An Echo in the Darkness by Francine Rivers
“You mustn’t remain out of duty to me, Iulius,” she said, though the thought of losing him saddened her. She relied on him in so many ways. She trusted him completely and couldn’t imagine completing all she needed to do each day without his assistance. And he was a good companion.
Iulius’ knuckles whitened. How had a woman of forty-six remained so naive? How could she not be aware that he loved her? Sometimes he was sure she must know how he felt, and then she would say something like this that proclaimed she didn’t have the slightest notion of his need to be near her. He would far rather be a slave at her side than a freeman away from her.
“As a slave, I am bound to you and free to serve in whatever way you need,” he said. “As a freeman, I’d have to leave your household.”
“I’d never ask you to leave.”
“If I remained, you’d no longer be looked upon as a woman of unquestioned virtue.”
She frowned for a moment, and then, as she comprehended his meaning, she blushed. “People would never think. . . .”
“Ah yes, they would. You’ve lived in the world, my lady, but you’ve never really been part of it. You’ve no conception whatsoever of the evil that’s in man’s mind.”
“I’m not a fool, Iulius. I know evil is loose in the world. And that’s all the more reason we must strive for good. We must help these people.”
“You can’t help them all.”
“I’m not trying to do the impossible. The women I help had husbands who worked for Decimus or Marcus. I can’t turn my back on them when they’re in need.”
“What of Pilia and Candace? What of Vernasia and Epaphra? Did their husbands work for Lord Decimus or your son?”
“There are exceptions,” she conceded. “I heard of their difficulties from the others.”
“You can’t take care of the whole world.”
“I’m not trying to take care of the whole world!” she said, taxed. Why must he plague her today when her physical resources were so weakened? She wasn’t merely tired, she was drained. Utterly. And there was so much to do, so many to see, and so little time.
Iulius held his silence.
Phoebe glanced up at him after a long moment and saw his stony expression. He was exasperated with her. She smiled tenderly. “You used to fuss over Decimus the same way you now fuss over me.”
It was not the same at all. “It is not in my nature to bow and scrape.”
“I’ve never asked it of you.”
“No, my lady.”
“I’m not a child, Iulius.”
He said nothing.
“Don’t be annoyed with me, Iulius. Please. I wish you could understand. . . .”
“I do understand, my lady,” he said more gently. “You spend every waking moment serving others so you’ll have no time left to think about—”
“Don’t say it.”
He winced inwardly at the pain he heard in her soft voice. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.
“I can’t change some things, Iulius,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “Here, I can.”
Two little girls sat in a doorway across the street, playing with a dirty rag. One saw her. “Lady Phoebe!” The girls ran across the street to her, faces beaming with bright, elfin smiles.
“Hello, Hera,” Phoebe said, laughing in delight at their warm greeting.
The little girl held her doll up so Phoebe could see it. “My mama made it for me,” the girl boasted. “She said you gave her a new tunic and so she made me this baby from her old one. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s a very pretty baby, Hera,” Phoebe said, still struggling against the tears that had come far too quickly at Iulius’ words. Was he right? Did she drive herself from morning to night so she could forget Decimus was gone and that her own children were lost to her as well. “What’s her name?”
“Phoebe,” the child said with a grin. “I named her after you, my lady.”
“I am very honored.”
“Good morning, Lady Phoebe,” someone called from above.
Phoebe glanced up and waved. “Good morning, Olympia. I saw your son a few minutes ago. He looks very well now.”
“Yes,” Olympia laughed. “The medicine you brought worked wonders. He and his friends have been playing legionnaires all morning.”
Phoebe pushed Iulius’ words from her mind and entered the tenement. She’d come to visit a widow whose husband had been lost at sea. The woman had three small children. Phoebe saw her own problems were paltry in comparison; hers were matters of the heart, not survival.
As she entered the small room, the children gathered around her, tugging at her tunic and competing to be heard. Laughing, Phoebe gathered the smallest in her arms and sat down with the child on her lap while the mother put an extra piece of wood on the brazier.
Iulius set his burdens down and scooped beans, lentils, and grain from one sack into a basket. He dispensed enough to last the family for a week while listening to Phoebe put the woman at ease and talk of children and womanly things. She set one child down and took another, until each had received an embrace and moment in her arms. It was clear the children adored her.
His mouth flattened as he thought of Marcus, so caught up in his own pain that he failed to see the suffering he caused his own mother. And when was the last time Julia had bothered to visit her?
Phoebe gave the woman a new shawl and a small pouch of coins. “This is enough to pay your rent and provide you with a few essentials.”
The young woman began to weep. “Oh, my lady, how can I ever repay you?”
Phoebe cupped her face and kissed one cheek and then the other. “It will not always be like this, Vernasia. When your circumstances change for the better, help someone as I’ve helped you. That will be thanks unto God.”
Phoebe and Iulius left the tenement apartment and walked down the narrow, stinking alley to another tenement closer to the harbor. Prisca lived on the top floor. Her husband had died several weeks before, and Phoebe had been told of the old woman’s dire circumstances by a woman who had sought her out.
“I have heard of how you help widows, my lady. I know of one old woman who needs help desperately. Her name is Prisca. Her son sailed on the Minerva two months ago and won’t be back for a year or more. Her husband worked thirty-three years caulking ships, and he died on the deck of one a few weeks ago. She’s lived in the same apartment for twenty years, but now she’s unable to pay the rent, and the landlord’s going to cast her out in the street. I’d help her if I could, but we’ve hardly enough to feed our own family. I don’t know what’ll become of that poor old woman if someone doesn’t help her. Please, my lady, if you can . . .”
Phoebe had grown very fond of Prisca. The old woman was amusing. The hardness of life hadn’t embittered or cowed her. She sat by the small window, “taking in the air” and watching the activity in the streets below. She was in full possession of her mental faculties, taking in the news of what went on in Ephesus and imparting her own ironic wisdom concerning it. She was too old to worry about propriety and treated Phoebe with the affection and frankness she might have reserved for her own daughter, had she ever had one.
Phoebe tapped at the door and entered when she heard Prisca call out to come in. The old woman was sitting by the open window, her forearm resting on the frame as she peered out. Smiling, Phoebe crossed the room and bent down to kiss her cheek.
“How are you today, Mother Prisca?”
“As well as an old woman of eighty-seven can expect.” She captured Phoebe’s chin as one would a child and studied her with a slight frown. “What’s the matter?”
Phoebe drew back slightly from Prisca’s scrutiny and forced a smile. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“Don’t tell me nothing’s the matter. I’m old. I’m not a doddering fool. Now, why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“Tired and upset.”
Phoebe took the old woman’s hand and patted it as she sat upon a
Prisca glanced up at Iulius and saw the way he watched his mistress, as though she was a precious Corinthian vase about to be shattered. “Very well, change the subject,” she said somewhat testily. “I finished the shawls and gave them to Olympia. She delivered them to the women you mentioned.”
“That’s wonderful. How did you ever finish them so quickly? Iulius only brought you the wool last week.”
“Save your accolades. What else does an old woman have to do with all this time on her hands?” She stood. “Would you like a cup of posca?” The drink, enjoyed by the poor and soldiers, was a refreshing mixture of cheap wine and water.
“Thank you,” Phoebe said. She took the cup and smiled as Prisca poured another for Iulius. Prisca took her seat again, sighing as she relaxed once more.
Phoebe remained an hour. She enjoyed hearing Prisca retell the tales her son had told her from his voyages.
“Decimus always returned home from the sea tanned and full of life,” Phoebe said wistfully. “I used to be jealous of the allure travel had for him. When he was younger, he was so hungry to explore, to open new trade routes, to know what was happening in the farthest reaches of the Empire. Sometimes I’d see this look on his face and I’d feel like an anchor.”
“He loved you, my lady,” Iulius said quietly.
Quick tears came unexpectedly, and she looked away to hide them. Embarrassed by the stillness that fell in the room, she rose. As she turned with a smile, she saw the way Prisca watched her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, seeing the old woman’s eyes were filled with tears as well.
“Don’t be sorry.” Prisca gave a snort. “I’d rather see your honest pain than a brave front.”
Phoebe winced. She bent and kissed the woman’s withered, wrinkled cheek. “You’re a very difficult old lady, do you know that, Prisca?”
“Because I’m not blind and deaf?”
“I’ll see you in a few days.”
Prisca patted her cheek. “Send me more wool.”
On the walk back to the Valerian warehouses, Phoebe said nothing. Her mind was filled to overflowing with memories of Decimus and Marcus and Julia. She wanted to push them away because they brought with them only anguish. She had to accept and not dwell on her losses; she had to go on with what God expected. Love one another, Jesus had told his disciples, and that’s what she was trying to do. Her work was to take care of all those she could with the resources she had available to her.
Past and future were out of her hands. One was finished and couldn’t be undone. The other was beyond imagining. She didn’t want to imagine it. She couldn’t. The pain of losing Decimus was enough. Facing the fact that both her children’s lives were in shambles was too much. She only had this moment, and she must fulfill it worthily. Of what use was it to allow herself regret and grief, to ponder endlessly what she might have done differently? Could she have changed the courses of Marcus’ and Julia’s lives? Could she?
When she had accepted Jesus as her Savior, she had taken his yoke upon her. Now she must be worthy. Love one another, he’d told his apostles and disciples. Love one another, not in word but in deed.
Didn’t that mean do something for others? Surely her work was the will of God.
The litter was waiting at the warehouse. Iulius handed her in and she sank back into the cushions, exhausted. She needed to rest on the ride home so she would be able to make preparations for tomorrow. But rest would not come.
The villa was quiet as she entered. This was the part of each day she dreaded most, coming home to an empty home. She looked across the peristyle to the door of her lararium but turned away. She knew she should pray, but she was too tired even to think.
She went up the stairs and along the open corridor to her bedchamber. She removed her shawl and went out onto the balcony that overlooked Ephesus. At dusk, the city gleamed with colors as the sun struck the Artemision. It was a beautiful structure, amazing in its grandeur. Thousands were lured to the altars of Artemis, clinging to empty promises.
Did Julia still go there?
“I brought you something to eat, my lady,” her maid said from behind her.
“Thank you, Lavinnia,” Phoebe said, not turning around. She had to stop thinking about Julia. What good did it do to go over and over the past, trying to see where she had gone wrong? The last time she had gone to see her daughter, she had been ushered into the triclinium by Primus.
“She’s not feeling well this evening,” he had said, but it was all too clear Julia was drunk. When Julia saw her, she hurled such shocking insults and accusations at her husband that Phoebe was rocked with mortification. Never had she heard anyone speak as her daughter had. Primus stood by with a pained expression, apologizing for her behavior, all of which only seemed to incense Julia more. She cursed him. Ashamed and heartsick, Phoebe had left. Every time she thought of going back, something prevented her. Sometimes it was only a strong sense that she must leave Julia alone to find her own way home.
Julia was lost to her, and so was Marcus. Remembering the purpose of his quest, she wondered if she would ever see him alive again.
She tried to turn her thoughts away from the plight of her own children and concentrate on the needs of the widows she would see tomorrow. She had done everything she could for Marcus and Julia. Dwelling on the past only defeated her chances for changing the future. She had to help those she could and let go of those she couldn’t.
But they were her own children. How could she let go? How could she bear to see the anguish they caused themselves?
Alone and lost in her own sense of failure, Phoebe clutched the iron railing and wept. Somehow she had failed them. She hadn’t loved them enough or taught them what they needed to know to survive in the world. And what could she do about it now? She felt helpless and hopeless.
“I am defeated, Lord. What can I do? O God, what can I do?”
She trembled, her mind in tumult. She pressed her fingertips to her aching temples, remembering Julia running down from the gardens and leaping into her father’s arms when he’d come home from a long trip. She could almost hear her joyous laughter as Decimus swung her up high in the air and then held her close, telling her what a beautiful little girl she had become in the months he’d been gone.
Later, that same daughter had screamed she hated him and wished him dead.
O Jesus, what can I do for my child? What can I do? O God, show me what to do!
A strange weakness came over her, and she sank down. She clung to the railing with her left hand, trying to prevent herself from falling. Sitting on the balcony floor, she leaned heavily against the iron bars. She wanted to call out for her maid, but when she opened her mouth, only an unintelligible sound came. She wanted to pull herself up again but found she had no feeling in her right arm or leg. Fear filled her until all she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating in her ears.
The sun sank slowly, its rosy warmth against her back.
Someone tapped at the door of Phoebe’s chambers. “My lady?”
The door opened slowly, and the maid peered in. Frowning slightly, she entered and crossed the room to where she had placed the tray of food earlier. Nothing had been touched. Lavinnia straightened with the tray and glanced toward the bed. Seeing no one in it, she looked around the room again and then toward the balcony.
Uttering a cry, she dropped the tray. The crash reverberated through the household. “My lady!” Lavinnia cried out, hurrying to Phoebe. Throwing herself onto her knees, she bent over her mistress. “My lady! Oh! My lady!”
Iulius charged into the room and saw the maid weeping hysterically as she bent over Phoebe on the balcony. He ran to her. “What’s happened?” He pushed the girl aside so he could lift Phoebe from the cold tiles.
“I don’t know! I came in to get the tray and saw her lying here.”
“Be quiet, girl!” He carried Phoebe to her bed and
“You’ve worked too hard for too long, my lady. You’ll rest now and be better in a few days,” he said with an assurance he was far from feeling. He was cold with fear for her. He stroked her forehead and wondered if she understood what he was saying. Her face was slack on one side, her eyelid and mouth drooping. She made sounds, but they were beyond recognition. The more she tried, the more distraught she became. Unable to bear it, he put his fingers against her lips.
“Don’t try to talk now, my lady. Rest. Sleep.”
Tears ran down across her cheeks. She closed her eyes.
Lavinnia returned with blankets. Others followed her into the room, servants who loved their mistress and were afraid for her. “Gaius has gone for a physician,” Perenna, the downstairs maid, said. A young man brought more wood for the brazier and set it closer to the bed. The laundress, cooks, and other servants all crowded into the room and stood about the bed, grieving as though Phoebe Valerian were already dead.
The cook’s son, Gaius, brought the physician straight up the stairs and into Phoebe’s bedchamber. Iulius told everyone to leave and then stood by watching the man examine her.
“What’s wrong with her, my lord?” Iulius said after the examination.
The physician didn’t answer. Stepping away from the bed, he looked at Iulius. “Are you in charge here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The physician shook his head. “Nothing can be done.”
“What is it? What’s happened to her?”
“A god has touched her and caused a brain seizure. She doesn’t even know what’s going on around her.”
“You won’t help her?”
“I can’t help her. It’s in the hands of whatever god has placed his hand on her.” He started toward the door, but Iulius blocked his way.
“You’re a physician. You can’t just walk away and leave her like this!”
“Who are you to question me? I know far more about these matters than you do and I tell you there’s nothing that can be done for her. You have two choices. You can try to feed her and keep her alive in hopes the god or goddess who did this to her will relent and remove the curse. Or you can leave her alone and allow her to die with dignity.”