Shem’s jaw clenched, but he shrugged. “I doubt that one Samaritan is of much interest to the Romans. He said that traveling as poor peasants would keep us safer. But I know that he just wants to see me miserable.” Shem tried to sound petulant and added a scowl for good measure. “This is his idea of punishment. Sending me on a fool’s errand with my dim-witted cousin.”
Silas laughed loudly at that. Shem smiled. Maybe he was a better liar than he thought. “I have to take her to some friends in Damascus. They are expecting us tomorrow or the next day.”
“Expecting you?” Silas rested his chin on one hand, his finger tapping his full lips. “You should stay with me for a few days. You deserve some luxury after such a journey.”
Shem frowned. A few days here, and no one would ever see him or Mara again. “We can’t; my father would be very angry.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Then again . . . it might make this miserable journey worthwhile. I certainly deserve it, after what I’ve put up with.” He twisted his mouth into what he hoped was a conspiring smirk. “Yes . . . we will stay a few days with you, my friend.”
Chapter 25
The women stripped Mara of her cloak and unwrapped her belt from her waist. Mara pressed her lips together before she could utter the protest that almost slipped from her mouth.
She stood in a sumptuous room, larger than the entire house she shared with her mother and Asher. Smooth tile floors were strewn with soft carpets. Flickering bronze lamps sat on ornamental tables, and a massive brazier glowed in one corner, making the room as warm as a summer day. On one end, she saw marble steps leading to sparkling water.
The oldest of the women, a crone with deeply lined skin and frizzy gray hair, pointed to herself. “Berenice,” she croaked, then pointed to Mara. They all looked at her. She covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. Berenice seemed to understand. She explained something over her shoulder to the other servants, and they made sympathetic noises. Berenice spoke sharply to the youngest servant, sending her out of the room with a flutter of her bony hands.
The two women turned back to Mara, clucking in disapproval. Their hands pulled at her clothes and tangled hair.
Mara crossed her hands over her ragged tunic, clutching it in her fists and shaking her head, but they took no notice, unlocking her arms and lifting her tunic off her with one swift motion. They chuckled, but not unkindly, as she tried to cover her nakedness.
Berenice took pity on her, wrapping her in a cool linen sheet. The other opened an ebony chest inlaid with lustrous stones to divulge a treasure of sponges, alabaster jars, and jewel-like bottles.
They chattered to each other as they led Mara to the bath. Mara resisted. A pagan bath must be unclean, but the water looked so clear and tempting. Finally, as the women’s voices rose and their prodding became more vigorous, she dropped the sheet and stepped into the water. It was warm and wonderful and swirled around her like silk. She sank down on the smooth marble and stretched until the water covered her from toes to chin.
The servants nodded and set to work, pouring water over her hair and rubbing it with sweet-smelling soap. They sluiced water through it again and again. Mara’s eyes closed, and she became lost in the blissful sensation. She could stay in this spot forever. But when a soapy sponge slid over her arms and shoulders, she came out of her trance. She grabbed the sponge from the old woman and scrubbed the rest of her body. She wasn’t a child, and it couldn’t be right to have the other women wash her.
They pulled her out and wrapped her in dry linen. Now, finally she would be able to sleep. But the clucking women weren’t done with her. Berenice guided her to a low bench, and they huddled around her.
Berenice pumiced the calluses from her hands and feet and shaped her ragged nails. The other woman gave her sharp-flavored anise seeds to freshen her breath, smoothed her long black hair with an ivory comb, and anointed her with sweet almond oil. Berenice slipped a narrow band of black silk over her forehead to hold her hair in place.
Mara sat dull-witted on the bench as they attended to her. She could hardly keep her heavy eyelids open. The warm bath had soothed her aching body; now she just wanted to find a bed and sleep. Why were they continuing to pamper her as if it were her wedding day?
The two servants eagerly brought out a casket of small pots and bottles. They offered inky black antimony to darken her lashes and red sikra for her lips and cheeks, but Mara shook her heavy head. When she put up her hands to protest their offering of sweet, musky scents in alabaster pots, the women exclaimed to each other with raised eyebrows but finally shrugged and gave up.
A wave of dizziness passed over her. Perhaps she would join the woman of the household for their evening meal. That must be it. What would the wife and daughters of a man like Silas be like?
They were slipping ebony bracelets on her reluctant wrists when the young girl returned with her arms full of silk and linen. Mara was not too sleepy to notice the fine weave and expert dye of the cloth. These clothes were finer than any she had seen.
The women slid a sleeveless linen shift of deep blue over her head and fastened it at the shoulders with golden clasps. The shift barely covered her knees and left her shoulders bare. Mara shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her. I can’t wear this; I can see right through it.
Berenice ignored her. The old woman rummaged through the pile of shimmering cloth again, choosing a flowing silk, sea green and embroidered in gold. She draped it over the tunic, then wrapped a deep green sash high around her waist. That was better, but not by much. Mara pulled at the fabric, trying to cover more of her exposed skin.
Finally, tutting at the red sores on her ankles, the old servant kneeled and slipped delicate sandals encrusted with pearls on her feet. She smiled, lurched to her feet, and motioned for Mara to follow. She lifted a salver of brightly polished silver from a table and brought it close to Mara’s face, wagging her head in approval.
Mara studied the image reflected in the burnished surface. She saw wide eyes of green flecked with golden light and smooth, high cheekbones. Her silky hair shone blue-black in the lamplight, and her honey skin glowed. It was Nava’s face reflected back at her. Nava, whose beauty had done nothing but make her family miserable.
And now here I am, dressed as the harlot that everyone in Sychar believes Mama to be.
She pushed the mirror away and closed her eyes. Panic and despair clutched at her heart, overwhelming her. She didn’t want to be here. She needed to get to Capernaum. She thought of her broken mother lying in a dark room in Sychar. What were they doing right now? Did Asher think she had deserted him?
Berenice stroked her gnarled hand down Mara’s hair, murmuring soft words. Mara didn’t want to seem ungrateful to this strange woman. She had been kind, in her way. Mara brushed the tears away and offered a tremulous smile. Berenice gripped her arm with her clawlike fingers and pulled Mara out of the room.
Mara stumbled after Berenice. Her mouth fell open as they hurried through one lavish room after another. Silken cushions littered the floors and benches. Wild beasts seemed to watch them with glittering, jeweled eyes from the mosaic walls. The corners held chests covered in iron and gold. Their steps were hushed by thick carpets, but she could hear voices and music ahead. Her heart thumped, and her hands turned clammy as she recognized the booming voice of their host.
She could not be eating with the men.
But Berenice stopped at a bright doorway where men’s voices and the sounds of the harp and lute drifted out of the room. She pulled Mara toward the opening. Mara planted her feet and shook her head. She wouldn’t go in there; she couldn’t. Not dressed like this—like a pagan whore.
Berenice’s hand tightened on her arm. The woman looked almost afraid.
If only Mara had her robe. It was dirty and ragged, but at least it covered her. Her heart sped up, and her legs trembled. She couldn’t turn back and run away; where would she go?
Berenice pushed her firmly at the small
of her back, forcing her fully into the room. Conversation stopped, and three sets of eyes turned to her. Silas at the head of the table, Shem on one side, and a blond woman with a pinched face on the other.
After the first heart-stopping glance, Mara saw nothing but Shem. He reclined on a couch, his farmer’s tunic replaced by fine linen. His face was again smooth-shaven, and his hair was shining clean and clipped short. He was a stranger again.
He held a goblet of wine as if frozen. She didn’t understand the look that flared on his face as his eyes traveled from her face to her toes, just a flash, quickly replaced by a deep frown. His throat worked convulsively, and his eyes veered to Silas.
Mara’s stomach churned, and her knees trembled as she turned her gaze to the big Greek. He licked his red lips as if he were surveying a feast. She’d seen that look before. On Alexandros. On Jobab.
Silas had changed from his traveling clothes into an even finer ensemble of gold and purple. Each meaty hand boasted several rings with huge glittering stones. Gold embroidery stretched across his protruding belly as he rolled to one side of his couch to appraise Mara.
Mara’s face burned as Silas’s greedy eyes traveled from her face down her body. She pulled her garment around herself and turned a pleading face to Shem. He scowled and spoke to Silas in clipped, short words she didn’t understand.
She blinked her burning eyes. Shem was angry with her. If only she could explain. These clothes were not her doing. She didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t like her mother—what her mother used to be. She just wanted a bite to eat and somewhere to lay her head.
“Oh, but we are Greek, my dear Shem,” Silas answered in thickly accented Aramaic. “We allow our women to eat with us, especially such a beauty as this one. I’m sorry that you wish to be rid of her for a night.”
He said that? He wished he could be rid of her?
“And, my boy,” Silas continued, his voice smooth, “you must know that I am a greedy man. I desire all my senses to be gratified at once. Your cousin will delight my eyes as sweet music pleases my ears and food satisfies my mouth.” He patted his belly and laughed, but his eyes stayed on Mara. “And we will speak the language of your land, in honor of your . . . cousin.” His lips twitched into a smirk at the last word. “Doris,” he grunted to the other member of the group, “give this beauty your couch. You sit farther down.”
Mara turned to the third diner. A small, thin woman glared at her from the other side of Silas. Doris lounged on the couch dressed in golden silk that left her neck and shoulders bare. Ringlets of golden hair were piled high on her head, but her pretty face showed marks of age under her heavy makeup. She set her red mouth in a stubborn line and shook her head.
Mara did the same, fluttering her hands in wordless protest.
Silas took no notice of either woman’s pleas. He snapped at Doris in Greek. She stood sullenly and walked past Silas to recline on the other side of Shem, leaving the more honored spot for Mara.
Mara sat carefully on the couch. She’d never reclined to eat before. She stretched out on her side and scooted toward the table, pulling at the neck of her dress to keep decently covered.
“You are wise, Shem, to not have taken a wife.” Silas didn’t take his eyes off Mara. “Cousins are so much more . . . agreeable.”
Mara saw Shem’s throat jerk, but he just shrugged.
Silas moved his bulky body to the foot of the couches and reached for Mara’s feet.
She pulled away. What was he doing now?
“Don’t be frightened, my sweet,” purred Silas as he unfastened the pearl sandals and gave them to the waiting Berenice. “It is the privilege of the host to remove your sandals and make you more comfortable.” He ran his fleshy fingers over her ankles, chuckling as she flinched. He lay back down on his couch, raised just a handbreadth above the others, and barked a command at a servant. The man jumped and hurried from the room.
The servant reappeared in moments at Mara’s side with a goblet of ruby wine. She surveyed the sumptuous banquet before her, and her stomach squeezed tight, but not in hunger. Her body seemed unable to move; she could hardly breathe. Shem wouldn’t look at her. Silas wouldn’t leave her alone. She felt like she was drowning.
Chapter 26
Mara tried to eat as the servants offered platters of exotic foods, each more sumptuous and delicate than the last. Silas served his guests first, dipping into the dishes with carved ivory spoons or his own hand, then bestowing morsels on Shem’s and Mara’s gilded salvers. I can’t eat all this. Would it be rude to refuse?
Shem did not admire her now; he was too busy admiring Doris. For all his talk of danger before, he seemed to be enjoying himself. With his easy manners and relaxed pose, he looked like he belonged here. They whispered in Greek, and Doris laughed, stroking his bare arm with her pale fingers and smirking over his shoulder at Mara.
Mara’s face burned. Were they talking about her? About how stupid and clumsy she was? Would Doris ask him how he got stuck with such an ignorant girl?
The meat on her plate swam in a sauce that smelled of cumin and cinnamon. She glanced up to see Silas watching her closely, his face flushed and glistening with sweat.
“Eat it! It will not bite you back. I promise there is no pork on this table, but as to your other restrictions, tonight you must forget them.” He reached over and ran his huge hand from her shoulder to her elbow, laughing again as she shrank away from him.
Mara hurriedly scooped up the meat and shoved it in her mouth, barely tasting the unfamiliar flavor. She nodded to her host, trying not to meet his eyes. The meal continued with more food and wine than Mara had ever seen. Spiced peahen eggs, roasted hare in fig sauce, lamb covered in olives and capers, antelope cooked in milk and flavored with anise. The pungent aromas choked her, and her mouth burned with heat.
Silas insisted that she try each dish, followed by a sip of the dark, strong wine. Mara’s head swam as the servants brought out roasted vegetables and strong cheeses sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. Doris seemed as determined to keep Shem’s attention as Silas was to have Mara all to himself. The big man drank far more than he ate, his voice becoming lower and his comments more suggestive as the meal continued. Seeing her blush with discomfort seemed to delight him.
As the servants removed the trays of cheeses, Shem caught the attention of one and spoke quietly to him, flicking his hand toward Mara. The servant returned with a pitcher of water, with which he diluted her wine. She sent Shem a grateful look, but he turned away from her.
“Watching out for your charge, eh, Shem?” Silas laughed, waving the servant away. “Isn’t she old enough to drink undiluted wine?”
“I just don’t want her to get sick on me,” Shem said with a shrug. Why was he being so cruel? Was he the grandson of Abahu or the cold-hearted son of a rich man?
Silas put down his wine and contemplated Mara. He touched her hair, running his fingers over it and weighing it in his thick hand. “She is well past the age to marry. Why is it that she is still a maiden?”
“As I said,” Shem answered, sounding bored, “she is unwell and as dumb as a walking stick. Believe me, few men want a wife like her.”
Mara felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. Dumb as a walking stick? Shem’s face was turned away. Why won’t he look at me?
She blinked back the tears and took another drink of wine. She had to get away from this table. If it was sickness he was avoiding, perhaps sick was what she should be. It would be easy enough, given the way her stomach lurched. Then maybe she could escape this nightmare and get some sleep.
• • •
Shem ground his teeth together. Silas was worse than he remembered. He hadn’t taken his eyes, or his hands, off Mara during the meal. It took all Shem’s control not to crawl across the table and choke the fat pig.
He had to get them out of here. But how? And Mara . . . It was hard not to stare at her himself. She looked like a goddess, but he had to force himself to pretend that he
didn’t even notice her.
“I would think,” Silas laughed, “that a woman who couldn’t talk would be in the utmost demand! She is beautiful, that is true, and those eyes . . .” Silas put his hand under her chin and pulled it up. Mara’s skin paled where his thick fingers dug into her chin.
Blood pounded in Shem’s head, and his fist tightened around his goblet. Let go of her, or I’ll show you what it feels like to be helpless.
Mara wrenched away from him, and he laughed again. “Yes, a woman who is beautiful and can neither complain nor nag—that is truly a rare and valuable pearl!” He pursed his lips, shiny with wine. “Yes, indeed,” he said softly, “this one is a real treasure.”
A shiver ran up Shem’s back and prickled his neck. Silas wanted Mara, and he’d get rid of Shem to have her. Would he have the guards kill him here or turn him in to the Roman garrison in Tiberius?
Whatever Silas planned, perhaps Shem’s act as the spoiled, oblivious lout had bought them some time to get away. Silas seemed to have dismissed him as any threat. He might wait until tomorrow to have Shem killed, then do what he wished with Mara.
Shem took a deep breath, forcing a hard voice and a scowl toward Mara. “She is unwell, and believe me, no joy to travel with. Her illness is very unpleasant.”
He raised his glass and eyed Doris with what he hoped passed for a drunken leer. “Here’s to a few days of good company before putting an end to this foolish journey.” He slurped his wine and pretended to sway in his chair as Silas laughed and raised his own glass. Mara turned pale, and her bottom lip quivered. Mara, it’s just an act. I’m doing it for you. Surely she knew that.
Silas had drunk enough wine for three men. Hopefully, he would sleep hard tonight. Then they could escape. He turned again to Doris. She would be no help; she was terrified of Silas and not too smart. He forced himself to smile at her again and tried not to cringe when her cool hand touched him.
He only half listened to Doris as she purred a suggestion into his ear. Mara didn’t look good. Her eyes closed, and she swayed sideways. He rolled from his couch and bolted around Doris, but not fast enough. Silas was already holding Mara’s limp body in his arms. Her head lolled to one side.
The Well Page 21