Palace of Darkness (23 page)

“Yes. If you think they would not mind.”

Julian refrained from shaking the self-deprecation from her. “You have won the hearts of every one of them. They would welcome you.”

She grew serious and looked away. “I need to be able to care for my son alone. It would not do to rely on your friends.”

“Come tonight, Cassia.”

They waited for Zeta and Talya to descend but only Zeta came down. “Talya’s mending from the palace occupies her tonight. She came home only for a few minutes, then returned.” Julian walked with the women back to the tomb where they spent their days, but this time they went into the cavernous depths of the bottom floor.

To Julian it seemed their numbers had decreased. Was it simply the enlarged size of their new tomb chamber? But a quick count confirmed they were fewer. His gaze met Malik’s at the back of the room, and the older man gave him a small nod, as though he read Julian’s thoughts and shared his concern.

Julian seated Cassia and Zeta, then joined Malik.

“There is fear.” Malik eyed the group. “And fear always winnows, always purifies.”

“These are the faithful, then.”

Malik smiled sideways. “Indeed. And let us not forget those who labor in the palace at your direction.”

“Not my direction. I only asked for those who would be willing.”

Malik’s smile disappeared, and Julian felt a chill from him. “Not your direction, then. They act only as their own wishes direct.”

Confused by the older man’s displeasure, Julian found a seat on the cold floor near Cassia and waited for the meeting to begin.

They sang with more abandon tonight, perhaps because they were set so deep from the street, perhaps because only those remained whose confidence in Jesus’ love for them brought them out in spite of the danger.

Malik spoke with passion as well. “We must each grasp hold of that freedom for which the Christ suffered.” His face glowed and lifted to the roof above them. “His love for us is a sure foundation. It delivers us from our desperate need for the approval of others and frees us to love each other without the need of a response. Only when we are able to love like this, as Jesus loves, will we be prepared for the fight, for the persecution that is coming.”

Julian prayed silently that Cassia would hear and understand. Her gaze never left Malik, as though she drank eagerly of all he spoke.

“We will soon be called to do more than simply identify ourselves as believers, brothers and sisters.”

The mood in the room had sobered, and Malik looked around at the people, his eyes compassionate. “But do not fear. Jesus told His apostles He would build His church, and no other power would prevail against it. There has been an unbroken line of truth before you, from the apostles to Paul to even myself, trained by Paul. And it will continue.”

Julian felt Malik’s attention on him. He shifted his position, wrapped his arms around his bent legs, and studied the floor.

“Julian, perhaps you should speak to the gathering about how your plan is progressing.”

It was an obvious ploy. To speak of leadership to the group and then ask him to stand and direct them. Julian shrugged. “There is nothing to speak of right now. I do not wish to interrupt the meeting.” He felt a chill once more, this time from both Malik and Cassia beside him.

Malik’s shoulders bent forward, and he grimaced as though in pain. He spoke to the group, bringing their attention back to himself, but his words were clearly for Julian. “Those who will not accept their call should be most careful of the refining to come.”

A chastened hush fell over the group, broken by the sound of someone stumbling into the back of the tomb.

Talya appeared, holding a small oil lamp. Her eyes seemed sunken, hollow. Julian knew at once that something had changed.

TWENTY-FOUR

“W
HAT IS IT
, T
ALYA
?” Z
ETA WENT TO HER DAUGHTER AT
the tomb entrance. “The Lord protects us still. Do not fear.”

But the girl’s gaze traveled to Cassia, and it was not fear she read there. It was grief. Deep and painful. Cassia felt a sudden metallic taste in her mouth. “What has happened?”

The girl’s hand shook and Zeta took the oil lamp from her. Julian came to Cassia’s side, one arm around her waist for support.

“There is talk in the palace.” Talya’s voice trembled.

Cassia swayed on her feet.
Talk. Only talk.
“Tell me.”

“The Festival of Grain approaches.” Talya chewed at her fingernails. “They are saying the high priestess and queen will offer a sacrifice to appease the gods, to protect us from Rome.” Her eyes flickered to Julian apologetically, as though he were all of Rome.

Cassia did not speak. The words would have been too dreadful to even make it past her lips.

But Talya said them anyway.

“They are saying Alexander will be sacrificed.” Her telling of it ended with a sob, and Zeta held her as she dissolved into tears.

Cassia watched the girl fall apart but could not take in the news. She felt as though she had turned to stone. Would she break into pieces?

She found herself seated again and did not remember moving there.

Julian and Malik talked quietly in the corner. Zeta and Talya still wept together beside the entrance.

Cassia stood. No longer could she comfort herself with the thought that although Alexander had enemies in the palace, he also had friends, and perhaps he would grow up stronger for it. No, everything had changed. Her delusion was stripped away and she saw the truth of Hagiru’s desperation. No one could keep her son safe. She formed the words that kept repeating in her heart, forced them out, forced herself to face it.

“They are going to kill my son.”

Her friends looked at her with both compassion and concern. Had Malik not spoken of persecution? And then, as though the old man’s words had been a prophecy whispered to him by his One God, a series of shouts and the stomp of heavy feet came from outside the tomb.

At the sound of intrusion, the believers scrambled as one to huddle together at the back of the chamber. Julian pushed Cassia behind him, and she was grateful her small stature made her nearly hidden.

The opening to the outside swarmed with armed soldiers.
No palace guards this time.
The soldiers were swathed in robes as all Arabians, so unlike Rome’s leather and chain mail, but they were armed with long swords strapped across their chests and short daggers tucked into their belts.

Again, Julian and Malik traded glances, and Cassia sensed the elder waited for Julian to act.

“We have gathered peaceably,” Julian called to the soldiers. “We want no trouble here.”

One of them, his head turbaned in black, stepped forward. “You are ordered to submit! For detainment by the royal house.”

Cassia’s hand found its way into his, and he squeezed her fingers but did not look at her.

She did a quick survey of their fellowship. There were some strong men among them. But an equal number of women, children, and elderly. To resist would prove fatal for them all. They looked to Julian.

“We will not fight you,” he called to the soldiers. “But we insist the charges against us be explained by a representative of the king.”

The swiftness with which the soldiers had them bound by rope into a single line was devastating. Julian maneuvered to place Cassia in front of him, but when the first harsh yank of the rope came, she was nearly pulled off her feet.

“Steady, Cassia,” he whispered. But her thoughts were not on herself.

Alexander.

She cared little what happened to her, but she could do nothing if she was imprisoned or worse. She had let herself grow weak. Cassia cursed her own foolish need to belong, that constant frailty that had brought her to these people, and now into bondage.

The streets were dark, though crowded, as the soldiers dragged them in their single roped line. The amphitheatre performance always drew a large audience, and the street was still clogged with giddy townspeople on their way to the night’s entertainment.

Cassia tried to look over her shoulder to Julian, but the twisting of her body threw off her balance and she tripped over her sandals. The rope dug into her wrists and burned. She barely noticed.

It was Alexander who occupied her thoughts. Alexander, left alone in the palace, without anyone to fight for his rescue.

Julian whispered words of reassurance to her, to anyone who could hear. She ignored him.

Nearly oblivious to their direction, it came as a surprise when she realized how close they had come to the amphitheatre. The half circle cut into the red cliff blazed as bright as day with dozens of torches, and the smell of burning bitumen stung her nostrils.

Their motley string of bound prisoners drew the stares and occasional kicks of townspeople. Cassia watched Nahor’s head in front of her. Was his son, Niv, somewhere in their line? Nahor plodded forward, head down. She could not read his emotions.

Ahead, the amphitheatre roared to life with the laughter of thousands. The
pantomimus
must have begun his act.

Was this where they were to be taken? For what purpose?

They were pulled past a line of smoking cook fires, where opportunistic merchants heated shanks of seasoned boar meat and barley cakes for those without the foresight to bring their own evening’s food.

Behind her, Julian was speaking too low for her to hear his words.

Cassia’s legs and arms felt a heaviness borne of grief and terror more than fatigue. She forced her feet to follow Nahor’s and fought the urge to collapse onto the street and pull the whole line of believers down with her.

Julian’s words grew louder, phrases strung together with a passion she had never heard in his voice.

“Walk with us, Jesus. Show us how to suffer for Your sake, give us strength to stand when fear would strike us down, let Your peace flow into frightened hearts.”

His words sent chills through Cassia and left her weak.

And then his words were of her.

“Show Yourself to Cassia, Jesus. Give her time to understand Your love. We are ready. She is not. Oh, Jesus, give her more time.” His voice broke and Cassia’s heart with it.

He believes we go to our death.

Was it true? Had she lost the opportunity to save her boy?

She saw Alexander there in the palace, under the power of Hagiru. Tortured and hated. Alone. Waiting for death on an altar.

The thought squeezed her chest with such force, she felt she might suffocate. The torches and people in the street blurred in her vision and spun and twisted into angry, hateful shapes that would reach out and strangle her. She heard herself cry out as though from a great distance.

“Strength, Cassia.” Julian’s voice was confident and soothing. “We are nearly there.”

Indeed, within moments they were hauled to the dim backstage corridors of the amphitheatre. She caught only a glimpse of the thousands of spectators massed in the stone seats, a rainbow of color in the night, before the rope was yanked and they were hurried down into the corridors she had come to know well.

She half expected to see Yehosef, but tonight was a pantomime night, and the gladiators were not scheduled to fight. So it did not surprise her to be led to the cellar level, to the very cells where she had seen the fighters housed. The irony was a bitter one, and she pushed the thought from her.

They were split into two groups and shoved into dirty cells, with the iron gates locked behind them. Their ropes were unbound, and those in Cassia’s cell at once huddled in a tight circle. She stood near the gate, looking out and fighting that suffocating feeling.

She felt a warm hand on her back, knew it to be Julian, and stiffened. She had let him get too close already. All of them. It had led to this. She remembered her promise to herself back in Damascus. She would stand alone and provide a home for her son. Never again let a man control her.

And now look at you.

“Cassia, come back here.”

Julian pulled her into their circle, and she saw no point in resisting. Malik was with them, along with Zeta and Nahor and his son, Niv. Cassia took a small bit of comfort from the realization that all of Julian’s people planted in the palace had escaped capture tonight. Perhaps Alexander still knew friends.

But without her, without Julian to lead them, what hope did Alexander have?

“Why are we here?”

The group looked at her with some pity, as though she should know the answer but none of them wanted to tell her.

“What?”

Julian threaded his fingers through hers and held her hand at his side. “Some kind of entertainment, Cassia.”

“What would be entertaining about us?”

He swallowed. “Remember, there was talk of a panther being brought—”

As if it were a performer responding on cue, from somewhere deeper in the underground halls, a terrifying growl echoed through the cells and chilled her blood. Her eyes widened and took in the expressions of each of the group. Their faces confirmed her fear yet did not reflect it. She remembered Julian’s prayer as they walked.
Peace flowing into frightened hearts.
She had none of this peace.