Valley of Decision (28 page)

“Mom!” Maggie shrieked, but her voice was lost in the surge of the inflamed mob.

“We've got to get out of here!” Eggie grabbed her elbow.

“No!” Maggie lunged toward the podium, but Barek held her back. “Let me go!”

His hand cuffed her wrist. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm going to help my mom!”

“No you're not!”

“You can't expect me to stand here and do nothing!” Maggie yelled above the noise. “Please, Barek.”

A big man brandishing a broken broom handle knocked them aside. Barek pulled her to him. “I know you want to help her. But look around!” he shouted. “Have you counted the troops Maximus had brought in? We've got to think of another way.”

Maggie watched helplessly as across the teeming mass of people a soldier lifted his sword over her mother's head. “Mom! Run!”

Her mother turned toward Maggie's voice just as the soldier brought the hilt down hard upon her head. Maggie watched helplessly as her mother, a tower of strength and determination, crumbled. “Mom!” Maggie felt Barek's arm hook her waist. She kicked at his shins but couldn't break free.

“Let's get her out of this crowd.” Eggie nodded in the direction opposite the mob storming the podium.

Maggie's feet left the pavement. Before she could protest, she was hanging upside down over Barek's shoulder. “Put me down!” Blood rushing to her head, she pounded Barek's back. “Now!”

His grip tightened. His speed increased, jostling her like a rag doll. She felt him veer out of the crowd and duck down an alley. He stopped in a quiet, shaded nook of a large building.

“Where will they take Maggie's grandmother?” Eggie asked Barek, his breath coming in short huffs.

“To the arena,” Barek spat out between his own labored breaths.

“They can't crucify someone they don't have,” Eggie said.

Maggie raised her head. “Let me go!”

Barek squeezed Maggie's legs even tighter. “What are you saying, man?”

Eggie looked around as if worried they'd been followed. “You know the route they'll take to the arena, right?”

“The longest. To give the news time to spread and draw the biggest crowd,” Barek said.

“Which way?”

“Past the theater, probably.”

“Perfect. Find a place between here and there where you can hide.”

“Then what?”

“Then jump out and grab the old lady when they come by.”

“And what shall we use as weapons to fight off the soldier escort? Your charm?”

“Put me down!” Maggie demanded. “I've got to get to my mother.”

Finally Barek acknowledged her. “I'll put you down, but if you try to run I'll beat your backside.” He hauled her off his shoulder and dropped her with a thump.

She scrambled to her feet. “I have a knife.” Maggie pulled the blade she'd bought from the airport vendor from her sash.

“Whoa!” Barek ripped it out of her hand. “Give me that before you hurt yourself.”

“There, now you're armed, Barek. Feel better?” Eggie smirked. “The awkward way you're handling the weapon, hopefully you won't need it.”

Barek slammed his forearm into Eggie's throat and pinned him against the wall. He brought the knife against Eggie's cheek with his other hand. “So you think the soldiers are just going to hand Magdalena over if I show them a weapon?”

“Barek! Stop it!” Maggie tugged on his sleeve but he wouldn't budge from his stance.

“I'll create a diversion,” Eggie croaked.

“What kind of diversion?” Maggie asked.

“I'll think of something that will get everyone's attention.”

“Then what?” she demanded.

“Then you and Barek grab your grandmother and run like gazelles. I'll circle back for your mother.”

“We can't do this.” Barek had dug in the way he did the night she'd wanted to go with him to bury his mother. She'd won then and she'd win now.

“Why not?” Maggie hoped neither guy could see the terror clawing her insides.

“I promised your father I'd keep you safe.”

“And he promised my mother he'd save my grandmother,” she argued. “Some promises get broken.”

Barek looked between her and Eggie. He slowly lowered the knife, released Eggie's throat, and stepped back. “We can't take her back to Titus. They'll kill him for harboring a criminal.”

Eggie rubbed his throat. “Got any better ideas?”

Maggie didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified that she'd gotten her way so easily. “You'll do it, Barek?”

“If I don't, you'll go anyway.”

“Barek—”

His scowl silenced her explanation. “I know how you are! Once your mind is set, there's no changing your course. Don't try to deny it. I know you better than you think.”

“Hate to interrupt your admiration for each other”—Eggie grabbed an unlit torch from a nearby streetlamp—“but if we do this, we'll need someplace to hole up until everything settles down.”

Barek didn't hesitate a moment. “My parents' dye shop is vacant.”

“Wait for the diversion, then grab her grandmother and go there.” Eggie waved the bundle of sticks in a little farewell salute. “I'll catch up with you later.”

Maggie ran after him. “Wait! How will you find us?”

“Smart as you are beautiful.” Eggie clasped her face, pulled her to him, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Tastes even sweeter.” His release left her speechless. He shot a pleased smile to Barek. “Now, where is this dye shop?”

Barek threaded his fingers through Maggie's as if reclaiming what Eggie had so brazenly taken. “Southernmost fringe of the city.” His eyes narrowed. “Follow the foul smell to a wooden tooth, then turn left.”

A
T THE SOUND OF
Maggie's cries for help, a switch snapped in Lisbeth's head. She staggered to her feet. Righteous indignation at the proconsul's verdict had quickly morphed into something far more deadly than the headache she had from the blow to the head. She was a desperate mother determined to protect her child. Lisbeth fought wildly to free herself from the soldier dragging her away from the podium. He pinned her arms by wrapping them across her chest. She sank her teeth into his exposed flesh and didn't let up until she tasted blood.

“Ahhh! You little witch!”

While he writhed in pain, Lisbeth seized her chance. She broke loose and ran toward where she'd heard someone screaming for her in English.

“Maggie!” Her eyes frantically scanned the sea of angry protestors. Far beyond her reach, she caught a glimpse of blond curls. “Maggie!” She shifted her eyes over the crowd but her daughter was gone—swallowed by the surge of people like a footprint in sand. She began to spin, calling and searching with each rotation.

Someone grabbed her from behind and drew her to an instant halt. “Get out of here.”

It took a second for recognition to pierce her blinding rage. “Cyprian! Maggie's here!”

He shook his head. “She's home with Barek.”

Lisbeth waved the bone saw she'd somehow managed to hang on to in the direction she'd last seen their daughter. “I spotted her a minute ago but I couldn't get to her.”

“Put that thing away.” He pulled her tighter still and kissed her forehead. “I'll find her. Go home.”

“Not without Maggie!” Lisbeth called after him, but he was gone. She turned back to the podium. Broad-shouldered military handlers had surrounded Maximus. Her mother's hands were being bound behind her back. Papa had made his way to the stage and was desperately ramming his body into the barrier of shields.

“Papa!” Lisbeth fought past brawling fishmongers and belligerent cheese merchants. “Papa!”

“I know you!” The redheaded soldier grabbed her arm and yanked her onto the podium. “You're the one from the dark alley. The one who claimed to be the wife of Cicero.” He ripped the saw from her hands. From the recognition on his face, she could see that the combination of better light and the saw had made it easy for him to connect the dots. “You're not the senator's wife, you're the servant I brought to the proconsul's house the night of his surgery. She was there!” He flung her before Maximus. “She was the one who disappeared after the murderous deed was done.”

“Arrest her!” Maximus ordered.

Lisbeth lunged for the soldier's throat. Her doubled fists hit his breastplate so hard she could feel her knuckles instantly swelling. The redhead laughed and grabbed hold of her elbow and jerked her close. He held her in a tight bear hug she couldn't break. Panic rushed in like a whirlwind.

“Let her go!” said an authoritative voice, then from out of nowhere, Cyprian launched his body at the redheaded soldier.

Lisbeth sailed backward. She rolled to a stop just as the redhead
raised his whip. It came down with an electrifying crack across Cyprian's face.

Cyprian staggered backward but managed to stay upright. “Get Maggie and go home!” he shouted at Lisbeth as he quickly regained his balance and charged toward the redhead. “I'm the one you want!” He drew back his fist, anger flaring his nostrils. “Let's see how tough you are when you have to fight a man.” He stood poised to release the full fury of the years of injustice he'd suffered at the hands of Rome.

Lisbeth crawled forward, her eyes on Cyprian. Halfway there, it was as if the wind changed, bringing with it a great, cooling sort of power. There could be no other explanation. For in the blink of an eye, Cyprian's will to fight was snuffed out. Vanished.

Cyprian slowly lowered his fist, stepped forward, and held out his hands for the cuffs. “I surrender.”

“Cyprian! Don't!” Lisbeth felt a strong hand clasp her arm and yank her into the crowd.

*  *  *

WITH THE
tip of a soldier's blade in his back, Cyprian kept his face straight ahead. He didn't dare look back, for one more glimpse of the terror on Lisbeth's face as Pontius dragged her away would compel him to fight to stay alive. She'd given up everything to save him: Her world. Her career. Her family. And yet, despite her sacrifices, Lisbeth could not change his destiny. He would not let her give up her ability to return home.

God, be with her because I can't.

Cyprian threaded his way through the mob, hoping to keep the redheaded guard escorting him from the Forum so busy Lisbeth would have an opportunity to escape. He set a course toward his client. He was intent on reaching Magdalena before they took her to be crucified. He wanted to tell her . . . to tell her his mistake
was not in his arguments, for the law was on his side. His mistake was that he'd underestimated the reach of a dead man. Aspasius had tried to ruin his reputation with nasty rumors. Stripped him of his wife and friends. Charged him with treason against the throne. Rallied the support to exile him like a common criminal. And now, he'd taken his ability to make a difference.

A fresh pang of grief ripped through Cyprian. Those were not the things he really wanted to tell Magdalena Hastings. He wanted to say he didn't understand why God had allowed the most selfless woman Carthage had ever known to be sentenced to death. This city was sick. They needed a healer. They needed someone to show them Christ. They needed her, especially since Lisbeth was going home. He wanted to say he was sorry he was not the bishop his predecessor had been.

Dodging flying fists, elbows, and stones, he shouted, “Magdalena!” He pushed against the soldiers trying to hurry him to wherever they would hold him captive. He was a Roman citizen and a patrician through birth. By law he had the right to house arrest. He pressed against the swords holding him back. “She's my client. I have a right to speak to my client!”

“She's my prisoner.” The redheaded soldier shoved him into the arms of another soldier. “Get him out of here!”

Two guards led him through the crowd and dragged him from any hope of saving the ones he loved.

A coldness seeped into his gut. Whatever was coming next, he would have to face the trial alone.

*  *  *

LISBETH PULLED
against Pontius's iron grip, watching Cyprian calmly agreeing to be led from the Forum like a common criminal. His wrists were bound in metal cuffs. Her heart sped in several directions at once:
Cyprian. Maggie. Her parents.
She didn't know
which way to run. Her family had been torn into pieces she might never stitch together again.

Lisbeth had never experienced this level of fear. From her very first visit to the third century, she'd faced one difficult situation after another. There'd been losses—huge ones. Yet somehow through it all, she'd always managed to hang on to a fragment of her family. Even all those years ago when her mother disappeared from the Cave of the Swimmers she'd had Papa. And when she'd had to leave Cyprian and Mama behind, she'd had Maggie. But this time things were different. At this moment, everyone she loved was beyond her reach.

Rioters rushed the tables of weights and measures and flipped them with ease. People dove for the scattered coins. Nearby someone picked up a stone and hurled it at the judge's podium. In an instant, stones whizzed through the Forum.

“We've got to go.”

Lisbeth turned toward the hand pulling her in yet another direction. “Pontius, what are you doing?”

“What Cyprian would want!” he yelled over the bedlam. “Protecting you.”

She shook her head. “I've got to find Maggie and my parents.”

“I know a shortcut.” Pontius waved his hand and suddenly Tappo, the brawny stonemason whose original desertion had left her and Cyprian to fend for themselves, flanked her. “If we hurry maybe we can cut them off on the way to the arena.”

M
AGGIE STUMBLED ALONG AFTER
Barek, his grip on her wrist so tight it was cutting off the circulation to her hand. She'd crossed a line by convincing him to do this with her. These people were not his family. Yet here he was, risking his life. If this didn't work, there would be no going back to the time when they were just two kids accidentally thrown together.