. Rizpah was lying asleep on a floor mat, curled on her side, his son nestled against her, warm and protected.
Entering silently, Atretes crouched and stared for a long moment at them. Then he looked around the small room. Against the east wall was a single trunk in which were Rizpah’s few possessions. On it was a small clay lamp, unlit. Other than those few things and the baby’s bed, the room was bare.
The small barren chamber reminded Atretes of his cell in the ludus: stone, cold, empty.
His gaze drifted again to Rizpah, moving up from her bare feet over the slender curves of her body. Her hair had come free and flowed black over her shoulder. He reached out and took a handful of it, rubbing it between his fingers. It was thick and silky. When she stirred, he snatched his hand away.
Opening her eyes, Rizpah saw a shadowy shape crouched in front of her. Breath catching in her throat, she scooped Caleb up and scooted quickly back against the wall, heart pounding.
“Don’t scream,” Atretes commanded.
Her breath came out shakily. “What’s happened? Why are you here in the middle of the night?”
He heard the tremor in her voice and knew he had frightened her. “Nothing’s happened,” he said gruffly, raking a hand back through his hair. He gave a hoarse laugh and lifted his head. Nightmares had awakened him again.
Rizpah saw his face in the moonlight. “Something is wrong.”
He looked at her again. “Why the name Caleb?”
The question was unexpected. “My husband told me about him.”
“Did your husband trade in men?”
She heard the dark anger in his tone. “No,” she said, wondering why he would make such an assumption.
“Caleb fought in Rome,” he said. “How would your husband know anything of him unless he traded in gladiators?”
She thought she understood. “There are many Calebs in the world, Atretes. The Caleb after whom I named your son lived hundreds of years ago. He came out of Egypt with Moses. When the people reached the Promised Land, twelve men were sent into Canaan to spy out the land. When they came back, Caleb told Moses and the people the land God had given them was good and they should take possession of it, but the others were afraid. They said the Canaanites were too strong and they wouldn’t conquer them. Moses took their advice rather than listen to Caleb. Because of that, all the people of that generation wandered in the wilderness. And when the end of the forty years came, only Caleb the son of Jephunneh and Joshua the son of Nun were allowed to enter the Promised Land. Only they followed the Lord wholeheartedly. Even Moses, the lawgiver, never set foot in the Promised Land.” She stretched out her legs and placed the baby on her thighs. “Caleb is a name for a man of strong faith and courage.”
“Caleb is a Jewish name, and my son is German.”
She lifted her head. “Half German.”
Atretes stood so abruptly, her heart jumped. He loomed over her for a moment and then took a step away, leaning back against the wall to the right of the window opening. Standing where he was, his face was hidden in the shadows while the soft moonlight shone in on her.
“He should have a German name,” he said. Expecting an argument, he waited.
“What name would you wish to give him, my lord?”
He hadn’t thought about it until then. “Hermun,” he said with decision. “After my father. He was a great warrior-chieftain of the Chatti and died honorably in battle against Rome.”
“Caleb Hermun,” she said, testing the name.
“Hermun.”
She started to protest and then lowered her head. A contentious woman was worse than a leaking roof. And the child was his. She lifted her head again. “Hermun . . . Caleb?” she said tentatively, offering a compromise. “A warrior of strong faith and courage.”
Atretes said nothing, nor did he move from the shadows.
Rizpah felt uncomfortable beneath his stare. What was he thinking? “Who was the Caleb of whom you spoke?”
“A gladiator from Judea. One of Titus’ prizes.” His tone was bitter.