A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers
Hadassah prayed for Julia more than all the others combined, for God had given her Julia to serve, and Julia lay victim to the strongest character traits of all. She was possessor of a will equal to her father’s, a loyalty fiercer though less selective than her mother’s, and passion as hot as Marcus was reputed to have.
Reclined on the couch with Octavia, Marcus suffered her flirtation. She moved and brushed her hip against his. He smiled sardonically and took a wedge of egg, dipping it into goose liver. She had all the subtlety of a yowling she-cat.
He wondered what Arria was doing to while away the evening. She’d been angry when he informed her his father refused to invite her to the wedding or to the festivities afterward. She’d been even more furious when she learned Drusus and Octavia would be attending. She thought Drusus nothing more than a plebeian blessed by Fortuna. Like Marcus’ father, Drusus had bought his Roman citizenship and respectability.
“Your father doesn’t think I’m good enough for you, does he?” Arria had said yesterday as they were together after attending the games.
“He thinks most young women these days are too free- spirited.”
“A polite way of saying he considers me little better than a common harlot. Does he think I corrupted you, Marcus? Could he not guess it was the other way around?”
Marcus laughed. “Your reputation far preceded mine. It was one of the reasons I pursued you so madly, to find out what all the talk was about!” He kissed her lingeringly.
She wouldn’t drop the subject, however. “What does Julia have to say to all these arrangements?”
Marcus sighed impatiently. “She has accepted the inevitable,” he said, trying to keep the grimness from his voice.
“Poor girl. I pity her.” There was a tinge of mockery in her tone that grated on Marcus. “She’ll be little better than a chattel once the vows are declared and far wafers exchanged before the priests. She’ll have no rights whatsoever.”
“Claudius won’t abuse her.”
“Nor excite her.”
Marcus watched Claudius and his sister on the first couch. It was obvious Claudius was enthralled. He studied everything Julia did with a raptness that announced to everyone present he was in love. Julia was giddy, not because she was happy over her marriage, but because Enoch was keeping her goblet filled with honeyed wine. Drunk, she’d feel no pain—nor pleasure.
Hadassah stood nearby as she always did, serenity amidst chaos. Her gaze traveled over the family and guests. Watching her, Marcus guessed at her feelings for each—concern for his father, admiration for his mother, tenderness for Julia, curiosity about Claudius.
What did she feel for him?
He hadn’t spoken with her since the evening he had watched her pray, although wherever Julia was, Hadassah was there, too. He never heard her speaking more than a word or two, yet Julia said Hadassah frequently told amusing stories about her people. She related a story of a slave’s baby who was left in the bulrushes of the Nile, then found and reared by a royal princess. Another tale centered on a Jewess who became queen of Persia and saved her people from annihilation, and yet another told of a man of God who was cast into a den of lions, yet survived an entire night unharmed. Marcus considered the girl’s tales nothing more than simple stories to while away a long, dull afternoon. Yet, as he watched her, he almost wished he could escape this celebration and go into the garden with her to hear her stories himself. Would she tell him one, or would she sit in the moonlight trembling in fear of him as she had the last time they had been there?
She felt his gaze and glanced his way, her dark eyes brushing his briefly in question. He lifted his hand slightly and she came to him immediately. “Yes, my lord?”
Her voice was soft and sweet. She wore her slave expression, dutiful, emotionless. He was unaccountably irritated. “Do you still pray at night in the garden?” he said, forgetting Octavia’s presence beside him on the couch.
“Jews pray everywhere,” Octavia said derisively. “Little good that it does them.”
Marcus’ mouth tightened when Hadassah’s expression became even more veiled. He wished he hadn’t asked anything so personal, at least not within the hearing of another. Octavia went on with her derision of Jews. He paid no heed. “What is on the cena menu, Hadassah?” he said as though that had been his sole interest in beckoning her. Why had he?
She spoke without inflection, reciting the items that would be brought out for the main course. “Roasted fallow deer, lamprey from the Straits of Sicily, turtle dove stuffed with pork and pine kernels, truffles, Jericho dates, raisins, and apples boiled in honey, my lord.” It was the same tone Bithia used when speaking to him in front of his mother. When they were alone, though, Bithia’s voice was far richer and deeper.
He looked at the fine shape of Hadassah’s mouth, the slender column of her throat where her pulse beat wildly, and then into her eyes again. She didn’t move, but he felt her withdraw. Did she see him as a lion and she the prey? He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. “You’ll be accompanying Julia to Capua?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He felt a sense of loss and it annoyed him. He lifted his hand slightly, dismissing her.
“She’s very homely. Whyever did your mother buy her for Julia?”
Homely? Marcus looked at Hadassah again as she took her place at the wall. Plain, perhaps. Quiet, certainly. Yet, there was a loveliness about Hadassah he couldn’t define. Something that transcended the physical. “She’s totally without conceit.”
“As any slave should be.”
“And is your Ethiopian?” he said dryly.
Octavia felt the barb and changed the subject. Dipping his fingers into the goose liver, Marcus allowed Octavia’s conversation to roll over him. Her mind was on the games. She knew more than a lady should about several gladiators. After a few minutes, he tired of her again and listened to the conversation going on around him, but he could feel little interest in Claudius’ vineyards and orchards.
The main course was served, and he found himself watching Hadassah again as she removed the platter of sow’s udders and placed another of fallow deer before Julia and Claudius. No one seemed to notice her at all—no one except him—and he felt her presence with every fiber of his being.
Was it only that he was bored and looking for distraction? Any distraction? Or was there really something extraordinary about her, something beneath the surface commonness? He wondered every time he saw her.
When she removed the tray of appetizers from his table, he watched her strong, slender hands. As she walked away, his gaze flickered over the gentle sway of her slender hips. Six months in their possession had changed the emaciated little Jewess child into a nubile young woman with beautiful, mysterious dark eyes.
He knew that Hadassah was around the same age as Julia, which would make her fifteen or sixteen. What ran through her mind as she saw her mistress wed? Did she long for a husband and family of her own? It wasn’t uncommon for slaves in a household to marry. Was there anyone in this household that caught Hadassah’s interest? Enoch was the only Jew, and he was old enough to be her father. The other Jewish slaves Father had purchased had been sent to the country estate.
Hadassah adjusted the tray before Julia so that the choicest morsels were within easy grasp. As she bent over, Marcus looked at her slender ankles and small sandaled feet. He closed his eyes. She had survived the destruction of her country and her people. She had marched a thousand miles over some of the harshest terrain in the Empire. She had seen and experienced things he could only imagine, if he wanted to—and he didn’t.
The soothing music was getting on his nerves. He couldn’t get it out of his mind that Hadassah would be going to Capua with his sister. What did it matter if she did? What was she to him but a slave in his father’s household, a slave who served his sister?
Bithia danced then, distracting him briefly with her undulating movements and the swirling of colorful veils. She aroused Drusus, if not the s
Musicians played as a poet recited, and the last course was served—sweet wine cakes and dates stuffed with nuts. It was only in this household that Marcus felt powerless. He was still beneath the auspices of his tyrannical father; he was a son, not a man in his own right. He had a fierce will of his own, cause for their frequent battles, and though Marcus knew death would someday make him victor, it wasn’t the sort of victory he eagerly awaited.
Though they seldom got along, he loved his father. They were too much alike, flint against flint. Decimus had clawed his way up from seaman to wealthy merchant. He now had a sizable fleet. Discontent with the status quo, Marcus wanted to go further. He wanted to take the fortune his father had made and diversify, to spread the wealth through other enterprises and provinces so the family fortune didn’t rest upon the good will of Neptune or Mars alone. Thus far his father had resisted and held tight rein, even though Marcus had made considerable profits from the six ships his father had given him to manage. He’d invested those profits in lumber, granite, marble, and building construction. And he toyed with the idea of investing in the noble horses that were bred for the races.
At twenty-one, he had been successful and respected by his peers. By twenty-five, he’d surpass his own father in wealth and position. Perhaps then, and only then, Decimus Valerian would see that tradition and archaic values must give way to progress.
Hadassah returned to the kitchen, dismissed by Claudius for the evening. She had seen the look in Julia’s eyes: a flicker of anger that he would dare dismiss her personal maid . . . and then a wide-eyed virgin’s fear.
Sejanus set Hadassah to work washing pots and cooking utensils. He sent the other two slave girls to clear the tables in the dining room now that the guests had adjourned for the night. “I suppose you’ll have to cleanse yourself in purer waters after you’ve washed those pots,” he said, still smarting from Enoch’s remarks. “Just your hands,” he added, “or will you have to wash from head to foot as well, just to make sure you’re a nice clean little Jewess again?”
She bit her lip and looked back at him, hearing the hurt behind his cutting question. “I’m sorry you were insulted, Sejanus.” She smiled at him, wishing he could understand. “Everything looked and smelled delicious. Julia and the others enjoyed every bite.”
Sejanus took the pot she had washed and hung it up. “Why should you apologize for what he said?”
“Enoch is bound by the law. If he hadn’t thought I was about to break it, he would have said nothing.”
Mollified, Sejanus watched her wash the utensils, then dry and put them away. He liked this young slave girl. Unlike the others, who had to be told what to do, Hadassah saw what needed doing and did it. The others took their time in performing their duties, grumbling over everything. Hadassah grumbled about nothing and served as though it was her delight. She learned quickly and even assisted the others as time permitted.
“There’s plenty left,” he said. “Bithia and the other girls have had their fill and gone to bed. The musicians and everyone else have eaten—all except Enoch, may he die of constipation. Sit down and eat something. All you’ve taken tonight is bread. Have some cheese and some wine.” He sat down on the bench across the table. “Try a sow’s udder. I know you’ve never had anything so good in your life. What harm can it do?”
None, Hadassah knew, not from the viewpoint of whether it would defile her. It wasn’t what she put in her mouth that would defile her, but what proceeded from her mouth, be the words unkind, slanderous, gossipful, boastful or blasphemous. Yet, she couldn’t eat of this food because Enoch, who still lived beneath the Jewish law, abhorred it. He had saved her from the arena. He had brought her here to this beautiful house, to these people she had come to love. He was a brother of her race. To eat this would dishonor and insult him; she couldn’t do it no matter how much her mouth watered for a small taste.
Yet, she counted Sejanus a friend as well, and to refuse to sample what he had worked so hard to create would hurt him. She looked back into his face and saw this was a test of her loyalty. Enoch was abrasive, proud, and self-righteous at times, but he had proven himself compassionate and brave, risking himself to save her and the six men he had brought back to this house. Sejanus was equally proud and quick to take offense. He was also generous and free-spirited, telling jokes to the slave girls as they worked.
The food smelled so delicious that her stomach cramped from hunger. She hadn’t eaten since early morning. The temptation to eat of these delicacies was strong, but Enoch mattered too much to her.
“I cannot,” she said in apology.
“Because of your accursed law,” he said in disgust.
“I’m fasting, Sejanus.” He would understand that. Even pagans fasted.
“For Julia,” he said. “Is it not enough that you pray for her constantly? Why forsake your food as well? Fasting won’t soften her heart. Not even a dozen blood sacrifices would accomplish that!”
She turned away and washed the remaining utensils, unwilling to listen to his criticism of her mistress. Julia had faults. She was selfish and conceited. She was also young and beautiful and vibrant. Hadassah loved her and was afraid for her. Julia was so desperate to be happy.
Hadassah had never been among people like the Valerians, who had so much and yet so little. They needed the Lord, and yet she lacked the courage to tell them of the miraculous and wondrous things she knew. She tried, but the words stuck in her throat; fear kept her silent. Every time an opportunity came, she remembered the arenas along the way from Jerusalem; she heard again the screams of terror and pain that sometimes haunted her nights. Not a member in this household would believe her father had died and been raised up by Jesus, not even Enoch, who knew God. What they would do is condemn her to death.
Why did you spare me, Lord? I’m useless to them, she thought in despair.
True, she told Julia stories her father had told her in Galilee. But Julia was merely entertained. She heard no lessons in them. How could Julia choose the truth if she had not the ears to hear it? How could she seek Christ if she felt no need for a Savior? Despite the stories Hadassah had told her, stories from Scripture of God’s intervention for his people, Julia didn’t understand. She was convinced that each individual was placed on this earth to grasp all she could and do as she wished. Not only did Julia feel no need of a Savior, she did not want one.
Hadassah saw the wealth and comfort the Valerians enjoyed as a curse on them. Because of those things, they felt no need for God. They were warm, well fed, and beautifully clothed and sheltered. They enjoyed rich entertainment and were served by a large retinue of slaves. Only Phoebe worshiped a god at all, and her devotion was to stone idols who could give nothing back to her, least of all peace and joy.
Hadassah shook her head sadly. How do you reach people who feel no need or desire for a Savior? she wondered. God, what do I do to make them see that you are here in their garden, that you dwell in their house, if not in their hearts? I am helpless. I am a coward. I am failing Julia, Lord. I am failing them all. Beneath the smiles and laughter, they are lost. Oh God, how great thou art. Not all the gods and goddesses of Rome can raise one soul from the dead as you have done. And yet they will not believe.
“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Sejanus said, coming over to her. He had watched the distressed expressions crossing her face for the last few minutes and felt he was to blame. He had little regard for Julia—too often he had heard her screaming in a fit of rage, her pretty young face distorted by savage emotion. Yet, for some unaccountable reason, this slave girl loved her and served her with fond devotion. “You needn’t worry about Julia,” he said, trying to sound comforting. “She’ll find her own way.”
“But will her way bring her peace?”
“Peace?
“He doesn’t seem content.”
“Is anyone in this world content? Only fools and the dead are content.”
Hadassah finished the chores Sejanus had asked of her and looked for something else to do for him. Together they cleaned the counters, disposed of the leftover food, and washed and polished the platters and put them away. Sejanus talked proudly of Greece.
“Romans own the world, but they envy Greeks. Romans only know how to make war. They know nothing of beauty and philosophy and religion. What they don’t steal, they imitate. Our gods and goddesses, our temples, our art and literature. They study our philosophers. They may have conquered us, but we’ve remolded them.”
Hadassah heard the pride mingled with resentment.
“Did you know the master was born in Ephesus?” Sejanus said. “He was the son of a poor merchant near the docks. By his own wits, he made himself into a great man. He purchased his Roman citizenship. It was a wise move,” he said, excusing the disloyalty. “By doing so, he avoided certain taxes and gained social advantages for himself and his family.”
Hadassah was aware of some of those advantages. The apostle Paul had been released from prison more than once because of his Roman citizenship. And, if one must die, it was better to die swiftly by a sword than by hanging on a cross. Roman citizens were executed with mercy. Paul had been beheaded while Peter, a Galilean, had been crucified upside down after having been made to watch as his wife was tortured and murdered.