Blind Ambition

by Carol Ashby

  Then, like the night when he regained consciousness, he set his face to show no emotion―his hard Roman mask. He shoved her away, and she fell backward onto his bed.

  “Then stay here with your god.” Reaching into the sack of coins hanging on his belt, he took out six and tossed them on the table. “That should be enough to pay for your services, physician.”

  Without looking at her again, he spun and strode out of the cottage.

  In clipped Latin, Valeria heard him bark to his friend, “I’ve paid the physician what I owed her. Let’s go.”

  The jingle of bridles, then the soft thuds of horses’ hooves as the troop trotted away. Valeria sat on the edge of his bed, buried her face in her hands, and wept hot tears.

  Galen had returned from the meadow in time to see Decimus go back into the cottage. He skirted the corral to avoid the mounted Romans and joined Rhoda. They were standing together by Astro as the troop passed with Decimus in the lead. Although Rhoda waved, he rode past looking straight ahead, not even glancing in their direction.

  Galen stood for a moment, staring at Decimus’s back as he urged his horse into a canter and the Roman troop disappeared into the trees.

  “What was that all about?” He turned back toward Rhoda for her answer, but she was already running toward the cottage.

  Rhoda burst through the door. “Valeria! What happened? Are you all right?”

  She knelt by her sister and saw wet circles where Valeria’s teardrops had hit the floor.

  Valeria’s face was still buried in her hands. Rhoda caressed her sister’s hair. “Valeria?”

  “Oh, Rhoda! I just hurt him so!”

  “What happened?”

  Valeria dropped her hands and looked at Rhoda, anguish in her tear-filled eyes and her body jerking with barely suppressed sobs. She drew a deep, shuddering breath before she could speak.

  “He asked me to marry him, but I can’t. He doesn’t follow Jesus. I prayed so hard that he’d join us, and I thought he was beginning to understand. But there wasn’t enough time. And now he’s gone, and it will never happen. He’s lost. Lost to Jesus...and lost to me.

  Her chest jumped as more tears escaped. “I shouldn’t have told him I loved him. I never meant to, but the truth just came out. The look in his eyes when I told him I couldn’t marry him, that no matter how much I love him, I love Jesus more―it was like I ripped his heart out.”

  Valeria tipped her head back, and a tear trickled across the scar on her wet cheek.

  Rhoda wrapped her arms around her sister and held her tight. “He’s not lost yet. We know Jesus is calling him. Maybe this is just God’s way of softening his heart enough for him to hear and come. Why would He have let us be Good Samaritans if He didn’t mean to save Decimus in every way?”

  Valeria turned her gaze on her sister’s face. It shone with such certainty of God’s will. Maybe Rhoda was right. Jesus said we should have the faith of a child. God can do anything. She wasn’t the only person He could use to lead Decimus to know and accept His love.

  Valeria wiped the tears from her cheeks, took a deep breath, and stood up. “You’re right. God’s will cannot be defeated, no matter how it seems to me now. I mustn’t give up hope.”

  Galen had been standing in the doorway, watching, silent for once. Now he walked over to Valeria, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close.

  “I hate to admit it in front of Rhoda, but I think she’s right, too.”

  Decimus slowed his horse to a walk and reached down to massage his leg. The muscles weren’t back to full strength. He should have wrapped it, like Valeria would have. The jolting made it hurt to trot too long, but the horses shouldn’t canter too far without walking to rest.

  The problem with the horse walking was he didn’t have to think about riding. He wanted to think about anything except what happened in the cottage.

  He would have bet a million denarii that Valeria loved him, just as he did her. The horrible part of it was that she did. She’d just told him herself how deeply she loved him; the truth of her words shone in her eyes. Surely she knew he loved her at least as much.

  But that wasn’t enough. He had to love her god, too!

  Galen told him during their first talk that she wasn’t betrothed because no man had passed her test. He’d thought it was just some cryptic joke like Galen was always making. Galen had asked him if he was ready to pass it the day he kissed her. Finally, that odd comment about following Jesus made sense.

  Many times, he’d heard her tell Baldric why she couldn’t marry one of his sons, but he always thought that was just her way of graciously declining.

  But it was a real test―and he’d failed it.

  In the contest for her love, he’d come in second. Not to another man, but to her god!

  What kind of god could own her heart so completely that she’d sacrifice anything to him, even their future together?

  Why were so many who worshiped that god willing to give up everything for him? He’d watched them suffer agonizing deaths in the arena rather than deny their faith. They even died singing and praising him.

  He was a true Roman, and this Christian god was an enemy of Rome. Or was he?

  How could he be an enemy of anyone when he commanded his followers to love their enemies and they actually did it, even at the risk of their own lives?

  Thoughts and questions kept swirling and twisting in his mind as he continued down the road.

  Finally, he knew what he must do.

  Her Jesus had said that any who seek would find. He needed to find someone he knew, someone he could trust, someone who knew enough about her Jesus and those who follow him to help him decide what was true. Once he knew what to believe, he could decide what he needed to do. But who could that possibly be, and how could he even begin to look for him?

  He nudged his horse back to a trot.

  Sometimes pain was good. It could help a man focus on something other than what he didn’t want to think about. Right now, there were a lot of thoughts he wanted to avoid, and he welcomed the pain in his leg to distract him from the pain in his heart.

  Chapter 44: No Longer Home

  A few weeks ago, the ramparts of the legion fortress in the capital would have been a welcome sight to Decimus as he returned from the south. Good hot food and a comfortable bed had always been a welcome change from field rations and sleeping on the ground. But this time his return was not a homecoming. Home was a day and a half to the south in a small cottage with a loving child, a good-natured youth, and a kind, smart, beautiful woman...who had just ripped his heart out.

  Commotion swirled behind him as he rode past the stone arches in the massive gate and deeper into the fortress. Many of the soldiers on duty recognized him, and a man presumed dead for several weeks tends to cause a stir. The troops peeled off, and only Cassius continued beside him. They reined in at the headquarters of the legion commander.

  His first duty was to return the gold. The accursed gold whose presence in his box of scrolls had left him no choice except to return. Whoever was to lead the delayed inspection of the Augusta would need it. If there had been no gold...but there was, and duty denied him any other course of action.

  Even without his full uniform, the guards at the commander’s headquarters snapped to attention and saluted as he walked past.

  The centurion in charge ordered a soldier to go at once to the governor and report the return of his son.

  Governor Tiberius Cornelius Lentulus could not remember a time when he’d been more content. He’d mourned the death of his only surviving son when the legion commander declared him lost and presumed dead. His grief had been deep and full of regrets that he and Decimus had never been close because of his total fixation on political power to the neglect of family.

  Now his son reclined beside him at this banquet celebrating his return. He’d thought he’d seen the end of his ancestral line, of generations of service to Rome. Tib
erius’s expectations for Decimus’s rapid rise to the highest positions of power were reborn when he rode through the fortress gates that day.

  It also gave him a second chance as a father.

  He was just completing his tenure as provincial governor and would return for the present to civilian life at his villa near Rome. His time in Germania Superior had gone smoothly, and he was confident that he was secure in the Emperor’s favor.

  His return to Rome would allow him to fortify old alliances and make new ones. It would be the perfect time to have Decimus meet the people of power and influence that he would need to cultivate to achieve Tiberius’s ambitions for his son. They could also grow closer as they planned Decimus’s future together.

  Tiberius offered his son the plate of fruit. “I’m glad you returned in time to command the troop that will escort me back to Rome. It will be good for us to spend the time together. We’ve done too little of that over the years. It should also provide opportunities for me to introduce you to important people who can help you in the future.”

  Decimus selected a cluster of grapes. “It will be good to visit old friends in Rome as well.”

  “Yes, that too.” Tiberius’s eyes narrowed as he lifted his goblet to summon the slave who would refill it.

  He’d been surprised several times that evening by comments Decimus had made. There was something different about his son since he returned. Even though they hadn’t been close, Tiberius could tell something was not right. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was there.

  Perhaps Decimus’s close brush with death was still too much on his mind. The entertainments that awaited them in Rome should make him forget that.

  Decimus masked his disinterest in his father’s plan. The prospect of spending his entire time in Rome cultivating political alliances didn’t appeal to him like it used to. There were people from his past without political power that he considered much more important than the men his father would choose to spend their time with. There was a German peasant woman he would have chosen over the daughter of the Emperor himself...if only she had chosen him.

  The slave came to refill Decimus’s goblet, but he waved him away. He had no interest in getting drunk. The evening meal should end with happy conversation and family prayers, not overstuffed stomachs and drunken stupor. His time with her had ruined him for enjoying many Roman customs.

  At least he had persuaded his father to celebrate his return with a sumptuous banquet instead of gladiator contests. Deep sadness would have clouded her eyes if she thought he was celebrating his life with the death of other men. She was a day and a half away, but she was in his mind all the time. He was no longer purely Roman, and for the most part, that was good.

  Valeria sat in Decimus’s chair, her elbows resting on the table and her face in her hands. He’d been gone for two days. The chair had been hers at meals before he came. It was hers again. She couldn’t bear to see it sitting empty while they ate, but it wasn’t much better to sit where he used to pin her hand to the table as he teased her with warm brown eyes and a crooked smile.

  She raised her head and stared out the door. Had the ride to Mogontiacum been too hard on his leg? Where was he now? Would he ever think about Jesus and how much he was loved? Must she live the rest of her life with a ragged hole in her heart that only he could fill, or would he return? And if he ever did, would he still be the Roman tribune who left or the changed man she dreamed he could be?

  God, please let Rhoda be right. Bring someone else to lead him to You. She pulled at the corner of her eye, wiping away the start of a tear. Then, if there’s any way it can be Your will, please lead him back to me.

  She shook her head to clear it of the thoughts of him that lurked in every corner of her mind and kept leaping out unbidden. Every remembrance was shadowed by dreams of what might have been.

  The distant call of Galen to Otto brought her back to the present. She placed both hands on the table and pushed herself up.

  Baldric’s deep voice spoke a greeting to Galen and drew her trembling smile.

  God was the only true consolation for a broken heart, but right now she needed an arm with flesh on it to wrap around her and a human voice to tell her the pain would pass.

  Baldric had walked this path with Elka. Having no hope of ever seeing the one you loved again―that pain he understood.

  Baldric glanced at the cottage. Valeria stood in the door, her hand raised in greeting. The droop in her shoulders told him what he already knew. He tied his horse to the railing and strode over to join her.

  “Your Roman bought my horse at market day. I thought he should have left by now.” The wetness of her eyes drew his arm around her shoulder. “Otto is always eager to see Galen, and I thought you might want company today.”

  She turned and tilted her head to look at his face. “I knew you’d understand. I’m so glad you came.”

  “The first week is the hardest. By a month...the pain is not so bad.”

  She tightened her lips and nodded. With one finger, she flipped away the tear that had escaped.

  “At least your Roman left without trying to take you with him. I am glad he knew it could never work. Better you be alive here with grief that will pass than dead in Mogontiacum.”

  “But he did ask me to marry him.” Again, she flicked away a tear. “I had to tell him no. Part of what hurts so much is how much that hurt him.”

  “His pain will pass, too. It is good you were wise enough to say no.” He slid his hand up her arm, then down. “You need to find another to love, as I did after Elka died. Adolf would be pleased if it is him. You can follow your Jesus without risking your life if you marry my son.”

  “But I didn’t refuse Decimus because it was too dangerous. I would have to deny my Lord to be with him. I can’t do that, no matter the cost. Only a man who loves Jesus more than me would understand why I had to say no, and Decimus doesn’t. I would let the governor kill me before I’d betray my Lord and worship the Roman gods.”

  “You will not have to worship any other gods with Adolf. I will even tell Adolf to add your god to those he worships.”

  “But following Jesus doesn’t work that way. You can’t just add him as one more god that you worship. It’s all or nothing. No one who follows him can have any god but him. Nothing and no one can be as important.” She wiped the corner of her eye before the tear could escape. “Not even the man I love with my whole heart.”

  Baldric frowned as he shook his head. “That is too high a price for any god to ask.”

  “But what Jesus did for me is far beyond any price I could ever pay. He died for my sins out of love. That gift―it’s why I love him above all others, and if that means I remain alone, then so be it. If it’s God’s will for me to marry, He’ll bring a man who follows the Way to be my husband. If not, loving Him will be enough.”

  “I do not understand why your god asks what he does.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But I do not have to. If it is enough for you, then I guess it is enough.”

  Valeria tilted her head to offer him a smile. “It’s always my prayer that you will understand someday.”

  She stepped away and rested her hand on his arm. “I’m so glad you came. It helps to hear how soon the pain will fade from someone who knows.” A quick pat before she withdrew her hand. “I was about to make lunch. Would you and Otto like to share it with us?”

  “Yes.”

  Valeria entered the cottage as Baldric settled onto the bench. He cupped his chin and rubbed his bearded cheek. Valeria was a wise woman in many ways, but to love a god so much...

  He shrugged before fixing his gaze on the Roman’s stallion pacing in the corral. At least some good had come to her from saving the Roman, if only a good horse.

  It had taken nearly a month to travel the distance from Mogontiacum to Rome.

  Tiberius had followed the river road along the Rhenus to Augusta Raurica, then south to Aventicum a
nd Octodurus before crossing the Alps into Italia. It had been an uneventful trip, but it had not been a pleasant one. Something troubled Decimus, and growing concern over what it might be gnawed at Tiberius.

  Decimus had always been the life of the party, ready for an evening of good humor, good wine, and good women. He still laughed at many things, but the ribald, often cruel humor that he used to enjoy so much never elicited more than a weak smile and seldom even that. Tiberius hadn’t seen him drunk even once since he returned. When they stopped in a town, the other officers indulged themselves in the nighttime company of women. Decimus excused himself to stand alone in the darkness and watch the stars. Sometimes he just stared into the heavens with a wistful look, but other times he was clearly brooding about something.

  Many times, Tiberius had gone out to draw him first into conversation and then back inside. The conversations were shallow and short, and Decimus chose solitude over the companionship of his own father.

  Tiberius hadn’t fully appreciated how much he loved his son until he thought he’d lost him. He’d always been proud of Decimus: his intelligence, his prowess as a swordsman, his intuitive grasp of military tactics that quickly made him the favorite of the legion commander. He’d reveled in the near certainty that his son would rise in the Roman power circles even faster than he had himself.

  When he thought Decimus was dead, that no longer mattered. His grief had been intense. Memories of his failure as a father haunted him. Too many times he’d brushed aside young Decimus’s requests to spend time with him so he could spend the time stroking the vanity of some powerful man who could help advance his own career.

  The father of his son’s best friend had been more of a father to Decimus than he had. At the time, he’d been happy to let Publius Drusus be his son’s confidante and mentor because it freed his time for cultivating political allies. The sad result of his neglect? Decimus had grown into a man who always showed him respect but never the affection that a father and son should share.