Blind Ambition

by Carol Ashby

  She stepped over to Valeria at the table and gave her a big hug. Valeria kissed her forehead.

  “Did you stay up with him all night?”

  “I slept a little at the table. God kept him alive through the night. He’s made it through the hardest part now.”

  Rhoda turned to look at the Roman again. “He could wake up and need you right away. I can do your chores as well as mine today so you can stay with him.”

  Valeria kissed her once more on the forehead. “That will be a wonderful help. Now I need to make breakfast before your hungry brother returns and complains that he’s starving.”

  After breakfast, Valeria climbed into the loft where she kept the trunk that contained Gaius’s medical writings. Scroll VII of Celsus described what to do with several kinds of battle wounds, and Scroll VIII had a section on broken skulls. His skull wasn’t broken, but surely there would be something in one of those that would to help her care for the Roman’s wounds.

  She carried them to the table and unrolled Scroll VII. She found plenty about treating wounds from arrows and other missiles, but there was nothing about deep cuts on the back of the head. She rolled up the scroll and slid it back into its protective sheath.

  She unrolled Scroll VIII and found the section on blows to the head. Lying insensible―that was exactly what he’d been doing since she found him. Celsus said that meant his skull was fractured if he bled from his ears or nostrils, but she’d seen no blood on his head except around the cut. It also said he might be bleeding under the bone even if it wasn’t broken. The description of how to cut into the skull to relieve pressure...she had neither the knowledge nor the equipment to even think about trying something like that.

  She glanced at the Roman. God, what am I supposed to do? Gaius would know, but this poor man only has me to help him.

  After rolling up the scroll, she slipped it into its sheath.

  She squared her shoulders. She would just keep doing what seemed right and praying for God to guide her. That was much better than what she would find in something written by men, anyway.

  Back in the loft, she returned the scrolls to the trunk. She lifted a pillow from Rhoda’s bed and climbed back down the ladder. She laid the pillow on the table and fluffed it. There was time to catch a little sleep before she started the morning’s weaving.

  Before her nap, she checked on him. She didn’t like anything she saw. He was still pale as death, and he hadn’t moved since she’d finished tending his wounds.

  Her fingers wrapped around his limp wrist to check his pulse. Steady and maybe a tiny bit stronger. She pushed a strand of hair off his forehead and rested the back of her hand there. There was no sign that he was any closer to waking up, but at least there was no fever. I thank You, God, for that blessing!

  She hoped she was wrong, but she had a feeling the table might be her bed for some time.

  Valeria hadn’t intended to sleep all morning, but she’d been too tired. How Rhoda and Galen had kept from waking her during their lunch was hard to fathom.

  She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. Then she walked over to the bed and looked down at the Roman.

  He still hadn’t moved from where he was lying when she started her short nap...hours ago.

  Surely he should have awakened by now. When she was helping Gaius, she’d seen two men who’d been knocked unconscious, but both of them woke up within a few minutes. It had now been over a day for the Roman.

  Valeria chewed her lip. What if he didn’t wake up? How long would it take him to die?

  No, Lord. That can’t be. You told me to care for him.

  She pulled back the blanket and unwrapped the bandages to check his leg. No sign of spreading redness or pus or sickening smell to show the start of infection. The bleeding had completely stopped, too. After rewrapping his leg, she leaned over to examine the cut in his scalp. Again, no sign of infection. She placed her hand on his forehead. It felt cool to the touch―no fever.

  If only he would wake up.

  She pushed a strand of dark brown hair back from his temple. Up close, he was even more handsome than he’d seemed in the village. He might be dangerous when he was awake, but he looked so peaceful lying there now.

  But how could a man of war like this tribune be a man with a peaceful heart? Perhaps he would learn something about peace from her family…if God spared his life. Was that why God had him fall where she would find him?

  Valeria returned to her loom by the window. As she passed the shuttle back and forth between the warp threads, she found her eyes often drawn to her patient. After another hour passed, he still hadn’t stirred. That surely couldn’t be a good thing. It was time to help him wake up.

  She walked over to the bed and shook his upper arm. No response.

  His muscles were firm, even with him just lying there. His upper arm was almost as big as her thigh. No wonder he was so heavy. How had she and Rhoda ever managed to lift him into the cart? God must have given her extra strength. She couldn’t have moved him by herself now.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. It was a large hand, a strong hand. The hand of a soldier that had spilled the blood of many men, but it still reminded her of Gaius’s hand when he would reach out to help her into the cart. She’d loved how he used to lay it on her shoulder and gently squeeze to show he was particularly proud of how quickly she learned something.

  Her finger traced a large vein on the tribune’s right hand.

  If only Gaius were here. He’d know what to do to help the poor Roman. Gaius had always known exactly what to do…

  She drew her fingers across the tribune’s cheek. He’d been unconscious so long that stiff bristles covered his cheek and chin. Stroking a cheek always awakened Galen or Rhoda. Why didn’t it work with him?

  “Please wake up.” He didn’t seem to hear her.

  She ran her fingers through his hair several times, then let her hand rest on his bristled cheek. She tapped several times with the palm of her hand.

  God, I don’t know what I should do for him, but You do. Please guide me.

  Two more taps on his cheek. Still nothing.

  Please wake him up, and let him be grateful enough not to arrest us.

  Her hand rested on his cheek as her thumb stroked it.

  Surely God would protect them from him when she’d chosen to be faithful by caring for her enemy. Still holding his hand, she closed her eyes and began to pray once more.

  Chapter 8: The Roman Mask

  Decimus awoke to find himself lying on something soft, surrounded by blackness. Where was he? In a cellar dungeon? But that wouldn’t be a soft place…or warm. Someone had placed a blanket over him. Surely not a prison guard. Was he dead? No, that couldn’t be. His head hurt abominably when he moved even a little. Dead men don’t feel pain. He shifted as if to sit up, and he felt a stabbing pain in his leg. What was going on?

  A slight rustle was followed by very soft footsteps coming toward him. His muscles tensed, ready for the attack that might be coming in the darkness. He sensed the warmth of a body leaning over him and felt hands adjusting the blanket. His hand shot out, and he grabbed the arm reaching over him, gripping it as hard as he could.

  There was a sharp gasp of pain, then a woman’s voice speaking Greek. “Finally, you’re awake. All should be well now.” She tried to pull her arm free, but the attempt was a feeble one. “Please let go. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  He struggled to maintain the strength of his grip, to no avail. Then he relaxed it so she wouldn’t realize how weak he was, but he didn’t let go. He wanted to know exactly where she was, and he couldn’t see her in the darkness.

  “Is there a lamp here? Light it.” His voice was hard. The set of his mouth was grim. He wanted to look and sound like a man in control when the lamp was lit. He’d found that looking the part usually made it so, even when his words were no
t understood by those who heard him.

  Valeria expected him to be dangerous when he first awoke, and she was right. At first, his grip on her arm was vise-like. There would be bruises left by his fingers. It was a good thing he had no weapon within reach.

  His fierce scowl and flinty eyes would make a warrior draw back. Even in his weakness, his bearing would have terrified many women. Not her; she’d been praying for God’s protection.

  His words were another matter. There was nothing threatening about them. She understood his Latin because Gaius had insisted she become a “well-educated lady.” To do that, she had to master the spoken language, not just read it. Still, she’d seldom heard it since Gaius died. She was more comfortable with Greek, and everyone in the market town spoke the Germanic tongue.

  She’d been eager to read Latin since Gaius’s treasured medical writings used it, but she’d learned to speak it well mainly to please him. Who would have thought she’d need her Latin to converse with a wounded Roman tribune in her own home?

  “Isn’t there enough light from the fire? I can add another piece of wood if there isn’t.”

  She watched his eyes widen when she spoke. At first, she thought her Latin had surprised him, but then a flicker of fear crossed his face before he set it to show no emotion.

  Oh, no! He’s blind. She bit her lip as she shook her head.

  Why hadn’t she considered that possibility? The blow to his head was in the right place to cause blindness. Gaius had treated a man kicked by a horse in the same place. He was blind for several days, but he did finally recover his sight. Maybe the Roman would, too…but more likely he wouldn’t. Gaius told her that usually the blindness was permanent.

  Physical courage―he would have plenty of that, but that wasn’t what he needed to face this. For a warrior, to be blind was to be helpless. He might fear that more than death itself. Being helpless and all alone―maybe that was everyone’s greatest fear.

  Valeria understood that fear. Seven years earlier, she’d been alone and dying of the fever that killed her parents. Then Gaius and Priscilla came. They nursed her back to health, and they made her their daughter. They told her about God, and she became His daughter, too.

  Whatever came from helping this Roman, Jesus was with her. She would never be alone, and He would give her courage to overcome her fear.

  Jesus, please help him with his fear, too.

  She didn’t try to break free, even though it would be easy. A toddling child would be stronger than him after losing so much blood. After that first vise-like grip, his hand kept relaxing the pressure on her arm. That must be because he had to, not because he wanted to. A Roman soldier wouldn’t be a gentle man and wouldn’t care whether he was hurting her or not.

  He didn’t look frightened at the moment, but it was important for him to release her when he wanted to and not before.

  She placed her free hand on his. “You’re hurting my arm. Please let go. I promise I won’t try to hurt you. I only want to help.”

  The German’s Latin was spoken with a pronounced accent, but Decimus didn’t expect to hear gentle words in Latin if he were among enemies. She was only a woman. No threat lurked in her tone of voice. It was probably safe to let her go. His grip had weakened too much to hold her anyway. When he released her, he left his arm where he could grab her again if needed.

  She sat down on the side of the bed and rested her hand on his arm. His bicep relaxed under her touch.

  “Where am I?” He tried to sound commanding, but a trace of fear crept into the question.

  “You’re in our cottage a few miles from the main road. My sister and I found you where the robbers left you, and we brought you home to care for you. We brought your horse, too. His shoulder’s cut, but he should heal. Rhoda is taking very good care of him for you. We also brought your scrolls and codices. The robbers didn’t realize they’re more precious than gold. Rhoda thought they might be special to you, so she gathered them and put them all back in your box. We have that here as well.”

  Decimus lay still, trying to remember exactly what had happened. The piercing pain in his head made it all seem disjointed. He reached back to feel the focus of it, but she grabbed his hand before he could.

  “Don’t touch it. You have a nasty cut in your scalp. It bled a lot, but the ax blade didn’t break through the bone. I’ve cleaned the wound and stitched it up. It will heal faster if you don’t touch it. God has truly protected you. The ax must have cut through your helmet to make such a wound. I thought you were dead when I saw all the blood. Your attacker must have, too, or he would have struck you again. You’ve been unconscious for more than a day. I was beginning to think you might not wake up. But now you have...so that’s good.”

  His mouth curved down more as he listened to her.

  “You also have a cut on your leg, but it’s in the fleshy part and not too close to your knee or ankle. I’ve cleaned and stitched that, too. It should heal well enough if you stay off it for a while. You’ve lost a lot of blood, so you should expect to feel weak for a few days.”

  Decimus was silent for a long time as the severity of his injuries sank in. Unconscious for so long, massive blood loss―the robbers had almost killed him.

  “How do you know all this?” He almost growled at her.

  Something was very strange here. How did a German peasant woman know how to treat battle wounds like his?

  “Gaius was a physician. He was training me...until the raiders murdered him. These robbers may have been the same men.”

  Disjointed images of the battle began to coalesce in his mind. The narrow passage through the rocks, the ambush, the sword cutting into his leg, being thrown from his horse as it stumbled, killing his first attacker, hoping the next would attack while he still had strength to kill him...

  His breath came faster as he relived the battle in his mind. His eyes hardened to match the grim set of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Then his eyebrows dipped as concern surged through him.

  “My men?”

  “I’m sorry...you were the only one I found alive.”

  Decimus took a deep breath and held it briefly before letting it out. A shadow of grief passed across his face, but again he quickly concealed the emotion. These men had reported to him, but Fabius and Aemilius had also been his friends. Men die in battle, but this was different. He should have been more alert, and they had paid for his failure with their lives.

  Even a new recruit would have seen the potential for ambush among the rocks on that hillside. This was a frontier province, and Rome was not especially loved out here. The river road was safe enough, but he should never have assumed the road through the hill country would be. He should have been on guard as point rider. Their deaths were entirely his fault...and now he was alone.

  He strained to see something, but only darkness pressed in upon him. The cold grip of fear seized him again―blind and alone. How long would this last? Every moment in darkness was a moment in danger. If he couldn’t see, how could he read the intentions of others? How could he watch his enemies to see their weaknesses? How could he defend himself when they moved against him? How could he...fears and questions swirled through his mind.

  Fear surged again as he strained to see her. This time it took him longer to erase the emotion from view.

  The seriousness of his situation shook him to the core. Alone...and no one would be looking for him here, wherever “here” was. They would assume he’d taken the river road like he always had. It was a surprise inspection anyway, so it could be many days before anyone even knew he was missing. He could expect help from no one.

  He swallowed hard to push back the growing panic. He was a man of action, unprepared to face life as a blind man in a world full of threats he couldn’t see. Blind, hurt, alone, at the mercy of this woman who was helping him but whose motive for that was a total mystery to him―he’d never felt himself in greater danger in his entire life.

&nbs
p; Valeria watched his face, and it was quite frightening to see the cold, hard eyes and clenched jaw of the warrior until they softened into the panicked uncertainty of a blind man. Then he masked his emotional turmoil almost completely.

  She’d never known anyone who could mask surging emotions as well as he did, but he didn’t fool her.

  Poor thing. God, please help him. He needed help to bear his pain and fear. Please give me wisdom to find the right things to say to him right now.

  “Are you thirsty?” He nodded his head, and that triggered a grimace. “Let me prepare you a drink to help with the pain, and then you should rest. With a head wound like yours, you may have some trouble seeing well for a while. Things should get better as you heal.”

  His unseeing eyes were fixed on her face as she spoke, and his chest jumped with his rapid breathing. At these reassuring words, his face relaxed and his breathing slowed.

  I thank You, God! That was what he needed to hear…for the moment at least.

  Maybe he would regain his sight, but that might take a miracle. Maybe God would grant him one more after sparing his life in the ambush. Meanwhile, it would not help him to know the odds were against him seeing again. He needed some hope to fight his fear.

  “I’m going to brew a tea that should help the pain. It may taste a little bitter, but I hope not too bad. It will help you feel much better.”

  She patted his arm as she rose. It jerked back at her touch.

  After putting a small amount of water in the kettle so it would boil quickly, she swung the hook on which the kettle hung over the fire. Then she ground some dried herbs and placed them in a small pitcher.

  She glanced at the Roman. He was lying on his side with his head cocked, trying to hear where she was and what she was doing. A scowl twisted his face.

  He didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame him. He didn’t understand why she would help a stranger like this. He didn’t know she was a Christian who was duty-bound to care for her enemy, even when that put her in mortal danger. He wouldn’t know Jesus’s teachings.