As Sure as the Dawn(96)

When he finally slept, the old dream returned, the dream that had afflicted him in the hill caves outside of Ephesus.

He was walking through a blackness so heavy he could feel it pressing against his body. All he could see were his hands. He kept on walking, not feeling anything. And then he saw the Artemision. The beauty of it drew him, but as he came close he saw the carvings were alive, writhing and uncoiling upon the marble structure. Stone faces stared down at him as he entered the inner court. When he reached the center, he saw the grotesque goddess. The walls around her began to crumble. He ran to escape, huge blocks falling and just missing him. The temple was coming down around him in fire and dust. He could feel the heat and hear the screams of those inside. He wanted to scream, too, but had no air as he ran between the great columns. He was knocked from his feet as the temple fell. The earth trembled.

Everything was black again, a cold devoid of light and color and sound. He rose and stumbled on, his heart beating faster and faster as he searched for something to which he couldn’t put a name.

Before him was a sculptor. The piece of stone on which he worked was the form of a man. As Atretes came closer, he saw the form take shape. It was a statuette of him, like the ones the vendors sold outside the arena. He could hear the roar of the mob like a hungry beast overtaking him, but he couldn’t move.

The sculptor drew back the hammer.

“No,” Atretes groaned, knowing what he was going to do. “No!” he cried out. He wanted to rush at him and stop him, but some force held him where he was as the sculptor brought the hammer down with a mighty blow and shattered the stone image.

Atretes fell to the ground. He lay there for a long time in the darkness and when he finally got up, he couldn’t move his legs. Cold pressure surrounded him, and he felt himself sinking.

Around him was the forest of his homeland. He was standing in the bog, his people around him, watching, but doing nothing to help. He saw his father, his wife, friends, all long dead, staring at him with vacant eyes. “Help me,” he said, feeling the weight pulling at his legs. The cold pressure of the morass sucked him down chest deep.

“Help me!”

And then a man was there before him. “Take my hand, Atretes.”

Atretes frowned, unable to see his face clearly. He was dressed in white and unlike any man he had ever seen before. “I can’t reach you,” he said, afraid to try.

“Take my hand, and I’ll raise you from the pit.” And then he was close, so close that Atretes felt the man’s warm breath as he held his hands out to him.

The palms were bleeding.

Atretes came awake abruptly, breathing hard. Someone touched him and he uttered a hoarse cry and sat up.

“Shhh. It’s all right, Atretes,” Rizpah said in a hushed voice. “You were having another nightmare.”

His heart drummed; sweat streamed from his body. Shuddering, he shook his head as though to dispell the feeling of the dream.

Rizpah took the blanket from her own shoulders and draped it around him. “Were you dreaming about the arena?”

“No.” He felt the stillness of the cryptoporticus around him. One small flame flickered from a small clay lamp across the chamber. Theophilus wasn’t on his pallet. He remembered the Roman had left with Lady Alphina and Rufus as soon as the gathering dispersed.

Rizpah noticed his glance. “Theophilus hasn’t returned yet. He wanted to see for himself what’s happening in the city. He told me he’d be back by dawn.”

“I want to get out of this place.”

“So do I,” she said softly.

“You don’t understand. I’ve got to get out.”

She brushed his hair back from his face. “It’ll be all right.” She rubbed his back. “Try to think about something else. You need to sleep.”

She spoke to him like a child! She touched him like a child! When his arm encircled her waist, she gasped. “What’re you doing?”

“You want to comfort me? Comfort me as a man!” He caught her chin and kissed her angrily, holding her captive despite her struggles.

When at last he let her go, she gave a soft, gasping sob. “What am I to you, Atretes? Another face in the screaming mob? I wasn’t there! I swear to you before the Lord, I was never there.” Her voice broke. Turning her head away, she started to cry.

Shame washed over him. He drew back. Pushing at him frantically, she sat up and tried to leave. He caught hold of her arm. He could see her face in the faint light of the lamp and cursed himself for being a brutish fool.

“Wait,” he said softly.

“Let go of me.” She was shaking violently.

“Not yet.” He touched her hair, and she jerked away from him. She tried to break his hold and, when she couldn’t, turned her face away and wept. Her sobs tore at his heart. “Don’t,” he said raggedly.