As Sure as the Dawn (7 page)

Atretes continued to pace. He brushed his son’s cheek, and the baby’s head turned sharply, mouth open. “Here,” he said harshly. “He’s hungry now. Feed him.”

The wet nurse saw there was no other way to convince him. She took the child, sat down, and bared her ample breast. The baby grasped the nipple and then drew back sharply, crying louder, milk running unwanted from his mouth. She looked up at Atretes. “You see, my lord?”

Atretes ran a hand back through his hair. He was responsible for the deaths of over a hundred and fifty men. Would he be responsible for the death of his infant son as well? He shut his eyes and turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. There was only one thing he could think to do. “Awaken Silus,” he commanded grimly.

The wet nurse covered herself and put the baby back to bed. “Give him to me,” Atretes said angrily, seeing how quick she was to dispense with her duties. “Perhaps you’ve bound him too tightly.” He sat down and laid the baby on his thighs, untying the swaddling clothes that were wound around him, making him look like a mummy. The baby’s skin was pale and blotchy. The cool air brought a stream of urine that splattered against Atretes’ chest. Drawing back in surprise, he cursed.

“It happens all the time, my lord,” the wet nurse said quickly. “Do you wish me to take him?”

Atretes gazed down at his son. “No,” he said with a wry smile. “I think he’s telling me what he thinks of me.”

Silus entered the room looking bleary-eyed from drink and lack of sleep. “Lagos said you sent for me, my lord.”

“Go to Ephesus. Southeast of the Artemision and library is a street with insulae on both sides,” Atretes said. “Enter the one on the west. Second floor, fourth door on the right is the widow, Rizpah.”

“The woman who brought the baby this morning?”

“Yes. Bring her back here as quickly as possible.”

“She never left, my lord.”

“What?” Atretes’ face darkened. “What do you mean she never left? I ordered her out!”

“She left the villa, my lord. She went outside the gate and sat by the side of the road. She’s been there ever since.”

Atretes frowned, annoyed and relieved at the same time. “Get her.”

Silus left quickly.

The baby’s crying made his nerves raw. Atretes paced and then sat down, the child in his lap. “What’s taking so long?” he muttered, feeling like he had a hot coal in his hands. Light footsteps hurried along the outer corridor, and the widow appeared in the doorway.

Face pale with cold and puffy from crying, she entered the kitchen. Atretes waited for her to rail at him with accusations. She didn’t. She said nothing except “Caleb” in a broken whisper as she came across the room. Grim-lipped, Atretes took his hands from his son, and she lifted the baby from his lap. As she cradled the infant close, he continued to cry, but the sound was different. Turning away, she shifted her shawl and untied the right shoulder of her tunic. Atretes saw her shoulders jerk once as his son began to nurse.

The kitchen fell silent.

The wet nurse gave a deep sigh, echoing his own relief. “A babe knows his mother.”

Atretes rose sharply. “Get out!”

With a frightened gasp, the wet nurse fled the room. Atretes turned his angry glare on Lagos and Silus, dismissing both with a jerk of his head.

Again, silence fell over the kitchen as he stood alone in the room with the widow nursing his son. Hooking the stool with his foot, he scraped it closer to the fire. “Sit.” The woman did so without looking at him. Her head was bent over the child, and she murmured softly to him as he nursed.

Atretes moved restlessly around the kitchen, finally stopping and leaning his hip against a counter. Clenching his teeth, he turned again. She had draped the shawl modestly over her shoulder; the babe nestled against her breast beneath it. He noticed the dampness seeping through the left side of her tunic.

Rizpah shifted Caleb tenderly, remaining covered as she loosened the ties on her left shoulder. She felt Atretes watching her and was embarrassed. Her eyes flickered to him.

Surprised, Atretes saw the color mount her cheeks. How many years had it been since he’d seen a woman embarrassed by anything? She turned herself on the stool so her back was to him, clearly disturbed by his presence. She could suffer it; he wasn’t leaving her alone with his son.

Rizpah could sense his gaze boring into her back. She could feel the heat of his anger.

“I told you to leave,” he said darkly.

“You don’t own the road.”

He gave a bleak laugh. “It would seem you own my son.”

Rizpah glanced back over her shoulder and saw something in his face she knew he would prefer to have hidden. His mouth flattened and his eyes glittered as they held hers. “I had a long time to think,” she said softly.

“About what?”

“I know very little about you. Only grim details about the violent life you’ve led.”

His smile was cold and derisive.

Disturbed, she looked down at Caleb. He would soon be asleep at her breast. He was so beautiful, so precious to her, and yet she knew the harder she clung, the more fiercely determined Atretes would be to take him from her.

When she moved Caleb slightly, his mouth worked again, almost frantically, holding to her. Touching a finger against her breast, she broke the suction. A dollop of milk trickled from his mouth and she smoothed it away. Kissing him lightly, she laid him tenderly on her thighs and retied her tunic. She could still feel Atretes watching her.

She adjusted the shawl to cover the dampened bodice of her tunic, remembering how, the moment she entered the hall and heard Caleb crying, her milk had come forth. God was truly marvelous! Lifting Caleb to her shoulder, she rubbed his back gently as she stood. She paced slowly, patting him softly. He was warm and relaxed against her. She glanced at Atretes and saw his troubled frown.

Seeing the set of his jaw, Rizpah remembered the story of King Solomon and the two women fighting over a child. The one who had been the true mother had been willing to give up the child in order to preserve his life.

Caleb’s mother had wanted him dead. And this man! She’d never seen anyone so ruthless and beautiful. His features seemed chiseled by a master sculptor. Everything about him exuded a profound, overpowering masculinity. There was not even the hint of softness. His expression was utterly implacable. But was he?

O Lord, God, soften his heart toward me.

Heart beating dully, Rizpah came and stood before him. She held his sleeping son out to him. “Take him.” Frowning, he straightened. His eyes narrowed warily on her as he took his son. Caleb awakened immediately and began to cry, and Rizpah saw a flinch of raw pain flicker across Atretes’ face.

“Hold him next to your heart,” she said gently, fighting tears. “Yes, like that. Now rub his back gently.” His hand was huge against Caleb’s back.

Atretes held his son uneasily, half-expecting the soft pitiful cries to turn to screaming.

“I beg your forgiveness, Atretes,” Rizpah said, meaning it. “My tongue is like a fire sometimes. I’m sorry for the cruel things I said to you. I had no right to judge.”

Surprise flickered in his bleak face and then a cynical smile twisted his mouth. “Sweet,” he sneered.

Why should he believe her after the way she had acted?

She looked at Caleb nestled in Atretes’ powerful arms and thought how fragile he looked there. Her throat closed and she nodded slowly, blinking back tears.

Atretes studied her intently, disturbed by the feelings stirring in him. Her brown eyes were dark with exhaustion, her cheeks smudged with dirt and streaked where tears had run. She looked up at him now, her expression full of appeal.

“I know by all the laws of Rome, Caleb is yours to do with as you will,” she said shakily, “but I ask you to think of his needs.” When he said nothing, her heart sank. “Caleb and I are bonded as strongly as if he had issued from my own womb.”

“You are not his mother.”

“I am the only mother he’s known.”

“Every woman I’ve known since being taken in chains from Germania has been a harlot, save one. You appear no different from the majority.”

She drew the shawl more closely around her shoulders, chilled by the anger she saw in his blue eyes. It made no difference that he condemned her without even knowing her. Other things mattered more. “Caleb will awaken in a few hours. If he still won’t accept the wet nurse, send the guard again. I’ll be outside the gate.”

Surprised, Atretes watched her leave. Frowning, he listened as her soft footsteps receded down the darkened corridor. He felt a vague disquiet as he sat down and looked at his sleeping son.

Mouth grim, Atretes strode across the barren courtyard, dismissed Gallus with a jerk of his chin, slammed the bar back, and opened the gate. He went out and looked around. The widow was exactly where she’d said she would be, sitting with her back against the wall. Her knees were drawn up against her chest, her shawl drawn around her for warmth.

When his shadow fell across her, she awakened and lifted her head. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them.

He stood over her, arms akimbo. “The wet nurse tried again with no more success than last night,” he said, feeling it was somehow her fault. “Come feed him.”

Rizpah noticed that he’d come to issue a command and not make a request. She rose stiffly, her body aching from her long vigil in the cold. Caleb was not the only one who was hungry. She’d not eaten since leaving Ephesus yesterday morning.

“You will stay,” Atretes said in a tone that said the decision was made whether she liked it or not. Smiling in relief, she said a silent prayer of thanksgiving as she followed him up the steps and into the villa. “Silus will go for your belongings,” Atretes said. “You’ll have quarters near the kitchen.” He glanced back and saw her smile. “Don’t think you’ve won.”

“I will not pull at Caleb as though he were a bone between two dogs,” she said, following him through the atrium. She could hear the baby’s cries. “It would be better if he was with me.”

Atretes stopped and glowered at her. “You’ll not take him outside these walls.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean it would be better if he was with me in my quarters where I can watch over him and answer his needs as they arise.”

He hesitated. “As you wish,” he said grimly. “Satisfied?”

She looked at his hard face and knew his pride was hurt. Swallowing her own, she made a simple request that made her feel a beggar. “May I have something to eat and drink?”

His brows rose slightly in realization. “Tell Lagos what you want and he’ll see it’s prepared for you.” His mouth curved sardonically. “Goose livers, oak-fed beef, ostrich, wine from Northern Italy? Whatever is your taste. I’m sure whatever you crave can be obtained.”

Rizpah pressed her lips together, holding back an angry retort. Any harsh reply would only serve to stir his anger further, and she had already done damage enough with her wayward tongue. “Seven-grain bread, lentils, fruit, and watered wine will more than satisfy me, my lord. Other than that, I ask for nothing.”

“You will receive a denarius each day for as long as you remain in my household,” he said, starting down the corridor toward the kitchen.

“I will not be paid for—”

She broke off when Atretes stopped and came back toward her. Bending down, he brought his face close to hers. “A denarius a day,” he said through his teeth, his blue eyes blazing. “Just so you understand you are here
by hire.
When my son is weaned, you
go!”

She refused to be intimidated.
A year, at least, with Caleb,
she thought, thanking God again. She was done with crying. She would cling to the knowledge that many things could change in a year, not the least of which was a man’s heart.

Atretes’ eyes narrowed. When the woman made no further comment, he straightened slowly. He had cowed men with less anger than he had shown her, and yet she stood quiet, clear-eyed, gazing up at him without the least concern. “You know the way,” he said, wary.

Rizpah stepped past him and walked down the hall.

Struck by her grace and dignity, Atretes stared after her until she entered the kitchen.

A moment later, the baby stopped crying.

Sertes leaned against a door in the east wall of the villa, smiling as he watched Atretes in the distance. “He’s staying in condition,” he said, watching the German run down a rocky slope.

Gallus gave a brittle laugh. “Don’t assume too much, Sertes. Atretes labors to drive demons from his head.”

“May the gods prevent him from succeeding,” Sertes said with a slight smile. “The mob misses him. No man has excited them as he did.”

“You can forget what you’re thinking. He won’t go back.”

The Ionian laughed softly. “He misses it. Perhaps he won’t yet admit it, even to himself, but one day he will.” Soon, Sertes hoped. Otherwise, he’d have to devise a way of making him want to return, which was always easier when the man was so conditioned as a gladiator that he couldn’t function in any other realm. And a gladiator with Atretes’ passion and charisma was worth a fortune.

Sertes watched Atretes run up the last hill before the villa. The German’s face darkened when he saw him, but Sertes was not offended. Rather, he smiled.