The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 10

  "I think I might have been pushed."

  Lydia gasped. "Pushed? Are you sure?"

  "No, I'm not. But, I'm fairly sure someone replaced my perfectly-functioning mind with mashed grapes."

  "Don't make light of it, please. You could have died."

  "I think that was the point."

  "Who pushed you?"

  "I can't quite hold onto the culprit’s image. A picture starts to form, but dissolves before I can make it out."

  "Why would someone want to kill you?"

  James gingerly fingered the gash atop his head. "A good question, and one I will puzzle over when my head doesn't feel like it's about to explode."

  She swirled the wine and honey around in the cup. "Physician Hama says this will help dull the pain."

  Eyeing the cup with suspicion, James propped himself up on his elbows. "I want to apologize for the thoughtless remarks I made to you and Elizabeth when we were out walking. I don't understand what drives me to be so thoughtless and unkind."

  Lydia brushed back his bangs. "Some matters are hard to explain to ourselves, much less to others."

  "You are thinking about your time in Judas the Zealot's camp."

  She nodded. "Down deep, you have a good heart. I wish you would let go of your anger and allow your goodness to shine through."

  James exhaled heavily and looked away. "I should have done more to protect you and Alexandra from Judas."

  Their guilt over the nightmare they'd survived was a shared bond. "Shhh," Lydia soothed, her eyes going to his mottled scar. "The past is best left in the past." She held up the cup clutched in her hand. "Drink this and rest."

  James downed the wine, lay back, and soon fell into a deep sleep. A short time later the door opened, and Alexandra slipped into the room accompanied by Brynhild.

  Lydia stood. "I'm happy to report James is much better."

  Alexandra crossed the room. They hugged, and Lydia blurted out the questions clamoring through her mind, "Did you speak to Judith? Did she change her mind? Will she allow me to see my son?"

  Her sister sighed and shook her head. "We talked to her all last night and today, and didn't get anywhere."

  Lydia could only manage single-word replies to Alexandra's concern and gentle queries, until Nathan arrived to walk them home. Her mind whirled, inventing and discarding dozens of fruitless plans to run away with little James, even while she assured Alexandra and Nathan she would share the Paschal meal with them the next day and waved goodbye to them outside Cousin Nehonya's home.

  "I know what you're thinking," Brynhild said as soon as the couple was out of hearing.

  Lydia studied her feet. "What choice do I have?"

  "The festival lasts one week. Your sister and brother-in-law promised to do everything in their power to make Judith see reason. Promise me you won't rush off and do something rash."

  "You won't change my mind about going with Kadar to visit little James."

  "Go, if you feel you must."

  Lydia hugged Bryn. "I knew you'd understand."

  "Just don't do anything foolish," Bryn repeated, then frowned. "There's your pretty cousin."

  Gabriel was Cousin Nehonya's oldest son, and a bit of a fancy dresser. He lived close by with his beautiful wife and baby daughter. The yellow hues of the setting sun haloed his regal mane of brown hair. Bejeweled and clothed in rich robes, he could be easily be mistaken for a prince. But never a princess, not with the hint of granite will showing through his elegant surface.

  Gabriel paused at the foot of the porch. "Greetings, Cousin. You are taking the news well. I feared the marriage your father arranged would make you unhappy."

  "News?" Lydia asked.

  Gabriel sobered. "You haven't read Cousin Simeon's letter? I'm sorry, I assumed—"

  A wave of nausea rolled through Lydia. "Your father and mother were visiting with your mother's family when I returned last evening. Excuse me. I'm—" She raced up the stairs, grabbed the door latch, wrenched the door open, and tumbled into the small atrium, where she was greeted with astonished looks from Cousin Nehonya, his wife, Chloe, Elizabeth, and other cousins gathered just inside the doorway.

  "Take a deep breath," Bryn whispered, her sturdy hand cupping Lydia's elbow.

  Cousin Nehonya stared at her and smoothed his robes in much the same way her father did. "You are just in time to join the search."

  Lydia blinked. "Search?" She cleared her throat and tried again. "Gabriel told me you have a letter for me."

  Cousin Nehonya frowned. "Actually, you have two posts. I planned to give you your father's note this morning, but you'd already left the house by the time I arose. The one from your Aunt Sarah arrived a short time ago."

  Lydia clasped her shaking hands. "I'd like to take the letters to my room."

  Cousin Nehonya shook his head. "The bad ne—"

  "The news will have to wait," Cousin Chloe said, shaking her head at her husband.

  Cousin Nehonya cleared his throat. "It is time to begin the search for leaven."

  Lydia finally noticed the oil lamps and feathers the others held. Today was the day all leaven must be removed from one's home in preparation for Pesach. Drat! How had she forgotten?

  "If you will just tell me where the letters are, I will—"

  Cousin Nehonya stopped her with a firm look. "I may not be as fastidious about religious matters as your father, but I take care to keep the commands in the manner of the Sadducees. We don't search the house for leaven for days on end like the Pharisees, but we do make a proper inspection."

  Lydia's shoulders hitched up. "I did not mean to disparage anyone. However, I am anxious to learn what my father and Aunt Sarah have to say."

  "I promise you will have your letters the moment we finish." Cousin Nehonya produced a piece of raised bread and set it on the bench next to the front door. "Now, do you want to search or sweep?"

  Chloe held out a small clay lamp and three slender gray feathers.

  Lydia chose a feather. By far the safer option—tense as she was, she might well set something ablaze.

  Lamps were held up to every nook and cranny of the atrium. Those brandishing the feathers swept up any crumbs revealed by the search.

  "Looks like plain old dust to me," Bryn muttered in Lydia’s ear more than once.

  Lydia shrugged. "We wouldn't even find dust if my cousin was a Pharisee. I remember Goda and the other slaves spent two or three weeks cleaning our house in preparation for Pesach. When I was young, the search for leaven seemed a delightful game. It wasn't until I lived in Egypt that I understood the significance of Pesach. I never felt at home there, and I never stopped asking the Lord to deliver me from Egypt. And he did."

  Bryn snickered. "It does my heart good thinking of you Jews as slaves who bested Pharaoh and escaped from Egypt."

  "I dreamed of celebrating Pesach in Jerusalem once more, but not under such strained circumstances."

  The hunt moved to the main house. Lydia noticed Elizabeth hung back behind everyone else, a habit of hers, most likely stemming from the stigma of her constant bleeding. Lydia wanted to hug Elizabeth or give her a word of encouragement, but feared it would only call more attention to her plight.

  But then Cousin Nehonya waved Elizabeth forward. "Libi, come. I need your help." Affection filled his voice. Libi, meaning my heart in the Hebrew, was the family's pet name for Elizabeth. The only daughter among five sons, she was the apple of her parents’ eyes and much beloved by her brothers.

  The tight lines crossing Elizabeth's face smoothed. She moved to her father's side. Talking and laughing, they worked together, with Nehonya holding the lamp up to dark corners and Elizabeth inspecting for crumbs.

  The noisy procession moved to the bedchambers and Lydia found herself paired with Elizabeth.

  "You have a wonderful family," Lydia said.

  Elizabeth held the oil lamp next to a niche. "They are very good to me."

  Lydia swept her feather over a collection of small vials
and jars. "Your father is nothing like mine. Cousin Nehonya is so warm and generous. My father would have sent me and Alexandra away if—" Lydia cringed over her thoughtlessness. The last thing her cousin needed was someone reminding her of her affliction. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Drat. She almost did it again. "Please forgive my clumsy mouth."

  The glow from the lamp lit Elizabeth's face. "My curse is not something you forget, so there is nothing to forgive. And some good came from the affliction. Your father wouldn't come near me because of it. He shut me up in your bedchamber, where I spent long, dreary days thinking about you and your sister, and the dismal life you must have had, and how blessed I'd been to have a loving, happy family."

  They moved to a tall niche. A striking painting of a blue vase filled with bright yellow flowers adorned the alcove. Lydia's eyes met Elizabeth's. "I forget about the marriage. Everything from that time is still a confused jumble." She swallowed back the foul taste in her mouth and summoned up a smile. "You slept in my room? Did you sleep in the soft bed or the hard one? Alexandra always complained mine was too hard."

  Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. "I alternated between the two, but soon decided it was hopeless. The beds could have been fit for a queen, but I was never going to be comfortable in Simeon Onias's home."

  "I'm so sorry for what you suffered."

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "My father must have apologized a thousand times for agreeing to the marriage, even though I reassured him there was no long-term damage done."

  Lydia stroked the feather across her palm and glanced over at Nehonya Onias. Her father and Nehonya shared the same profile, height, build, and age, but their dispositions couldn't be more opposite. "Why did your father agree to the marriage if he already suspected it would prove dreadful?"

  Elizabeth sighed. "I wondered the same thing, and asked a few times, but it made my father very upset. He wept the last time I brought it up. I decided I can live without the answer."

  A few moments later the family returned to the spot where they'd begun and assembled in front of the bench holding the chunk of raised bread. Sweeping up the crumbs and placing the bread on a spoon for burning, Cousin Nehonya prayed the prayer coming from every home in Jerusalem. "Blessed be Thou who has commanded us to remove the leaven."

  The spoon and feathers were tied together and suspended over a lamp, and Lydia shuddered, as though flames were licking at her own feet, when Cousin Nehonya turned to her. "Do you want me to read the letters to you, or would you prefer to read them by yourself?"

  Lydia closed her eyes briefly. Give me courage, Lord. "I will take them to my room."

  CHAPTER 14

  The crippled slave Saad hobbled into James's drab bedchamber. "The household is leaving for the Temple to observe the Paschal sacrifice. Is there anything you need before I go?"

  James flapped his hand at the offer. "Go. There's no need to fuss over me." Rubbing his aching head, James reexamined his father's high-handed letter informing him he had arranged a most favorable marriage for Lydia to a man from Parthia.

  "The old goat," James muttered. "Advantageous. For Father."

  "The guards Herod posted outside your door will change shifts soon," Saad added.

  James reread his favorite line, "Be prepared to take up your rightful duties as my son, or suffer harsh consequences."

  The slave sighed and the door clicked shut.

  James tossed the parchment aside. "Threaten all you want. It won't do you any good." He had more immediate worries, such as remembering who had tried to kill him.

  The wooden door creaked open again.

  Tired of the constant stream of people tramping in and out of his room, James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Leave me to my peace."

  "Would you like a back rub?" a tinkling voice said.

  James bolted upright, then clutched his spinning head.

  Kitra crossed to his bed. An overpoweringly sweet smell filled the room. "You look lonely," she said with a girlish giggle.

  He pulled the bed cover up over his chest, baring his cold feet.

  Almond-eyed Kitra wet her red lips. "Would you like a foot rub instead?"

  The sheer ivory gown Cypros's niece wore hugged every last one of her mouthwatering curves. "What are you doing here?" James croaked, hiking his knees to his chin.

  Kitra fluttered her long lashes. "I thought we should get to know each other better."

  He should send her from the room, tell her he had no interest. Except her lush body practically had a sign on it, saying enter here. He swallowed hard. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to sit beside me."

  "I had a feeling we would get along just fine," Kitra purred, climbing onto the bed. She nudged her rounded bottom against his rigid thigh. "I told my father he shouldn't give up hope of having a master builder for a son-in-law."

  James sucked in a strained breath. "Kiss me, and we'll find out if we suit."

  "I'll need you to teach me. I've never kissed a man."

  James didn't believe it for a moment. Kitra was no innocent. She was the embodiment of the foreign temptress the scriptures warned against. And wouldn't his father have a royal fit when he learned James was bedding a heathen seductress and planned to marry her? He crooked his finger. "Come closer."

  Kitra smiled, straddled his lap, and lowered her red lips to his.

  He groaned and tasted her pouty, succulent mouth.

  She pushed him back on the pillow. Eyes flashing naughtily, she reached for the hem of her gown.

  Loud snickers interrupted. Two leering guards stared unabashedly at James and Kitra. A third man joined them. But the patch-eyed soldier wasn't smiling.

  James's guts turned to ice. In a flash he remembered the incriminating conversation between patch-eyed Lazarz and red-headed Niv. Saw Lazarz chasing him through hallways. Recalled his abject fear when the beefy soldier tossed him head-first down the stairs. And finally the world going dark.

  James struggled to sit up. "Get off me."

  Lazarz shot James a nasty smile, then strode out of sight.

  "I don't care if they watch," Kitra cooed, running her hand up his bare leg.

  He pushed the shameless girl off his lap. "Tell your father to find another master builder."

  Kitra slapped him across the face, slid off the bed, and raced weeping past the amused guards.

  Ears and head ringing, James stood. "Call for a litter," he ordered the guardsmen.

  "Where are you going?" one of them asked.

  "Out." James wasn't going to wait for Lazarz to bribe his way past his guardians.

  ***

  "Did you hear that?" Lydia asked Bryn, jumping off the plush reclining couch she was sharing with the slave. Lydia raced to the door, and placed her ear to the polished wood.

  Brynhild's fat, flaxen braids scarcely budged as she shook her head. "For my sake, I hope it's Kadar. I'm worn out from watching you flitter about every time you hear the slightest noise."

  Lydia began pacing, clenching and unclenching her hands. "I haven't even gotten a glimpse of him for the last two days. Maybe he changed his mind." Unable to eat or sleep, the wait to see her son seemed like an eternity.

  "Kadar has been busy with Antipater's funeral. If he said he would take you to see your boy, he'll keep his promise."

  Lydia rolled shoulders against the knot of tension lodged between them. "I don’t know how you convinced Cousin Nehonya to leave me behind. One moment he was insisting the whole household must go observe the sacrifice of the Paschal lamb, and the next he was happily waving goodbye to me."

  Bryn flapped her hand. "Nehonya Onias is much cleverer than your uncle Jacob, but neither of them is Plato or Aristotle."

  Lydia laughed. "Plato? Aristotle? You probably even know interesting facts about the Greek philosophers, don't you?"

  "I like hearing about places and people and stories from the past." Bryn's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Conveniently for me, others like sharing what they know. The trick is to ask the
right questions, otherwise you'll hear more than you want to about sore knees and lame backs or cheating husbands and unruly children. Slaves excel at gossip and complaints, mostly because we're bored. I believe in making the best of a situation."

  Lydia returned to the couch, sat down next to Bryn, and clasped the old slave's chapped hands. Aunt Sarah’s letter had delivered a blow almost as devastating as Father’s announcement of her impending marriage. Regretting the loss of a skilled, useful slave, Aunt demanded that Lydia send Brynhild back to Egypt. "I hate knowing you are a slave. I promise to do everything in my power to make you a free woman before I go to my new husband."

  Lydia swallowed. No, she wouldn't think about the marriage her father had arranged. Not now. Not today. She squeezed Bryn's fingers. "I'm sure my sister or brother will lend me the money to buy your freedom."

  Bryn patted her hand. "I doubt your sister and brother-in-law have spare coins clinking around in their home."

  Nathan and Alexandra had tripled the size of their olive orchard, but the trees were still maturing. Prosperity might come to them, but it would be too late to do Bryn any good. Lydia sighed. "I suppose I'll have to ask James."

  "Your brother can hardly keep his eyes open. It will be some time before he'll be allowed to agree to anything."

  "You heard Physician Hama. He is pleased with James's progress."

  Bryn wrinkled her nose. "Hama is pleased with something, but it isn't your brother."

  Lydia rolled her eyes. "Bryn, you think every man who lays eyes on me falls in love."

  "They don't need to see you to fall in love. The blind man we pass coming and going from Antipater's house asked you to marry him, didn't he? You have a special way about you. A room brightens when you walk into it."

  Lydia made a face. "Blind Saul is older than Methuselah."

  "I will soon be as old as blind Saul." The light went out of Bryn's eyes. "You mean well, making plans to free me, but I'd prefer to remain a slave."

  "You can't mean it."

  Bryn held her hands out and flexed her crooked fingers. "My bones are growing frail. Where would I go? What would I do to earn money? If I was younger I could turn to harlotry, or—"