Beloved Protector (Heartsong Presents)

by Darlene Mindrup

  He returned her smile with one of his own. It was good to see her face so full of joy again. She had gone from anxiety about the woman and her child to a calm acceptance that surprised him.

  Andronicus, however, could tell that it took more energy to suckle than the child had in its already weakened condition. He was afraid that neither mother nor child was going to survive the night.

  And if they did? What then? They couldn’t remain here indefinitely, and he already knew that it was going to be a battle with Tapat to leave the two behind.

  He glanced around the fire at his men.

  Arius had taken the first watch and stood just outside the perimeter of the firelight. Tapat warily kept an eye on him, certain that at any moment he was about to dispatch the mother and child to the netherworld.

  Celsus and Didius were sound asleep, their snores mingling with the snapping of the fire. Each man had his sword clutched against his chest.

  Salvius kept nodding off and then jerking himself awake. He was trying hard to stay alert, but the day had been long and the heat oppressive. The heat sapped a man’s energy more than anything. Even he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

  Only Crassus seemed unaffected by the heat. He watched as the younger man got up from where he had been sitting and made his way to Tapat’s side.

  Andronicus’s sleepiness instantly vanished. He tensed as Crassus squatted beside Tapat. He had noticed the young man studying Tapat throughout the day, and he hadn’t liked it one little bit.

  “I will see to the babe if you would like to check on the woman,” he whispered.

  Tapat looked surprised, but she was no more surprised by his concern for the little Jew than Andronicus was. Her face softened with a smile.

  “Thank you. I would like that.”

  She handed the babe up to him and got to her feet. She watched a moment as he settled himself beside the fire and began the task of feeding the child. Satisfied that he was doing it properly, she went inside to check on Martha.

  Andronicus got up, brushing the sand from his tunic, and followed her. He didn’t miss the narrowed look Crassus threw his way before he ducked inside.

  Tapat glanced up from where she was kneeling beside Martha. She was wiping a wet cloth across the woman’s face and neck.

  “She is so hot. I fed her some broth made with the willow bark you carry, but the fever is not abating.”

  Andronicus had learned of the willow bark medicine when he was in Germania. Now he never traveled without it. It had rarely failed to lower a fever, but he suspected in this case the woman’s body was too weak from hunger to fight the fever off.

  After many years on the battlefield, he could tell from the woman’s breathing that she was closer to death than he had first imagined. He didn’t want to upset Tapat further, so he kept the information to himself.

  “You need to get some sleep,” he told Tapat quietly, noting the dark circles under her eyes. The heat and the long hours were taking a toll on her.

  She shook her head. “I cannot. I will be fine.”

  He wanted to argue but knew that it would be futile. “What can I do?” he asked instead.

  She gave him a tired smile. “Nothing for the moment, but thank you for asking.”

  He hesitated, wanting to stay but knowing he should leave. Watching her care for the babe and the woman so tenderly had reminded him of his own mother. Tapat would make a wonderful wife and mother, and the more he was around her, the more he wanted to make that thought a reality. He had never wanted a woman so much in his life. But the barriers she had put in place held him firmly at arm’s length. He needed to remove himself from the vicinity before he did something they would both regret.

  “I’ll be outside if you need me,” he told her. She glanced up at him. When their gazes clashed, the tension in the room thickened. The attraction between them was growing with each passing day, but he knew it was impossible.

  He made his way back to his place by the fire, his glance at Crassus suddenly caught by the look on the other man’s face. If he didn’t know better, he would think the soldier was warning him off. The look he returned gave a warning of its own and the younger man dropped his gaze.

  It was some time before Tapat returned to the fire. She smiled down at Crassus, but he didn’t immediately hand the child back to her.

  “How is the mother?”

  Tapat shook her head. “She is not well. I have done everything I know to do, but she is still burning with fever.” She reached for the babe, but Crassus still didn’t relinquish his possession.

  “I can continue to feed him if you would like to get some sleep.”

  “Thank you, but you need to sleep yourself. I will sleep when the babe sleeps.”

  Crassus didn’t argue further. He handed her the child but stayed seated beside Tapat. He glanced across at Andronicus, dropping his eyes quickly when Andronicus glared at him. Turning slightly away, he watched Tapat tending the baby while Andronicus watched him.

  Andronicus could hear their whispered conversation.

  “I have been wanting to ask you something,” Crassus told Tapat. She cocked her head slightly, a lifted brow giving him permission to ask.

  “Are you...” He lowered his voice further until Andronicus could barely catch the next part of his question. “Are you a Christian?”

  * * *

  Tapat looked up, startled, the color leaching from her face. The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to get her thoughts together. She glanced across at Andronicus, who had sat up abruptly. He shook his head in warning.

  She stared at Crassus for several long seconds. Fear tried to muzzle her mouth, but she could no more deny her Lord than she could stop her heart from beating.

  “I mean you no harm!” he rushed to reassure her.

  “Why do you ask me such a question?” she enquired, postponing giving him a direct answer. She could see Andronicus watching them intently. There was no doubt that if Crassus meant her harm, Andronicus would step in to protect her.

  “You remind me of someone,” Crassus told her.

  Tapat could feel her heart suddenly pounding with trepidation. She wasn’t certain where this conversation was going.

  “She is a Christian?” she asked reluctantly.

  Crassus nodded, drawing his knees up to his chest and placing his chin on them. “The song you were singing to the babe, I have heard her sing it.”

  She hadn’t been aware of what she was singing at the time, but the words came back to her now. It was a special psalm of King David the believers often sang during worship on the Lord’s Day. The words always brought peace to her heart, and she had hoped they would soothe the ailing infant.

  “Where did you hear her sing it?”

  He picked up another stick and threw it onto the fire. Tapat had the feeling it was as much to avoid looking at her as to keep the fire going. He delayed answering so long, she was afraid he wasn’t going to. Finally, he looked at her almost apologetically.

  “She is a slave in my father’s household. She often sings it while working in the garden.”

  Something in his voice made her glance at him suspiciously. It was clear that his feelings were involved in some way. Several thoughts caromed through her mind, not all of them pleasant. If the girl was a slave, had Crassus taken advantage of his position as her master? The thought chilled her despite the hot night air blowing against her skin.

  “You are in love with her.” It was more a statement than a question.

  He nodded and, against her will, her eyes were drawn across the way to Andronicus. Every time she looked into his eyes, her own resolve to hold herself aloof wavered. In his eyes she could see the hope for a future together that she knew could not be. She dragged her gaze back to Crassus.

  “Y
our father is all right with her being a Christian?” she asked, knowing that Rome had never been tolerant of those who followed the Way.

  “He doesn’t know.”

  Again, his voice suggested more than the words he said. She didn’t know how to answer that heartrending statement.

  “And does she love you?”

  His look was so doleful, Tapat’s own heart went out to him.

  “She is afraid of me. She sees me as nothing but a master.”

  Tapat’s empathy for the unknown young woman grew. Did she struggle day after day with the desire to stay in Elohim’s will when her heart yearned for something much different? Were her feelings being torn apart with the daily struggle to stay true to her vows while loving a man who was a heathen?

  “Are you certain that is how she sees you?”

  “How else?” he growled. “She runs every time she sees me coming!” He looked at Tapat helplessly. “I know it is your God that makes her different, that makes her special. I want to understand, but how can I when she won’t even talk to me?”

  Tapat was impressed that Crassus hadn’t used his position of authority to force the woman to his will. He was very much like Andronicus that way, and she felt a growing sympathy for him.

  She looked across at Andronicus and could tell that he had heard the entire conversation. He was waiting to hear how she answered, his dark eyes glittering with empathy, but she had no idea how to counsel the young man. She was as confused as he.

  She focused her attention on the babe to give herself time to think. The child had stopped moving and his eyes were closed. Tapat panicked, all other thoughts fleeing. She quickly felt for a pulse against the boy’s tiny neck, reassured when she felt it beating weakly against her searching fingers. He had fallen asleep, his little stomach, if not full, at least replete for the time being.

  Her breath rushed out in a sigh of relief.

  “He is well?” Crassus asked in concern.

  Tapat smiled reassuringly. “He is asleep.”

  Crassus moved restlessly, and she could sense that he wanted to continue their conversation but was uncertain how to begin.

  “Tell me of this girl,” she encouraged. “What is her name?”

  She smiled at his look of relief.

  “Her name is Lydia.”

  Tapat allowed him to talk, answering his questions unreservedly about her faith and more reservedly when it came to a discourse of love. He was not satisfied with her answers, his frustration evident as he tried to understand how a woman could love a God over a man.

  Her eyes grew heavier and she struggled to remain awake. She had no idea when Andronicus had risen from his position across from her, but suddenly he was at her side.

  “Come,” he commanded. “I have prepared a place for you to sleep in the hut.”

  Crassus glanced contritely from one to the other. “My apologies, my liege. I should have seen that she was tired.”

  Tapat shook her head. “No, I am fine. The babe will need to be fed again soon.”

  Andronicus ignored her. Taking the child from her arms, he handed him to Crassus and then lifted Tapat to her feet.

  “The babe will sleep for some time. I will awaken you when he stirs.”

  She tried to pull her arm free from his hold, but he was unyielding. She stopped struggling, glaring up at him. “Do you give me your word?”

  He knew what she was afraid of, had been afraid of ever since she had heard Arius threaten to take the two lives. Instead of being angry, his features softened. “Trust me,” he demanded softly.

  Their gazes collided and she knew that he was talking about so much more than this moment in time. She took a deep breath, dropping her eyes to the ground. She nodded in consent. She had no choice for the time being.

  Crassus looked from one to the other, a dawning look of understanding creasing his rugged features. Tapat colored hotly at his knowing look.

  Now that the responsibility of the child was taken from her, Tapat could no longer stave off the exhaustion that had been threatening to claim her for the past several hours. She staggered and Andronicus swept her up into his arms. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face until he gently laid her on a mat across from Martha.

  He knelt by her side, gently pushing the hair from her face. No words were exchanged, but Tapat felt the subtle change in their relationship. Had Crassus’s story of Lydia caused him to give more thought to their own situation?

  Crassus came into the hut and laid the child next to Tapat. He glanced from Andronicus to Tapat and then quickly left.

  Andronicus got to his feet. “I will see you when you awaken.”

  Feeling more confident with the child lying next to her, Tapat managed a smile.

  When Andronicus left, all the energy of the room seemed to leave with him.

  Yawning, Tapat only had time to see that Martha was still breathing before she closed her eyes and instantly slept.

  Chapter 9

  When Tapat opened her eyes again, daylight was streaming in the open door and the babe was gone.

  Bolting upright, she glanced over and noticed the mat across from her was empty, as well. Small prickles of apprehension shivered through her. Heart pounding, she quickly got to her feet and rushed outside, blinking against the already bright sunlight.

  Crassus was sitting cross-legged on a wooden bench propped against the house and carefully feeding the babe with the modified stylus. Tapat slowly released the breath she didn’t even know she had been holding.

  He glanced up when she approached but quickly dropped his eyes to the suckling child. She hadn’t missed the concern in his sad look, and she almost choked on the knot climbing its way up her throat. She quickly glanced around the area for some sign of Martha.

  “You were sleeping so soundly, you didn’t hear the babe crying,” he told her uneasily. “We thought it best to let you get more sleep.”

  “Where’s Martha?”

  Andronicus answered her. He came and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tapat. The woman died during the night.”

  Her face registered her shock and suspicion. Her bottom lip began to quiver, and he sighed.

  “It’s not what you think,” he told her quietly, pulling her into his arms. “When I went to check on you and the babe, I found that the woman had stopped breathing. I removed her, trying not to wake you, and Celsus saw to her burial outside the village.”

  She wondered how she could have slept so deeply that nothing of those events had aroused her. She had failed Martha.

  The woman, Andronicus had said. As though she were some unimportant piece of flotsam. As though she were not a beloved child of Elohim. She pushed out of his arms, filled with a sudden, inconceivable rage.

  “Her name was Martha!” she spat furiously, tears suddenly blurring her vision. Andronicus lifted his brows in surprise at her vehemence. He frowned, trying to understand what was happening to her when she didn’t fully understand it herself. Once the tears started, there was no end.

  She fought Andronicus as he tried to hold her once again, but he easily overcame her resistance. He held her quietly and allowed her grief to expend itself.

  It horrified her that Martha had died alone with no one there to comfort her. It was something she had always feared for herself—dying alone with no one to even remember her name. It was why she was so determined to be there for her mother, to make certain that she didn’t die alone. And yet she had. Although Tapat had continued to care for her by bringing her food and supplies, she could not enter the Valley of Lepers and her mother had indeed died alone. In one of the caves.

  It was hard to swallow past the knot in her throat. She felt numb, as though she had taken a massive dose of mandragora. But at least her mother had known of Jesus, the Christ. So i
n reality, she hadn’t really died alone because He promised to be with them always. It was that thought, more than anything, that had brought her the most comfort.

  Did Martha know of Christ? Were the people in this village believers? The rudely carved cross that she had found in Martha’s house gave her hope that this might be so.

  Andronicus finally allowed her to leave the comforting circle of his arms once her tears were spent. He studied her face closely, and she set her chin resolutely.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I am fine.”

  She noticed Didius attaching the goat’s lead to their supply horse. The other horses were saddled and ready, as well. She turned to Andronicus in surprise.

  “Are we leaving?”

  He nodded. “We have a long way to go yet.”

  “But the babe...”

  “We have no choice. We can’t stay here.”

  He handed Tapat a plate with a piece of bread, some cheese and dates.

  “Go ahead and eat. The others have already done so.”

  Celsus and Salvius had finished scouring through the other huts for tools or other items that might help them on their journey. Salvius had tried to give her a tunic he had found in one of the houses, but Tapat had adamantly refused despite the fact that hers was so threadbare it would probably not last another season. It bothered her to take things that weren’t rightfully hers; the soldiers, however, appeared to have no such scruples. She supposed that looting was just another part of what went into being a soldier.

  Despite her lack of appetite, she carefully broke her bread into little pieces, fully aware of the soldiers’ impatience to be gone, but by taking as much time as possible to eat, it would give Crassus more time to feed the babe. The slower she ate, the more time the child had to suckle. It was a time-consuming operation, feeding one dropperful of milk at a time. She was thankful to the young soldier for helping her.

  Arius stood impatiently near the horses, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched her choke down one piece of bread at a time as she warily kept an eye on him. She had the distinct feeling that he knew she was deliberately delaying them. She gave him a guarded look, which only made him smile wryly in return.