by Debra Diaz
“He may not be an officer when he returns…if he ever does!”
Marcus looked closely at Alysia, and she knew he recognized her. “Did you murder this man, Magnus Eustacius?”
She answered quietly, “He was about to…take me by force, and so I killed him. I meant to stop him…I don’t know that I meant to kill him.”
The centurion gave her an odd look and turned to Lucius. “And you want to put her to death without a trial?”
“She is a slave! A runaway slave! My stepbrother aided in her escape, and he will have to answer for that.”
Marcus’ voice was unmoved. “I will not put her to death until I have spoken with the legate, and you have not the authority to do so without a sealed order from him.”
“Or from you. Or shall I go and pull Fabius out of his sickbed?”
“He would tell you the same. You can either wait for the return of Paulus Valerius or take her to Rome and let her face the charges there.”
Before Lucius could reply, the sound of hoof beats on pavement rang throughout the fort. Everyone turned in that direction. Slightly below them, riding up an incline from the first level and barely visible beyond the mist-shrouded colonnade, came two horsemen. They dismounted swiftly and climbed the steps to the upper court. Alysia swayed, almost dizzy with relief.
“What are you doing, Lucius?” Paulus’ low tone masked an inner fury.
“As you can see, I’ve caught a fugitive. The one you’ve been hiding—quite successfully for a few years.” Lucius swept his hand toward Alysia. “She is not so beautiful now, is she, after a night spent in the dungeon?”
Paulus glanced contemptuously at Servius, who guarded Alysia closely with drawn sword. “Let her go.”
“No.” Lucius seemed undismayed by his stepbrother’s unexpected appearance, and even wore a look of satisfaction. “You are not in uniform, Paulus. I must presume you are no longer commander of this fort.”
“Let her go,” Paulus said again, without taking his eyes off Servius.
Servius began to sweat. He hadn’t bargained for this! One look at the legate’s face and he saw his chances for revenge, and promotion, slipping away. It seemed improbable that anything good would come of this situation. Silently he cursed Lucius and, lowering his sword, began to move discreetly away. Lucius observed the movement and stepped closer to his prisoner.
“Sir.” It was Marcus who spoke. “Are you, or are you not, in command here?”
Paulus looked for the first time into Alysia’s face, who stared back at him with anguish in her eyes. Her relief upon seeing him had turned into deep dismay, for all that she had feared had come to pass. These men knew that he had helped her escape. Even now more soldiers were coming out of the barracks to see what was happening.
He withdrew a letter from the front of his tunic and handed it to Marcus. “Where is Tribune Fabius?”
“Sir, the prefect of the camp is sick with a fever and has placed me temporarily in charge. The other tribunes have not returned from their inspection of the fort at Emmaus.”
“Then you are in command until the arrival of Claudius Lysias, who will be appointed pending the approval of the emperor.”
Marcus broke open the letter, his face expressionless. Paulus said, “Release this woman. She is not guilty of a crime.”
“Since when is murder not a crime?” cried Lucius. “I am an eyewitness! If these men let her go, they will be as guilty as you are.”
Paulus took a step toward Alysia, but Lucius was quicker. In a single, fluid motion, he grabbed her arm and held the point of his dagger against her spine.
“Hold, Paulus, or I’ll kill her.”
Paulus came abruptly to a halt. Studying Lucius, it seemed he was too assured, almost smug. That could only mean that he was certain Alysia was going to die, one way or another…if he had to do it himself. There was a look in his eyes Paulus hadn’t seen before, as though his malice had turned to madness.
Paulus exchanged a brief look with Simon, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of understanding. On Paulus’ signal, he was to act. Simon began to inch closer to Alysia. But Paulus was still, making no sudden movements.
Alysia, too, knew without doubt that Lucius meant to kill her. Just as she knew somehow that this was not about her, it was about Paulus. Lucius didn’t care that Magnus was dead. He didn’t care that Alysia had killed him. He hated Paulus, had nurtured a venomous jealousy of him for years, and this was a way to inflict the maximum pain upon his stepbrother.
“Have you ever had to beg for anything, Paulus?” Lucius asked, freely gloating now. “Then go down before me, and beg me for her life!”
Nile blue eyes clashed with shining black, and hatred flared in both pair. Slowly, Paulus went down on one knee, holding his hands out from his sides. A murmuring went through the watchful soldiers; they didn’t like seeing their commander thus humbled, and though they knew Lucius was out of control, there was nothing anyone could do as long as he held Alysia at knifepoint.
“I’m begging you, Lucius. Release her, and you can have anything you want of me. Property, money, my life, whatever you want.”
“No,” said Alysia, almost inaudibly. “No, Paulus.”
Lucius laughed. He whirled around and gestured with his free hand. “Behold the brave and noble legate, reduced to begging for the life of his harlot!”
But no one joined Lucius in his laughter. Even Servius was silent. Lucius made a swift, angry movement and pushed Alysia forward.
“Then here she is, Paulus. See to what avail you have lowered yourself!”
She felt the cold metal in her back and only a moment’s pain before awareness left her; the last image emblazoned upon her mind was a memory of Magnus’ incredulous face at the moment he died, for she felt the same sense of disbelief. She fell upon Paulus before he could rise from his kneeling position. He caught her; not knowing what Lucius had done, he tried to help her rise and saw that she had fainted. Feeling something warm and wet on his hand, he held it up and saw that it was blood.
“Alysia—” Dazed, Paulus pressed his hand over the wound in her back, as though he could stop the flow by sheer force of will, but still the warm blood seeped through his fingers. Holding her with one arm, he took his dagger and released her bonds, his face filled with some dark extremity of emotion. He lifted her in his arms and began to walk past Lucius, but Lucius drew his sword.
“You want to kill me, Paulus. I have always desired to test my skill against yours. I won’t let you pass. I’ll finish her and kill you as well.”
Paulus stopped, his gaze seeking out Simon. Two other men were standing beside him now—Lazarus and Stephen. All three rushed forward to take Alysia from him.
“Find the physician,” Paulus said, inclining his head toward a nearby building. “Over there.”
She was bleeding so freely they had to stop; Simon and Stephen placed Alysia gently on a cedar bench, beneath a tree that grew from a square of earth left in the midst of the pavement. Lazarus started to go toward the physician’s residence, but at a call from Stephen, stopped and went back. Paulus had no time to wonder what was happening.
“Sir!” The centurion walked toward him, withdrawing his sword. “Let me place him under arrest until this matter can be investigated.”
“No.” Paulus shook his head. “This is between Lucius and me…and here it will end.”
Marcus held out his sword, giving him a salute of respect. Paulus nodded and took the sword. He turned to his stepbrother.
“You will pay dearly for this blood upon my hand.”
Lucius said, through clenched teeth. “Alysia will die.”
“And so will you.”
CHAPTER XXVI
The two swords met with a heavy clash. The soldiers of the Antonia knew of Paulus’ skill with a sword, but they didn’t expect to see Lucius almost match it. Lucius excelled in two things…gambling and swordplay. But unlike Paulus, his experience had been limited to practice sessions with sla
ves and gladiators who knew they were not to harm him. Never had he faced a man of such controlled strength and ruthlessness, for Paulus had replaced his fear for Alysia with rage.
Metal rang against metal as their bodies leaped nimbly from side to side. Blood appeared on Lucius’ arm, then on Paulus’ shoulder through a rip in his tunic. The soldiers watched in silence, moving out of the way when necessary. They had seen such exhibitions in the arena, but never at such close range…and in battle there was no time to look at anyone else.
Lucius was tiring; he was neither as strong nor as fit as Paulus. Forced to retreat, he backed over the pavement, around pillars, up and down steps. Paulus pursued him, agile and quick, as a lion would stalk its prey. Lucius stumbled and caught himself. His right arm began to ache; if it cramped he was finished. All his concentration was on parrying the heavy blows that rained on him unceasingly. Now it took both arms to swing the blade. Again he lost his footing, and his concentration faltered as he struggled to right himself.
His hatred and contempt for Paulus were forgotten in his efforts to defend himself. Somehow it had not occurred to him that Paulus might best him. His imagination had carried him no further than the attack…and Lucius had supreme confidence in his own abilities.
“I’m losing,” he thought, drawing from the dark tangle of thoughts that spun in his head. “I am losing this fight and I am losing my life. He will kill me and he will have his revenge, and I will be a laughingstock.” His strength returned at such an odious notion and, surprised, Paulus had to fall back for an instant before bounding forward and reasserting his advantage.
Paulus felt as if he had become possessed by all the rage he had ever known. He was conscious of nothing and no one else. The desire to kill his stepbrother was so powerful, so demanding, that he could see Lucius only through a haze, and his strength doubled and he seemed unstoppable. With one swift movement he brought his sword crashing against the other and sent it flying from Lucius’ grasp. He tossed aside his own sword and, reaching out, closed his hand around the throat of Lucius’ tunic and jerked him forward. His other hand went crashing into Lucius’ face. Lucius reeled backward and forward, so drained he could do little more than grunt each time Paulus struck him. His attempts to shield himself were futile; he began to moan incoherently.
Then through the haze, Paulus saw the blood…Lucius’ blood on his hands, all over Lucius’ face and splattering on the front of his tunic. It seemed to become the blood running down both sides of a cross. At that instant the rage evaporated, was gone as completely as if it had never been…because he knew that Lucius was already dead, dead in his soul. He stopped as suddenly as he had begun, dropping Lucius onto the pavement.
Crawling laboriously on his hands and knees, Lucius retrieved his fallen sword. Paulus watched him, breathing hard, bent slightly forward with his hands braced on his knees, preparing to kick him aside.
“You will not leave me worse than dead!” Lucius rasped through cut and swollen lips. “You lose, Paulus! You do not destroy me, and Alysia will be with me—in death!”
He fell upon his sword, collapsing onto his side. Of the soldiers surrounding them, not one moved or spoke. Lucius’ sightless eyes were fixed on the sky, his mouth open in silent protest.
Paulus turned to run toward Alysia. He stopped, and stared in disbelief. How was she able to sit up? She looked as if…His gaze fell on Stephen, who was walking away, leaving the fortress. Lazarus sat next to Alysia with his arm half around her, and Simon was nowhere to be seen.
“Remove this body at once,” Marcus ordered some of the men. Then he, too, became aware of Alysia, and stared.
Paulus went slowly toward her. She stood up and went to meet him; he took her in his arms. “Forgive me,” he said brokenly. “It’s my fault. I thought I could protect you. I was so sure—”
“Hush,” she said softly. “There is no need.”
He pulled back, looking into her face. “How can this be?”
She glanced at Lazarus, who said simply, “Stephen healed her. I mean, the Lord healed her, through Stephen.”
Alysia shook her head. “I don’t remember anything, after he struck me. Until Stephen’s voice called to me.”
Paulus’ brows drew together in wonder; his hand slipped behind her back, found the rip in her gown and touched her unbroken skin. A feeling came over him much like that of the night of his conversion…unworthiness mingled with intense gratitude…regret and relief, and the utmost peace. For a moment he couldn’t speak; he looked into Alysia’s eyes, and suddenly they smiled at each other. She went again into his arms and he held her there, as if he would never let her go, his face against her hair and tears running unashamedly down his face. At last he pulled away and looked at the man sitting on the bench.
“Lazarus, how did you and Stephen come to be here?”
Lazarus, seeming greatly moved, cleared his throat. “I saw her being taken past my house last night. I heard a donkey, and when I looked I could see a cart and someone in it, a woman and a child. Although I couldn’t see her face, I could tell by the way she sat and held the child that it was Alysia. I got on my horse and followed them, without them knowing. I explained to the centurion that, whatever was happening, it was his duty to protect this woman. He refused to let me see her, but gave me his word he wouldn’t do anything until he had talked to you. I went and found Stephen. We prayed through the night…or most of it…and decided to return here this morning.”
“Has Stephen ever—done anything like this before?”
“Stephen has something I have not even seen in the disciples. The eleven, I mean. It is not to say that his faith is stronger, but he has…an understanding that the rest of us don’t seem to have. Not yet.”
Paulus reached out and grasped his forearm. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
Alysia looked around the courtyard, saying anxiously, “Where is Rachel? One of the guards was holding her, just over there!”
Paulus turned and surveyed the scene behind him. They had taken Lucius away and several men were scrubbing blood from the pavement. The other soldiers had resumed their posts; others were going into the dining hall. Servius had disappeared, and so had the sentry with Rachel. Marcus began to walk toward them.
“I need to get you out of here,” Paulus said. “Right away.”
“I won’t leave this place without Rachel.”
“Alysia, your life may yet be at stake.”
She just shook her head, and Paulus knew she was not to be persuaded. He turned as the centurion approached them.
“Sir,” he said, his eyes on Alysia. “I thought she—can someone explain—”
Paulus hesitated. “There is one among us who has the gift of healing.”
“I see.” Marcus appeared doubtful but did not pursue the subject, since obviously the young woman had not received the mortal blow he believed she had. He looked somewhat embarrassed and avoided her steady gaze, remembering all too well the last time they had met. “Will you swear to me, Paulus Valerius, that this woman did not commit murder but only defended herself against rape?”
“I swear it.”
“Then I will not detain her. I have seen no official dispatches concerning this matter.”
“I destroyed them,” Paulus admitted. “What happened was no fault of hers…and she has suffered greatly because of it.”
“Then I cannot add another wrong to those she has already endured. In my opinion, your stepbrother became deranged, and engaged you in a fight to the death. I will report this to Pilate just as it happened, and that I saw no reason to hold the young woman in custody. I realize he may question this, but—because of my own past misdeeds I cannot do otherwise.”
“This is good of you, Marcus. But there may be trouble. For whatever good it will do, I will write the governor myself and tell him I destroyed the notices, and that I convinced you that she was innocent.”
“There is no need, sir. I’m prepared to take the consequences.�
�� Marcus glanced at Alysia, his face reddening. “Was my life in danger that night?”
“Truthfully, I do not know. I don’t think so, though I had prepared to defend myself. But for this, I do thank you, Centurion.”
He gazed at her for a moment, his lined face pensive. Then he said, “You are all free to go.”
“We cannot leave until we have found our daughter,” Paulus said. “She was being held by one of the guards. Do you know which one?”
“Your daugh—that is, I’m sorry to say I paid no attention once Lucius marched out with the young woman. I did see Servius with the child at one time.”
“Can you describe this sentry?” Paulus asked, turning to Alysia.
“No, only that he was tall. He was too far away to see clearly.”
Marcus straightened, falling habitually into a military stance. “I’ll have some of the men start searching.”
As he hurried away, Lazarus said, “Alysia, let me take you home. I’m sorry, Paulus, but I still don’t trust these Romans.”
“No offense taken,” Paulus said lightly. “He’s right Alysia. You should leave.”
“Not without Rachel!”
“Very well…come with me.” Paulus put his arm around Alysia’s waist and led her up the steps and into the praetorium, with Lazarus following. A slave was passing through the corridor. Paulus said to him, “Take this woman upstairs and bring her something to eat and drink.”
“Please,” Alysia added, with a reproving glance at Paulus.
Simon entered from behind them. When everyone looked at him inquiringly he explained, “After Alysia was—healed—I noticed that the man carrying the child was gone. I didn’t see him leave. I’ve been trying to find him.”
“What does he look like?” Paulus asked.
“Tall, light hair. He could be anywhere…I came back for help.”
“We’re going now, and the centurion has started a search.” Paulus looked into Alysia’s eyes, bent his head and kissed her forehead gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”