The Centurion's Wife (29 page)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Between Tiberias and Jerusalem

ON THE RIDE BACK into Jerusalem, Alban felt as though his entire world had been shaken and put back together in a manner he scarcely recognized. A soldier’s task was to read the terrain, ferret out any enemy or risk, and conquer both. But he no longer knew who or where the enemy was. Only on one point was he certain: Jesus was alive and deserved unwavering allegiance.

When Alban arrived back in his chambers above the fortress stables, young Jacob was pathetically glad to see him. Linux had not yet returned from ferrying the Parthians north to their five-year punishment on a galley. Alban allowed the lad to prepare a meal because Jacob desperately wanted to do something for him. But he insisted Jacob sit with him as they ate. Alban described briefly what had happened to him, skipping over much of the ambush and spending more time on his mystifying encounter on the hill above the oasis. He was uncertain how much Jacob understood. Nor did it truly matter. Alban spoke as much for his own benefit as the lad’s.

“And because I now have a new Master,” Alban concluded, “I don’t know what will happen in the future. I do not even know what
your
future will hold.”

Jacob quickly said, “I will do as you wish, master, whatever it is.”

“What I wish,” Alban replied, “is that you too learn about Jesus and discover what he has in mind for you.”

“I want to serve you.”

“And for that I thank you, Jacob. But there is more for you, my lad.”

“You saved me from bandits who murdered my family,” the boy exclaimed. “You have treated me as you would your own son. What else should I do but follow you?”

“Do you understand what I have just told you?”

“Not really, master.” Though he spoke softly, the words were plain. “But you do. And that is enough.”

Alban found it necessary to swallow hard. “I know you desire to be a Roman soldier. But God knows what he wants you to be. You will find his path and follow it. To be a man of war is not enough. I accept that now. You must also seek to be a man of peace.”

“Are you saying I should not be a legionnaire?” Jacob asked quietly, a frown reflecting his disappointment.

“I am saying that God will show you what he wants you to be. Of that I am certain.”

“But you will not send me away.”

“I will never send you away. How could I ever get along without you?”

After their meal, Alban wrote a message for Linux, saying he needed to take care of a legal matter, then could be found at the disciples’ meetinghouse. He then went to the formal baths, taking Jacob with him. After a few complaints from the boy, they scoured their bodies with a pungent mixture of soap and perfume and sand, rubbing and dousing and rubbing some more until their skin glowed. This was followed by the hot bath, then the steam room, and finally the cold bath. Afterward they dressed in togas belted with woven fabric since Alban would not be carrying his weapon.

He stepped back a pace. “I
thought
I remembered what you looked like under all that dirt!” he quipped.

Jacob grinned, his teeth shining bright in his face.

The Antonia Fortress central courtyard rang with the boisterous voices of off-duty soldiers. A group of them gambled in the forecourt over a design carved into the flagstones. Alban was filled with conflicting emotions. He had known this kind of atmosphere all his life. It was his world. But how much longer? He walked into the main hall feeling like an outsider.

The tribune’s aide was seated in the commandant’s outer office. He nodded in response to Alban’s salute. “Is this the lad?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re Jacob.” The officer handed Alban a parchment, one corner weighted by a wax seal. “This is a fortunate day for you, boy.”

Alban talked of other things on the way back to their rooms, waiting until they had entered and seated themselves to say, “This is for you.”

“What is it, master?” Jacob made no move to accept the document.

“It is called manumission. It means you are no longer a slave but a free man.”

“I didn’t ask for it. I don’t—”

“Jacob, listen to me.”

“No, master. I won’t accept it.” He turned his face away.

“Look at me, lad. I’ve already told you. I’m not sending you away. But we’re both moving into an unknown future. I need to be certain that if anything happens to me, you’ll be free and you won’t become someone else’s slave.” Alban thrust the document into Jacob’s hands. “Stow it someplace safe. It holds your future.”

Jacob did as he was told, but when he returned, his face was creased with very real sorrow.

Alban asked, “What is it, Jacob?”

“What
is
going to happen to you?” he sobbed.

Alban rose to enfold him in his arms. “Maybe nothing,” he said as the boy wept against his chest. Alban did not want to unnecessarily alarm the boy, yet he refused to lie to him. Alban tousled Jacob’s hair. “I’m asking you to trust me on this. Now, let’s take a walk. There is something else I need to do.”

They followed the main market avenue west. The easiest place to find in all Jerusalem was the Temple, dominating the city’s highest hill. At the gates, Alban stood to one side, observing the throngs who came and went and watching for a break in the stream of people passing through into the Temple grounds.

Some carried animals that bleated and struggled against the arms that held them, no doubt alarmed at the cries of death and the smell of blood from their kind as they were given in the ritual sacrifices. Gradually Alban began to make out an odd sense of order within the chaos. Numerous families brought their newborn babies, probably for blessing. Many couples came surrounded by merry well-wishers, there to acknowledge publicly the exciting news of their recent marriages and the commencement of new families. Most that came and went were characterized by a common sense of fervor, of passion.

Jacob asked, “What are we waiting for, master?”

“Remember, you are free now. I am your master no longer.”

“What should I call you, then?”

“My soldiers call me sire, my friends call me Alban. Which do you prefer?”

It was good to see the lad smile. “I don’t know. I’ll try them both.”

“Take your time. Either is fine.” He patted the lad’s shoulder.

“I’m waiting for an opening in the crowd.”

“This is the Temple, and it is the festival season,” Jacob observed. “As long as the gates are open, crowds will keep coming and going.”

“Then let us do our best right now.”

But as soon as Alban crossed the lane and started toward the gates, he noticed a change. Though he was not in uniform and bore no weapon, clearly these people knew him for the Roman he was. A space was made for him and Jacob, the expressions surrounding him suspicious and hostile. Alban clenched his jaw and moved forward, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

The guards to either side of the main portal watched him but made no move to stop his progress. He passed from the gate’s shadow into the large Temple courtyard and stepped to one side. The crowd streamed past him, many continuing to cast surly looks his way.

Alban took stock of the vast area. The Temple, directly ahead, was an enormous structure with a triangular roof. Between him and the place of worship was a vibrant, noisy throng—everyone seemed to be in motion. At various points about the compound were corrals for lambs and cages for birds. Elsewhere tables had been set out, where money changers plied their trade. Alban had heard of this from the Capernaum elders, who spoke of the practice with disgust.

Jacob pointed to the left and asked, “What is that?”

Spaced around the outer wall were broad stone shields. “I have heard of these,” Alban told him. “They were set in place by Herod the Great. The inscriptions of all the shields are the same, a warning written in Latin, Greek, Aramaic, and Hebrew, all the way around the plaza. They say, ‘No unbeliever may pass beyond this point, upon pain of death.’ ”

“But why?”

“The Temple and the inner courtyard are only for Judaeans,” Alban replied.

A colonnaded veranda ran down the far side of the courtyard. At several points along its length, men stood and expounded on religious themes. Alban had heard that Jesus had spoken here at the Temple, and he now regretted he was too late to hear him.

He turned and found a guard watching him. Alban walked over and bowed to the Temple officer. He received nothing in return but a defiant stare. “May I ask, where does one offer sacrifice?”

The man’s ire was instantly transformed to astonishment.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“You wish to offer . . . You cannot.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are Roman, yes?”

“I am from Gaul.”

The guard waved that aside. “You are a Roman legionnaire.

You are not welcome here.”

The man’s loud tones were attracting the attention of other guards. Alban bowed again and backed quickly away. Now all the guards were casting angry glances at him. But Alban had not come intending to offend anyone and had no wish to cause trouble. He thought swiftly, then dug into the purse at his waist. “Here.” He spilled coins into Jacob’s hands. “Do what is necessary. Buy what you can with that and make a sacrifice.”

“But, sire—”

“Do it for both of us. I’ll wait for you outside. Hurry.”

Alban turned away, heading for the entrance. The guards scowled him back through the gates.

Only when he was outside and standing in the shadows across from the portal did he think about the significance of his experience. He was forbidden to make a sacrifice. He was excluded. Whatever the Judaeans experienced inside the Temple area, it was meant for them and them alone.

He had come simply seeking the God of the Judaeans. Back there in the Galilean night, he had come face-to-face with the certainty that Jesus was both human and divine. And now Alban sought to find him, to know him. Where better to begin than in the Temple where Jesus had often taught?

“Sire?” Jacob tugged on his sleeve. “It is done.”

Alban managed a smile. “Good lad.”

His mind and heart heavy, he followed Jacob through the winding streets, not really aware of their surroundings.

Then he remembered Jesus had already helped him once, bringing Jacob back to health when Alban had asked.

His task was simple: Find Jesus. Ask directly for his permission to join this teacher’s group. After all, Alban was a Gaul who had become a Roman. Why not a Roman who had become a follower of Jesus?

Alban heard the tumult long before he saw it. He and Jacob climbed the cobblestoned lane to discover a crowd filling the square from side to side, with more in neighboring alleys. Alban slowly worked his way through, Jacob right behind him, acutely aware that something momentous must have happened.

The noise inside the plaza was so loud Jacob could scarcely be heard. “Sire, what is going on?”

“I can’t make it out.” Alban gripped the boy’s arm to keep them from being separated. “Where do the disciples meet?”

“Inside the doorway on the plaza’s other side.”

“We will try to make our way there.” The mass of people grew increasingly dense until Alban was forced to shoulder his way through.

Once through the portals, the crowd combined into a solid wall. He looked at Jacob, who motioned toward the stairs. “I have heard there is a room at the top!”

Jacob’s words drew the attention of several men standing beside them. One asked, “What do you seek?”

“I wish to speak with one of the prophet’s disciples,” Alban answered.

“Most are at the Temple praying. Why do you seek them?”

Then the man looked at him more closely. “Are you the centurion betrothed to the woman called Leah?”

They were jostled heavily from behind, and Jacob was thrown against Alban. “I am,” he said, steadying the boy.

The man motioned to them. “Come.”

He threaded his way through the crowd to the stairs. They climbed slowly behind him. The man led Alban and Jacob into a chamber that held a long table down one side. A few men were seated at benches, deep in conversation. In the far corner four men stood with their heads covered by prayer shawls, rocking gently.

“Now, then,” he motioned them onto benches. “What is it you wish?”

“You are a disciple of Jesus?”

“He called me, and I came.”

Alban felt the man’s simple response resonate through his being. He nodded his understanding. “I am in awe of you, both for being so fortunate as to be called and for being wise enough to answer as you did.”

The man clearly approved of Alban’s response. “You may speak freely.”

“May I ask your name?”

“My name is Bartholomew, but my friends call me Nathanael.”

“I am Alban and this is Jacob.”

“A Roman led into our fold by a young Judaean.” Though probably not much older than Alban, Nathanael had the deeply creased features of a man born to hard labor, and his beard held a silver streak. He smiled down at Jacob. “I have seen you about, have I not?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Did you come seeking answers for this man?” He gestured toward Alban.