Malik patted his leg and straightened. “But God has brought you to us, and we shall see what He has planned for you.”
“I came here to remain unknown.” Julian looked away. “I seek nothing more.”
Malik smiled. “We shall see. Men such as you do not often remain unknown. Besides, the Romans are at the door, and the Nabataeans may soon go the way of the rest of the world, into the hands of the Empire. The people desire to be annexed without bloodshed, but I fear our royal family has other plans. Perhaps you have been brought to us now, to help us find our way into what is next.”
Julian crossed his arms again. “I was not brought here, old man. I came of my own accord.”
“Hmm. Tell me what you thought of our people here.”
The question surprised him, but he was happy to give his opinion. “They are devoted to each other, that is clear. And you have taught them well in the truth. But they are complacent. They are not ready for what is to come. You must show them how to be strong.”
Malik smiled and looked away, as though amused. “He sees and speaks, Jesus,” he said under his breath. He waved to a nearby servant, who hurried over to retrieve their bowls. “Come.” He brushed his hands together. “I will find you some work.”
Finally.
The remarkable engineering of the city had not been lost on Julian. The massive facades carved out of the solid iron-laden sandstone, the hydraulic engineering required to channel the spring rains that fell on the mountains into the huge tanks and cisterns. Certainly there was much work to be found here, even for a nobleman who had pursued only leisure and hobbies in his Rome.
Malik and Julian strolled out of the house, from the cool greenery of the garden to the red heat of the city. Across the Cardo Maximus, the main thoroughfare, they drifted alongside the marketplace that ran the length of the street. Merchants walked in the shade of the morning, organizing their caravans and striking deals. Shop owners lifted the flaps of their shops, revealing stalls of hanging meat and Petra’s elegant red earthenware, of leather goods and cloth, metal utensils, and fruits and vegetables.
Malik led him to a shop filled with breads and cakes and hailed the slight shop owner with a kiss on each cheek. “Alawin, here is a new friend, Julian.”
Alawin, whose hair would make women jealous, sought out Julian’s eyes. He held them for a moment, then nodded and broke into a wide smile. “Welcome, brother.” He extended his arms. Julian gripped the man’s arms and nodded. With a flash of insight akin to Malik’s, Julian felt the man was also a follower of the Way.
Alawin gave them each a tan cake drizzled with sweet golden honey. He leaned close to Malik. “I am sorry I have not been able to come in the evenings. Samiyah has been unwell.”
Malik frowned. “We will pray for Samiyah’s health, then, and hope to see you soon.”
Alawin bobbed his head, and a lock of thick hair fell into his eyes. “Thank you, Elder.” He gripped Malik’s arm. “I thank you and Samiyah thanks you.”
Julian did not miss the look of respect Alawin lavished on Malik. Oddly, he felt a jolt of something like envy.
“Give Samiyah my love, Alawin.” Malik finished his cake and licked the honey from his fingers. “We must find Julian some work.”
Julian thanked Alawin for the cake and smiled when the man refused Malik’s money.
The two men walked to the end of the Cardo Maximus, toward the eastern end of the city where the fabulous tombs were carved astonishingly high into the cliffs.
Malik looked up. “You will climb to work?”
“Absolutely.”
“They are always in need of masons to chip away the stone.”
Julian hesitated, still resisting any divulgence of the details of his former life. “I . . . I am able to do a little sculpting as well.”
Malik halted and turned on him. “Give me your hands.”
Julian held them, still sticky with the honey cake, out to the man.
Malik took Julian’s hands in his own and examined them. Then closed his eyes.
Julian swallowed. Again, he felt the discomforting thought that the Elder of Petra was calling him forth to a task he didn’t want to undertake.
Malik opened his eyes and released Julian’s hands.
“The hands of a sculptor.” He tilted his head and studied Julian. His voice deepened and his eyes grew fiery. “But God has given me to know these hands will do more than carve stone. They will carve a place for Jesus’ church in Arabia.”
Julian broke the hold of Malik’s eyes, wiped his fingers on his tunic, and resumed walking. He had felt that fire once, the flame he saw in Malik’s eyes. It had caused nothing but harm. He would not feel it again.
Malik hurried after him. “Your heart is tightly guarded. But God will do a work.” He laughed. “And perhaps it will begin with the little Syrian woman and her son.”
Julian gave the old man a sideways glance. Had his interest in Cassia been so obvious? “She is too bright for that, I believe. I fear she sees right through me.”
“And what does she see?”
Julian kicked at a stone in the street. “A man who has failed at every important thing in his life.”
Malik said nothing and Julian chose not to look at him. He eyed the tombs ahead. “You know someone here who will give me work?”
Malik drew alongside him, held his arm until Julian turned to him. “There is work for you here, Julian. Indeed, more than you want to acknowledge. But first you must accept the call.” Those eyes were afire again. “It is time to forget the past. It is time to open your heart.”
FIFTEEN
ALEXANDER IS GONE.
Cassia had spent the night in the home of Zeta and Talya once again and awoke to the crushing desolation of Alexander’s absence and the memory of her vow the night before. She crept from the bedding Talya had laid near the front blanket-wall of the home, pushed aside the heavy tan fabric, and sat cross-legged at the ledge, surveying the city still in the shadow of the cliff that housed her. The rising sun’s early beams lighted the countless swirls and shades formed in the rock face across from her ledge.
How was she ever to retrieve her son? How could one small woman, with no money and no army, come against the royal house?
Far below, a donkey wandered the desolate street as though it belonged to no one. Cassia watched its plodding steps and felt the confidence of the prior night slip away.
Whatever her plan, she could not impose on Zeta and Talya any longer. She needed to find work and a place to live, however temporary, until she could find a way to get Alexander back.
She smoothed the white tunic Talya had given her last night. The yellow silk was gone. The pouch she had brought all the way from Damascus with their few possessions had disappeared in yesterday’s struggle at the palace. She had absolutely nothing, and even the clothes she wore were not her own.
If she did not find work soon, she would be reduced to begging. The thought barely troubled her when compared to the loss of Alexander, but to spend all her time begging for enough to survive would not help her get him back.
The two women were soon awake, and Cassia busied herself with helping them begin the day, hoping to repay them in some small way for their generosity.
They ground meal and baked bread through the morning, until a voice called out Zeta’s name from outside the rock wall.
“Come,” Zeta returned, and the three paused in their work to wait for the visitor to enter.
The blanket parted and the tall, lean frame of the Roman, Julian, appeared.
Beside Cassia, Talya visibly straightened, and Zeta clucked her tongue. Cassia couldn’t help smiling at the two women’s reactions.
Julian’s attention, however, was on her, and she flushed under his steady gaze. He stood at the edge of the home, his hand on the rock wall. “How are you this morning?”
Cassia inhaled and nodded. “On my feet, though a bit bruised.”
Zeta waved him into the home. “Come away
from the ledge before you fall to your death, boy.”
Julian smiled. He was a few years older than Cassia, and she smiled, too, hearing Zeta call him “boy.”
He took a few steps toward her. “I am glad to hear your injuries are not serious. But I was asking more about your heart.”
Cassia turned away, back to the bread, her thoughts jumbled at the unexpected question. “I am trying not to feel much right now.”
There was a silent pause, in which Cassia felt the attention of all three on her in pity, but she did not look up from the kneading.
“What will you do?” Julian finally asked.
She shook her head. “Today I will find work and a place to live. Necessary before I can do anything for Alexander.”
She reached for the bowl of flour across the table, and Julian pushed it toward her. “That is what I came to tell you. I have found some work for us both, if you are interested.”
Cassia studied him from the side. “Why?”
He shrugged. “We are both new to Petra. I needed to find work myself and thought of you when I was asking around.”
It surprised Cassia to hear that Julian was new to the city. His performance at the Nymphaeum yesterday had convinced her he was a favored son of the city, in spite of his obvious Roman birth. “What kind of work?”
“I will show you.”
Zeta and Talya shooed them out, instructing Cassia to return later and give them news of the day. Within minutes she and Julian had descended to the city street, walked north a few minutes until they reached a section of the cliff face that held a series of enormous tomb facades carved into the rock. The face of the largest had been sculpted into three stories, with its lowest being a series of arches built in front of the cliff. The shell-pink wavy ribbons undulated through the topmost section, but it appeared only half finished, with rock ledges cut to accommodate the sculptors.
Julian pointed upward. “There it is.”
Cassia followed his gaze. “What?”
“Our new employment.”
Cassia huffed. “I am no mason!”
Julian looked down on her and laughed.
“That is funny?”
He craned his neck backward to scan the top of the tomb. “It amuses me that your objection concerns your masonry skills and not the unseemly height of the project.”
Cassia shrugged one shoulder. “I have never feared heights.”
“I am beginning to think you fear nothing.”
Cassia could feel his gaze on her but hardened herself and did not turn. “You have mistaken me for someone else.”
Julian did not respond but a moment later said, “I found work for myself as a stonecutter up there.” He pointed. “But for you, I offered them the services of a woman to collect and bring down rock chips and to fetch the water necessary for the sculpting.”
Hard work. And dirty. “Thank you, Julian.”
“I’ll try not to drop rocks on your head.” He smiled.
The morning passed quickly, in a haze of red dust and burning calf muscles. Cassia worked below Julian, collecting the pieces of rock that fell from his chisel as he gouged a new niche into the sandstone. She then filled clay pots with the rocks and lowered them by rope to others who worked below her.
From her perch above the city, she again marveled at the engineering that had carved a city out of this rocky gorge. In the distance beyond the single city wall, she could see farmers fighting against the stony soil, their yolked plow animals dragging the wooden blade.
Halfway through the morning, she was instructed to switch places with a woman below and assume the task of getting water from the Nymphaeum down the street.
It was here she became truly thankful for the work Julian had found her, for the fountain house was the central location for women to gather and gossip, and it was here she heard of happenings in the palace. This morning the talk was all about the new prince who had appeared from nowhere. The disappearance of Aretas was only alluded to, and Cassia gained no new knowledge there, but she grasped at every scrap of information regarding Alex while trying to remain casual. It would not do for the queen to hear she remained so close to the palace.
She left the Nymphaeum with a heavy heart. How could one powerless woman defeat the mighty queen? And how could she take Alexander from his birthright?
Back at the massive tomb project with her pot of water, she watched Julian’s progress above her and the way he shouted down to the woman who had replaced her. Even from the street level, Cassia could see the girl’s laughter, could hear Julian’s teasing voice falling on her. Even the other masons working on the rock face seemed amused by him. It appeared as though the workforce had begun to center its attention around him. She watched the athletic grace with which he leaned out from his platform to hack away at the rock and compared him to Aretas’s muscle-bound physique.
“The water won’t return without you.” The harsh voice at her elbow startled her. She turned and raised her eyes to the mason gang’s leader.
A flush creeped into her neck and face. “I . . . I am sorry.”
The mason looked above them to where Julian pretended to toss down a large rock piece on the head of his female helper below. “If he weren’t so good, I’d get rid of him. Too distracting.”
Cassia grabbed an empty terra-cotta pot and hurried toward the Nymphaeum again, away from Julian’s charms.
The mason was right. And of all women, she should know better.
The days passed in quick succession. Julian’s assigned niche deepened and matched the growing hollow place being carved out of Cassia as she made no progress in retrieving Alexander. It was all she could do to keep up with the rigorous work of the day, then do her part in the home of Zeta, who had insisted upon housing her. She fell into bed each night and slept like one dead, angry that she had no plan but satisfied at least that she was earning money. Some of it she gave to Zeta to pay for her keep, but most of it went into a tiny box Talya gave her, secreted under her bedding. How long would it be before enough accumulated to fund their escape from Petra?
Julian came each day to take her to the tomb project, saying it was not safe for her to walk there alone. She tried to understand how she had warranted his strange respect. She had never been treated thus by Aretas, and even Julian seemed not to have the same opinion of any of the other young women at the workplace. With them he was all flirtatious humor and teasing. With Cassia he was like a somber and sometimes irritable older brother. She had his respect, perhaps, but she fought the desire to gain anything more. Besides, he was far more interested in his work, obsessed almost, now that it had been discovered he could sculpt, and the work gang watched his artistry turn the tomb facade into beauty.
She often tried to draw him out, to discover why he was in Petra and to hear of his life in Rome. She learned little. He had a brother, close in age but not in spirit. Though he would not say why they were estranged.
In the evenings Zeta and Talya would often disappear, leaving her alone in their home. They joined their group of friends, but they did not invite her, and she found them somewhat secretive.
But it was the cool waters of the Nymphaeum that drew her each day, with its loitering townswomen and palace slaves, and its welcome gossip.
One morning, when she had been working at the tombs nearly a week, two women in the long white dress of the palace, with their hair braided with pearl strands, filled their unglazed pots slowly as they talked. Cassia slipped alongside them and listened.
“He’s a sweet boy, but how long will he remain so?”
The woman’s friend clucked her tongue. “There is more than his character at stake, I fear.”
Cassia bent her pot to the fountain to fill it, letting the water rush over her hands.
“Obadas is a bully, to be sure, but you think the boy has evil intent?”
Her friend shrugged and leaned close. “He is his mother’s son.”
The other steadied her filled pot on her head. “
Perhaps there is more to the taunting than simple jealousy. It pains me to see the boy unloved and unhappy.”
“We shall see how long it lasts. I fear worse for him.”
And then they were gone, leaving Cassia to puzzle out their conversation as she wandered back to the work site, the jar on her hip. It did not take long, and her pace increased to match the pounding of her blood.
Her feet churned up the dusty ground on the road to the site, and when she reached the tombs, Julian stood on the street and raised his hands as a shield.
“You are like one of the Furies, flying over the sea to exact vengeance. Did someone insult you at the fountain?”
Cassia lowered her pot to the ground with a thunk that made Julian wince, but she did not care if the thing broke into a thousand pieces. “They are hurting Alexander!”
Julian took her arm and pulled her close. “Think, Cassia. You must lower your voice.”
She tried to breathe slowly, speak softly. “I heard them at the fountain. The queen’s son is cruel to Alexander, and the servant women think something worse will happen.”
Julian surveyed the crowded work area around them, then bent his head to her. “Worse?”
“I do not know!” Her voice climbed again and she fought to control it. “But I must go and help him!” She whirled away from Julian and headed toward the palace in a near run.
He was beside her in a moment, his long stride easily keeping up with her pace. “I know you want to help Alexander. This is not the way.”
She huffed out her annoyance. “I cannot simply keep clearing away rocks and fetching water! I have waited too long already.”
“And what will you do? Charge in, unarmed, and demand your son?” His voice sounded angry now, and Cassia slowed a bit.
“I must—”
“Yes, you must get Alexander back. But this foolishness will get you killed and will do nothing to help him!”
Her steps faltered then. Emotion caught up with her, swelled over her like a wave, threatening to send her to her knees in the dust. “What can I do, Julian? I have nothing . . . I am nothing.”
Palace of Darkness Page 10