Blind Ambition

by Carol Ashby

  If he knew she followed the Way, he’d probably think she really was his enemy planning to harm him and not trust her at all. The governor would have told him Christians were dangerous and should be purged from the Empire.

  God, please change his mind. Let me caring for him help him see the truth.

  Her family’s future depended on him deciding not to enforce Governor Lentulus’s anti-Christian decree when he finally recovered. She’d chosen to be faithful to Jesus’s command to love her enemy. Surely God would protect them from the danger that he posed to them.

  God, please let this end well for all of us.

  The sooner he began to trust her, the more likely that would be. She began softly humming so he could follow her movements more easily, and the scowl vanished.

  As Valeria ran her fingers through her hair and tucked it behind her ears, her eyes never left him.

  How was he managing to bear so much and reveal so little? He had to be in great pain, but he gave no sign except a tightness around his eyes and mouth. Gaius had taught her about stoic philosophy. Perhaps he was drawing on that.

  She contemplated him as the water heated. A tribune would be a brave man. Perhaps he would be fine even if he didn’t regain his sight. Courage gave one strength to face the many tragedies that come with life. She’d learned that from Gaius and Priscilla. That, and also that God made living through all things possible.

  Her eyes softened as she watched his emotionless features. Even a stone-hearted Roman tribune needed to know how much Jesus loved him. Was she supposed to be the messenger? Was that why God made him fall across her path and then told her to help him? Was his blindness part of God’s plan to save him? God, please show me what You want me to do for him. I’ll try to do it. Her throat tightened as the scowl reappeared. Please don’t let him kill us when I do.

  She turned toward the kettle. The water needed to be boiling to extract the medicine from the crushed herbs, so she listened for the first bubbling sound. He needed medicine as soon as possible. Pain made it hard to lie still, and moving too much could make him bleed again. He’d already lost so much blood. It would have killed a weaker man. It truly was a miracle that he was still alive at all.

  Chapter 9: The Physician

  Decimus lay with his eyes closed and focused on the German woman’s quiet humming. The pain kept shouldering aside rational thought. He was desperate for any distraction, and she provided one. She was a strange woman―willing to bring home a man she didn’t know and who might be dying to care for him. Why would anyone do that?

  She’d spoken of a sister―a younger sister, maybe?―who’d helped her. She sounded young herself―unmarried? A married woman wouldn’t bring a wounded stranger home. Her husband would be angry if she did.

  But how had an unmarried woman dared to help a strange man, to bring him into her house and risk ruining her reputation? Maybe her father lived here, but a father wouldn’t be any happier about it than a husband would. Besides, the only man she’d mentioned was some dead physician who’d been training her. What kind of woman trained to be a physician, anyway?

  The mystery of this woman didn’t stop there. It had been very dangerous for her even to stop. The robbers might still have been nearby and returned. Everyone knew what they did to unprotected women. Why would she risk her sister’s life as well to help him? Even if her sister had been just as willing to help.

  How had they even managed to get him here? She’d said it was several miles to the road. They must have had a wagon or a cart, but how could a woman and a girl or even two women have managed to lift him into a cart? She didn’t seem very tall when she stood by the bed, and her sister might be even smaller. He was a big man―too heavy for a small woman and a girl or even two women to move easily.

  She was as matter-of-fact as a military surgeon when she talked about his wounds and how she’d cared for them. Now she was brewing a tea to ease his pain. He knew many women. Not one of them could have dealt with his injuries or even been willing to try. None of them were physicians, but still...that gave her the knowledge, but what made her willing to risk stopping to help a man dying by the roadside?

  Was she thinking he’d pay her handsomely for her services when he recovered? He planned to, but he must have looked like he was going to die. Dead men don’t pay their physicians, so that couldn’t have been her main motive.

  What did this risk-taking physician look like?

  That thought jerked him back to the present―his blindness and the pain.

  At last, the water was boiling, so Valeria swung the kettle away from the fire. She wrapped the handle with a cloth and poured its steaming contents into the pitcher. The acrid aroma of the bitter herbs filled the room as the leaves steeped in the hot water.

  She sat on the edge of the bed again and rested her hand on his arm. His eyes were closed, but his breathing proved he wasn’t sleeping. It was fast, like someone who’d just run a great distance or was struggling against pain or emotion. His eyelids stayed shut after her touch; maybe that was less frightening than looking into the blackness that shouldn’t be there.

  “The tea is almost ready. Do you think you can sit up a little to drink it?”

  He nodded once and pushed with his arm into a reclining position. Gaius had told her about the sumptuous banquets with Roman aristocrats propped up on one arm as they reclined at table. He looked just like she’d imagined them. She patted his arm and rose to fetch the cup.

  “It’s still very hot. It has to cool a little before you can drink it. I’ll hand it to you when it’s ready.” She sat down beside him again and held the cup while it cooled enough to be safe to drink.

  The smell was pungent, and he grimaced as it struck his nostrils.

  She fought a smile. He looked just like Galen when she made him take medicine. “Yes, I know it smells terrible, and maybe it does taste almost as bad as it smells, but it really will help you feel much better when it dulls the pain. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more pleasant-tasting that will help.”

  Slowly and silently he nodded his head.

  As she gazed at him, her head tilted. He didn’t seem dangerous at that moment. He was hurting and not just physically. She’d seen in the village how his men had been his friends. The look on his face when she told him they were all dead confirmed it. He’d suffered so much already, and even more suffering lay ahead.

  Her eyes moistened, but she blinked hard to stop the building tears. Crying wouldn’t do. He mustn’t know she felt sorry for him. The tribune was a proud man who wouldn’t want her pity, no matter how bad his condition.

  It would be best if he never knew how afraid she’d been that he would die. There were many things he’d be better not knowing, at least not yet. How intense her prayers had been that he’d wake up as he lay unconscious for much too long. How thankful and relieved she’d been when he finally awoke. Most of all, how serious his head wound might be, that his blindness might be permanent.

  She closed her eyes. Oh, God, please give me wisdom to know how to help him. Please give this poor Roman comfort and courage.

  He was going to need both.

  He lay tense and silent beside her, a frown tugging his mouth down as she swirled the tea in the cup, trying to make it reach a drinkable temperature faster. Finally, it had cooled enough.

  “Here, try just the smallest sip and blow on it as you take it.” She took hold of his free hand and placed it around the cup. “I’ll hold it for you while you drink if you’d rather. Whatever way you prefer, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Decimus could feel the heat of the tea through the walls of the cup. He took a very small sip. It truly was as horrible-tasting as it smelled. He fought the overpowering urge to spit the vile mouthful out. He scrunched up his face as he made himself swallow that first sip. A little bitter but not too bad. She was a master of understatement.

  He faked a scowl. “So now I know
I can’t trust your word.”

  She sucked her breath through her teeth, clearly shocked by his sudden accusation that she’d done nothing to deserve. Her startled response amused him.

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “It doesn’t taste almost as bad as it smells. It tastes much worse.”

  Valeria wasn’t at all surprised that the tribune wanted to do it himself. He’d been a man in control. Of course he’d want to control what he still could. What she hadn’t expected was for him to joke with her when he obviously felt terrible. Pain and fear weren’t conducive to humor in most men. It was a promising sign.

  She patted his arm as she rose. Yes, it was a very good sign that he felt he could joke with her. He must be starting to trust her at least a little.

  A sense of humor should help him bear what lay ahead of him, too. Her lips tightened as she shook her head, then they curved upward. If he remained blind, he’d need a sense of humor and all the courage he could muster. Maybe he had what he needed.

  “You must be feeling a little better if you’re ready to insult your nursemaid.”

  Decimus heard the smile in the woman’s tone. The voice moved away from him. “I’m not sure whether it’s worse hot or cold. I’ll save the extra for later, and you can tell me when you drink your next cup cold.”

  Footsteps, a creaking hinge, the sound of a small door closing. She must be putting things away in a cupboard.

  She was right that the tea would help. He’d taken several sips, and already he felt the pain beginning to subside. It was worth the disgusting taste for that effect. The tea had finally cooled enough for him to drink more quickly. He downed the remainder as fast as he could. He didn’t want that horrible taste in his mouth any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  “Here, I’ve finished.”

  He lowered himself to lie on the bed as he held out the cup. Her footsteps were coming closer. A sudden drowsiness enveloped him. He jerked his head up, triggering a fresh explosion of pain.

  “Did you just drug me, woman?” A black scowl dragged his mouth and eyebrows down.

  “Of course. All medicines are drugs, but this one is good for you. It will ease your pain and help you sleep.” Two light pats on his arm. “Don’t worry. You haven’t been poisoned.”

  His face relaxed as his anger morphed into intense fatigue. His cheek settled onto the pillow.

  Her soft voice came out of the unnerving darkness. “Time for you to rest. I’ll stay with you until I’m sure you’re well asleep. You can trust me and my family. I promise we won’t harm you.”

  Her fingers brushed his as she took the cup. Then she tucked the blanket around his shoulders before walking away. Something, maybe a chair, scraped on the floor before she resumed humming.

  The pain began to slide into the background. She was probably speaking the truth when she said she wouldn’t harm him. Why would she have helped him at all if that had been her intention? This nightmare might not end badly after all, as soon as his sight returned.

  He drifted off, listening to her soft melody.

  Chapter 10: Help from the Enemy

  Valeria stopped humming and sat quietly at the table, listening to the Roman breathe. Now it was slow, deep, steady―exactly what she’d been praying for.

  Relief drew out a smile. I thank You, God, for bringing him back from the brink of death. Her lips tightened. Please forgive me for being so afraid when I found him. I know he’s a dangerous man, but I thank You for giving me courage to try to help him anyway. I know that’s what You want, but please protect us from him when he’s well again.

  She set her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms. The poor blind man. What would become of him if that didn’t change?

  God, I beg of You, don’t stop with sparing his life. Give him back his sight, too, but make him see that we aren’t his enemies because we follow You.

  It was a battle to keep her own eyelids open, but she sat for several minutes watching his chest expand and contract. His face looked peaceful now, and his breathing remained deep and even. She could finally end her vigil.

  She slipped sideways off the chair so it wouldn’t scrape the floor and tiptoed to the ladder leading to the loft where Rhoda and Galen were sleeping. She’d put the tribune in her own bed in the alcove off the main room, the bed that had belonged first to her parents and then to Gaius and Priscilla. She would share Rhoda’s bed until he recovered, just like she had before the raiders killed them.

  After the better part of two nights and a day watching over him, she was desperate for a few hours of deep sleep. Short naps with her head on her arms or a pillow had helped. Praying for him had kept her alert when she was awake, but crushing fatigue was winning now. She’d been afraid to leave him alone in case he had a crisis and she didn’t hear him in time. Now that he’d awakened, he could call her should he need her.

  She took off her shoes and climbed the ladder, placing each foot against a pole so the rungs would be silent under her weight. She stepped past the rung that always creaked. She didn’t want to risk waking him. At the top, she crept to Rhoda’s side and lay down beside her.

  Rhoda stirred and sat up. She whispered, “Is he getting better now?”

  “I don’t know, precious. He’s awake, and I think the cuts will heal well. But that wound on his head―it’s like when the horse kicked Oleg. He can’t see. Oleg’s sight returned, but Gaius said that was rare, that people usually stay blind from something like that. I don’t want to tell him that yet. His blindness frightens him.”

  “You don’t think he can bear being blind?”

  “I’m not sure. I think he’s strong and brave, but he relies on his own strength and makes his own courage. That may not be enough. He’s proud and used to bending life his own way. He needs the strength from God that lets us walk through trials without breaking. He doesn’t have that.”

  “We’ll just have to teach him to know God like we do. Then he’ll be fine no matter what.” Even in the darkness, Valeria could hear the smile in Rhoda’s voice.

  Valeria wrapped her arms around Rhoda and rested her cheek against her little sister’s hair. “You are so wise for someone so young. I think he feels he’s all alone and surrounded by danger right now. He doesn’t understand yet that we’ll care for him no matter what because Jesus wants us to. Maybe God did bring him to us so we can teach him about Jesus’s love.”

  She said nothing to Rhoda about her fear of what he might do if he regained his sight and strength without understanding that their faith didn’t mean they were his enemies. Nothing would be gained by letting Rhoda share her fear.

  Rhoda hugged her back. “I know how I’ll be praying for him now.” She pushed a strand of Valeria’s hair back from her face. “You need to sleep. I’ll listen for him needing something. I’ll wake you if he does.”

  “Thank you, precious. I really am tired.”

  Valeria kissed Rhoda on the forehead, wriggled to settle into the mattress, closed her eyes, and was asleep in less than a minute.

  Galen was the first one awake the next morning. His mouth curved when he saw Val sleeping soundly next to Rhoda. She didn’t look like she’d been crying, so the Roman must be getting better. She’d have been dozing at the table again if he wasn’t, or she’d have looked like she’d been mourning his death apart from God.

  He crept past the slumbering girls and climbed down the ladder. As he was looking at the sleeping Roman, he put his weight on the creaking rung.

  Like a soldier in the field, Decimus jerked awake. A pulse of pain shot through his head as his eyes swept the blackness. Then he shut his eyelids so whoever was in the room might not realize he was awake. That seemed safer in a world filled with dangers he couldn’t see.

  Whoever it was finished descending the ladder, walked over to the bed, and spoke to him in Latin.

  “It’s good to see you back safely among the living. My sister needed a good night’s sleep. C
an I get you anything before I go do morning chores? A drink of water? Some bread?”

  Decimus opened his eyes and turned his face toward the sound of the youth’s voice. From the pitch of it, the boy might be between thirteen and fourteen. Not a grown man yet, but not a child, either.

  The pronunciation of his Latin was perfect, but this youth seemed too friendly toward a stranger, too casual in his conversation to be a Roman. Why did this younger brother speak perfect Latin while his older sister had such a strong accent?

  Everything about these people seemed odd, but maybe he could find out what was really going on from this boy. He shouldn’t be as good at lying as an adult.

  Decimus’s eyes narrowed as he began to listen for any sign of falsehood in the boy’s words.

  “Do you know why your sister brought me here?”

  “Of course. You were the man left by robbers at the side of the road.”

  An odd answer to a simple question. He’d hoped to find out why the sister was helping him. That statement of the obvious was no explanation. Was the boy hiding something?

  “But why did she help me?”

  The boy chuckled. “Val’s the good Samaritan.”

  Decimus frowned, and his eyebrows started to dip before he stopped them. Samaritan? She didn’t sound like a woman from Judaea. This boy talked in riddles.

  The boy chuckled again. “Hey, if you don’t know the story, I’m sure Rhoda or Val will be really glad to tell it to you.”

  Decimus propped himself up on one arm. The movement made his head throb, but nothing like it had last night. Time to take a different tack to get the information he wanted. “Some water would be good. Who are you?”

  “Gaius Licinius Crassus, but call me Galen. We already met. But you were unconscious, so I guess that doesn’t count. I couldn’t believe what my sisters brought home from market day. You looked terrible, blood all over you and those bad cuts on your head and leg. Val had so much of your blood on her, she looked like she’d been in a fight, too. I was sure you’d die before the first night was over, and I’d be digging a grave yesterday. But Val was sure God had told her to bring you home to heal and that you’d live, no matter how bad you looked. I have no idea how she and Rhoda got you into that cart by themselves. You were so heavy to carry in to her bed, even with the three of us.”