A Voice in the Wind

by Francine Rivers

Cleopas smiled, his eyes shining with an excitement she didn’t understand. “John said you were coming. We’ve been praying since this morning, and the Lord answered. Come. John is with Rizpah.”

  Hadassah knew the young woman whose husband and infant son had succumbed to one of the many illnesses plaguing the Empire and gone to be with the Lord. She followed Cleopas to the steps as he brought her to the upper room of the house. John was sitting with Rizpah, their heads were bowed, their hands clasped as they prayed together. As Hadassah entered, John spoke softly to Rizpah, let her hands go, and rose.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, my lord,” Hadassah whispered in grave respect. “She wanted him left on the rocks to die. I couldn’t do it, John. It’s not God’s will that a child be left to die, but I didn’t know where else to bring him.”

  “You came where God led you,” John said and took the child from her arms. Rizpah stood slowly and came to him. Her eyes rested tenderly on the child. “A mother without her child, and a child without a mother,” John said.

  Rizpah held her arms out and John placed Atretes’ son in them. Rizpah nestled him close in the crook of one arm and touched his face. His tiny hand flailed, searching. She brushed his tiny fingers and he grasped one and held tight. His crying stopped. Rizpah laughed joyously. “Praise the Lord! God has shown mercy upon me. My heart magnifies the Lord, for he has given me a son to raise up for his glory!”

  Marcus received word from Primus that Julia had given birth. He waited several days to give her time to rest, and then went to her.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Primus said, “but the child is dead.”

  “How?” Marcus demanded, discomforted.

  “The will of the gods. If you love her, don’t ask her anything about it. She’s very depressed and the last thing she needs is to discuss what’s happened. Let her forget.”

  Marcus wondered if he had misjudged Primus. Perhaps his relationship with Julia wasn’t purely selfish. “I will take great care with her,” Marcus agreed and went into Julia’s chamber.

  Hadassah was removing a tray. She glanced at him once, bowed respectfully, and went quickly from the room. A muscle locked in his jaw as he watched her go, then he approached the bed. Though pale, Julia smiled and held out her hands to him.

  “Help me to sit up,” she said, and he propped cushions behind her to make her more comfortable. “I have so much to tell you,” she said, and for the next hour she repeated Primus’ embellished and humorous stories of well-known personages in the Empire. She held Marcus’ hand tightly. She laughed.

  Not once did she mention her child.

  Yet, for all her pretense that everything was normal, Marcus saw something had gone from her . . . some spark, some part of her life . . . perhaps a part of life itself. He didn’t know. All he knew was that some of the light had gone out of her eyes, and a hardness had taken its place.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Julia said defensively. “And you’ve hardly said a word.”

  Marcus laid his hand gently against her cheek. “I just want to know my little sister is all right.”

  She searched his face and relaxed. “Yes, I’m all right,” she said wearily and leaned into his touch, placing her own hand over his. “What would I do without you? You’re the only one who ever understood me.”

  But had he, Marcus wondered. Did he?

  Julia drew back slightly. “Even Hadassah doesn’t understand me anymore.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. She just makes me feel uncomfortable.” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’ll all pass away, and everything will be the way it was.”

  When he left, he saw Hadassah sitting on the marble bench. She didn’t raise her head or look at him once, and he did not risk approaching her and giving Primus more fuel for his rumor mill. Another week or two and Julia would be well enough to release her. Then he would take her away with him and marry her.

  On Marcus’ second visit, Julia was in the triclinium with Primus, reclining comfortably on one of the couches and laughing at one of his salacious jokes.

  “Marcus, you must sit with us,” she said, delighted to see him. “Have something to eat.” She waved her hand toward a platter of expensive delicacies. “Primus, tell him the story you just told me. It’ll make him laugh. And Marcus needs to laugh. He’s been so serious lately.”

  “Well, Marcus? You used to like my stories,” Primus said and poured himself more wine, “but they no longer amuse you. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Perhaps it is that I now see them for what they are,” he said frankly. “Half-truths woven into vicious lies.”

  “I’ve never lied about you.”

  Marcus ignored him and directed his attention to his sister. “How are you feeling, Julia?”

  “I’m well,” she said lazily. Ever since Calabah had introduced her to eating lotus, she had stopped having bad dreams and drifted on a calm sea of cloudy sensations. She giggled at his frowning look.

  “Poor Marcus. You used to be so much fun. What’s happened to you? Is it because you’ve been worried about me? Don’t be. I feel better than I’ve ever felt before.”

  “Words to delight his ears and mine,” Primus said and raised his goblet. His mouth curved. “Give him what he wants, Julia. Give him your little Jewess.”

  “Hadassah,” she said with a sigh. “Sweet, pure little Hadassah.” Julia knew her hesitation played less on Marcus than on Primus, who claimed Hadassah’s presence disturbed the entire household. He said it was as though there was a fragrance about her wherever she went; to some it was sweet, but to him it was a stench in his nostrils. He said if she were gone, Prometheus would act like himself again.

  “I don’t know if I can part with her,” Julia said and saw Primus’ face tighten.

  “Julia,” Marcus said, his voice taut with annoyance. He didn’t have to remind her that she had already agreed to relinquish Hadassah, nor that he wanted no part of her byplay with Primus.

  “Very well. Just promise me you’ll send her back to me when you tire of her.”

  Marcus strode from the room and went in search of Hadassah.

  “He’s hungry for her, isn’t he?” Primus said mockingly. “He can’t wait to feast upon her purity. I wonder if he’ll come away unscathed.”

  Julia suddenly rose from her couch and spoke in a low voice that was filled with fury—and threat. “If you speak one word about my brother, I’ll make you sorry. Do you understand? No one laughs at Marcus. No one!” She went out of the room.

  Cursing her under his breath, Primus emptied his goblet.

  Hadassah had known Marcus would come for her. She had known it from the moment Decimus had taken her hand and joined it with his son’s, from the moment Marcus had looked at her. Every time he was near she trembled, torn between her love for him and her knowledge that they couldn’t be together, not as things were now. Night after night she went down on her knees and pleaded with God to soften Marcus’ heart, to turn him to the truth. “And if he will not turn, Lord, turn him away from me,” she prayed, afraid she wouldn’t have the strength to turn from him herself.

  But when Marcus entered Julia’s chamber, Hadassah knew she was going to go through the fire. He looked at her and the purpose of his presence burned in his eyes, searing her with her own desire for him. He came to her and cupped her face, his hands shaking. Gently, he kissed her, and his touch made a sweet longing sweep through her body. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice low with emotion. “Julia has released you. As soon as the documents can be drawn up, you’ll be free, and I can marry you.”

  She uttered a soft gasp, her heart crying out to God.

  “I love you,” Marcus said huskily. “I love you so much.” He dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her again.

  Hadassah melted against him. Like a flood, his passion poured over her and carried her with its hot, rushing tide. She forgot Marcus didn’t believe in God. She forgot she did. All h
er senses focused on Marcus, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his racing heart beating beneath her palms, the strength of his arms around her. Drowning in sensation, Hadassah forgot everything she had ever known and clung to Marcus.

  Shaken, he drew back and looked at her, his hand cupping the back of her head. “I want you,” he rasped. “I want you too much.” The look in her eyes filled him with elation. “Oh, Hadassah,” he said, trying to get his breath, “I thought I knew what love was. I thought I knew everything about it.” He touched her features, loving them, tracing them with his fingers, trying to regain control of his raging emotions.

  “I want you,” he said again huskily, putting her away from him. “So much that I hurt. But I remember the last time I let myself lose control with you, and I won’t let it happen again. Not like that.”

  At his words, Hadassah gave a small, broken gasp, the fog of passion washed away in the clarity of what she faced. Trembling, she went back into his arms.

  Marcus misunderstood. “If we made love now, I’d never regret it,” he told her, holding her away from him. “But you would. Purity until marriage. Isn’t that one of your god’s laws? Religion doesn’t matter to me. It never has. But it matters to you, and because of that, I’ll wait. All that matters to me is that I love you. I want no regrets between us.”

  She closed her eyes. Your god, he said—and she knew God hadn’t answered her prayers. “Oh, Marcus,” she whispered, heartbroken. “Oh, Marcus . . .” Her eyes blurred with tears. “I can’t marry you.”

  He frowned slightly. “Yes, you can. I just told you Julia has consented to give you to me. Father gave his blessing. So has Mother. We’ll be married as soon as I can arrange it.”

  “You don’t understand.” She drew back from him and covered her face. “Oh, God, why must I choose?”

  Marcus saw her torment, but didn’t understand it. He gripped her shoulders. “Julia has released you. She doesn’t need you anymore.”

  “I can’t marry you, Marcus! I can’t!” She turned away because she was afraid to look at him, afraid she would weaken and give in to him instead of obeying God.

  Marcus turned her around roughly. “What do you mean you can’t? What’s to stop you? Who’s to stop you? You love me, Hadassah. I feel it when I touch you. I see it in your eyes.”

  “Yes, I love you,” she said. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe I love you too much.”

  “Too much? How can a woman love a man too much?” And then Marcus thought he understood. “You’re afraid my peers will say I married a slave. Is that it?” Her concern for others had always come before her own needs. “I don’t care, Hadassah. Let them say what they will.”

  Marcus knew he had been contemptuous of a man once who had freed his slave in order to marry her, but he hadn’t known then how love could break down the barriers between master and slave. He hadn’t known then how much a woman could matter to a man.

  She shook her head. “No, Marcus. It’s not because of that. I can’t marry you because you don’t believe in the Lord.”

  Marcus let out his breath in relief. “Is that all that’s worrying you?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled slightly. “What difference does it make? It’s not important. What I believe or don’t believe doesn’t change how much we love each other. It makes no difference.”

  “It makes a great difference.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He touched her face tenderly, loving the feel of her skin and the way her eyes softened. “It’s a matter of tolerance and understanding, Hadassah. It’s a matter of loving one another and allowing there to be freedom within a relationship. My father never made an issue of my mother worshiping gods and goddesses he didn’t believe in. He knew she found comfort in them, just as I know you find comfort in yours. So be it. Worship your unseen god. I won’t stop you. You’ll have the protected privacy of our home to do as you wish.”

  “And what of you, Marcus? Whom will you worship?”

  He lifted her face and kissed her. “You, beloved. Only you.”

  “No!” she cried, struggling free. She turned from him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Marcus put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the curve of her neck. He felt her racing pulse beneath his lips. “What can I say to assure you it will be all right? I love you enough to tolerate your religion.”

  “Tolerate. Not believe.” Hadassah turned and looked up at him. “How can I make you understand?” she said bleakly. “When two oxen are yoked together, they must pull in the same direction, Marcus. If one pulls to the right, and the other to the left, what happens?”

  “The stronger wins,” he said simply.

  “And so it would be with us. You would win.”

  “We’re not oxen, Hadassah. We’re people.”

  She struggled within herself. She wanted to be with him, to feel his arms around her, to have his children and grow old with him—but she heard the warning of the Lord, and she had to heed it. “If I yoked myself to you in marriage, if I became flesh of your flesh, pleasing you would become the most important thing in my life.”

  “And isn’t that as it should be? The husband leads and the wife follows.”

  “You would pull me away from the Lord,” she said.

  The Lord, he thought, anger rising up against her unseen god. The Lord. The Lord. “I just said you could worship whatever god you chose.”

  She saw his anger, and it only confirmed her fear. “At first, you’d allow it. And then it would change. You wouldn’t even know when or how. Nor would I. It would just happen in small ways that seem unimportant and, little by little, day by day, you’d pull at me until I was walking in step with you and not following the Lord.”

  “Would that be so wrong? Shouldn’t a wife put her husband above all else?”

  “Not above God, never above God. It would mean death to both of us.”

  His temper rose. “No, it wouldn’t. Loving me instead of this god of yours would mean life, life as you’ve never experienced it. You’d be free. No yoke on you.” When she closed her eyes, he uttered a curse. “Why must we always come back to this god of yours?”

  “Because he is God, Marcus. He is God!”

  He gripped her face tightly. “Don’t turn away from me. Look at me!” When she obeyed, he knew she was slipping away from him, and he didn’t know how to hold on to her. “You love me. You said you did. What do you have with him? A yoke of slavery. No husband. No children. No home to call your own. And a future, stretching on and on, of nothing but the same.” His hold gentled. “And what would I give you? Freedom, my love, my children, my passion. You want those things, don’t you? Tell me you don’t, Hadassah.”

  The tears came, slipping down her pale cheeks as she tried so desperately to stand firm. “I do want those things, but not if it means compromising my faith, not if it means turning away from God. And that’s what it will mean. Don’t you see, Marcus? If I provide for this life and turn away from the Lord, I am wise for a moment, but lost forever.” She put her hands tenderly over his. “And so are you.”

  Marcus let her go.

  Hadassah saw the look on his face: hope gone, pride shattered, defensive rage rising. She wanted to reach out to him. “Oh, Marcus,” she whispered brokenly, hurting and afraid for him. What if they did marry? Would her faith justify him? Her resolve weakened. “Oh, Marcus,” she said again.

  “It’s a pity, Hadassah,” he said sardonically, fighting the emotions choking him: love for her, hate for her god. “You’ll never know what you threw away, will you?” He turned from her and strode out of the room.

  Blind to everything around him, Marcus went down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time.

  Julia watched him go from where she was standing just outside the door. Her hand balled into a fist. She had heard Hadassah reject him. A slave had turned down her brother! She felt his humiliation. She felt his rage. She shook with it.

  Looking into the room, she saw Hadassah on her knees, be
nt over, weeping. Julia watched her coldly. She had never hated anyone so much in her life. Not her father, not Claudius, not Caius. No one.

  She had been blind to what Hadassah was. Calabah had seen: “She’s salt in your wounds.” Primus had seen: “She’s a thorn in your side.” Only she had been fooled.

  She returned to the triclinium.

  “Is Marcus gone?” Primus said, clearly getting drunk.

  “Yes, but Hadassah is remaining here for a while longer,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and not give her feelings away. Primus was far too shrewd, and she didn’t want him weaving mortifying stories to shame her brother. “I told him I’m not ready to part with Hadassah yet,” she lied.

  Primus swore to the gods. “When will you be ready?”

  “Soon,” she said. “Very soon.” She stood at the archway and looked up. Hadassah came out of the room, carrying a wash bucket, going about her duties as though nothing had happened. “Didn’t Vitellius invite us to a feast celebrating Emperor Vespasian’s birthday?” she said.

  “Yes,” he said, “but I declined for you.” His mouth twisted mockingly. “I told him you lost our baby and were bereft with grief over it.”

  The mention of her child sent a dull pain through her. She would not let him see his words had struck their mark. “Send word I’ll be attending.”

  “I thought you loathed Vitellius.”

  She turned and gave him a disdainful smile. “Indeed, but I find I have use for him.”

  “And what use would that be, dear Julia?”

  “You’ll see, Primus. And I think you’ll enjoy the play as it unfolds.”

  Phoebe heard Marcus return. She came out eagerly from her chambers and saw him climb the marble steps. Her heart sank when she saw his face. Sensing her presence, he glanced up.

  “Hadassah will remain with Julia,” he said and walked into his room.

  Distressed by his countenance, she followed. “What happened, Marcus?”

  “Nothing I shouldn’t have expected,” he said blackly and poured himself some wine. He lifted his goblet in a toast. “To her unseen god. May he take pleasure in her faithfulness!”