Edge of Destiny Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-157748-064-8

  © 1996 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  Scripture taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version®. niv®. Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House.

  With the exception of renouned historical figures, all of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Decimus Antigonus stood on the edge of the milling crowd and felt his stomach coil with revulsion. As large as the city of Rome was, how had he managed to be at this particular spot during this moment in time? Would that he were anywhere else in this whole stinking city.

  “I am bid ten denarii. Do I hear more?” The crusty slave master spread out his toothless smile over the crowd.

  “Eleven denarii.” The speaker threw an angry glare across the gathering throng, challenging a man on the other side.

  The man looked calmly back, his obsidian gaze unblinking. His robes denoted his occupation, a priest in one of the temples.

  As the afternoon sun beat down upon his back, Decimus studied the dark-eyed priest. Knowing what the man had in store for his unfortunate victim, Decimus felt a wave of pity. Whether they were male or female, most of the slaves in the temples were destined for prostitution.

  “Twelve denarii.” The priest’s cool voice and dark look sent a shiver down Decimus’s back. Evil seemed to emanate from the man in waves.

  Murmurs broke out among the crowd. Obviously a war was going on over the girl standing on the auction block. The slave dealer standing beside her smiled his gapped grin, and his eyes began to gleam.

  Decimus’s eyes went to the girl standing resolutely on the platform. Small of stature, thin, and emaciated, he could find no reason for the avid bidding.

  Then his eyes lifted to the girl’s face and held. The only feature that redeemed her face from plainness was the pair of large brown eyes that gazed out at the crowd fearfully. Dark lashes swept down to once again obscure her eyes and the terror that was lurking there.

  The bidding had reached twenty denarii. Decimus stared in surprise at the young girl. What did these men see that he could not? True, her coloring was unusual. Blond hair very much the color of his own topped a rather petite frame that looked as though a good gust of wind would blow it away. Blond hair and brown eyes were indeed a striking combination, but for twenty denarii?

  For a moment, the girl’s eyes lifted and stared straight into his own, and then Decimus knew. Purity and innocence reached out to him, touching his very soul. Surely the angels in heaven must have such eyes. How had such a girl managed to make it to the slave market of Rome and still retain such innocence?

  The girl’s vulnerability touched Decimus on the raw. Flicking a glance across the crowd, he could see the merchant’s face as the priest continued to outbid him. The man wanted the girl badly, that much was obvious. The hotness of his gaze as it roved the girl’s body caused a slow boil of anger to erupt inside of Decimus.

  Looking across at the priest, Decimus could see no change in his demeanor. The priest was as cool and confident as ever. When the priest looked at the girl, it was for an entirely different reason. As a temple prostitute, the girl would bring a fortune, at least until her purity was stripped away by the atrocities committed there. The desire to possess such innocence would be overwhelming to many of the men of Rome who were sated with the sins of this life.

  The crowd had become almost hushed as the contest continued. A third man had entered the bidding. Decimus recognized one of the more prominent senators of Rome, the purple trim of his tunic giving evidence of his aristocracy. One look into the girl’s eyes, and the senator had entered the fray.

  Decimus glanced back at the girl. Her body was visibly shaking. If only she would keep her eyes down, he thought to himself, for there was little else to recommend her.

  Where had he seen eyes like that before? A sudden image came to his mind of a young Jewish girl with brown hair and dark brown eyes, much the same as those he had just seen. Sara.

  Decimus felt a tightening in his chest. Sara. A slave girl in his previous master’s house. A slight smile touched his lips. Sara had no looks to speak of either. Her beauty had come from within, but that inner loveliness had been so great that Decimus the slave had fallen in love. That sort of beauty of spirit could only come from the Spirit of God. Seeing the girl on the auction block, Decimus realized that she and Sara had much in common.

  The ache in Decimus’s chest grew even tighter. He still loved Sara. He had asked her to marry him, but she had refused. She had told him that his love was a brother’s for a sister. Not so, for hadn’t he stayed faithful to her memory all these years? But was her memory as clear in his mind as it once was? He was no longer sure. He had not seen Sara for almost five years, and his feelings were confused.

  “Thirty denarii,” the slave merchant cackled gleefully, bringing Decimus abruptly back to the present. “Do I hear more?” Rubbing his hands together, he glanced from the portly merchant to the priest. The senator must have the upper hand, Decimus decided.

  Obviously both the merchant and the priest were reaching the end of their resources. Sweat was beaded across the merchant’s brow as he wrung his hands in agitation. Only the priest remained unaffected. The senator was smiling smugly. Only a miracle would save the girl now.

  Decimus’s heart ached for the girl. Whichever way she went, she would be misused and abused, her innocence defiled. God, help her, he pleaded.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a woman making her way through the crowd. Her bright yellow palla would have drawn attention even if her regal bearing had not. She wasn’t old, but neither was she young. In her youth she had probably rivaled Aphrodite in beauty. She went to the senator and touched his arm, turning to see where his attention was focused.

  When the senator looked down at her, his face was immediately filled with shame. Decimus could see even at this distance the love that glowed from his eyes as he beheld who must have been his wife. She frowned reproachfully at him before she turned and walked away. The senator flicked a brief look at the slave girl before turning and hurrying after her.

  So much for the senator. Decimus would much rather have seen the girl go to him than to either of the others, but God had apparently saved at least one Roman from the sin of adultery.

  Now the priest’s eyes were gleaming with an unholy light. Decimus knew that although the priest would probably have more money than the merchant, too much spent on one slave could cause him to be punished. He couldn’t have defeated the senator, but the merchant was another matter.

  The girl was devoid of color, her lips trembling noticeably. A tear was coursing a path through the dust on her cheek. In her innocence, was she aware of what was intended for her? The anger within Decimus began to churn. Grinding his teeth together, his gaze again went from merchant to priest.

  The crowd had grown larger, and although no one else had entered the bidding, many were taking sides. The chattering around him grew unbearably loud, and the press of unwashed humanity against him from all sides made Decimus want to retch. He should leave. He had a very important appointment with a man who could help him leave this accursed city. Still, something held him in place.

  The merchant glared angrily at the priest, his color an alarming puce. The priest gazed ba
ck at him impassively.

  So, the priest had won. Decimus felt his skin begin to crawl as he recognized the symbol of the gold necklace glinting in the sunlight. A snake curved round a pole. The symbol of Aesculapius, the god of healing. People went to the temple of Asklepios and allowed snakes to crawl all over their bodies, hoping for healing. Decimus closed his eyes tightly. Were all Romans insane? If only they could know the true Healer, the one who heals the spirit. Many of the diseases of these people came from their own immoral lifestyles.

  “Going once.”

  The slave merchant’s voice brought Decimus back to reality. So what price had the priest paid? He had missed the last bid.

  “Going twice.” The slave trader glanced hopefully at the merchant and then over the crowd. Although the girl had already brought what amounted to a fortune in terms of slave prices, he still hoped for more. “Surely you can see the worth of such a piece. She has much to offer.”

  When Decimus glanced at the girl, he found her staring back at him. Her luminous brown eyes seemed to reach into his very soul and found him lacking. Sadly she lowered her eyes, submissively accepting her fate.

  Without realizing it, Decimus found himself moving forward to the fringe of the crowd. The slave master was raising his hand for the final call. The merchant had turned away, pushing through the crowd, his face as scarlet as the tunic he wore. The priest stared impassively at the girl, his eyes glowing black.

  Decimus felt helpless as he watched the slave trader’s hand raised to its utmost. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Forget it, he told himself angrily. She’s nothing to you. Why should he feel such agony over an unknown slave girl?

  “One hundred denarii.” The crowd around Decimus parted, surprised faces turned his way. A rippling murmur ran through the mob.

  For the first time since the whole procedure began, Decimus saw the priest’s face become animated. His mouth dropped open, his jaws working convulsively. His eyebrows flew toward his receding hairline, and his eyes lost their impassivity. He glared in angry surprise at Decimus, who was no less surprised himself.

  After one startled glance at Decimus, the slave trader asked again for a higher bid. The heat from the sun seemed to intensify as Decimus felt the sweat break out on his palms. After what seemed an eternity, the priest swung angrily away, and the slave trader turned back to Decimus.

  “My lord, she is yours,” he announced hesitantly, his look passing over Decimus’s worn clothes. Since leaving Ephesus, Decimus had dressed in rags, hoping to convince any would-be robbers that he was too poor to be bothered. Now everyone in the crowd would know that was not so, and Decimus knew that among such a crowd there would be cunning thieves and robbers.

  Lifting his chin, Decimus strode forward, stopping in front of the podium. He jerked his money bag from inside his tunic where it had rested peaceably for years. He still had much of the money Antonius had given him when he sent him away with his freedom. If he kept this up, though, his fortune would dwindle away like the sands of time.

  Decimus handed over the coins to the slave trader, making sure he received his bill of sale and slave papers. Now he was really aggravated with himself. What was he going to do with a slave? Especially a scrawny little girl.

  For the first time since he had opened his mouth and uttered those preposterous words, he looked at the girl. Although her lashes veiled her eyes, a slight smile curved her lips, and her trembling had ceased.

  What was she thinking? That she was safe with him? How could she be so accepting of her fate?

  His mind wandered back to when the Romans had invaded his homeland of Britannia. He did not know if his family were even still alive. The last he had seen of his family was his father lying in a pool of blood, his mother’s prostrate form over his father, and his sister being shoved from one Roman soldier to another while they laughed at her torment.

  He had tried to come to her defense, but a young lad of ten had very little strength compared to a seasoned Roman soldier. Decimus had managed to draw blood from one hearty specimen with his teeth before he was knocked senseless.

  Many beatings later, he had finally been cowed. Most of the scars were still visible across his back. Even now he squirmed when he thought of his cowardice. He had been born a warrior, one of Britannia’s aristocracy. Wouldn’t it have been better to die a free man than live as a slave?

  But stay. If he had died then, he would never have heard the good news of Christ. No, even now he would rather be a slave who knew Christ than a free person who was a slave to sin.

  But this girl. What had she undergone to stand there so meekly willing to succumb to her fate, and what was he to do with her now? He should have minded his own business and bypassed the crowd, but curiosity had gotten the best of him.

  Now here he was, expected at a meeting­­­­­—a rather dangerous liaison at that—and he was encumbered with a female slave! God, what am I to do now?

  Decimus helped the girl down from the platform, avoiding her eyes. Long blond hair draped demurely across her cheeks. Why was her head not shaved? Obviously she hadn’t been sent to the baths as slaves usually were before they were brought to market.

  He tapped his foot impatiently while the slaver removed the iron leg bands. Taking the girl by the arm, Decimus propelled her none too gently through the crowd. His one aim was to get as far away from the central market as quickly as possible. The snickers that followed him sent waves of color washing across his face.

  When they were clear of the marketplace, Decimus pulled the girl to a stop in the shade of an apartment building. He glanced quickly around to see if they had been followed. Seeing no one, he turned his attention back to the girl.

  Her face was bent submissively down while her fingers toyed with the frayed cord around her waist. The rough brown wool of her dress could barely be called a tunic. As his eyes moved over her, he noticed other things he hadn’t seen before. She was barefoot and bleeding. Decimus bent to inspect the sores on her feet.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s no matter, my lord.” Her voice flowed over him in gentle waves.

  Decimus allowed himself to look into her eyes. As he expected, their light spoke volumes. Shaking his head, he quickly got to his feet.

  “We can’t stop here. Someone may be watching.” He looked at her skeptically. He hated to cause her more pain, but they couldn’t stay here. “Do you think you can keep up with me? We’re going to have to move fast.”

  “I am strong, my lord,” she answered softly. “I will keep up.”

  Grunting, Decimus started to turn away before he remembered something. “I don’t know your name.”

  “Chara, my lord. My name is Chara.”

  Decimus said nothing for a moment. Finally he nodded his head. “Chara,” he said, seeming to test the word on his tongue. “That’s a beautiful name.” She didn’t answer, and he frowned. “One other thing. Don’t call me ‘lord’. Do you understand?”

  She glanced up at him in surprise before quickly looking down again. “What shall I call you then, my l–?” She stopped, biting her lip in confusion.

  “My name is Decimus,” he told her softly.

  Frowning, she answered him slowly. “I. . .I cannot call you by your name!”

  “It’s my name, and it’s what I prefer.” Decimus began to feel impatient.

  “But I am a slave. It’s not proper.”

  “Look.” Decimus brushed a hand in agitation through his tousled blond locks. How could he explain to the girl without sounding like some raving lunatic? “You’re not a slave. I mean. . .well, you were. . .but you’re not. I don’t want a slave.”

  Her head remained bent, and her voice seemed small and far away. “You don’t want me?”

  Rolling his eyes heavenward and releasing a sigh, Decimus was at a loss for words. God, help me. If You wanted this, I need some guidance.

  He looked uneasily around him. “We’ll have to talk about this later. Right now we ha
ve to get out of here. Are you sure you can walk?”

  “Yes.”

  Taking her again by the arm, Decimus began to hurry her toward the other end of the city. The sundial at the town square had shown him that the hour was later than he expected. The sun would be going down quickly, and he still had a long way to go.

  When they reached a high white wall, Decimus slowed his steps. Glancing around him again, he opened the gate in the wall and ushered Chara ahead of him. Flowering hibiscus lent their color to the already fading blooms of other flowers. Summer was full upon them, as was evidenced by the dry petals of the wilting leaves. A marble fountain splashed in the center of the enclosed garden, shaded by a large olive tree.

  Decimus led Chara to a marble bench beside the fountain. “Wait here,” he told her.

  He was gone only a moment, returning with an elderly gentleman dressed in the tunic of the Roman aristocracy. Gentleness emanated from the older man’s serene face, and a smile lit his features.

  “Ah, Decimus. So this is the girl.”

  Decimus nodded. “I have no idea what to do with her, Antipus. My foolish impulsiveness has imperiled our plans.”

  Antipus shook his head. “Not at all, my friend. It would take only a moment to rectify the situation.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Antipus motioned toward the villa. “Come inside, and let’s discuss it. It’s much too hot out here.”

  Decimus looked down at Chara. She was still sitting with head bowed, hands clutched together in front of her. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he realized that he was hesitant to leave her.

  “Chara is hurt,” he told the old man. “She needs tending.”

  Instantly concerned, Antipus moved to Chara’s side. His eyes missed nothing in their quick perusal.

  “Of course. I didn’t realize.” He motioned again toward the villa. “Bring her into the atrium. It’s cooler there.” Noticing her dirty, disheveled appearance and bloody feet, he paused. “Wait. Better yet, bring her to the baths. I will have one of my servants tend to her while you and I talk.”