Avenger of Blood (36 page)

“The witch?”

Antony recognized the fear in Rebecca's voice, and it worried him. “Yes, she's been stirring up trouble again. She publicly put a curse on her cousins, Plautius and Sergius. What Tullia predicted didn't happen, but a few weeks later the question of the business permit arose. And then the other members of the congregation started having legal woes as well. Polycarp suspects that when she couldn't achieve the results she wanted with her curses, Tullia started trying to manipulate the courts—same intent to injure, different method of retaliation.

“The church is fasting and praying for relief, but they need legal representation as well. And it goes without saying that most of them can't afford it—not with their livelihoods and property being threatened . . .” He trailed off, realizing he should stop and give Rebecca time to think it over.

For a while she simply stared at the city in the distance, then she finally said, “This is very important to you, isn't it?”

“In a way I suppose it's as important for me to do this as it is for you to have your own house.”

She shook her head sadly. “No, Antony. This is much more important than a house. This is about people. Persecuted people.”

He had tried to keep his feelings neutral as he told her about the situation, but now he leaned toward Rebecca and spoke earnestly. “It's my chance to do something for God by helping His people. I'm a new Christian, and I still have a great deal to learn. I can't preach or teach, I don't even know that much about prayer. But this is something I can do, something that will make a difference.”

Antony paused to rein in his emotions. He wasn't trying to persuade a jury; he was seeking the support of the woman who was about to become his wife, and he shouldn't try to unduly influence her. “I won't go to Smyrna at all if you're not comfortable with the idea, Rebecca. You're far more important to me than my desire to help.”

She was quiet, but Antony read the uncertainty in her face and her posture. “You're upset about this, aren't you?” he finally asked.

“It's not the money,” she said. “We don't have to worry about the lack of income if you take on new clients who can't pay.”

“That's right,” he said with a smile. “
We
have all the money we need.”

Her face relaxed enough to return the smile. “And don't you forget it.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head but didn't respond. She was still thinking it through, and he wanted her to have the time she needed.

“As much as I'd miss you,” she said, “it's not the separation that concerns me. It just worries me, your being in Smyrna . . . going against Tullia . . .”

That was the thing that concerned Antony too, more than he wanted to admit. The legal aspects, while unfamiliar, were not daunting. But the spiritual aspects of the situation would be uncharted territory for him.

Rebecca let out a long sigh. “But who will help them if you don't?”

“I don't know,” he said. “And I don't like to think about the consequences of not doing whatever I can.”

“Then you must help.” Her decision made, she straightened and turned to face him. “How long will you be gone?”

“I can't really say. It depends on how complicated the cases are, how congested the courts are . . . But Smyrna is only a day's journey. I can spend time here too.”

He rose and held out a hand to pull Rebecca up. When she stood, she looked around her for a moment, and he knew she was thinking of the house he'd promised her.

“We'll start building right away,” he said. “Peter will help me oversee the construction. One of the church members is a stone mason, you know. Peter says his work is excellent. If we have a mild spring, we can probably complete the house this summer, and by that time my work in Smyrna should be finished. I know it means waiting a while, which I really don't like, but it will be worth it. And as soon as the house is ready, we can get married—”

Rebecca put a hand to his chest to stop the torrent of speech. “You've made your argument, counselor, and the jury is convinced.”

He smiled sheepishly as she looked up at him tenderly and said, “I'm content to wait for you, Antony, as long as it takes. Go to Smyrna and do what you have to do.”

30

April, A.D. 97

IT WAS A SMALL TRIUMPH, Jacob decided, getting Livia to wait an additional week to be married. He wasn't sure why he insisted—perhaps just to prove he could be as stubborn and strong-willed as his bride. Or perhaps to give her an opportunity to reconsider; Jacob still found it difficult to believe she could love him as much as she did.

But Livia never wavered in her decision, not even for a moment, and on the last Sunday morning in March the two of them stood before a handful of fellow Christians and exchanged their vows. The believers in Cappadocia were not as well organized as the ones in Ephesus, and the church groups were much smaller. Even so, Jacob could recall the names of only one or two people at the wedding; he had seldom attended worship with Gregory and Livia in the months he had been living with them—a lapse he now regretted and intended to rectify.

As he stood with Livia in front of the congregation, his heart swelled with love and pride. She had never looked more beautiful. The elaborately embroidered tunic she wore fell just below her knees. “It was my mother's,” she had told him, “and she was a lot shorter than I am.” For the sake of modesty, Livia wore a pair of thin, flowing trousers under the tunic. The ensemble would probably have looked ridiculous on another woman, but on Livia it was somehow appropriate and elegant.

She had swept her ink-black hair away from her high forehead with a gleaming braid of copper and gold strands—something she had designed herself, no doubt—and it emphasized her large, expressive eyes. She had fashioned the earrings as well. The long dangles of amber swung whenever she turned her head. Standing close to her now, Jacob could see the delicate fuzz along the soft lobes of her ears. She smelled of sandalwood and cassia, a spicy-sweet blend, and he found the familiar fragrance suddenly intoxicating. Afterward Jacob would not be able to recall any details about the short ceremony, but he would long remember that his senses were so overwhelmed, he had trouble catching his breath.

That afternoon Gregory left to visit a cousin of sorts who lived on the other side of Caesarea. Jacob was grateful for the opportunity to enjoy a few days of privacy with his bride, yet relieved when Gregory returned on Thursday, before the newlyweds could starve to death. Livia's cooking skills were rudimentary, to put it charitably.

Life quickly settled into a comfortable routine. Jacob left for work early each morning and returned by midafternoon. He had finished paying off the horse several weeks earlier, and now that he had completed the shed, he rode the chestnut to and from Pomponius's.

Gregory tended to the house and worked in his garden, while Livia occupied herself with her designs. On market days they took some of Livia's work into Caesarea and sold it. Jacob was happy and content and surprised at how much pleasure he took in this simple, quiet life. He enjoyed being married to this outspoken, unconventional beauty who had declared her love when he'd been unable to sort out his own feelings.

Jacob also enjoyed not worrying about where Damian was or what he was doing. It occurred to Jacob that he finally felt liberated, as if his imprisonment had at long last come to an end, even though he had officially been set free eighteen months ago. For most of that time, however, Jacob knew he had locked himself in a prison of his own making.

In spite of his happiness now, something lurked in the back of Jacob's mind. He felt guilty that his family didn't know where he was. They would be worried about him, and angry with him, and Jacob certainly couldn't blame them. But he had no way to get a letter to his family without hiring a private carrier, and he no longer had the resources for luxuries like that.

If it had been mere homesickness or worry about his family, Jacob would have put it out of his mind. But what truly nagged at him was the thought that he was not providing for Livia. He brought a modest amount of income into the family from his tutoring, but her designs brought in much more money. He was comfortable in the cave house, and she was too—Livia had never once said a word about wanting anything more than what she had. Yet it was within Jacob's power to give her more—much, much more—and he longed to do so.

That would mean going back to Ephesus. How could he uproot Livia from the only home she had ever known? And he certainly couldn't take her away from Gregory, her only living relative. Jacob could ask Livia's uncle to go with them, of course, but would Gregory leave everything he owned and move halfway across the Empire?

For several weeks Jacob prayed about this without saying anything to his wife or her uncle. Before Jacob could decide which one of them he should approach first, the idea of moving to Ephesus came up without his mentioning it.

It happened one mild spring afternoon when Jacob escaped the confines of the cave house to spend some time outdoors. He would not have admitted it if questioned, but his primary motivation was to escape the daily cooking lesson. Livia had decided she lacked the requisite domestic skills to be a suitable wife and had been badgering Gregory to teach her to cook. So far the results had been abysmal. Livia, for all her innate intelligence and artistic talent, had no natural ability in the kitchen, and Gregory, who cooked by instinct and inspiration, evidently lacked the patience to impart his years of experience.

Jacob spent some time grooming the chestnut, and when he came out of the shed, he heard voices drifting out of the window above him. The first voice belonged to Gregory, who was shouting, “How can you cook a proper stew if you don't even know the difference between cumin and coriander!”

Livia shouted back, “How am I supposed to know the difference if no one ever told me?”

“I told you yesterday!”

“Well, tell me again. I'm new at this . . .”

Listening to the yelling, Jacob winced. He wondered how long the two of them would keep at it before they realized this experiment was doomed to failure. Perhaps he should encourage Livia to get back to her work and leave the kitchen to Gregory.

In a few minutes, Gregory scuttled down the ladder and stalked off to his garden. Jacob let the older man work some of his frustration off, then he went over to him.

“I'd offer to help, but I'm not sure I can tell the herbs from the weeds,” he said.

“And I'm not of a mind to show you,” Gregory replied curtly. Then he rocked back on his heels, still holding a fistful of weeds, and looked up at Jacob. “Sorry,” he said, “I'm just dismayed to discover that I'm not much of a teacher.”

“Perhaps your pupil simply doesn't have an aptitude for the subject.”

“My niece has drive and determination, I'll give her that. But when it comes to the kitchen, she's as lost as a goose in a snowstorm.” Gregory shook the clumps of soil from his hands, then stood to his feet. “I should have taught her to cook years ago. I failed her in that.”

“You taught her other things,” Jacob said. “And you gave her the freedom to develop her true talent. I wouldn't call that failure.” Jacob shaded his eyes against the late-afternoon sun and looked up at the house. “Perhaps I should have a talk with her, let her know she doesn't have to learn to cook just to please me—if that's what she's doing. I don't expect that—it's not like I married Livia for her cooking.”

“It's a good thing, too.” Gregory sat down on the rough wooden bench at the edge of the garden and motioned for Jacob to join him. “You'd waste away to nothing if you had to live on what she's able to cook.”

Gregory quickly turned his head to cough. He'd been doing more of that lately, Jacob realized. During the winter Gregory had been sick with a cough and fever; he had recovered after a few days, but the cough had lingered for a while longer. Gregory had finally cured it with some kind of aromatic brew of dried herbs. He was known as a healer, and some of the townspeople sought his advice about herbal medicines for various ailments.

The last few nights, though, after they had gone to bed, Jacob had heard Gregory wheezing in the other room. Jacob had even asked Livia if they should go check on him.

“He'll be fine,” Livia had said. “He gets spells like this at night sometimes, but they always pass. And he'll just get angry if you make a fuss over him.”

Jacob looked at Gregory now and wondered if it was time to make a fuss anyway. “Your cough is back,” Jacob said.

“We had a late spring.” Gregory tilted his head toward the garden. “In a few weeks, I'll have a fresh supply of medicine.” He talked for a while about the various herbs he'd planted and their uses. “Fennel and sage are good for failing eyesight. Anise or mint will get rid of indigestion. And I'm sure you're familiar with the benefits of a mustard plaster.”

Jacob laughed. “I'm familiar with the smell and the awful heat; I never was convinced of the benefits.”

Gregory laughed too, and it caused him to cough again. As the spasm subsided, he drew out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and Jacob was shocked to see a spot of bright red on the cloth.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Gregory said.

Jacob did not reply. He was still too stunned by the realization that Gregory was coughing up blood.

“Jacob?” Gregory asked.

Jacob forced himself to quit staring at the handkerchief and answer. “Sorry. What did you want to tell me?”

As casually as if he'd been talking about the weather, Gregory said, “I've been thinking that you should take Livia to Ephesus. To live, I mean.”

“You do?” Jacob could not have been more surprised. He had never expected that Gregory or Livia would suggest moving to Ephesus. But he'd never suspected that Gregory could be seriously ill, either.