The Centurion's Wife (14 page)

To hear of palace intrigues recounted by this woman was shocking. “How, may I ask, do you know of this?”

“I was with our Lord that day. I saw her speak with her husband.”

The sorrow welling up in the woman’s features was so unmistakable Leah felt it as a weight in her own heart. “I’m sorry.”

“I saw Pilate’s wife come out onto the veranda where he was seated. We heard later how she reported that she had been told in a dream that they should have nothing to do with the rabboni.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Rabboni. In Hebrew, the word is rabbi. It means teacher, great one.”

“My mistress continues to have these dreadful dreams—not every night, but when they come it is very bad.” Leah thought back to the early hours of that morning. “Last night they were bad indeed.”

“I shall pray for her.”

Leah inhaled quickly, again at a loss. The offer was made so easily she could have dismissed it as meaningless. Yet she was certain nothing about this woman was either false or unthinking. “Forgive me, but who are you?”

No face Leah had ever seen held as much joy, or so much sorrow, or such calm, as this woman’s. “As I said, I am a follower of our Lord Jesus. That is my whole life. Before he rescued me from my fate, I was a village madwoman. Many also called me possessed with demons. They were probably right. All I can say for certain is that the Lord healed me, delivered my life from destruction.”

There was nothing in those words that should have caused Leah to weep. But suddenly her carefully prepared questions, all her own worries, seemed as meaningless as the dust beneath her sandals.

“What does your mistress wish to know of us?”

Leah forced her mind to concentrate. “Who is this Jesus, and what happened to his body?”

“He is risen.”

That word again. “He was taken away?”

“He took himself away.”

“You mean, he didn’t die?”

“He died. He was buried. And he rose again after being in the tomb three days.”

Leah would have scoffed were it not for the illumination that filled this unusual woman’s face. Leah finally asked, struggling to form the words, “How do you know this?”

Mary Magdalene almost sang her answer. “Because I have seen him and spoken with him. And felt the touch of God.”

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Jerusalem
Six Days Later

LINUX WORKED HIS CONNECTIONS within the Antonia Fortress and elsewhere in the city, but despite the offer of gold, no word about the missing guards surfaced. Alban spent fruitless days searching the crowded city, in the meantime gradually learning his way around. He and Linux had taken lodging above the fortress stables, close enough for the commandant to feel he was in charge of them. Yet here they remained independent of garrison life. The pair of cramped rooms included a narrow balcony overlooking the corral behind the stables. Alban liked waking to the odor of horses and leather. It was a familiar note in this alien city.

On the sixth morning after finding Atticus and restoring him to the legion, Alban awoke to the scent of fresh bread. His servant lad must have finally arrived from Capernaum. “Jacob?”

“Coming, master!” The boy appeared in the doorway, a grin firmly in place. “I have heated your shaving water.”

“Tea?”

“That is also ready, master.”

“Is that lazy dog in the other room awake?”

“I have found no dog, master. But there’s an officer with a look of the royals about him, and he still snores.”

Alban laughed. “Have you grown since I saw you last?”

“No, master. I’m still the runt you left behind.”

“I have never called you that. Scamp, most certainly. Scoundrel, almost daily. But never runt.”

“That’s the word the sword master used when he refused to teach me his craft.”

“That will come in time.” Alban sat up and accepted the hot mug. After a sip he asked, “How was the journey from Capernaum?”

“Magnificent, sire!” The lad’s face was now split by an enormous smile. “I tended two camels!”

“I’m sure you were a great help to everyone.” Alban nodded to the figure that appeared yawning in the doorway. “This is Linux, my boy. He is indeed a lesser royal. They decided they could live without him in Rome and sent him here to pester me.”

Jacob gave him a slightly awkward salute. “It is an honor, sire.”

They breakfasted on bread that Jacob had found in a shop nearby and goat cheese and fresh pomegranates. Jacob waited until Alban had shaved and dressed for the day to announce, “I slept in the tent of the Capernaum elder whose caravan brought me to Jerusalem, master. I passed on the message you sent back to the garrison with your officer. The elder said to tell you he awaits your visit.”

“Excellent news,” Alban exclaimed. “Well done, lad.”

Jacob beamed. “Thank you, master.”

Linux must have noticed Alban’s relief. “You have a plan?”

“A hope, nothing more,” Alban replied, then asked Jacob, “Where is the Capernaum contingent camped?”

“At the amphitheater, master, by the city’s easternmost border.”

The lad had the look of a young lamb, all knobby angles and huge eyes. Overlarge hands and feet suggested he had a good deal of growing left to do. “Jacob, I could use your help with something.”

The lad’s eyes grew round as Alban described what he had in mind. “It will be as you command, sire!”

“Take no risk,” Alban warned. “I want you to go and return unnoticed. If that cannot happen, you must leave the task for Linux and me.”

“I will do as you say!” Excitement captured the boy’s whole being, and he looked as if he was ready to spring out the doorway at a mere nod from his beloved master.

“Do you still have money?”

The boy slipped the pouch from his belt pocket. “More than half of what you left with me, sire.”

“Go, then.”

When the lad darted from the room, Linux observed, “He worships you.”

“His father was a minor merchant dealing in sandalwood and oil. The family’s caravan was wiped out by the Parthians. He and a few others were saved alive. We gave chase, and rescued them, and I found Jacob.”

“He is fortunate to have you.” Linux nodded his own admiration, adding, “You make allies everywhere you go.”

“Let us see if these allies can actually do us some good.”

When the two came downstairs, they found a young officer in the gleaming uniform of Pilate’s household guard awaiting them. “Linux Aetius, the prelate sends his greetings and requests your presence.”

Linux’s languid air vanished. He straightened and demanded crisply, “The prelate has summoned me, and you’ve been waiting about down here?”

“Pilate said you were free to report at your convenience, sire.”

“When did the governor arrive in Jerusalem?”

“Last night. Herod came with the prelate’s company.”

“Is the centurion to come with me?”

In response, the soldier saluted Alban and said, “Pilate sends his compliments, sire. He asks if you are ready to make your report.”

“Not yet, but soon,” Alban said, fervently hoping it was indeed true.

“Then the prelate says you are to proceed with your duties. He also says that your betrothal is set for next week.”

Linux grinned at Alban’s evident shock. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten.”

“No, of course not. But . . . well, will you attend as witness since I have no family here?”

Now both officers grinned at Alban. Linux replied, “That’s one skirmish I wasn’t trained for. But yes, if you wish, I’ll guard your back. Little good it will do you.”

The only way Alban could mask his feelings was to turn away. “I will speak with the Capernaum elders and meet you back here tonight.” He forced his leaden legs to carry him away.

“The greatest problem with this camp is water.” The chief officer overseeing the amphitheater settlement was a young sub-lieutenant likely on his first command. He carried himself with an air of self-importance. “We have just three wells for over a thousand families. And these are not families in the Roman sense, centurion. The Judaean clans are far more extended. We have no way of determining how many people actually are dwelling here.”

“I am not here to survey your command,” Alban assured him. He had not wanted to meet the lieutenant at all. But a guard had challenged him as he had turned off the main road. Few of the Judaeans had horses, and the guard had met Alban with spear held horizontally to block his path. Now they stood by the main guardhouse, in plain view of anyone entering or leaving the camp. Alban said, “I have confidential business with one of the Galileans here.”

But the lieutenant stood his ground. “Forgive me, sire. Romans are forbidden entry.”

“Under whose orders, may I ask?” This was not what Alban had expected.

“The tribune of the fortress, Bruno Aetius. In past years, some of the younger soldiers came out here looking for trouble. At least that was the Galileans’ protest. The Romans claimed they merely came to observe the city’s visitors.”

“There have been altercations?”

The lieutenant bristled. “Not a whiff of trouble. Not under my command.”

Alban reached into his satchel and retrieved the scroll. The lieutenant’s expression altered immediately at the sight of the Imperial Eagle. Alban said quietly, “I am here under orders from the governor.”

The lieutenant saluted, as much to the unseen prelate as Alban.

“In that case, I will accompany you.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Centurion, I am personally responsible—”

“I seek the assistance of the Capernaum elders on a very delicate matter.” He took his time returning the scroll to its place. “I do not wish to meet them accompanied by the might of Rome. I must perform this duty alone.”

The Roman eagle flashed in the sunlight as he stowed away the document. He could feel the lieutenant’s gaze on him as he walked into the camp, but the man made no attempt to follow.

The tents formed a colorful tide that washed up against the amphitheater’s boundary wall. Linux had told Alban that the massive arena had been completed by Pilate’s predecessor, but only after several riots, because that governor had siphoned Temple funds to finance the structure. As usual, Rome had won, and the extra money was used to erect the largest amphitheater east of Rome.

Alban endured hostile glances following him along the meandering lane between each clan’s collection of temporary dwellings. The pathway was deeply rutted and fouled by the donkeys the Judaeans used as pack animals. Otherwise the camp was amazingly clean and orderly for such an overcrowded settlement.

As Jacob had instructed, Alban headed east into the morning sun until he arrived at the camp’s perimeter. From there he picked his way along an outermost row of tents. The amphitheater occupied a hill only slightly lower than the city, which crowned the region’s highest ridgeline.

A young lad about the same age as Jacob climbed over a rocky ridge ahead of him. “Are you the centurion Alban?”

“I am.”

The lad answered in words loud enough for the men scowling in Alban’s direction to hear. “My grandfather salutes you and invites you to join him in his tent.”

Simon bar Enoch, the Capernaum elder, was also one of the city’s senior merchants, and his clan controlled some of the region’s richest grazing lands. The tent reflected his standing, and a series of interconnected chambers formed a small inner courtyard. The walls were draped with colorful tapestries, matched by brightly striped carpets piled upon the ground that made the tent’s floor. Within this protected central area, children played, chasing a newborn lamb that leaped about on trembling legs.

The grey-bearded elder received Alban into the largest chamber. One outer wall was rolled up so that they looked out toward the Temple compound, its marble walls capturing the eastern light. Alban had known the man since his first week at the Capernaum garrison, but never before had Alban been invited into a private chamber with him. They had always met at the synagogue Alban had assisted in rebuilding.

“I and my family are honored by your presence.” The elder gave a formal Judaean gesture, lifting his hand from heart to mouth to forehead, then swept into as deep a bow as his years would permit. “The Centurion Alban is welcome in any abode I care to call home.”

Alban greeted a number of other Capernaum elders, most of whom he already knew, who were gathered in the chamber. He was granted a place of honor, reclining upon the cushioned support with a splendid view of the city towers. The elders were lying or sitting as was their preference, while the central carpet was filled with fragrant dishes brought in by women of the clan. A young woman offered a wet cloth to bathe his face and hands and feet and served him a tea made from wild mint and elderflower. Like all the women in this household, she wore a long shawl as a head covering. One end was draped about the lower portion of her face, used as a veil in the presence of a stranger. Alban took care not to look directly into her eyes. In the Hebrew tradition, he broke off segments of unleavened bread with his right hand and dipped it in the communal dishes. And he waited.

When the elder finally motioned the young women away, he said to Alban, “I understand you wished to ask my assistance with a matter of some importance.”

In truth, Alban had requested this meeting without knowing precisely what he would ask. But the Capernaum elders were allies, and he assumed by the time this meeting could be arranged, something would have arisen. Which most certainly had happened.

A trio of women remained by the rear wall. The central figure said, “First, my husband, ask him about the lad.”

Alban had no experience with Judaean customs in their private chambers. But a Roman woman, no matter how senior, would not dream of interrupting a discussion among elders. Yet the old gentleman merely stroked his beard and said, “My wife is concerned about young Jacob.”

Alban resisted the urge to turn and speak directly to the woman. “He is a splendid lad and serves me well.”

“Simon bar Enoch, if you do not ask him, I will.” Her voice held both deference and strength.

The elder merely sighed and stroked his beard.

Realizing the elder might be wishing to avoid making a direct request of a Roman, Alban ventured, “Jacob has expressed a desire to you?”

The woman now spoke directly to Alban, her eyes snapping with indignation. “The boy does not know enough to ask. It is a disgrace to the memory of his family.”

A few of the other elders glanced askance at one another. Clearly there was concern over a woman addressing a Roman officer in that manner.

Alban realized the elder had agreed to this meeting because of this personal matter. He risked a glance at the woman. Her eyes were rather bold, inviting no argument. “Did you know his family?”

“He is a Judaean. That is enough,” she replied.

Her husband said, “A Judaean male is expected to go through a rite of passage to manhood. My wife has become very attached to the lad. She wants him to have a proper
bar mitzvah
.”

“He should study the holy texts. He should know what it means to be Judaean,” she added, then turned and said to her husband, “Tell him the rest.”

One of the other elders said quietly, “This is unseemly—”

“No, no,” Alban countered. “We are in agreement. Jacob is as fine a lad as ever I have met. We have become very attached to one another. I want to do right by him.”