As Sure as the Dawn by Francine Rivers
He explained about Adam and Eve’s encounter with Satan in the same way Theophilus had explained to him, but she laughed.
“A neat but ludicrous story, Atretes. No wonder the men won’t believe you.”
“What’s ludicrous about it?”
She pretended surprise that he would even ask. “You can’t be so easily swayed,” she said, widening her eyes in dismay. “Think about what you’re telling us. Why should we feel guilty for the choice made by a man and woman thousands of years ago in a place you’ve never seen or even heard of? Were you there? No. Was I? No. Would you have stood by while your wife was being seduced? I have a hard time imagining it, but then . . .” She paused deliberately as though something unpleasant had occurred to her. She let her gaze drift toward the woods where the Roman was finishing his grubenhaus.
Glancing up, she saw Atretes’ gaze drift as well. He was a passionate man and a possessive one. It wouldn’t be too difficult to arouse his suspicions about his Roman friend and the fidelity of that little black-eyed Ionian witch.
Atretes frowned. Where was Rizpah? He had sent her outside, expecting her to return when Caleb calmed down. She had been gone for more than an hour. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone with a man, even Theophilus.
Anomia saw with growing irritation that she was forgotten. When he started to walk away, she reached out quickly and placed her hand lightly on his arm. “Where are you going, Atretes?”
“To find my wife.”
She saw how much he wanted to find her, and a surge of jealousy heated her blood. What did he see in that olive-skinned foreigner? “She’s in the woods with that Roman friend of yours,” she said, planting a seed.
Atretes didn’t like the way she said it. What game was she playing?
“One more question, Atretes, about this idea of some vague sin of which we’re supposedly guilty. Why do you think a Roman would want you to believe such things?” she said, pouring water on the seed she had planted. Looking up into Atretes’ handsome face, she offered up a silent prayer to Tiwaz that doubt would take root and spread.
Let Atretes turn from that outsider and come to me! Bring your minions to bear upon him. Make him mine!
Atretes patted her hand distractedly. “We’ll talk another time,” he said and walked away.
Anomia stared after him, lips parted, hands curling into fists.
* * *
Atretes strode down the village main street.
“She’s in the woods with that Roman friend of yours.”
He was annoyed that one remark could set his thinking on such a dark path. Rizpah had given him no reason to doubt her fidelity, nor had Theophilus. Yet one blatantly false comment sent his imagination flying! He knew what Anomia was trying to do, but knowing didn’t help. In the space of an instant, he had seen his wife in Theophilus’ grubenhaus, lying on the earthen floor, entangled . . .
A growling sound came from deep in his throat. He shook his head, trying to shake the thought out. Rizpah was nothing like Julia. It would never even occur to her to marry one man and have another as a lover. Yet he felt an urgency to find them, to set his mind at rest.
Nothing had gone the way he’d thought it would when he returned home. He had expected resistance to the new faith he brought, but he hadn’t expected other feelings to creep in. He looked around the village of rough-hewn buildings, dirty children running naked in the streets, and remembered the cobbled streets and marble halls of Rome. He sat in the longhouse, smelling the unwashed bodies of his kinsmen and remembered the pristine Roman baths filled with the aromas of scented oils. He listened to Varus and the others, drunk and shouting for the sake of argument, and thought about the long hours of quiet, yet invigorating discussion he had with Theophilus. Eleven years! Eleven long, grueling years he had dreamed of coming home. And now he was . . . and he didn’t belong.
He was more comfortable with Theophilus, a Roman, than he was with his own kinsmen. It disturbed him. It made him feel he was betraying his people, his heritage, his race.
He walked along the path and saw the clearing ahead. Theophilus sat near a small cook fire, sharing a meal with Caleb. He was talking, Rizpah, sitting opposite, listened intently. It was an innocent enough scene, two friends sharing a meal together, carrying on conversation, comfortable with one another. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did.
Theophilus saw him first and called a greeting.
Rizpah turned her head and rose. She smiled at him, and he felt the punch of desire, like a fist in his gut. And he felt something more. He knew, without a doubt, that he could trust her. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I wondered where you were,” he said roughly.
“Dada . . . Dada . . .” Caleb waved a partially chewed rabbit leg at him.
He laughed, relaxing, Anomia’s words completely forgotten.
“Isn’t this nice?” Rizpah said. “It’s so quiet, you can hear the birds singing. You have to see the inside of Theophilus’ house.” She wove her fingers with his. “Come look.”
Atretes had to duck his head to enter, but could stand straight once inside. Theophilus’ grubenhaus was larger than the others in the village, the structure overhead strong. “Good work, Theophilus!” he called back through the doorway. “You build like a German!”
Theophilus laughed in response.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a home like this ourselves?” Rizpah said, letting go of him and turning full circle. Atretes glanced at her and saw a longing he hadn’t noticed before. The quiet enfolded them again. All he could hear were the birds outside and the beat of his own heart in his ears.
Atretes watched her move around the sunken room. It would be nice to get out from under Varus’ roof, even if all they had was a canopy of sky over their heads. Just so they could be alone again.
I’ll have to do what I can about our own home, he thought, watching her. A smile quirked his lips. And soon.
* * *
“I think you’re right,” he said, propping his head up on his hand. When she made no answer, he smiled and brushed his fingertips lightly over her lips. “Don’t go to sleep, Liebchen. We have to go back soon.”
“I know. I was just enjoying the quiet.”
Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly. “Were you dreaming about a grubenhaus of our own?”
She touched his hair, a faint frown settling. “It would hurt your mother if you left.”
He noticed she didn’t include herself.
But again, she was right. He lay on his back, staring up through the canopy of pine branches. His mother would be hurt. “Things would be better if Varus would listen to me.”
“Or if you would listen to him.”
He turned his head sharply. “To what? His blind, pigheaded foolishness about Tiwaz?”
“No,” she said gently. “Listen to his fear.”
He snorted. “Varus has never been afraid of anything,” he said, dismissing the possibility.
Rizpah could feel his anger ease slightly. She didn’t want to rouse it again, but had to speak. “The other evening when Theophilus won the match against Rolf, you came back exultant, didn’t you?”
He gave a slight laugh. “Of course. God showed his power is greater than Tiwaz’s.”
“Think what your people must feel.” She turned to him, propping her head up and looking at him. “Weren’t you afraid when the Lord brought me back to life?”
“Terrified,” he said, his mind suddenly clearing with understanding.
“And you were prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“You’d been hearing the gospel from the time we left the Ephesian port, to the catacombs, and along the road over the Alps.” She smiled. “Against your will, most of the time.”
He laughed ruefully. “I couldn’t get away from it.”
“You laugh now, my love, but you weren’t laughing then.”
“No,” he said, remembering. “I didn’t laugh then.” He’d done everything he could to keep from hearing the
gospel. The Word had struck raw nerves, sunk deep, and worried him.
She put her hand on his arm. “Varus and your mother and all the others had never even heard the name Jesus until a few weeks ago.” She watched his face tighten. She gently brushed her fingers across his brow. “God was patient with you, my love. Be patient with them.”
He sat up. “Varus insults God. He mocks him to my face.”
She uttered a quick, silent prayer. “And you didn’t?” she said, reminding him as gently as she could.
Sighing, Atretes closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.
Rizpah rose and knelt behind him. Combing her fingers through his long hair, she kissed him and then began to knead the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders. “Love them, Atretes.”
“It doesn’t come as easily for me as it does for you.”
She thought of Marta calling her children away and Caleb crying because he wanted to play with them. “It’s not easy for me, either, but if we allow anger to reside in us, we’re more guilty than they are because we know the better way. Anger doesn’t achieve the righteousness of God, nor will it open their hearts to hear his Word. Anger stirs up strife. You’ve got to put your anger aside, Atretes. Otherwise, you’ll never hear what Varus and the others are saying to us and what stands in the way to their acceptance of Christ.”
“I can’t sit and say nothing like you do.”
“Speak then, but speak from love.”
“From love,” he said drolly. Shrugging off her hands, he rose and stepped away from her. “Your way takes too long. My people have to accept the truth now, before it’s too late.”
“It’s not my way, Atretes. It’s the Lord’s way. Remember what we’ve been taught. ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love isn’t the easy way. It’s an act of will to follow Jesus. If you love Jesus, you must do his will. And his will is that we love others as he first loved us.”
“I can’t.”
“No,” she said. “You can’t.”
Atretes shook his head, annoyed because he didn’t understand her. “First you say I must, then agree I can’t. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to understand, and I haven’t the right words to explain. I’m not like Theophilus, so knowledgeable with Scripture. But I know what the Lord tells me.”
“What does God tell you?”
“It’s not our love that will reach Varus. It’s Christ’s love. We have to decide to listen to the Lord each time a situation arises where our own pride wants to take control.”
“So you’re saying I should ignore Varus’ insults?”
“Yes.”
“Say nothing when he mocks God?”
“Yes.”
“Be kind,” he sneered.
“Yes.”
“Varus needs to learn respect, if not for God, then at least for me as his older brother and a chief of the Chatti.”
She saw the anger building in his eyes, the self-defense, the pride. But she couldn’t let it go. She couldn’t leave things as they were. She was concerned for Varus and Freyja and the others, but more concerned for what she saw happening to Atretes.
“Atretes, how can you hate your brother and still love God?”
He frowned, deeply troubled by her words.
Rizpah saw and prayed, Let him hear, Lord. She rose and came closer. “If you hold anger against Varus, you contend with God. The longer you hold on to your anger, the greater it becomes. The more room you give to anger, the less you have for the Lord, until finally there won’t be any room for him at all in your life.” She blinked back tears. She wanted desperately for him to understand. “Don’t you see? You can’t serve two masters.”
Hearing the tremor in her voice, Atretes looked at her. His heart softened as he saw tears welling in her eyes. He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’re too soft.”
“The way before us is hard, but straight.” She placed her hand over his. “When you love Varus, you serve the Lord,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “When you fight with him, you serve Tiwaz.”
“You’d forgive them anything, wouldn’t you?”
“The Lord forgave me everything.”
As God has forgiven me, Atretes thought, believing his crimes a thousand times worse than hers. He pulled her close. “I’ll try,” he said softly and kissed her hair. All the tension left him when she put her arms around him. He raised his head and looked to heaven. “I will try.”
39
Anomia’s heart quickened as she watched Atretes walk down the street. He had been in a dark, unsettled mood when he left her this afternoon. He had been afflicted with the doubts she had planted. Now, barely a few hours later, he returned smiling, his arm draped around that Ionian witch who held their son in her arms!
His laughter set her nerves on edge. Envy poured hot poison through her blood. When he leaned down to kiss the foreigner lightly on the temple, she seethed.
Closing her eyes, she strove for control over the storm rising within her. Her body trembled, cold with jealousy.
Tiwaz, god of darkness! Why do you permit this abomination of a marriage to exist? Atretes should belong to me, not her! The child should have been mine. She watched them again through hooded eyes. He was so beautiful, so powerful, so virile. He should be hers.
Atretes brushed a hand lightly over the Ionian’s dark hair and put his arm around her.
Let the woman be racked by disease! Let me rip her heart out and place it on your altar! Atretes belongs to me!
No man she had ever met, among the Chatti or any other tribe, had Atretes’ beauty, strength, or personal aura. Her stomach fluttered, her heart pounding a sickening rhythm of lust for something she craved but was yet beyond her grasp.
Give him to me, Tiwaz! Give me my due!
YOU WILL HAVE WHAT YOU DESERVE.
Tell me what you want me to do and I will do it. Anything. Anything!
They stopped to talk with Marta and were joined by Derek and Elsa. Baby Luisa toddled out of the longhouse and headed straight for Rizpah. Anomia waited smugly for Marta to stop her. When she didn’t, she drew in a harsh breath of fury. The weakling fool said nothing. She just sat at her loom and watched as her child tugged at the Ionian’s skirt. She had warned her!
Laughing, Rizpah stooped and talked to little Luisa. The child clearly had no fear of her. She touched her, and still Marta said nothing. Rizpah kissed Luisa’s cheek and then let the little girl stroke Atretes’ son’s hair as he slept.
Now, Marta spoke. Not to her daughter, but to the Ionian. She even smiled!
Anomia drew back into the shadows of her house. A low growl rose from her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill! Grinding her teeth, she tore the white linen robe she wore.
“She’ll be sorry she didn’t obey me. She’ll be sorry.” She ripped her garment. “She’ll be sorry. I will make her sorry. I’ll make them all sorry!”
Yanking the tattered robe off her shoulders, she flung it aside. Kicking the outer garment aside, she went to the dark corner and knelt at the altar where she prayed to Tiwaz.
Rocking back and forth, she beseeched her dark lord. “Reveal the incantation I need to accomplish my aim. Give me your power so that I can make Marta suffer for her disobedience.”
And knowledge was given her. It entered her mind with a whirring sound like the wings of a thousand locusts. It rose higher like the keening of hungry bats.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes! Give me more. More!”
Charged with the black potency of Tiwaz’s instruction, Anomia trembled. She breathed out an exultant laugh and rose quickly to do her master’s bidding. She knew exactly how to mix the potion and cast the spell.
She went to her shelf, removing ingredients one by one: nightshade, vervain, baneberries, snakeroot, camas, slips of a yew tree, and finally, a small box. Opening it, she took out a cloth pouch. Inside it was the pre
cious mandrake for which she had traded all her amber. She shook the man-shaped root into the palm of her hand where it glowed softly there in the darkness. She held it possessively, stroking it with her thumb. Mandrake had many uses. It protected against battle wounds, cured diseases, brought luck in love, and promoted fertility.
And it could kill.
She placed it carefully on her small worktable and murmured an incantation as she cut off a small portion, and then replaced the mandrake in its hiding place.
All she lacked was fresh blood, but that was easily obtained.
Taking up a razor-sharp knife, she winced as she made a small incision on her right arm. Her blood dripped into a bowl. She put white thyme on the wound before binding it tightly with a strip of clean linen.
She cut and ground the elements and mixed them with her blood. When the potion was ready, she set it in a pot over her small cook fire. She chanted softly until it began to bubble and then removed it, setting the potion aside.
With a sigh of malicious satisfaction, she sat and waited for her hour of darkness to come.
When the moon and stars appeared and the village slept, Anomia took the poisonous brew and crept to Marta’s home. With her fingers she dabbed the potion along the southern base of the dwelling. She whispered the incantation that would give it power. Finishing the task, she hurried back to her own house.
Closing the door behind her, she shut herself into darkness, filled with malicious mirth at what she had done and eager for the horrible results to come.
Tomorrow, Marta would know the cost of infidelity.
But the pain would begin tonight.
Anomia knew Usipi would come, seeking her help, and she would give it graciously. She would tell Marta what was happening to her. Not in words. Just subtle hints that would make the spell more excruciating and terrifying. And delightful. She wanted the undiluted pleasure of watching the pathetic wretch squirm in fear.
O Tiwaz! My god, my god! It feels so good to have power over others. I love it. Give me more. More!
YOU WILL RECEIVE MORE THAN YOU EVER DREAMED.
“Give me Atretes.”
IF YOU BUT SERVE ME.
“A neat but ludicrous story, Atretes. No wonder the men won’t believe you.”
“What’s ludicrous about it?”
She pretended surprise that he would even ask. “You can’t be so easily swayed,” she said, widening her eyes in dismay. “Think about what you’re telling us. Why should we feel guilty for the choice made by a man and woman thousands of years ago in a place you’ve never seen or even heard of? Were you there? No. Was I? No. Would you have stood by while your wife was being seduced? I have a hard time imagining it, but then . . .” She paused deliberately as though something unpleasant had occurred to her. She let her gaze drift toward the woods where the Roman was finishing his grubenhaus.
Glancing up, she saw Atretes’ gaze drift as well. He was a passionate man and a possessive one. It wouldn’t be too difficult to arouse his suspicions about his Roman friend and the fidelity of that little black-eyed Ionian witch.
Atretes frowned. Where was Rizpah? He had sent her outside, expecting her to return when Caleb calmed down. She had been gone for more than an hour. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone with a man, even Theophilus.
Anomia saw with growing irritation that she was forgotten. When he started to walk away, she reached out quickly and placed her hand lightly on his arm. “Where are you going, Atretes?”
“To find my wife.”
She saw how much he wanted to find her, and a surge of jealousy heated her blood. What did he see in that olive-skinned foreigner? “She’s in the woods with that Roman friend of yours,” she said, planting a seed.
Atretes didn’t like the way she said it. What game was she playing?
“One more question, Atretes, about this idea of some vague sin of which we’re supposedly guilty. Why do you think a Roman would want you to believe such things?” she said, pouring water on the seed she had planted. Looking up into Atretes’ handsome face, she offered up a silent prayer to Tiwaz that doubt would take root and spread.
Let Atretes turn from that outsider and come to me! Bring your minions to bear upon him. Make him mine!
Atretes patted her hand distractedly. “We’ll talk another time,” he said and walked away.
Anomia stared after him, lips parted, hands curling into fists.
* * *
Atretes strode down the village main street.
“She’s in the woods with that Roman friend of yours.”
He was annoyed that one remark could set his thinking on such a dark path. Rizpah had given him no reason to doubt her fidelity, nor had Theophilus. Yet one blatantly false comment sent his imagination flying! He knew what Anomia was trying to do, but knowing didn’t help. In the space of an instant, he had seen his wife in Theophilus’ grubenhaus, lying on the earthen floor, entangled . . .
A growling sound came from deep in his throat. He shook his head, trying to shake the thought out. Rizpah was nothing like Julia. It would never even occur to her to marry one man and have another as a lover. Yet he felt an urgency to find them, to set his mind at rest.
Nothing had gone the way he’d thought it would when he returned home. He had expected resistance to the new faith he brought, but he hadn’t expected other feelings to creep in. He looked around the village of rough-hewn buildings, dirty children running naked in the streets, and remembered the cobbled streets and marble halls of Rome. He sat in the longhouse, smelling the unwashed bodies of his kinsmen and remembered the pristine Roman baths filled with the aromas of scented oils. He listened to Varus and the others, drunk and shouting for the sake of argument, and thought about the long hours of quiet, yet invigorating discussion he had with Theophilus. Eleven years! Eleven long, grueling years he had dreamed of coming home. And now he was . . . and he didn’t belong.
He was more comfortable with Theophilus, a Roman, than he was with his own kinsmen. It disturbed him. It made him feel he was betraying his people, his heritage, his race.
He walked along the path and saw the clearing ahead. Theophilus sat near a small cook fire, sharing a meal with Caleb. He was talking, Rizpah, sitting opposite, listened intently. It was an innocent enough scene, two friends sharing a meal together, carrying on conversation, comfortable with one another. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did.
Theophilus saw him first and called a greeting.
Rizpah turned her head and rose. She smiled at him, and he felt the punch of desire, like a fist in his gut. And he felt something more. He knew, without a doubt, that he could trust her. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I wondered where you were,” he said roughly.
“Dada . . . Dada . . .” Caleb waved a partially chewed rabbit leg at him.
He laughed, relaxing, Anomia’s words completely forgotten.
“Isn’t this nice?” Rizpah said. “It’s so quiet, you can hear the birds singing. You have to see the inside of Theophilus’ house.” She wove her fingers with his. “Come look.”
Atretes had to duck his head to enter, but could stand straight once inside. Theophilus’ grubenhaus was larger than the others in the village, the structure overhead strong. “Good work, Theophilus!” he called back through the doorway. “You build like a German!”
Theophilus laughed in response.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a home like this ourselves?” Rizpah said, letting go of him and turning full circle. Atretes glanced at her and saw a longing he hadn’t noticed before. The quiet enfolded them again. All he could hear were the birds outside and the beat of his own heart in his ears.
Atretes watched her move around the sunken room. It would be nice to get out from under Varus’ roof, even if all they had was a canopy of sky over their heads. Just so they could be alone again.
I’ll have to do what I can about our own home, he thought, watching her. A smile quirked his lips. And soon.
* * *
“I think you’re right,” he said, propping his head up on his hand. When she made no answer, he smiled and brushed his fingertips lightly over her lips. “Don’t go to sleep, Liebchen. We have to go back soon.”
“I know. I was just enjoying the quiet.”
Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly. “Were you dreaming about a grubenhaus of our own?”
She touched his hair, a faint frown settling. “It would hurt your mother if you left.”
He noticed she didn’t include herself.
But again, she was right. He lay on his back, staring up through the canopy of pine branches. His mother would be hurt. “Things would be better if Varus would listen to me.”
“Or if you would listen to him.”
He turned his head sharply. “To what? His blind, pigheaded foolishness about Tiwaz?”
“No,” she said gently. “Listen to his fear.”
He snorted. “Varus has never been afraid of anything,” he said, dismissing the possibility.
Rizpah could feel his anger ease slightly. She didn’t want to rouse it again, but had to speak. “The other evening when Theophilus won the match against Rolf, you came back exultant, didn’t you?”
He gave a slight laugh. “Of course. God showed his power is greater than Tiwaz’s.”
“Think what your people must feel.” She turned to him, propping her head up and looking at him. “Weren’t you afraid when the Lord brought me back to life?”
“Terrified,” he said, his mind suddenly clearing with understanding.
“And you were prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“You’d been hearing the gospel from the time we left the Ephesian port, to the catacombs, and along the road over the Alps.” She smiled. “Against your will, most of the time.”
He laughed ruefully. “I couldn’t get away from it.”
“You laugh now, my love, but you weren’t laughing then.”
“No,” he said, remembering. “I didn’t laugh then.” He’d done everything he could to keep from hearing the
She put her hand on his arm. “Varus and your mother and all the others had never even heard the name Jesus until a few weeks ago.” She watched his face tighten. She gently brushed her fingers across his brow. “God was patient with you, my love. Be patient with them.”
He sat up. “Varus insults God. He mocks him to my face.”
She uttered a quick, silent prayer. “And you didn’t?” she said, reminding him as gently as she could.
Sighing, Atretes closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.
Rizpah rose and knelt behind him. Combing her fingers through his long hair, she kissed him and then began to knead the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders. “Love them, Atretes.”
“It doesn’t come as easily for me as it does for you.”
She thought of Marta calling her children away and Caleb crying because he wanted to play with them. “It’s not easy for me, either, but if we allow anger to reside in us, we’re more guilty than they are because we know the better way. Anger doesn’t achieve the righteousness of God, nor will it open their hearts to hear his Word. Anger stirs up strife. You’ve got to put your anger aside, Atretes. Otherwise, you’ll never hear what Varus and the others are saying to us and what stands in the way to their acceptance of Christ.”
“I can’t sit and say nothing like you do.”
“Speak then, but speak from love.”
“From love,” he said drolly. Shrugging off her hands, he rose and stepped away from her. “Your way takes too long. My people have to accept the truth now, before it’s too late.”
“It’s not my way, Atretes. It’s the Lord’s way. Remember what we’ve been taught. ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love isn’t the easy way. It’s an act of will to follow Jesus. If you love Jesus, you must do his will. And his will is that we love others as he first loved us.”
“I can’t.”
“No,” she said. “You can’t.”
Atretes shook his head, annoyed because he didn’t understand her. “First you say I must, then agree I can’t. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to understand, and I haven’t the right words to explain. I’m not like Theophilus, so knowledgeable with Scripture. But I know what the Lord tells me.”
“What does God tell you?”
“It’s not our love that will reach Varus. It’s Christ’s love. We have to decide to listen to the Lord each time a situation arises where our own pride wants to take control.”
“So you’re saying I should ignore Varus’ insults?”
“Yes.”
“Say nothing when he mocks God?”
“Yes.”
“Be kind,” he sneered.
“Yes.”
“Varus needs to learn respect, if not for God, then at least for me as his older brother and a chief of the Chatti.”
She saw the anger building in his eyes, the self-defense, the pride. But she couldn’t let it go. She couldn’t leave things as they were. She was concerned for Varus and Freyja and the others, but more concerned for what she saw happening to Atretes.
“Atretes, how can you hate your brother and still love God?”
He frowned, deeply troubled by her words.
Rizpah saw and prayed, Let him hear, Lord. She rose and came closer. “If you hold anger against Varus, you contend with God. The longer you hold on to your anger, the greater it becomes. The more room you give to anger, the less you have for the Lord, until finally there won’t be any room for him at all in your life.” She blinked back tears. She wanted desperately for him to understand. “Don’t you see? You can’t serve two masters.”
Hearing the tremor in her voice, Atretes looked at her. His heart softened as he saw tears welling in her eyes. He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’re too soft.”
“The way before us is hard, but straight.” She placed her hand over his. “When you love Varus, you serve the Lord,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “When you fight with him, you serve Tiwaz.”
“You’d forgive them anything, wouldn’t you?”
“The Lord forgave me everything.”
As God has forgiven me, Atretes thought, believing his crimes a thousand times worse than hers. He pulled her close. “I’ll try,” he said softly and kissed her hair. All the tension left him when she put her arms around him. He raised his head and looked to heaven. “I will try.”
39
Anomia’s heart quickened as she watched Atretes walk down the street. He had been in a dark, unsettled mood when he left her this afternoon. He had been afflicted with the doubts she had planted. Now, barely a few hours later, he returned smiling, his arm draped around that Ionian witch who held their son in her arms!
His laughter set her nerves on edge. Envy poured hot poison through her blood. When he leaned down to kiss the foreigner lightly on the temple, she seethed.
Closing her eyes, she strove for control over the storm rising within her. Her body trembled, cold with jealousy.
Tiwaz, god of darkness! Why do you permit this abomination of a marriage to exist? Atretes should belong to me, not her! The child should have been mine. She watched them again through hooded eyes. He was so beautiful, so powerful, so virile. He should be hers.
Atretes brushed a hand lightly over the Ionian’s dark hair and put his arm around her.
Let the woman be racked by disease! Let me rip her heart out and place it on your altar! Atretes belongs to me!
No man she had ever met, among the Chatti or any other tribe, had Atretes’ beauty, strength, or personal aura. Her stomach fluttered, her heart pounding a sickening rhythm of lust for something she craved but was yet beyond her grasp.
Give him to me, Tiwaz! Give me my due!
YOU WILL HAVE WHAT YOU DESERVE.
Tell me what you want me to do and I will do it. Anything. Anything!
They stopped to talk with Marta and were joined by Derek and Elsa. Baby Luisa toddled out of the longhouse and headed straight for Rizpah. Anomia waited smugly for Marta to stop her. When she didn’t, she drew in a harsh breath of fury. The weakling fool said nothing. She just sat at her loom and watched as her child tugged at the Ionian’s skirt. She had warned her!
Laughing, Rizpah stooped and talked to little Luisa. The child clearly had no fear of her. She touched her, and still Marta said nothing. Rizpah kissed Luisa’s cheek and then let the little girl stroke Atretes’ son’s hair as he slept.
Now, Marta spoke. Not to her daughter, but to the Ionian. She even smiled!
Anomia drew back into the shadows of her house. A low growl rose from her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill! Grinding her teeth, she tore the white linen robe she wore.
“She’ll be sorry she didn’t obey me. She’ll be sorry.” She ripped her garment. “She’ll be sorry. I will make her sorry. I’ll make them all sorry!”
Yanking the tattered robe off her shoulders, she flung it aside. Kicking the outer garment aside, she went to the dark corner and knelt at the altar where she prayed to Tiwaz.
Rocking back and forth, she beseeched her dark lord. “Reveal the incantation I need to accomplish my aim. Give me your power so that I can make Marta suffer for her disobedience.”
And knowledge was given her. It entered her mind with a whirring sound like the wings of a thousand locusts. It rose higher like the keening of hungry bats.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes! Give me more. More!”
Charged with the black potency of Tiwaz’s instruction, Anomia trembled. She breathed out an exultant laugh and rose quickly to do her master’s bidding. She knew exactly how to mix the potion and cast the spell.
She went to her shelf, removing ingredients one by one: nightshade, vervain, baneberries, snakeroot, camas, slips of a yew tree, and finally, a small box. Opening it, she took out a cloth pouch. Inside it was the pre
And it could kill.
She placed it carefully on her small worktable and murmured an incantation as she cut off a small portion, and then replaced the mandrake in its hiding place.
All she lacked was fresh blood, but that was easily obtained.
Taking up a razor-sharp knife, she winced as she made a small incision on her right arm. Her blood dripped into a bowl. She put white thyme on the wound before binding it tightly with a strip of clean linen.
She cut and ground the elements and mixed them with her blood. When the potion was ready, she set it in a pot over her small cook fire. She chanted softly until it began to bubble and then removed it, setting the potion aside.
With a sigh of malicious satisfaction, she sat and waited for her hour of darkness to come.
When the moon and stars appeared and the village slept, Anomia took the poisonous brew and crept to Marta’s home. With her fingers she dabbed the potion along the southern base of the dwelling. She whispered the incantation that would give it power. Finishing the task, she hurried back to her own house.
Closing the door behind her, she shut herself into darkness, filled with malicious mirth at what she had done and eager for the horrible results to come.
Tomorrow, Marta would know the cost of infidelity.
But the pain would begin tonight.
Anomia knew Usipi would come, seeking her help, and she would give it graciously. She would tell Marta what was happening to her. Not in words. Just subtle hints that would make the spell more excruciating and terrifying. And delightful. She wanted the undiluted pleasure of watching the pathetic wretch squirm in fear.
O Tiwaz! My god, my god! It feels so good to have power over others. I love it. Give me more. More!
YOU WILL RECEIVE MORE THAN YOU EVER DREAMED.
“Give me Atretes.”
IF YOU BUT SERVE ME.