“Of course she did not tell you!” Her voice vibrated with rage. “It was your favor she lived for! If she lost that, what would she have? She was a woman without a husband, a slave without any hope.”
The general was obviously not accustomed to being chastised by anyone, especially a woman. His face mottled in rage, and the pressure of Jason’s hands on his wife’s shoulders intensified in warning. She took the advice and closed her mouth.
The general clenched his fist for a moment without saying anything, then burst out with, “Who gave her the poison? If you know, you will tell me!”
The prostitute’s face flooded Jason’s mind. The old eyes. . . bitter, but not so uncaring that she would let a young woman ruin her life.
Abigail drew in a breath. “I do not know.”
Jason skimmed his thumb over her neck softly to let her know that he approved of her deception.
The general brooded for a long moment, obviously debating whether or not to believe her. But eventually his eyes fell to the swollen abdomen on which her hands rested, to her face, undoubtedly etched with exhaustion, and then to Jason. He nodded. “Very well. I do not know what I shall tell Julia. She should not be distressed right now, and this will surely upset her. She was fond of Elizabeth. And what reason can I give? The truth is out of the question, but what lie would be acceptable? If I say it was disease, she will be terrified of succumbing to it herself.”
Abigail stood, somehow managing to do so with a modicum of grace. Her eyes were hard, though Jason knew the tears would come soon. “That is your problem to solve, General. But if you want to honor the memory of she whom you have destroyed, you will bury her in the way of her people.”
Once again, he looked shocked by her forwardness. But he nodded. “It will be done. You may go home with your wife, Jason, Statius will take the rest of your shift.”
“Thank you, General.” He put an arm around Abigail and led her back outside. She was shaking, and he knew it was from emotions and not the wind. Still, he rubbed a hand up her arm for comfort and warmth.
She managed to make it back into the familiarity of their bed before losing her composure. Jason held her as the brine flowed. “Jehovah, give her your comfort,” he whispered into the night. Had it grown darker while they were out? It felt it. “My sweet Abigail should not have had to lose another she loved, but still we know you hold us in your hand. Help her grieve, our father in heaven. And please, lift the darkness. Lift the darkness.”
He held her until a halfhearted dawn stained the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The alarm sounded, jerking Abigail awake. The call to arms, for all the soldiers in Jerusalem. Dread poisoned her blood. She had heard that sound twice before in her years here, and it always meant the same thing. Decisions, mixed loyalties, and fear.
Heart thundering in mutiny, Abigail did not bother to speak. She just helped her husband on with his breastplate, cloak, shoes, and weapons.
By the time they reached the hall, the rest of the household was also up, Cleopas armed and ready to leave, Ester clutching a robe around her shoulders. Andrew stood a step behind, Samuel hiding in confusion behind him, Simon and Dinah just rushing from their room sleepily. The boy, upon spotting Abigail, made a dash for her, attaching himself to her legs. She murmured something consoling without having any idea what words she used. She put a hand on his head.
“Andrew,” Cleopas was saying, “Simon. You will both stay here and protect the women. I do not expect any trouble here, but bar all the doors after we leave, and do not open them to anyone you do not know. Are you ready, Jason?”
“I am.” He leaned down and kissed Abigail, then tugged playfully on one of Samuel’s curls. “I will be back as soon as I can. Try to get some rest, beloved. Samuel, you will take care of your mistress, will you not?”
The boy’s shoulders moved back, and he nodded seriously. Jason smiled. “Good. Mother, you rest, too.” He kissed her cheek.
That ridiculous demand was not worthy of response, so Abigail just moved over to Ester as the two men tossed farewells over their shoulders and rushed out the door. Simon barred it after them, and Andrew turned to survey his charges. He apparently decided that rest would be out of the question so did not order them back to bed.
“Come.” He motioned them into the main room. “There is no sense in standing there. They will not be gone long, I am sure.”
“I hate this,” Ester muttered, taking Abigail’s hand and clinging to it.
“I know.” She tried to will comfort into Ester as they sat, but it was hard to do, given the fear that saturated her being. The previous times she had sat here with her mistress, it had only been her master whose safe return she prayed for. Now it was her father. Her husband.