As Sure as the Dawn

by Francine Rivers

  An image of her own father rose like a demon, gripping her mind with anger and fear. Remembered violence. She shuddered and pressed it away.

  Judge not lest ye be judged. Forgive and be forgiven. Ask and it shall be given. Her control slipping, she grasped hold again, clinging. Lord, walk with me through the valley. Talk with me. Open my ears and heart that I may hear.

  “What are you muttering?” Atretes growled.

  “I’m praying for help,” she snapped, heart still pounding fast and hard. She was surprised Caleb didn’t notice her tension.

  “Is he asleep yet?” Atretes said quietly from behind her.

  “Almost.” Caleb’s eyelids looked weighted. His mouth relaxed and then began to work again. Finally, he relaxed completely.

  “Thank the gods,” Atretes said with a sigh and reclined. He watched Rizpah’s back as she readjusted her clothing. Sitting sideways on the couch, she began wrapping his son in her shawl again. “What happened to your own child?” Her hands went still, and he saw the soft color ebb from her cheeks. It was a long moment before she answered him.

  “She took fever and died in her third month,” she said tremulously. She lightly brushed Caleb’s cheek. Turning on the couch, she looked at Atretes, her eyes awash with tears. “Why do you ask me these questions?”

  “I’d like to know a little more about the woman who nurses my son.”

  Her dark eyes flashed. “How much did you know about the woman you bought, other than she was German?”

  “Perhaps my interest in you has changed.”

  His cold, cynical smile had a dismaying effect upon her. Her body responded to the look in his eyes, for having been married, she was not unfamiliar with a man’s needs, and what Lagos had just told her about Atretes’ inclination toward women was distressing. Certain things had to be made plain now. “You may play with Caleb anytime you wish, my lord, but do not think you can play with me.”

  His brow lifted. “Why not?”

  “Because it would strain an already tenuous relationship when I said no to you.”

  Atretes laughed at her.

  “I’m sincere, my lord.”

  “It would seem so,” he said dryly. “But then sincerity is a trait rarely found among women. I’ve only known three who possessed it: my mother, my wife, Ania, and Hadassah.” He gave a bleak laugh. “And all three of them are dead.”

  Rizpah felt a wave of compassion for him.

  Atretes saw her dark brown eyes soften and fill with warmth. His heart responded even as his mind rebelled. “You may go,” he said, jerking his head in rude dismissal.

  Rizpah scooped Caleb into her arms and rose, eager to depart. She felt his gaze follow her. She paused beneath the archway and looked back at him. For all his fierceness and hardness of heart, she sensed he was a man in terrible pain.

  “I give you a solemn vow, Atretes. I will never lie.”

  “Never?” he said mockingly.

  She looked straight into his beautiful, empty blue eyes. “Never. No matter the cost. Even if it costs my life,” she said softly, then left him alone.

  5

  Sertes stood on the balcony overlooking the practice arena. Below him, two gladiators sparred, one with sword and shield, the other with trident and net. Disgusted with their unexciting display, he grasped the iron railing. “Use the coals on them!” he shouted down at the lanista.

  Shaking his head, he stepped back. “If this is the best we have to offer, no wonder the people are bored!” He turned to the man standing beside him. “What did you find out about the woman living in Atretes’ villa?”

  “Her name is Rizpah, my lord. She’s a widow. Her husband was a silversmith who was run down by Ceius Attalus Plautilla.”

  “Nephew of the proconsul?”

  “The same. He’s given to excessive drinking and—”

  “Never mind,” Sertes said, gesturing impatiently. “I know all about him already. What more did you learn about her?”

  “She’s a Christian, my lord.”

  “Ah,” Sertes said, smiling broadly. “That will be useful.” He rubbed his chin, thinking just how useful it could be, especially if Atretes was in love with her. “And the baby?”

  “There’s conflicting information about the child, my lord. One source said the woman had a baby girl that died within a few months, while another argued she had a son who lived.”

  “Perhaps the child is Atretes’.”

  “I don’t think so. No one has ever seen this woman with Atretes, my lord. But it is strange. When I asked about her at the insula where she lived, I was told she took the baby one morning and left. A man came the next day and collected her things. She hasn’t been seen in the city since.”

  “Keep looking. I have a feeling there’s more to this than we yet know.”

  * * *

  Atretes pushed the door of Rizpah’s chamber open and peered in. Moonlight streamed down from a small high window, casting a soft glow of light over the room. The baby’s bed was empty. Rizpah was lying asleep on a floor mat, curled on her side, his son nestled against her, warm and protected.

  Entering silently, Atretes crouched and stared for a long moment at them. Then he looked around the small room. Against the east wall was a single trunk in which were Rizpah’s few possessions. On it was a small clay lamp, unlit. Other than those few things and the baby’s bed, the room was bare.

  The small barren chamber reminded Atretes of his cell in the ludus: stone, cold, empty.

  His gaze drifted again to Rizpah, moving up from her bare feet over the slender curves of her body. Her hair had come free and flowed black over her shoulder. He reached out and took a handful of it, rubbing it between his fingers. It was thick and silky. When she stirred, he snatched his hand away.

  Opening her eyes, Rizpah saw a shadowy shape crouched in front of her. Breath catching in her throat, she scooped Caleb up and scooted quickly back against the wall, heart pounding.

  “Don’t scream,” Atretes commanded.

  Her breath came out shakily. “What’s happened? Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

  He heard the tremor in her voice and knew he had frightened her. “Nothing’s happened,” he said gruffly, raking a hand back through his hair. He gave a hoarse laugh and lifted his head. Nightmares had awakened him again.

  Rizpah saw his face in the moonlight. “Something is wrong.”

  He looked at her again. “Why the name Caleb?”

  The question was unexpected. “My husband told me about him.”

  “Did your husband trade in men?”

  She heard the dark anger in his tone. “No,” she said, wondering why he would make such an assumption.

  “Caleb fought in Rome,” he said. “How would your husband know anything of him unless he traded in gladiators?”

  She thought she understood. “There are many Calebs in the world, Atretes. The Caleb after whom I named your son lived hundreds of years ago. He came out of Egypt with Moses. When the people reached the Promised Land, twelve men were sent into Canaan to spy out the land. When they came back, Caleb told Moses and the people the land God had given them was good and they should take possession of it, but the others were afraid. They said the Canaanites were too strong and they wouldn’t conquer them. Moses took their advice rather than listen to Caleb. Because of that, all the people of that generation wandered in the wilderness. And when the end of the forty years came, only Caleb the son of Jephunneh and Joshua the son of Nun were allowed to enter the Promised Land. Only they followed the Lord wholeheartedly. Even Moses, the lawgiver, never set foot in the Promised Land.” She stretched out her legs and placed the baby on her thighs. “Caleb is a name for a man of strong faith and courage.”

  “Caleb is a Jewish name, and my son is German.”

  She lifted her head. “Half German.”

  Atretes stood so abruptly, her heart jumped. He loomed over her for a moment and then took a step away, leaning back against the wall to the righ
t of the window opening. Standing where he was, his face was hidden in the shadows while the soft moonlight shone in on her.

  “He should have a German name,” he said. Expecting an argument, he waited.

  “What name would you wish to give him, my lord?”

  He hadn’t thought about it until then. “Hermun,” he said with decision. “After my father. He was a great warrior-chieftain of the Chatti and died honorably in battle against Rome.”

  “Caleb Hermun,” she said, testing the name.

  “Hermun.”

  She started to protest and then lowered her head. A contentious woman was worse than a leaking roof. And the child was his. She lifted her head again. “Hermun . . . Caleb?” she said tentatively, offering a compromise. “A warrior of strong faith and courage.”

  Atretes said nothing, nor did he move from the shadows.

  Rizpah felt uncomfortable beneath his stare. What was he thinking? “Who was the Caleb of whom you spoke?”

  “A gladiator from Judea. One of Titus’ prizes.” His tone was bitter.

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No. We fought. I won.”

  His voice was flat and bleak, and she felt sudden pity for him. “You knew him well?”

  “A gladiator hasn’t the luxury of knowing anyone well.”

  “But had you friends, you would have wanted to count him among them.”

  “Why do you say that?” he said coldly.

  “Your bitterness and the fact that you still remember him.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I remember them all!” He put his head back against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes. He couldn’t forget them. He saw their faces every night. He could see their eyes as their life’s blood drained into the sand. No amount of drink could exorcise them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  Disbelieving, he looked down at her. The sheen of tears in her eyes angered him, for tears had been used against him before. Pushing away from the wall, he crouched down before her again and glared. “Why should you be sorry?” he sneered.

  She was not intimidated. “Your life has been difficult.”

  “I’ve survived.”

  “At great cost.”

  He gave a cold laugh and stood again, restless. “Better had I died. Yes? Then you would have the child all to yourself.”

  “Had you died, Caleb might never have been born. And he is a gift from God, worth any sorrow.”

  Atretes looked out the window at the bare compound and thick walls beyond. He felt as though he was back in the ludus. He wanted to scream and break down the walls.

  Rizpah felt his wrath as though it was a dark being in the room with her. She recognized its malignant presence and the terrible danger of it. What could she possibly say to soothe him? She had no words. She couldn’t even imagine what his life had been like, nor was she sure she wanted to know. Her own had been difficult enough. She hadn’t the strength of faith to help him carry his burdens as well.

  He turned. “We didn’t finish our conversation this afternoon.”

  She saw Atretes wanted a fight, and it would appear she was the only available opponent with whom he could wage a battle.

  We are mismatched, Lord. He can annihilate my heart.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Why do you ask me such a question?”

  “It’s enough that I do!” he snapped, then drawled caustically, “You said you wouldn’t lie.”

  “Nor will I.”

  “Then answer.”

  She gave him a pained smile. “Will you leave when I do?”

  He wasn’t amused. “I will leave when I please.”

  She let out her breath slowly, fighting the inclination to war with him as he wanted. “I was married for three years.” Caleb made a soft sound and she lifted him.

  Atretes watched how she drew her shawl around her and his son so that they were wrapped together. “Were you faithful?”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “Yes, I was faithful.”

  He sensed she was hiding something and hunkered down in front of her again, his eyes narrowed on her pale, moonlit face. “In our tribe, an unfaithful wife is stripped and whipped before the villagers. Then she’s killed.”

  The hidden things of Rizpah’s own heart roused anger. “What of the man?”

  “What do you mean, what of the man?”

  “Adultery involves two people, doesn’t it?”

  “Woman entices.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “And man succumbs like a brainless ox?”

  His hands tightened into fists as he thought of how easily he had fallen prey to Julia’s charms.

  She laid Caleb down on her thighs again. “Man and woman are equal in the eyes of God,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

  He gave a cutting laugh. “Equal!”

  “Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips. “You’ll wake him.” That should strike terror in this gladiator’s heart. She removed her shawl and covered the baby with it.

  “Since when is a woman equal to a man?” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Since the beginning when the Lord created both. And according to Mosaic law. The man and woman involved in adultery were both executed to prevent sin from spreading like a disease through the nation of Israel. Justice was to be dispensed equally.”

  “I’m not a Jew!”

  “Would that you were, my lord.” Even as she uttered the words, she regretted them. The silence that fell in the room was hot. Forgive me, Father. Make me mute! I listen to him and remember my life before Shimei, before you. And I want to fight back, even when I know I can’t win.

  “Did your husband permit you to talk like this?”

  Shimei. Precious Shimei. Tender memories rescued her from darker ones. She smiled. “Shimei often threatened to beat me.”

  “As well he should have.”

  She lifted her chin. “His threats were empty and meant in jest. Much of what I know of Mosaic law, he taught me.”

  “Ah,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “And what did he teach you?”

  “That the heart of the law is mercy, but what God gave, man corrupted. Despite that, God prevails. God sent us his Son, Jesus, to be the sacrifice of atonement for all mankind, men and women. He was crucified, buried and raised from the dead, thus fulfilling hundreds of years of prophesies concerning the Messiah. God sent his only begotten Son into the world that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life.”

  Atretes’ eyes glittered. “No god cares what happens to us.”

  “The price paid for our redemption shows how much God does love us. Whatever you believe or don’t believe, Atretes, there’s only one truth and that truth is in Christ.”

  “I believe in vengeance.”

  She felt saddened at the unrelenting quality of his voice. “And judgment. Judge, and you shall be judged with the same measure of mercy you mete out.”

  He gave a hard laugh.

  “God is not partial,” she said. “You can’t bribe him or overpower him. He doesn’t think as man thinks. If you stand on the law, any law—Ephesian, Roman, or German—you bear the judgment already for disobedience. And the sentence is always the same. Death.”

  He stood and glared down at her. “It wasn’t by my choice that I became what I am!”

  “But by your choice you continue in it.” She watched him move away into the shadows again. Everything about him revealed his bitter rage and frustration. Did he think his anguish and sense of hopelessness were no less obvious? She knew more about what he felt than he could ever guess.

  O Lord, why was it his child you gave to me? Why did you send me here to this man so that I remember the things done to me? Shimei interceded and brought me to you, and you healed me. Now, I see Atretes and feel the old wounds reopened. Hold me fast, Father. Don’t let me slip; don’t let me fall. Don’t let me think as I used to think or live as I used to live.

  “Life is cruel,
Atretes, but you have a choice. Choose forgiveness and be free.”

  “Forgiveness!” The word came out of the dark shadows like a curse. “There are some things in this world that can never be forgiven.”

  Her eyes burned with tears. “I once felt the same way, but it turns back on you and eats you alive. When Christ saved me, everything changed. The world didn’t look the same.”

  “The world doesn’t change.”

  “No. The world didn’t. I did.”

  He said nothing for a moment and then spoke heavily, “You know nothing of pain, woman.”

  “I know all I ever want to know.” She wished she could see his face and look into his eyes as she spoke to him. “We’re all walking wounded, Atretes. Some wounds are physical and obvious. Other wounds are secret and hidden so deep that no one but God sees them.”

  “What wounds do you bear?” he said sardonically.

  She didn’t answer. She would not open herself to his mockery or disdain.

  Atretes frowned. He could see her face in the moonlight, and it wasn’t defiance that held her silent. “What wounds?” he said more gently, wanting to know.

  “Private wounds,” she said doggedly.

  Her stubbornness infuriated him. “There’s nothing private between us. You’re here because I suffer your presence for the sake of the boy. Now tell me of what you speak.”

  She shook her head. “Perhaps one day I will, Atretes, but not because you command me to do so. It’ll be when we can both trust one another and not until then.”

  “That day will never come.”

  “Then we will never speak of it.”

  Atretes stepped from the shadows. Rizpah felt instinctive fear of him. She knew this was the look countless men had seen just before they died. She went cold inside, waiting for the blow.

  Atretes looked into her dark eyes. She said nothing. She just sat, waiting. As others had waited.

  Tightening his fist, he remembered the young Chatti gladiator, standing before him with his arms outstretched, waiting for the final thrust through the heart. He remembered so many more. . . .

  And still, Rizpah sat, afraid, but making no protest or appeal.