An Echo in the Darkness by Francine Rivers
Revulsion filled Hadassah at what he was telling her, and yet she saw and felt his shame as well. He went very still. “I disgust you, too, don’t I?” he said hoarsely.
She leaned forward and took his hands in hers. “We can’t control our feelings the way we can our actions.”
His hands tightened, holding on to her as though he were drowning. “Neither are easy.” He said nothing for a long moment and then began again. “When Celadus touched me, I was tempted.” His head sank lower. “I knew if I stayed another minute, I wouldn’t leave at all.” He let go of her and raked agitated fingers through his hair, gripping his head again. “So I ran.” He began to cry again. “I couldn’t stand up to the temptation and overcome it. I fled like a coward.”
“Not like a coward,” Hadassah said gently. “Like Joseph when the wife of Potiphar, Pharaoh’s captain of the bodyguard, tried to seduce him. You ran, Prometheus. The Lord made a way for your escape, and you took it.”
“You don’t understand, Lady Azar.” He looked up at her, his expression strained. “I ran today. What if it happens again, and that time the man is as convincing in his arguments and seduction as Calabah was with Lady Julia? What if I’m depressed? What if—”
“Don’t be so anxious about tomorrow, Prometheus. Let today’s trouble be enough for today. God will not abandon you.”
He rubbed the tears from his face. “That sounds so easy,” he said in frustration. “You say God won’t abandon me, and yet I feel abandoned. Do you know there are Christians here in Ephesus who will have as little to do with me as possible because they know what I was? Some Nicolaitans go to the Artemision several times a week and use the temple prostitutes. Yet, they’re not treated the way I am.”
She was much aggrieved. “What they do is sin, Prometheus.”
“They’re with women.”
“And you think that makes a difference?”
“One man made a point of telling me it’s written in the Scriptures that God considers homosexuality an abomination. That I should be stoned to death.”
“The Mosaic law considered adultery and fornication abominations deserving of death, too. God despises harlotry of any kind, body or spirit.” She thought of Julia in the upper bedchamber, dying slowly of a disease she contracted by practicing a life of sin. She thought of her worshiping other gods. Wherein was the greatest sin?
“I see the way some of them look at me,” he said. “They don’t look at those men that way. Most Christians think I’m beneath contempt, beyond redemption. And after today, I think they may be right.”
“No, Prometheus. You’re listening to the wrong voice.”
He sat up slowly and leaned back. “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. I don’t know anymore. All I do know is sometimes I get lonely, Lady Azar, so lonely I crave the life I had with Primus.”
She wanted to weep. “I get lonely, too, Prometheus.”
“But you can always go to God, and he hears you.”
“He hears you, too,” she said tearfully, full of sorrow at what others were doing to him in the name of the Lord. “Don’t measure God by man. He loves you. He died for you.”
“Then why does he put me into temptation over and over again? I thought it was all over, but it’s not. I can’t close my mind off to the memories no matter how hard I try. Some things are always there to remind me. I find myself thinking my life was a lot less complicated when I wasn’t a Christian.”
“The Lord doesn’t tempt you. Satan does. He waits for the opportune time and knows exactly where you’re most vulnerable. For you, it’s the physical pleasures you experienced while practicing homosexuality. For those who persecute you, it’s pride. They think they’re better than you or their sin is less important. God doesn’t think as men think, Prometheus.”
She took his hands. “It says in Proverbs there are six things the Lord hates, yes, seven are an abomination to Him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, a false witness who speaks lies, and one who sows discord among brethren. How many of those sins do they commit who put stumbling blocks before you in your walk with the Lord? Don’t look to man for understanding or to yourself for what you need. God sees your pain and your struggle, and God will give you the strength to overcome it. God alone can do it.”
Prometheus let out his breath slowly and nodded. “I hear the Lord speak to me through you,” he said, greatly relieved. He lifted his head and smiled sadly. “You remind me of someone I once knew. She was one of the reasons I almost didn’t come back to this house.” His expression softened. “And, in a strange way, she was part of the reason I did.”
The Lord moved her heart. Prometheus had dropped his mask of happiness and revealed the struggle within himself. Could she do less?
She withdrew her hands from his. “Prometheus,” she said softly and lifted her veils.
He stared at her scars in revulsion and pity, and then his expression changed.
“O God, God!” he whispered hoarsely, recognizing her. He fell to his knees and put his arms around her hips, his head in her lap. “You can’t know how many times I’ve longed to speak with you again! You saw how I lived. You knew what I was. And still you loved me enough to share the Good News with me.”
She stroked Prometheus’ dark hair as though he were still a child. “God has always loved you, Prometheus. It was no accident we met. I never knew if the seeds I planted would take root in you until I saw you again a few weeks ago. Oh, what joy it was to know you’d accepted Jesus into your heart, too.”
Her hand stilled on his head. “You’ve planted seeds, too, Prometheus. Leave your friend to the Lord.” She stroked him again, feeling his muscles relax.
“Oh, my lady,” he said.
She smiled wistfully. “I just wanted you to know I struggle with the past as much as you.” How many seeds had she planted in Julia? And yet none had taken root.
Why, Lord? Why?
Prometheus raised his head and drew back from her, looking into her face. He took her hands and held them tightly. “Don’t lose hope. God is good, and he has just shown me he is sovereign.” He spoke with complete assurance, his face alight with joy. “You are here, alive. How else could that be except by his will?”
She cried then, her own need for encouragement breaking through the surface of her self-enforced calm.
And Prometheus, restored, rose up to comfort her.
35
Marcus entered his mother’s villa without knocking. As he came up the steps, a slave girl saw him and dropped the tray she carried and cried out, “Lord Marcus!” The sound of shattering pottery and crystal echoed across the peristyle. Frightened, she scrambled to pick up the shards of broken glass. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to see you.”
“A pleasant surprise, I hope,” he said, smiling down at her. She blushed. He tried to remember her name and couldn’t. She was pretty, and he remembered his father had purchased her shortly after coming to Ephesus. “You’ve broken nothing of importance.”
Iulius came running down the upper corridor. “What’s happened? Is anyone hurt?” He saw Marcus and halted. “My lord!”
“It’s been a long time, Iulius,” he said and held out his hand.
Iulius saw Marcus’ seal ring was missing and wondered. He took his master’s hand and started to bow over it, but Marcus clasped his as an equal. Surprised, Iulius drew back uncomfortably. Marcus Valerian had never been one for familiarity with slaves, except, of course, with the prettiest young women. “Your journey was successful, my lord?”
“You might say that,” Marcus said, smiling. “I’ve come home a far richer man than when I left.” His eyes took on a sparkle of amusement. “I’ve much to tell my mother. Where is she?”
Iulius was discomforted. What he had to tell Marcus wouldn’t come as welcome news. What would the young master do now that he was home? “She rest
“Rests? At this time of the day? Is she ill? The fevers again, I imagine,” he said in dismay. She had had bouts of fever before he left.
“No, my lord. She’s not ill. Not exactly.”
Marcus frowned. “What exactly?”
“She can’t walk or speak. She has some use of her right hand.”
Alarmed, Marcus stepped past him and strode down the corridor. Iulius intercepted him before he reached the door. “Please listen to me before you see her, my lord.”
“Then speak quickly and to the point!”
“Despite the way she appears, she is not without her wits. She understands what happens around her and what is said. We’ve developed a way to talk with one another.”
Marcus brushed him aside and entered the bedchamber. He saw his mother sitting in a chair that was much like a small throne. Her hand lay limply on the arm, her slender fingers relaxed. Her head was back as though she was drinking in the warmth of the sun. His heart stopped racing. She looked well.
It wasn’t until he came closer that he saw the physical changes in her. “Mother,” he said softly, his heart breaking.
Phoebe opened her eyes. She had prayed so often about her son it didn’t surprise her at all when she heard his voice and saw a vision of him standing before her on the balcony. He looked the same, yet different. He was beautiful—the epitome of manly grace and power—but older, his skin bronzed by the sun. “Mother,” he said again. When he knelt down before her and took her hand, she knew he was real.
“Ahhh . . .”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m home.”
She wanted so desperately to throw her arms around him, but all she could do was sit and weep. Her tears greatly distressed him, and she tried to stop them. “Ahhhh . . . ,” she said, her right hand fluttering.
“It will be all right now,” he said, his own eyes filling.
Iulius came near and put his hand on her shoulder. “Your son has returned.”
Marcus noted the personal way Iulius touched his mother. He also saw the look in the man’s eyes. The heat of anger rose.
“I won’t leave you again,” Marcus said, wiping the tears gently from her cheeks. “I’ll find you the best physician money can buy.”
“The best have seen her already, my lord,” Iulius said. “We have not spared expense. Everything has been done that can be done.”
Looking into Iulius’ eyes, Marcus felt sure the slave spoke the truth. Yet, he was disturbed. It was right that a slave be devoted to his mistress, but the feelings he sensed from Iulius were far deeper than that. Perhaps it was good God had sent him home at this time.
Marcus returned his full attention to his mother, staring intently into her eyes. He saw how she held his gaze with equal intensity. One eye was clear and aware, the other vague and cloudy. “Was I mistaken to think you were a Christian?” he said.
She blinked twice.
“You were not mistaken,” Iulius said.
Marcus didn’t look away from her. “I was told by a man on the shores of the Sea of Galilee that there were believers who prayed for me. You prayed for me, didn’t you?”
She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again.
Marcus smiled. He knew the one thing that would give her the greatest solace. “Then know this, Mother. Your prayers have been answered. I found Christ. A man named Cornelius baptized me in the Sea of Galilee.”
Her eyes shone with tears again. “Ahhhh,” she said, and it was a sigh of praise and gratitude. Her hand fluttered.
Marcus took it and kissed her palm, then laid her hand full against his cheek.
“I have come home, Mother. To you. And to God.”
36
For the next several days, Marcus stayed in his mother’s company every moment she was awake. He told her about his voyage and meeting Satyros. He related his journey to Jerusalem and seeing the temple ruins and the stone where Abraham may have laid Isaac for sacrifice. He told her about the robbers on the road to Jericho and how Ezra Barjachin and his daughter, Taphatha, had saved his life. He spoke of the old woman, Deborah, in the village of Nain and how she had sent him on his way to the Sea of Galilee. He spoke of the despair and emptiness he had felt and of his attempt to take his own life. And finally, with reverence and awe, he spoke of Paracletos and the Lord.
“I don’t know if I drowned, Mother. I know I felt resurrected.” He held her hand, which was still delicate and graceful. “And I know now that Jesus is alive. I see his presence in the world around us.” He remembered Hadassah saying the same thing to him once. At the time he had thought it foolishness. Now it seemed so clear and inescapable. “I see him most in the hearts of people like Deborah and Cornelius and a dozen others I’ve met since then. But I saw him long before that.” He had seen the Lord in the life of a simple slave girl.
“Ha . . . da . . .”
He lowered his head and put his hand over hers.
“Ha . . . da . . .”
“I remember her, too, Mother. I remember everything about her.”
“Ha . . . da . . .”
“I miss her, too.”
“Ha . . . da . . .”
He raised his head, struggling against the grief that still hit him at times. “She is with the Lord,” he said, wishing he felt comforted by that knowledge. Yet her loss was like a wound that never healed. Hadassah. A word that was synonymous with love to him. How could he have been such a fool?
“Ahhh.”
“Shhhh,” he said, trying to ease his mother’s agitation. Her eyes were so intense, almost wild. “We will not speak of her again if it upsets you so much.”
She blinked twice.
“She must rest, my lord,” Iulius said, ever protective. “The physician said—”
“Yes, you told me.” Marcus lifted his mother in his arms and carried her back into the bedchamber. “We’ll talk again later,” he said, kissing her cheek.
Marcus straightened and looked squarely into Iulius’ face. He gestured toward the door. Iulius went out.
The girl who had dropped the tray on his first day home took the seat near the bed to watch over his mother. “Call for me when she awakens.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Marcus closed the door of the bedchamber behind him. Iulius stood at the railing overlooking the peristyle. Marcus looked at the older man with narrowed eyes. “Exactly what is the relationship between you and my mother?”
Dark color rose into Iulius’ face. “I am her slave, my lord.”
“Her slave?”
“I’ve seen to her care since she was struck down.”
“And before that?”
Iulius’ voice was level. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”
Marcus’ anger rose swiftly. “Who are you to command me?”
“I grant you that I am your slave, my lord, but I tell you this: If you speak one word that reflects unkindly upon your mother’s character, I will strike you as your father would have done and curse the consequences!”
Astonished, Marcus stared at him. Iulius knew as well as he that such words were enough to have him crucified. “You’ve answered my question with your rash words.”
“Not rash, my lord. Heartfelt. She is the gentlest of ladies.”
He clenched his teeth. “Does my mother love you in the same way you love her?”
“Of course not!”
Marcus was not so sure. He had entered the room several times when Iulius was alone with her. The slave’s voice had held a distinct tenderness when he spoke to his mother, and once, when Iulius had lifted her from the chair, she had laid her head upon his shoulder, content.
Marcus was not sure how he felt about their relationship, not sure he had a right to feel anything. Where had he been when his mother needed him? Iulius had devoted every moment to her care, seeing to her every need. He was watchful and protective. Iulius’ devotion was not a matter of duty, it was a continuing act of love.
“You love your mother.”
“Yes, I love her, but that doesn’t give me an excuse to make accusations against you. Forgive me, Iulius. Without your care, my mother wouldn’t be alive. I am grateful to you.”
Iulius was amazed at the change in Marcus. There was a new humility in him that he had never seen before.
“You need not be concerned about anything, my lord. To your mother, I am a slave and nothing more.”
“You are more to her than that.” He had seen the look in his mother’s eyes when Iulius spoke with her. He put his hand on Iulius’ shoulder. “You are her dearest friend.”
37
Days passed. Marcus waited for someone to mention his sister, but no one did. Finally, he became curious and asked how long it had been since Julia visited.
“About six months, my lord,” Iulius said.
“Six months?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Does she know of Mother’s condition?”
“We would not leave her in ignorance,” Iulius said. “We sent word several times, my lord. Lady Julia came once. She was very distressed about your mother’s condition.”
“So distressed she didn’t bother to come again.” Marcus uttered a foul word for her. Forgive her, Lord? He wanted to strangle her with his own two hands. His heart beat heavily as rage filled him.
Iulius regretted his condemning words, concerned they might not reflect the true state of Julia’s affairs. After all, he didn’t know why she hadn’t returned, and it was far from appropriate for him to make assumptions. He looked for possible reasons behind her neglect. “She didn’t look well, my lord.”
“She was probably suffering the effects of having been drunk the night before.”
Iulius had wondered the same thing at the time but didn’t admit to it. “She was very thin.”
Marcus looked at him coolly. “You’re defending my sister’s neglect?”