“You can’t save the world, Jacob. It is too big, and you are only one man. The best you can hope to do is love those whom God has placed in your care.”

So with a single tear of age, of love for his wife who was gone, and for Ariel who yet lived, he opened the door of his house and stepped out into the light of day, with the quiet yet persistent tread of one whose faith remains, no matter the storms that lash him, or the dreams that he has lost.

Ariel heard his familiar knock at the door, and softly opened it. Cassius was still asleep, a rarity, and the boy remained beside him, sitting up with the unsheathed sword in his lap, and his own small blade bared and ready.

“Merciful Father,” said Jacob as he saw them. “So young, and already so willing to fight.”

“I know,” said the girl quietly, closing the door behind him. “In a way it’s tragic. But in another way it helps me to understand the man, the life he was brought up to. You must forgive him, Jacob, when he says things to hurt you. He’s not the man he wants to be now. His wounds, his loss, and the terrible danger we’ve all been in.....”

“No need to apologize, Ariel. After yesterday, after the fighting, I think I have a better idea of him myself. I will confess it is hard sometimes, never knowing when he is going to explode..... No, I don’t blame him for the way he is. It’s just so terribly sad to me, all the fighting, all the killing.” At that moment the Roman stirred, and sat up quickly. The boy handed him his sword.

“Jacob. Intruders?”

“No. I’m going to the lookouts now. I just wanted to arrange a meeting for this afternoon, to discuss our options. For leaving,” he added quickly. “I won’t dispute you any longer.” To this Cassius said nothing. There seemed little else to say.

“Oh, Jacob,” he put in, as the man was turning to leave. “Is Gaius still with us?”

“Yes. Still sleeping in my quarters.”

“Take him with you, will you? I don’t know his abilities, but I wouldn’t want you to be alone in an ambush.”

“Very well.”

“One more thing,” said the Roman, trying in his awkward way to show that he understood, and was sorry. “What are your impressions of him?”

“He is very young. As you might say, he is full of illusions. But he has a good heart, and I’m sure we can count on him. Well. I must be off.”

“Yes..... Jacob?” Again he turned. “Be careful.” The old man nodded.

The meeting was held in the long, two storied hall where Jacob had always envisioned it. But in that vision—in this dark moment he called it his fantasy—the room had been filled with the members of his congregation: men, women and children, planning a new life, and striking out for a brave destiny. The place seemed empty with just the five of them, just as the talk, and the poring over maps, seemed hollow and meaningless.

For the one thing that bound the three men together, was their love for Ariel. And the one man who possessed her utterly—Cassius—had no intention of sharing her affections..... The group would splinter, the girl would follow him, and he would take her where he would.

Nor was Jacob wrong. He soon found that Cassius listened, but only long enough to reject most of the escape routes he proposed. It was clear he had already decided for himself what course to take, and had no need of counsel, nor of any hand save his own. And with this came the slow, sad realization . . .that he could not help them. That for all his good intentions toward Ariel, his place was still here. That he must wait for his people, until the bitter end.

Cassius, in his turn, seemed to read this in the old man’s voice, his weary gestures. And as their eyes met, as Jacob shook his head, it was understood between them. As rabbi, he must remain behind. And while this saddened the Roman, for the girl’s sake, he knew it was probably for the best.

But by this time Cassius’ perceptions had made him aware of something else, infinitely more disturbing. For Gaius, though in his own mind furtive and discrete, could not help glancing at the girl with such a wistful yearning, that the two older men had no trouble at all in reading the tale of youthful infatuation behind it. Ariel, too, was aware of his glances, and on the rare occasions when she dared to look back at him, felt her face redden with the realization of his thoughts, and the effect they were sure to have on Cassius.

And indeed, more than once he felt his hand grasp the hilt of his sword with open thoughts of murder. But each time something stayed him—something that went beyond consideration for her feelings, or his latent determination not to cause Jacob further anguish.

He could not explain it, and his animal nature raged against it. But somewhere inside him. . .a realization of his own was forming, though it galled him, and was far from complete. For the moment he let Gaius’ impudence stand.

But when the meeting was over, he asked Jacob to look after the boy. And as Ariel returned with him to their chambers, his sexual aggression would not be silenced. Without saying a word, or returning her questioning gaze, he poured out a goblet of wine, took a long draught, then handed the rest to her.

“Please don’t hurt him,” she said quickly, terrified to hear herself speak.

“Oh, I’m not going to hurt him,” said the man darkly. “Drink the wine, then take off your dress.”

A month, a week, a day before, these words might have made her pale with fear. But the night before he had been so gentle and loving, had taken her to him with such warm and passionate caresses..... And torn from her virginity by this strong and demanding man, reading in his burning eyes the intent behind the words. . .she only felt her heart beat faster, and the stirrings of a passion which she would not have believed possible, and which now came upon her with such urgency. She drank the wine, set down the goblet, and began to unbutton the dress.

But as she did he took the leather thong once more from about his neck.

“Do you remember this?” he said thickly.

“Yes,” she whispered in return.

“I’m going to do to you now what I should have done then, when you were helpless, and completely in my power.”

“Yes.”

He doubled the braided leather as before, wrapping it tight about his opposite hand. Then he came closer, and with both hands at her chest, tore open the front of her dress.

“But your stitching,” she whispered. “And the promises you made.”

“What I have done I can undo. What I have healed, I can tear asunder.” And with the hand that held the leather he took hold of her hair, with his right hand opening the dress further to expose the treasures of her body. “And do you remember the day you betrayed me?”

“Yes.”

“And the Spanish soldier you ran to. What would he have done to you?”

“Raped me.”

“And what did I do to him?”

“You killed him.”

“Yes. As I will kill Gaius if he ever tries to act on his little boy love..... And then I came to you, like this. And holding open your dress, crushed you to me. Like this. What did you say to me then?”

“No, Cassius. Please don’t hurt me.”

“But I want to hurt you.” And he took her wrist in the strong right hand she knew so well, took the other in his left. And brought them together. And bound her, to his will alone.

“Don’t move,” he said sternly. He went to the pack beside the bed, and took from it a length of cord. Returning to stand before her, he said. “With such as this I dragged you to the cave, where you were but a cowering child before me.”
With this her eyes looked searchingly into his.

“You wouldn’t really hurt me, Cassius? You know that I love you.”

“Then show me,” he said. And before she could find the words to answer he had tied the cord about the bind at her wrists, and thrown the remaining length over the ceiling beam. Then with a sudden jerk he pulled the end down, lifting her arms high above her head. He put the remaining length through the loop, tied it off, and she was held fast.

Then slowly, with a deliberate strength that was unnerving to see and feel, he tore off the rest of her clothes. Until she stood, naked and exposed before him. Then took off his own clothes slowly, watching her.

He came closer, and just as she began to feel true fear she felt his strong and calloused hands upon her—reassuring, and at the same time commanding. They slid about her waist, down to her buttocks, then began to glide gently but firmly upward. Massaging her shoulder blades, clawing at the small of her back as his mouth nipped hungrily at her shoulder, her neck, healing with his tongue and then kissing her. Kissing and licking her mouth, her chin. Then her neck and down, yes, down to her breasts, her nipples firming beneath that warm, wet, mystical touch.

Then he was behind her, his hands firmly grasping her hips, pulling her back and to him. She felt his hardening penis lift between the skin of her thighs, his hands, too, massaging both front and back and opening her to him. As her vagina, wet and longing, parted in anticipation. And with a swift thrust he was inside her, his hands at her breasts and his face so close to hers.

“I want you to think of Gaius,” he said to her.

“No.”

“Yes. Your beloved Gaius. Imagine him standing before you now—naked, and with the look of adoring love in his eyes.” She could not resist him, nor did her flesh desire to.

“Yes,” he continued. “Now I burst into the room and find you. What do I do to him?”

“Don’t make me say it,” she pleaded, breathing harder.

“Say it!”

“Kill him.”

“How?”
“Put your sword in him. . .deep into his chest.”

“Yes. With my sword,” he said, thrusting hard and deep. “My penis is a sword, and I’m killing you.” He pulled her back still farther, till with a groan from the pain in her wrists she felt herself being lifted into the air. He knew she was in pain. He felt the animal inside him full upon its prey, stabbing and killing. As he felt his brutal second nature beginning to respond with merciless orgasm.

But slowly, now gently, he let her down. Pulled back, and out of her. This was not what he wanted. Not now, not with Ariel. He stepped back, then went to get his knife. Her face clouded with fear as he came toward her, but he shook his head quickly, with eyes that had lost their love of violence. And cut her down.

“I said just now that if you loved me you must prove it. You have, many times. Now it is I, who must show you.”

And as her arms, still bound, came down around his neck, he lifted her by the legs, and was inside her once more. But this time as she wrapped tighter and held on to him he carried her gently, lovingly to the bed. And after he had set her so lightly upon it. . .his thrusts were no longer like those of a weapon, but more the tender strokes of love and longing.

“That I will never hurt you,” he promised. “That I will always care for you. Shelter you. And love, and love and love you.

“Ariel!”

And now as the orgasm came it was for her, only for her and it was sweet, and sad, and hurting and longing and knowing it was over but fighting and trying to go a little farther, feeling her vagina throb as the first orgasm of her life broke loose from her like a caged animal. Until they lay together, one flesh, breathing hard and knowing the bittersweet, the beauty and the ugliness, the fullness and the emptiness, the mortal, ending, living for this moment because there was nothing else and his arms held her close though he knew deep down..... But he could not know it yet. Not yet.

And for Ariel it felt so warm as he held her, and painful, and filling and answering yet full of so many doubts and questions. But her womb still throbbed with the movement his flesh had caused inside her, embracing and drinking in his seed, the life that with his life he had put inside her. And even then she knew.....

He was inside her.

Thirty-Three

So passed the three days that Cassius had allowed before they must be gone. He would have taken them sooner but for two considerations. If they were to have any chance of eluding the Vandal horde, it must be at a time when they were deep in Suevian territory, and fully engaged in the pursuit and destruction of their enemy.

Just as importantly, though it was a hard thing to admit—still harder to feel—from the moment of his forceful and passionate intercourse with Ariel, he was at every moment beset by a weakness and fatigue that would not be allayed.

He wanted to believe that it was nothing more than the chill he had received the day of the fighting—a simple chest cold that Gaius had brought with him from the battlefield. But in his heart, in his bones, he knew it was more. Often now when he rose he felt a rush of dizziness, an unnatural surging of the heart that sought to drag him down. It felt, combined with the weakness of his limbs, like the weight of a stone he had carried all his life, that grew heavier with age, and with each passing day. Even when he lay down to sleep there was no rest, no peace. If he turned on his side, or lay on his stomach the breath would not come, and he was forced to turn back with a sense of drowning and dismay.

What this did to his thoughts, his emotions, was indescribable. In a blank and horrible way, he felt as though his whole life had been preparing him for these last, dying days. But unlike the years of training and hardship which had prepared him for war, this empty weight of suffering, this hopelessness. . .prepared him only to surrender, to let go of life.

No! his spirit cried, and again he would turn to face the endless hardship. But sometimes, at night, when the girl lay down beside him, warm with love and affection and asked him how he felt, it was all he could do to remain silent, put his arms around her, and hold her ruefully for as long as he could, unable to breathe as the soft and despairing tears rolled utterly without feeling down his cheek.

On the third day he knew that he must rise, and walk, and by death or by life shake off this clinging malady which stole the resilience from his flesh, and the resistance from his soul. There was no other way. He rose with the morning, and called the old man to him.

No more deserters had shown themselves, but this could mean anything. And to be left with only fears instead of knowledge, instead of first-hand intelligence. . .this, too, was unacceptable.
So after a light breakfast, and leaving Gaius to guard Ariel and the boy, he set out with Jacob to explore the northernmost outlooks. It was a journey of some hours. And though on several occasions he felt his limbs weaken and his breath grow tight, he knew, or believed, or merely hoped, that this was what he needed: to stir the blood, breathe the free wind, and shake off the killing dust of despair.

Nor was reconnaissance the only reason for their journey. Aside from having a look at the surrounding countryside—important enough, just that—he wanted to scout the granite rise itself, and to test the feasibility of a plan which, when his thoughts were not wholly black, had continued to form inside him.

But when they reached the northernmost edge of the eight mile spine of rock, as they looked down on the broken gap where the Vandals and the Sueves had first clashed, the grim battlefield where they had found the boy..... He saw, even from that height, a sight which destroyed any small stirrings of hope in that direction. Footprints in the snow that had fallen but a day before, formed a pattern his trained eye was loathe to read. The footprints were of varying size, which meant women and children, and there were small half-circles in the snow.....

“What is it?” asked Jacob, his aged eyes unable to penetrate the hard contrast of sunlit snow and deep shadow.

“The Vandals have been here: their women and children. To search the bodies, perhaps to take furs against the cold.”

“How can you tell?”

“The different sizes of the prints, the wandering nature of the smaller ones: children. And the way the larger ones move in a circle to avoid the most gruesome scenes of violence.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No barbarian, no man, would give death such a wide berth, but would put long stakes among the bodies to pry them apart, and take what they wanted.”

For a time Jacob brooded over this, trying to find some reason to discount Cassius’ interpretation of the signs. But there was none. And in the darkened state of his own emotions, the weariness of his soul, this mental picture of cruel men, looting the dead and decaying, was just too much to face. And as he started to rise and turn away, he was struck down by a still more terrible realization.

“But then..... The Vandals are still in the ravine, the river valley.”

“Yes,” said Cassius, “at least one tribe of them. And their men, returning from battle, must come this way.” He started to add that this ruled out all escape to the north, but saw there was something in this new intelligence that was far more disturbing to the rabbi. He looked as though he had lost the last semblance of hope.

“Jacob,” he said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve had to face a good deal of despair myself these past days. But we can’t give up. Not yet.”

“You don’t understand,” said Jacob blankly.

“Then tell me.”

“If the Vandals are still in the western valley, and beyond. . .then my people have no chance to reach us..... They are probably dead already.”

Cassius waited as long as he could. “Maybe they are, Jacob. But we’re not. And until we are, then none of us can give up. For her sake.”

“We,” said the other flatly. “You will take her. You will do what you want.”

“And if something should happen to me? Have you thought of that? Listen, Jacob. I want you to come with us.” The old man looked up at him.

“Why? What possible use could I be?”

“You can keep me from killing Gaius, for one thing.”

“And the young man? You want to bring him, too?”

“You’re not listening, Jacob. I am not the man I was. True, a year, a month ago I would have taken Ariel and the boy, and gone my own way without a second thought. But my heart..... I think it’s truly failing.”

Jacob studied him in silence, this man he thought he knew. There was no deception in the Roman’s eyes: he was afraid for the safety of the girl. He was asking for his help. “I need time to think,” was the only answer he could give.

“Time is a luxury we do not have. We must set out tomorrow. I need your answer now.”

“.....the Vandals are truly encamped by the river?”

“Yes. If you look behind you, you’ll see the smoke of a fire that was not there when we arrived. No deserter, no refugee, would light a fire in this broad daylight. Only someone who controlled the land. Only the Vandals.” Even as they watched, a second column of smoke appeared, first bending west with the wind, then continuing to rise toward the open sky.

“There is a cluster of abandoned houses there,” admitted the rabbi reluctantly. “Beneath a steep face that hides them from view. Perhaps enough to house.....”

“The women and children of a tribe of barbarians? Yes, and their men must return for them soon.”

“But if they were only women and children,” said Jacob, still fighting the hard truth. “Surely they would be more cautious.”

“The older men remain behind to protect them. And they can still fight, believe me, or they’d have been abandoned long before. Stop disputing me, Jacob! We must be gone at daybreak; I need your answer now.”

But as much as he wanted to grasp at this last straw of life and meaning..... No. The news that his people were beyond help, worse than dead. . .was just too much. He thought surely he must weep, but there were no tears left. Only words.

“What’s happening to the world, Cassius? Why the insanity, and the senseless killing?”

“I can’t answer for the world, Jacob. Sometimes I can’t even answer for myself. But there’s a beautiful young girl back there, and a little boy, who still deserve a chance at life. We’ve got to give them that chance. Nothing else matters. Jacob. There is nothing else.”

The old man took a deep breath. Then with an effort that was like re-shouldering a burden he had carried for many years and many miles, and but recently set down in despair, he stood up and said wearily. “All right, Cassius. I’ll come with you.”

“Good,” said the soldier, faltering. “That’s good.”

“You know,” said the rabbi, fighting back his own emotions and trying not to notice. “For a Roman, you’re a lot like a Jew.”

Cassius gave a heartless laugh. “In what way?”

“You’re at your best when things are worst. Then all the shallowness, all the selfishness, disappear, and you do what is right. You find a way to preserve your people.”

“But for how long, Jacob? How long.....”

To that there could be no answer. The two men stood, breathed in the mortal air, then began the long journey back to the place where they had left the ones they loved.

Thirty-Four

While the two older men grappled with death and futility, Gaius and Ariel, in the innocence of their young hearts, struggled with something that was to them every bit as poignant and overpowering: Life and possibility.

For Gaius it was the hopeless and obsessive love he held for the girl. In his youth and longing, every obstacle placed in his path, from the menacing presence of her lover, the thought of whose rough hands upon her sweet body were as nails of ice into his heart, to her own melancholy resistance, which he attributed to the fear of arousing his wrath, only drove him on, and fanned the glowing embers of his love.

And something else stirred in his breast as well, less noble perhaps: something which he had been able to feel for other women only in the abstract, and never in the flesh. Her gentle touch, her beautiful and sympathetic eyes, the dark hair and slender form which on the most primal level spoke to him of his mother when he was but a babe, and she little more than a girl..... All combined to arouse in him what he thought could never be.

His body longed for her.

To be left alone with her now, to have the man he so dreaded and despised suddenly offer him his hand, and charge him with her safety, as he had always imagined a loving and protective father would..... To be alone in her room, at the foot of the very bed in which she slept..... Even the presence of the boy, whose hostility the girl must constantly check, and her own polite coldness toward him, could not stop the overflowing of his heart. Like a fountainhead forced by Spring rains, he could no more stop the flow of feelings than he could stop his heart from beating. After but a short time of watching her move about the room, her beauty all the more poignant for her self-conscious reserve, he felt the waters burst forth into words. He tried to choke them back, succeeded once, but then could fight it no longer.

“You know that I love you.”

Ariel stopped, her back to him, flushed and agitated. “Why do you say such ridiculous things?”

“Because it’s true,” he said passionately, taking a step forward and then drawing back. “Because I will not rest until you feel the same for me.”

She turned now, truly angry. “And what have you done to earn my love, Gaius? Tiberius Gaius, son of a Senator of Rome? Protected, sheltered, eating off gold plates while men like Cassius fought and died to preserve your way of life.” She paced a little, gathering her thoughts.

“You think I stay with him because I have no choice. Don’t deny it. I read it in your eyes every time you look at me. I love him, Gaius. He saved my life. Can you understand that?”

“And that means he owns you?” pleaded the young man, his hands beginning to tremble.

“Of course not! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? He’s been fighting and searching all his life: he deserves my love. He took me from a burning village, protected me, gave me food and shelter as best he could, and time to come back to my senses. While you..... You fight one battle and you think you’ve seen it all. You wake from your little hell to find me leaning over you, with a look of care and sympathy that I would have felt for anyone, and think I’ve dropped like a ripe pear into your lap. I’m not one of your slave girls, Gaius. You can’t fondle me as you please the moment we’re alone.”

But for all her righteous anger—her loyalty to Cassius, and the shame she felt at being tempted away from him—it was no less troubling to see the effect her words produced in him. He had gone quite pale, was trembling outright, and seemed on the verge of tears.

“But it’s not like that at all! If you only knew how it was for me. If you could only look into my heart, and see how purely—”

But before he could finish the boy made a rush at him with the knife, which he barely had time to turn aside. At that the child kept kicking and struggling to be free of his grasp, until the girl came up and gently but firmly calmed him, and drew him back. Then turned to Gaius, her emotions a whirlwind.

“I think you should leave.”

“But Cassius told me to protect you.”

“Then do it from outside this door. And don’t come through it again until you can stop talking nonsense, and act like a man.”

Gaius hung his head mournfully, and did as she asked. But as he looked back at her one last time through the closing door, he thought (or fancied, or merely hoped) that he saw a glimmer of pain in her eyes, a pain born not of anger but of sadness, and from doubting her own heart. But then her face was gone behind the impassible door, and the cold closed quickly around him.

He stood in the fleeting warmth and lingering cold of the Winter sun for what seemed hours. His thoughts, like the air around him, were one moment suffused with the light and warmth of hope, the next, snuffed out by cold despair, and the realization that she did not love him. He had just resolved, for perhaps the tenth time, to abandon his watch and seek shelter in Jacob’s cabin, and for the tenth time stubbornly held on, when he heard the door open again behind him.

“Your food is ready,” said the girl with perfect composure. “Come in out of the cold before you make yourself ill again.”

Without a word Gaius did as she asked, came inside, and sat in the chair she indicated. But he could no more eat in her presence than he could have drawn his sword in anger.

“May I just talk to you?” he said, as she and the boy sat down to join him. “I promise I won’t say anything. . .to upset you.”

“If you like.”

“Yes..... I just wanted to tell you that my life is not what you thought. True, I have known wealthy Romans, some of them my friends, who did the things you describe. But I.....” Again it was a hard thing to admit. “I am not my father’s legitimate son. My mother was not his wife, but his mistress. We were kept comfortably enough, it is true. It is also true that I was sent to school, then employed as a scribe, the reason that my callouses—earned with no small labor on the rowing bench—are still new. But you must believe, I have known my share of hard work. And though I may not have the build of a soldier, it is hardly that of a girl.”

Ariel studied him now, in the pause that it took to gather himself. His shoulders, beneath the silk tunic, were certainly not those of a laborer. But they were solid enough, and merged quite well into his chest and neck, a bit slender perhaps, but graceful. His face, too, was fair: the finely chiseled nose and chin, the mouth drawn tight as he tried to explain. His hair was light brown and curling, combed forward in the Roman style. The wound on his forehead would heal. And the passionate eyes that so troubled her. . .were blue. But now they had caught her gaze, and she looked away.

“You must believe me,” he went on, in his urgent and imploring way. “I have known what it is to suffer. My father was hardly that when I was young. He came to see us perhaps twice a week, to take his pleasure, maybe bounce me on his knee for the sake of conscience. Then he was gone without a word. He only brought us to live with him a few years ago, when his legal wife died and left him without an heir.

“I don’t know if you can understand this. It is a very personal thing..... My mother was a slave, Ariel. This ‘arrangement’ is how she earned her freedom, and guaranteed mine. It is a hard thing to see one’s mother so used, little more than a plaything in the hands of a low and manipulative old man..... What’s wrong? Have I said something to upset you?”

“Nothing….. Go on.”

“There were no slave girls, Ariel. The truth is, I’m very shy. . .with women. There was a girl once, that I thought I could love.....”

He blushed deeply, but when he looked up she only said, more gently,

“Go on.”

“I don’t know what else to say. My mother is still young. . .still fair. And now she is given to a barbarian chieftain, whom I daresay treats her no better than my father. I don’t even know where she is..... God, it just kills me.”

“At least she is alive,” said the girl, her eyes misting. Then to cover her feelings she added quickly. “Where there is life.....”

But so absorbed was Gaius in thoughts of outrage, that he did not notice the emotions of the girl he professed to love. He came back to the present, but only to his own feelings.

“As for myself, it is partly true what you said. But only partly. However it is for Cassius when he fights, you must know that the battle of which you speak so lightly..... It nearly ended my life. Not from the wound, which was trivial enough..... They were all around me, Ariel, a sea of murdering horsemen. Friends who had been sent into exile with me, were dead and dying all around. Only my wits, and lying like a dead man beneath a bleeding corpse, saved me. Then in my eagerness to appear mortally wounded, I cut myself too deeply, and nearly bled to death. And then the dreams, and the struggle to get up and go on. I might well have perished there.

“It is true that when I first opened my eyes, when I saw you, I believed that God had sent you to me. But not as a whore. God, no. As an Angel of Mercy. I couldn’t help falling in love with you. I know, but it’s true. If you don’t wish me to say it, all right. But I swear I can’t stop feeling it.”

But now, as he looked close at her, and saw the pain in that beloved face..... “What’s wrong? Only tell me how to serve you, I will do it. Have I hurt you? Do you want me to leave?”

He was not overreacting. Her countenance, set and placid as he began, had slowly lost its composure. As grown up and self-sufficient as she was trying to be, as indifferent to his words and his existence, she was still, at heart, a lonely orphan girl. She could not help reading in his story, in his whole bearing, a similarity to her own experience.

But it was more than that. A lonely girl, for years kept from all contact with young men, then taken and wholly dominated by a man much older than herself..... She could not help but commiserate with Gaius, and feel an affinity, a youthful friendship, even attraction toward him. And it struck her as terribly sad that these two men, both of whom she cared for, could find no compromise to allow even this simple feeling. She hid her face, barely able to keep from crying.

“What is it?” he asked again.

“Oh, Gaius. I’m sorry for the hurtful things I said. It’s not what I feel at all. But couldn’t..... Couldn’t we just be friends?”

He started to answer in the negative, insisting that his love was too strong, for that. But when he realized she was crying, when he saw the anguish these words caused in her.....

“All right. If that’s what you want. I’ll try, for your sake. Just tell me this, please.”

“What is it?”

“Does he. . .hurt you?” And he was fretted with tears of his own.

She shook her head. “No, Gaius. I love him, and he is not well. So please. Please. Don’t speak ill of him. Don’t push me to feel something. . . that can never be.”

He found that he could only rise, put an unsteady hand, so lightly, to her hair. And leave the room to control himself.

The two older men returned a short time later, and nothing more was said of it.

Thirty-Five

When Cassius returned that night, he felt a little better: death no longer seemed imminent, only inevitable. His breath was still tight, and every muscle trembled with fatigue. But his heart, through simple use, felt less constricted, and he no longer experienced the horrible sensation of being dragged down and under every time he rose. If not for the anxieties of the coming day, when they must again leave behind all shelter, he might even have known a moment’s peace.

“And if my horse had wings it could fly,” he muttered to himself, opening the door of yet another home that would never be his.

And though the girl came up and embraced him, though he ruffled the boy’s hair and greeted him in simple German, the darkness of his emotions would not be abated. It was as if, in his physical crisis, his fears and regrets had not been able to confront him directly, like a dreadful banshee cry that had gone beyond the range of human hearing. But now as his body calmed somewhat, his thoughts became more rational, the sound had slowed and descended enough to fill his ears with the horrible screams of the dead and the dying. Scenes of death and battle, rape and pillage that had meant nothing to him at the time, returned in their full human consequence to haunt him.

But he said nothing, and for the girl’s sake maintained his composure through the evening meal, though again he was able to eat little. And when they lay down together his thoughts were less troublesome. He was able to hold her without physical anguish, and the constant sensation of drowning.

“Are you all right?” asked the girl.

“I’m a little better. And you?”

“I don’t know,” she said suddenly, passionately. And her fingers gripped more tightly at his chest. He thought he knew why.

“What passed between you and Gaius?” he asked in his turn, trying not to feel what he could not stop feeling.

“Words,” she said defensively. “Cassius? Why did you leave me with him?”

“To protect you.”

“But did it have to be here, in our home?”

“What did he do?” said the man, bristling.

“Nothing. No, Cassius, don’t upset yourself. He would never do anything aggressive..... He’s not like that. We just talked.” The man took a few deeper breaths to control himself, remembered it was he who had brought them together.

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing that was wrong, or hurtful. He just told me about his life.”

“About his sensitivity? about how hard it is to be young, sheltered, and misunderstood?” Though his sarcasm was real, though he tried not to be, he was interested. He wanted to know as much about the young man as possible.

“He’s not like that, Cassius. I won’t speak of it, if it upsets you.”

“Nay, girl, I’m not angry. The truth is, I want to know.”

“You’re very sure?”

“Yes.”

So the girl, at first cautiously, then with greater ease as he remained calm, related the events of the day, withholding only what she knew he would not understand.

And when she had finished, all he could do was look up at the ceiling, watch the play of light and shadow, the slow, inexorable wane of the dying fire.

“And now you’re confused in your heart.”

“No..... Yes,” she said quickly, afraid of the effect this admission would have, on both of them. Yet he said nothing, only shifted a little on the bed.

But she knew, at least in some measure, what he had been feeling these past days: the presence of death, and the fear of losing what he had found. And she was only beginning to sense a deeper fear, one that had nothing to do with himself.

“Oh,” she said, moving closer. “I wish it wasn’t like this.”

“In what way?” he asked quietly, stroking her face.

“I wish that it was me. . .that there was another woman, and the torment was mine.”

“But there is another woman,” he said emphatically, and with the strange quality that his voice assumed when something was coming from the depths. These were the rare glimpses of his soul that Ariel sometimes longed for. Yet when they came.....

“What do you mean?” she asked intently.

“There is another woman, Ariel. Arna. Don’t you know that you can never take her place in my heart?”

At the utterance of these words, both were driven deep into themselves, though they lay in each other’s arms.

For Cassius it was the stark truth of what he had just told her. With his own death seeming to loom so near, he found that the undercurrent of his thoughts, his soul, led him more and more to the wife and child he had lost. In some ways their presence seemed more tangible than that of the girl he now held, and of the strange, silent boy she had taken as her own. As much as he wanted to turn from the past, and embrace this second chance at life, this second family..... They had been his flesh, his own. Arna was his true wife, the one he had taken utterly: who had carried, and borne . . .his son. The woman who had given her life to him, for him. Who had suffered his excesses, and still found a way to love him. Not as scintillating to touch, perhaps, not as exotically beautiful as Ariel. But more quietly warm when he held her, more truly joined to his flesh. More his.

For Ariel it was the unbelievable pain of what he had just told her. Can never take her place. After all they had been through. After she had consented to give herself to him, as she had never given herself to anyone. It would have been an unbearable sting, if she had not known him better, had not understood how hard these days were for him.....

“Why did you say that to me just now? Were you trying to hurt me?”

“No.” And the sudden pressure of his arms as he held her tight and kissed her forehead, told her this was true. “I don’t know. Sometimes..... Sometimes I think my place is with them.”

“With your wife and son?” But even the use of these words, which could not truthfully be applied to herself and the boy, confirmed the chasm that Death had opened between them. She could only add weakly. “But Cassius. They’re dead.”

And though she half expected him to say mockingly, and in the old, fatalistic manner: “Yes, and I’m likely to join them,” he did nothing of the kind. Instead she felt his chest heave.

“Yes, and I’m alive. And so long as I am I will always love you. But you must be prepared..... Must be able to go on..... If I can’t.”

To this she could make no answer. There was no answer. He only kissed her again, loosed his grip that he might breathe more freely. Then in sudden despair crushed her to him again.
And in time, both would sleep.

Thirty-Six

It could be said that Cassius woke several hours before the dawn. It could more truthfully be said that he had not slept at all. His anxieties about their escape, long suppressed by the more immediate concerns of life and limb, now came upon him full and unrelenting. Where would they go, and how? Would there be enough to eat, or adequate shelter, day after day, from the onslaught of Winter? These questions so old, so endless. And underlying all, what if he dropped dead along the way, leaving them in Jacob’s old, or Gaius’ inexperienced hands?

His desperate plan to double back to the north—where the Vandals were least likely to expect survivors, and least likely to follow if they did—had all depended on their ability to follow the granite spine, then the ravine itself, to its roots in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Then move among the sheltering pines, eastward, toward the sea. Perhaps his boat was still there, where he had hidden it. Or there in some quiet backwater was another, that had somehow escaped destruction. From there to sail on to some remote and uninhabited island.

But the Vandal women, God damn them. Right in their path. Unless they could climb the ridge on the far side of the gap. And what if they could not? What if, as seemed likely, it became at some point impassible, and they were forced to descend? Or worse, turn back? And if the Vandals were here in the southern end of the ravine, what was to keep them from venturing, and settling, farther to the north? Nothing. They were not soft, southern Italians, afraid of wind and cold, but of German origin, undaunted by the Alps or Pyrenees. And before that, from the frozen North itself: the mighty barbarian invasion, which was in truth only the mass migration of peoples forged hard and ruthless by the hammer of ice and anvil of stone, while Rome had grown soft and fat. The wolf devours the lamb. Only he himself was wolf, and those he protected were not lambs, and all such thoughts were meaningless. Let the Greeks philosophize on good and evil. Without their Alexander, as ruthless and ambitious as any man who ever lived…..

And what if the Vandals simply returned from their battle with the Sueves the same way that he and Ariel had first come, pursuing his frightened horse across the open plain, and down into the ravine from the north? They would be met head on by the whole Vandal horde. At least they would die quickly..... No. They might still be taken by a single tribe, or divided among them— tortured and tormented before they were allowed to die. And perhaps Ariel would not die at all, but go on living, in bondage and in Hell.....

“No.”

There was no working it out. As Ariel and the boy stirred, he left off his fears and futile pacing. He dressed himself warmly, and went out to find Jacob.

The night sky was clear and cold. Even this worked against them. A steady snowfall might have covered their tracks, as they descended and moved toward the river. He released a weary sigh, shook himself against the cold. Then coming to Jacob’s door, knocked lightly. No answer. He knocked a second time, hard and impatient. This time, after an interval, the door was opened.

“Is it time?” asked Jacob, with Gaius right behind him. The old man’s face betrayed anxiety, but the younger man’s was set and determined.

“Not yet. But we need to talk, and have another look at your maps.”

“All right, then. Come in, come in.”

But after more than an hour of puzzling over charts, discussing options and dangers, Cassius was no closer to deciding. His mind was frayed, his heart confused. Every way his thoughts turned, they were baffled and betrayed by the maze of possibility and circumstance, or brought up short by impassible hardship and danger.

Yet despite all this he knew, knew in the marrow of his bones, that the greatest danger of all was to stay: to remain still and do nothing. A wounded comrade of his had done that when spotted by a bear in the black forests of Saxony. That comrade had been torn to pieces.

“So what is the plan?” asked Gaius finally, with the youthful belief that there must always be a way: one true path, that if followed, would lead through peril into dream.

“There is none, Gaius. Jacob, put away the maps. We will wait for snow, then descend to the south. From there we must take what comes, and make the best decisions we can.”

“Then we won’t be leaving with first light?” The rabbi could not entirely conceal his relief.

“No,” said the soldier wearily. “I’m exhausted, for one thing. If you and Gaius will watch the surrounding countryside, to the north and south respectively, we’ll hope for snow in the afternoon. If we get it, we’ll set out an hour before dusk. If not, we’ll leave when it’s dark, prepared to go all night. Are we agreed?”

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. But Gaius, to whom the question had not been addressed, could not help proposing an idea of his own. “I’ve been thinking—”

“No one asked you!” said Cassius sharply. Then remembering, he added less harshly. “No one says you know nothing, Gaius. But when surrounded by dangers, there is no substitute for experience. You will admit, at least, that I have that in my favor.”

Gaius reddened and turned away, unable to look his rival in the face, or call him by name.

“Well then, Jacob. With your permission, I’ll bid you what’s left of the night. Set out for the lookouts at dawn, and keep me informed of anything unusual. I’ll come out myself about noon. Gaius..... I wish you would look at me when I speak to you.” He did, reluctantly. “If you want to serve the group you will go the entrance, and watch all movements to the south and east. Take your sword, and be on your guard. Do you understand?”

“Of course I understand. And it seems to me, I have already served you.”

“And it seems to me,” said Cassius, straightening, “that you have only served yourself, and the seditious designs you have on my wife!” And in a swift moment all his fear and frustration turned to rage, seeking the old outlet in violence.

But true to the task that Cassius had assigned him (and to his own nature), Jacob put a quieting hand on his arm. The Roman took a deep breath.

“Your desires may yet be realized, Gaius. But for that you must live long enough to see me dead.” And turning sharply, he left the room.

Thirty-Seven

The clouds had been gathering since morning, billowing down from the frozen North, till now they filled all the sky, dark and lowering. The temperature, too, had fallen steadily, and the light snow that had begun an hour before was now turned heavy, blotting out the sky. And even in the shelter of the rock walls the wind swirled thick, harbinger of blizzard.

The company stood assembled on the small, elevated ground before the buildings, all the belongings they felt it necessary and prudent to carry in large fur packs on the ground before them. The faces of all, from the aged rabbi to the German child, were taut and uncertain. Only Cassius seemed to hold their purpose and resolve firmly in his mind, and this but the necessary illusion of command. He was the first to shoulder his burden. Seeming to feel it a kind of challenge, Gaius was the next to put his arms through the straps, and lift the heavy bundle onto his back. Then Jacob and Ariel, looking to each other for encouragement.

“Shouldn’t we really wait.....” he began. But the murderous look of the Roman silenced him.

But violence was not what Cassius felt. Nor courage. Nor angry determination. Nor even fear, in its truest and most direct sense. What he felt most of all, in the moment he could least afford to, was an overwhelming sense of impossibility. The snow that he had longed for, in his way even prayed for, had come. Yet the heavy, swirling powder, already forming into drifts about them, was like a drowning flood in answer to a farmer’s prayer for rain. This lunatic storm. . .would smother them before they had gone five miles.

And yet they must go on. With the Vandal settlement on one side of the ridge, the deserters on the other, a presentiment of danger, indeed, a gut level fear had been growing inside him all the long, sleepless night and day. That fear now penetrated the weak armor of his resolve, and joining together with the sense of absurd futility, nearly drove him to his knees in despair.

But not quite. There remained enough courage, enough simple human stubbornness, to make him stand beneath his burden, howl silently at the sky, then begin to move forward. “The time is now,” were the only words he could find to give the others. But knowing their peril, and seeing they had no choice, they followed.

The first steps were the hardest, descending by the rough-hewn stairs of the platform. It seemed to each as they filed down in turn, that these few irrevocable steps had carried them forever from the world of safety and shelter, into a storm that would rage for a lifetime. But their leader continued forward, never looking back, and they must follow. And indeed, after but a few steps more, the compound was lost to sight, as if it had never been more than a secret place within the heart, a memory of safe and warm childhood into which these children who were grown had slipped for but the briefest escape from the horrors of the wakened world.

They plodded on, through the high walls which steered their inescapable course, toward the entrance which would lead them back to the harsh and violent world below. Cassius went first, more afraid to stop than to continue. For if once he did, for a single moment allowing himself to feel the wretchedness of both mind and body, he knew that all was lost. It was probably lost already, and the weak tremor of his limbs, the sick flutter of his heart, told him he would not live to see the journey’s end, or taste the salt air once more upon his tongue.

The Sea, that his whole soul longed for, that had kept him alive as he fled from Rome in torment. If only once more to set his boat upon the breast of the waters, himself, alone, lying down now to surrender. As in the blinding snow he felt that he moved not at all, through a world without shape or form, his mind adrift.....

In his boat, lying on his back, feeling himself float above the void. The water so gentle. . .now turned to air. . .and he was rising toward the sun, a dazzling light that grew until it filled all the sky—

A shock of horror brought him back. He had reached the entrance, the ledge beyond, and nearly stepped out into nothingness. But this was not what froze the blood in his veins and rooted him there, unable to move or think. A half defined human form, two, three, were on the slope below him, climbing upward with their heads down, as blind to him now as he had been to them but a moment before.

Cassius forced himself, hands trembling, to draw his sword. Then turned and with his arm waved the others forward: Jacob with his bow, Gaius with his sword. But they were not there. And still the shapes drew on, not randomly but in a file, as if they knew. . .had been told.....

Ariel saw Jacob slip down, then give a muffled cry as his leg struck a root of stone, half buried in the snow. She called out for Cassius to stop, but he was too far ahead and could not hear her. But Gaius heard, and came running back. The boy was still beside her.

She knelt down in the snow next to Jacob, asked Gaius to help lift him off the injured leg. Then together they set him back against the stone wall, straightened both legs out before him. As she ran her hands along the affected area, she felt no blood or broken bones. But several times he winced from the pain, and the area just below the knee seemed particularly tender.

“We’ll have to take him back,” said the girl. “Gaius, help me lift him.” But at that moment, through a lull in the wind they heard Cassius cry out in rage, followed by a confusion of sounds: shouting, the clash of arms. The wind blew harsh again, and by the time it died down, all was ghostly quiet. Ariel began to run toward the entrance, but Gaius caught her by the arm. She tried to break free but he only caught hold of her more firmly, with both hands turning her toward him.

“I’ll go to him as soon as I can! Right now we’ve got to get you to safety!” And though she struggled he drew her back toward Jacob, put one arm beneath his shoulder and tried to lift him. Ariel, coming back to herself, got on the other side of him to help. The three stood up, for a moment facing toward the entrance.....

But toward them walked a man who was not Cassius. And behind him two others, one supporting the next as if he had been wounded. Gaius drew his sword. Ariel screamed, and began to run. Jacob, now standing on his own, threw up his arms to the heavens.

Ashamed, Ariel stopped and turned round. Gaius was standing with the sword poised, keeping the men at their distance. Jacob had fallen as from a blow, his head down. She ran to him, hot tears stinging her eyes. And in her heart the more terrible sting of knowing all was lost. “Jacob, forgive me. What have they done to you?”

“They have broken my heart,” he said in Hebrew. Then more loudly. “Isaac, is it really you? Isaac the blacksmith and his two strong sons?” Then Ariel saw Cassius, his shoulder supporting a fourth man, with a shadowy figure behind.

“What is happening?” she cried, in her distress not understanding.

“A miracle,” said Jacob. “My people have come home.” And he was able to say no more.

Thirty-Eight

But words, and more importantly, actions, were still needed. The man called Isaac, a large and heavily muscled man with a thick and curling black beard, approached the rabbi in a manner not at all befitting celebration. His large, dark eyes shone intently as he said.

“Jacob. My wife is very ill, and none of us have eaten for days. We were forced to leave her, with several others, in a cluster of houses to the north of here.”

“Then it was you,” said Jacob, his eyes glowing. Then, “Yes, of course. How many more of you are there?” By now he could identify Joshua the vintner (the man Cassius had assisted), and his only daughter, Meryl. Of Isaac’s sons, the one who was wounded came forward.

“What is the meaning of posting this man as a guard?” he demanded, pointing back at Cassius. “A Gentile, and one who speaks no Hebrew?”

“Be silent, Malachi!” snapped the father. “Your own foolishness injured you, striking at a man who did no more than give you warning. Jacob, I tell you again, there is work to be done. My wife is ill, and Vera and the grandchildren remain below. This storm is a God-send, though like all his works, a judgment on the weak and foolish. The snow will cover our tracks, and cover is needed. It must be done now!”

“How many men do you need?” asked Jacob.
“We must be four, one of whom is willing. . .and able,” he added with a black look at his son, “to fight. I will go with Ezekiel, my firstborn. Malachi, as you see, is wounded and in need of attention. Your sentry, and the young man beside you, are they willing?”

Jacob looked first to Cassius, fearing the worst. He would become angry, take possession of Ariel, and set off on his own..... But he was wrong. The soldier seemed resigned, even relieved, as if his faith too had been restored. His words:

“What do you say, Gaius? Shall we do it for Rome?” The younger man nodded. Then turning to Isaac, as to one of like mind, he said plainly.

“Do you need stretchers?”

“Just the one, for my wife, who waits for us below. What we need most are strong arms and a firm tread. Two of the others are women.”

“Then let us be off,” said Cassius. “Jacob, the young man has lacerated muscles in his thigh, though the cut is not deep. It was the only way I could knock him down,” he said to the father, not an apology but a statement of fact. Then turned back to the rabbi. “Take him and the others..... I’m sorry, Jacob. You know what to do.” And in a move that surprised them both, he put a warm hand on Jacob’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Congratulations, old man. You did it.”

Then drawing back, he indicated the entrance with his arm. Isaac led the way, followed by the soldier, with Ezekiel and Gaius behind. While Jacob, in pain but in triumph, led the others back to the great hall, where fires were lit, and food and beds made ready.

By the time they reached the cluster of houses at the base of the cliff, the darkness had closed all around them. What Cassius saw were not buildings, not even shapes, but a nearer darkness against the black cliff behind. The second wind that had come to him when Jacob’s people had appeared (and he realized that the Vandals were not encamped beneath the very walls of the mountain fortress) had carried him this far, but now was failing badly. Only the knowledge that this same blizzard, the same drifting snow through which they now labored, would also slow the Vandals, giving them a few more days to rest and recover, kept him going. But they had arrived, his heart still beat inside him, and now a door was being opened.

An orange firelight lit the doorframe in front of him. The one-roomed house was small, its warmth fleeting, and Isaac urged them hurriedly inside, closing the door after. A prematurely aged woman was lying in a narrow bed which had been brought dangerously close to the fire. A younger woman knelt beside it, so intent on her patient that she did not turn to see the others, but continued trying to get the woman to drink something from a small clay vial. But the woman just kept turning her face from side to side: a round face red with sweat, and moaning incomprehensibly.

“Vera,” said Isaac plainly, his breath still coming hard. “The time has come. We must leave here.”

“But we can’t move her!” insisted the younger woman, finally turning around. Her hair was straight and dark, simply cut, with bangs stopping just above the eyebrows. Her face, too, was plain and unadorned, with close-set eyes and a nose too hooked and large to be quite feminine. But it was an honest face, thought Cassius in that moment, intelligent and intense.

“Daughter,” said Isaac firmly, “we have no choice. The rider who saw us this morning.....” At this Cassius heart froze inside him. “.....was only a scout. But he will tell the others. And you have seen, Vera. You know what they will do.”

“But she will die, Isaac.”

“Or she will live. In either case she would not bring death on you, or on her grandchildren.” At this point Ezekiel, her husband, came forward, and as she rose and turned away, put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It must be done, Vera. We must protect the children.”

But even in his uncharacteristic willingness to embrace these people, to see the best in them, Cassius caught something in the woman’s swift glance back at himself and Gaius, then the look she exchanged with her husband, that made him pause. But then it was gone.

“Prepare my wife as best you can,” said Isaac to them both. “I will check on the children and get them ready. Then we must leave here at once.” Without further speech he left the room, with the two Romans behind.

The second house was little larger, but the fire was burning brightly. Too brightly. Cassius remembered the columns of smoke that he and Jacob had seen from above. The first must have been lit to warm the sick woman—a desperate, but perhaps necessary action. But the second? By Isaac’s own words there had been no food to prepare.....

Here two children, a boy and a girl, had been left in the care of a middle-aged man who seemed, by the distance they kept from him, to bear no familial relation to them. He thought this odd, and almost at once felt an instinctive dislike for the man. He had a cringing, cornered look about him, and there was something unsettlingly familiar in his face. But now he was beginning to speak.
“Is it safe there, Isaac?” he said, in a whining and wheedling tone. “Who are these men?” But by the menacing look he gave him, it was clear that the blacksmith had no more taste for the man than he did. As if to appease him, the smaller man adopted another course. “I did as you asked, protected the women and children. Someone had to stay behind, and I did it. You were right. You had to be sure the mountain hideaway was safe..... Is it safe, Isaac? Is that where we’re going now?”

The blacksmith made him no answer, but only continued to hush his grandchildren—to wrap them in warm garments, which fit them well, and heavy furs, which did not. “I’m hungry,” moaned the boy, perhaps seven years old, the very image of his father.

“We’re going to a place where you can eat your fill,” said Isaac, in a softer tone he had not yet used. “But I need you to be strong a while longer. It is a hard journey, and we must be brave. You are the eldest, remember, and must set an example for your sister. All right?” And the boy, hungry and exhausted as he must have been, bit his lip and nodded in assent.

I can see why these survived, thought Cassius, his earlier confidence returning. Strength in the father and grandfather, intelligence and determination in the mother. But this strange, distasteful man..... Clearly he had somehow latched onto the others, who did not know what to do with him. But I know, thought the soldier grimly. I know.

“I will carry the boy on my back,” he said, returning from his dark reverie. “Gaius can carry the girl. Are there others?”

“There is another family still in the caves,” said Isaac, “but they are no longer our concern. And you need not carry the boy, only guide him with your hand. If you could keep the sword drawn and ready in the other, my mind would be more at ease.” Cassius nodded, and the blacksmith turned his full attention to the girl.

“Sarah,” he said, as he finished dressing her. “This young man here is going to carry you.” She turned away shyly, her pretty face unsure. “There is no time for this,” he began harshly. But Gaius came up quietly and said:

“Would you please let me carry you, Sarah? It will be a great adventure.” His manner and smile were so easy and natural that she stayed a moment, looking up at him. “You don’t want your brother to eat all the supper, do you?” She frowned, pouted, then shook her head. “Then what do you say? We can play horses.” The girl looked first at her grandfather, who nodded, then let the young Roman lift her to his hip.

“Is Mommy coming, too?”

“Of course she is, sweetheart. Are you ready?”

“Okay.” And she hid her face against him.

“Let us be off,” said Isaac. The company assembled outside the first house, each bearing their separate burdens, and set off through the snow.

It was many hours before Jacob heard a heavy thumping on the door of the two-storied hall. He went to it as quickly as the pain in his knee would allow, and opened it wide. Ariel remained cooking before the great hearth fire, with Meryl and Malachi sitting at a table by themselves. Joshua and the German boy were asleep upstairs, among the double row of beds to be found there.
Isaac and Ezekiel entered first, bearing the stretcher, which they immediately set on chairs before the fire. The woman on it, pale now, shivering and coughing badly, was clearly in a desperate state.

Ariel, who had given way before them, now stepped back again to make way for Vera, who knelt quickly to tend her. Her attention thus diverted, she had not yet seen the man who came slinking in after, and stood now a short distance away, staring at her in disbelief.

But when she did turn, and when she saw his face, she felt the room spin about her, and darkness envelope her senses. The next thing she knew she was lying on the floor. But this time as her eyes opened it was no dream, and he was holding her in his arms.

“Father,” she wept, kissing him again and again. “You’ve come back.”

Cassius, standing in the open doorway, could only watch and grind his teeth.

Thirty-Nine

He stood in the open doorway, the confused fire before him, the cold and barren wind at his back. The snow had stopped. And though his first impulse was to block the grotesque scene from his mind, Cassius’ heart would allow no such retreat. He loved his Ariel, and now more than ever, she needed him.

And strange to say, the sight of this girl who had touched him so deeply, showering affection on a man who deserved only scorn. . .struck a chord of rebellion in his spirit that made him turn far from thoughts of death, futility, and the danger that awaited them below. His stubborn will, long dormant, or simply overwhelmed by circumstance, returned to him. What was happening, right in front of him, was wrong, and must not be allowed to continue.

So he closed the door slowly, trying to think. One thing only was clear to him. Any hostility he showed the man in her presence, any attempt to keep them apart, would only widen the chasm that had opened so suddenly between them—would only drive her to him. And so, for all the effort it cost him, he remained with his back to the door, and tried to prepare himself mentally for what was to come.

And that is well, for what came was not pleasant. With the help of her father Ariel had risen, and after crying a while longer on his shoulder, lifted her head to look about her. And when her gaze at last found Cassius, it was full of such reproach, such warning..... It said as clearly as words: Don’t you dare say anything to him, or accuse him of anything. He is my father, and he has returned, to me.

And every unspoken word, another mile he must walk.

He was not overreacting. The almost miraculous appearance of Jacob’s people, and the reprieve it gave them, had started a chain of thought inside her that her mind had named a ‘rebirth of faith.’ Jacob was right. It was in God, and not in the will of Man that they must trust. He was there, He was real, and He had delivered them. And in choosing Jacob’s beliefs (or simply the part of herself that agreed with them), she had subconsciously begun to reject those of Cassius, who had so nearly led them off into disaster. And not coincidentally, the more she recalled his words, “Don’t you know that you can never take her place in my heart?” the angrier she became. How could he be so callous? How could he be so cynical? He didn’t like Jacob; he didn’t like Gaius. He fled from love and safety every time he found them.....

And with the truly miraculous appearance of her father, the rebirth of Faith was complete. Not only was Cassius wrong about God. . .he was wrong about her father as well. Yes. All the terrible things he had said about him. “Sold your mother to the richest man in the village. . .made a prostitute of your mother.” Through her bitterness she felt a pang of sorrow, almost of conscience. But this new energy, this new line of thought, pushed her forward.

Yes! Her father had not abandoned them, only gone off for a time, to find a better life for his family. The merchant had done the rest, taking advantage of his absence. And then the barbarians had come.....

All these thoughts and many more raced through her, all exonerating her father, all condemning Cassius, and his brutal and fatalistic view of life. So when at last she came back to herself, she introduced her father to Jacob first. Then almost in scorn, to Cassius.

“Father,” she said, as together they approached him. “This is Cassius, a Roman soldier. He took me away when our village was destroyed. We were going to be married, but now I’m not sure.”

Enraged, Cassius drew breath through clenched teeth as if the very air were poisonous. And for all his resolve, he could not stop the look of pure hatred that now fixed itself upon this weak and manipulative man: the face that was so like hers, but in grotesque parody, the large eyes that were Ariel’s chief source of beauty, because of the depth of emotion they conveyed, were in the father slinking and cowardly, intelligent, but only in a devious and self-serving way. His nose, too, was thin and undecided. Even his hair and beard were weak, half gray and half black, as if he possessed neither the innocence of youth, nor the wisdom of experience.

Slowly Cassius forced his gaze to soften, though he must look away to do it. The only words that he could find, were these. “Perhaps you should stay with your father tonight. Yours has been a long separation.” Again he could not help looking at the father in scorn and reprimand. “Your daughter must have been a child when you left her. She is a woman now, as you see.”

And all in a moment he knew what he must do. The words, coming from the depths of his bitterness, had shown him the course he must take. Cruel perhaps, but necessary. His face relaxed.

“You must forgive me,” he said to them both. “If my manner seems harsh, understand, it is the way I am with strangers. But you are a stranger no longer. You are welcome here, and my wish that you remain together is sincere. You must be hungry. Please sit down. Ariel, won’t you bring your father something to eat?” And though neither Ariel nor the man quite knew what to make of the change in him, Cassius withdrew to a far table, where he sat down with Gaius and the children.

The meal had been cleared away. The sick woman, on Jacob’s instructions, had been moved to a bed upstairs, near enough its second fire to be warm, but not to propel the fever still higher. Gaius had been sent to check the entrance, and returned to report that though the snow had stopped, the wind, and the drifts it caused, had effectively covered their tracks. All was as well as it could be. And by now it was morning, and the company was exhausted.

“You must all sleep,” said Jacob, standing like a father before them. “Our troubles and sorrows must be looked to, but not now. Let us thank God that we are all here, and given shelter from the storm. Well. Beds await us upstairs, and safety and quiet for a few days at least. Shall we retire?”

“Yes,” said Cassius, rising from table and extending his arm toward the stairs. “You must be truly exhausted. Have no fear for your safety: Gaius and I will keep watch. Sleep well, and dream of the good life that is still possible.”

The company rose, and began to file upstairs. Cassius waited, then started for the door. But as he was about to pass, Jacob put out a hand to stop him.

“Won’t you stay with us?” he said. “It might help to smooth what is bound to be an awkward situation.”

“What do you mean?” said the soldier, his face unreadable.

“You and Gaius have both done well to earn my people’s trust. I don’t mean that. But surely there is some tension between yourself and Ariel’s father.”

... “Yes, Jacob,” said Cassius, relenting. “I will confess to you alone that I do not like the man. I do not trust him, and we are all in peril so long as he remains among us.”

“But he is her father.”

“Yes, exactly. I can only let things run their course..... But as for staying here tonight, this morning, I cannot. I too am exhausted, and will not sleep well among the company of strangers.”

“Then won’t you at least say goodnight to the boy? He missed you sorely when you left. I believe he thought you had gone off for good. And he has felt..... I hope you understand when I say that he has felt neglected. Ariel and I have given him what we can, but it is to you that he feels the deepest attachment.”

At these words Cassius felt a pang of remorse. In his battle with death and despair, he had in fact been pushing the boy away. His motives had been true enough, perhaps, wanting the child to be able to go on without him..... But that is not how it would appear to a four-year-old boy.

“Yes, that is best. And Jacob. Thank you.”

Together they ascended the wooden staircase.
The company had already begun to disperse to different parts of the large, upper story, among the double row of beds to be found there. Once established, the chosen area could be screened off with ready partitions, and curtains hung from two long rods mounted to the ceiling beams, and skirting either side of the aisle that ran down the center. This remained open, with a fire burning steadily in the broad hearth at the far side of the room. The air within was warm and free of drafts, the stout beds and hushed activity suggesting a place of healing, of rest and tranquility. The sick woman, from her place nearest the fire, could be heard coughing intermittently. But the cough was no longer violent, and the ceaseless moaning, the restless turning had stopped. It was to her bed that the two men went first.

“How is she?” asked Jacob softly, pulling back the curtain at the foot of the bed.

“She is quieter,” said Vera, looking worn. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse. Whether she is improving, or simply wasting away..... At least she can sleep.”

“And so should you, child.”

“Yes, Vera,” came the voice of her husband. “There is nothing more you can do. Eat some of the food we’ve brought, then sleep.” Jacob let the curtain fall, and left them.

“Where is the boy?” asked Cassius.

“I don’t know.” And though together they looked up and down the aisle, under the uncovered beds, and inquired at the place that Ariel and her father had chosen, they could not find him.

“I thought he was with you,” said the girl, becoming alarmed. “Noah,” she called—the name that she had given him. “Noah? Where are you?”

“Here he is,” came a voice, that of the vintner, who had retired earlier. A curtain was pulled back from within, and Joshua’s gentle and melancholy face appeared. He stepped around the foot of the bed, opened the curtain wide. And there on the floor beneath a jumble of blankets, and curled into a forlorn ball with one foot protruding, was the boy.

Putting out a hand to stop the girl, Cassius went to him, and down on one knee. And though the child resisted, he gently but firmly took off the blankets that covered him. But when he took him by the shoulders and made him stand before him..... His heart sank. The same expression of nameless pain, of bewildered loss and despair that the boy had worn when they found him on the battlefield, was in his glossy eyes again.

Cassius embraced him gently, knowing nothing else in the room. Then he held him at arm’s length and said quietly in German.

“What is it, boy? What’s wrong?”

And the child, so long made silent by his trauma, began to stir and struggle desperately. The lump in his throat rose and fell. It seemed he could not breathe, as some war, some child’s hell, burned through him. His mouth moved, a wordless cry emerged..... And finally he managed,

“You don’t. . .want me.” And his tears burst forth with such heart wrenching pain that Cassius felt his own responding. He hugged the boy again, rubbing his back and lightly patting his head.

“God forgive me,” he whispered. Then remembering, he moved him back just enough to look full into his face. “I want you,” he said in German. “You are. . .my son.” And though the words stabbed, and burdened him with an impossible weight of responsibility, he knew it must be so. “I am your father now. Do you understand? I love you.”

The boy collapsed against him with a groan. He cried a while longer, then stepped back, and wiped his nose hard with the back of his hand. “I go with you,” he said.

“Yes.” And standing, Cassius lifted him in his arms. He nodded briefly to Ariel, and left the room.

Forty

Cassius slept for several hours. And though his body could have wanted more, there was work to be done. For with the return of the boy into his thoughts, his soul, the rebellion was complete. Yes, he might die tomorrow. Yes, they might all be killed by the Vandals when the time came to descend, or by a band of deserters, or simply by the elements themselves. It did not matter. He was alive, here and now, and there was work to be done.

The boy remained beside him in the bed as before, holding his sword at the ready. And now as he rose, the man needed no prodding of conscience to tell him what he must do. He stood up and dressed himself quickly, strapped on his sword as the boy brought it to him, and went out. But not alone this time. The boy came with him, not as a juvenile charge, not as a hindrance but an ally, another appendage, just as Noah had been to his father, and Cassius to his. They moved through the drifts of snow together, laboring, helping each other, till they came to the entrance, where Gaius kept his watch.

“Anything to report?” said Cassius, lying on his stomach behind the natural drift that had formed in the wedge-shaped entrance, and been packed down by the younger man to serve as a blind. Gaius could not help noticing the change in him, at least so far as it applied to himself, and could therefor not help asking.

“No insult?” he said defensively. “No reprimand?”

“No, Gaius,” said the other without turning. “I’m not going to make it that easy for you. If you think you can win Ariel for yourself, try. You’ll get no help from me. I ask you again, did you see anything?”

Gaius hesitated. “There was a single horseman.”
Cassius felt the fear clutching his stomach again, fought it off. “A single horseman. Describe him.”

“I couldn’t see him clearly. He was at the bottom of the slope, a good half mile off. It would be hard to read any man’s features at that distance.”

“Then tell me what you could see,” said the soldier irritably. “His clothes, his horse, the direction he was traveling.”

“His clothes. . .were very much like the boy’s,” said Gaius in sudden understanding. “His horse looked dark against the snow, but I think it was a trick of the light. Without the snow behind, I would say it was probably a grey.”

“A grey?” said Cassius, turning toward him intently. “Describe its mane.”

“Very long and dark, though again, against the snow.....”

“Did it have speckled markings down the throat and chest?”

“Yes.”

“Was it a big horse, very strong and sure of step?”

“I believe it was. Even in the deepest snow it seemed to move fairly well. Why?”

“Because it was my horse, young pup, and I mean to have him back. What was the rider doing, and which way did he finally turn?”

“He seemed to be a scout, as Isaac said. He was looking for something, though for what it was hard to say.”

“Did he look up at you?”

“I was not so foolish as to let him— ”

“Did he look up at this place!”

“No. . .not directly. But he came from the direction of the houses beneath the cliff, and seemed to be searching for a trail he could not quite find. He did look up at the mountain, but came no closer..... There he is again!”

Both men huddled still deeper in the snow, the boy following their lead. And there on the plain below, riding from the northeast where he had been hidden by the angle, a single rider was making his way slowly through the deep snow of the valley, heading toward the river. Even at that distance Cassius recognized his horse, and felt a surge of fierce emotion.

“Is it yours?” asked Gaius, though the other’s face had already told him. “How do you plan to get it back?”

“I don’t know. But if that Vandal bastard thinks he’s going to find us out, while riding my horse..... Look how he moves! The snow must be three feet deep, he’s been laboring for hours, and still he holds his pace.” And if Gaius had not seen it coming, and put both hands on Cassius’ shoulder to stop him, he might have risen up and..... And what, he did not know. But he felt the old fire, the old strength of will, and knew he must find a way to use it. The rider moved on.
Cassius looked over at the younger man, who took his hands away hurriedly. But in that moment Cassius felt no hostility toward him, only the fierce joy of living. “It’s all right, Gaius. I’m not going to kill you.” And as the other turned red and looked away he let go a laugh, and clapped him on the back. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “Not now. In a way, you make me stronger. We’ll never be friends; but we don’t have to be enemies. Shall we call a truce?”

“How can we?” said Gaius with downcast eyes.

“We both love.…. We both love Ariel.”

“Yes, and I won’t give her up, I warn you. But listen, Gaius. Perhaps I’ve grown foolish with age, or maybe I’m just glad to be alive. But what’s happening right now isn’t just about you and I, two headstrong Romans in love with the same woman..... What am I saying? I sound like Jacob.”

“Please don’t stop,” said the younger man, to his own consternation. But to go on fighting was so pointless.

“What do you mean?” said Cassius. Their eyes met, and they seemed to see each other as men for the first time.

“What I mean is..... Why are we here, Cassius? Both of us, a thousand miles from home? Our lives are wrecked, our worlds gone..... Nothing to go back to but bitterness and death. We have a right to feel lost.

“And yet I look at these people,” he went on, “who have never had a home, and I wonder. Why are they so closely bound? Why do they still have a purpose, a vision, when all we can do.....”

“When all we can do is hate each other for loving the same woman.”

“Yes.”

“Now you’re beginning to sound like Jacob.”

“Maybe that’s because he knows something—something we don’t. And I’m not just talking about their religion, which I don’t understand.”

“I hope not,” said Cassius sternly. “I’ve seen far too much suffering to ever thank God for it.”

“But they do have something. You must have felt it.”

“Yes, I’ve felt it,” said the soldier reluctantly. “They believe in something. They have a reason..…” For the briefest instant the Roman envied them bitterly. And he knew that for this reason they would always be hated. “They believe in something larger than themselves: their families, their people. I was just beginning to feel that..…”

“When your wife and son were killed?”

“Ariel told you?” he asked sharply.

“No, not Ariel. Jacob.”

“And Ariel told him.”

“What difference does it make who told who? My God, Cassius, you were just beginning to open up to me.”

“And what good would that do, Gaius?”

“Maybe it would give you. . .would give us, what they have. A shared purpose, a reason to be here. Something more, at least for now, than fighting over Ariel.”

“Save the Jews first, and kill each other later?” And he released the old grunt, half of laughter, half of sorrow, that had not passed his lips for many days.

“Why not?” asked Gaius. “I don’t.....” His eyes misted. “If I can’t have her. . .then I don’t know what else to live for.” And he covered his eyes with his arm to hide his shame.

Cassius looked on, undecided. But in that moment, feeling as one returned from the dead, at last beginning to take in the humanity of those around him, it did not seem strange to him to put a hand to the back of the younger man’s neck, and give him a reassuring shake.

“Jacob is right. You have a good heart.” He was embarrassed to hear himself speak. “All right then,” he said gruffly, trying to make light of it. “We save the Jews. But you should know, the first step in that direction is anything but noble.”

“What do you mean?” said Gaius, not looking at him.

“We’ve got to kill that damned rider.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s seen the others: he’s followed their trail, at least in his mind. You say he looked up here only briefly, as if he thought nothing of it. But that could change in a heartbeat, and bring ruin on us all.” At this they both looked out to see him riding slowly, so slowly out of sight.

“We should be getting back,” said Gaius, pushing himself off with his hands, then backing away carefully so as not to expose himself to view. “Jacob, and also Isaac, will want to know about this.”

“You go,” said Cassius. “I want to see where the Vandals really are, assuming he’s headed back to their encampment.”

“All right.”

“Gaius?” The young man turned. “There is something else. And in this I am in deadly earnest.”

“What is it?”

“Ariel’s father. He is a weak and desperate man, and that makes him a danger to us all. Don’t try to use him, I warn you, to get closer to the girl. I won’t allow that.” And the old animosity smoldered in his eyes.

“I would never— ”

“See that you don’t.”

… “Then we are still enemies,” said Gaius in dismay. “And all of this meant nothing.”

“No, Gaius, it wasn’t nothing. But this is serious. You might hurt me by such a course, but you would also hurt Ariel.”

“Then I will not do it!” he said angrily. “And if you don’t know that, then you don’t know me.”

He set off for the compound without looking back. Cassius took a handful of snow and rubbed it into his face, trying to think. Then let go a scowl, and returned to his vigil.

When Cassius returned, the whole company was assembled in the lower room for the evening meal. Only Vera was absent, still tending the sick woman. Ariel was ladling soup from a great pot swung out on its iron hinge from its place above the fire, into wooden bowls which Jacob then loaded on his tray, and dispersed along with unleavened bread and Kosher wine.

“Come,” said Isaac, as Cassius closed the door behind him. “Sit here if you will. I would like to hear about the rider, and how you plan to deal with him.”

So urging the boy, who was still shy of the newcomers, ahead of him, Cassius moved toward the long table at which the head of the family sat. His eldest son was seated at his right hand, the children beside him, then Joshua, looking worried. To his relief Cassius saw that Gaius sat across from them, beside Isaac, and seemed to have been speaking to him rather than to Ariel or her father. Meryl and Malachi sat alone as before, and it was in their direction that the vintner’s gaze would sometimes shift uneasily. Jacob and Ariel, when they had finished serving the others, sat down with her father at a small table nearest the fire.

“So,” said the blacksmith, pouring out wine for himself, then passing the silver pitcher to the soldier. “What do we do with the scout, the man who saw us? Yes,” he added, “by what your young friend has told me, it is the same man.” Though the question had been directed to him alone, Cassius knew that all in the room were listening.

“We kill him.”

“Good,” said Isaac grimly. “How?”

“He saw you at the houses beneath the cliff, a few hours before the snow came. Is that correct?” The other nodded. “He returned the next day, and you were gone. He can’t find your trail, and that troubles him. But most of all, it angers him. He will be back.”

“How do you know this?” said Isaac bluntly.

“Put yourself in his place,” said the Roman, not yet offended, but equally blunt. “An older man, no longer able to ride with his brothers into battle, left behind to guard the women and children. If you know anything at all about the Vandals, you must know how this galls him. The only thing worse than being left this odious duty, would be to fail in it. Hate drives him. He will be back.”

“You mean to set a trap for him.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Jacob,” said Cassius, turning toward him. “Do you have three hundred feet of stout rope?”

“Yes, of course,” said the rabbi. “But must we really kill him? Won’t that only bring others, to look for him?”

“I’ve thought of that, Jacob, more than you know. But from what I can read of him, the greater danger lies in doing nothing.”

“Go on,” said Isaac, listening not only to what the Roman said, but how he said it. He had no reason to doubt his soldier’s insight, but was still unsure of his motives, his place among them.

“All right,” said Cassius, bristling under the scrutiny, but for Ariel’s sake trying to understand the reason for it. “He returned this morning, alone. If he meant to tell the others, or bring a party to destroy you, why didn’t he? Was he angry with himself for not attacking on his own? One man on horseback to three on foot—it would have been an even fight. Did he mean to correct that mistake today? I don’t have the answer, but the fact remains: he is acting alone, at least for now.

“To answer your concern, Jacob, no, I don’t think it would cause a great stir if he were lost somehow, and did not return to their camp. An aging warrior, riding alone—anything could have happened to him. And even if others are sent to look for him, we’re no worse off than we are now. The real danger is in that man’s mind, what he may be thinking. He could have found at least wisps of our trail. He did come to the base of the slope. And he may start to wonder at the narrow cleft which forms the entrance, and is visible—”

“I agree,” said the blacksmith, as if to silence all debate. “We must kill him. But how will you draw him close enough to attack? The snow is deep, and there can be no mistake.”

“I will use the boy,” said Cassius sullenly, “standing in the open doorway of the houses below. If that doesn’t tell you how deeply I’m committed, nothing will.”

“No!” cried Ariel, rising suddenly. She came and put her arms around the boy protectively. Then giving Cassius a black look she lifted him, as if to take him away from a madman, bent on his destruction. “A Suevian child? He would be killed at once.” But the boy broke free of her grasp, and returned to stand by his father’s side.

Cassius hung his head, trying to control himself. But this was too much. To be treated as a dangerous outsider by Isaac was one thing. But to have his own woman doubt him, and his love for their adopted son.....

“Is that what you thought?” he said bitterly. “All this time? Then your eyes are as blind as your heart.” He knew that the whole company was listening uncomfortably, but it must be said. “Noah’s father was a Vandal. Noah is a Vandal. Why do you think he was left alive on the battlefield?”

But beyond her humiliation at being spoken to this way in front of the others, Ariel could not accept that this little boy, her beloved Noah, was descended from the same men who raped and killed.....

“I don’t believe it,” she said flatly. “If he is a Vandal, why didn’t the others take him? Or send him back. . .to his mother?” This thought, too, was disconcerting.

“His mother must have died when he was very young,” said Cassius more gently, realizing how he must have hurt her. “Perhaps in childbirth. That is why he went with his father into battle. And once his father was killed..... They are not as we are, Ariel. They were men on the move, eager for battle and plunder, and simply had no use for him. His father was dead . . .so they left him. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

“I don’t believe it!” she insisted. “You don’t know everything. You could be wrong.”

“Gaius,” he said ruefully, wishing he could take it all back. “Please tell her.”

The young man looked away, wanting no part of it. But now Ariel looked to him with such a pleading and sorrowful expression.....

“I’m afraid it’s true. The Sueves that we saw in battle. . .almost always wore some kind of iron helmet. While the Vandals. . .seem to consider it a weakness to do so.”

“But he’s just a boy.”

“Yes,” said Gaius, looking down. “He’s just a boy. It’s not his fault. But his clothes..... Ariel. His clothes are almost exactly like those of the rider.”

“As they were exactly like those of his father,” said Cassius quietly.

Confused, ashamed and in tears, Ariel ran to the staircase and ascended out of sight. Gaius too left the room, out into the cold and dark, his heart on fire.

Everyone else, was silent.

Forty-One

All had been planned, and put in readiness. The two brothers, Ezekiel and Malachi, kept their high watch at the northern and southern extremities of the long, irregular cliff. Its inverted center rose sheer, two hundred feet from the cluster of houses below. Jacob and Isaac remained directly above, and on their signal would drop one stone or two onto the roof of the house in which Cassius, Gaius, and the boy waited anxiously. One, for a single rider, and all went forward as planned. Two, for a company, and ropes must be lowered quickly over the side, the brothers return to help, and a frantic attempt made to pull them back up before they were spotted.

“A good plan,” Isaac had said the night before. “But only if it works. If it doesn’t, we may all lose our lives.”

“Yes,” replied Cassius, no longer caring. “You may lose your lives. But if a company of riders appears, and we are trapped inside, Gaius and I certainly will.”

“And the boy?” asked Jacob quietly.

“He may be spared, and he may not.” How could he make them understand that there was no other way, that all their lives were forfeit unless they tried?

But now, far below, waiting in the darkened house, Cassius had begun to doubt himself. Was this really the only way? Why was he exposing the boy, whom he had sworn to protect? Would Gaius fail him at a critical instant, through weakness or hesitation withholding the fatal blow? More than all of this, what if he had read the man incorrectly, and he returned with a company of riders to destroy them? Could Malachi be trusted to keep his watch? If a company was spotted, would they be able to retreat in time? If trapped on the mountaintop, would they still be able to flee in another direction? A thousand questions, a thousand doubts, and only one reason to be here. It must be done.

“Dear God,” he muttered. “I hope I haven’t killed us all.”

At this Gaius stirred, arching his back to push himself away from the wall against which he leaned pensively. “Cassius? I’ve just thought of something. A loose end, which may make you want to reconsider.”

“Only one?” said the soldier darkly. “I can think of at least a dozen ways we can die. I don’t need to hear one more.”

“That’s not what I mean. I told you if there was no other way I would see it through. I’m here; that ought to tell you something. But there’s a problem.”

“And what is that?”

“The horse. I know you mean to have him back. But assuming we’re successful..... What do you mean to do with him?”

Cassius released a caged breath. The young man had found him out.

“You’re the one who’s been to school. You tell me.”

“You’re not..... You’re not thinking of leaving us?”

“Yes, God damn you, I am thinking.”

“And taking the boy?”

“Why not? He doesn’t belong among these people any more than I do.” A pause. “What’s wrong, Gaius? I would think you’d be glad to see me gone. You will have Ariel.....” But this he could not finish. He turned away bitterly.

“But think of her,” said Gaius, arguing more with himself than with Cassius. For with his words a wild hope had in fact risen in his heart. She would be his! But at what cost to herself? “To lose both of you at once. It would be a crushing blow.”

“Enough!” snarled Cassius. “I haven’t said I’m going, only that I might. Let me think.” And opening the door just enough to let in some light, he scratched his stubble beard, and rubbed his eyes thoughtfully. No use. First they must kill the man. He went down on one knee before the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Remember,” he said in German, softly but emphatically. “Stand in the doorway, but do not go outside. Do not go out.” And the boy, who had clung silently to his neck as they were lowered the whole length of the treacherous, back-leaning cliff, nodded his head in assent. “You know,” said Cassius again, searching for the right word. “You understand that we must.....” But in his taut weariness he could not remember the German word for kill. “You understand, Noah. You know what we must do.” Again the boy nodded. “Good. Stand in the open doorway. When he comes closer, move back into the room. The center of the room.”

There was nothing more to be done. His mind was blank and heavy. They must all wait, four above and three below, for the man that they would murder.

And wait they did. The morning passed with painful slowness. The sun was warmer, beginning to melt and compact the unshaded snow. It rose in its indifferent pace, till it hung almost exactly at the noon. All were weary, played out by the anxious waiting. It seemed the man had vanished from the earth, a mere phantom of their fears.
And then Malachi saw him, a single rider, moving slowly north along the bank of the half-frozen stream. He waited, to be sure the man was alone. But when no other showed himself he moved back out of sight, stood up and raised a single, closed fist. His father, who had been watching him intently, whispered in turn to Jacob. “He is coming. Alone.” The rabbi leaned out over the edge, and lightly tossed a single stone. It missed the house, landing silently in the snow before it. Again. This time a muffled thud returned to their ears, sounding very small and distant.
But to the three burning slowly inside, it might have been a thunderclap. The sound itself was more jarring than loud. But roused so suddenly to action, feeling with a shock of adrenaline the danger, and the mortal task that awaited them..... With a boost from Cassius, Gaius scrambled up into his place among the rafters. Cassius moved to and pulled open the door, hiding behind it. The boy watched them both, moved to stand where he had been instructed, and looked out.

But the waiting was not over, as the rider worked his way slowly up the riverbank, partly hidden by the irregular fence of bare trees and undergrowth beside it. As he came into sight of Jacob and Isaac, it seemed to them that he searched for something, but what it was they could not make out. Whether he sought their trail among the winding river track.....

He stopped. Something by the water’s edge had caught his attention. He dismounted, went to it. . .bent down, and slowly turned over something that was buried in the snow..... The carcass of a fawn, that must have drowned and washed ashore. He stood up again, remained looking at it sorrowfully.

When he did remount, it was not toward the cluster of houses that he rode, but merely continued northward as before.

“Then we did this for nothing,” said Isaac bitterly. Jacob did not reply, thinking only of the man. If he went on, and passed them by, he would live. If he turned. . .he would die. And the blood would be on their hands.

But just as he was beginning to hope that all their preparations were in vain, the man stopped, as if another thought had come to him. And guiding his horse up the gentle incline, through an opening in the river growth, he put heels to its flanks and rode across the open space directly toward them. Jacob, Isaac and the two brothers all hid themselves more deeply, unconsciously holding their breath.

But whether he instinctively sensed danger, or for some other reason, the man stopped perhaps fifty yards away. He was an older man, as Cassius had said, his streaming blonde hair now faded, shot with gray. His face was clean shaven, something of a rarity among the Vandals, and from his neck hung a large, metallic cross. His eyes were fierce, and had they been close enough to see, were of a pale and penetrating blue.

From his place behind the door, Cassius could see nothing. He had barely heard the hoofbeats, approaching through the snow. Now that they had stopped he began to doubt if he had heard them at all. But after a pause they came on, more slowly, mingled with the unmistakable breathing of a horse. His horse.

Then they stopped again. He must have seen the open door, he thought, and come closer as he saw the boy. But now he senses something. Cassius could stand it no longer. Protected from view by the angle, he moved out a step to watch the boy, hoping desperately that he would not turn and look at him, spoiling the trap and betraying them all.

But Noah was now wholly absorbed in watching the rider. He must have stopped, dismounted..... The boy began to stir, churning with emotion. As Cassius watched it seemed that the same struggle—to come to grips with something unfathomable, some wonder or horror too great for his child’s mind to grasp—was taking place inside him. Had the sight of one of his own confused him, rekindling old feelings and loyalties? Was he remembering his father? Would he run out into—

“Franzi!” came the voice from beyond, shattering his thoughts, his hopes. “Franzi, ist ein du?”

“Opa!” cried the boy in answer. “Opa!”
And in an instant Cassius realized the fullness of his folly. He had completely misread the man, to the undoing of them all. The rider had returned alone not out of pride, but caution. And he had done so not out of hatred. . .but love. He was not searching for the hapless survivors of his people’s wanton destruction. He was looking for his grandson, lost with his son at the battle just north of here. And now he had found him.

“Noah,” whispered Cassius desperately. “Franzi, nein. Don’t go out to him. Please.” And for all he must be feeling, somehow the boy remained where he was, did not rush out into the snow. While the rider, too overjoyed at the sight of the grandson he thought dead, put aside his caution and came forward.

Confused, looking once to the door behind which his second father had hidden, the boy faltered, then began to back into the center of the room.

“Franzi,” came the voice, much closer. “Franzi, vos ist los?” And the floorboards creaked as he stepped into the room, into the trap. The boy let out a moan, and ran into his arms.

Cassius closed the door slowly, leaving it open just enough to let the light..... The man whirled, pushing his grandson protectively behind him.

Toward the corner, where Gaius waited. The Vandal drew his broadsword and held it fiercely before him, but did not attack. And to his relief or consternation—in that moment he did not know which—Cassius saw that Gaius had understood, and held himself back.

“Barbarian,” said the Roman sternly. “We have a problem.”

The Vandal needed no other prodding. He let go a cry of rage and came forward, brandishing the great two-handed sword. Having no
intention of being overpowered by the larger blade, Cassius struck first, throwing his weapon handle-first into the man’s diaphragm. He fell to one knee as the breath left his body, and now Gaius leapt down to join the fray.

But instead of going for the kill as Cassius wished, in his youthful compassion Gaius moved quickly to prevent further tragedy. He stepped away from the boy, and as the barbarian rose in a rage and turned toward him, moved around him in a slow half circle. As Cassius recovered his sword, Gaius moved to stand beside him: making conflict unwinnable, and eliminating the threat to his grandson. The man moved back into the corner, pushing the child behind him.

“Nein, nein!” cried the boy desperately, grabbing at the wrist that still held the deadly blade. “Opa! Papa! Nein!”

“Vos is dos!” shouted the man, to the Heavens as much as to his adversary. “What do you want? Why does he call you father!”

“Because I am his father now! I found him on the battlefield, and have cared for him ever since. If things were different, I would let you take him and ride away. But there are others I protect, just as dear, and I must kill you.”

“Wait,” said Gaius, the whole scene too horrible to bear. “There must be another way! Put down your swords, and let us talk.” And as his grandfather hesitated, the boy slipped out from behind him, and stood between the two would-be combatants.

“Nein, nein!” It was the only word left to him. “Nein!” he cried passionately, stamping his feet with tears streaming down his face.

Seeing his grandson exposed, the German slowly lowered his sword. “Sic transit gloria mundi,” he quoted, to Cassius’ bewilderment, in Latin. So pass the glories of this world. Then in German again:

“If you promise to spare the boy..... Kill me.” And he let go his sword, the hilt thumping heavily as it struck the wooden floor.

“I cannot kill an unarmed man,” said Cassius, distraught. “Pick up your sword, and fight!”

“No,” said the aging Vandal, resigned. “I’ve had enough of killing. All I ask is that you care for the boy.” And as his grandfather said this, Franzi ran up and put his arms around Cassius, pinning the sword to his hip.

“Cassius,” said Gaius quietly. “We can’t kill him like this. It would crush the boy, and it’s wrong.”

“Then what do we do, Gaius? Let him bring back the others, and kill us all?”

“You do not know me, Roman,” said the man, “if that is what you think.”

“No, Cassius,” said the younger man. “What we have to do is talk.”

And Cassius, feeling all control slipping from his grasp, looked down to see the boy’s pleading and tear-stained face..... Relented. “Is that what
we do, barbarian? Talk?”

The other straightened his back, and looked him dead in the eye. “Men like you and I are not born to it,” he said. “But here and now, perhaps we must.” He bent down to pick up his sword, but as Cassius bristled, only put it firmly back in its sheath.

“All right,” said Cassius, accepting the challenge and doing the same. “We talk.”

Taking the initiative, Gaius dragged the table back into the center of the room, then quickly fetched the chairs that had also been set against the wall. So Cassius and the German sat, face to face. But when Gaius tried to join them, the soldier shook his head. “Stand guard by the door.”

Gaius did as he asked, and the unlikely parley began. At stake, nothing less than a man’s life, weighed against the safety of the group.

“It would be tempting,” said Cassius, pushing back his chair. “To draw a hidden blade, and stab me under the table. Since you are more the a match for my friend,” he said, with a black look at Gaius.

“It would be equally tempting for you,” said the German. “But I hope that we are above that. I am.”

“And what makes you better than your murderous brothers?” said Cassius flatly.

“I am a Christian.”

“So are the Visigoths, and they rape and slaughter with the best of them.”

“Not all of them,” said the man, as if it were a point of honor. “But those who do have not truly heard the words of Jesus Christ, have not taken them to heart.”

“And you have.”

“Yes.”

“Leaving that aside, for now, where did you learn to speak Latin?”

“In northern Italy, though I know only a few words, short phrases. ‘Sic transit’ is from the Bible, the Book of—”

“I don’t care,” said Cassius irritably. “What were you doing in Italy?” He thought he knew, and could feel his gorge rising.
“I served with Alaric, as did many of my people. For I had not yet been born again, and still believed a powerful German leader could bring Order out of Chaos, peace and prosperity to all. I believed that while pressing his own demands, Alaric could secure for us a homeland, a place where we could settle, and end our ceaseless migration.”

“As if you would have taken it,” scoffed Cassius. “Six months after you inhabit any region it is a barren wasteland. You burn and rape and kill, trample the very earth beneath your feet. And if you were with Alaric.....” He threw back his chair and drew his sword.

“No,” said the other firmly. “I was not with him when Rome was sacked. Whatever tragedies you suffered there, I am not to blame.”

“This is pointless!” roared the soldier. “Draw your sword and die like a man!”

“To die like a man is easy,” returned the other levelly. “But to live like one.....”

“Cassius, please,” said Gaius, very much as Jacob had done on his behalf. “We accomplish nothing this way. Let the man speak. Sir,” he said, addressing him directly. “We, or at least I, would like to hear your story.

Tell us why you are different—why you risk so much to practice your faith among pagans, and here now, to save your grandson. Perhaps then, on certain promises, we can let you go.”

“Promises,” scowled Cassius. “The words of a Vandal aren’t worth the breath it takes to utter them.”

“For many of us that is true,” said the man. “And it is also tragic. But as your young friend perceives—as your prejudice will not allow you to do—I am different. The people I once called mine. . .are sundered from me. They have gone their way, and I go mine.”

“Why?” said Cassius bluntly.

“I am trying to tell you.” Again the Roman scowled, lifted his chair to set it hard against the wall. He sat, with the sword still drawn.

“Go on,” said Gaius. “Please. Just tell us the truth.”

“A true Christian speaks nothing else. Very well.” And setting his grandson on his lap to calm him, he began.

“I have lived on this earth for forty-two years. Forty-two years of war, of killing, and of a ceaseless, meaningless migration. You reach an age,” he said, addressing them both, “when thoughts of glory and conquest, of worldly wealth and the thunder of the charge, lose their hold on your heart. You realize how small, how empty and futile they are..... And all you long for is the love, and the safety of your family.”

“Yet your son went into battle against the Sueves. And what is more, he took the boy with him. Where was the ‘love of your family’ then?”

“I will not speak against my son, who is dead, except to say that the madness that has taken my people..... Franz, too, believed the Arian lies: that our old gods, mingled with the New, wanted us to supplant, to destroy the weaker races. And despite his mother’s death…..” A dark cloud passed over his features, as of a pain still too great to bear. “And knowing my heart was against this, he kept my grandson from me. He took the boy into battle, not only because of this, but to harden his heart against the message of love and forgiveness I bring..... And died alone, sundered from his father.

“I have lived as an outcast,” he went on, “only allowed to remain as a protector of the women and children because of my past ‘glories.’ For in younger days I was a fierce and indomitable warrior, the Lord of my Tribe. Though even then I had begun to sense the evil of our wanton destruction, our ruthless and violent culture.”

“And northern Italy,” said Cassius. “You were with Alaric, and yet you did not march on Rome. Why?”

“I am ashamed to say I did, the first time, when he was content to lay siege, and blackmail your cowering leaders. But when I saw how shallow, how merciless he had become..... Or perhaps he had always been so, and we simply refused to see it.

“I need not tell you that when he surrounded the city, when he burned the crops and the surrounding countryside, many people starved, and many others died of pestilence within the suffocating walls of Rome.”

“No. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Yes,” said the man darkly. “And far from being moved to pity by the suffering we all witnessed—the sights, sounds, and smell of lingering death—Alaric wallowed in it. For all the illusions, and misplaced loyalties I held….. A blind man could see he was nothing more than a low-born coward. How others continued to delude themselves I don’t know. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. But I turned my back on him forever, and began the long and difficult journey back to Gaul. Alone.”

“Is that when you became a Christian?” asked Gaius, with something more than polite interest. Indeed, as Cassius watched the younger man it was clear that the words of the strong and charismatic German had stirred him, though the roots of his empathy must have been there already.

“Yes,” said the man, again with that indefinable look of pride and self-confidence. “I became ill while crossing the Alps, as you may well imagine. Not reading the mountain passes as well as I hoped, I grew confused and lost my way. But being a proud man, and like you Romans despising weakness, I tried to ignore my condition, pushing ever onward. Till just as I reached the heights, and with my horse began to stagger down the other side….. I collapsed.

“I would have died there,” he said, his eyes shining, “if I had not been found and taken in by a Visigoth family who had settled in a neighboring valley. A Christian family,” he added with emphasis. “They had no reason to be kind to me. Indeed, their people had suffered much at our hands in an earlier war. It was a wonder to me then, not understanding, that they did not cut my throat as I lay dying in the snow, or throttle me as I lay helpless in their bed. For I was three parts dead already, and passed through Hellish dreams I would not wish on anyone—though it was the penance I needed, reliving my life in all its brutal folly.

“But when I came back from my delirium, to find myself in their patient care..... All that had gone before seemed so distant, as if it were not my life, but that of an unwakened stranger. I was ready for the message of love and forgiveness they brought. More than ready— it seemed I had been waiting for it all my life.”

“What did they tell you?” asked Gaius, now wholly absorbed.

“They told me the story, the words of Jesus Christ. So simple, so pure. They showed me there is only one hard road to redemption: that we must not only forgive, but love our neighbors as ourselves. Even when they persecute us.”

“And if I seized your Franzi,” said Cassius, “and tried to cut his throat, would you let me do it? Isn’t that what Jesus taught: non-resistance to evil?”

“I don’t know why you are bent on provoking me, Cassius. Perhaps you are afraid I speak the truth, and that your own soul will begin to respond. But to answer your challenge— and I truly hope it is a thing you would never do— yes, I would stop you. Just because I am a Christian does not mean I have stopped being a man. I’ve heard of some who try to separate the two, but I am not such a fool as that.”

“But how did you know— ” began Gaius.

“Enough!” cried the soldier. “Make your peace with God when we are safe. We must decide what to do here and now.”

“There is only one thing we can do,” said Gaius with conviction. “We have to let him go.”

“And when he returns with the others, and they do to Ariel what they did to her mother? How will you feel then, Gaius?”

“You still don’t understand,” said the man.

“Understand what?”

“That I cannot take my grandson back among the Vandals. I would not have him raised in their unholy Darkness.”

… “Then where would you take him?”

“North among the Visigoths, who have embraced the true Faith, and will nurture and guide him even after I am gone.”

“But then.....” said Cassius, with a sudden wrench of his heart. For he realized that his hand was forced: unless they killed the man, the boy must go with him. “You would take him away from us?” he asked with downcast eyes.

“I’m afraid I must. He is my family, the last of our line.”

Now Gaius, too, began to realize the full weight of their decision.

“Oh no,” he said quietly. “Ariel is going to take it hard.”

“This Ariel,” asked the German, “who is she?”

“His foster mother,” returned Gaius. “The woman we both love, and have sworn to protect.”

“Then you are not deserters,” he said, reassured. “Well. I see that you also have your tale to tell. I would like to hear it, but the day is growing long.” He hesitated, but the question must be asked. “Do you intend to let us go, or will you kill me? That is what it must come down to in the end.”

Gaius looked at Cassius, who stared at the floor. “We can’t kill him,” said the younger man. “And we can’t stop him…..”

“From taking his grandson.”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry for the separation I have caused,” said the man. “And I am grateful for the care that you and the woman have given him.” He paused, but still his adversary would not look at him. “You’re a hard man, Cassius, much as I was. But I see there is also goodness in you.” He rose, set the boy down, and moved to stand before him. “Here, if you will take it, is my pledge.” And he held out his forearm in the Roman fashion.

Cassius wavered. Then he clasped it, not knowing what else to do.

“I will not betray your trust,” the man continued. “No one beside myself knows that you were here; and none will learn of it from me.”

“Take care of him,” said Cassius thickly.

“Wait,” said Gaius suddenly. “Why couldn’t he come with us?”

Cassius sighed heavily. “No. Even if he wanted to, and I don’t believe he does, I cannot take that chance. He does not yet know where the rest of us are, though he may have guessed it. And Gaius.” He struggled now, as one on unfamiliar ground. “I know you think I believe in nothing. Maybe I don’t. But can’t you see..... The boy must live out his destiny among those who sired him. While Ariel and I love him, and would gladly have taken him as our own..... This man, his grandfather. . .is his own flesh and blood.”

Now it was the German who felt his throat tighten with emotion: with the realization he would live, and that his grandson was given back to him.

“I know not whether this man be a sinner,” he quoted solemnly. “I only know that I was blind, and now I see….. Thank you for this gift, brother. May God go with you.”

“He may use me sometimes,” said Cassius bitterly. “But he is never with me. Go on,” he said, heavy-hearted. “Before I change my mind.”

The man put a strong and sure hand on his shoulder. “That you would not do.” And lifting his grandson once more, he walked out through the open door. Then set him on the horse’s back, mounted behind him, and rode off.

“But Cassius,” said the younger man. “Your horse, your adopted son.....”

“Are gone forever.”

“But— ”

“Leave me now. Watch him go, be sure it is to the north..... Leave me!”

Gaius did as he asked, walking slowly out into the snow. Cassius closed the door, as darkness enveloped him. He hung his head, and wept.

Forty-Three

While the three men held their conference far below, the men above waited anxiously. Jacob and Isaac had seen the man enter, heard the sharp sounds of confrontation, then..... Nothing. What had happened?

“This is intolerable,” said Isaac, as the time wore on. “Someone must go down and see what has happened.” But as he turned to summon his sons, he saw Joshua approaching from behind, moving tentatively down the short, steep slope that led from the crown of the granite rise. As he drew closer, the blacksmith angrily signaled him to stay down and out of sight. The man looked confused, hunched down and remained where he was. Isaac slid back from his precipitous vantage point, rose and moved irritably toward him.

“What are you doing here?” he said as he approached. “I told you to guard the women, and sound the alarm if trouble came. You know that fool Cornelius cannot be trusted.”

“I’m sorry,” replied the sensitive, melancholy man. “It’s your wife. Vera thinks..... I think. She’s dying, Isaac.”

The blacksmith’s face froze utterly. He seemed incapable of thought or feeling. Then slowly his eyes lowered on the vintner. “Go and stay with Jacob. You may be needed.” And saying nothing more, he set off.

Jacob watched in wonder and fear as the Vandal emerged from the hut, set the boy on his horse, then mounted behind him and rode slowly to the north. But a short time later Gaius stepped out into view, and after watching him go, turned and waved to those above, then signaled for them to lower the ropes. Jacob summoned the others to him, and the great coils were thrown down.
Gaius stood aside as the first unfurling coil hurtled down, the extra length crashing like a fallen serpent in the snow. The second nearly caught him as too late he dove out of the way.

Strange to say, it was only with this, far lesser danger that the pent-up fear of the day was released in him. He found himself shaking, and for a moment his breath would not come. But after a time he gathered himself, stood up, and went to summon Cassius.

“The ropes have been lowered,” he said, as the other surprised him at the doorway. And though Cassius tried to avoid his gaze, the younger man could see that something was very wrong.

“Yes,” said the soldier, stepping out. Together they walked to the base of the cliff. “Go first, will you? I want to be sure you’re all right.” And bending down to take up the rope, he began to secure the young man as before, in a kind of sling about the chest and upper thighs.

“You’re not going to stay behind?” asked Gaius with a surge of adrenaline. “You can’t.”

“If I do, it will only be to follow his tracks. Tell Ariel..... Explain about the boy. Go on.” And he pulled the rope twice, as a signal for the others to lift him.

“Don’t leave us,” said Gaius, as he was hoisted into the air. “You spoke of destiny, and you were right. Yours is among us!”

“Keep your feet toward the cliff,” he answered gruffly. “And I hope those fools remembered to use the beam as a pulley. I don’t want to try to catch you. Be careful, damn you!” Then much more quietly. “Someone has to take care of her.”
He waited until the young man was safely above, then set out to the North, alone.

It was only with an effort that Ariel let Isaac pass without asking. But he had seen the fear for her child in the luminous eyes, and stopped now halfway up the stairs of the great hall, his face hidden from her.

“I don’t know, Ariel. I just don’t know.”

But if these words had been meant to calm her, they had the opposite effect. All her fears and regrets only rushed to the surface. Stunned and humiliated by the events of the previous night, she had angrily avoided Cassius, and taken no part in the planning that followed.

But whatever other effect her father’s return had had on her, she had not stopped being a woman. The man she had called her husband, the boy she had taken as her own, had gone into terrible danger. And now something was wrong. She ran quickly up the stairs to fetch a shawl, came down again and made for the door. But her father stood before her, blocking her path.

“You mustn’t,” he said peevishly. “Let the others take their foolish risks. I won’t have you hurt.”

“I have to,” she said, with the first real anger she had shown him. “My son is in danger.” And sweeping past him she went out into the sunlit snow. And climbed upon the rock expanse under a brilliant sky.

She arrived just as Gaius, with Jacob’s help, was removing the sling from his body. While Ezekiel, for some reason she could not fathom, pulled up the second rope alone.

“Is everything all right?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” answered Gaius. “Cassius and the boy are safe. But Ariel.....”

“What is it?” she asked in alarm. “What’s happened?”

“… I’m sorry, Ariel. Noah. The boy. He isn’t coming back.”

“What are you talking about?” And all her mother’s panic burst forth.

Gaius reddened, silently cursing the soldier for leaving this duty to him. “The rider, the man we set the trap for..... It was his grandfather. He loves him, he’d been searching for him. Cassius thought it best. . .to let the boy go with him. We both did.”

“You thought?” she fairly screamed. “How do you know he wasn’t lying? How could you?” And she began to pound his shoulders with her fists. Then she drew back, and burst into tears.

“It’s my fault. Noah. Dear God, what have I done?” And she let herself fall back into the snow, covering her face with her hands.

“Ariel,” said Gaius, throwing off the ropes and going to her. “The man did not lie, and he wasn’t like the others. I will tell you all that happened later, but you must know: Franzi, your Noah, went with him gladly. He will be well cared for.”

“By the Vandals?” she wept. “My God, he’ll grow up just like they are. The little boy I held.....”

“No,” pleaded the young man, trying desperately to ease her pain. “His grandfather is a Christian, and will take him far away from here. Please, you must believe me. I would not let him come to harm.”

“You would not? Who gave you the right, to take my son from me?”

“It wasn’t my decision. I would have had the German come with us. It was Cassius—” But with this she fixed him with a look of such hatred.....

“Cassius did this to punish me. And you let him!”

“No,” said Gaius, on the point of tears. “He did it for the boy. And I don’t know if he’s coming back.”

“Who?” And her expression was as blank as Isaac’s had been before the vintner.

“Cassius,” said the young man forlornly. “He said he was only going to follow the Vandal’s tracks. But he is deeply hurt. I think he means to leave us.” The girl went pale and sloughed over, unconscious in the snow.

Gaius bent down quickly, determined now, and helped her to sit up again. And as he gently revived her, all weakness left him, and he knew what he must do. He helped her to stand, put his head beneath her arm and walked with her back toward the compound. To give her shelter, and be her protector.

She did not resist him.

Forty-Four

It was twilight when at last Cassius’ tracking brought him near the gap where they had found the boy. True to his word, the Christian had taken him due north, following the river track. And though he had not now broken from it, turning east, though there was no reason for Cassius to do so..... In some dark corner of his soul that was like the descending Night itself, a voice had told him that he must. And in his bitterness and loss, no voice of light or hope rose up to speak against it.

Though the wreathing mists no longer enveloped the battlefield, though the cries of the dying had long been subdued, still he felt the deep and sinister aura of the place. What Ariel had thought an arena, of stone and steel and death, he found to be a graveyard. A graveyard of the gods, themselves cold and dead, upon whose barren altars he had sacrificed for so long. The sacrifice: his own flesh, and the flesh of those he loved.
He found again the leaning slags of stone, the entrance leading nowhere. He looked into its black hole and thought of Lazarus, in reverse. All his thoughts, his very existence, seemed to flow away from him into its insatiable, implacable darkness. His two sons, who were gone. Ariel, who had left him. Arna. His own life, which must end.

“Where are you?” he impugned the heavens. Worse than useless. His gods of war and domination were not only dead; they had never been alive.

“Then is it you?” he said, standing in the open, no longer caring. “Does the Christian God now rule in Heaven. Is it you who want me dead? Whoever you are.....

“You made me a soldier!” he cried in wounded rage. “Born with my vile life already laid out before me. Then consumed my body in useless battles, my spirit in endless death. You gave me a wife, a son, then took them from me. You spared me, who should have died, only to torment me with my failure, my tragedy, my brutal mistake.” He felt the tears start to rise again, ruthlessly choked them back. “You brought me to this place!” he cried, the words echoing dimly against the dead stone. “And to all that came after..... Ariel.” And he fell to his knees, because he knew that he would do it.

“Then on the day of my death you bring a Christian to mock me. This man, who wants me to love and forgive all that I have fought against. That I gave my life for, the lives of my family..... Aaahhh!”

He stood up, drew the sword like a dagger in his two hands, holding it high above him. And brought it—

“Of all man’s sins,” came a voice from behind him. “The only one that God cannot forgive, is despair.”

Cassius whirled, in the feverish state of his mind thinking it an apparition. And indeed, in the almost perfect darkness the black silhouette of horse and rider seemed a thing not of this world. And in his agony he could not recognize the unnatural shape before it, that lept down and ran toward him. He raised the sword defensively, but the boy’s little arms engulfed him.

And with this, the insanity of pride and self-destruction left him. He went down on his knees once more, this time in gratitude. He embraced the boy and wept. The German watched in silence.

“What are you doing here?” said Cassius finally, weak and lost.

“As glad as I was to have my Franzi,” said the man, “and to be free of this place, that is like a graveyard for the living..... I felt a weight of regret growing on me as I rode. That he belongs with me is clear. He is, as you say, my blood. But half his heart, and therefor half my Christian duty, remained behind. He must at least say goodbye to you.”

“How did you find me?”

“It was not difficult. I expected you to follow. Then the sound of your voice..... It was not difficult.”

“So what do we do now, Christian?” He had tried to sound mocking, but it was not what he felt. “I still love..... We still love the boy.”

“This Ariel. She has become like a mother to him?”

“Yes.”The man was silent for a time. “Then you should not be parted from him. He will need someone, when I am gone.” He released a sigh. “I had wanted to be sure that he was raised as a Christian, but perhaps that goal is not yet lost.”

“I can’t bring you to them,” said Cassius hopelessly. “They would not trust you. They would not understand.”

“Who?”

“The Jews, that your people have massacred. The Jews that I protect.”

“I see. Then is there no compromise? Where do you plan to go? You cannot remain hidden on the mountaintop forever.”

“You know?” asked Cassius, his care and concern returning swiftly.

“My friend, I have been a soldier and scout for most of my life. I have my outdoor senses, and I have my mind. So you see, your secret is lost to me already. If you don’t trust me to keep it, perhaps you should bring me with you.”

“Why?” he began, staggered by the man’s incomprehensible kindness. “Why would you do this? I am your enemy.”

“Any man can love a friend. But Jesus taught that we must love our enemies as well. It is the supreme test.” He spurred the horse closer, held out his hand. “Did I pass God’s test, Cassius? Do I pass yours?”

Cassius could not speak, but only embraced the boy again as tears overwhelmed him.

Forty-Five

In the same hour that Cassius’ life was restored to him, the woman, Mary, lay dying. Her face was pale, her breath shallow and labored. But this was not what told her husband she would leave him. Her eyes, once and always so full of care and concern, looked empty and unfocused at the ceiling above. He increased the pressure on her hand, said her name imploringly.

“Mary. You’ve got to hold on. Our work. . .isn’t done.” For a moment the woman seemed to take this in. She looked at him, trying to understand what was wanted of her. But then a fit of coughing came over her, wracked her tortured body. And when it subsided, the weary and broken part of her mind that was all that remained of her, lapsed once more into beaten surrender.

Several hours passed in much the same fashion, just as several days had already passed, preparing her for death. And when at last it came, she felt no fear, only the helpless sorrow of one who had done all she could, and now could do no more. A silent tear rolled down the side of her face, as she loosed her hold on life. Her hand, in her husband’s hand, went limp. Her head turned away, and she was no more.

“Mary? Mary!” And the man who in his lifetime never told her, because he never knew, that she was half of everything he did, everything he was, bent down and laid his head on the pillow beside her. And wept. Then raising himself suddenly, he took her by the shoulders and shook her, trying to deny— “Mary, no! You’ve got to be strong now! Just a little longer. Wake up!”

Vera came closer, and gently but firmly took away his calloused hands, and laid her straight on the pillow once more. Then with her forefinger and thumb, closed the eyes that would not look upon this world again.

“She’s gone, Isaac.” And though she tried to embrace him, though she put her arms about his neck and drew him close against her, he only sat bewildered, uncomprehending. Death, a thing that should only take the weak and foolish, had taken his wife, who was neither. His wife. . .was dead. He stood up, not knowing what to do or where to go. Why? He descended the stairs, walked past the others unseeing, and out into the cold and starlit night.

His guiding light, his conscience..... The help-mate of a lifetime, was gone.

Ariel watched him go, saw his sons ascend the stairs to say goodbye to their mother. Saw Jacob hang his head in sorrow. Saw Gaius look at her briefly, as if he wished to comfort her, but knew this was not the time. He rose, walked toward Jacob and said quietly. “May I spend the night in your house?” The old man nodded, and Gaius too left the room.

Then Jacob came to her. “Ariel. I must visit with the family, and prepare the body for burial.”

“Of course.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Go ahead, Jacob.”

Then only she and her father remained in the room. He approached her with an unreadable expression.

“Perhaps your friend has the right idea. We should leave the family in peace. The house where you stayed. . .before. Is it warm?”

She answered wearily in the affirmative, then began to add that the memories would be too painful. He interrupted her.

“Life goes on, Ariel. This night we must not be selfish. They need to be alone.” And though the anger and resentment of the morning flared briefly inside her, though she had begun to sense, despite a daughter’s loyalty, that there was something unseemly in the man..... He was her father, and so she obeyed. They went out together, to the house that had been such a short time before a home, but which was now nothing more than an empty shell.

Her father, who had brought live coals from the others’ fire, set to work at once constructing his own. But the moldy straw, the cold twigs and larger firewood seemed reluctant to catch. He cursed them beneath his breath, burned his finger as the flames at last began to spread, then turned to her almost angrily.

“Come, Ariel. It is time to sleep.” And the strange light she had seen at intervals in his eyes, was there again. He moved to the table, turned over a goblet and filled it with wine. He offered some to her, which she refused.

“But father,” she realized suddenly. “There is only one bed.”

“You used to like to sleep with me, remember? When the rain and thunder came? You would come into our room, so frightened. And crawl in between your mother and me..... It will be all right, Ariel. I’m your father.”

And though his words had obviously been intended to soothe her, they did not. She began to suspect. . .but the very thought was too terrible.

“Go on,” he said again, looking at her strangely. “Get undressed, and into bed like a good girl.”

Anxious and confused, feeling lost and bewildered, she looked at him closely. Again his face was unreadable. “I’ll turn away now,” he said gently. “I know, Ariel. You’re a woman now. It’s all right.” He did.

She turned away herself, feeling desperate. But surely he was not thinking..... He was her father. Numb and disbelieving, she began to undress. Down to the slip. She turned, to find him watching her. “It’s all right, Ariel. Into bed with you now.” Her face flushed. She hesitated. Then did as he asked.

Cornelius stood up, took a last draught of the wine. Then himself began to undress, watching her. He stripped down to the waist, came closer. Then lifted the covers and lay down next to her.
He put a hand on her shoulder. Her skin fairly crawled, but still the horror of disbelief held her there. “You’re so very lovely,” he said, moving closer.

“Father.....” His arm was across her, and she felt his leg massaging hers. “Father, no!” But now he was on top of her, holding her down and tearing at her nightclothes.

“You will obey me!” he said harshly, slapping at her with both hands. She screamed.

The door burst open. Cornelius whirled, then moved away with a start. For Cassius stood in the open doorway, his eyes like flaming coals. Ariel turned away, pulling the blanket over herself in shame.

“Get up,” said Cassius, slamming the door behind him. “Get up, Cornelius!”

The man fell out of the bed, grasping for something among his discarded clothes. He found the knife. But before he could lift it Cassius’ foot was squarely on his wrist, pinning it to the floor. Then his hands stripped the dagger from him. Cassius lifted the smaller man as if he were a rag doll, and slammed him against the wall.

“You bloody bastard,” he hissed, hands encircling his throat. “I’ll show you Roman justice, by God!”

But as his grip tightened, slowly squeezing the life from the terrified man, something made him pause, and look back at the girl. Her eyes. She was in such agony.....

Slowly he released his grip, let the man fall away. Cornelius put a hand to his throat, gasping for breath. Cassius let him recover just enough, then again put him hard against the wall.

“I’m not going to kill you, Cornelius. For a coward like yourself, the greater punishment is letting you live. But you will never again have the chance to torment your daughter. . .my wife!” And in a swift motion he turned the man around, twisting his arm high behind him and collaring him about the throat. Then led him out of the room.

He took him to the assembly hall, pushed the door open before him. “Jacob!” he shouted. The rabbi descended quickly from above, followed by
Ezekiel and Malachi.

“What is it, Cassius? What has happened?”

“Your ‘poor Cornelius’ just tried to rape his daughter.” And though Jacob looked perplexed, Cassius saw an answering fire in the eyes of the blacksmith’s son. “There is only one thing you can do, Jacob, to keep me from killing him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Fetch me a lock! For the small building on the end.”

“Don’t listen to him!” cried Cornelius desperately, already shivering from the cold. “He lies.”

The rabbi remained undecided, but now Ezekiel spoke. “Fetch the lock,” he said harshly, “or I will kill him myself.”

“But Ezekiel— ”

“What he has done this night I have seen in his eyes a dozen times. Toward my child! Go now! Bring the lock!”

Jacob hesitated, then went out. Reluctantly he took the large iron padlock from the door of the Temple. . .and brought it to Ezekiel.

Cornelius was taken roughly to the small, windowless storage building and made prisoner inside, with threats against his life if he cried out or tried to escape.

Forty-Six

When Cassius returned to his own house, he found Ariel hidden beneath the blankets, wretched and in tears. Without a word he took them down, raised her to a sit beside him, and put his arms around her protectively.

“I’m so sorry,” he said gently.

“The worst thing is,” she sobbed. “I keep thinking it’s my fault. That I’ve committed a terrible sin, encouraged him somehow.”

“It is not your fault,” he said firmly. “And your only ‘sin’ is that you were born beautiful, and his daughter.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, huddling deeper against the shelter of his chest.

“For a man like Cornelius..... Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes. I need to understand.”

“Easy, my girl. All right, listen.” He settled them both more comfortably, tried to find the words. “For a man like that, whose natural
passions have died, there is nothing left but the unnatural: the forbidden, the perverse. Ezekiel said he had seen the same intention toward his own daughter, and I do not doubt it. I saw it myself, the very first time he held you..... I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“Then it’s true, everything you said about him. He is a vile, hateful man.” Her tears stopped, and she sat up unsupported. “For what he did to my mother, for what he tried to do to me..... He is not my father.” But she could not hold this hard resolve. “My God,” she said, crying again. “How could he?”

“I don’t know,” said Cassius honestly. “There are things I understand, in some measure. But this is not one of them.”

Again she sought the shelter of his arms. “But how could my mother marry him, stay with him?”
Cassius released a breath. The same question had occurred to him, more than once.

“I’m not sure. An arranged marriage, perhaps, her parents in trouble or in debt. Above all, Cornelius is a manipulator. I have no doubt that he exploited some weakness, and took your mother against her will.”

“But why stay with him?” she said brokenly, beginning to feel the full depths of her mother’s tragedy.

... “He may not have been as bad in the beginning. And then you were born, and she loved you more than anything in the world. So she tried to give you a semblance of home and family.”

“Oh, Cassius. It’s too horrible to face.” He held her gently— Eve’s daughter, the flesh that lived after.

“My dear Ariel. If there is a God in Heaven, then she has found eternal peace.”

She cried softly a while longer. Then raised her head, and asked him.

“Cassius? The man who took Noah. Was he really his grandfather? Will he take care of him? Love him?” And a pain just as great engulfed her, convulsed her.

“My sweet girl,” he said, raising her face once more. “He will do more than that.” Her eyes looked up at his, troubled and confused. “Easy, now. Listen. He is an honest man, a true Christian, and does not want us to be parted from our adopted son. He’s agreed to come with us, and serve as our scout.”

“Where is the boy?” she asked intently. “Can I see him?”

“He is not far. In the house beneath the cliff. I want to bring them both up tomorrow, but I’ve got to think how to get the truth into Isaac’s hard head: that he is not guilty of the crimes of his countrymen, and that we need him..... Ariel? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think Isaac will fight you now,” she said, remembering that there were other sorrows just as great. “Mary, his wife. She is to be buried
tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “She must have been a kind and patient woman.” And though his mind told him this was as it must be, that she would only have been a hindrance, his heart was not immune to a commiserate sadness.

After further words of comfort, apology and reassurance, the two lay down again as man and wife.

Isaac stood alone beneath the stars, upon the high cliff. Through the numb sorrow of his mind and heart, he slowly realized why he had come here. A part of him wanted to die. But even thoughts of suicide would not take firm hold of him. Everything—the snow, the stars, the chance to end his life—had been rendered empty and meaningless. The one thought that would form, and it was only with difficulty that he held it in his mind, was that he had never told her.

“I love you, Mary.”

No use. The chance was gone, and the light gone out of his life. He fell to his knees, and wept the bitter tears of a man who learns too late: without the heart, the soul, the womb of Woman, life itself is impossible.

Forty-Seven

In the morning Cassius went to the main building to find Jacob. He told him that a meeting must be held that afternoon, and preparations made to set out the next day. The small margin of safety that the storm had given them, was melting with the snow. Those things which must happen, had happened (he did not put it so bluntly), and it was time to be gone. And though Jacob again felt a natural reluctance to leave the hiding place, to trade the known danger for the unknown, he too could sense that the time had come. If they were going to leave, it should be soon.

“All right,” he said. “We will hold funeral services for Isaac’s wife this morning, as soon as he returns.”

“He didn’t come back last night?” asked Cassius, surprised and a little concerned.

“No. The death of a wife, is always hardest for one who doesn’t realize..... You understand what I mean.”

“Yes.” He did not add that he knew it too well, and thought he knew where the man might have gone, and why. He only hoped it was not so. Or if it was….. “I’ll go and look for him,” he said.

When Cassius arrived at the cliff he was relieved to find Isaac still there, sitting on a stone as if made of stone himself. He remembered his own mortal night, two years before, when something had kept him from ending his life. And only yesterday, when a man he thought his enemy, had given him a reason to live.

But he knew he must handle this man’s emotions carefully. And though Isaac formed his chief rival within the group, though they had battled for the leadership of it..... Cassius owed a debt, and would repay it here if possible.

“I’m sorry, Isaac.”

The man looked back at him briefly, then out again into the meaningless distance. He was silent. Then something made him say. “She was my wife, for thirty years, and I never told her.....”

“That you loved her,” said Cassius solemnly. “Nor did I, to my Arna, and it has tormented me ever since.”

Isaac turned, bewildered by this confession. The Roman hesitated, unsure himself why he made it. But the truth was, he was changing. He thought of Ariel, pushed on.

“My wife and son were killed..... At least you gave her a good life first.”

“Did I? I gave her orders. And now she’s gone.”

“Yes, Isaac, she’s gone. And you can’t change the past.” Was he speaking to himself? “What you’re feeling now: the regret, even self-loathing. . .you will feel for the rest of your life. But the thing you have to ask yourself, the thing that will keep you going..... What would she have wanted you to do?”

At this Isaac raised up, as if the thought itself was unbearable, the very air unbreatheable. “What would she want?” And Cassius saw in his face the same agony…..

“Don’t run away from it, Isaac. It’s all you’ve got left. What would she want?”

The strong man struggled desperately, but could not stop the tears, the realization. “She would..... She would want me to go on.”

“And you must.”

“I can’t! Damn you! What do you know of it?” And in his wounded rage he looked first at the cliff, then back at Cassius, as if he must either jump, or kill the man.

“What do I know?” said the Roman, measuring him with his eyes. “I know what it is to take a woman utterly, to take for granted the gift of her love. Her very life. What do I know, Isaac? Nothing. But tell me this. Why don’t you jump?”

“I will!” And rushing to the edge, as in his mind he had done a hundred times that night..... But as he came to the gap in the rock, as he spread his hands upon it and looked down upon unmaking. . .he found his limbs would not obey him. Instead he felt a horror that was almost tangible, a physical barrier, a rebellion of the spirit he could not overcome. He tried to urge himself forward. But the wall was too high, the fall from life too unthinkable. He lay his face on his arm like a tormented child, and wept.

Cassius waited, then came and put a hand lightly on his back. “You are needed at the compound. Your grandchildren will not understand..... They are going to bury your wife.”

Isaac nodded feebly. Cassius helped him to stand, then sent him on his way.

After he had gone Cassius went to the edge, and dropped a small stone onto the roof of the house where Franzi and his grandfather waited.

After a short time both appeared, moving out into the snow to look up at him. He signaled with an open hand that all was as it must be, and the meeting would go forward as planned.

The German nodded his understanding. Then leading the horse out from the shadowed overhang behind the house, he set his grandson upon it, mounted behind him, and set off on his morning reconnaissance. As Cassius set out for the northern tip of the spine.

He met them there an hour or two before noon, as they climbed up on foot from the gap far below.

“Quite a climb,” said the German, pausing to catch his breath. “I hope I need not repeat it….. Will the others accept me?”

“They’d better,” answered Cassius, “or they’re on their own. Is the horse safely hidden?”

“Yes. I left him among some trees by the riverbank, then disguised our tracks as well as may be. There is such a confusion of them about the battlefield….. We should be all right, for one day at least. Is it far to this hiding place?”

“I’m afraid so. An hour or two, at least.”

“Well then, let us be off. I hope you can offer us a meal at the end of it?”

“Of course. And warmth. Though how much warmth remains to be seen.” Together they set off across the mountaintop.

“Tell me something,” said Cassius, as later that morning they paused to rest. “How shall I introduce you? I don’t even know your name.”

“My Vandal name is Krieg,” said the other, “but I no longer use it. The Christian family who took me in, wanted to name me Paul.”

“After Saul, the self-proclaimed Evangelist?”

“Yes. They said the complete change in my life reminded them of his story: one who, as a Pharisee, had persecuted the Christians, then repented, and eventually became their spiritual leader..... I’m afraid I’m not quite comfortable with that.”

“Why?”

“Well. I do not want to sound ungrateful. But the truth is, I do not hold a great deal of respect for the man. From his writings and his story both, I sense that he felt a heavy weight of guilt for what he had done—condemning to death, and even participating in, the stoning of men who had done nothing more than profess a faith in something he could not understand: the teachings of Christ. Then when he did understand, as all men must, he claimed to have had a miraculous visitation which made all clear, and made him a kind of Prophet..... Do you want me to go on?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Paul tries to interpret the words of Christ, to make rules, an organized religion out of them. Clearly he is doing what he thinks is right; but I don’t think the means justify the end. The words of Christ have been darkened and distorted. If Jesus himself were to meet him, or any of the self-righteous ‘leaders’ of the Church who came after, I think he would tell them this: judge not, lest you shall be judged. The same thing he told his apostles, so many times.

“And all that talk of the Holy Spirit inspiring him,” he went on, “writing the Epistles through him. The Holy Spirit writes, and speaks, through every honest man, no more and no less than any other. There are beautiful passages in Paul’s works, especially when he speaks of love. But there are others in which his rabbinical training, his desire to govern and make laws, creep in, calling one thing holy, and another abomination. Who is he to rewrite the one great law of Christ? Behold I bring you a new commandment: Love thy neighbor as thyself. Love, not judge or persecute, as the Roman Catholic Church has ever after done. Though of course I do not lay it all at his feet. He had plenty of help from bitter and domineering old men.”

The man drew a breath, concluded. 

“I can read for myself the words of Jesus Christ. I can determine for myself when they have been changed or misunderstood—far too often—by those who transcribed and translated them. I do not need someone else to tell me what He taught, least of all a Pharisee, and a man He never met.”

“Did you tell them this? The family?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I suppose I must have disappointed them terribly. I’m afraid I’m not a very orthodox Christian.”

“My friend,” said Cassius honestly. “You’re not a very orthodox Vandal, either. But I need to call you something.” He thought for a moment. “I have an idea, if you would not be offended by it.”

“Cassius,” said the German. “I am forty-two years old. I do not offend easily.”

“All right. Then with your permission I will call you Saul— the man’s honest name, for whatever good he may have done before his arrogance led him astray.”

“Saul,” repeated the man, considering. “You know, there is a kind of justice in that.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems, as you say, that Paul had it half right. Let me keep the wiser half. Let me repent of my own sins, without asking others to repent for them as well.”

Cassius looked at him, stirred to admiration. “There is wisdom in you,” he said. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

The Christian smiled.

“Not much farther,” added Cassius quickly, embarrassed to hear himself speak.

The two men rose, the boy now climbing onto his grandfather’s back as before. And they set off again.

Forty-Eight

When they reached the door of the assembly hall Cassius paused. Then knocking twice to announce himself, he pushed open the door and went inside, with Franzi and the German behind him.
The others had been waiting, gathered at a long table formed by pushing three of the smaller ones together. And whether this had been done by Jacob, to bond them together after the funeral, or by Isaac, as a sign of solidarity and exclusion, either way it formed an intimidating prospect. For it said as clearly as words, “We are the company, the ones who belong here. You are the outsiders.” All looked up at their arrival, their eyes narrowing upon the stranger.

“I would not have believed it,” said Ezekiel, speaking for the family. Isaac, too, looked hard at them, though he said nothing. Malachi felt too much an outcast himself to join in, and only hung his head mournfully, thinking of his mother. “Ariel told us you were bringing the boy’s grandfather,” pursued Ezekiel. “But I ask you bluntly, both of you. Why should we trust him?”

“Because I trust him,” said Cassius, equally blunt. “You may come with us, or remain behind. Ariel and I are going with him, along with any others with the sense to stay alive.”

Ezekiel rose, his face growing stern. “You are not the leader here. You do not speak for anyone but yourself.” But at this Isaac reached out his right hand, and said gravely.

“Cassius. We just put my wife in the ground. We must think of our family first. Understand. His people have done great injury to ours. If not for the chaos brought by their invasion, my Mary might still be alive..... You ask much, bringing him among us.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” began the German, but Cassius stayed him with his sword arm.

“Listen to me, Isaac. And the rest of you. I have spent a lifetime fighting the barbarians. No one has suffered more at their hands. Your wife might be alive? Mine was hacked to pieces.” He began to pace, furious.

“No one has greater reason to hate and mistrust them than I have. But this man, is not one of them! His faith and conviction are every bit as strong as yours. He kept me from ending my life, not twenty-four hours since. He is the reason I spoke to you as I did, Isaac, though you seem to have forgotten it. I say again, Ezekiel: you need not come with us. But Ariel, the boy, and myself go with him.”

“I am with you too,” said Gaius quietly.

“He is not a Jew,” said Ezekiel firmly. “Nor are the others you name, save Ariel. How can you understand our lives, the persecution we have suffered for centuries?”

“I cannot,” said the German, moving forward to speak for himself. “Nor can you know the pain I feel, the agony of shame, at what my people have become.” He stood before them now, a powerful figure demanding respect.

“My people have become excrement,” he said, with a bitter passion the Roman had not yet seen. “You think you despise them? They are my own blood, with every chance, every reason to know better. Your hatred is that of an enemy wronged—deep and bitter enough, I dare say. But mine is the hatred of a brother-in-arms, of a father whose own son betrayed him.....

“I am sorry,” he continued, after a pause to calm himself. “These feelings run deep in me. Perhaps like the prophet Jeremiah, I too must speak the words that burn inside me.”

“You have no right to speak of Prophets,” began the blacksmith’s son. But Jacob stopped him.

“He has the right. Let him speak.”

… “I have no words of wisdom,” said the Christian. “Except to say that I do not believe the wrongs you have suffered give you the right to persecute others in turn. I understand your anger, and mistrust. But I will ask you never again to associate me with the treacherous dogs my people have become. I renounce them utterly. We are separated forever.” And taking the boy, he went to sit by the hearth. And turned away.

All were silent. Then Ariel rose quietly, and went to stand beside him. As she went, Cassius’ eyes instinctively moved to Vera. And the same cruel look he had seen flash across her face once before, was there again. This woman he had tried to respect, who had been so tireless in her devotion to the dying woman..... But that was her family, he thought, understanding at last. Her possession. The jealous and hostile look she now fixed on Ariel was unmistakable.

Unaware of her animosity, still young enough to feel hope and compassion, Ariel put a hand on the German’s shoulder, gentle and reassuring.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes shining. “For bringing my son back to me.” Then looking down at the boy, she felt her heart overflowing. “May I hold him?”

The man nodded gratefully, and she went down on her knees and embraced the child warmly.

“My friends,” said Jacob, rising to stand before them. “I have never tried to exercise authority over you, either as Rabbi, which is my right, or as the founder of this refuge. I have tried, instead, to give each of you what I thought you needed: the time, and opportunity, to make your peace with God.

“But I am telling you now, and I will not be gainsaid..... Let us not be divided! I have known Cassius longer than most of you, quite long enough to trust his judgment. He is not one of us, it is true. His ways, his thoughts on God, on life and love and meaning. . .will never be mine. But I can tell you this, without question. He is not one to be taken in by deception, or to give his loyalty easily or in haste. If he trusts this man, it must be for good reason.

“Most of all,” he went on, his own passions rising. “Let us not be divided by Faith! No, this man is not a Jew. But neither are Cassius and Gaius; and you have seen, you have all seen, that they are willing to risk their lives to defend us. How can you not see the value of this?

“And there is something more. I am a man of God. If that is a prejudice then I freely confess it. But I believe it is God Almighty, by whatever name you choose to call Him, who has brought us together. How else can we have survived the storm, the madness that rages below, and come to be here, alive and willing, on this day? What God has brought together, I would not put asunder. Will you?”

Again all were silent, moved by the power of what was passing between them.

But none more so than Isaac. For though he had tried to escape it, first in ritual, then in his familiar role as head of the family, the horrid emptiness of the morning, the cold night of Death, had never left him. He felt a terrible battle being waged in his soul, a mortal anguish which he could bear no longer. He must change, open his heart. . .or die. He stood up, afraid to speak, but more afraid to keep silent.

“There is something I wish to say to you. All of you.” And all looked to him, feeling the tremor of his voice.

“Today I lost my wife. My sweet Mary, whose love I never returned as I should. I feel I stand at the center of a great abyss, without direction or hope.”

His sons now turned full upon him. Their father had never before spoken in this way.

“But as I stood upon the ledge, ready to end my own life, something stopped me. And a man I did not truly know until this morning. . .gave to me, in my despair, a small piece of wisdom. He said the one thing that would save me..... He said I must ask myself what she would have wanted me to do. I have asked myself, and I think I know the answer.

“She would want us, all of us,” he said, turning to both his sons. “She would want us to go on as a family. To put our anger and mistrust behind us. She would want us to survive, and continue. If the German can help us do that, if he is trusted by a man that I have come to trust..... Then I say welcome, and forgive our hard greeting.” At this Ezekiel looked first to his wife, then stared at his father in disbelief.

“That settled,” continued Isaac, “there is another matter that I must address, before I lose the courage to do so.”

A pause, as he gathered his thoughts.

“Malachi,” he said, looking down at his prodigal son. “I have tried to instill in you a certain strength. I believe I have done that. But sometimes the greater strength lies in admitting an excess of pride..... I have done you an injury. I would correct that now.” And if Ezekiel was angry, Malachi was astonished.

“Joshua,” he continued, turning to the vintner. “We have not been friends. It is no secret that I have discouraged my son in his affection for your daughter, as you yourself have done. In my arrogance I believed that the easy life you gave her, the care and comfort, made her ill-suited to the hard and demanding life of a wife and mother. And perhaps, though I would not speak for you, you have felt that a blacksmith’s son was beneath her station, and not a suitable match. In any case I have felt it so, and this belief only fueled my resentment.”

The vintner turned away, not out of anger or reproach, but because the man had touched upon his deepest fears: that the daughter he so loved would run off with Malachi, leaving him alone and bewildered.

“Malachi, my second son,” pursued Isaac, trying to hammer out his feelings much as he would a piece of hot iron. “You must feel that I have not loved you as I should. In my heart it is not so. But I know you must have felt it. I hope you will understand, when you have children of your own.....

“A father is naturally drawn to, and will seem to favor..... Ezekiel is my firstborn. He is strong and able, and much like myself. It was easier, perhaps, to give him my blessing. It was certainly easier, though I mean no offense to Meryl or her father, to give my consent to his union with Vera.....” He faltered at the memory of her love and care of his wife, pushed himself onward.

“But the truth is, Malachi. The greater gift, is yours. Your mind is more subtle, its horizons more distant, than either Ezekiel’s or my own. And sometimes that frightens me. I do not know where it will lead you. You are much like your mother..... And I know, deep in my heart, that she would want me to bless you as well, and the woman you have chosen.” He turned back to the vintner.
“What do you say, Joshua? Shall we give our consent to their love, and bless that union in marriage? Surely you have seen, as I have, that they are willing to sacrifice all, to be together.”

“I have seen,” said Joshua thickly. “She is the one joy of my life, and I would not lose her.....” He turned to his daughter, with standing tears in his eyes. “Is this what you want, my sweet Meryl?”

“Yes, father,” said the young woman, in that moment more lovely than any could remember seeing her. “Yes!”

“And you, Malachi,” said Isaac to his son. “Are you prepared to take her as your wife, and to receive your father’s blessing?”

“You know I will. . .I am.” And he leaned forward, overcome by emotion.

Whatever else he was feeling in that moment, in this, at least, Ezekiel heartily concurred. He put a hand across his brother’s back, and shook him warmly.

“Well, Jacob,” said the blacksmith, feeling at last that the wound had been opened, would bleed away the infection, and would, in time, be healed. “It seems we must have a wedding.”

“Then it must be soon,” said Cassius simply. “For whatever we choose to do, together or apart, tomorrow is the day of leaving.”

“Then let it be today,” said Isaac, his emotions welling. “Jacob. I am sorry that it must be on the day..... On the day.....”

He could not finish, and quickly took himself upstairs. But though he collapsed on the first bed he came to, though he said her name in an agony of sorrow and remorse, the tears that flowed from it were clean, unlabored. For he knew he had done what she wanted, and that the patient love she had shown of a lifetime, was not wasted.

“I love you, Mary. Dear God, I love you.”

And the love she had brought into the world, lived after her.

Forty-Nine

The wedding ceremony was held at once. For by now all had learned of the danger posed by the deserters—that their secret hideaway was secret no longer—and that if they were to leave, it must be now. The Vandals would be returning soon, and Winter full upon them. And amidst the tragedy of the mother’s death, the uncertain future that loomed so near, all were glad, perhaps, for this last chance to celebrate life and promise.

But of the rites performed at the wedding, as well as those of the funeral that came before it, this tale does not speak.

When the wedding celebration was over, Cassius and Ariel offered their quarters to the newlyweds— this, while further planning and preparations were to be made in the assembly hall. But to the surprise of all, Malachi refused the offer.

“We are married for a lifetime,” he said, “and night will come soon enough. I am a husband now, with a beloved wife to honor and protect. What concerns the group concerns me, and I would be at the meeting with you.”

“You are indeed become a man,” said his father with approval. “Very well, let us begin.”

Gaius went with Jacob to his quarters to fetch the maps and charts, then spread those they wished to discuss on the table one by one, while the willing hands of the others held them open.

“I would ask Cassius to speak first,” said the rabbi. “Long ago it seems, though in fact it is a matter of days, I asked him to be my general. That choice still stands. I hope we need not choose a leader as such, and of course, each man is the head of his own family. But in matters of defense, and eluding the dangers that swirl around us, I would have his experience at the fore.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” said the Roman. “I will accept your commission, and the responsibility that goes with it, on one condition: that I retain the German as my second, and successor, in the event some accident should befall me. I understand the barbarians, to some degree, having fought against them all my life. But he has lived among the Vandals as a brother, even a leader. He will know how they think, how they move, and how they are likely to react if they suspect our presence. Are there any objections?”

“Not yet,” said Ezekiel. “So long as you understand that the power we give you is conditional as well. We will want to know where we are going, and why. And if at any point we disagree with your decisions, we retain the right to override them, and go our own way.”

“Go on,” said Isaac more gently. “We too have seen the impossibility of remaining here. We only ask you to understand that we have our own reasons for going, our own hopes for the journey’s end. What is you plan?”

Cassius thought to answer harshly, refrained. Somehow he must make them understand the hard realities.

“Tomorrow at first light,” he began, “we set out to the north, carrying only what is needed, and will not be a hindrance. The way is sometimes difficult, snow and steep rock, to the gap where the ridge ends. Here Saul will descend, and making use of the freedom that only he possesses—to move about in the open unafraid—will scout the way ahead of us. If he finds no enemy, if we ourselves see no sign of the Vandals from our high vantage point, we will descend as the day fades.

“From there we skirt the western edge of the rock, as it rises again northward, then find what shelter we can near daybreak. We must travel by night, at least until we put some distance between ourselves and the Vandal encampments, the way they are likely to return.”

“We will be sitting upon the summit for several hours,” observed Malachi. “Why set out so early, only to wait?”

“Because there are any number of variables, especially at the beginning. We must be prepared to meet them all, and take another course if need be. That is why it is not necessary, or even wise, to look too far ahead. An inflexible battle plan almost always leads to disaster.”

“But to have no plan at all— ” began Ezekiel.

“Is worse,” interrupted Cassius. “I know. And that is not what I’m proposing. We set out for the north, prepared against every contingency, and to act swiftly when need arises.”

“But surely you have some destination in mind,” said Isaac. “We place our lives in your hands; I would at least know where we are bound.”

“Of course. I have discussed our destination many times, with Jacob, though it seems he has not passed that information on.”

“Yes, Cassius,” admitted the rabbi. “I suppose in my heart, I hoped it would not come to this.”

“It came to this the moment the first Vandal looked south to the Pyrenees, and wondered at the land that lay beyond. Let there be no confusion, or hesitation on that point. Even if they eventually move on, you can be sure of one thing: they leave a withered wasteland behind. The danger is no longer rape and murder, but starvation and pestilence. I would not choose to die in such a way. Neither, I hope, would any of you.”

“We are agreed that we must leave here,” said Isaac in his peremptory way. “But come, Cassius. Where do you mean to take us?”

“There are several options,” said the soldier, moving to a large map of the mountains north and east. “We will make for the foothills, here. Then depending on how safe we feel— whether we can find suitable shelter, and whether we detect any sign of the Vandals—there are three basic options.

“One: we remain there for the Winter, and try to move on in the Spring. That is not a plan I would choose, unless severe weather, or some other circumstance forces our hand. We are still too near the Vandals, with no physical barrier to keep them from us.

“Two: we continue North, skirt the easternmost edge of the Pyrenees, and make for southern Gaul. The Visigoths rule there now, and may have established firm boundaries, with less pillage, less factional and territorial fighting. They are still barbarians, but as Saul will attest, of a somewhat different character: less chaotic, less wantonly destructive. We might be permitted to live among them, so long as we found some secluded place, and got in no one’s way.

“But make no mistake,” he continued. “If they find out we are different—that Gaius and I are Roman, and the rest of you Jews—it could go hard with us. They are just beginning to grapple with Christianity, and I do not know how it will turn: whether like Saul they become more peaceful, or whether it only gives them a new cause for slaughter. We would have to be prepared, always, to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“I would not favor such a course,” said Isaac thoughtfully. “We Jews have lived in this way for too long, always asking for some tiny niche where we might be allowed to live, and left in peace. Sooner or later the pack mentality sets in: we are different, outsiders. We are not like them, and dare to claim the one true God as our own. Always the prejudice, the religious hatred boils to the surface. We are blamed for whatever ills have befallen them. We are driven out, or slaughtered outright. I say enough. We must find a place that is truly ours, and defend it to the last.”

“I agree,” said Cassius firmly. “And that brings us to our third, and best option. Jacob?”

The rabbi spread a long scroll before them, as they huddled near the center of the table: a seaman’s chart of the northern Mediterranean.

“A sea voyage?” asked Ezekiel, with some trepidation. “I am a blacksmith, not a sailor.”

“I have some experience of the sea,” said Cassius. “Not as much as I would like, perhaps not as much as we will need. But I have learned in my time upon it that the sea is the greatest teacher of all, if one only learns how to listen. And experience or no, it seems our one defense against the barbarians, who do not themselves love the water, and our one chance to find a place that we can truly call our own.”

“An uninhabited island?” asked Malachi, intrigued. “Do such places still exist?”

“They are not common,” returned the soldier, “and they are not near. But from my talks with sailors up and down the coast, I believe they do exist, and that with patience and perseverance, we will find one suited to our needs.”

“But how will we eat, and find fresh water?” Ezekiel.

“The sea provides,” answered Cassius. “We will bring such stores as we can carry; at final need, we make land. There is fish, in the meantime, and rain-water gathered by making a funnel of the sails.”

“The sea also destroys,” said Isaac grimly.

“Yes. There is undoubtedly an element of risk. But if I stood among cowards we would not hold this council, but huddle like frightened children in our beds, hoping the dangers pass us by. Without courage, nothing is possible.”

“But you are not among cowards,” said Ezekiel angrily. “And if I thought you meant that as anything more that a goad to our manhood.....” Again Isaac calmed his son.

“It is as good a plan as any,” he said. “And if we can truly find an island to call our own, a place where we can live without fear and persecution, then it is worth any price save the loss of our loved ones.”

“I agree,” said Jacob quietly.

Cassius drew and released a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said, stepping back. “I mean you no insult, Ezekiel. I understand, and share your concerns. But I feel very strongly that this is our best course. And I needed to know that you are all with me.”

“We are,” said Isaac. “But as you yourself caution, we are not there yet. Let us not look too far down the road. In the morning we set out for the north. That is all we need agree upon tonight.”

“Yes,” put in the German, the first part he had taken in the debate. “As Jesus said, ‘Give no thought to tomorrow, for tomorrow will give thought to itself. Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.’”

At this Ezekiel looked grim. It was clear he still had misgivings about the Vandal, and could not understand why the others did not.

“I will ask you,” he said, looking down, “not to do that again. As you must know, we Jews do not seek converts.”

“To your credit,” Cassius could not help saying. “Yours is the one Faith I know that does not seek to obliterate all others.”

“Yes,” said Ezekiel, raising his stern eyes first to one and then the other of the men he could not wholly trust. “But neither do we wish to be converted. I have two young children, which some of you seem to have forgotten. I will not have them confused by foreign dogma.”

“Nor would I,” said the German with a steady look. “The words of Christ weave themselves in and out of my thoughts: I cannot promise I will not speak those thoughts aloud. But in truth, you need not fear me. I realized long ago that yours is a proud and ancient Faith, the roots of Christianity. If others cannot see that, so much the worse for them. I would not try to undermine the Torah, and the wisdom it contains. Nor would I ask you to change anything in your long and noble relationship with God. I will do nothing to confuse your children. You have my word on that.”

“No one has forgotten your children,” said Isaac, putting his strong hand on his firstborn’s shoulder. “But the hour grows late, and your brother’s bride awaits him.

“It has been a long day,” he concluded, “filled with many changes. Let us sleep while we may, and come at tomorrow afresh.”

At this Jacob moved to the head of the table. For this moment was one he had long envisioned: the meeting hall, now filled, the preparations for a bold journey, striking out to a brave destiny. Now that it had come, he was both gratified and overwhelmed.

“My friends,” he said, his heart swelling. “We stand at the threshold of a great adventure. We set out tomorrow for a new life. And for those of us who have lived too long to feel anything entirely new, and who may not live to see the end of it.....

“I only wish to say to you, to all of you, that in this vast undertaking we must be united. Let us vow, in the sight of God, to give ourselves wholly to it: to help each other, protect each other, and go forward undivided. Do I have your hand on it?” And he laid his frail hand upon the center of the table.

“You have mine,” said Gaius, putting his on top of it.

“And mine,” said Malachi, doing the same. One by one all took the pledge, each arm forming a spoke, the group, a human wheel.
Then Jacob said a short prayer, and the company dispersed. For in the morning the strength of their resolve, all that they were, would be put to the ultimate test.

Could they survive, and achieve their disparate dreams, together?