Before the sun rose, Leah arrived with her baggage at Zipporah and Baruch’s home. Samara was waiting for her.
“I think I’m ready,” said Leah uncertainly. “I brought someone who wants to say goodbye.” She nodded at her sister Dalya, standing by her side.
Dalya embraced Samara rather stiffly, then stood in awkward silence.
“Listen, Dalya, dear,” said Samara. “Remember what you’re seeing: women making their own choices. I’m leaving Jerusalem, and so is your sister. I’m marrying a man I’ve chosen myself, a man I’m in love with, and I’m taking your sister with me so she can have a life of her own. I’m able to do all this because I have an independent spirit – and I was not born with such a spirit. I had to create it.”
“I’ve heard you have money, too,” said Dalya. “Is it your family’s?”
“It’s my own, Dalya. I certainly earned it with my diligence and hard work.”
“Women are not supposed to have money.”
“Well,” Samara laughed, “I can’t think why they shouldn’t.”
Dalya looked uncomfortable. “I don’t feel you’re in the right – and you’re putting my sister in danger.”
This trip was ill-advised, to say the least. Even insane. Valerius knew that, yet he had to admit that it was thrilling – in fact, the most thrilling thing he could remember ever happening to him.
“Olive oil in small glass bottles,” he said to Rufus, who took notes. “It’s good currency amongst the Bedouins. Also, pack plenty of healing herbs. Now fetch Walid from the streets. I gave him a list yesterday.”
When Walid arrived, he was laden with well-packed parcels of nuts and dried fruits and vegetables. He happily reported, “It worked, sir. I told my brother I’m becoming a Legionary, and he’s no longer trying to make me join his band of thieves.”
“Good, “said. Valerius. “I think you’ll make a fine soldier.” His voice sounded flat to himself as he tried to suppress his doubts. The ploy he had supplied to Walid may work to keep him out of professional thievery, but would the Legions be right for him? Or would they bring him death in a foreign land?
He handed the boy a small scroll. “Here’s a list of more supplies for you to provide. Can you bring them before nightfall?”
“Yes, sir! No matter what I have to do.”
“Walid! Buy them! Don’t steal them!”
As Walid went out the archway, Rufus appeared, scowling. “Leander’s just arrived,” he said. “I hope you’re not taking him with us.”
“Why?”
“He’s a boring fellow, sir.”
Valerius looked at Rufus suspiciously. Rufus sometimes nursed irrational grudges, and Valerius needed Rufus to be wholeheartedly on board for this trip. He’d talk Rufus out of any objections he might have to the voyage. To Valerius, this new voyage had taken on a life of its own, a life that promised to bring him love and joy beyond anything he’d ever known.
“Boring or not, Rufus, Leander knows languages, and he’s a bookkeeper as well. We need him. You ought to be glad we’ll have him with us.”
“If you say so, sir. He’s waiting for you in the library.”
Valerius found Leander with his nose stuck in a scroll.
“What are you reading?”
“Pliny the Elder, sir. About the Atbai. Rufus told me where you’re planning to go. They say the lands below Egypt are populated by bloodthirsty warriors whose heads grow out from their chests.”
“Do you believe it?”
“Legends don’t frighten me much, sir, and money always quells my fears. What are you planning to offer me to come along?”
After Leander accepted an offer of wages so high that it seemed almost a bribe, Valerius relaxed and felt his exhilaration spread from his heart throughout his body. His grand adventure was about to begin.
Just as the sun’s light began to cast slanted shadows in the courtyard, Walid burst in, laden with bundles. Opening one of them, he grinned, showing Valerius what he had found.
“These round yellow things,” Valerius asked. “What do you call them?”
“Dried pineapple rings, sir. They come from Africa, and now they’re going back there with you. Oh, and take this scroll.” He thrust a tightly rolled parchment into Valerius’ hands. “Use it if the Bedouin tribes give you any problems crossing the desert.”
He tucked Walid’s scroll into the waistband of his trousers, assuming it was a map. His hand touched a letter from Marcus he had stuck away there a few hours earlier. It had come from Rome that morning. This was the first moment he had had to read it. It couldn’t be a response to Valerius’ letter telling Marcus he was leaving – there was no time for him to have gotten that audacious missive.
He snapped the letter open and saw Marcus’ familiar scrawl. He hoped it wouldn’t say anything that could possibly get in the way of his leaving.
Dear brother, just a quick note. It looks like our uncle is going to be leaving this world before long. Bless the man – he’s given us everything we have, hasn’t he? Our training, our positions in the Empire. He still comes to work every day, yet he never looks as well as he used to, no matter what the doctors do. It’s so sad. It probably means it won’t be long before I’m sitting on that throne we’ve talked about since we were boys.
Do not plan anything, my brother. I’m told the Parthians are putting new pressure on our eastern borders, and I haven’t decided yet on the best response. Be ready to come see me soon.
Your Marcus.
Valerius found a bench and sat heavily, staring at the scroll, his eyes repeatedly scanning the words do not plan anything.
Slowly at first, then rapidly, he tore it to shreds.