by Beth Shriver
Maximus and Adisa walked through the palace entrance to where he kneeled before them. Maximus studied Marcus’s bloodied, swollen face and body and felt no pity. He lifted his right hand to gesture toward Marcus.
“This is the man who killed your king and his handmaid, and tried to poison your king’s son. He has also committed treason by withholding war information and committing crimes against his own men. I hereby sentence him to death.” Maximus stared into Marcus’s one good eye and the other swollen slit.
Marcus sucked in air quickly with a willful look on his face. As Maximus kept his gaze on him, his face twisted into anger, and he spat on the ground. “You know the truth in this.”
Maximus approached Marcus to keep from being heard. “Do not think you can cheat death by telling lies. It is too late for that.” Maximus studied Marcus.
Marcus leaned to one side and tried to regain his balance. “You are sure of yourself, young Maximus.” Marcus mocked at him as he appraised the changes in this man he once had held under his finger.
Maximus nodded, knowing Marcus had seen the change in him and gestured to Adisa. “Ridding one’s body of poisons changes a man.” He moved his head down closer to Marcus’s. “How dare you think you could get rid of me? I am stronger than ever.”
Marcus stared daggers into Maximus. “Yes, so it seems. But your weak soul has not changed.” His cutting response only caused Maximus to laugh, knowing he finally had the upper hand.
Marcus stared at Adisa. “Who is this witch?”
Adisa grunted her disapproval.
“She is the handmaid’s kin, her sister.” Maximus grinned in her direction and continued. “She was a pleasant find, as she knows much of poisons and a traitor’s heart.” Maximus pushed out his chin in reference to Marcus. He lifted his thumb and then began to turn it downward, approving Marcus’s execution.
Marcus lowered his voice into a growl as he spewed his words. “Something to remember me by—if your Felicia has conceived, know it is by my seed.” Maximus lost his thoughts and lowered his hand. The people interpreted the gesture to mean they were to take Marcus. The mob jumped him, punching and dragging him away. Maximus, anguished at Marcus’s last words, could only watch the scene before him unfold.
Adisa grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away. “Come with me. Save your dignity and walk away.”
But Maximus stood, eyes riveted on his enemy’s progress through the vicious crowd, as Adisa pulled at him again. He’d never felt so repulsed and angered.
Marcus’s chains were hooked to a horse-drawn wagon. With a quick whip to the horse’s hide, he was kicked up off his feet and dragged through the city, half naked. The people threw dung at him and cursed him.
Still not satisfied, the masses then took his dead body and threw it into the sea and cheered as they watched his body wash out into the waves.
Maximus observed with frustration. This was to be his satisfaction, his revenge against the man who had turned his world upside down. But with Marcus’s last words, Maximus felt the blood drain from his heart. Could his words be true?
Adisa stood by him and watched in silence as Marcus’s body drifted into the surf. “He knows your weakness, my lord. Do not let him deceive you. He is a cunning one.” She turned to him, her white eyes focusing on his profile. “If there is any truth in what Marcus has said, I will sacrifice the child to Zeus. No one will know.”
The thought of anyone knowing of Felicia being with child out of wedlock would soil her chances to marry anyone of good standing. This made him pause. If it were to happen, he would twist it to his advantage. Not wanting her to marry, he could keep her to himself by a simple slip of the tongue to the right people.
He felt Adisa’s stare and gazed into her icy-white, colorless eyes. Always wondering if she knew what he was thinking, he turned his thoughts to relishing the dream of ruling his kingdom with Felicia by his side.
Chapter Thirty-One
A constant stream, a line of Zayin people moved slowly through their pillaged village—old and young, women, children and grandparents, the sick and infirm. Some were veterans of the fight, having found their way home earlier than Enan and Stephen. All now shared in the same tragedy. The work ahead would be long and hard.
Soot filtered through the air and around Enan’s head as some cleared an area that had once been someone’s home. Others moved rock walls that had been shattered and lay in pieces blocking the road. Stench from rotted food and the dead wafted on the wind as they rode past an outer gate. Cries of infants, hungry and motherless, split the air until the babies were tended to. A wounded man wrapped a filthy rag around his infected foot.
The people continued their projects as Enan and Stephen rode into the village. Each carried out a needed task, according to his or her abilities. Their homes had been violated, their leader killed. There was nothing left to take, except their will.
That one thing still shone in their eyes as they worked—their spirit. They had not given up, not given in. Yes, they had lost the battle, and most had lost loved ones, but those who remained would not lie down for Claudius and his men. They would heal to fight again if necessary.
Enan realized that no one knew who Stephen was. Enan gazed over at him and noticed how he held himself high, his back and shoulders straight. Stephen took in everything. Enan watched him absorb all the activity with wide and watchful eyes. Enan was analyzing as well, and planning what would need to be done, driven by compassion. Stephen’s eyes held softness, the edges with a slight curve downward that told Enan he would care for the people, not just deal with military concerns.
A slap to his leg brought Enan to his senses. “Enan!”
Enan turned to see the face of his father’s friend and neighbor. “Aharon.” Enan jumped down from his horse and embraced the man. “How is your family?”
“All well…but my youngest…” The man paused.
Enan stared at the ground then into the old man’s moist eyes. “I’m sorry, Aharon.”
Aharon nodded slowly. “It’s painful for a father to bury his son. He is with the Lord now—my only peace.” Then he looked around and gestured to the others grieving around him. “But then, we all mourn.”
Enan caught the faces of others in their midst. “How is Amelia? She is such a strong woman and good wife to you.” Enan held him by his shoulders.
Aharon let out a small smile and a tear. “She said it was fitting for Horiatis to be the one of our three sons to go. His name meaning, season.” Aharon glanced up at Enan, his smile disappeared. “It was a short season indeed.”
Enan could only squeeze his shoulders in hope it would bring him comfort. Aharon was only one of so many fathers grieving their son.
Enan felt Stephen’s presence behind him. Stephen took a step forward and put a hand on Aharon’s shoulder as well. “I am sorry for your loss.”
The old man’s weak smile appeared again as he stared deeply at Stephen. “Who are you, son?”
Stephen sighed and stood erect. “I am Stephen, son of Josiah.”
The man put a hand to his lips and let out a gasp. Taking a step back, he turned to Enan shaking his head. He bowed and went down on one knee. “Stephen, our new leader.”
With these words, Stephen and Enan stared at one another. This had been a possibility, now that his father had died, but not a reality until this moment.
Seeing the drop of Stephen’s jaw and the redness creeping into his face, Enan gently pulled Josiah’s son aside and held his friend.
A crowd began to gather just as they stepped away, looking to Aharon for answers. His shoulders shook as he let out a quiet sob. Enan slapped both arms against Stephen’s back as he embraced him, but spoke no words. A brief moment later, Stephen pulled himself from Enan and put his hands on his hips.
Aharon hesitantly approached. “It is right for you to grieve. I’m sure he was as good a father as he was an honorable leader.” He bowed and took steps backward to leave.
Stephen n
odded to him. “Yes, he was. But I have not earned my place with the people, Aharon, and I am not God. Please do not bow to me.”
Enan observed him with admiration, for his thoughts to be with another at a time of his own sorrow.
“It is just as hard for a son to mourn his father.” Stephen faced Enan and lifted a fist. “My place now is to bring the people together. Bring our armies together. Organize, regroup. I will need your help, friend.”
Enan nodded and smacked his arm with a sound slap. “You don’t need to ask.”
Stephen didn’t waste a moment. With this new agenda, he began to work his mind with what needed to be done. “We must speak to the people. This is your village, Enan. Gather them together in the square. We will rally them and let them know we are here to protect them and help bury the dead.”
Enan fought the urge to find his family and Tirzah. He knew this needed to be done. If he heard word he could not bear, he would not be in the frame of mind Stephen needed him to be. But his humanness failed him, and he caught his friend’s attention with a hand on his shoulder.
“I need to see about my family.”
Stephen gave him a look of remorse. “Of course. You go, and I will gather information.”
Enan nodded and stepped away, but Stephen grabbed his shoulder. “Do you need my help?”
Enan shook his head, anxious to leave and start his search. “No. No, you go, and I will be back quickly.”
Stephen hesitated for a brief moment then nodded.
Enan’s pace quickened as he saw those he knew but spoke little more than a short greeting. Anxiety built in him and he began to run, pushing through crowds of people and jumping over broken wagons, stones from fallen houses, and other debris.
He paused at a crossroad. His home was ahead, and Tirzah’s was down the other road, at the edge of town. He glanced up ahead but could not see past the number of people passing by, so he turned toward Tirzah’s.
The gate fell as Enan pushed it forward. The house seemed untouched and desolate. He ran the few steps to the door and knocked as he opened it. Nothing stirred as he rushed from one room to the next, and then through the house to the back door. He pushed it open and went outside, but found no one.
Anxiety rushed through him, and he headed back toward his home. The distance appeared longer than ever before. It seemed he could not run fast enough.
As he came upon his house, the atmosphere was quite the opposite of Tirzah’s. The front door stood open, and he could see his siblings bustling around the house and hear his father outside, working with a hammer.
When he took his first step inside, the movement stopped, and all eyes fastened on him. Anna dropped the basket she held and ran to him, followed by his other sisters. Enan’s parents joined in, and all were together, saying a prayer of thanksgiving.
As each slowly stepped away, chattering and asking questions, one stayed close to his side. As he looked down, he saw Tirzah’s face glowing up at him. Her eyes danced as she noticed the recognition sparking in Enan’s face. He held her tightly and laid his cheek on her head, soaking in her warmth as he held her close.
Tirzah’s body trembled, and she began to sob. Concerned, Enan hushed her and held her tighter. “What is it, beloved? I am here and in one piece. There is no need for sorrow now.”
He felt her let out one sigh, and then another, as she tried to gain her composure. When she finally spoke, her breath caught, and she continued to shake.
“I thought you were dead.” Her eyes red with tears still streaming from them, she gazed deeply into his.
“But I am here now, and there is no need for sadness.”
She looked down and frowned, hiding her eyes with a hand.
“Why would you be so sure that I would not return?” He moved to take a step back, but she held him even closer as another tear slipped down her cheek. Enan kissed the top of her head and waited until she lifted her eyes to him. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, confused at how distraught she was.
“There was word you were killed in battle. So few returned from Alef. The stories were that you were last seen bloodied and hurt, riding off on Legend, and not seen again.” She held his face in her hands and felt the peace of being together again. “Thank God you are alive,” she whispered, as if seeing a ghost.
Enan’s stomach tightened as he looked at her. Tirzah had been tormented with the thoughts of his death almost to the point of hysteria. This was so unlike her. She had a big heart, but she was also sensible enough not to think the worst.
Enan felt eyes on him and glanced around the room to his family. Although they shared joy for Enan and Tirzah, Enan felt something amiss. As he scanned the room, he realized the one missing.
“Where is Dustan?” Enan’s eyes moved about the room to each of their faces and found looks of despair. Enan went to his father. “Tell me, Father.”
“He is no longer with us, Enan.” His voice trembled as he spoke, which was all it took for Enan. Hearing the heartache in his father’s words broke him. He held his father, and they wept. His mother leaned in next to them with a cloth to her mouth in an effort to quiet her cry. Tirzah came to him and held her hand to his back until he pulled away and reached for her. They held one another for a long while, until each one had gained enough control to converse.
They shared the stories of the weeks Enan had been gone, and Enan shared his own. Then they talked about Dustan.
“How did it happen, Father?”
“After days of siege, the enemy finally penetrated the village. We fought hard and put them to the test, but their numbers were great and soldiers well-trained. They simply wore us down. With few men left to defend their families, Dustan took it upon himself to defend ours. We gathered ourselves together in the cellar with plenty of food and drink to last us, but Dustan was nowhere to be found when it came time to take cover.” He shivered as he fought the tears that now welled up. “His body was found when the soldiers had gone. He was killed by an arrow to his chest.” Joel covered his eyes to wipe away the tears.
Enan embraced him and thought about the irony of the arrow taking Dustan’s life. His weapon of choice killed his brother. Enan pulled away from his father.
“What a foolish thing to do.” Enan was angry at the waste of such a young life. His father moved his eyes up to Enan. “He so much wanted to be like you, Enan.” Enan shook his head. “He was too young.”
Enan remembered his promise to Stephen and put his hands on his hips, then took a step closer to Tirzah. “I met someone on my journey home, someone who you all will meet very soon. He is in the center of the village gathering the people, and we must go to him.”
Tirzah raised her eyebrows. “You sound so mysterious. Who is this man?”
Enan studied every face in the room. “He is Stephen, eldest son of Josiah.” Eyes widened and jaws dropped along with gasps of breath as they took in his words. “Come quickly and hear what he has to say.”
Enan made his way to the door with his family following. As they passed through the village, seeing the destruction made Enan’s heart ache. It would never be as it once was, especially with the loss of lost loved ones. He knew he had only heard the beginning of all his friends and neighbors who had died.
Enan found Stephen among familiar faces. A commander, a number of soldiers, and even more villagers surrounded him. Stephen listened intently as an elderly crop harvester spoke of his tragedies. Enan made his way through the crowd, doing his best to keep his family close.
Enan embraced Stephen. “I have brought my family and Tirzah here for you to meet.”
Stephen turned first to Tirzah, standing by Enan’s side. “This must be the beautiful Tirzah. You are even more radiant than Enan described.” His mellow grin was inquisitive, and he kept his eyes on her for a long while.
Tirzah returned a kind smile to Stephen and then to Enan at the mention of his name. “Thank you, Stephen. It is a great honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine.
” Stephen released her hand.
Tirzah looped her arm in Enan’s. “I am thankful you and Enan found one another. I’m sure it was not by coincidence.”
Stephen nodded, and his smile broadened as he looked to Enan. “No, I am certain it was not by chance. He has become a loyal friend.”
Stephen met Enan’s family and then turned to Enan. They spoke alone for a short while and asked the people to follow them to the grasslands where the festival took place, outside what was left of the city walls.
There, Stephen stood on a large stone cast away from the huge arch above the entrance to the city. He faced the crowd and spoke. “We are here to present this land as a resting place for those who gave their lives. Although we cannot sanctify this ground, the brave living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it far more than we could ever do.”
Stephen stopped momentarily to look into every face before he began again. When he had their full attention he continued, “My beliefs are the same as they were before this battle. We must not make any compromise to our enemy. I know the passion of people when they go to war is not preserved when there is loss, and that their outlook can be changed.”
Some nodded meekly; others shook their heads as if to say, we are not beaten. Stephen took this all in. “But I must give you some sound advice. Even though this event did not turn out in our favor, we all know that actions in battle do not always come about as we hope.” Stephen bent slightly and narrowed his eyes. He lifted a finger to mark his words. “The way we live is different than our rival’s. We will not give up our ideals, religion, values, or politics. We respond not by resistance, but with valor that comes from our spirit when we are required to act.”