Beloved Protector (Heartsong Presents)

by Darlene Mindrup

  Although she had overheard him talk of killing Martha and the babe, she couldn’t make herself believe that he would have really done so, nor could she imagine Andronicus standing aside and allowing it. And despite herself, she liked Arius. He reminded her very much of Andronicus. She instinctively felt that she could trust him.

  When the babe finally fell asleep again, Tapat set her plate aside, popped the last piece of bread in her mouth and rose to retrieve him from Crassus.

  Seeing that she had finished, the soldiers quickly moved to mount the horses, but Tapat needed to do one more thing first. She hugged the babe close and hesitantly approached Andronicus.

  “Please take me to where Martha is buried.”

  He frowned in objection. “We haven’t time.”

  “Please,” she begged him, ignoring the frowns of the other men. She also pleaded with her eyes, begged him, and his eyes darkened from their normal cinnamon color until she could see her own reflection.

  He sighed in resignation and, shaking his head at what he considered her folly, he took her to where Celsus had buried the body.

  Tapat stared forlornly at the freshly turned dirt. She knelt by the grave, brushing her hand across the sun-warmed surface. By Jewish law she had just made herself unclean, but she didn’t care. Her heart broke for the woman who had fought to keep her child alive while she was herself dying. Such devotion, such love, deserved respect.

  She bowed her head and soundlessly mouthed a prayer as Andronicus shifted impatiently beside her. When she had finished, she stared at the grave and a lone tear wound its way down her cheek. She sniffed it back, determined not to give Andronicus cause to think her some emotional female who would be a burden to him and the men.

  “I promise you,” she whispered to the grave, “I will see that your son has a home. I will teach him about Jesus, and, Elohim willing, one day you will see him again.”

  “We should give him a name,” Crassus spoke gruffly from behind her. So intent had she been on her prayers, she hadn’t even heard him join them. “We can’t keep calling him ‘the babe.’”

  He was right, of course. Crassus’s concern for the child was touching, especially knowing the Roman law of casting a babe aside if there was something wrong with the child or if it wasn’t wanted.

  Tapat gazed lovingly into the infant’s face. This child was neither imperfect nor unwanted—that much was obvious by his mother’s devotion.

  “I wonder what Martha named him?” she queried softly. Jews gave much thought to the naming of their children. It was not something to be taken lightly.

  Andronicus came to stand beside her. He gently stroked a finger down the child’s soft cheek. Tapat noticed that his handsome face was wreathed with unease.

  “You don’t think he will survive, do you?” Tapat asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

  Andronicus shrugged. “He has shown himself to be a strong child. He is still very weak, but I would not doubt his will to survive.”

  His words brought Tapat hope. In just the short time she had been caring for the child, she had come to love him. Who wouldn’t?

  Andronicus smiled. “Why don’t you give him a name?”

  “I agree,” Crassus grinned. “Who better?”

  Tapat looked from one to the other. It was a daunting prospect. Because the babe was older than eight days, he would have been circumcised and given a name of his parents’ choosing, either a family name or something that would have explained his birth. If only she had thought to ask Martha before the sickness claimed her life.

  They were right, though. A child needed a name. She would use Andronicus’s words to give him a name and a designation. She chose one in Hebrew.

  “I will call him Hazaq,” she told them, cuddling the babe close, “because he is strong. And he will survive.” She glared at each man in turn, her fierce, uncompromising look daring them to disagree. They wisely remained silent.

  All except Arius, who had just arrived at the burial site. He gave a soft snort and turned to Andronicus. “Tribune,” he called, “the day is only going to get hotter.”

  Andronicus took Tapat’s arm and moved her toward the horses. She looked over her shoulder, the lone grave filling her with sadness. Would the people of this village ever return? Would Martha’s husband live through the coming siege and wonder what had become of his family? Or would the huts remain empty for years to come, slowly being eradicated by the sands of time? It made her heart heavy just thinking about it.

  Andronicus gave Hazaq to Crassus and lifted Tapat into the saddle, then handed her the sleeping babe. Tapat ignored his searching look and carefully arranged the blanket over Hazaq to protect him from the hot Palestinian sun. She knew it was probably just her hopeful imagination, but he seemed to be much stronger today.

  Holding Hazaq in her arms, Tapat had to grip the horse with her thighs to keep from falling off. Andronicus’s look of sympathy told her that he was aware of her predicament but that there was nothing else to be done. She settled back to endure the long ride.

  * * *

  Andronicus knew that at the end of the day, Tapat’s legs were going to hurt something fierce. He deliberately pulled back, well aware that his men didn’t like the slower pace.

  He had hoped to make it to Pella in two or three days, but it now looked as if it would take much longer. They would need to stop periodically to allow Tapat to feed the babe. It was something he hadn’t counted on, but the Fates had dealt him a different hand. Or was it Tapat’s God who had done so? At least she seemed to think so.

  They were fortunate to have found the village in which to spend the past evening; Tapat had used the word blessed. He doubted they would be so fortunate again this coming night. He almost sent up a prayer to Tapat’s Jewish God but then rebuked himself sternly. It was easier to believe in the capricious Fates than to believe in a God who would allow His Son to die mercilessly on a wretched cross. That form of punishment was used only for the most nefarious of crimes. Surely a true god would never allow his son to die in such a despicable way.

  Arius led the way, followed by Andronicus leading Tapat’s horse. Crassus was behind her, with the others bringing up the rear.

  The men were too well trained to complain about the dawdling pace. Only Crassus seemed content to plod along. Periodically he would push his horse to a faster pace to catch up with Tapat and ask after her welfare. His constant attention was becoming increasingly annoying to Andronicus.

  Traveling through the hot desert countryside was a tedious business. Sweat poured from under his metal helmet and armor chest piece, yet he knew better than to travel without the protection that had helped to keep him alive so many times in the past.

  They might be traveling in the desert, but the threat of attack was just as likely as when traveling through the tree-studded hills of Germania. The desert people knew their territory and were adept at keeping hidden among the rocks and crags. Those pockets of resistance still were scattered throughout the countryside and bent on eliminating as many of Rome’s forces as they could.

  They were now making their way through an area known for cutthroats and bandits. Many people had lost their lives on this treacherous pathway, Jew and Roman alike.

  Suddenly his soldier’s instinct went on alert. He could see by the stiffening postures of his men that they had the same reaction.

  He glanced back at Tapat and found Crassus close beside her, his eyes seeking any hidden enemies that might be lurking about. For once, Andronicus was glad to see the other man’s protective attitude.

  Knowing the danger, Andronicus didn’t object when Arius picked up their pace. He dropped back to take Hazaq from Tapat so that she could hold on to her horse with both hands. She reluctantly handed the child over. Having ridden for years, Andronicus had no problem holding on to Hazaq and his reins at
the same time.

  The eerie silence as they traveled along after the men’s earlier chatter was unnerving. Time seemed to drag. Anxiety mounted.

  They finally made it through the area without mishap and, after traveling several more miles, the ease of tension among them was palpable. He returned the sleeping babe to Tapat, sensing her unease at having the child gone from her arms. She immediately hugged him close, her smile of appreciation warming Andronicus as effectively as the desert sun.

  Andronicus waited until they were farther beyond the Jericho Valley before calling a halt in an area that sported a few trees that could be used to shade them while they rested. Hazaq had awoken earlier and was making a racket that let them know he wanted sustenance and he wanted it now. It was reassuring that the child could cry with such vigor.

  They climbed from their horses, but Tapat remained seated until Crassus went to her and took Hazaq. Andronicus reached her side just as her feet touched the sand. She would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn’t been there to catch her.

  “Give your legs a moment to adjust,” he warned.

  She clung to him a few seconds until her legs grew steadier, then pushed herself out of his hold and reached for the babe. Each time Andronicus held her, he was more reluctant to release her. Their time together grew shorter the farther north they went.

  It took a few moments for Crassus to get the goat to calm down enough for him to milk it, but he finally presented Tapat with a bowl of the warm liquid.

  She settled herself on a boulder in the shade of a tamarack tree and began the slow ritual of feeding the babe. He hungrily suckled on the stylus and Tapat smiled, making Andronicus’s heart swell with emotion. When her face was lit with such love, she was beautiful to him.

  He went and sat on the boulder with her. The others sought sources of shade as well, pulling their water flasks from their saddles and refreshing themselves as best they could with the warm liquid.

  Andronicus held his goatskin up for Tapat to take a drink because her arms were already burdened with feeding Hazaq. She drank thirstily, pulling back when her thirst was quenched.

  Water dribbled down her chin. Smiling, Andronicus wiped it away with his thumb. Their eyes met, and he could feel the tension increase as it always did whenever they were this close.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, turning her attention back to Hazaq.

  He nodded, lifting the skin and quickly satisfying his own thirst. He only wished his thirst for her was as easily quenched.

  He could tell he was making Tapat nervous, so instead of watching her, he studied the landscape around him. Heat shimmered from the surface of the hot sand, making the terrain move in waves.

  The area was so desolate that he wondered again why these Jews fought so fiercely to keep such a land. In truth, it was something the Romans had never been able to understand and thereby often misjudged the people’s willingness to fight and die.

  When Hazaq was once again replete, he stopped sucking and smiled around the straw still in his mouth.

  “He’s smiling,” Tapat crooned and began cooing to him. If she wasn’t in love with the child before, he could tell she was a lost cause now. He shook his head wryly. Her God alone knew how this whole affair was going to end. Did Tapat have any idea of what it would be like to care for a child on her own?

  Tapat interrupted his thoughts by handing Hazaq to him. His heart took a startled leap, and he swallowed an unfamiliar panic. Tapat grinned.

  “He won’t bite. I need to get some changing rags.”

  Andronicus slowly rearranged the child in his arms, wrinkling his nose at the stench arising from him. How could one little babe be responsible for such an overwhelming, disgusting odor? When Hazaq smiled at him, Andronicus felt a strange warmth spread through him. Those dark eyes staring up at him reminded him so much of Tapat’s.

  Tapat went to her horse and pulled some cloths from the supplies the soldiers had confiscated from the village. Coming back, she spread a blanket on the sand. Taking the child from him, she laid him on it and began unwrapping the soiled swaddling cloths.

  She talked to the child as though he could understand every word she said. She switched periodically from Aramaic to Greek, making it hard to follow her rambling conversation. He shook his head. He would never understand women and the way they turned into a puddle of mush whenever a babe was in the vicinity.

  After she had rewrapped the child to her satisfaction, she placed the soiled garments in a leather bag to be washed later. In his opinion, she could just as easily throw them away and get new ones from the stockpile they had pilfered from the village.

  He watched her interacting with Hazaq and once again felt an overwhelming tenderness fill him.

  “How old do you think he is?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I’m not certain, but I would guess at least three months.”

  Arius came over. As he glanced at the babe, Andronicus was certain he saw a softening of his features.

  “It is time we move on, my liege.”

  Andronicus agreed. He helped Tapat to her feet.

  After they had remounted and traveled several more miles, Andronicus noticed a brown haze in the distance. He paused, studying the rapidly approaching cloud. Arius noticed it as well and held a hand up for their troop to stop.

  He turned to Andronicus, his eyes wide in consternation. “It’s a sandstorm.”

  Their eyes met in understanding. They needed to find shelter and find it fast. In the babe’s weakened condition, he would not survive the suffocating sand that would bear down upon them, infiltrating every nook and cranny, including one’s nose and throat.

  Chapter 10

  Tapat realized that they were in a terrible predicament when she saw the worried look on the men’s faces. She followed their gazes and saw the rapidly approaching sandstorm in the distance. Having lived in Judea all her life, she knew the danger they were in. What looked to be a great distance away would be upon them in minutes.

  During a sharav summer, sandstorms were frequent and often violent. This had been one of those years.

  “The only chance we have is to make it to the other side of that hill,” Arius yelled, pointing just ahead of them as the winds that preceded the storm began to increase.

  Tapat measured the distance to the hill he was indicating and knew they would never make it, not at the pace they were traveling.

  Andronicus glanced from the storm to the hill. His mouth set in a grim line. He held out the reins of Tapat’s horse. “Crassus, take the horse!” he commanded.

  Crassus quickly pushed his horse ahead of Tapat and took the lines being held out to him. Andronicus then moved his horse alongside Tapat.

  “Hold on to the babe!” he told her.

  Tapat only had time to tighten her grip on Hazaq before Andronicus reached over and pulled her off her horse and across his lap. When he was assured that she was firmly seated, he looked sternly at the others.

  “You know what to do.”

  They nodded, and Andronicus twisted his horse around and dug his heels into the animal’s side. His sinewy arm wrapped around her waist was the only thing that kept her from sliding to the dirt as they leaped forward.

  “Adeo!”

  At his command to go, they took off in a bone-wrenching gallop that nearly shook Tapat’s teeth from her head. The pounding pace wakened the babe, who began to cry lustily, letting them know in no uncertain terms that he was not at all pleased. She tried to keep him from being jarred by the brutal pace, but, no matter how tightly she held him, the jostling was severe. She could hear the others galloping close behind them and could see Arius just ahead.

  When they reached the embankment, Andronicus spurred his horse up, its hooves slipping and sliding against the rock outcropping as it plunged its way to the top and final
ly over the other side. They made it to the bottom of the hill just as the first of the sand began stinging their skin.

  Before Tapat could even think what to do, Crassus was at their side reaching for Hazaq. Realizing just how much she had come to trust the young man, Tapat quickly handed him over.

  Andronicus leaped from the horse, pulling Tapat into his arms and hurrying her to where Crassus had found a sizable depression in the hillside.

  He pushed her into the cleft and Crassus handed her the screaming babe. As Tapat tried to soothe Hazaq, Andronicus tore off his cloak and dropped it over them, plunging them into sudden darkness. He then covered them both with his body to more fully protect them from the wind and flying sand.

  In the suffocating darkness, Tapat could hear the wind increase in tempo. Buried beneath the cape and Andronicus’s body, she heard the sounds of the other men and the horses as though from a distance. She began a prayer for their safety, especially for little Hazaq, who was still weak.

  The darkness increased and the wind and sand seemed to lessen when the soldiers managed to finally cover them all with a goatskin tent. They struggled to secure the tent against the now gusting winds. She heard Andronicus warn them to hang on tightly to the corners of the skin to keep the wind from whipping it away.

  Andronicus carefully uncovered Tapat to avoid dusting her with the sand that had accumulated on his cloak. Tapat sucked in a breath, relieved to be free from the cloistered space, although the tent didn’t offer much more with all of them huddled close together. She could barely see Andronicus in the dim light.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Between the sound of the sandstorm outside and the screaming child inside, Tapat could barely hear him.

  She raised her voice above the din. “I’m well.”

  He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her to make room for the others crowded into the small makeshift structure.