A Voice in the Wind

by Francine Rivers

  “Well, aren’t you the grateful one? She introduced you to Caius.”

  There it was again, that hint of anger behind Octavia’s smile. Did she still hate her for stealing Caius’ love, though Caius had never been the least bit interested in Octavia? Surely she knew that. Surely it had been obvious. But Julia couldn’t bear to have anyone dislike her right now.

  “If I’d never met Caius, I wouldn’t have all this grief, would I, Octavia? And he gave me plenty of grief before he died, too!”

  “I know. I heard rumors.”

  Julia gave her a brittle smile and looked out the curtain again. She wished she hadn’t invited Octavia.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to think of something else, but she kept remembering Caius as he’d been the day before he died, telling her how much he loved her, how he’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her, how sorry he was for his abuse and his affairs and his foul luck. He had made her feel so guilty she had almost stopped giving him the poison, but by then he’d been so sick it wouldn’t have mattered. Continuing to give it to him ended his suffering more quickly.

  Caius had terrified her the night he had tried to kill her. She had thought his death would be the end of her fear. It was more like the beginning. She was more afraid now than ever before. It was as though she carried a dark presence everywhere with her, as though she couldn’t get away from him.

  Caius had been so vital and full of health. People asked questions about his illness, and she wondered if they suspected anything. What would happen to her if they did? She remembered watching as a woman, who had been convicted of murdering her husband, was torn to shreds by wild dogs in the arena. Her heart beat wildly. No one knew except Calabah. Calabah. She had given her the poison and told her how to use it. She had admitted murdering her own husband when he threatened to divorce her. Surely Calabah wouldn’t say anything. She clenched her hands in her lap.

  Calabah had not told her how awful it would be to watch Caius decline week by week, day by day, hour by hour. She hadn’t said there would be pain.

  Julia closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the image of Caius, pale and shrunken. His once mesmerizing eyes had been glassy, like dull marbles. Nothing showed in them near the end but darkness and death. Maybe, if she’d known how awful it would be to watch him die little by little, she wouldn’t have done it. She would have left him and gone home to her mother and father and Marcus. She would have found some other way.

  Yet all of Calabah’s reasons for killing him were still valid. He had betrayed her with other women. He’d tormented her emotionally, beaten her physically. And he would have used up all her money. What other choice had she had but to kill him?

  The rationalizations and self-justification roiled in her mind, but guilt tore her reasons to shreds.

  “Are you angry with Calabah for some reason?” Octavia asked, studying her.

  How could Julia explain that seeing Calabah only reminded her of what she’d done? She didn’t want to be reminded.

  “No,” she said bleakly. “It’s just that I don’t feel like seeing too many people right now.”

  “I’m flattered you asked me to come with you today.”

  “We’ve been friends since we were children.” A sudden rush of tears filled Julia’s eyes. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you at times, Octavia. I know I can be dreadful.” She knew Octavia had been in love with Caius. Taking him away from her had given Julia the most immense pleasure, but now she wished she hadn’t done it. By all the gods, she wished Octavia had won him.

  Octavia leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Let’s forget the past,” she said and dabbed tears from Julia’s face with the edge of her shawl. “I’ve forgotten it, anyway.”

  Julia forced a smile. Octavia had forgotten nothing. She could feel it in the chill touch of her hand. She had come along today to see her pain and to relish it. “What have you been doing with yourself these days? Do you still visit the ludus?”

  “Not as often as I used to now that Atretes is gone,” she said with a shrug.

  Julia’s heart sank with swift disappointment. “He was killed?”

  “Oh no. I think he’s invincible. But he’s also been a thorn in the emperor’s side, so he was sold to an Ephesian who promotes games in Ionia. I saw him fight during the Ludi Florales. He was matched against another German. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very exciting match. It was all over in a few minutes and he didn’t even look to see if Domitian’s thumb was up or down. He made his opponent stand up and dispatched him like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “I wish I could have met him,” Julia said, remembering how flushed with excitement she’d been the day he looked up at her. She remembered his gesture and felt the first rush of warmth in weeks.

  “Have you noticed that some of the newer statues of Mars and Apollo bear a resemblance to him?” Octavia said. “He was the most beautiful gladiator I’ve ever seen. Just watching him stride out onto the sand made me hot all over. You know, they’re still selling little statuettes of him outside the arena, even though he’s no longer in Rome.” She had purchased one, but would rather die than admit it to Julia.

  Before long, they were lowered from the slaves’ shoulders and assisted from the curtained litter. Hadassah and another maid had already laid out the meal, but Julia showed no interest. She stood looking at Caius’ tomb. “It’s not very big, is it?” she said.

  Octavia was famished, but she didn’t push; she didn’t want to seem inconsiderate of Julia’s mood. “It’s big enough,” she said.

  Julia wondered if erecting a larger monument to Caius would have made her feel better. Father suggested she place Caius’ ashes in the family mausoleum, where her two siblings were entombed, but the thought had horrified her. When her time came to die, she didn’t want to be placed beside a husband she had murdered. She shuddered.

  “Are you cold, my lady?” Hadassah said.

  “No,” she said tonelessly.

  “I’m starving,” Octavia said impatiently, walking over to survey the sliced meat, fruit, bread, and wine. Julia joined her, but only picked at the food. Octavia ate ravenously. “There’s something about traveling that increases my appetite,” she said, breaking off more bread. “And everything tastes so wonderful.” She glanced at Hadassah. “Why don’t you have your little Jew sing to you?”

  “Caius hated her,” Julia said and got up. She stood near the tomb again, clasping her arms around her as though to ward off a chill in spite of the warmth of the summer day. Hadassah went to her. “Try to eat something, my lady.”

  “I wish I knew if he was at peace or not,” Julia whispered.

  Hadassah lowered her head. Urbanus had been an evil man with dark, cruel appetites. Those who rejected God’s grace and were cruel to their fellowman were destined to spend eternity in a place of suffering, where there was great weeping and gnashing of teeth. She couldn’t tell her mistress that. What could she say to comfort her mistress when she appeared to have loved him so much?

  “Leave me alone with him for a few minutes,” Julia said, and Hadassah obeyed.

  Julia’s heart beat dully as she looked at the marble tomb. Caius Polonius Urbanus was chiseled into the pristine white stone, beloved husband just below. Flowered vines were cut all around, two plump winged cherubs at the top. She knelt slowly and leaned forward to run her finger over the letters one at a time. “Beloved husband,” she said, her mouth twisting into a tormented smile. “I’m not sorry I did it. I’m not sorry.” But tears filled her eyes and poured down her pale cheeks.

  “Will you remain in Caius’ villa?” Octavia said when Julia came back and sat down with her again.

  Other dismal thoughts entered Julia’s mind and depressed her even more. With Caius’ death, she found herself again under her father’s control. Marcus was reinstated as overseer of her estate. That she didn’t mind—for he would give her whatever she asked—but she did mind being treated like a child again and having to ask for money an
d permission to do as she pleased. Still, what other choice had she short of marrying again? After her two matrimonial experiences, she was not eager for another.

  “No, I can’t remain there,” she said. “Father insists I must return home.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Octavia said with her first real sense of sympathy. Julia would have little freedom once she was beneath Decimus Valerian’s roof again.

  Julia gave her a bleak smile. “Sometimes I long for the days when I was a child running through my mother’s garden. Everything was so fresh and wonderful then, the whole world stretching out in front of me. Now everything looks so . . . dark.” She shook her head, fighting back tears of disillusionment.

  “Give yourself time, Julia,” Octavia said. “In a few weeks I’ll take you to the games again. They’ll help you forget your troubles.” She leaned close. “Did you really send two of your slaves to the arena?” Octavia whispered, glancing at Hadassah and the others.

  Julia gave Octavia a warning look. Hadassah had grieved when she heard. Julia would never have imagined that punishing the two slave girls would hurt her little friend, but it had. But then, Julia hadn’t even thought to consider Hadassah’s feelings. All she had wanted was revenge. “Disobedience can’t be tolerated,” Julia said loudly enough for Hadassah to hear. “Their loyalty was entirely to Caius, and when he died, they couldn’t be trusted.”

  “Well, I imagine your decision will keep the rest of your slaves in line,” Octavia said with a soft laugh. She saw the little Jewess’s face was white.

  “I’d appreciate it if you never mentioned it again,” Julia said. It hadn’t given her the pleasure she expected. She rose. “It’s getting chilly.” She ordered Hadassah and the others to get ready to depart. Octavia wore on her nerves with her endless talking and her sharp little prying questions. Julia looked over at Caius’ tomb one last time and felt an acute pang of regret. If only things had been different, she wouldn’t have had to do it.

  On the return journey to Rome, Julia decided she would never go back to Caius’ tomb again. She found no peace there. In fact, she felt worse each time she stood before it. Caius was dead, and that meant an end to the unhappiness he had caused her.

  She just wished she knew what to do with her life now. She felt so empty and alone. She’d expected Hadassah’s songs and stories to be as pleasurable as they’d always been, but they disturbed her now, leaving her with a disquiet she couldn’t dispel. So did the slave girl. Her purity and pristine beliefs were a constant affront to Julia. Even more irritating was the sense of contentment Hadassah seemed to have—something Julia had never in her life experienced. How could a slave with nothing be happy when she, with everything, was not?

  Sometimes she would be sitting and listening to Hadassah’s sweet voice and a wave of violent hatred for the girl would sweep over her. Yet, just as quickly, in its wake would come a deep sense of shame and longing, leaving her confused and yearning for something she couldn’t define.

  Her temples throbbed. Pressing her fingertips to them, she closed her eyes and rubbed, but the pain remained. So, too, did Caius’ expression just before he died—and his final gasped words.

  “Don’t think it’s over . . .”

  He had known.

  “Everything’s signed and ready for delivery to my representatives,” Decimus said, nodding toward a pile of rolled scrolls on his desk in the bibliotheca.

  “I can’t believe you’ve actually gone through with it,” Marcus said.

  “I’ve been thinking of moving my headquarters for some time. All of my financial assets will be officially transferred to bankers in Ephesus,” Decimus said dogmatically. “Ephesus is the most powerful seaport in the Empire and it’s closer to the eastern caravans, where I’ve made good money over the years. Centered in Ephesus, Valerian Imports will continue to provide Rome with the foreign goods she demands.”

  “How could you do this, Father? Have you no gratitude toward the city that gave you prosperity in the first place?”

  Decimus said nothing for a long moment. Rome had taken more from him than she had given. The great and respectable Republic of Rome had long since passed away. For all the beauty and magnificence that remained, he found himself living atop a rotting corpse. He could no longer endure the stench or stand by and watch how the corruption and decay of the Empire affected his own son and daughter. Perhaps by leaving, he could draw them away as well.

  “It grieves me that we’ve never seen things the same way, Marcus. Perhaps that’s as it must be between a father and his son. I didn’t agree with my father, either. Had I done so, I’d be a shopkeeper near the docks of Ephesus.”

  Marcus stood. “How can I make you see reason? Sentiment isn’t enough to relocate a thriving business or uproot a family born and bred in Rome. Every road leads to Rome. We are the hub of civilization!”

  “May the gods preserve us if that’s so,” Decimus said grimly.

  Marcus saw he was getting nowhere. His father had talked so often of returning to Ephesus Marcus had almost become deaf to it, dismissing it as the dreaming of a disillusioned old man. When his mother had posed the question of returning to Ephesus, Marcus had told her that leaving Rome was unthinkable from a business and personal standpoint. She had been unaccountably dismayed by his vehemence, and now he understood why. The decision had already been made, and he had had no part in it. He’d gain no help from her in dissuading his father. She wanted whatever would make him happy, and if his father thought returning to his homeland would do so, his mother would go without a whisper of dissent.

  “What of Julia?” he said, knowing he would have an ally in her. “What has she to say to this plan of yours? Or have you bothered to tell her yet?”

  “She’s coming with us.”

  Marcus gave a sardonic laugh. “Do you really think so? You’ll have to drag her to the ship. She’s struggling enough with having to be here under your roof again!”

  “I spoke with your sister this morning and told her of my plans. She seemed almost relieved at the idea of leaving Rome. Her grief over Caius’ loss, I expect. She wants to be away from all reminders of him.” Or perhaps it was the result of a visit from that Fontaneus woman that had left Julia pale and reticent, and eager to leave Rome.

  Marcus stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “Speak with her for yourself if you don’t believe me,” Decimus said.

  Marcus frowned, wondering about Julia’s capitulation. Was she so bereaved, or was there more to her acquiescence than met the eye? But even more than his concern for Julia’s problems were his own feelings about his father’s decision. “What if I were to tell you that I have no desire to leave Rome? Would that postpone this decision you’ve made without consulting me?”

  “Is it necessary for a father to consult a son about anything?” Decimus said, his face rigid. “I will do as I must without seeking your approval. You can make your own decisions. Remain in Rome if it pleases you.”

  Marcus felt the shock of abandonment. He looked into his father’s eyes and saw the determination and stubborn will that had built his business empire.

  “Perhaps I will,” he said. “I’m a Roman, Father. By birth. I belong here.”

  “Half the blood that runs in your veins is Ephesian, whether you’re proud of the fact or not.”

  Was that what he thought held him back? “I’m proud to be your son, and I’ve never been ashamed of my heritage.”

  Decimus felt deep regret that the relationship between him and his son had become so strained that he hadn’t felt able to confide in him his decision to move. “It’s my hope you’ll decide to come with us, but, I repeat, it’s your choice.” He took a scroll from the pile. “I knew it would be a difficult choice for you.” He held it out to his son.

  Marcus took it. “What’s this?” he said as he broke the seal and unrolled it.

  “Your inheritance,” Decimus said simply, his expression filled with an unfathomable sorrow.

  Marcu
s stared from his father to the document in his hand. He read several lines and went cold. A son was never given such a document while the father was still living . . . not unless the son was being cast out of the family. In Marcus’ mind, there could only be two reasons his father had given him such a thing: either Decimus had given up on his son, or he had given up on himself. Marcus could accept neither option. He glanced up, hurt and angry.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know how else to tell you I’ve no desire to force you to do anything against your will. You proved yourself a man a long time ago.” He sighed wearily. “Perhaps if you came with us, you’d long for Rome as I’ve longed for Ephesus. I can’t say, Marcus. You must decide for yourself where you belong in this world.”

  Full of powerful, conflicting emotions, Marcus stood silent, the document clenched in his hand.

  Decimus looked at his son sadly. “Despite my Roman citizenship and the prosperity this city has given me, I am an Ephesian.” He spread his hand palm down on his desk. “I want to be buried in my own country.”

  He’s dying. The sudden realization hit Marcus, driving the air from his lungs. Stunned, he sat down, the unfurled scroll in his hand. He should have realized sooner. Maybe he had, but he’d refused to face it until now, when he had no choice. His father was mortal after all. He looked at him and saw him as he really was—gray, old, and very human. It hurt.

  “Then this illness that’s plagued you isn’t passing,” he said.

  “No.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “A year, maybe two.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  “You’ve always seen me as a powerful force in your life, something with which to contend. Maybe it was pride,” he said flatly. “A man doesn’t like to be diminished in the eyes of his only son.” He withdrew his hand from the desk. “But we all must die, Marcus. It’s our destiny.” He saw the expression in Marcus’ eyes. “I didn’t tell you now to make you feel guilty or in any way obligated.”