“Wife?” Jason could only stare at his father. Had he lost his logical mind after so many years immersed in the stifling Law? “I did not want a wife, father. I wanted a lover, and that is what I took.”
“That is not how things are done here!” His mother slashed a hand through the air. “You are not in Rome anymore.”
“Your mother is right,” Cleopas agreed solemnly. “When you desire your parent’s slave in Israel, you let him give her to you in marriage, you do not just take her to your bed. This is not Rome.”
“And I will not be here forever. I will go back to Rome, and I will not do that with a Hebrew wife.”
“Son, you must marry Abigail.” His father’s face was hard, uncompromising. “You have dishonored her, and now she can never be given to another man.”
“Do you expect me to apologize for that?” Jason sneered. “She is mine, and she will stay mine, but I will not marry her. You cannot force me to, and I will not do it.”
“Then you will not have her!” Ester took a step forward, rage coming off her in waves.
Jason’s gaze, probably looking as cynical as he felt, had her taking a step back. “Would you rather I frequent the beds of harlots, Mother? Because either way, I will see that my needs are satisfied. If you choose to take Abigail from me, I will go elsewhere. Is that what you want?”
Cleopas held up a hand, his expression saying his word would be law. “Jason, you are our son. And whether or not we condone your behavior, it is our duty to love you and respect you above anyone we have brought into our household. Know that we do not wish for this to continue. But I would rather you keep Abigail as your lover than turn to the prostitutes and their diseases.” He drew up to his full height. “But that means that she is yours. You will see to the care of her well being, and you will be honored by her as her master. But when you tire of her, you will give her back to your mother. Is this understood? That means that according to Hebrew law, as her master, you have the rights to her body. But according to Roman law, she is not your wife.”
Jason nodded. His mother stifled a sob.
“And,” Cleopas continued, “she will continue as your mother’s companion, performing all the duties she has until now. Is that satisfactory?”
Again, Jason nodded. Ester stalked from the room, leaving him and his father to stare at one another. Jason did not like the look that entered his eyes.
“Before your mother, I have taken your side.” His voice was low, strained. “She will not easily forgive that. But before you alone, I will say this very clearly. You have dishonored your mother, and you have disappointed me. You have refused your heritage, and you have scorned what she holds dear. You have destroyed the life of a young woman who could have been happy. And if any chance of her happiness is salvaged, it will only be because Andrew loves her more than you could possibly understand and is willing to take what you cast off.”
He, too, turned toward the door but paused before exiting. “I wanted to think you had matured into a man of wisdom, Jason. But if you had, you would realize as my slave does that you just rejected a treasure.”
*
Abigail had fled to the kitchen as was demanded, but she found it impossible to carry out the task assigned. Her hands would not work. They shook too much, and the tears that clouded her eyes kept her from focusing on anything. She could hear the dim sound of raised voices in the far end of the house, and she shuddered. She heard quick footsteps coming her way and quickly dashed at the brine in her eyes.
Andrew barreled into the room and did not stop until he was a breath away from Abigail. He framed her face in his hands, and she looked up to see his countenance contorted with pain.
“It is true?”
The only answer she could manage was a quivering lip.
Andrew moaned and drew her against him, wrapping his arms around her. She was too upset to object and held on tightly as a few errant sobs escaped her throat.
“I am so sorry.” He buried his hand in her hair. “Why did you not come to me? I would have protected you. I would have–”
“I know.” She turned her face up and saw his emotion raw and unhindered. It pleased her as much as it terrified her. “I could not let you, though, Andrew. He would not have stood for it, and you would have gotten hurt or worse.”
“Oh, dear one,” Andrew mumbled, resting his forehead on hers. “If only the mistress had not waited so long. She was coming this morning to speak with you. I asked for you, Abigail. I asked to have you as my wife, and the master said it was up to the mistress, and she said she wanted to make sure it was what you wanted before she agreed.”
Her eyes went wide and filled with tears again.
Andrew stroked a thumb over her cheek to catch the drop before it could make its track. “What would you have said?”