As Sure as the Dawn(56)

“Amen!”

“Love one another as Christ loved you.”

“Amen!”

“Hear, O children of God. And know.”

“The Lord is our God, the Lord is one,” they said together. “And I shall love the Lord my God with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my might.”

“Praise be to God!”

“Glory to God in the highest!”

“Who reigns now and forevermore!”

They began to sing, their voices blending beautifully:

“He who was revealed in the flesh, was vindicated in the Spirit, beheld by angels, proclaimed among the nations, believed on in the world, taken up in glory, destined to return, to him be the glory now and forever more. Amen. Amen.”

A hush fell over the lower deck as the gathering of Christians knelt in a circle and began to pass around the bread and wine. Atretes had observed the ritual once and asked Rizpah about it. She had told him they were eating the flesh and drinking the blood of their Christ.

“And you call me the barbarian?” he had said in disgust.

“You don’t understand.”

“Nor do I want to.”

“If only . . . ,” she started to say and then fell silent. He had wondered at the look of infinite sorrow in her eyes before she turned away and rejoined the others.

As she was with the others now, joining them in their gruesome rite.

Had she left Caleb in the small bed she had made for him? Had she set her duties to his son aside, forsaking him for this god of hers? He threw off the blanket and rose. If she had, he’d drag her away from that gathering of flesh eaters and give her something to pray about.

Stepping around several barrels, he saw those gathered on their knees. His son was nestled in Rizpah’s arms. Beside her, a head taller, was Theophilus. Black hatred filled Atretes as he watched the Roman tear off a piece of bread and feed it to her. He followed that act by holding the cup of Christ’s blood to her lips so she could drink. Then he drank himself and passed the cup to Parmenas.

Anyone watching would think Rizpah and the baby belonged to the Roman!

Atretes’ heart pounded hard, hot blood surging through his veins. He clenched his teeth. Theophilus raised his head slightly and looked across the deck at him. Atretes glared at him. I’ll drink blood, and it will be yours, he vowed.

The offensive meal completed, they began their time of prayer. They spoke softly, bringing up needs and mentioning names. They prayed for John. They prayed for Cleopas. Black Hades! They were praying for him. Making a fist, Atretes sent up his own prayer to Tiwaz, the sky god of Germania. Give me the life of Theophilus! Put it in my hands that I might crush it and send him to oblivion!

The heat rose so hot in him, he knew if he didn’t move to the other end of the deck where the Illyrians and Macedonians were still sleeping, he was going to kill Theophilus without thought of the consequences.

Rizpah glanced up at him as he passed them, her expression troubled.

He stood on the windward side of the ship, the cold breeze whipping his hair and numbing his face. The ship dipped with the rolling seas and a frothy wave burst high over the prow. The sun was coming up.

The ship’s captain shouted an order and sailors scrambled over the deck, readjusting ropes and securing two cargo crates that had inexplicably come loose. Another salty wave shot over the prow and Atretes spread his feet, bracing himself. Better the roar of the sea and stinging cold than the quiet voices and communal warmth of a group of religious fanatics.

Gripping the side of the ship, Atretes saw land in the distance. “What is it?” he shouted above the storm to a sailor nearby.

“Delos!”

The clouds opened and rain pounded the deck and him. Cold and soaking wet, Atretes remained where he was, stubborn, cursing life itself.

Rizpah appeared. Caleb wasn’t with her. He turned to her, angry. “Where’s my son?”

“In the shelter where it’s warmer.”

“Alone?”

“No.”

His blood went hot. “Who’s with him? The centurion?”

She blinked, surprised. “Camella is watching him.”

“Camella. The mother who never had a husband.”

She turned away. Atretes caught her arm. He felt her stiffen at his touch. “Stop avoiding me.”

“It’s not my intention to avoid you, Atretes.”

“I can feel your resistance.”

She forced herself to relax. “Why did you leave your shelter?”

“You think I should stay and listen? You think I should get on my knees with the rest of you? You think I’ll follow that bloody Roman of yours!”

Her dark eyes flashed up at him. “He’s not my Roman, Atretes, and it’s the Lord we follow, not Theophilus.”