The Centurion's Wife (15 page)

The tension in the tent visibly eased. The woman said, “Among Judaeans we are taught to forgive all debts on the seventh year.”

“The centurion is Roman,” one of the gathered elders told her. “He is not bound by our laws.”

“He is bound to the lad,” Simon bar Enoch noted. “He has proven himself a friend to all in our province.”

Alban nodded. “You wish me to grant the lad his freedom.”

Another elder spoke directly to Alban for the first time. “There are many among us who no longer follow all the edicts of the Law. Particularly about debts and slaves—”

“We should pay him,” another put in. “The Law demands that early release of a servant requires the owner to be recompensed for the years of service remaining.”

“First we must determine if he is willing to release the lad.”

Alban always relished his interactions with the Galileans. Without the usual Roman discipline and orderliness to their discussions, they all said what they were thinking, voices overlapping one another with varying degrees of passion. They could be fierce in their opinions, yet even angry disagreement did not mean disrespect. But ultimately they followed their elders’ lead. It was a remarkable balance between the individual and the group, something quite alien to Roman culture.

Alban understood the uneasiness behind many of these comments. Most of these elders possessed slaves of their own. Added to this was the fact that he was a Roman. A Roman soldier. Of the occupying force. And he had a Judaean slave, as did many Romans in the region.

But Alban was different. Perhaps. And this was the key. This was why they were inviting him into their home, why they spoke to him in such a frank manner. They considered
him
to be different.

To show he understood, Alban said quietly, “The Judaean God makes certain requirements of you.”

The elder corrected, “Our God is the God of all.”

“Of heaven and of earth and of all who dwell here,” another intoned.

Alban persisted, “But this God makes special demands of you. He seeks to have Judaeans be slaves to no man, no other temple, no other deity. You are to worship him and follow him. And my ownership of Jacob disturbs this. You care for the boy, as do I. You trust me enough to make this request.”

The entire chamber settled back and sighed as one. The woman used a corner of her outer garment to dab at her eyes. Simon bar Enoch turned to his fellows and said, “Was I not right to call this centurion a God-fearer?”

Alban announced, “I will not sell Jacob.” The group held its breath. He went on, “But I am about to become betrothed. It is a practice among my people to celebrate a high moment in life with the fulfillment of an obligation.”

Simon protested, “I have lived under Roman rule my entire life and never have I heard of such a thing.”

“This particular tradition comes from Gaul,” Alban said.

“You are not Roman?”

“To the core. But I was born a Gaul. In many respects, a Gaul I will always remain.” He paused a moment, then declared, “I will free the lad. He will study for your rite of passage. He may then choose whether he wishes to remain in my service.”

“We are in your debt,” the elder replied solemnly.

“Wait, please. There are two conditions to my offer. First, if anything happens to me, you will personally take responsibility for the lad.”

“He will enter our household,” his wife declared.

“As a freeman,” Alban clarified.

She nodded agreement. “I will treat him as I do my own sons.”

“And second,” Alban went on, “Jacob has expressed a desire to become a legionnaire. If this remains his aim, you will grant him your blessing.”

The wife was aghast. “Become a Roman soldier?”

“I agree,” her husband asserted.

“You cannot!”

“The lad will choose his own destiny,” the elder persisted. “Even if it means losing him to the army that occupies our homeland.”

“But—”

“My decision is final.” The elder waited to ensure that his wife would not protest further. Then he turned to Alban and said, “You had a matter you wished to discuss.”

“I have come in need of your help,” Alban said, inclining his head to the group.

“On this day,” the elder replied, “I and my clan could refuse you nothing.”

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Pilate’s Palace, Jerusalem

“THIS WOMAN SAID SHE WOULD OFFER a sacrifice for me?” Procula still looked astounded.

Leah stood in the center of Procula’s bedchamber, basket at her feet, her grey cloak draped over her left arm. Procula’s summons had come just as Leah was leaving for the city’s market. “The word she used, mistress, was
pray
. She said she would pray for you.”

This conversation had been repeated several times now. The afternoon after Leah had returned from the plaza and discovered Procula sitting up in bed, her pain vanished. The second time was the next morning before Procula had sent her off again. And now, a week after Leah had originally visited the square.

The entire palace staff was talking about the change in their mistress. She had never suffered from such headaches as those over recent weeks, and never so often. Yet when Leah had returned from that first meeting with the rabbi’s disciples, Procula’s headaches seemed to have been banished. Leah glanced out the window. The morning was cool in the desert manner. The sun had not yet shown itself over the eastern hills, and the sky through the palace windows was a lovely mix of gold and palest blue.

“The woman said she would pray to her Judaean God,” Procula reiterated, speaking each word very carefully, as though weighing them individually. “For my well-being.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“And this woman is not a temple priestess?”

“No, mistress.” Leah shut her eyes, and instantly the face of Mary Magdalene reappeared. The calm and penetrating gaze, the light that suffused her features, the ethereal beauty that defied time and the woman’s obvious bittersweet emotions—sorrows from the past and, more recently, healing related to the prophet. Once again Leah felt herself shaken to the core by something she could not name.

“Leah.”

She jolted back to full awareness. “Forgive me, mistress. I was . . .”

Procula was watching her curiously. “You were what?”

“Remembering the woman.”

“This village madwoman.”

“Please excuse me, mistress. But the description does not fit her now, if it ever did. Though I doubt she would speak an untruth.” Leah struggled to find the words. “Whatever she once might have been, there is no sign of such now.”

Procula leaned back in her seat. Swallows stitched the sunrise to the horizon and filled the room with their piercing song. Procula settled the coverlet closer about and said thoughtfully, “So this woman invited me to come and join them.”

“I do not think she meant any offense by it, mistress. In fact, I am sure of it. And then yesterday . . .”

“It is not like you to hesitate so, Leah. I have ordered you to speak freely.”

“Mistress, I do not know how to put this into words.”

Procula waved an impatient hand. “I command you to make the attempt!”

Yet not even her mistress’s irritation cut through Leah’s confusion. She began slowly, “There is nothing I can point to and say,
Here, this is what is so mystifying
. I returned yesterday and saw neither Nedra nor Mary Magdalene. I sat in the plaza for much of the day. No one approached me or spoke to me as they observed the Sabbath. But there was no sense of being excluded. They knew who I was, I am sure of it.”

“They?”

“The people who filled this plaza.”

“These are the prophet’s disciples?” When Leah did not respond swiftly enough, Procula’s voice rose a notch. “Well?”

“Mistress, I have no certainty about who they are. There is a doorway at the back of the square. People go in and out. Several times I have seen the entire plaza turn and watch someone, as they did when Mary Magdalene came to speak with me. But they hold themselves apart. I think . . . I have the impression there are people—a large group—who follow Jesus, and a smaller circle who are his very close disciples.”

“You speak of the now.”

“Pardon me, my lady?”

“You said, ‘follow Jesus,’ as if they follow him still. Even though he is dead.”

Leah found her hands trembling and clasped them together in front of her. “Mistress, I have told you. Mary Magdalene believes this Jesus is alive.”

“He died, and yet he lives.”

Leah did not know how to answer. She finally said, “Yes, mistress. That is what she—”

“She did not say this to trick you?”

It was not the first time Procula had asked the question. Leah replied as she had before, “Mary Magdalene spoke of having seen him herself.”

“The dead prophet. Who lives again.”

“That is what she said. He died, he was buried, and yet he lives.”

“You are an intelligent woman who has always spoken the truth to me.” Procula seemed to be reminding herself as much as Leah. She turned away toward the strengthening daylight. “What do you think this all means?”

“Mistress, I really have no idea. But one thing I am certain of. The two women I have spoken with, Nedra and Mary Magdalene, they do not seem capable of lying.”

The table beside Procula’s bed was her favorite, set upon bronze legs. The onyx top was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Without turning from the window, Procula reached over to trace a finger along the edge of the intricate design. “Not capable.”

“When they speak of this prophet, they . . . alter somehow. They seem to have a . . . a confidence. . . .”

Procula nodded slowly. “Here is what you will do. As soon as you finish with your errands in the market this morning, you will return to the square. And you will seek to enter that doorway. You will speak with someone from the disciples’ inner circle.”

“Mistress, what if they do not permit me to enter?”

“Take the slave from Herod’s household. What is her name?”

“Nedra.”

“Give Enos my compliments and tell him you have need of Nedra’s assistance. You still have gold?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Pay Enos what he asks. Go back with Nedra. See what more you can learn.”

As Leah approached the door, Procula added, “Something further. I spoke with my husband this morning. Your betrothal will take place tomorrow.”

“Mistress—”

Procula stilled the protest with an upraised hand. Hard and majestic and implacable, she said, “You lost the right to choose your life’s course the day you entered my husband’s household. You have but one freedom left to you. One freedom, one chance to recover your family’s reputation. I urge you to make the most of what is now being offered you.”

The rising sun burnished the city’s eastern rim, while the sky was now the deepest of blues. Swallows continued to sweep overhead, cutting swift lines through the desert morning. The dust that stirred about Leah’s feet was cool as it settled on her sandals. She carried her dread of the morrow with her as she walked along a quiet lane, her mind mulling over everything Procula had said. She tried to push aside concerns over how to seek out the prophet’s disciples, only to be confronted anew by the irrevocable ceremony looming over her.

Leah found solace in the everyday duty that took her to market. She much preferred the fresh air to standing over the kitchen’s sweltering fires, preparing a meal for which she would receive no thanks. And even the taciturn head cook agreed that Leah obtained the best produce at the best prices.

Part of her secret was being one of the market’s first customers. Normally she preferred to complete her work there before sunrise, when the produce was freshest and she had her pick as the stallholders were still setting up. Today, however, the conversation with Procula had delayed her. She hastily selected first the fruit and then the vegetables for delivery. The meat stalls would be her last visit, hopefully comprising lamb freshly butchered and poultry recently plucked.

She mentally reviewed the items as she moved quickly through the aisle of spices, sniffing her way from one stall to another, nodding here and there to vendors she had dealt with in the past, doling out coins where purchases were made and giving instructions for deliveries.

She was reaching for a cluster of leeks when a noise from the market entrance captured her attention. It turned out to be an angry stall owner chasing two small street ruffians who had attempted to steal grapes from his cart. She heard a nearby vendor utter some curses, saw another hide his smile while an elderly woman shook her head in apparent sympathy. Without turning her head from the scene at the end of the street, she reached again for the leeks.

But instead of the vegetables, her fingers closed about another’s fingers. Startled, Leah found herself looking into a pair of beautiful dark eyes framed with long eyelashes. The young woman stepped back a pace, her expression flashing from surprise to puzzlement and then a trace of fear.

The girl lowered her gaze and spoke softly, “Excuse me, please. I was not watching.”

“It was my fault as well. Please do not concern yourself.” Leah assumed from the woman’s simple garb that she was a servant in some Jerusalem home. As with many of the young Judaean women, when out in public she wore a long shawl swept up and around the lower half of her face. Even so, Leah had the impression that before her stood a lovely young woman.

“I should not have been so careless.”

“We were both watching the street scene.” Leah motioned at the vegetables on display. “Please select what you are after. Then I will choose.”

Something about this young woman stirred deep longings. How she missed her older sisters, especially Portia. They had been very close. Portia with her teasing ways and light heart. She had the ability to turn any mundane event into an exciting adventure, any day into a celebration. At least, until she became chained in marriage to a man she loathed. For a moment Leah feared that she might dissolve in tears. But she had much experience at hiding such emotions.

Even so, the young woman must have noticed her distress, for she withdrew her hand and asked, “Is something amiss?”

“No
. . .
It’s nothing.” Leah even managed an awkward smile. “Let us select together. Come. Reach into the basket at the same time I do.”

The young woman chuckled softly and stepped up beside Leah. As one they reached toward the leeks, each lifting a different bundle. Leah felt like a child again.
Oh, if only . . .
But Leah would not allow her thoughts to travel further along that sorrowful memory. This was not Portia, and she was no longer a little girl. She was a servant with vital duties that awaited her. Already she had lost precious time.

Leah took one more look into the deep, appealing eyes of the young woman before her, nodded, then turned away.

Simon bar Enoch entered Jerusalem on a donkey led by his grandson, a nearly grown youth. Alban walked alongside, leading his own horse by the reins. It was easier to match the donkey’s slow gait on foot. Plus he did not wish to be in a position of having to look downward toward the old man. The elder told him, “Our Lord God has granted my clan prosperity. I can afford to take rooms inside the city for the festival. But I know what the people of Jerusalem think of us Galileans.” He thumped his bony chest. “I follow the Law. I teach the Books of Moses in the ancient tongue. I keep the flame of faith alive.”

“I don’t understand,” Alban said. “Aren’t you also Judaean?”

“When we were freed from slavery in Egypt and brought to the Promised Land, each tribe of Abraham was apportioned a province. But the sons of David, our great king, fought one another, and after the reign of Solomon we were divided into two kingdoms. It was the beginning of our downfall, both because our strength was split and because we defied the edicts of the Most High God.” Simon bar Enoch seemed to address Alban as he might a youngster eager to learn, enlarging on whatever Alban asked. “The region containing Jerusalem belonged to the tribe of Judah, and the southern kingdom took that name. The north, including the Galilee, became the kingdom of Israel. Nowadays the people of Jerusalem take great pride in calling themselves the only true Judaeans and look askance at the rest of us.”

They left their animals at stables just outside the gate named after Herod the Great. The stable master and his three assistants were amazed at being handed a steed with a saddle blanket bearing Pilate’s own stamp, then watched in further awe as the Roman officer offered the Galilean elder his hand to aid the old man in descending from the donkey.

Alban now asked, “What do you think of the Sanhedrin?”

“Most are beyond absolution. They—”

“Papa,” the strong young man supporting his father admonished. “Shah, Papa.”

“We are among friends,” the elder replied with a wave of his hand. He went on, “Too many of the Sanhedrin are disgraceful in their habits and decisions, but still there are
haredi
among them.”

“What is that term?” Alban wondered.

“
Haredi
is Hebrew for fearful. It means a devout man who stands in awe before the Most High God. A few of the council hold to the true path. Including Joseph of Arimathea, the one whom you wish to speak with today.”

Alban had requested the elder’s help in setting up this second meeting with the man. Alban wanted to talk with him alone, without guards. Even within his own house, Joseph had been careful not to order the Temple guards very far away. Clearly the man was beset by pressures Alban could not fathom. How the council member might now respond to Alban’s request was very worrying. The man was both wealthy and powerful, and he was extremely well connected. This was not a man to have as an enemy.