Palace of Darkness (14 page)

Alawin, whose hair would make women jealous, sought out Julian’s eyes. He held them for a moment, then nodded and broke into a wide smile. “Welcome, brother.” He extended his arms. Julian gripped the man’s arms and nodded. With a flash of insight akin to Malik’s, Julian felt the man was also a follower of the Way.

Alawin gave them each a tan cake drizzled with sweet golden honey. He leaned close to Malik. “I am sorry I have not been able to come in the evenings. Samiyah has been unwell.”

Malik frowned. “We will pray for Samiyah’s health, then, and hope to see you soon.”

Alawin bobbed his head, and a lock of thick hair fell into his eyes. “Thank you, Elder.” He gripped Malik’s arm. “I thank you and Samiyah thanks you.”

Julian did not miss the look of respect Alawin lavished on Malik. Oddly, he felt a jolt of something like envy.

“Give Samiyah my love, Alawin.” Malik finished his cake and licked the honey from his fingers. “We must find Julian some work.”

Julian thanked Alawin for the cake and smiled when the man refused Malik’s money.

The two men walked to the end of the
Cardo Maximus
, toward the eastern end of the city where the fabulous tombs were carved astonishingly high into the cliffs.

Malik looked up. “You will climb to work?”

“Absolutely.”

“They are always in need of masons to chip away the stone.”

Julian hesitated, still resisting any divulgence of the details of his former life. “I . . . I am able to do a little sculpting as well.”

Malik halted and turned on him. “Give me your hands.”

Julian held them, still sticky with the honey cake, out to the man.

Malik took Julian’s hands in his own and examined them. Then closed his eyes.

Julian swallowed. Again, he felt the discomforting thought that the Elder of Petra was calling him forth to a task he didn’t want to undertake.

Malik opened his eyes and released Julian’s hands.

“The hands of a sculptor.” He tilted his head and studied Julian. His voice deepened and his eyes grew fiery. “But God has given me to know these hands will do more than carve stone. They will carve a place for Jesus’ church in Arabia.”

Julian broke the hold of Malik’s eyes, wiped his fingers on his tunic, and resumed walking. He had felt that fire once, the flame he saw in Malik’s eyes. It had caused nothing but harm. He would not feel it again.

Malik hurried after him. “Your heart is tightly guarded. But God will do a work.” He laughed. “And perhaps it will begin with the little Syrian woman and her son.”

Julian gave the old man a sideways glance. Had his interest in Cassia been so obvious? “She is too bright for that, I believe. I fear she sees right through me.”

“And what does she see?”

Julian kicked at a stone in the street. “A man who has failed at every important thing in his life.”

Malik said nothing and Julian chose not to look at him. He eyed the tombs ahead. “You know someone here who will give me work?”

Malik drew alongside him, held his arm until Julian turned to him. “There is work for you here, Julian. Indeed, more than you want to acknowledge. But first you must accept the call.” Those eyes were afire again. “It is time to forget the past. It is time to open your heart.”

FIFTEEN

A
LEXANDER IS GONE
.

Cassia had spent the night in the home of Zeta and Talya once again and awoke to the crushing desolation of Alexander’s absence and the memory of her vow the night before. She crept from the bedding Talya had laid near the front blanket-wall of the home, pushed aside the heavy tan fabric, and sat cross-legged at the ledge, surveying the city still in the shadow of the cliff that housed her. The rising sun’s early beams lighted the countless swirls and shades formed in the rock face across from her ledge.

How was she ever to retrieve her son? How could one small woman, with no money and no army, come against the royal house?

Far below, a donkey wandered the desolate street as though it belonged to no one. Cassia watched its plodding steps and felt the confidence of the prior night slip away.

Whatever her plan, she could not impose on Zeta and Talya any longer. She needed to find work and a place to live, however temporary, until she could find a way to get Alexander back.

She smoothed the white tunic Talya had given her last night. The yellow silk was gone. The pouch she had brought all the way
from Damascus with their few possessions had disappeared in yesterday’s struggle at the palace. She had absolutely nothing, and even the clothes she wore were not her own.

If she did not find work soon, she would be reduced to begging. The thought barely troubled her when compared to the loss of Alexander, but to spend all her time begging for enough to survive would not help her get him back.

The two women were soon awake, and Cassia busied herself with helping them begin the day, hoping to repay them in some small way for their generosity.

They ground meal and baked bread through the morning, until a voice called out Zeta’s name from outside the rock wall.

“Come,” Zeta returned, and the three paused in their work to wait for the visitor to enter.

The blanket parted and the tall, lean frame of the Roman, Julian, appeared.

Beside Cassia, Talya visibly straightened, and Zeta clucked her tongue. Cassia couldn’t help smiling at the two women’s reactions.

Julian’s attention, however, was on her, and she flushed under his steady gaze. He stood at the edge of the home, his hand on the rock wall. “How are you this morning?”

Cassia inhaled and nodded. “On my feet, though a bit bruised.”

Zeta waved him into the home. “Come away from the ledge before you fall to your death, boy.”

Julian smiled. He was a few years older than Cassia, and she smiled, too, hearing Zeta call him “boy.”

He took a few steps toward her. “I am glad to hear your injuries are not serious. But I was asking more about your heart.”

Cassia turned away, back to the bread, her thoughts jumbled at the unexpected question. “I am trying not to feel much right now.”

There was a silent pause, in which Cassia felt the attention of all three on her in pity, but she did not look up from the kneading.

“What will you do?” Julian finally asked.

She shook her head. “Today I will find work and a place to live. Necessary before I can do anything for Alexander.”

She reached for the bowl of flour across the table, and Julian pushed it toward her. “That is what I came to tell you. I have found some work for us both, if you are interested.”

Cassia studied him from the side. “Why?”

He shrugged. “We are both new to Petra. I needed to find work myself and thought of you when I was asking around.”

It surprised Cassia to hear that Julian was new to the city. His performance at the Nymphaeum yesterday had convinced her he was a favored son of the city, in spite of his obvious Roman birth. “What kind of work?”

“I will show you.”

Zeta and Talya shooed them out, instructing Cassia to return later and give them news of the day. Within minutes she and Julian had descended to the city street, walked north a few minutes until they reached a section of the cliff face that held a series of enormous tomb facades carved into the rock. The face of the largest had been sculpted into three stories, with its lowest being a series of arches built in front of the cliff. The shell-pink wavy ribbons undulated through the topmost section, but it appeared only half finished, with rock ledges cut to accommodate the sculptors.

Julian pointed upward. “There it is.”

Cassia followed his gaze. “What?”

“Our new employment.”

Cassia huffed. “I am no mason!”

Julian looked down on her and laughed.

“That is funny?”

He craned his neck backward to scan the top of the tomb. “It amuses me that your objection concerns your masonry skills and not the unseemly height of the project.”

Cassia shrugged one shoulder. “I have never feared heights.”

“I am beginning to think you fear nothing.”

Cassia could feel his gaze on her but hardened herself and did not turn. “You have mistaken me for someone else.”

Julian did not respond but a moment later said, “I found work for myself as a stonecutter up there.” He pointed. “But for you, I offered them the services of a woman to collect and bring down rock chips and to fetch the water necessary for the sculpting.”

Hard work. And dirty. “Thank you, Julian.”

“I’ll try not to drop rocks on your head.” He smiled.

The morning passed quickly, in a haze of red dust and burning calf muscles. Cassia worked below Julian, collecting the pieces of rock that fell from his chisel as he gouged a new niche into the sandstone. She then filled clay pots with the rocks and lowered them by rope to others who worked below her.

From her perch above the city, she again marveled at the engineering that had carved a city out of this rocky gorge. In the distance beyond the single city wall, she could see farmers fighting against the stony soil, their yolked plow animals dragging the wooden blade.

Halfway through the morning, she was instructed to switch places with a woman below and assume the task of getting water from the Nymphaeum down the street.

It was here she became truly thankful for the work Julian had
found her, for the fountain house was the central location for women to gather and gossip, and it was here she heard of happenings in the palace. This morning the talk was all about the new prince who had appeared from nowhere. The disappearance of Aretas was only alluded to, and Cassia gained no new knowledge there, but she grasped at every scrap of information regarding Alex while trying to remain casual. It would not do for the queen to hear she remained so close to the palace.

She left the Nymphaeum with a heavy heart. How could one powerless woman defeat the mighty queen? And how could she take Alexander from his birthright?

Back at the massive tomb project with her pot of water, she watched Julian’s progress above her and the way he shouted down to the woman who had replaced her. Even from the street level, Cassia could see the girl’s laughter, could hear Julian’s teasing voice falling on her. Even the other masons working on the rock face seemed amused by him. It appeared as though the workforce had begun to center its attention around him. She watched the athletic grace with which he leaned out from his platform to hack away at the rock and compared him to Aretas’s muscle-bound physique.

“The water won’t return without you.” The harsh voice at her elbow startled her. She turned and raised her eyes to the mason gang’s leader.

A flush creeped into her neck and face. “I . . . I am sorry.”

The mason looked above them to where Julian pretended to toss down a large rock piece on the head of his female helper below. “If he weren’t so good, I’d get rid of him. Too distracting.”

Cassia grabbed an empty terra-cotta pot and hurried toward the Nymphaeum again, away from Julian’s charms.

The mason was right. And of all women, she should know better.

The days passed in quick succession. Julian’s assigned niche deepened and matched the growing hollow place being carved out of Cassia as she made no progress in retrieving Alexander. It was all she could do to keep up with the rigorous work of the day, then do her part in the home of Zeta, who had insisted upon housing her. She fell into bed each night and slept like one dead, angry that she had no plan but satisfied at least that she was earning money. Some of it she gave to Zeta to pay for her keep, but most of it went into a tiny box Talya gave her, secreted under her bedding. How long would it be before enough accumulated to fund their escape from Petra?