Captive Heart (Truly Yours Digital Editions)

by Darlene Mindrup

  “I thought you were a Christian! Somehow I just knew.”

  “But why didn’t you say something?”

  Jonah’s face colored hotly, and he quickly looked away. “The Roman you were with. . .”

  Samah understood his confusion. Placing her hand on his where it rested on the counter, she told him, “I am his slave. We have just arrived from Jerusalem.”

  He stared at her in shock. “Jerusalem?” he whispered in horror. “You were there for the destruction of Jerusalem?”

  Thoughts of the horrors she had witnessed were reflected in her eyes. Samah nodded solemnly.

  His eyes clouded with pity. “We have heard rumors. Is it true that the Temple was destroyed?”

  Samah nodded again. “Just as the Lord foretold.”

  Another customer briefly took Jonah’s attention. Samah watched him, marveling that he was a brother in Christ. Hadn’t she known her Lord wouldn’t forsake her? She had heard of fellow believers in this city but thought they had all been eliminated by Nero years ago, and others since.

  She saw Jonah hand the customer her purchase, smiling in return. It suddenly occurred to her that Jonah was without a beard. He wore instead the mark of the Romans with their clean-shaven faces and short hair.

  Seeing his handsome face, she wondered why her people chose to hide their features behind a face full of hair. What would her brother and father look like without their beards? Would they be as handsome? She thought probably so, for both were fine of form. Jonah’s strong chin was visible, even when he was smiling.

  He came back to her now. “Would you like to meet with the others?”

  Samah smiled with delight. “There are more believers here?”

  Jonah returned her smile. “Oh, yes. Not as many as there were before.” His face darkened briefly. “But there are still quite a few of us.”

  “I would love to!” The bright hope slowly ebbed from her eyes. “But I don’t know where you meet, and I don’t know what my life will entail. I don’t know if I will be allowed that freedom.”

  He nodded in sympathy. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Sentinel let out a loud woof. Cassius was striding in their direction, closely followed by a small litter being carried by four slaves.

  He pulled up in front of them, his look going briefly from one to the other. Narrowing his eyes at the sudden tense atmosphere, Cassius took Samah by the hand.

  “Come.”

  He helped her into the litter, then turned his gaze back to Jonah. They studied each other a moment before Jonah finally turned away. Cassius clicked his fingers to Sentinel, and they once again started on their way. Neither one noticed when Jonah nodded to a young boy across the street. The boy lifted himself from the wall where he had been reclining and slowly ambled in their wake.

  Samah felt foolish being carried along like some rich ruler. She hunkered down behind the drapes, embarrassed to be in such a position. It had been this way for the past several days.

  On the ship she had tried to assume her role as slave, only to be blocked at every opportunity by Cassius. He never allowed her to be anything important, but he was equally unwilling to allow her to be a slave. His attitude confused her.

  One moment he would be kindness itself, gentle and protecting; the next he would be cold, and though not harsh, decidedly aloof. Now here she was riding along like a patrician while Cassius strolled at her side like some plebeian. It left her unsettled, feeling as though she had no real part in this world to which she had been taken.

  “The fruit vendor seemed quite friendly.”

  His voice came to her from outside the litter, and something in it warned her of his displeasure.

  “Not overly so,” she assured him. “He merely passed the time with me until you arrived.”

  She could hear his grunt. “And what did you find to talk about?”

  Samah wondered at the suspicion in his voice. “Mostly his fruit. Some of it I have never seen before.” Pushing back the drapes, she looked out at him.

  Cassius could see the confusion in her face. He wondered himself at his attitude. There was something in the young fruit vendor’s eyes that left him wanting to strangle him with his bare hands. These strange emotions left him feeling as though he were out of control, something he had never experienced before. Sometimes the feeling made him so angry that he lashed out at Samah, only he knew she was innocent of the cause. Still, he had never had these feelings until she had entered his life.

  They walked in silence for some time, Samah noting with interest the many things surrounding her. It was only as they drew abreast of the arena that her face paled and she pulled her head back inside. Horrifying images of brutally murdered Christians passed through her mind, leaving her cold and shaken. She didn’t look out again until the litter drew to a stop.

  Cassius helped her alight and turned to the slaves. “You may return to your master.”

  Samah watched them go. “They aren’t yours?”

  Cassius chuckled. “No. I don’t have slaves and litters stored all over Rome for my eventual use.” He grinned down at her. “They belong to my friend Andronicus. His house is near the market where we stopped.”

  He handed her the crutch, noting the weary lines in her face.

  “You’re tired. Come inside.”

  She followed him up marbled stairs, past great columns and through the entrance. They entered the atrium, the waning afternoon light still filtering through the opened roof. An upper balcony surrounded the upper story leading to rooms beyond.

  A servant met them by a small pool, used to catch rainwater, directly below the atrium’s roof. He was an older man, his gray hair sprinkled with only a few touches of brown. His portly belly jiggled when he walked, but it was his eyes that caught Samah’s attention. They were a bright blue and aglow with happiness.

  “Master,” he said. “It is good to have you home.”

  It surprised Samah that he actually seemed to mean it. Cassius smiled.

  “Hello, Democritus. It’s good to be home. Come, let me introduce you to someone.”

  Democritus’s eyes fixed curiously on Samah.

  “Democritus, this is Samah. She is now a member of this household.” Quickly veiling the shock in his eyes, Democri-tus offered a tentative smile. He awaited further instructions, obviously confused by his master’s declaration.

  When Cassius next spoke, there was no denying the authority in his voice. “She has but one job, and that is to care for Sentinel.”

  Democritus’s appalled look flew to the dog standing placidly at his master’s side.

  “If she can be of assistance to you around the house, so be it, but you are never to take her from her duties of caring for the dog. Am I understood?”

  Democritus nodded, nonplused. Though things might have been far from clear to him, he would never have thought to argue the point.

  “Take her and see that she visits the baths.” Samah’s face turned crimson under both men’s regard. “And find her more suitable clothing. I’ll leave that to you, but I want to see some color.”

  Samah didn’t think she could be any more embarrassed. She was wrong.

  “Oh, and find her a room close to mine.”

  Samah’s eyes went wide, but Cassius ignored her. Demo-critus’s knowing look rested on her briefly.

  “And send word that I wish to see Justinian.”

  “The carpenter?”

  “Yes,” Cassius agreed. “The carpenter.”

  Cassius glanced down at Sentinel, patiently waiting. He rubbed the dog briefly, smiling as the beast squirmed and whined under the attention. Straightening, he pointed to Samah.

  “Protect.”

  With that, he turned and exited the villa, leaving Samah and Democritus staring open-mouthed after him.

  FIVE

  Cassius entered his father’s villa with some trepidation. The missive he had received had stated very little except that his father was in critical condition. His sandals t
apped against the cold marble tiles as he moved through the atrium that was a much larger replica of his own.

  He felt his insides twist at the mere thought of losing the man who had raised him as his own son. Only months before General Anticus had found Cassius on the rocks, his wife had died in childbirth along with her babe, and Anticus had brought Cassius home and showered on him all the love he would have given his own child.

  Later, for some reason, the general had felt it necessary to tell Cassius of his true origins. Cassius wondered if his life would have been different if he hadn’t. Perhaps he wouldn’t have this intense hatred of women, and he would have married and settled down by now. And then again, perhaps hatred was too strong a word. Mistrust would be more apropos. Still, the thought brought him no comfort, no feelings of anticipation to share his life with a woman.

  Hector, his father’s personal servant, showed Cassius into the triclinium, where he found his father lying on a couch pondering the view of the gardens from the opened doors. He took a moment to study the older man without being noticed. Though he had lost weight, he still held his shoulders erect. Cassius felt himself relax slightly. He wasn’t certain what he had expected, but he had definitely expected something much worse.

  “Hello, Father.”

  The general started, turning abruptly to face Cassius. Joy instantly filled his face.

  “Cassius! By the gods!”

  When the older man tried to struggle to his feet, Cassius became concerned. Hurrying to his side, he gently laid a restraining hand on his father’s chest.

  “Don’t bother to get up.”

  His father eased back against his couch. Searching for signs of ill health, Cassius slowly seated himself on the couch opposite the general. Although Anticus’s face was wan, Cassius felt some measure of relief at the vitality glowing from his dark brown eyes.

  “It’s been a long time,” Anticus told his son. “This campaign was a lengthy one and in a most wretched place.”

  Cassius nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more. It’s good to be home.”

  Anticus motioned to the platter on the table at his side. “Something to eat, Cassius?” The old man’s eyes roved his son’s dusty figure, noting the growth of beard on his face. “You came straight here?”

  Cassius held up his hand in rejection of the food. “I wanted to see for myself how you were.”

  The general’s keen eyes missed nothing in their slow perusal. “You look tired, my son.” He chuckled. “And dirty.”

  Cassius’s lips twitched. “Somehow I thought that cleanliness was not quite as important as seeing for myself that you are well.”

  Warmed by his concern, Anticus smiled. “Well, as you can see, I am fine.”

  That was not the whole truth, but Anticus thought it best not to burden his son at this time. He knew his son well enough to know that something of import had happened in his life, but he also knew it was best to allow Cassius to share whatever it was at his own leisure.

  “Can you stay for the evening meal?” he asked.

  Relaxing back against the couch, Cassius breathed out softly. “I’d like that.”

  “Good, good.” Clanging the gong on the table, Anticus addressed himself once again to his son. “Why don’t you make use of my bath while they prepare the meal? Relax. Take your time. We will have plenty of occasion to fill each other in on the past years.”

  When Hector entered the room, Cassius rose to his feet. “I’ll take you up on that suggestion. I feel like I have a year’s worth of Palestinian dirt on me.”

  Anticus laughed. “You look it, also.” He turned to the servant. “Hector, take Cassius to the bath and make certain that he’s given a clean tunic.”

  Hector bowed. “Yes, my lord.” Although Cassius knew the house well, Hector motioned him forward. “This way, my lord.”

  Cassius followed the servant down the hallway that led to the back of the house where his father had his private bath. His mind wandered to the years he had spent running among the corridors here. Though he had never had a mother’s love, he had had a good childhood, safe and secure in his father’s love.

  Why his father had chosen to tell Cassius about his mother he didn’t know, but from that moment on there had been an angry burning in his heart that he could never find solace for. Though he had taken his pleasure with women from time to time, he had never given his heart to any one of them.

  A picture of Samah’s innocent face flashed through his mind, and for the first time in his life he felt a twinge of guilt for his past offenses against the women of his acquaintance. Being unattainable had seemed to only make him more in demand, and he had taken full advantage of the situation. It had also given him great pleasure to walk away from a brief relationship with his heart intact. The same could not be said of the women. At the time, he had enjoyed the thought of inflicting pain, but now he felt a slight twinge of regret that he had chosen such a path.

  “I will send Crastus to you, my lord, when you are through.”

  Pulled from his thoughts, Cassius nodded slightly and began undressing. The warm water did indeed look inviting.

  “Thank you, Hector. A good massage will feel nice after such a long journey.”

  Sliding into the water, Cassius lay back, relishing the silky warmth of the water sliding over his skin. A low growl of content emanated from his throat as he ducked beneath the water, gratified to be once again in his father’s home with others to care for his needs. Though he had faithful servants of his own, none had been with him as long as Hector and Crastus.

  When he finally rose from the pool, Crastus was waiting. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Cassius moved to the table and lay down on it.

  Grinning up at the giant Philistine, Cassius warned him, “Don’t be gentle, my friend.”

  Returning his grin, the masseuse took an amphora of oil in his hand and removed the stopper. “You needn’t worry, my lord. The last thing a soldier needs after battle is gentleness.”

  Crastus began rubbing the oil over Cassius’s body, massaging as he went. The pounding and kneading soon relaxed Cassius’s overworked muscles.

  “Crastus, how well is my father, really?”

  The servant found nothing odd in the young master’s question. Crastus had been with the general since before Cassius was brought into their family, and though he was in truth nothing more than a servant, he was closer to the general than anyone, save Cassius himself.

  The big man shrugged, continuing his rubbing. “It would be best for you to ask the master himself.”

  Cassius turned slightly until he could see Crastus’s features. There was no duplicity in the servant’s face.

  “You know he will try to keep me from worrying.” Cassius snorted softly. “Imagine if I were commanding a regiment and the general kept information from me to keep me from worrying about how many foes I had to battle.”

  Crastus grinned, lifting the strigil from the table. He began to scrape the oil from Cassius’s skin. “I think the analogy hardly applies,” he disputed.

  “Doesn’t it? The one thing having complete information does for you is to help you prepare for what’s to come.”

  Their eyes met, and Crastus was the first to look away. He pulled another towel from the rack and began to pat Cassius with it. When their eyes met again, Cassius could see resignation in the old servant.

  “The physician says that the master has only a short time to live. I didn’t understand all the particulars, but the master did.”

  Cassius felt himself go cold all over. He quickly sat up, grabbing his tunic. Throwing it over his head, he jumped from the table and headed for the door.

  He found his father still reclining in the triclinium, the table beside him now set for the evening meal. He motioned for Cassius to take the couch opposite him.

  “Have a seat, Cassius.” Noticing the set look of his son’s face and the fact that he hadn’t yet shaved, he sighed. Obviously Crastus had shared something he shouldn�
�t have. “Let’s eat before you launch your attack.”

  Aggravated, Cassius pressed his lips tightly together to keep from bombarding his father with the questions he held tightly in check. Taking his cue from Anticus, Cassius kept up a steady flow of small talk while they ate, though his stomach churned with anxiety. He regaled his father with tales of his journey through Palestine, but other questions burned on his lips.

  “I heard you had been lifted to rank of commander,” his father beamed proudly. Cassius nodded, his mind on other things.

  Anticus wiped his hands on the cloth provided and threw it on the tray. “I also heard rumors of Titus distributing his wealth among the troops?”

  It was more a question than a statement. Cassius pursed his lips, wiping his hands, also.

  “Not quite, but he did reward those who excelled.”

  Anticus lifted his goblet towards Cassius. “And of course, that included you.”

  Cassius watched his father drink his wine, wondering what the old man would say when he informed him of the reward he had received. Lifting his own goblet, he swallowed a large gulp of the cold liquid, hoping to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat.

  “I was rewarded, yes.”

  Anticus heard the hesitation in his son’s voice. Lowering his goblet, he studied Cassius’s face. The look there sent the old man’s eyebrows flying upwards. He waited for Cassius to continue.

  Taking a deep breath, Cassius met the full force of his father’s probing brown gaze.

  “I received a woman. It was all I asked for.”

  Anticus stared at his son and didn’t know what to say. At the declaration, his own wits had scattered to the four corners of the earth. Cassius asking for a woman? He stared at his son as though he had suddenly sprouted two heads.

  “This woman. She was Jewish?”

  “She’s a Samaritan.”

  Anticus’s eyebrows rose to his balding pate. “Is there a difference?”

  “Not really.” Cassius stood and paced to the window overlooking the garden. “And then again, yes, I suppose.”

  Totally confused, Anticus didn’t know what to ask next. He was saved from having to make that decision when Cassius turned back to him.