Remnant of the Fall Read online

  “How do you feel, Mother?” The young Maximus would ask each day, hoping she would say she was well and could run in the fields of wheat with him.

  “I tingle,” she would reply, gazing upon him with glassy eyes.

  “Where, Mother?” He thought she must have a foot or hand that had fallen asleep and needed to be rubbed back to life, and he could help her feel more comfortable, but she swallowed hard and a tear fell.

  “All over, son.

  Each time, his eyes moistened, but he fought to keep the tears away. Sitting by her bed, sometimes for hours, he watched her slowly lose her life. He begged his father to help her. Being only a boy, he saw his father as controlling his world and those around him. Where was his power in this? His young mind would ponder.

  “Why can you not help her, Father?” At first his father was patient and grieved with him. “I have, son. Augustus has a woman who knows the land and can heal from the earth.”

  That appeased Maximus for a short time, but when he saw her symptoms getting worse, he came to his father again. “The medicine the woman brings is doing harm, Father. Please send her away.” Maximus pleaded. But now his father was full of guilt and sadness and had not the temper for his young son’s protests.

  Maximus went to Augustus who was also heavy with guilt. Maximus happened upon him kneeling by his bedside in prayer.

  Augustus startled when he saw the boy. “Why do you enter my chambers, son of Claudius?”

  “You let the woman give my mother medicines that are taking her life.”

  Augustus had put a hand on his bed and bent down to talk to Maximus. “They are meant to heal her.”

  “They’re hurting her. Please send the woman away.”

  Maximus’s sobs and begging frustrated Augustus into angry words. “I am not the one to decide. It is your father’s choice.”

  Those words stung Maximus. Who could he trust if not his father?

  Toward the end was the worst. She would twist and roll her body, and her face swelled. She became unrecognizable, and he could barely stand to visit her. The death of his wife grieved Claudius greatly, but the incident was unintended, and Augustus had begged for mercy and forgiveness.

  When his mother died, Maximus had not seen her for thirty days because he could not bear to see her agony. That is how long Maximus had decided his father should spend his time dying, as well.

  ****

  Maximus let out a breath and brought his thoughts back to the moment. He was shaking, his palms were clammy, and sweat gathered on his brow. Staring into his father’s eyes, he almost thought he saw pity. Maximus knew he was beginning to go mad. Claudius knew this as well.

  Maximus’s mother had lost her wits soon after he stopped visiting her, but his father had continued to see her daily until the day of her death. Claudius looked at Maximus the same way he had when leaving his mother’s room after one of his visits with her, a saddened, empathetic face. One that frightened Maximus with the realization he was indeed disturbed.

  Claudius moved his head as much as he was able and gazed at his son. “It is a horrible thing to be just enough in reality that you are aware of such insanity coming upon you.”

  Maximus sat down hard on the end of the bed and put his face in his hands. He cried and shook violently as Claudius looked on, helpless. With no strength left in his body, he could not reach his son to console him.

  He watched and waited, and when Maximus was cleansed from his tears Claudius called to him. “My son.”

  Maximus responded by wiping his face and taking in air. He stared at his father’s bloodshot eyes and worn face. He had aged in just the few weeks they had been apart. He had dug his own grave as well as his father’s due to the madness that had come upon him.

  Again Claudius beckoned him, “My son.”

  “Yes, I am here.” Maximus could not bring himself to call him father. The significance of the name demeaned everything he had done. His father was his adversary, not the man before him now. This man showed concern for him as his mother had. He had not seen this emotion from Claudius since his mother’s death, and it confused Maximus.

  Claudius had been racked with guilt then, and neither Augustus nor Maximus had ever forgiven themselves—Augustus, for bringing in Ati, and Maximus for not saying goodbye to her. Cynthia’s death had scarred all three.

  “This will pass.” Claudius tried to lift his head but lost his strength. Maximus felt himself wanting to help lift Claudius but fought the emotions. What was this change of heart? This started the voices in his head.

  Could he have forgiven me? Are his tactics only a trick? A play on my emotions?

  Maximus stood abruptly. “It is not your concern.” He took steps to create distance between him and his father.

  “This, too, will pass. You must believe this.”

  Maximus raised his voice. “What do you mean?”

  Claudius closed his eyes to rest them. “I heard these words from someone of the Christian faith. I shunned them as you do until I came to this place.”

  Maximus raked his long fingers through his dark strands. “You are gullible and weak.” Maximus found the harsh words not as satisfying as they had been in the past and found himself unsure of what to say next.

  “Why do you say this?” He shot out in frustration and confusion.

  “It means this hardship is only a season that will pass, as does the winter turn to spring.” Claudius opened his eyes and tried to focus. “You need to find strength to make it to the next season, my son.”

  Maximus curled his lip. “Do not call me your son. My father died. I buried him. You are but a ghost.” He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He raced down the stairs and searched for a slave. He would draw strength from his wine.

  ****

  Claudius took a small, quaking breath, and a wheeze became a cough. He reached for his cup and drank the lukewarm water, and then looked around the room for food. A plate with a large piece of bread sat on the table across the room.

  Inspired by hunger, he let himself down off the bed and began to crawl to the table. His strength gave way, and he stopped to rest. His heart beat so fast it scared him, and he lay flat on the floor until it passed. He dragged himself the rest of the way and reached for the bread. After one failure, he tried again and grasped a handful of bread, but being too exhausted to eat, he had to rest until he had the energy to feed himself. He lay on his back and put the bread on his chest. Using one hand and then the other, he put small pieces in his mouth until they dissolved. He could not stomach much, and when he had all his body could consume, all of four or five bites, he fell asleep.

  He dreamed of his beautiful young wife. Bliss flowed through him unfettered as he remembered holding her and laughing, dining with her, and caressing her body. Then he saw his son, small and innocent, so sensitive and bright-eyed. He lived his younger life in his mind and slept peacefully for the first time in many weeks.

  ****

  Maximus walked slowly to his golden chair. He sank down into the softness of the red cushion but derived no comfort from the luxury. The visit with his father had consumed him. Once only wanting him dead, he now questioned what to do. He questioned all. He trusted no one. He had no peace.

  Maximus wondered if Marcus would have lost respect for him so quickly if he had not discovered Claudius. Then Maximus was struck with a new worry. What if others knew of Claudius? What would happen if word got out he was still alive? Claudius would surely tell of Maximus’s deceit, and he would become nothing. But what was he now?

  He drummed his fingers on the leaf-shaped arm rest, wondering why he had not heard a word from Marcus. A full day and night had passed, and he had sent no word of their location.

  He slammed his hand down and sat at the end of his chair. “Slave.”

  A young man standing nearby answered, “Yes, my lord.”

  “Go find word of the army’s location and report back to me.”

  “Yes, my lord.�
�� The slave bowed and hurried off to the military quarters. Maximus stood and made himself walk to Ati’s quarters. He did not want to decide what to do with her body. Remembering back, he swore she had a relative she corresponded with. He also recalled her leaving once to a village to bring back medicines from someone who instructed her in the magic.

  Augustus had said she was a day’s ride away, so if she still had a living relative, she might be within that same distance. He clapped his hands, knowing a slave was nearby. “Send a guard to the villages within a day’s ride from here. Tell him to find the nurse’s sister and bring her to me.”

  The slave nodded and hurried down the large marble hallway. If the woman he sought knew the herbs Ati used, they may know that she was poisoned, but he was not the killer, and Maximus’s hope was that this person would help him find out who was.

  Even if Marcus was not responsible for the nurse’s death, perhaps Maximus could manipulate the facts so he appeared to be, in the peoples’ eyes. If nothing else, it would be someone who could take the body and dispose of it. He could try to convince the people that Marcus was behind Claudius’s fake death, as well as Ati’s actual one. That was an idea to ponder.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A continual hum of voices vibrated through the room as Enan sat at the table with his family for the morning meal. His parents sat at the head and foot of a long, oak table with their children by their sides.

  After his father said grace, the food was passed. The smell of steamed bran permeated the air, mixed with conversation. Enan felt an extra layer had grown around his belly in the couple of days he’d been home. He had filled himself, but picked at a handful of bread he’d torn from the loaf, and glanced from one face to another, catching bits of dialogue.

  His sister pulled her hair down around her shoulder, describing to another how she wanted it wrapped to curl for the next trip to market. One brother talked with the eldest of the wheat crop planting. Enan’s eyes fell upon Dustan, who also held a bit of bread, picked a piece, and then quickly stuck it into his mouth.

  Enan smiled at his imitator. Dustan smiled back, showing the large lump of bread which had formed inside his cheek. The bulge caused a crooked smile and a gap showing between his two large front teeth.

  Enan felt his mother’s stare; he always felt her stare. He met her gaze with a grin. She smiled warmly and took a bite of fig. “Joel, maybe you will have help with the spring planting.”

  Her hopeful question left no choice but for Enan’s father to answer factually. “Enan has different duties than the rest of this family. He will be called back by Levi before we’re ready.”

  Esther chewed on the fig and mumbled, “They will give him adequate time to recuperate.”

  Joel lifted his eyes to Esther’s. “You know the elders have talked that there may be trouble. The members attending the meeting in Alef were to arrive back today. We should hear soon.”

  This quieted the room, and Enan glanced at his mother.

  She waved a hand at Joel. “This is not suitable breakfast conversation. We will appreciate whatever time the Lord gives us together as a family.”

  Enan and his father exchanged glances. Each turned to her and smiled. The others began their talking again, and Enan excused himself, going out to check on Legend.

  He found the horse where he expected to, with his head down in a bucket of oats, and gave him a pat on the neck. “I see Dustan has already fed you your breakfast. You will have a layer on your belly as well as me, before we leave again.”

  Legend didn’t bother to lift his head. His instinct never ceased to amaze Enan, as well as Levi. He knew Enan’s smell, the sound of his voice, even his gait as he walked from afar. When Enan was sitting on his back, Legend could tell by the slightest movement which direction to go. If Enan was using the sword or bow, Legend would move and bend to the weapon chosen. Legend even seemed to know his mood, and Enan knew his horse’s demeanor as well. The training had taught them to be one.

  As he rubbed Legend’s strong neck, Enan decided to pay a visit to Nethan. His friend had not come to Enan, so he would go to him. He wanted to be with Nethan when they heard word from the elders. Every fiber in Enan’s being told him they would be called out. He was sure of it and had been preparing himself accordingly, spending each precious moment with all those he cared for. He wanted no regrets when he had to leave again.

  As Enan walked the road to Nethan’s, his mind wandered back to when they were boys whittling sticks to a wicked point, then stick-fighting to save their people from Claudius. Little did they know they would be performing that exact task as young men?

  He approached Nethan’s home and heard the ring of steel being drawn from its sheath. The sound repeated again as Enan walked to a limestone building full of tools. Nethan’s back was to him, so Enan watched as he drew his sword over and over. His speed was quick, but not as quick as it had been. Enan watched him and wondered if it was frustration he saw—what it must feel like to have such talent and not be able to use it. Nethan twisted around with a start, seeing Enan. He drew his sword and held it to Enan’s throat.

  Enan tilted his head to keep the tip from touching his skin and took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “You’re still the fastest man I know with the sword.” He grinned at Nethan as he looked in his eyes and saw the darkness there—cold, black eyes.

  His smile faded as Nethan slowly lowered his weapon. Placing the sword in its sheath, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “What brings you here? I thought you would spend all your time with Tirzah.”

  His eyes flickered as he said her name. Nethan removed the sheath strap from his waist and hung it on a hook on the wall. He sat on a stool and gestured for Enan to do the same. The building was still cool from the night air and smelled of wet stone from the humidity.

  “I have had time with Tirzah but wish to see my friends as well.” Enan grinned again, but Nethan only nodded. “How are you?”

  Enan wanted Nethan to open up to him, tell him what had changed between him and Abraham, but the more Enan was around his friend, the more he felt a change between them as well. Nethan was guarded, and Enan felt as if he had wronged him in some way, but did not know how he possibly could have, considering he spent so little time with him. Maybe that was the problem.

  “I’m fine, Enan.” Nethan shuffled his foot on the dirt floor, appearing to be preoccupied.

  Enan felt he was imposing but refused to leave without getting some answers. “I have heard you have your own regiment now, that you are a commander of the guards. Congratulations, my friend.” Enan smiled and slapped Nethan on the knee.

  Nethan nodded and jumped in response to Enan’s slap. His lack of enthusiasm dismayed Enan. “There were many men who wanted that position. You must have shown promise to be chosen.”

  Nethan snorted. “Don’t patronize me, Enan. You know I wanted to go to battle.” His bloodshot eyes burned into Enan’s.

  Enan’s brows drew together in question. Abraham had been correct about their old friend. He had become bitter.

  “Nethan, the responsibility you bear is much greater than mine as a single warrior. You stand guard to protect the very reason I fight. Women and children—our next generation—survives upon your protection. Surely you cannot place the value of my duty as greater than your own.”

  A sly grin crossed Nethan’s lips. “So you would feel just as proud commanding the guards as you are being an archer on the battlefield?”

  The question cut Enan to the quick. They both knew the honest answer, but Enan would never say it. He didn’t like the position Nethan had put him in and let that be known with his answer.

  “I’m sorry you are not pleased with your command, Nethan. Most men would consider it a great honor—a place God has chosen for you.”

  Nethan’s tousled, dark hair fell over his eyes. He brought up a hand to brush back the unruly locks and met Enan’s gaze. “Yes, I suppose most men would.” He stood and busied himself arra
nging tools and separating nails. “But God has left me.”

  “No Nethan, you have left God.” Silence held. Enan watched his friend do his best to ignore him. Not ready to give up, he stood and leaned against the work table Nethan had entranced himself with. It pained him to hear Nethan’s harsh words, turning against the one true God, his God. “God is there for the asking, if you will.”

  Nethan continued to shuffle tools around without speaking. Enan leaned against the table. “I want to thank you for spending time with Dustan. He has greatly improved with the bow.”

  Nethan nodded. “He is much as you were at his age—eager, talented, effortless to instruct. Maybe he will be the one that can finally beat you.” He gave Enan a slight smile but pierced him with his eyes.

  At that moment, Enan finally understood. The one emotion Nethan held dear was envy. The old ways of comrades and bonding of friends had ended. He turned away from his friend’s cold, steel eyes, saddened. Nothing worse could come between friends than this. Jealousy grows as a weed and chokes all life from whatever it latches onto.

  As much as he loved his friend, he couldn’t let Nethan’s envy latch onto him. Another thought suddenly struck him. “Dustan says you quit teaching him to teach Tirzah.” His words were direct, but his smile was soft, waiting patiently to see his friend’s intentions.

  Nethan crossed his arms over his broad chest and scoffed, looking away as a child would upon being caught for a mischievous act. “She has always wanted to be instructed with the bow. You know this.” He finally glanced up to catch Enan’s stare, one of disappointment.

  Enan could see right through his friend, and he was not pleased with what he saw. He had never thought he would be competing with his friend over their skill, and especially not over a woman.

  Nethan leaned back against the wall, and Enan realized they had nothing left to say to one another. Hollowness grew inside him, causing physical pain as he headed to the door. “I hope to see you again before I leave, Nethan.”