Woman of Sin Page 10

  “No. No, of course you aren’t. He’s been dead for years.” Tiberius shook his large head and refocused his eyes, looking sheepish. “Er, what of your wife? Will she go with you?”

  “I assume so.”

  “Very well. She can reside at Herod’s palace; it’s very grand, I hear. I know little of your family situation. Are there children?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Eh?” The heavy eyebrows arched. “My stepfather would not approve. Populating Rome was one of his pet projects.” Tiberius gave a wry chuckle, then narrowed his eyes. “What about that slave of yours that killed young Eustacius? Did they catch her?”

  There was another short pause. “She perished in a shipwreck.”

  “Shipwreck? Did you recover the body?”

  “No, sir. Only two or three bodies were found.”

  “Then she might still be alive. The search will go on, of course.”

  “I examined the wreckage myself, sir. There were no survivors.”

  “Perhaps you would have us believe that, Legate. Sejanus says you helped her escape.”

  “Magnus Eustacius was about to rape her. There was a struggle with the weapon.”

  “Surely you don’t try to defend a slave, and a stupid one at that! Better to be raped than to die, or to live your life a hunted criminal.”

  Paulus’ jaw hardened but he said nothing.

  “I am tired. You may go, Paulus Maximus. Ha—Sejanus hates it when I call you that. Make your preparations and be ready to leave before the end of the summer.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The emperor’s eyelids drooped and there was an even more pronounced slump to his shoulders. But he roused once more, and seemed impressed by some distant memory. “You should have lived, Germanicus. You should be ruler of Rome! I hate this place! I hate my life, and yet I’m grateful to you for saving it.” His gaze was turned inward, his eyes glazed with sudden fear, and he seemed hardly aware that he was speaking.

  “I hate the world, and yet I’m terrified of leaving it.”

  Again he was confusing Paulus with his dead nephew. The Claudian side of the family, no doubt…everyone knew half the Claudii were mad. But his words touched something in Paulus, something almost of commiseration. As he took his leave, he thought, “He’s nothing but a slave. The most enslaved man in the empire.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Martha was quiet, not like herself, as she and Alysia sat on low stools in the courtyard, grinding grain to make bread. It was a chore that everyone shared for it was a constant necessity. The morning sun warmed the pavement and reflected off the yellowed stone of the house. Daisies and poppies were in full bloom around the outer edges of the courtyard. The latticed roof and inner walls threw a band of shade over the women and a gentle wind blew, playing with the edges of their long robes and mantles.

  Alysia had sold her Roman gowns to a traveling peddler and purchased clothes of the Jewish fashion. She wore a blue, ankle-length gown, called a chiton, gathered in with a belt just above her waist. A mantle, called a himation, was worn over the gown and was also raised to cover a woman’s head when she appeared in public. Alysia didn’t usually cover her head while around the house, though Martha and Mary did. (She privately considered them a little too modest!) She also chose brighter colors, and shoes and sandals that were more elaborately made than the other two women wore.

  But today, for some reason, Martha had asked her to cover her hair, and while Alysia didn’t like it she always did what they asked out of gratitude and respect for their ways. She wondered what was on Martha’s mind. Their task was certainly tedious and tiring, so maybe she was thinking of nothing in particular.

  The grinding mill was made of two circular, flat stones, one atop the other, with a wooden handle. It required two people to operate, as both had to place their hands on the handle and turn while one of them, with her free hand, took the wheat from the basket and dropped it into the top of the mill. Alysia had just put in a handful when a voice from the outer doorway startled her.

  “Peace be unto you!”

  The women turned to see Nathan striding toward them, his copper hair bright in the sunlight.

  “Peace be unto you, Nathan,” Martha replied. Alysia cast down her eyes as she knew was expected of her.

  “I’ve just spoken to Lazarus,” Nathan said.

  Martha glanced at him and a look of dawning came into her face. As if she had just remembered, she said quickly, “Oh! Oh, I did leave something baking, didn’t I?” She struggled to her feet and bustled into the house. Alysia stood and looked after her in bemusement.

  “May I speak with you?” Nathan asked, with a serious expression.

  Alysia looked around, noting that everyone…even the servants…had disappeared. Nathan led the way up the outer steps to the flat roof of the house. Most Jewish families utilized this area of their houses, and Martha had furnished it with couches and chairs, straw mats, potted plants, and even a swing covered with colorful cushions. Alysia went to a wicker chair and sat down.

  Nathan couldn’t keep himself from staring at her. How beautiful she was, how exquisite her violet eyes, and how mysterious, for they seemed to hide some secret sadness that he wanted to draw out, so that they might sparkle with mirth; he wanted to hear the sound of her carefree laughter. Alysia grew nervous as she began to have an inkling of his purpose. She looked at him directly, but seeing that this had an unusual effect on him…to the extent that he seemed to lose his train of thought and was speechless…she lowered her gaze and waited for him to begin.

  “How do you find this place?” he asked finally. “Bethany, I mean.”

  “It’s a lovely place,” she answered, not looking up. “I have enjoyed living here.”

  “Enough to stay here, as my wife?”

  Her head came up in pretended surprise. Before she could speak he went on, “I have been fortunate to prosper at my trade. I can provide for you. I have paid the bride price to Lazarus, and he has agreed to provide a dowry for you. He is, after all, considered your guardian. He is very fond of you; he’s giving you an interest in one of his groves.”

  Her mind flew down this unexpected path. She had never seriously thought this would happen, since she wasn’t Jewish; she always had to remind herself that they had all assumed she was Jewish, and she had let them believe it. But it had happened…here was a man she had an affection for, who was willing to give her a home when she had no home, who was willing to provide for all the social traditions, and who obviously had deep feelings for her. How could she refuse?

  Already she had begun to wonder how much longer she should remain a guest of Lazarus and his family, for no matter how firmly they professed their fondness for her, she didn’t belong here. She needed her own home, her own family. But she also needed to be honest with this man who was offering so much.

  She began hesitantly, “Nathan, you know nothing of my past, and I—”

  He interrupted, “Perhaps we both have secrets, Alysia. If you wish things about your past to remain unspoken, I will respect that. As for me, there is something you should know before you answer.”

  He turned to look out over the town, squinting in the sun. “I am what they call a Zealot. There are many factions, and I belong to one of them. We hate the Romans and we cause trouble for them whenever we can.” After a moment he added quietly, “You see, Romans killed my parents. I was a child. I was here when it happened. It was just after Martha’s husband died and she had moved here to live with Lazarus. In fact, it was Martha who raised me after my parents died.”

  Alysia watched him, seeing the way his hands gripped the top of the low wall that surrounded the rooftop. “They were traveling. They came upon some soldiers who tried to compel my father to carry some of their equipment. He resisted. When my mother tried to intervene, the soldiers killed them both. There was a relative traveling behind them who witnessed it all.”

  “I’m sorry, Nathan.” After a moment she said, “And this gro
up you speak of—it’s very dangerous, is it not?”

  “Yes, of course. I could be killed. But in these uncertain times I could be killed for any reason, Alysia. I know that you will be secure in the friendship of Lazarus and his sisters if anything should happen to me.”

  She put her hand over one of his. “I told you that I too have reason to hate Rome. I cannot fault you for this part of your life. There is a part of my life that, if it is discovered, could bring danger to you.”

  He put his other hand on top of hers and looked into her eyes. “Danger, like grief, may be more bearable when it is shared. You can bring no more of it to me, Alysia, than I have already brought myself.”

  “Do you wish me to tell you of it?”

  “No,” he said at once. “Because I want nothing to interfere with my intent to marry you. For Jews there are certain—well, I must have no reason to turn away from you. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Have you never wondered what Lazarus and I were doing in Joppa? I was collecting a shipment of supplies—weapons.”

  “Oh, is Lazarus—”

  “No, Lazarus is not one of us. It’s true that his health has not been good for some time, but even if he were able he would not support our cause. He hates what the Romans have done, but he doesn’t share our idea that violence should be met with violence. He’s never given money to us, or aided us.”

  “Then, did he not know—”

  “He went with me at great risk to himself just so that I wouldn’t be alone if anything went wrong. The man who was supposed to accompany me was indisposed. Lazarus purchased some supplies for his business, and I hid the weapons in the bottom of the wagon. He’s a gentle man, but not lacking in bravery. As for Mary, she wanted to come at the last minute, and we could think of no reason to dissuade her. I think she knew, though; I think she believed her presence would cause us not to be examined so closely. And Lazarus simply said that he trusted God to take care of her.”

  “I see.”

  “I have spoken enough of unpleasant things.” Nathan spread out his arms. “Perhaps I am not very good at speaking words of love. Alysia, will you marry me?”

  Her eyes moved and lifted. She could see the entire town from here, with its sun baked houses and terraced gardens, its narrow streets, the undulating land covered with rocks and date palms. There were no Romans here; once in a great while a soldier or two rode through, but there was a wider road that went around the village that was better suited to horses.

  No one would ever search for her in Bethany of Judea. Paulus would never come here.

  “Nathan, I would be honored to become your wife.”

  * * * *

  The summer had aged into its last month as the Roman vessel sped smoothly across the sea. The night was lit with twinkling stars, and a yellow moon that cast an eerie light upon the black waters.

  Paulus stood alone on the foredeck, one hand resting on the rail before him and another clasping the rigging that stretched down from the mast. The moon and its reflection on the water cast a wavering light across his features as he gazed seaward. A breeze caught the ends of his tawny hair, even as it invisibly urged the ship on its way. He stared unseeingly across the endless expanse of ocean, his mind as far away as the distant horizon, indistinguishable now in the darkness. His thoughts were of a dark-haired slave girl, dead for almost the full year past.

  He could not forget her, and why this should be he didn’t know. It was more than feeling responsible for her death, which he did. He could scarcely believe that she was dead, yet it was impossible that she had survived. He had viewed what was left of the ship, beaten against the rocks surrounding Crete where the wind and waves had left it. He had meant to make things right for her. She had suffered greatly through no fault of her own. Now she was gone forever…he himself had sent her to her doom…

  Paulus sensed a presence behind him and turned quickly to see Simon, a slave who had come into his possession through his marriage to Megara. Simon, who was half Jew and half Greek, had been a merchant living in the city of Cyrene until the Roman authorities had confiscated his property and sold him into slavery. Paulus didn’t know the details; he didn’t ask.

  “Your wife requests your presence at supper, sir,” Simon said, in a pleasant voice. He was not a sullen slave, seeming resigned to his fate with some good cheer. He was almost as tall as Paulus and several years younger, with a dark complexion and thick, raven black hair.

  “Tell her I will join her presently.”

  “Yes, sir.” Simon retreated into the shadows.

  Paulus’ mind resumed its former gloomy path, his humor little restored by the summons from his wife. Their relationship, which had never been intimate, was steadily deteriorating. They had nothing in common with each other. He had learned, in a most unpleasant scene soon after their marriage, that she didn’t want children…in fact, she quite vehemently didn’t want them, because she loathed “brats” and had no intention of losing her fine figure.

  “I’ve been taking precautions,” she had told him, knowing full well that, for him, childbearing was the main function of marriage.

  He’d been surprised but strangely unmoved by her outburst, thinking privately that it was a good thing…he would pity any child of hers. That had set the tone for their marriage throughout the years; for the most part they lived in peace, for she knew when to have her say and when to remain silent. At least, she used to know. Lately she had become more and more combative. He didn’t know why, but it had begun not long after he had purchased Alysia.

  His wife had been first shocked and then outraged when he announced his decision to leave Rome. She’d called him a fool. He shrugged and said that perhaps he was. She had told him that if he were planning to leave her behind he was an even greater fool, for she would not appear before her family and friends as a woman deserted by her husband.

  She was vain, obstinate and seldom had a kind word to say to anyone…unless she wanted something. Legally, it would be easy to divorce her. But what a fight she would put up, he had no doubt! She would probably sue him for everything he owned, though she’d have little chance of getting it…even if her father was a man of considerable influence and distantly related to the Caesars.

  He had never cared enough to divorce her; he cared even less now. Nor did it matter if she stayed in Rome or chose to follow him about with that odd, single-minded possessiveness of hers. As long as she stayed out of his way and made no demands on him, she could do what she liked.

  * * * *

  In Caesarea they were greeted by the staff of the governor, as Pilate was not currently in the city. They would rest for a day or two from the sea voyage before continuing to Jerusalem…in deference to Megara, for Paulus needed no rest and was eager to press on.

  He never failed to marvel at the ingenuity of the harbor King Herod had built here, along with the city he had named in honor of Augustus Caesar. In fact, Paulus had studied the details of its construction years ago when he first became interested in engineering. There being no suitable port from Joppa to the city of Dor, Herod had undertaken to construct one by sinking a cementing mixture into the seabed to create a breakwater, and topping the walls with huge paving stones to make a wide, public walkway. The result was an artificial harbor of surpassing beauty, and large enough to accommodate three hundred ships.

  Paulus could see that Megara was impressed, though she endeavored to retain her habitually stoic expression. They were able to step off the ship directly onto the walkway, whereupon they entered a heavily-cushioned coach and were borne away to the palace. They had been able to glimpse the palace from the sea, gleaming white in the sun and situated on a high bluff that jutted out over the swelling waves.

  Several dignitaries were present to greet them, seeming anxious that the legate and his wife might not be affronted by Pilate’s absence. Pilate, explained his second in command, had been called away to investigate a disturbance
near the Jordan River where there were signs of a possible uprising. The prefect would write the legate a detailed letter concerning the situation upon his return.

  Paulus knew that Pilate had not been overly concerned about a “possible uprising”; any number of his subordinates could have conducted such an investigation, including Paulus himself. Pilate no doubt resented Paulus’ coming for two probable reasons…Paulus outranked him socially, as Tiberius had mentioned, and everyone knew it, just as everyone knew that Paulus had achieved considerable fame as an officer and was highly favored by his legion. Pilate’s command over his own troops was for little more than appearances; as far as Paulus knew, he had practically no military experience. The governor of Syria had been overseeing Pilate’s handling of his army

  The prefect may also have guessed that Paulus was being considered by Tiberius as his replacement should he somehow ever lose the support of Aelius Sejanus and fall from the slippery slope he currently stood upon. Several times, with obvious full cognition of what he was doing, he had offended the Jews to the point of what could have resulted in a full-scale massacre. He had, on one occasion, brought standards bearing the image of the emperor into Jerusalem during the dead of night so that they would be on display over the fort Antonia when the unsuspecting Jews woke in the morning. Their religious belief forbade the use or even the presence of anything bearing such an image; the hue and cry had been thunderous. When Pilate threatened to kill the protestors they had bared their necks and waited for the swords to fall rather than to submit to such a flagrant violation of their beliefs.

  Disgusted, Pilate was forced to either back down or kill literally thousands; prudently he gave the order to remove the standards, after giving a speech informing his recalcitrant subjects that he had merely been testing them and they should appreciate Rome’s tolerance of their “peculiar” ways. But, he had said, be aware that Rome’s generosity would only extend to a certain point. What that was, no one asked.