The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 5

  She carried another equally weighty burden. The continual bleeding was often the sign of a barren womb. The chief purpose of marriage was the begetting of children. It was one of the first commands God gave to Adam and Eve: be fruitful and multiply. Many men divorced their wives for failing to produce children. And it was next to impossible to convince a man to marry a woman with her condition. A burdensome truth Elizabeth lived with every day.

  One blessing had come with the bleeding. She'd emerged from her brief marriage still a virgin. Simeon Onias had refused to even touch her because of the issue of blood, much less bed her. Praise heaven! She hadn't breathed a word of that particular blessing to anyone, and never would.

  ***

  James entered a small dining chamber deep within the Baris. Servants moved about slowly, preparing for a banquet. The Baris had been built by High Priest John Hycranus's forefathers. The small fortress sat at the northwest corner of the Temple complex and served as an administrative building and repository for the High Priest's garments, the precious blue ephod, and the jeweled breastplate. Though it was not magnificent or spacious like the royal palace, High Priest Hycranus preferred the fortress and spent a good deal of his time here.

  Avoiding the main corridor lest he cross paths with priests and Levites coming and going between the Temple and the Baris, James entered the long, narrow servants’ corridor.

  The familiar smell of incense mixed with burnt offerings permeated the air. A sour taste tainted his mouth. The odor of the morning sacrifice followed him around Jerusalem, plaguing his every step. Though he hated the idea, he resigned himself to visiting to the Temple soon, for Lydia's sake. She deserved a respectable guardian, someone to present holy sacrifices on her behalf until their father returned to Jerusalem.

  If he returned. For all they knew, Father could be dead. And James might never have to look at the horrid man's face again. "Praise Jupiter!" he shouted, grinning like a maddened man.

  A cold draft shot up his legs, ballooning his tunic. He clapped his hand over his mouth, and broke out in a clammy sweat. Evoking the name of pagan gods—an evil habit he'd picked up in Rome—was terrible enough, but doing so on ground consecrated to the Lord God of Israel reeked of blasphemy.

  He braced his hands on his shaky knees and took some deep breaths. "Forgive me, Lord, for sinning against you." He waited, half expecting the ground to open up and swallow him. Or the heavens to smite him. The ringing in his ears slowly cleared.

  Whispered words drifted out of a small storeroom to his left, punctuated by a man's gravelly laugh. "Don't worry. It will be over in a blink of the eye. Next time you do it, you won't be a virgin. You might actually enjoy it."

  The salacious comment spurred James to move on.

  "Shhh... I hear someone," a high-pitched, skittish voice hissed.

  James picked up his pace and nearly collided with young Niv when the red-headed, freckle-faced boy exploded out of the storeroom, his face a picture of guilt.

  James frowned. "Slow down. It's only me."

  "What did you hear?" barked a tough-looking solder with an eye patch, meaty hands braced on the doorframe to the storeroom.

  James couldn't put a name with the face, but was fairly sure the rough-hewn soldier was a high-ranking officer in the Jewish army. One of Malichus's hand-picked men. James mustered a scowl. "What evil are you up to?"

  "Did Herod send you here to spy on us?" the patch-eyed man demanded.

  "A spy? Are you foolish?" James replied.

  "Watch your mouth," the burly man growled.

  James turned to Niv. "What are you doing spending time with the likes of this corrupt fellow?" The soldier's name was Laban... or Lazarz... or something close. "Antipater won't be happy to learn you are meeting in secret with his enemies."

  The color drained from Niv's freckled face, and he clutched his bulging cloth pouch more tightly. "We—"

  "Keep your mouth shut, boy," Lazarz warned.

  James reached for the pouch. "What do you have in there?"

  Lazarz charged at them.

  Blood pounding, James dropped down on all fours and rolled into Lazarz's shins, toppling him. Sprawled out face-first on the stone floor, the brawny man cursed and spit out blood.

  James scrambled to his feet. He fled one way and Niv the other. Heavy footfalls thudded close behind James. Fear sizzling through his veins, James raced past wide-eyed servants and zigzagged his way through a maze of corridors. At the end of a long hallway he turned to the right and stumbled into a large reception area. The room was filled with a mix of priests, Levites, and layman, sitting or standing in small groups, all eyeing him with disfavor. He scowled back, smoothed his disheveled tunic, and exited at a more sedate pace.

  Satisfied he'd lost the soldier, James worked his way toward the north corner of the Baris. He'd certainly riled up the patch-eyed man. When would he learn to keep his quarrelsome mouth shut? His rude remarks were forever landing him in trouble.

  Reaching the southeast tower, he paused at the base of a wide, steep stairway and ran his fingers over the smooth, gray ashlar blocks. The distinctive oblong stones were a hallmark of Seleucid construction. He would have enjoyed working alongside the craftsmen who wrestled these stones into place some hundred and twenty years ago.

  He missed having a hammer and chisel in his hands. He should go visit Pinhas and the other stonecutters and work with them for a day or two. Pounding on stone always calmed him.

  James heard the rapid slap of sandals on stone coming down the hall. A moment later Lazarz burst around the corner.

  Heart slamming, James turned and charged up the stairs. Coward. Coward. Coward. His conscience accused while his thighs and lungs burned with exertion.

  Why was he running? He wasn't a helpless boy anymore. He was a man.

  Hands fisting, he stopped and turned to face his pursuer.

  The burly soldier barreled up the stairs.

  James braced his feet. "Leave me alone, you big ox," he croaked, his voice breaking like a spotty-faced youth.

  Lazarz reached the step below James, grabbed his tunic, and yanked him off his feet.

  James slapped and kicked back. "Put me down."

  An evil smile spread across the patch-eyed man's face. He swung James in a wide arc and hurled him through the air. A scream stuck in James's throat, and the last thing he saw was the satisfied expression on his murderer's face.

  CHAPTER 8

  Less than an hour after catching sight of Lydia Onias, Kadar paced outside the door of the formal chamber Antipater used to conduct business and receive guests. If anyone could arrange a safe, clandestine meeting with Lydia, it was Antipater. Kadar wouldn't rest until he spoke with her. He'd made a promise to Lydia Onias, vowed he wouldn't allow anyone to take her baby. But he had failed her. If she wished, he was prepared to turn the world upside down to make matters right.

  Antipater's personal slave, Saad, exited the reception room and limped past Kadar. "The governor will see you now."

  Kadar strode into the opulent chamber. Antipater, his secretary, and several prominent members of the religious sect called Sadducees lounged on cushioned couches, surrounding a marble-topped table.

  The Sadducees frowned, but Antipater's smile broadened. "Ah...my favorite barbarian." He pointed to an empty couch. "Have a seat and we'll discuss your urgent matter."

  The Sadducees’ faces puckered with distaste.

  The disgust was mutual. Kadar was as unhappy sharing the room with those pompous, bejeweled men as they were to have him there. "I'll stand. This won't take long. I hate to ask for another favor."

  "Nonsense," Antipater said. "Tell me what you need. I have a favor to ask in return."

  "Anything you want, name it."

  Antipater laughed. "You didn't even hear what I want."

  Jerusalem's shrewdest merchants would have a hard time competing with Antipater when it came to bartering. Though he drove a hard bargain, Antipater was honest and always delivered what h
e promised.

  Kadar rolled his knotted shoulders. "That's because I'm certain the favor I need is more of a challenge than whatever you might ask." He wanted Antipater to provide safe passage out of Judea for Lydia Onias if the need arose. And safe passage for him as well, if need be.

  The religious men were suddenly all ears.

  Kadar narrowed his eyes at them. "But I won't discuss details while these obnoxious gossips are listening."

  The bejeweled men blinked and sputtered.

  Antipater's robust laugh coaxed a smile out Kadar.

  The crippled slave, Saad, stumped back into the room and addressed Kadar. "A pair of slaves just arrived asking to speak to you. They say it's of utmost importance."

  "Take me to them," Kadar directed, gut instinct telling him the slaves had come on behalf of Lydia.

  The crippled man bowed and retreated toward the door with Kadar close on his heels.

  "We still have a deal to discuss," Antipater called out.

  Kadar smiled over his shoulder at the burly man. "Maybe... maybe not." He might not need the favor, depending on the message the slaves had for him.

  "You're a scoundrel, you…" The rest of Antipater's good-natured complaint faded into the distance.

  Kadar almost ran Saad over twice before they were halfway down the corridor. The muscle in his jaw ticked at their slow progress, but Kadar kept his impatience to himself. Saad suffered enough unkind remarks because of his lame leg, yet he remained unfailingly cheerful, and he was one of Antipater's most loyal supporters. Both qualities earned him Kadar's respect.

  "Do you know the favor Antipater had in mind?" Kadar asked the slave.

  "A member of my lord's bodyguard deserted him to go work for the King of Chalcis," the slave tsked. "The fool."

  Not sure if the insult was aimed at the bodyguard or the King of Chalcis, Kadar forgot what he was going to say when they reached the small alcove located next to the front door.

  Two brown-clad slave women sat huddled together on a stone bench. Kadar dismissed Saad.

  They jumped to their feet and the tallest one rushed toward him, dislodging her hood and revealing the mystical, beautiful woman who haunted Kadar's dreams.

  Lydia stopped a hair’s breadth away from him, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his chest. "You're alive," she said, half crying and half laughing. "Brynhild said I was seeing things, but I knew I wasn't." Lydia looked at her companion. "I told you, Bryn. I told you I saw Kadar."

  Knees weak, Kadar forced his gaze to the slave, a middle aged, pear-shaped woman with long, straw-colored braids.

  Brynhild studied him with unconcealed suspicion and disapproval. "We should go back before someone discovers we are missing."

  "Who else knows you are here?" Kadar asked, concerned for their safety.

  The slave woman's brows furrowed. "What part of Gaul do you come from? I'm familiar with all the dialects, but your accent is new to me."

  She spoke with the guttural accent distinct to outer Gaul. Most people assumed he also came from Gaul, and he didn't correct them. But a true native of the region, such as this woman, was unlikely to be fooled by his poor attempts to mimic the language. He touched his hand to the amulet tucked beneath his tunic and saw his father's face and the rugged terrain of his homeland, a country far beyond Gaul, a place so remote the Romans had yet to discover it. He exhaled heavily. "You didn't answer my question."

  Brynhild's frown deepened. "My mistress insisted on dressing like a slave to slip out of the house unnoticed."

  He scrubbed his face. "What possessed you to do such a thing, woman?"

  Lydia's light brown eyes widened. "I had to see you. What happened? I was sure you were dead, but memories of you often passed through my mind, and now I understand why. How did you escape? Or did my father set you free and allow me to believe you were resting on the bottom of the Nile?"

  Kadar’s mind reeled. Lydia hadn't forgotten him. She actually remembered his name—and thought about him. He swallowed the emotions crowding his throat. "I was enslaved in a copper mine."

  Lydia paled. "You suffered terribly, I can see it in your face. I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

  Forgive her? "You weren't to blame."

  She reached for his hands. "I shouldn't have asked you to come to me in Egypt. It was selfish."

  Her slender fingers grasped his. The sorrow he saw in her eyes wasn't pity. No, she was pained for him, for what he'd suffered. "Don't be sorry. I'm not."

  "You are a good man."

  Her skin was wonderfully soft and warm. Heart hammering, he forced himself to remain perfectly still. Upright Jewish women such as Lydia kept far away from men who were not a part of their immediate family, but she had never shied from him. She'd never been afraid of him, not even a little. "I'm a rascal, and worse," he said, his voice rough. "Yet from the very first you trusted me. I don't understand."

  "Why wouldn't I trust you?"

  "I'm a pagan."

  Her eyes swept over him, then met his and held. "I feel safe with you."

  "But why?"

  "I don't know," she whispered.

  The air sparked between them.

  Brynhild tiptoed toward the door.

  "Don't go, woman," he commanded. If he and Lydia were found alone together, Lydia's reputation would suffer irreparable harm. And if anyone saw her touching him—

  Damnation! They stoned people to death for less. He untangled their hands. Lydia blushed prettily and, the gods save him, he wanted to kiss her breathless.

  ***

  Lydia swallowed. The fervor in Kadar's brilliant blue eyes matched the hot heat rushing through her. Was this how it felt to be truly awakened as a woman? The two men she'd called husband had unfailingly repulsed her. But Kadar was handsome and well formed and... and absolutely splendid. If only she was married to him. The glorious, yellow-golden hair brushing his shoulders illuminated an inescapable truth—the daughters of Israel didn't marry pagans. She stepped back and bumped into the marble bench. "We ought to go. I've already caused you too much trouble."

  Kadar pressed closer. "Wait. What happened to your child?"

  A familiar ache tugged at her heart. "Father sent my baby away. I hope to see him very soon. I have a plan. Not much of a plan, but…"

  Like the glory of the sun breaking through black storm clouds, a smile spread across Kadar's rugged face, a visage weathered and lined by years of brutal labor in the confines of a copper mine. "A plan? Let me hear this plan of yours."

  Loathe to entangle him in more of her troubles, she hesitated.

  "I won't stop until I coax the truth from you." His voice was gentle but firm.

  His reappearance in her life couldn't be an accident. "My sister and her husband will arrive in Jerusalem soon for the feast days. They will set up their camp next to the family who has my baby. I shouldn't call him a baby. James is six years old now." Tears pricked at her eyes. "My sister has written to me saying James is healthy and well cared for, but I want to hold him and tell him how much I love him." She rubbed her hands over arms that still felt empty. "I want to observe and talk to the woman raising little James to see if she is kind and goodhearted. If she is the mean sort—" She squeezed her eyes closed and trembled at the memory of Judas the Zealot looming over her with a leather strap. "If I find the grandmother unacceptable, I will ask my sister or perhaps my brother James to help me—"

  Kadar crossed his arms and widened his stance. "I will help you."

  He wasn't asking her permission. The fierce determination stamped on his face told her he was ready to do whatever she asked. He'd been just a young man when he promised to help her last time, probably no more than eighteen or nineteen. Could she justify placing him in danger again? But what if she needed to run away with her baby? She massaged her temple. "I need time to think on the matter."

  Bryn slipped a protective arm around Lydia's shoulder. "You will do what you have to. You brave ones always find a way."

/>   Lydia's laugh was brittle. "I appreciate your kind regard, but…" she twisted her hands into the folds of her tunic. "I have no worldly goods; not even the clothes I'm wearing are truly mine."

  Bryn wrinkled her nose. "You did just fine when your aunt turned you out into the streets of Egypt, and you'll do fine now."

  A chill went through Lydia just thinking about her terrifying flight through the streets of Alexandria.

  "Turned you out?" Kadar's face grew stony. "It's what the gossips are saying, but I assumed it was the usual exaggerated horse sh—" He emitted a rumbling growl and raked long fingers through his golden-blond hair. "Forgive my foul mouth. But you were alone? On those streets! Please tell me a neighbor took you in."

  Lydia patted Bryn's hand. "I wasn't alone. Bryn begged to go with me, and my aunt consented. I told Bryn she'd be better off with my aunt, but she wouldn't listen."

  Bryn narrowed her eyes at Kadar. "Mistress Lydia might look helpless as a wide-eyed kitten, but my dear girl has a quick mind and the heart of a lioness."

  Blue eyes swept over Lydia.

  Her cheeks heated. "Brynhild is too kind."

  "Bah!" Bryn swiped the air with her hand. "I'm spitting angry. I want to clobber your father over the head with a staff. The wicked man…leaving you without so much as a chamber pot to call your own."

  Kadar raised his brows at Lydia. "Your father didn't make any provisions for you, even though he gave you to an old man who would most likely leave you a widow?"

  "Simeon Onias is lower than a snake," Bryn answered for her, disgusted. "Mistress Sarah's family made sure she was taken care of, but Simeon didn't set aside a single shekel for his daughter."

  Lydia didn't want people to pity her, especially not Bryn and Kadar. She stood taller. "I don't need much." She wanted her baby. Material goods meant nothing.

  "Why aren't you under the protection of your father-in-law?" Kadar asked. "Why are back under your father's control?"