A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers
The Syrians demanded that the brass tables on which were engraved Jewish privileges be removed from Antioch, but again, Titus refused. He went one step further and, for reasons known only to himself, made a proclamation that the free Jews of Antioch were to continue to enjoy all the privileges they had always known. If they didn’t, the Syrians would answer to Rome.
While the lives of the Jews of Antioch were thus secured, the lives of the wretched captives were increasingly precarious. Determined to avoid any future conflicts in the Roman province of Judea, Titus set about scattering the Jewish survivors throughout all the countries of the Roman Empire. Able-bodied slaves were always in demand, and vast numbers were purchased in lots, roped together, and marched to ships bound for every province in the Empire.
Some Jews were sent down into the bellies of a hundred ships, where they would spend the remainder of their lives manning the oars. Others were sent to Gaul to lumber trees and provide timber for expanding Roman cities. Large groups were shipped to Spain to work cattle or toil in the silver mines. Hundreds more were sent to Greece to cut and carry marble in the quarries. The most rebellious and proud were sold to their ancestral enemies, the Egyptians. They’d die shoveling and loading sand onto barges—sand destined for the arenas of the Empire where it would soak up Jewish blood shed as entertainment for the Roman mob.
The best captives had been sold; the weakest and ugliest now remained. Hadassah was among the last few hundred to be dispersed. The dealer who now surveyed them was purchasing weavers, field hands, household servants, and prostitutes. Clenching her hands, she prayed she’d be delivered of the last.
“What about this one?” a Roman soldier said, yanking a woman from the line.
The dark Ephesian looked at her in distaste. “Ugly beyond anything I’ve ever seen.” He moved on, speaking disparagingly of the women who remained. “Remember that I am buying slaves to serve the shrine prostitutes in the temple of Artemis. They must be somewhat attractive.”
Hadassah’s heart pounded sickeningly as he approached her. Lord, let him pass me by. Let me be invisible. Better to clean slops than serve a pagan goddess.
The slaver paused before her. Hadassah stared down at his feet, shod in fine leather sandals that were stitched with bright colors. The rich linen of his robe was blue and clean. She felt cold and sick as he continued to stare at her. She didn’t raise her head. “This one has potential,” the man suddenly said. He took her chin and tilted her face up. She looked into his cold eyes and almost fainted.
“She’s too young,” the soldier said.
“How was she passed over?” The dealer turned her face to the left and to the right. “Let’s see your teeth, girl. Open your mouth.” Hadassah’s chin trembled as she obeyed and he studied her teeth. “Good teeth.”
“She’s too thin,” the Roman said.
He tipped her face again, studying her closely. “Decent food will alter that.”
“She’s ugly.”
The slaver glanced at the young soldier and smiled. “Not so ugly you haven’t taken an interest in her. Have you been using her?”
Affronted and repulsed by the suggestion, the Roman legionnaire stiffened. “I’ve never touched her.”
“Why not?”
“She is one of the righteous.”
The dealer laughed. “‘One of the righteous,’” he sneered. “All the more reason I should buy her. Half the men of Ephesus would like nothing better than to have access to a righteous Jewess.” He looked at Hadassah again, his full mouth stretching in a smile that made her stomach turn.
A muscle jerked in the Roman soldier’s face. “What’s it to me if you pay thirty pieces of silver for a girl who will be dead before you reach Ephesus?”
“She looks healthy enough to me, and she has endured this long. I doubt the rigors of what she’d be required to do in the temple would kill her.”
“I’d bet my salt ration she’ll kill herself before you reach Ephesus.”
“Why would she do that?”
“You obviously know nothing of Jews. This one would rather be dead than serve what she considers a pagan god.” He grabbed the front of Hadassah’s tunic and yanked her forward. “But here. Take her. One less Jew for me to worry about.”
Hadassah went cold as the slaver looked at her again. Sweat broke out on her skin. The blood left her face and she swayed. The Roman’s fist tightened roughly on her tunic, holding her up for the Ephesian’s continued inspection.
The slaver studied her closely, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you are right. She looks ready to drop dead right now.” He gave a contemptuous flip of his hand and moved on. “All these foul Jews. I’d rather have Egyptians.”
The young soldier released her and started to follow. Impulsively, Hadassah grasped his hand. “May God bless you for your mercy,” she said and kissed it.
He jerked his hand from her. “You thanked me once before. Do you remember? I gave you a scoopful of grain and you . . . ” He grimaced. “I’ve watched you pray. Mile after mile, month after month, praying. What good has it done you?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“What good?” he said, angry and seeming to want an answer from her.
“I don’t know yet.”
He frowned slightly, searching her eyes. “You still believe, don’t you? You’re a fool. All of you are fools.” He started to turn away, then looked at her again, his face rigid. “I did you no favor. Temple slaves are very well treated. Especially the prostitutes. You may have cause to curse me in time.”
“Never.”
“Get back in line.”
“I will never curse you,” she said and did as he bade her.
The slaver bought ten women and departed. A Greek slaver came the next day. Hadassah was purchased as a household slave. Roped with ten other women, she was led through the streets of Antioch. Small dark boys ran alongside the women, pelting them with dung and calling them crude names. One Jewess screamed at them hysterically and the dung became stones. The slaver’s guards chased the boys off and then stripped and beat the woman who had screamed at them. To worsen her humiliation, they made her walk the rest of the way naked.
Ship masts rose before Hadassah and the smell of the sea washed over her, bringing with it piercing memories of Galilee and her father and mother, her brother and sister. Blinded by tears, she stumbled along with the other women as they were prodded up a gangplank onto the ship.
Hadassah climbed down steep steps and walked the narrow aisle between rows of rank-smelling galley slaves who manned the oars. Black-skinned Ethiopians, blue-eyed Britons, and dark-haired Gauls stared at her without emotion as she passed. A second ladder was lowered into the hull. A sickening stench of feces, urine, sweat, and vomit rose to meet her.
As she descended, she saw shadowy shapes moving. It was a moment before her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she realized she saw the second crew of galley slaves. “Women,” a slave said in Greek, the single word telling how many years it had been since he had seen one.
The ropes were loosened and the grate was slammed down. Locks were set. Within seconds the naked woman was grabbed, her scream quickly smothered as other more horrible sounds came. Whimpering, Hadassah scrambled away and tried to shut out the sounds of the desperate struggling in the darkness. A fight broke out between two men. The darkened hull took on the semblance of a roiling Sheol, and Hadassah frantically hid herself in the farthest recesses of darkness.
Finally the struggle ended, and Hadassah heard a woman sobbing hysterically. When someone kicked her and told her to shut up, the woman crawled feebly through the rank mess on the planks. When she came close, Hadassah reached out and touched her. The woman jerked sharply and Hadassah spoke softly. “There is space here, beside me.”
She could feel her violent trembling as the woman huddled next to her in the darkness. Her shaking increased. Hadassah touched cold, clammy skin. She had no words to comfort her, though she wanted desperately to do so. The wo
Hadassah’s throat closed. She removed her overdress and gave it to the woman, leaving only the long gray tunic to cover herself. “Put this on,” she said softly. Shivering violently, the woman did as Hadassah instructed. Hadassah put her arms around the woman and held her close, stroking her foul-matted hair as she had stroked her mother’s.
“Blessed is the barren woman who never sees her child come to this,” someone moaned.
Silence fell upon the occupants of the hull. Only the creaking of the ship, the boom on the drum as a cadence was beaten out for the galley slaves, and the slide of the oars broke it. The grate was slammed back several times a day, and the rested slaves ordered above, while the exhausted were sent below. Sometimes a whip cracked sharply, drawing a gasp of pain from someone who was sluggish.
Day and night ran together. Hadassah slept, awakening when the locks were released and the grate slammed back as crews changed or meager rations were dispensed. The roll of the ship increased the misery of some as they lay ill in the fetid darkness. The air was close and foul. Hadassah longed for a breath of clean air and dreamed of Galilee.
A storm struck as the ship sailed along the Lycian coast. The ship rose high and crashed down against the waves as the wind moaned and screamed. The slaves panicked, scrambling for handholds and crying out in half a dozen languages for half a dozen gods to save them.
Icy water splashed down into the hull and ran back and forth, soaking Hadassah’s ragged tunic as she held onto a ship rib. Shivering, she clung fast and prayed silently amidst the screaming. The ship rose so sharply it seemed it would soar from the water. Then it dropped as suddenly, making her stomach drop with it. The hull struck the sea with a loud crack, and the entire ship shuddered as though it would fall apart.
“We’re going to die! Let us out!”
Men clawed frantically at the grate as more water poured down upon them. “Let us out! Let us out!”
As the ship rolled again, someone fell against Hadassah and broke her hold. She slid away and slammed against a beam as the ship rose again. The roaring sound of the sea was like a wild beast. The ship rolled to one side, and she felt cold water wash over her. Oh, Father, help us! Save us as you saved the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. She sought a hold and found none. Then something struck her heavily in the head, and sound receded. She floated in darkness, past feeling anything.
It was the steady cadence of the drum and of the dip of the oars that awakened her. The sound of the sea hitting the bow and lapping the sides of the ship soothed her throbbing temples. She thought she had been dreaming. Her head ached; her tunic was drenched, her hair as well. The hull was awash with seawater. Two slaves filled skins and hooked them to a rope to be lifted and emptied.
A woman sat beside her and touched her brow. “How are you feeling?”
“My head aches a little. What happened?”
“You hit your head during the storm.”
“It’s over then.”
“Long since. The crews have changed four times since it eased. I heard the guard say we are passing Rhodes.” She opened a soiled cloth and held it out to Hadassah. “I saved you some grain.”
“Thank you,” Hadassah said and took the offering.
“You gave me your tunic,” the woman said, and Hadassah knew who she was.
Days and nights melted together in dark silence. While filth, poor food, no privacy, and abuse dehumanized some, these things drove Hadassah to God. Her father had said suffering brought endurance in order that one might be strengthened for whatever lay ahead. She didn’t like to think about what lay ahead. There were too many horrible possibilities. Death came in too many ways.
God was all-seeing, all-powerful, all-present, and her father had always assured her that all things worked toward God’s good purpose. Yet she could find no purpose in what she and those around her suffered. Like herself, others had merely been in Jerusalem at the wrong time. They’d been trapped like rabbits before a pack of hounds. Zealot or Roman, she could see no difference. They were all men of violence.
Many family friends had believed that the end times of which Jesus had spoken were upon them, that the Lord would return and reign in their own lifetime. Some had even gone so far as to sell everything they owned and give the money to the church. Then they’d sat back to wait for the end. Her father was not one of these. He went on as always, working his trade.
“God will return in his own good time, Hadassah. He told the disciples he would come like a thief in the night. For that reason, I don’t think he’ll be expected. We only know he will come. It’s not for us to know when.”
Surely the destruction of the temple and city of Zion were signs that the end of the world was upon them. Surely the Lord would return now. She wanted him to come. She yearned for him. Yet, a deep sense within her warned against quick rescues. God didn’t always intervene. Throughout Scripture he had used pagan nations to bring Israel to her knees.
“‘Come, and let us return to the Lord;’” the woman whispered, “‘For He has torn, but He will heal us; He has stricken, but He will bind us up. After two days He will revive us; on the third day He will raise us up, that we may live in His sight.’”
Voice trembling, Hadassah took up where the woman had stopped, reciting the words of the prophet Hosea. “‘Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth.’”
The woman took Hadassah’s hand. “Why is it only in darkness that we remember what sustained us even in the light? I have not thought of the words of the prophet since childhood, and now in this darkness they come to me more clearly than the day I heard them read.” She cried softly. “Jonah must have felt this same dark despair inside the belly of the whale.”
“Hosea was speaking of Yeshua and the Resurrection,” Hadassah said, without thinking.
The woman let go of her hand and peered at her in the darkness. “You are a Christian?” The word sounded like a curse. Frightened, Hadassah didn’t answer. She felt the chill of the woman’s animosity. The silence that grew between them was thicker than a wall. Hadassah wanted to say something, but could find no words. “How can you believe our Messiah has come?” the woman hissed at her. “Are we delivered from the Romans? Does our God reign?” She began to weep.
“Yeshua came to atone for us,” Hadassah whispered.
“I lived by the law of Moses all my life. Don’t speak to me of atonement,” the woman said, her face ravaged by bitter emotion and grief. She got up and moved away, sitting near several other women. She glared at Hadassah for a long moment and then turned her face away.
Hadassah put her head against her knees and fought against despair.
When the ship reached Ephesus, the women slaves were brought above deck and tied together again. Hadassah drank in the fresh sea air. After long days and nights in the belly of the ship, it was several moments before her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight and she could see around her. The docks were alive with bustling activity. Workers were everywhere, plying their trades. Darkly tanned stuppatores worked on scaffolding to caulk a ship docked beside the one that had carried Hadassah. To her left was another Roman vessel. Sburarii struggled up the ladders, shouldering sacks of sand. Plodding down the planks, they dumped the ballast into a wagon, which would haul the sacks away to an Ephesian arena.
Other workers called sacrarii carried grain sacks and dropped them on scales. Mensores then weighed them and wrote in ledgers. A man stumbled and a box fell into the sea. A naked urinator dove for it.
Orders were shouted in half a dozen languages from as many ships. A whip cracked again and the guard in charge of Hadassah’s group shouted for the women to go down the plank. They were led along a street lined with merchant stalls and filled with clamoring patrons. Many stopped and stared. Others shouted insults: “Foul stinking Jews!”
They were taken to the baths. A robust woman roughly stripped her of the ragged tunic and then shaved off all of her hair. Humiliated, Hadassah wished she could die. Worse came when the woman rubbed a foul-smelling salve into every curve and crevice of her body. “Remain standing over there until I tell you to wash,” the woman said tersely. The salve burned like fire. After several excruciating minutes, the woman ordered her into the next room. “Scrub yourself thoroughly or I will do it for you,” the woman said. Hadassah obeyed, grateful to rid herself of the crusted filth that had accumulated on her body during the long journey and voyage. The salve had killed the vermin.
She was doused with icy water and ordered to the baths.
Hadassah entered a vast room in which there was a huge pool shaped of white and green marble. A guard was present, and she hastened into the water to hide her nakedness. The man scarcely noticed her.
The warm water soothed Hadassah’s burning skin. She’d never been in a Roman bath before and looked around in awe. The walls were tiled murals that were so wondrously beautiful that it was a moment before Hadassah realized the scenes depicted pagan gods seducing earthly women. Her cheeks burned and she lowered her gaze.
The guard ordered her and the others from the pool and into another chamber where they were given gray towels to dry themselves. They were handed clothing, and Hadassah pulled the simple tan tunic and dark brown overdress over her head. She wrapped the red-and-brown striped cloth around her waist twice and tied it securely. The long frayed ends hung against her hip. She was handed a light brown cloth to drape over her bare head. She tied it at the back of her neck to secure it. Lastly, the shameful slave necklace was fitted on her and then a slate was hung around her neck.