After sharing his laughter, she stifled a sudden yawn. “The day has been long. And does not promise to end soon.”
“At least tomorrow is not market day.”
She nodded her agreement. “But soon it will be Passover. And the city will be so crowded and prices in the markets will soar and–”
“And you will not have to go out very often, and it is not your money that you will be spending, so just try to enjoy the holiday and the feast.”
Abigail narrowed her eyes teasingly. “Easily said by one who does not spend his days in the kitchen preparing this feast.”
His gaze turned serious. “You are right. I spend my days learning the way to wage war against my people.”
“We both spend our days obeying our master,” she said softly. “And you know our lord would never ask you to enter a battle against your own.”
Andrew sighed and rested his head on his palm. “He would never ask, no. But how could I chose, Abigail, between the man I have sworn to serve for all of my life and the nation that birthed me? Our master is fair, good, and just. Moreover, he not only recognizes but worships Jehovah. It should not be a choice, my friend. Would that we were all members of the same people.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Finally, she said, “Perhaps someday there will come one who erases the boundary between Jew and Greek. Perhaps one day there will be a greater understanding of the Law that allows for the love of God to be extended completely to all.”
“You speak of Messiah?”
She nodded. “Mistress does not even know if it is proper to interpret the texts to prophesy one, but it seems, especially to us, to be the only hope of a better world.”
“You do not think, then, that Messiah will rid us of Rome?” He seemed almost relieved.
Abigail smiled. “I am only a woman, Andrew, and a slave. I do not pretend to have the answers. But nowhere in the Holy Scriptures themselves have I heard or read of a king come to triumph over nations. I have heard only of a savior come to be defeated.”
Andrew leaned back in his chair and blew out his breath quickly. “What a bleak hope it is that we have.”
The bubble of laughter lightened her spirit as it rose and spilled from her lips. “It would not be an absolute defeat, friend, just an apparent one.”
“Well then, break out the best wine. Our champion has lost today! Let us all rejoice!” He, too, grinned now. “It is good, though, to be here in this house. It is good to hear you laughing with our mistress. And,” he added with a magnanimous sweep of his hand, “it is also good that the young master has returned. At the very least, it should break the monotony.”
He stood, and she followed suit. “But I like monotony.”
“You will be fine.”
“But we have been through this. I do not like change.”
“Well then, if my lady hates change, allow me to just pack the man up and ship him back to Rome. We would not want to disrupt her life.”
She tried to suppress her smile . . . and failed.
She always did.
*
Morning sun gleamed off freshly polished helmets, swords, and buckles. It glinted off the sands, blinding, warm. The hundred men were as still as statues, their attention focused completely on Jason, their ranks unbroken, their lines as straight as the blades that hung still against their legs, ready for any commands that may issue from his mouth.
He walked the length of the ranks and back again, surveying his men. They were all in fine shape; they stood in perfect posture, their faces immobile even in the face of the star that taunted them with every inch it raised in the sky. He was satisfied. He knew he would be. Cleopas Visibullis had not gained his position by training his men to meet less than the highest standards.