“Praise the Lord . . .”
“He was a gladiator . . .”
“. . . saw him fight once before I became a Christian . . .”
The people closed in on him from behind, and his heart began to drum heavily. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He didn’t like having anyone behind him.
“Make way,” a man said. “Let him through!”
“John! John! Atretes is coming forward!”
Did they already know why he had come to this meeting of the Way? Had Hadassah somehow sent word ahead?
“Another! Another for the Lord!”
Someone started singing again, and the swell of sound rose around him, raising gooseflesh down his back. A passage opened before him. He didn’t wait to wonder why, but strode the remaining short distance to the riverbank.
Several men and women were standing in the water. One was being dunked. Another, sopping wet, was throwing water into the air and crying and laughing at the same time while others waded in to embrace him.
An old man dressed in a woven tunic and striped sash helped another person rise from the water, saying as he did so, “You’ve been washed clean by the blood of the Lamb.” The singing grew louder and more joyful. The man waded quickly toward friends. One embraced him, weeping, and the others surrounded him.
Atretes wanted desperately to be gone from this place, to be far away from this gathering of crazed men and women. “You there!” he shouted at the man who wore the striped sash. “Are you John? The one they call ‘the apostle’?”
“I am he.”
Atretes waded into the river, wondering at the eruption of excitement behind him. Sertes had once said John the apostle was a greater threat to the Roman Empire than all the frontier rebellions put together, but measuring the man standing before him, Atretes saw nothing to fear. In fact, John seemed singularly unremarkable.
However, Atretes had learned never to assume that things were what they appeared; grim experience had taught him never to underestimate any man. A coward sometimes had more deadly cunning than a man with courage, and even someone who was seemingly defenseless could inflict wounds too deep to heal. Hadn’t Julia ripped his heart from him with her treachery and lies?
This man held one weapon against him, a weapon Atretes meant to take from him. He planted his feet firmly, his face and tone hard as stone.
“You have my son. Hadassah brought him to you about four months ago. I want him back.”
“Hadassah,” John said, his expression softening. “I was concerned about her. We have not seen our little sister in several months.”
“Nor will you. She’s among the condemned in the dungeons below the arena.”
John let out his breath as though he had taken a blow and then murmured softly under his breath.
“She said you gave my son to a widow named Rizpah,” Atretes said. “Where do I find her?”
“Rizpah lives in the city.”
“Where exactly?”
John came forward and put his hand on Atretes’ arm. “Come. We will talk.”
He shrugged the man’s hand away. “Just tell me where to find the woman who has my son.”
John faced him again. “When Hadassah came to me with the child, she said she had been commanded to place him on the rocks to die.”
“I gave no such command.”
“She told me the father didn’t want the child.”
Heat poured into Atretes’ face. His mouth set. “The child is mine. That’s all you have to know.”
John frowned. “Is it because she brought the child to me that Hadassah now stands condemned?”
“No.” Hadassah’s act of disobedience in not placing the baby on the rocks would have been enough to condemn her, but it hadn’t been for that reason that Julia had sent her to die. Atretes was sure of it. As far as he knew, Julia wasn’t even aware that her child still lived. But then, Julia could have condemned Hadassah for any whim that struck her fancy. He only knew one fact regarding what had happened to Hadassah.
“One of the servants told me Hadassah was commanded to burn incense in honor of the emperor. She refused and proclaimed your Christ the only true god.”
John’s eyes shone. “Praise God.”
“She was a fool.”
“A fool for Christ.”
“You are pleased?” Atretes said in disbelief. “She will die for those few words.”
“No, Atretes. Whosoever believes in Jesus shall not perish, but will have eternal life.”
Atretes grew impatient. “I didn’t come to discuss your gods or your belief in life after death. I came for my son. If it’s proof you want that I fathered him, would the word of his harlot mother satisfy you? I’ll drag Julia Valerian here and put her on her knees before you to make her confession. Will that suffice? You can drown her, then, if you want, for the harlot she is. I might even help you.”