“Come now, Antonius,” Flavius cajoled. “For the love of Poseidon, you didn’t see the girl. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m a trained soldier. I know better than to launch at a target unless I know what the target is. If I were on the battlefield, it could have been one of my own soldiers.” His voice quieted, and Flavius realized that he finally spoke of what truly bothered him. “She couldn’t have been any older than Diana.”
Flavius regarded him somberly but said nothing. They rode in silence until they reached the outskirts of the city. Flavius eyed Antonius warily, sensing his dark mood.
“Antonius, come to my house tonight. I know just the thing to cheer you up. I’m having a party. Galvus will be there, as well as Lucretius and Ovid.” He glanced at Antonius slyly. “Helena will be there, also.”
Visions of the fiery redhead came to Antonius’s mind, as well as pleasurable memories of Helena’s flirtatious manner. That she desired Antonius was all too clear, but something held Antonius back. Sometimes he wondered if she was as helpless as she seemed to be. Of course, this brought thoughts of Diana to mind. Frowning, he turned to Flavius.
“No, my friend. Tonight I will spend with Diana.”
Eyes filled with understanding, Flavius nodded. “Then this is where we part. Give Diana my. . .I mean, tell Diana. . .tell her I said hello,” he finally finished in a rush. Saluting, he turned his horse about and headed in the opposite direction.
Antonius’s dark mood increased. Orion seemed to sense his reluctance and slowed his steps. Tonight he must face Diana. Tomorrow he must face an angry old Jew and, hopefully, a small Jewish girl. Straightening his shoulders, he kicked Orion’s sides and hurried home.
Chapter 2
Sara awakened to almost stygian darkness. A strong odor of dill filled her nostrils. She was disoriented, so she lay still trying to remember where she was. What had she been doing? Slowly the events of the morning came back to her. Had it all been a dream? Trying to lift herself from the pallet, she felt an excruciating pain in her left shoulder. Moaning, she lay back. At the noise, a figure rose up beside her, almost frightening her senseless.
“Sara?”
The moon slivered a beam through the little window that was beside the door. Her father appeared within its beam, and even in the semidarkness, she could see the tiredness of his features.
“What happened?” Sara’s voice was little more than a whisper. She stared around the room uncomprehendingly, a frown puckering her brow.
“Praise God!” Jubal went down on his knees, almost weeping with relief. He took Sara’s hand gently into his large hands, stroking it gently. “You don’t remember?”
The frown deepened as Sara tried to remember. She had been at her favorite hiding place, trying to work through some of her problems. The little copse in the woods was where she always went when she had a lot of thinking to do. Then there had been two horsemen. She had been fascinated by their fluid movements on their mounts, never having seen a Roman soldier before. And then the larger of the two had dismounted, and she had leaned closer to see him better. That was the last thing she could remember.
“I was in the woods, and I saw two Romans. Soldiers.”
Her father laughed without mirth. “It would seem one of them mistook you for an animal. He shot you with an arrow. Ahaz has been hours attending you. Here, let me light the lamp.”
Sara was touched. No one wasted oil at night. It was too precious a commodity. Her father must have been truly worried.
When he had lit the lamp, he brought the stand over and set it beside Sara’s mat. He sat down beside her and took her hand once more in his. “You little aton,” he told her gently. “You could be dead now because of your stubbornness.”
Sara smiled slightly at the familiar term that only her father could use as an endearment. To be likened to a donkey was not usually complimentary.
“I have told you to stay close to the village and especially to stay away from the woods, and still you disobey.”
The throbbing in Sara’s shoulder intensified, and she moaned again. Her mind was becoming fuzzy with the pain, and she was having a hard time understanding what her father was saying. He leaned closer at the sound.
“Your pain is coming back?” He left her side and went across the room, returning with a bowl. Lifting her head gently, he placed the bowl against her lips. “Drink this,” he told her.
Her throat felt parched, and she drank greedily.
“Not so much.” Pulling the bowl away, he placed it on the floor beside him. He watched as the draught worked its way into her system, and her eyes closed softly. A gentle snore brought a slight smile to his face. As he watched her, his face began to cloud with his thoughts. The Roman said he would return on the morrow. His lips set grimly. Taking the lamp from the stand, he blew it out and felt his way familiarly to his own bed. He frowned. Time enough to deal with that when the situation arrived.
❧
When Sara awakened again, the sun was shining brightly through the little windows of the house. She moved her head slowly, careful not to disturb her shoulder. Her mother was puttering in the kitchen, humming a tune she had heard at Cousin Bashan’s wedding ceremony. Sara smiled slightly. Her father must have told her mother that Sara was well. At least as well as could be expected.
Slowly glancing around the room, she noticed her father’s absence, as well as Dathan’s. Pisgah came in the door quietly, her eyes going toward Sara’s mat. A smile brightened her face.
“My lady! Sara is awake!”
Sara’s mother whirled around, her face creasing into a smile at the sight of Sara’s lively expression. She put down the bowl she was holding and came quickly to Sara’s side.
“Daughter? How do you feel this morning?” She placed her hand against Sara’s forehead, smiling again. “No fever. Thank God.”
Sara reached up with her right hand, taking her mother’s hand in her own. They smiled at each other, and Abigail wiped a tear from her eye.
“What do we have here?” Sara’s father stood in the doorway, a load of wood in his arms. His smile beamed across to Sara. “My little aton is alive and kicking?”
He walked across the room and laid the wood beside the fire pit before coming back to where his wife stood. Placing an arm around Abigail’s shoulders, he gave her a slight squeeze. “I told you, Mother, that God would take care of her.”
Abigail smiled mistily up at him. “Indeed you did.”
“Let’s give thanks,” he told them, and Sara closed her eyes as her father praised God for caring for her and asked that He continue to be with her. “In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
The rest of the day, Sara lay and watched her mother moving about the house. The connecting door to the shop was open, and she could see her father busily working at the forge. Periodically he would come to the door and smile at her, then return to his business. Sara felt warmed by their love.
Around noon, when Sara thought she would die from boredom, she heard a horse approaching. Not the light donkey hooves of the villagers. This had to be a huge horse, if it fit the sound of the steps. She was just wishing she could get a glimpse of it when the steps stopped outside their door. Sara’s mother and father exchanged glances before Abigail hurried to close the front door and then the connecting door to the shop.
Antonius dismounted, smiling wryly when he heard the door close. Looping the reins lightly around a bush, he started for the door. Before he could take more than two steps, the old Jew he had seen yesterday approached him from the side of the house. He said nothing, merely standing there staring at Antonius. There was no expression on his face, nor could Antonius see any in his eyes. He thought again what a fine general the man would make.
“I have come to see Sara,” Antonius told him.
“Sara is fine. Except for the healing, which will take time.”
“I will see for myself.” Though Antonius hadn’t raised his voice, the man knew nothing short of a full-scale war
would deter him from his course. He stood silently, eyeing Antonius warily. Nodding his head, he turned and headed for the front door. Antonius quickly followed him.
Although he was not in uniform, Antonius was a commanding presence. Pisgah’s eyes widened as he ducked his head and entered. Seeing her distress, Abigail handed her a jar.
“Go and fetch some water from the well.”
The girl fled, glancing furtively over her shoulder.
Antonius’s eyes went immediately to the mat in the corner. He could see the girl, Sara, staring at him with curious eyes. There was no fear in her countenance. He walked quickly to her side and stared down at her. Her face was pale, her dark hair matted around her shoulders. Only her large, dark eyes seemed to be alive. Antonius wondered briefly what the girl would look like cleaned and dressed properly, not in the brown color she seemed to favor.
“Hello,” Antonius said softly, afraid of frightening her.
“Shalom,” she told him. She stared at him, a slight frown puckering her forehead. “I have seen you somewhere before.”
Before he could answer, her father stepped between them. “This is the soldier who shot you.”
Antonius frowned at him but turned his eyes back to Sara. “It was an accident. I thought you were a deer. Your brown tunic. . .”
Sara nodded understandingly. “I was in the bushes where I ought not to have been. It was forbidden to me, and yet. . .I disobeyed.” Her eyes pleaded with her father for forgiveness. His answering look assured Antonius, at least, that he would forgive the girl anything.
It was bad manners to ask, but Antonius was determined to stay, for a while at least. “May I sit?”
Abigail was affronted, but short of being rude, she had no choice. Taking a stool, she placed it next to him. Ignoring her outraged look, Antonius placed it closer to Sara. The stool was too little for Antonius’s large frame, and he realized that this was done deliberately. Irritated, nevertheless he smiled with charm at Abigail. She blinked her eyes and turned away.
Antonius stared at Sara, his eyes going all over her and returning to her face. “I can hardly believe it.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I thought for sure. . .”
Sara smiled gently. “That I would be dead?”
A flush spread across Antonius’s face, but he merely nodded. “I have never seen such a quick recovery.”
“Jewish healers have much knowledge of the body. They also have a secret weapon.”
Antonius knew he was being baited, but he took it anyway. “What is this secret weapon?”
Sara smiled at him. “God.”
Antonius leaned back and looked at her wryly. “Which god?”
Sara looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “There is only one God.”
Rather than get into a philosophical discussion with her, Antonius changed the subject. “How many are in your family?”
Smiling knowingly, Sara told him.
“And your brother?” The Roman was searching the room with his eyes, and Sara began to feel uneasy. Her mother must be having the same reaction, because Sara could see the knife she was using to cut the vegetables shaking in her hand. Her father had gone back to his workshop but kept them within sight.
“I know your mother’s name is Abigail and yours is Sara and your father’s is Adon, but what of your brother?”
“What makes you think that my father’s name is Adon?” Sara asked in surprise.
“The day I brought you home—yesterday—I heard your mother call him that.”
A hand to her mouth quickly covered Sara’s mirth, but her eyes were alight with laughter. Antonius wasn’t sure what he had said to cause her response, but the smile made the girl almost pretty.
“I take it I’ve said something wrong?”
Still smiling, Sara answered. “Adon is a Hebrew word for ‘master.’ My mother only uses it when she wants to irritate my father.”
“Oh.”
“Many Jewish women call their husbands adon or baal.”
“And baal means?”
“Lord,” she told him and watched his eyebrows lift to his dark hairline. “My father’s name is Jubal Barjonah,” she told him proudly.
“The way your mother said the word, I assume she didn’t mean it as a term of obeisance?”
Sara shook her head. “My father doesn’t wish to be called lord or master. He says there is only one Lord and one Master. My mother knows this, but. . .”
“I know. Just to irritate.”
Sara nodded.
“And who is this Lord and Master?” Antonius wanted to know.
Antonius and Sara jumped when an urn clattered to the floor. Abigail leaned over to pick up the pot, giving Sara a warning look. The look was not lost on Antonius. His glance flicked from one to the other.
Turning back to Sara, he waited for an answer. Sara’s eyes reluctantly met his. She was not ashamed of the answer, but her impetuosity may have endangered her family.
“His name is Jesus,” she told him softly.
Sudden comprehension dissolved the rising suspicions in his mind. Christians. He glanced around at each of the occupants. No wonder they were so closed and suspicious. He had heard of the persecution of Christians. As yet it had mainly been local and between the different sects of the Jews. If this man was a Jewish Christian, then most of this village must be, also. Many Jews had moved to Ephesus because they could no longer trade with the Jewish community. Christians were as avidly hated by the Jews as they were by the Romans.
Nodding his head, his eyes made one more circuit of the room and returned to Sara. “I told my sister about you. She said she hopes the gods favor you with health.” Sara frowned, and he hurried to continue. “I will tell her that your God has done so.”
Antonius could tell the girl was beginning to tire, so he quickly got to his feet. Her eyes flew upward to his, and he looked searchingly into them, seeking he knew not what. He realized that even with the animosity of her parents, she had shown him nothing but kindness. He also realized that, for a while, he had been able to forget some of his own troubles. There was something about her. Something soothing. Relaxing.
“I am glad that you are better. I am also very glad that I didn’t. . .” He hesitated before turning and striding to the door. He nodded his head to Abigail and Jubal before ducking and disappearing outside.
Sara strained to listen, waiting for the sound of the horse’s hooves that would signal his departure. She felt an emptiness as she heard him ride away. Strange. What could a Roman mean to her? Sighing, she drifted off to sleep.
❧
It was several weeks before Sara was back to her full strength. Her shoulder still pained her somewhat, but she had healed well. She never returned to the copse in the woods, and the Roman never returned to see her. Looking up at the vivid blue of the sky, Sara had to smile. She swung the empty water bag, glad to take from Pisgah the chore of fetching the water. Of course, Pisgah enjoyed the opportunity to gossip with her friends, but the job itself was a tedious one.
Since the well was on the outskirts of the village, one could easily see the main road from its location. As Sara drew the bucket up, she noticed a column of dust rising from the road in the distance. Roman soldiers. Her heart leaped foolishly in response. She couldn’t imagine the Roman coming with a squad of troops. Realizing that it would not be good for her to be caught here, she quickly filled the bag and hurried home.
Her father was grinding a sickle when she peeked her head in his shop. “There’s a group of Roman soldiers heading this way. About twenty, I would say.”
Jubal left his grinding wheel and joined his daughter at the door.
“They’re still a ways off.”
“Could be passing through,” her father told her absently. “Find Dathan.”
“Yes, Father.” Sara hurried to the fields where she found her brother. His tools lay beside him, and he was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky.
“Father wants you,” she told
him.
Dathan jumped, getting quickly to his feet. “Now what?”
Sara hurried after him, reaching the house only seconds after Dathan. Since her mother was still at the weaving loom, Sara assumed her father hadn’t mentioned the soldiers. Still, Jubal came frequently to the living rooms with one excuse or another.
Just when Sara had breathed a sigh of relief, there came a pounding on the door.
Chapter 3
Jubal glanced around the room before going to the door and opening it. His face paled when he found himself confronting a Roman soldier. Behind the soldier stood several other soldiers, the feathers in their helmets quivering in the breeze.
“Is this the house of Jubal Barjonah?”
“Yes.” Jubal looked in confusion from one soldier to another. “What can I do for you?”
Sara felt a lump form in her throat. It must have been because she had told the Roman that they were Christians. Her heart started thumping erratically, sudden fear for her family almost overwhelming her.
Slowly the soldier unrolled a scroll. His eyes quickly surveyed the occupants of the room before he started to read.
“This house and all of its possessions are hereby confiscated in the name of Callus Phibeas, soldier of Rome, in payment of the debt owed to him by one Dathan Barjubal.”
Dathan leaped to his feet, his eyes darting to and fro, seeking a means of escape. Finding none, he turned pleadingly to his father.
“I didn’t mean to!” He fell on his knees before Jubal. “Please!” He glanced up at his father, his voice becoming angry. “It was a trick!”
Until that moment, Jubal had hope that this was some kind of mistake. That hope faded fast in light of his son’s behavior.
“My son, what have you done?” There was no fear in the strong voice, only a desire to know the truth.
Dathan hung his head, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His voice was barely a murmur that Sara had to strain to hear.
“A gambling debt.”
A sternness settled over Jubal’s visage. He turned to the soldier. “How much?”
The Eagle And The Lamb (Truly Yours Digital Editions) Page 2