by Beth Shriver
Nethan, being a friend of Enan’s, was allowed by Tirzah’s family to spend time with her in Enan’s absence. He had gone out of his way to keep her company and teach her the bow. Her brothers chaperoned during their lessons, although they thought it a waste of time to teach a girl, but Enan encouraged her interest. He had promised to teach her but was gone more than he was home.
Tirzah thought it wise to learn equine and archery skills and loved the challenge. She would have preferred learning from Enan, but she looked forward to Nethan’s visits, finding comfort in the presence of someone who was so close to Enan. Lately, though, Nethan’s behavior troubled her.
He had begun to act almost as if Enan’s presence made him uncomfortable, and the looks he gave Tirzah were confusing at times. He seemed so distracted. Maybe Enan’s absence was wearing on him, too. The war was always on everyone’s minds, stirring up questions with impossible answers.
She let Bluma out to the back pasture and latched the gate. She sighed, trying to shrug off visions of her dream. No matter what her dreams told her, she would hold Enan close to her heart. She would remain devoted to him until they were separated by death.
****
The next day’s wait gave the town people ample time to prepare themselves for an attack. By the time the sun crested, all were prepared and vigilant, but a casual observer would never have guessed they were on the eve of war. Abraham sat in his chair and smoked his pipe, while Ruth worked at the table kneading dough, and Tirzah washed and dried the figs.
“Do you want to torture me?” Tirzah asked Ruth as she rolled a cloth over the plump, juicy fruit.
Ruth drew her brows and stopped kneading. “What do you mean?”
Abraham chuckled, puffs of smoke escaping from his lips. “Even I know what she refers to. Figs are her favorite. Enan once swiped a handful to take to her from your own kitchen, Ruth.”
Ruth put a wrist to her nose to scratch, as a large glob of dough dropped from her finger. “I didn’t know Enan had it in him to steal from his own friend.” She looked at Tirzah. “And you must have yourself a fig.” The two women smiled at each other.
Abraham blew out a puff of smoke and smiled. He had decided not to confront Tirzah about her and Nethan. She had confirmed that she thought of Nethan only as a friend, and it would be better to occupy her time with his family so her time with Nethan would be limited.
Abraham was sure Nethan was up to something, but he seemed to be busy at his guard post—he hadn’t made an appearance since Abraham had confronted him. That was fine. When the time was right, he would find out Nethan’s plans.
Tirzah put Bluma out to pasture and took in the clean air. The day was gorgeous, and not knowing what the next sunrise would bring, Tirzah planned to enjoy the sun and warm weather with Abraham and his family. The two women brought out a blanket and basket of food. Sarah and Daniel dragged the blanket out to a grassy spot, laid it in a clump, and sat down.
Tirzah laughed at the sight of the two children and helped them straighten and pull it out so they could all sit comfortably. When they had all finished, Tirzah helped clean up before leaving and thanked them for the food and company.
At home, Tirzah noticed a horse and courier waiting in front of her home.
The rider approached her. “Tirzah Korias, daughter of Andrew Sais Korias?”
“Yes, I am Tirzah Korias,” she answered, and held a hand over her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“This message is for you.” He held out a scroll sealed with wax but no insignia. She thanked him as she took it. The courier clicked his heels together and nodded as he left. As she opened the scroll, she thought of Abraham’s questions about Nethan and felt a twinge of guilt at wondering if the message was from Nathan or Enan. She stared at the scroll with anticipation. The question in her mind made her feel ashamed.
Tirzah slowly broke the seal, unrolled the papyrus, and looked to the bottom for a name. Sighing relief, she smiled and read, but her smile faded and heartbeat quickened as she finished.
She made her way back to Abraham’s as quickly as she could. Running through to the back of the house she found them. “Abraham! Ruth! Enan’s being sent to Alef.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sitting in the courtyard, Maximus watched as Felicia entered, freshly bathed and lathered with perfumes he’d given her. Today she’d used his favorite—desert rose, a mellow scent. Her long, black hair shone as she strolled through the sunlit courtyard. Felicia stopped and sat at the fountain, taking a red bloom tenderly into her hand and lifting it to smell the sweet fragrance. Her eyes closed as she smiled. She bent forward and watched the water as it spilled over the rim. Touching the water lightly with her fingertips, she watched the ripples glide slowly along the top.
Maximus held a finger to his lips and rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, entranced by her every motion. He waited for her to glance his way or come closer, but her interest lay elsewhere.
A slave stepped before him and bowed. “A visitor seeks your presence, my lord.” Maximus waved, more to get him to move out of his vision of Felicia than to dismiss him. The slave took two steps backward and then went to fetch the visitor. Felicia accepted a goblet from a young slave. Maximus watched her lips curve around the cup and her throat move with each intake of wine.
Then movement at the outside of his gaze disturbed his concentration. He furrowed his brows when he saw an older woman dressed in a cloak looking at him. She removed the hood of the cloak and linked her fingers together at her stomach. Knowing it proper for him to speak first, she waited and turned her eyes downward in respect.
“Who are you, and where do you come from?” Maximus wondered now why he was dealing with her. He should have asked one of the council to deal with this woman. He glanced at Felicia once more and half listened to the woman.
“I come from Byblos, and my name is Adisa.” She seemed ready to tell him more but waited again for him to speak.
“Why do you come to me? One of the council should have facilitated your request.” He could not hide the irritation in his voice.
“Yes, my lord. Augustus requested I speak with you.”
Maximus shook himself from his trance and looked away from Felicia. “Augustus?” His question ended in a raised tone, expressing his surprise.
“Yes, I have received word of my sister’s death.”
Maximus’s eyes widened, his full attention on her now. “Ahh, yes.” Studying the woman, he could now see some resemblance—the same dark-colored skin and round face with large features. But this woman stood taller than Ati and radiated an air of respectability. And her eyes…Ati’s were black. This woman’s eyes were light, almost clear with a hint of color, cold and emotionless.
“My condolences. I thought you would want to care for her according to your own customs.”
She bowed her head. “Gratefully accepted, My Lord. May I see her?”
Maximus clapped his hands, catching the attention of the slave. “Guide Adisa to the catacombs.”
Adisa bowed and pulled her hood over her head as she followed the young slave through the courtyard. Felicia’s gaze followed them, then went to Maximus. She stood and came to him. Maximus watched as she slowly sat next to him in a cushioned chair of gold.
“Who was that woman?” Her wide eyes and parted lips stirred him. He moved to the other side of his chair and rested his arm against it as he answered. “She is Ati’s sister, come to prepare her for burial.”
Her brow wrinkled. “In all the years she has been among us, I never thought about Ati having family. How did you find her?”
Maximus still held a slight smile. She stared at his lips and drew back with a look of disdain.
“I had a slave search for a village a day’s ride from here in the northern territory. I remembered her going to see family many years ago.”
“You are glad she is here?” She asked, still studying his expression.
He nodded. “But even more so, I am g
lad you are here, sitting beside me. Nothing pleases me more.”
Felicia backed away. “Why do you always discomfort me?”
He placed his hand on hers and held it firmly against the arm of the chair when she tried to pull away. “Why do you resist me?” Under the influence of wine, his “S’s” turned sibilant.
She pulled one last time to free her hand but relented when he held fast. Her shoulders slumped and she lowered her head. “This is not right.”
Maximus glowered and moved his face closer to hers. “I decide what is right.”
“You can take pleasure in your harem.” She lifted her head, gaining strength.
Maximus chuckled. “No royal seed will come of that.” He wasn’t about to tell her about his last experience with a harem girl, after which his taste for all of them had soured.
Her breathing quickened as she realized he wanted her to sleep with him to bear royalty. “You have taken no wives. When you do, you can choose from royalty.”
He shook his head and brushed a finger along her jaw line and down her neck. When he went further down, she grabbed his hand. The hold on his hand angered him as did her rejection once more. He pulled away, his breath quick and erratic.
His gaze remained on her as she stood, then walked away. His nostrils flared with hot air, the rhythm of his breath matching the hammering of his heart, not only due to her rejection, but also her mention of no wives—an embarrassing and odd void for a man of his position.
He reasoned with himself that he had only been a short time in reign. He could also use his father’s death as an excuse, but others might not find these reasons acceptable.
A servant approached with a bow. “Augustus requests your presence, my lord.”
Frustrated, he barked at the slave. “Where is he?”
“In the consultant’s room, my lord.”
Maximus went through the courtyard and down the hall to Augustus. They had not crossed paths since Claudius’s faux burial. His father and Augustus had grown close in their old age, which gave reason for Augustus to visit often, but now it was said he watched life from his window or in the flower garden near his bed chambers.
Augustus sat in a chair at the very end of the long table and slowly began to rise when Maximus opened the doors and walked through them. Maximus motioned for him to remain seated and sat at the other end of the table. Seeing Augustus still brought back the haunting of his mother’s death and the blame he placed on this man.
“It is a long time since we have seen one another.” Augustus’s voice was low and raspy from age, and he had grown thin and weak.
Maximus skipped the formalities. Anything this man had to say to him would not be taken in good favor. “Why do you seek me, Augustus?”
“You had a visitor.”
Maximus furrowed his brow and moved his head slightly.
“Ati’s kin from Byblos.”
“Yes.” He would offer little until he knew what Augustus wanted.
“I am here at your command, should you need me.”
Maximus was taken aback that Augustus would come out of his solitary world. And to his surprise, he also felt a sense of relief. He held his tongue as the thoughts flitted through. It was as though his mind was under attack, going one direction and then another with words being said in his head but nothing making sense.
When he lifted his head, Augustus was watching him intently. “Are you well, my lord?”
Maximus rubbed his temples, not appreciating the look Augustus was giving him, as if he knew his mind was reeling. But he did not want this man’s pity. “Yes, a slight pain to my head is all.”
Augustus nodded. “She was quite upset. She claims she was estranged from her sister many years ago and now all these years later, hears word of her death.”
“She did not show anger when I spoke to her.”
“Of course. You are her ruler. She showed me her wrath, wanting to see Ati, dress her, and proceed with ceremonial services.”
Maximus reveled in the compliment, to be respected showed power. Leaning back in his chair, he placed his hands on the jeweled arms and gave Augustus a confident stare.
“Do not worry yourself, Augustus. She was appeased when I granted her permission to tend to her sister.”
Augustus leaned forward in his chair. “My lord, she is said to have powers—powers stronger than those of Ati.”
Maximus scoffed, not wanting to give her any credit, whether it was true or not. “Ati was harmless.”
Augustus boldly spoke. “But with her sister’s aid, she was strong enough to kill.”
Maximus jumped to his feet and approached Augustus, taking long strides down the full length of the table. Holding a single finger before Augustus’s eyes, he spoke brusquely but quietly. “How dare you challenge me and bring up the death of my mother? You are the one who killed her. You are responsible for her death.”
Augustus backed into his chair, humbled by the words but not shaken. “Yes, my lord. I ask forgiveness for my harsh words. But your accusations hold no merit. Since your mother’s death, I have little desire to live. The guilt has taken its toll.”
Maximus stepped back. Why must he always force reverence from those who should naturally honor him? It should not be so. Maximus’s pulse quickened, and the sweating began. He did not have time for this old fool.
Maximus remained standing before Augustus and pulled on his straight, black hair. He leaned against the table and studied Augustus who had no life since Cynthia’s death. Maximus realized, upon thinking back, that neither had he.
The long days after her death had become months, then years, and he never let himself grieve her. Instead, he’d held on to his anger toward the two men he blamed.
“I only meant to remind you it was Ati’s sister she went to when your father asked for more potent medicines. It was by her hand, not Ati’s.”
Maximus pulled at his hair and wiped his brow. “No one speaks of the dead.” His voice was a shout that alarmed even him. Augustus startled, then withdrew into his chair.
He spoke in a low voice. “Do you wish me to join you when she returns?”
“No.” Maximus answered too quickly. “I will speak with her alone.” Maximus leaned forward, ready to leave. He needed to escape Augustus’s penetrating stare.
Augustus nodded. “I will wait to hear from you in my chambers, my lord.”
****
When he reached the top of the stairs, Maximus let out a long breath. He’d brought with him more bread and a bit of fruit, knowing he was his father’s only caretaker now.
He unlocked the door and slowly opened it. Claudius lay on the floor, his chest littered with small bits of bread. Maximus closed the door behind him and approached. He saw no movement from Claudius’s chest. His pulse quickened at the thought that his father might truly be dead.
It had been almost a full day’s time since Maximus had been to see him. Maximus glanced about the room for water. Reaching for the goblet on the bedside table, he brought it to Claudius’s mouth. A trickle of water dribbled onto his parched lips. A small amount made its way down his throat, causing Claudius to cough weakly.
Thank the gods.
Maximus jerked the cup away at his thought. Now that he was witnessing Claudius’s death, the thought of losing him again brought remorse and grief. Then guilt started to creep in, but Maximus repressed it with a vision of his mother’s glassy eyes searching for his face.
Similar eyes fluttered and gazed upon him this moment. “My son.” Claudius forced the scratchy words from his cracked lips. “I thought you were in my dream.” His eyelids forced themselves open and drooped again.
Maximus wanted no conversation with him, only to give him food and drink so he could find out what Claudius had told Marcus during their time together. Why would Marcus waste time with him for any other reason than to conspire against him?
Always up against traitors, Maximus trusted no one except of Felicia. How she had mourned for the
ir father. But Maximus could never let her find him. She would never forgive him for what he had done. Claudius would still have to die, but Maximus would get his information first.
Maximus laid him in the bed, wishing he could call on a slave to move him and feed him. He knew that he could trust no one with this, even a slave.
“I had a dream of your mother…”
Maximus thrust his head up and glared at him. Claudius held up his hand to him. “It was a good dream. She was a beautiful woman. No other wife pleased me more. And she loved you and Felicia even though she was not her blood.”
“I will hear no more of this.” Maximus felt his eyes moisten. Claudius laid a hand on his, and Maximus quickly pulled back. A loving touch was what he longed for, all he ever wanted, but the only human who had shown him any affection was his mother. Claudius’s touch confused him.
After Cynthia’s death, Felicia had comforted Maximus. Wrapping her arms around him, she had held him until he stopped crying, as many times as he needed. He thought of this fondly now and could not stop the tears. He put his hands over his face and tried to still himself.
“I miss her, too, son.” The gruff voice continued. “I loved her very much.”
Maximus did not want to share in these emotions with his father and restricted himself from speaking. He wanted to speak his mind to this man who claimed to love his mother but did not prevent her death.
He let out a shuddering sigh and found his voice. “No more talk of this. I want to know of the conversations you had with Marcus.” Maximus faced Claudius. “I know you both worked against me. But for what cause? You for revenge, and Marcus for power?”
Claudius did not answer, just gazed upon his son with faded blue eyes. Maximus took a step forward. “Am I correct, dear Father?” He asked with a sarcastic tone.
Maximus held his face inches apart from his father. Claudius grabbed him weakly by the back of his head and pulled him closer, holding his mouth to Maximus’s ear.