A Stray Drop of Blood (11 page)

The bubble of laughter lightened her spirit as it rose and spilled from her lips. “It would not be an absolute defeat, friend, just an apparent one.”

“
Well then, break out the best wine. Our champion has lost today! Let us all rejoice!” He, too, grinned now. “It is good, though, to be here in this house. It is good to hear you laughing with our mistress. And,” he added with a magnanimous sweep of his hand, “it is also good that the young master has returned. At the very least, it should break the monotony.”

He stood, and she followed suit. “But I like monotony.”

“
You will be fine.”

“
But we have been through this. I do not like change.”

“
Well then, if my lady hates change, allow me to just pack the man up and ship him back to Rome. We would not want to disrupt her life.”

She tried to suppress her smile . . . and failed.

She always did.

~*~

Morning sun gleamed off freshly polished helmets, swords, and buckles. It glinted off the sands, blinding, warm. The hundred men were as still as statues, their attention focused completely on Jason, their ranks unbroken, their lines as straight as the blades that hung still against their legs, ready for any commands that may issue from his mouth.

He walked the length of the ranks and back again, surveying his men. They were all in fine shape; they stood in perfect posture, their faces immobile even in the face of the star that taunted them with every inch it raised in the sky. He was satisfied. He knew he would be. Cleopas Visibullis had not gained his position by training his men to meet less than the highest standards.

His voice carried easily across the still field, reaching each of his men. “I am Jason Visibullis. I have spent six years in Rome. Some of you have lived there most of your lives, others among you have never seen it.” He walked a few paces to his right, stopped again. “The one of you who has been here the longest has seen ten years in Jerusalem. I was born and raised here. Some of you may think that will make me weak in my duties, when those involve putting a heavy hand on this land. I will put that thought to rest now, and if you are still not convinced, then my performance will prove it as well.

“
I was born to a mother who taught me the way of the Jews. But I am a Roman! I have studied many texts, books, and discourses. But I am a soldier! I was born in this country, raised in this dust. But Rome is the fatherland! Rome is the heart that beats in my chest. Rome is the force that guides me. And the one that wills me to guide you. I tell you now what I expect of you. Loyalty. Honor. Obedience. Bravery. Devotion. We may not be at war, but we are warriors still. And as the best of our kind before us, we will be ready for any rising that may come. You will not question who you are or who you serve, just as I will not, and by working together cohesively we will live up to the name that the great Caesar has given this legion. Our standards will fly high before us, wherever we may go.”

He paused, surveyed the ranks yet again. “I will assume perfection. I will assume you capable of anything. And I forbid you to prove me wrong. Drill!”

They had been waiting for the command. The neat lines broke into perfect formations, the uniformly outfitted legs falling in uniformly sized strides and taking their men in motions that were, by now, second nature. Going through the exercises that kept their reflexes sharp and their skills at their maximum, each soldier ceased to be a man and became simply a part of the machine. Each one a member, none a whole on his own.

Jason watched them in pride. These were his men, now, his responsibility. His to command, his to lead, his to help in trouble, and his to punish in failings. Over the past years, he had on occasion wondered silently whether he had what it would take to control of the lives of a hundred men. But he had stopped asking that. Eventually, he had come to realize that he was no less fit than any of the others studying and working for their commissions. Better than most. His father had raised him well for this calling, and it had become a song in his ears.

This was what he had been born for.

Chapter Seven

Ester spent the day lounging with a painstakingly copied text of Aristotle, daydreaming more than she was actually reading anything about his version of
Ethics
. Cleopas was always encouraging her to read more and diverse things, and he had said he wished the Great Library at Alexandria had survived a few more years so that he could take her there. She smiled at the impossible dream. Abigail, too, would have loved to go, she knew.

Although, if Abigail married soon, even had it been possible that decision would not be hers to make. The thought caused Ester pause. She had, of course, realized that giving her maidservant in marriage to a good citizen would mean that she would no longer be at hand. But had she really stopped to realize that the new husband could chose to move away, taking Abigail with him? Or that he would not approve of his wife socializing often with her former mistress?

Ester sighed, turned a leaf absently. There was the other option, of course. She knew it would probably suit them all best. And she knew, too, that Cleopas would expect an answer from her soon. But she hesitated, for some reason, to agree. Perhaps it was just that she feared she would be making the decision for herself, and not for Abigail. Perhaps she thought it entirely too perfect to be perfect.

Perhaps she should simply raise the question to Abigail sometime and see what the young woman thought. It was, after all, her life. And since Cleopas had left the choice up to her, she was free to present it to her friend if she wished.

But she did not wish, not really. Abigail got so uncomfortable whenever her future marriage was brought up. It would not be a conversation. It would be a conformation of Abigail’s will to Ester’s. So before she brought anything up, Ester would have to know what her own will was.

And Cleopas would not keep her to his demand of one month, she knew. Not if she were truly struggling with the decision. He was a patient man. And he had, at the moment, more pressing concerns. His son.

Jason, in most ways, had calmed all of the fears she had been nurturing over the past ages. He had grown well, had gotten strong, and learned to hold his own in conversation and on the field without resorting to anger. He had gained a modicum of temperance to balance out his confidence and was no longer so judgmental of their people. He had actually expressed joy at being present for the Passover this year, for which she was grateful. It hurt her more than he could know when he rejected her faith, but he was making an effort. She had to credit him for that. And he had been so attentive. Each night he had spent with her and his father, in spite of the friends that she knew were busy roving the town, getting a feel for Jerusalem, settling in and cavorting. He would surely have preferred their company. But he had nonetheless chosen his parents’.

On the other hand, there were moments when she looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. She saw a man she did not know, one leagues removed from the boy she had raised, had agreed to send away. He was a Roman now. She knew that. He was interested in politics and battle and serving Caesar. Not in Israel. Not in Jehovah. Not in being one of God’s chosen. What did it mean, after all, in this world? What was the importance of being chosen when the life one was chosen for was subjection?

But subjection was part of Israel’s history. She knew that. How many times had the Lord pronounced them to be a stiff-necked people? Every gift he offered, they refused. Every time of peace was inevitably followed by war, and it was because they always strayed. Rebelled. Served false gods, worshiped idols, played the harlot. Israel was a nation seemingly incapable of being the steadfast people their God requested, required. It was no wonder he allowed them to fall again and again into despair, preserving only the remnant necessary to restore the faith eventually. The true question was why he had ever chosen them to begin with.

But he had, and she was grateful. She did not pretend to understand the mind of her God. All that mattered was that he accepted her as a child, gave her the commandments and statutes that would allow her to dwell in the bosom of Abraham with her fathers. And he had blessed her with a husband that served with her, a household that was proud to be Hebrew. Even if her son would not claim the heritage, it was his. All he had to do was reach for it. And all she could do was pray that he would.

She realized, after waking from a short nap after she had eaten, that her day was terribly lonely, and terribly quiet without Abigail beside her. But Dinah had needed her help in Passover preparations. Ester would have offered to help them with the cleaning, but she knew her loyal attendant would not allow it.

She smiled. That Abigail did not hesitate to put her foot down in some matters yet would never consider doing so in others never ceased to amuse her. Indeed, the girl would not allow Ester to lift a finger unnecessarily, but when the woman issued forth a command or even a request, she would never disobey. Whether it be one as simple as “Could you get me some water?” or as difficult as, “You must learn to read and speak Latin.”

It was, of course, the harder ones that were most beneficial. It seemed to be the way of life.

Abigail entered the courtyard and knelt by Ester’s knee. “The masters are returning, Mistress. Shall we get you ready for dinner at the general’s?”

Ester looked down at the lovely young face with a smile. “Yes. The blue, I think. With my sapphires.”

Abigail nodded and rose. Ester followed her into her bedchamber and slipped out of her everyday tunic while the girl brought in the finely woven wool. “Is it going well? Did you make as much progress as you had hoped?”

“
Barely,” Abigail replied, “but it will do. Dinah will finish the room we were on while we are away, and tomorrow we will clean the bed chambers. Then we will be ready for the celebration.”

“
Good.” Ester lifted her hair so the jewels could be fastened, then sat down so her hair could be brushed. “Cleopas said Jason had expressed great satisfaction at being with us this year for Passover.”

Abigail’s reflected smile shone in the polished metal of the mirror. “He will remember all you taught him, Lady. He will remember that our Lord does not forsake his chosen.”

“
But will he remember that he is one of those chosen?”

Abigail began brushing her hair. “He will remember.”

Ester sighed. “I am glad you are so sure, Abigail. For I can never seem to remember to be so.”

Abigail shook her head and motioned to the scroll Ester had brought in with her. “What do you think of the
Ethics
?”

That conversation sufficed them until Cleopas came in.

~*~

“
Would you take some warm water in to Jason, Abigail?”

She smiled at Cleopas and nodded her obedience. “Yes, Lord.” Slipping out of the room silently, she headed for the kitchen.

Dinah looked up when she entered, smiled. “Are you taking the young lord his water?”

Abigail nodded. “I imagine Andrew is in more need of the time to clean up than I.”

Dinah chuckled. “He is quite filthy today. I made him stay outside.”

This made Abigail smile, and she had to peek out the door to verify that, indeed, he stood in the courtyard, sloshing water over his head. “What was he doing, rolling in the mud?”

“
I believe so,” Dinah replied seriously, sending Abigail into laughter. “Here you go.” She poured a third of the water into a basin, then lifted her voice to carry outside. “Andrew, hurry.”

“
I am coming!”

Abigail left the room on that note, figuring it was best to be gone when Andrew started tracking mud onto their clean floor. She had a feeling Andrew would have liked to have missed it as well. She cradled the basin in her arms as she journeyed back the hall, the heavy clay keeping the heat from seeping through too much, and arrived at Jason’s closed door a moment later. She rapped lightly.

“
Enter.”

She used her free hand to do so, slipping into the room. Her peripheral vision told her that Jason stood by the latticed window, but as her concern was the larger basin directly before her, she did not turn her head in that direction. Instead, she expertly poured the water, not spilling so much as a drop, and added enough from the cool pitcher sitting on the table to bring it to a reasonable level. Then she asked, “Do you need anything, Lord?”

Jason looked up from his task, his gaze heavy . . . lingering. “No.” When his intense gaze refused to waiver, Abigail felt heat stain her cheeks. His grin did not help matters. “I have all I need.”

She nodded and exited silently, easing the portal closed behind her. It would take a while to get used to the young master’s presence, she knew. A small amount of awkwardness was to be expected until that happened, but that was nothing to concern herself with. She would simply take the next weeks to learn what he liked and be at hand to provide it. She was the servant with the most leisure, it was only reasonable that it fall to her. She would just have to cut back on her studies. Smiling to herself, she was fairly certain that Andrew would not mind fewer lessons.