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her way, then take the child to the wet nurse.” When Lagos just stood staring at him, he shouted, “Do it!” He winced again.
    “It shall be as you command, my lord.”
    Head pounding, mouth dry, Atretes looked for something to drink. Kicking the flaccid wineskin out of his way, he went to an elegantly carved table. Scorning the silver cup, he drank from the pitcher. Setting it down, he rubbed his face, feeling the stubble of several days’ growth of beard. He walked back to his bed and fell on it, intending to sleep until nature awakened him.
    “My lord?”
    Atretes roused enough to ask, “Is it done?”
    Lagos cleared his throat nervously. “The woman said the child is hers.”
    “I told you he’s mine,” he ground out, his throbbing head still on the soft furs.
    “Yes, my lord, but she’s unwilling to hand him over, and Silus hesitates to use force. She said she came to speak with you on her son’s behalf.”
    Her son? Atretes rolled over and sat up, temper rising as he did. “Did the woman say anything else?” he said sarcastically.
    Lagos swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”
    “You seem less than eager to impart her words,” Atretes growled. “Out with them!”
    “She said to give the denarii back to you and tell you to eat them.” He held the offending pouch of coins out.
    Atretes’ face paled in rage. He walked over, snatched the pouch, and glared at Lagos. “Invite her in,” he said through clenched teeth.
    If the woman wanted to do battle, he’d oblige her.

    Silus glanced at Lagos as he crossed the yard. He could tell by the Greek’s lackluster smile that all had not gone well with Atretes.
    “The master will speak with you, my lady,” Lagos said and gestured. “Please, follow me.”
    Rizpah felt faint relief as she did as he bade. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord and followed the servant. She’d regretted her cross words about the coins as soon as they parted her lips but hadn’t had the opportunity to take them back. Perhaps the servant was far wiser than she and hadn’t imparted her impetuously spoken insult.
    She glanced around, disquieted by her surroundings. Despite the grandeur of the villa itself, there were no gardens. The entire area around the house was bare. She felt as though she’d entered the gates of a fortress rather than a home.
    As she went up the steps, she tried to still the trembling in her stomach. The little she knew about Atretes she’d learned from John, and he’d only been able to tell her that the man was a captive from Germania who had been trained as a gladiator and freed when he survived an elimination match during the Ephesian games. A great deal of grief and violence were embodied in those few words. A barbarian from the frontier; a man trained to kill men.
    “Is he a Christian?” she had asked John weakly, clinging to that small hope against a mountain of despair. Christ could transform a man. And a transformed man might have compassion upon her!
    “No,” he said sadly, “but he is Caleb’s father.”
    “What sort of father would command his son be left on the rocks to die?”
    “It was Caleb’s mother who commanded it, Rizpah. He says he didn’t know.”
    “And you believe him?”
    “Hadassah sent him to find his son,” John answered simply, and she had wept.
    “I can’t give him back. I can’t. Haven’t I lost enough? Oh, John, I can’t give him up. He’s my life now. All the life I shall ever have . . .”
    “Be still, beloved.” John had talked with her far into the night, comforting her and praying with her. “I will take the child to his father,” he had said when dawn came.
    “No,” she said. “I will go.” Perhaps he would relent and allow her to keep the baby.
    John hesitated, troubled. “Do you want me to accompany you?”
    “No,” she said, her throat tight with tears. “I’ll go alone.” As she had seen John out of her small tenement apartment, a fleeting thought had entered her mind: She could