Woman of Sin Page 9

  Alysia sat up straighter. The wagon continued some distance until they came to an imposing house made of brick, with a staircase running up two stories to the roof. The shadows of trees loomed blacker than the darkness. Mary jumped down from the wagon and ran to the house, throwing open the large, wooden door and revealing an inner courtyard.

  Mary came out accompanied by an older woman who was smiling, but she eyed Alysia’s attire with a wondering expression. She had a motherly face and wisps of gray hair escaped the loose confines of her head covering. Lazarus introduced her as his sister, Martha, and then spoke in Aramaic as if explaining Alysia’s presence.

  Finally he said kindly, “Come, let’s go inside. I know you are tired.”

  Nathan had busied himself unhitching the donkeys from the wagon. Alysia followed the others inside.

  The spacious house had an atmosphere of comfort and hospitality. The couches, tables and chairs were plain but of excellent quality, speaking of an unaffected and refined taste. Handsome rugs and cushions were scattered over the floors. Bronze lamps hung from the ceilings and oval-shaped clay ones were set in niches in the walls. Martha had gone to see to the preparation of food and Alysia was left alone with Mary and Lazarus. Nathan soon joined them.

  “You have been very good to me,” she said, over a strange lump in her throat. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Have you any plans?” Nathan asked.

  Alysia shook her head. “I suppose I shall go tomorrow and try to find work.”

  “What sort of work can you do?” Lazarus asked, with sober practicality.

  She remembered her earlier expectation of tutoring the ignorant rabble and felt foolish, considering that these Jews were more learned in languages than she.

  “I’ve had experience doing domestic work.”

  Nathan rubbed his chin. “I know of no one around here who requires another servant, unless it is you, Lazarus. Perhaps in Jerusalem—”

  “There will be time enough to decide what you are going to do,” Lazarus said to her. “You may stay here as long as you wish.”

  Martha returned to announce that the food was ready, then she and Mary descended upon Alysia as if she were a child, removing her shoes, helping her to wash, serving her a plate, all without saying a word.

  * * * *

  Lazarus and his sisters seemed content to have her stay with them, and the longer she stayed the more firmly established she became as a permanent resident. The language barrier receded a bit more every day, until Alysia was reasonably conversant in Aramaic, an ancient language which differed significantly from the original Hebrew, and of which there were several dialects. The Judean women were just as quickly learning Greek. By mixing the two languages, everyone managed to make themselves understood.

  She learned that Martha was a widow, and that Lazarus had lost his wife and son in childbirth several years ago. Mary was of marriageable age but not yet betrothed; she didn’t seem interested in marriage, though she loved children and often helped care for the children of Lazarus’ servants. They were not slaves but were paid what they must consider generous wages, for they seemed to be a contented lot.

  She shared Mary’s large bedroom and found Mary to be very devout, praying often and reading the works of the Jewish prophets. Alysia shrugged off her opinion that religious belief was the height of stupidity and decided that if Mary found comfort in it—that was well and good. She almost wished she could believe in something of a higher order than what she had seen of the world.

  Lazarus was obviously a man of considerable wealth. His was the largest house in the village. He owned several orchards and olive presses that were managed by paid overseers. Although Lazarus objected, Alysia insisted on working for her keep and labored alongside several other men and women in his olive groves, beating the branches of the heavy-laden trees with a stick and collecting the ripe olives in baskets. She didn’t mind working, now that she wasn’t forced to do it. She also helped with the housekeeping and cooking. Still, she was treated neither as slave nor servant but as a member of the family. Hospitality seemed almost a sacred tradition here. The heavy rains of autumn came, and the winter saw a light fall of snow. Spring arrived and the first drafts of warm air came to thaw the town and renew spirits dampened by the unpleasant weather.

  Alysia’s presence seemed to be accepted with a cautious friendliness by most of the town, though no one besides Mary and Martha made any overtures toward becoming a close friend. All of the young women were civil to her but she noticed them casting furtive, curious glances her way as she went about her tasks. She supposed it was because no one really knew much about her; everyone supposed her to be a Grecian Jew who had lost her family, been robbed upon landing in Joppa and had been practically adopted by Lazarus and his sisters.

  Lazarus seemed to regard her as if she were another sister. None of them asked questions of a personal nature, for it was considered rude. It saved her from having to fabricate some tale to account for her previous life, for which she was grateful. She hated lying, especially to these people who had been so kind.

  Nathan, Lazarus’ younger cousin, lived on the next street in a much smaller and plainer house. The handsome stonemason was obviously considered a good catch for some enterprising young woman, though he spent almost all his time on sporadic travels throughout the province. That spring, however, he traveled less, and more of his leisure hours were passed at Lazarus’ house. His interest in Alysia was growing conspicuous and had become a budding cause of general feminine resentment.

  Alysia felt content to allow his attentions, for the more she learned about Jewish traditions and beliefs, the more secure she felt that she would not be compromised or forced to do anything against her will. Women had little social standing, but they were respected and their chastity well guarded. She didn’t know if all Jews were alike, but she could find no fault with Lazarus and his family.

  She liked Nathan. Perhaps once she could have loved him. But there was a man she could not forget, and whenever she thought of him desolation swept over her like a relentless shadow, and she longed with all her heart to see his face, to hear his voice, to feel his arms around her once again. But it was not to be. By now he knew that she had not gone to wait for him in Cyprus. He had probably stopped looking for her.

  In fact, he had probably forgotten all about her.

  * * * *

  The voice of the emperor’s secretary was low and respectful. “I will inform the emperor that you are here, Lord Valerius.”

  Paulus nodded and resigned himself to an interminable wait.

  The Isle of Capri was a tiny, steeply-inclined island a few miles south of Rome. Tiberius’ villa overlooked the sea, situated high upon a rocky bluff. Inside the vast central hall, Paulus looked at the mammoth columns, the high-ceilinged corridors leading in all directions, the endless rooms, the extravagant silk curtains and tapestries, the profligate use of gold and silver and jewels, and thought what a waste it was…a pitiful waste that one man lived alone here, alone with his servants and guards and his bitter thoughts.

  On the wall across from him was a painting of a nude couple in a somewhat dubious position, and he pondered briefly on the rumors of Tiberius’ bizarre sexual habits. There might be some truth in the stories, though they were probably greatly exaggerated. After all, the emperor was getting up in years and it was doubtful that even a man accustomed to such excesses could continually live up to his reputation!

  But despite his alleged bent toward debauchery, Tiberius had been in his day a capable military leader. He perhaps could have been an equally capable ruler, but too often he had listened to the unwise counsel of those hungry for power, too often he had fallen victim to his own morbid and brooding nature.

  Paulus eyed an uninviting marble bench and wondered how much longer Tiberius would keep him waiting. He wasn’t certain why he had been summoned, unless it involved his written request for a new appointment. He also wondered if Aelius Sejanus would
be present. If Sejanus had finally convinced the emperor that Paulus had sinister intentions in regard to the monarchy he would no doubt be facing a trial for treason, probably as soon as the next day. And treason trials almost always ended in conviction. The few who were acquitted were usually later found dead…of “suicide”.

  “My lord, the emperor will see you now.”

  The soft-spoken secretary waited for him to follow. Paulus turned sharply, his sword slapping against his thigh as he walked with confident steps into the emperor’s chamber.

  Tiberius Caesar peered myopically from his chair. His once straight shoulders had a weary slump and his tall body stooped even as he sat, wrapped in a robe though the weather was warm and humid. His thinning hair had turned a dull yellow and his frowning face was tired and drained of the vigor of youth. Sagging lines of dissipation marred the once handsome features. His eyes were restless and roving, never lingering on any object. Any aura of past dignity and authority had disappeared.

  “Let us not be formal, Paulus,” said the ruler of the Roman empire. “I will call you Paulus, as we are old acquaintances, are we not? Sit down. You will dine with me.”

  Paulus inclined his head. “I am honored, sir.”

  A table had been drawn up to his chair so the emperor could eat while sitting up; he had become too stiff and his digestion too fragile for reclining. Paulus sat in the chair opposite him, noting that his plate had already been served and there was no one else in the room.

  “There aren’t many men I would trust alone with me,” Tiberius said, as if guessing his thoughts. He spoke slowly and with great effort. Words had never come easily to this Caesar. “Aelius Sejanus didn’t want me to see you. He doesn’t like you, you know. Thinks you want to dethrone me, or some such nonsense.”

  “Sejanus and I have clashed many times over the years,” Paulus said mildly. “Rest assured, sir, I have no desire to sit in your place.”

  “Eh, and why not?”

  “There are too many problems inherent in a monarchy, sir.”

  “Well, Sejanus hasn’t gone so far as to say you want to do away with me. But admit it, you do want the Republic back. I, too, once favored the Republic, but the fates decreed otherwise. Fate has always been against me…” Tiberius’ eyes wandered gloomily across the room and he mumbled, “They wait for me to die. I suppose I have disappointed them. They compare me to my stepfather, the great Augustus, who ‘found Rome a city of brick and left it marble’.”

  He chuckled mirthlessly. “A bit of an exaggeration, but an improvement, nevertheless. I live upon this island like a hermit. My only contribution has been to keep the frontiers safe and tighten up the purse strings, which I might add has done nothing to increase my popularity.”

  “Future generations will no doubt profit by your foresightedness, sir.”

  Tiberius nodded, but went on in a sullen tone, “How long shall I be remembered? What monument will serve as a memorial to me, besides these villas I build, this whole wretched island?” He regarded Paulus ruefully. “Of course, the emperor is supposed to be immortal, but I do not deceive myself. I pretend to believe in the gods because it amuses me, but there are no gods, Paulus, and there is no afterlife. A dismal thought to be sure, but one that must be faced at some point in a man’s life. Master of the world one day, a rotting corpse the next.”

  The emperor’s weary brown eyes turned expectantly toward him, but Paulus held his peace. He knew better than to voice an opinion to the old man, who was likely to change his mind within the hour and would only recall that Paulus did not consider him of Olympian virtue. He’d been known to have slobbering fits of rage when not shown the proper respect, and the culprits generally disappeared from the island, never to be seen again. On the other hand, he detested any overt show of flattery and had once fallen over backward trying to escape an overly enthused admirer. The less said in the presence of the emperor, the better.

  “You’re not drinking much wine,” Tiberius said slyly. “It’s quite safe, I believe. After all, Sejanus is not here to poison it. Neither is my mother.”

  Paulus met his gaze inquisitively. The emperor nodded. “Yes. My mother ruined my life, Paulus Valerius—may she be eaten by worms! She and her—ambitions. She’s ancient now and rumors are she’s not getting on very well. She needn’t expect any honors from me. Wants me to make her a goddess! Well, she’s not the woman Rome thinks she is, believe me!”

  Paulus raised his eyebrows but made no rejoinder.

  “Go ahead, drink more wine. Taste the fish. It’s from the Sea of Galilee, the best in the world. Ah, that reminds me. I’ve almost forgotten the point of your visit!” His frown was, for an instant, replaced by the shadow of a smile.

  “You have been to Judea, have you not?”

  “Yes. Several years ago.”

  “Tell me about it. You met Pontius Pilate, of course?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you are familiar with the language and customs?”

  “Enough to get by, sir.”

  “I have need of you there.” Tiberius coughed. “The position is an important one, as you will see, but could be handled by a tribune. Some would say this is a relegation.”

  Paulus shrugged. “I am ready to go wherever I am needed.”

  The emperor looked at him with sudden sharpness. “It seems as though you are eager to leave Rome behind you, come what may.”

  Paulus nodded, saying nothing.

  “Well, it so happens you are needed in Jerusalem. I want someone there I can trust. I’m putting you in charge of the fort and you will be the superior officer in all of Judea. Pilate will retain his position as prefect, which means you will be subordinate only to him. He spends most of his time in Caesarea. Pilate in turn is subordinate to the governor of Syria, who spends most of his time in Rome.”

  “I understand.”

  Tiberius eyed him curiously. “Your rank is equal to that of Pilate, except for the fact that he is governor. But in social position you are superior to him—he is only a knight. I would like to know why you would even consider such an appointment.”

  Paulus didn’t answer for a moment. Rome had become intolerable, his own life was empty and equally intolerable, and filled with regret and hopelessness. They were emotions that he masked, that no one knew of…but they were there all the same.

  He said slowly, “I feel the need for—challenge.”

  “It will be challenging, all right! Pontius Pilate has caused any number of problems for Rome. He has no tact. I may not have any great abundance of it myself, but at least I learn from my mistakes!”

  Paulus nodded again but continued to look quizzical.

  “All I need is an excuse, Legate. Give him enough rope to hang himself. Sejanus likes him, and I seldom oppose Sejanus…I have my own reasons for that. Ha–except when it came to you! I had many a good laugh over the look on his face whenever I gave you an appointment. But—one more mistake and Pilate is finished. I want you to watch him. As soon as he makes a misstep, you will report directly to me.”

  Paulus hesitated only an instant. “I have no wish to be employed as a spy, sir.”

  At last Tiberius appeared on the verge of losing his famous temper. He pounded the table with his fist so hard the plates rattled and a guard stuck his head in the door. Tiberius drew in a gulp of air and yelled, “Get out!”

  The guard disappeared. Paulus sat unmoving.

  “By the infernal gods! I am your emperor! You will do as I say!”

  In the silence that followed, Tiberius strove to stop an involuntary shaking, and finally collected himself enough to say with a degree of calm, “You are not to interfere with Pilate’s treatment of the Jews. Let him make a mistake. In so doing you will prevent more loss of life, for he will be instantly removed. You can put your own man in his place. Anyone, even yourself, if you ever get over your aversion to politics.”

  Paulus remained carefully calm. “Yes, Caesar.”

  The emperor went on as
if there had been no outburst. “There is a strong group of rebels there—Zealots, they are called. No doubt you are aware of this. You may deal with them as you will when Pilate is absent. They are fanatics, and I hear the Jews are expecting a leader to rise up among them to release them from Rome.”

  “That is true of the common people, sir, but the Jewish government is not looking for such a man. They have no quarrel with Rome and are very much enjoying the freedom you have given them.”

  “Ah, but my own soothsayers tell me that a man will come from the east, who will be called the king of kings, that he will be both human and divine. What do you think of that?”

  “I would advise the emperor not to lose sleep over the pronouncements of prophets and soothsayers.”

  Tiberius stared at him, then burst into laughter. “If you only knew how much sleep I have lost over it!” He sobered just as suddenly and said, “Nevertheless, I want you to watch. Ah, I know what you’re thinking. It’s been said I don’t like my position, so why should I mind losing it? One grows accustomed to power, Paulus…and I am the most powerful man in the world! You can never have enough of it. But it has been the ruin of many a man.”

  Tiberius sighed. “I don’t know why I speak with you so frankly, Paulus Maximus. Are you really the honest man my gut tells me you are, or just another of the self-seeking villains I must cope with constantly? I suppose it is because you remind me of my brother. Drusus was an honorable man, which is why he’s dead.”

  Paulus took a sip of wine and again refrained from comment, lest Tiberius proceed with a confession of some sort and then decide that Paulus must not live with such knowledge. The emperor was becoming drowsy and seemed half in another world.

  “No, it’s Germanicus,” he muttered. “My nephew. It’s Germanicus you remind me of. He was—good. He should have been—” He looked at Paulus and said unexpectedly, “Are you Germanicus?”

  Paulus was taken aback. “No, Caesar.”