Read Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire Online
Authors: Antoinette May
"Go to your holy man," I surprised myself by saying. Unlikely as it sounded, her pilgrimage felt right to me. "Come to Tiberius afterward. Who knows, if he helps you, perhaps I will go to him myself. I would do anything to be rid of the awful dreams that torment me. They grow worse with every passing night."
I
THOUGHT OFTEN OF
M
IRIAM IN THE MONTHS THAT PASSED, WORRIED
about her. Then came a diversion I could never have imagined. It began with an invitation. Herod Antipas was celebrating his birthday with a banquet. I had met the flamboyant puppet king briefly in Caesarea and was curious to see his new palace in Galilee, more curious to meet his wife. Tales of Herodias had even reached Rome.
H
EROD'S PALACE WAS
, I
WAS AMAZED TO DISCOVER, LARGER THAN
Tiberius's. Each room possessed a violent, almost savage quality of its own. No human being had a chance of feeling important among the wild animal skins, crimson drapes, mirrored ceilings, and surging fountains. Pet cheetahs roamed at will, making me particularly uneasy, yet I saw that Herod and his queen delighted in the crude, boisterous beauty that surrounded them.
Herod was a large man with massive shoulders and a thick black beard, oiled and curled. His dark face with its ringleted mustaches was an obsequious mask. He kissed my hand not once but three times. I did not like him.
"We were afraid you would never leave Caesarea," his queen said, taking my hand from him and clasping it to her large breasts. "The capital is grand, of course, but we need your beauty in Galilee."
"You are very kind," I murmured. I studied Herodias. Her startlingly blue eyes and full, voluptuous lips might easily turn a man's head. I could see why Herod had risked so much to have her.
"Can we not share a dining couch--just the two of us?" she suggested. "At least for part of the banquet. Let the men talk their boring talk on their own couch beside us. I want to hear about you."
But it was Herodias who did the talking. Ignoring the hundred or so other guests, ignoring the procession of dancers, singers, snake charmers, and fire-eaters who performed before us, she chattered endlessly. Fortunately, the queen's deep, throaty voice was pleasant to listen to. She had lively opinions on everything: the Roman court, fashions, child rearing--most particularly her own eldest daughter, Salome.
"It is difficult to believe that you have a daughter ready for marriage," I said when Herodias finally paused for a sip of wine.
"Oh, I do indeed, you will see her later. Salome's going to dance tonight as a special treat for her stepfather."
"Do you and Herod have children together?"
"No." Herodias pouted. "The Jewish bigots say it is a punishment for our 'sin.' They are so narrow-minded, so unfair. It is nothing to them that Herod divorced
his
wife. A man can do that any time he pleases, but when I divorced my husband, Herod's half brother--a wretched man, nothing like Herod--they called me a Jezebel. Is that fair?"
"No, it isn't," I agreed. "But is your husband not also your uncle?"
Herodias sighed impatiently. "I suppose it is a bit unconventional, but we are the ruling family. Surely we have a right to do as we please."
"Most rulers do," I agreed.
"I am so glad you understand. Who cares about an old law written hundreds of years ago! We live in the present. No one else would care either if it were not for that wretched rabble-rouser."
"Who do you mean?"
"Surely you have heard of John the Baptizer?"
"No, I have not," I said, shaking my head.
"He is a wild creature out of the desert with dirty, unkempt hair, but people flock to him. They leave their boats, their vineyards, their sheep--everything. How can my husband run a country like that? I urged Herod to arrest him, but his advisers feared a revolt. 'John is a good man,' they say. 'He poses no real threat.' So there he is, day after day, bathing people in the middle of a wilderness that my husband hopes to colonize."
"Surely that is just a fancy. People are so quick to follow anything new; bathing people is certainly novel, but before you know it, they will be off to something else."
"That is what Herod said for a while--he is so tolerant. But then this dreadful John person began to speak out about me. About
me
!" Herodias's eyes flashed as she set her wineglass down with a thud. "Herod has been remarkably forbearing, but I cannot allow my good name to be sullied in that way. Surely you can understand?"
I felt the beginning of a warning chill. "What did you do?"
"John is here now in the palace dungeon, awaiting trial. Herod is thinking a scourging followed by exile, but that is far too lenient. I would like to drown him in his own bathwater."
Again the chill. My hand trembled slightly as I took the wine goblet offered me by a fair-skinned boy with painted cheeks and a mincing gait. Just then the jugglers who had been entertaining us bounded off. For an instant, the torches dimmed. Drums rolled and then musicians began to play music that I had not heard before.
"Ah, my daughter, Salome." Herodias pointed proudly.
Lights flared as a young woman, sinuous and perfect, appeared. The resemblance to Herodias was unmistakable. As the nubile dancer spun before us, her diaphanous costume flared like the petals of an exotic flower. Dipping and swaying to the voluptuous rhythm, Salome moved closer. Then just as Herod, who had been lying with Pilate on the couch next to ours, leaned forward to pull at the filmy folds of her gown, she slipped gracefully away, teasing him.
The tempo slowed as Salome's body undulated, her feet scarcely moving, in a love dance, a voluptuous poem of amorous adventure portrayed almost entirely by her torso, arms, and hands. I felt Pilate's eyes on me, turned and read his expression easily. He will want me tonight, I thought, and looked away. Those times could not be avoided, but how I dreaded them.
Soon it was impossible to think of anything but the erotic movements before me. It was the age-old story of courtship, conquest, and fertility. I longed for Holtan as my own body began to quiver. My cheeks grew hot, my pulses throbbed with the music, a wailing, sensuous beat that bespoke a woman's eternal love for her man.
Slowly, very slowly, Salome dropped one of the red veils that covered her. As the audience gasped, another veil slipped to the floor and then another and another. The kithara quickened, great sweeping strokes filling the room with throbbing bursts of sound. Gleaming cymbals crashed together while drummers added their thunderous rhythm to the sudden rush of sound.
I glanced at Pilate; curiously his eyes still rested on me. Meeting my gaze, he raised his glass and smiled. Had he seen my passion? Did he imagine it was for him? I turned away. Drunken guests pounded on the tables beside their couches as the dance moved to its climax. Salome dropped her final veil and danced before them clad only in a small girdle of gold held in place by delicate chains drawn about her hips.
"The girdle! The girdle!" men shouted, more and more insistently. Strings and flutes wailed a sensuous rhythm against throbbing drums.
Sparks of light glittered in the torchlight as Herod beckoned to her. "Whatever you ask for, Salome, I will give to you, even half my kingdom."
Pilate and I exchanged quick glances. Herod had no kingdom to give without the consent of Rome.
Salome moved to the couch shared by Herodias and me. "What shall I ask for, Mother?"
Herodias whispered a few words that I could not catch. The girl gasped. For an instant Salome's face turned pale as she stared at her mother. Herodias whispered something more. A smile spread over Salome's full lips. Her hands flashed down across her hips and came away bearing the fragile girdle in her fingers. She paused for an instant, then tossed the golden bauble to Herod.
The room fell silent as the dancer moved to Herod's couch and slipped gracefully to her knees before him. Salome's thick hair cascaded over her shoulders, dark and glossy as a raven's wing against the delicate pallor of her skin. She slowly raised her head to meet her stepfather's eager eyes.
"One thing and one thing only," she said in a soft, husky voice very like her mother's. "Give me the head of John, the one they call the Baptizer. Bring it to me here. Bring it to me now on a silver platter."
T
houghts of Miriam haunted me. Had she found her holy man? Had he been able to heal her? Where was she now? As weeks passed, my concern mounted, I returned to Magdala, waiting in the boat while my slaves went from door to door asking after her. They came back empty-handed. The townspeople claimed not to even know Miriam.
Unwilling to settle for that, I got out. Picking my way over the discarded fish heads and tails, I approached a group of men who sat mending their nets by the wharf. Though they couldn't or wouldn't tell me anything of Miriam, I saw the anger and scorn on their faces at the mention of her name. They would have stoned
me
, had they dared. Well, why not? Was I not also an adulteress?
I
RETURNED HOME HEAVYHEARTED
. R
ACHEL, WHO HAD COME DOWN
to meet my barge, listened gravely as I told her about Miriam. "The ways of Galilee and Judaea are harsh," she agreed. "They are men's laws made to govern women."
"Cruel, vindictive men," I agreed as we entered the villa. "If only I could go to an Iseneum. I want so much to talk with a priestess."
"Tiberius has no Iseneum, but there is a temple with priestesses who would understand the
Domina
Miriam very well. Perhaps they could even help."
"Priestesses?" I echoed incredulously. "A goddess is worshipped
here!
Everything in this land is so--so masculine, so unforgiving."
Rachel gestured for me to lower my voice. "Anna, the new Syrian kitchen maid, told me about a temple to a very ancient goddess. Many still worship her. I will take you to her sanctuary tomorrow...I think it best that
Dominus
not know." She gestured toward the
triclinium
. "He is waiting for you now."
A
S
I
ENTERED THE ROOM
, I
SAW
P
ILATE RECLINING ON A COUCH, HIS
brows knit in a deep frown as he studied the scroll before him.
"More trouble?" I asked, seating myself at his side.
He reached for the wine goblet on the ivory inlaid table beside him. "The times are uncertain. Barabbas and his
Sicarii
are hiding in the hills."
"The dagger men!" I gasped, thinking of the weapons they carried, small and curved to easily fit the hand. The knife had earned the assassins a name as well as a reputation. "I thought you had trapped Barabbas."
"We had him once, but he got away. It won't happen again." Pilate patted my shoulder reassuringly. "I'll see him crucified if it's the last thing I do. In the meantime, we'll remain here till things calm down."
"Have there been more demonstrations?"
Pilate's brows came together again in a heavy frown. "The people are angry about the way Herod handled that Zealot."
"I should think so!" Would I ever forget the severed head with its great staring eyes frozen in horror, the fresh blood pooling on the silver platter? "They say John the Baptizer was a good man."
Pilate agreed. "He was radical, but posed no threat, just another of those would-be messiahs who appear out of nowhere to stir up the Jews, make their priests nervous, and add to my burdens. There've been so many, it's hard to keep track." He laughed mirthlessly. "I hear this one was a fiery orator with a penchant for dunking people in water before converting them to his own brand of Judaism."
"That hardly warranted a death penalty."
"Herod was weak, allowing those women to manipulate him." Pilate frowned. "Ill advised, as well. The last thing we need here is a sacrificial victim--but try to convince him of that. Herod's more like a child than a representative of Rome."
"Speaking of children--" I drew his attention to a wide-eyed Marcella standing in the entryway.
There was no more talk of severed heads.
T
HE NEXT MORNING
R
ACHEL AND
I
SET OFF IN A LITTER
. A
S WE REACHED
the city center she pulled the curtains back and looked this way and that, searching. Once again I was struck by what a lovely city Tiberius was with its lofty statues and charming public
nymphaneums
. As we rounded a corner, a great statue of the emperor loomed above us. I winced despite myself. Evil man!
"Let us get out here and leave the litter," Rachel suggested.
"You are very mysterious," I protested, signaling for the bearers to stop.
"Anna said the temple was down the hill from Tiberius's monument," Rachel said once we had been assisted from the litter.
We wandered along a winding street, turned a corner, and there before us was a red building with golden columns. "Whose temple is this?" I wanted to know. Rachel merely smiled secretively and led the way up the marble steps.
We entered, passing through the dark foyer lit only by a perfumed oil flame. The chamber beyond took my breath away. There amid hundreds of blazing candles were frescoed walls, mosaic floors, and dozens of statues all depicting a strange goddess I had not seen before. "Who is this?" I asked, looking at Rachel in surprise.
"Astoreth. Though not Isis, she is
of
Isis. Astoreth is the divine female, the bringer of fertility."
My eyes traveled about the brilliantly lit room. "Astoreth," I repeated, liking the sound of the word. Astoreth's loins were broad, the essence of fecundity. Her breasts were bountiful, her hips round. I thought of Yahweh's thin-lipped priests, remembered the men on the wharf in Magdala who had refused even to speak of Miriam. "It scarcely seems possible that such a--a robust goddess could exist here."
"Priests and prophets have tried for centuries to banish Astoreth, but she is too strong for them. Even Solomon built a temple to her."
"But that must have been hundreds of years ago," I reminded Rachel.
She shrugged. "This temple is brand new. In a land of farmers and shepherds, fertility is everything."
"I think it is more than that." A dim memory tugged at my brain, something that Miriam had said long ago...
It is their pleasure to give pleasure
. "Did men not worship Astoreth by--by making love? Did they not pay for that love?"
"Yes." Rachel nodded. "Astoreth's priestesses are sacred prostitutes."
"
Are
prostitutes! They still do that?" I asked incredulously.
"Indeed we do, though prostitution is hardly the word I would choose," a soft feminine voice interjected. I turned at the sound. "We who serve Astoreth do so with our bodies. Our pathway is no less divine for being physical."
A woman in a blue gown had entered silently and now stood beside me facing the altar. Though her long, rippling hair was white, her body--which I could see clearly beneath a transparent gown--was firm and shapely.
"I am Eve, high priestess of Astoreth's temple. How may I help you?"
"Surely it is the men who are helped here."
Eve smiled. "You would be surprised. Women also pray and make offerings." She nodded in the direction of two large side altars covered with round cakes. "These were brought only today by supplicants who seek Astoreth's blessings. Many want to gain or hold lovers. Others wish to conceive."
I studied the priestess curiously, trying to guess her age. The intelligent eyes were lit with humor as they returned my gaze. The priestess's skin was smooth, well cared for, but the bright lamplight revealed fine lines about her eyes and mouth--smile lines. I thought for a longing moment of my mother.
"I have served the goddess for twenty-five years," she said, as though answering my unspoken question.
"For you, it appears to be a good life."
"A very good life," she agreed, straightening a bouquet of marigolds on the altar. "Service to the goddess may last a year or a lifetime. That is up to us. Some choose to bear children and raise them here in the temple. Many priestesses are daughters of priestesses."
I was deeply shocked. Her words were contrary to all that I had observed in Judaea and Galilee. With the exception of Herodias--who could scarcely be counted--women's lives seemed highly circumscribed by tradition--traditions that men had established long ago and still sternly enforced. "But," I argued, "Yahweh--his priests--they cannot accept--"
"A woman making her own choices and enjoying them? No, that is rarely popular with men--even those who are not priests."
"Domina."
Rachel looked concerned. She was pulling gently at my arm. "
Dominus
would not like..."
Eve and I exchanged glances, both of us laughing. "Indeed he would not," I agreed.
"Why have you come to us?" the priestess asked.
"By chance. I am a follower of Isis."
"Ah, Isis," Eve nodded. "The great goddess over all. In the end, she is the one." The priestess studied me silently for a moment before speaking again. "There is no such thing as chance. During her long journey in search of Osiris, Isis was a prostitute. She has sent you to us now for a reason. I feel that you are troubled."
"Yes," I admitted. "There is someone--a friend--who once spoke much as you do. She is a follower of Isis who lives in a cruel world, not in a temple. Miriam was punished--punished terribly--for nothing more than accepting the path that had been forced upon her. Now she has disappeared and I am frightened for her. My slave," I nodded toward Rachel, "brought me here. She knew you would understand. Is there anything...?"
The priestess had been listening, nodding attentively. Now she threw a few grains of incense on the large copper brazier before the goddess. "Come," she said, taking hold of my hand and Rachel's, drawing us toward her. "Let us kneel. We will pray together."
A
S WE RODE HOME IN THE LITTER
, I
FELT
M
IRIAM'S PRESENCE CLOSE TO
me. She was safe and happy.
I knew it.
It was no surprise to find her at home sitting in my atrium. She was the old Miriam, too, a confident smile hovering about her full lips, the emerald fire back in her eyes.
"Astoreth must be a powerful goddess," I said, slipping off my mantle and sitting down to take her hands in mine. "One little prayer and here you are."
"Why not? Astoreth has always served me well. She is the aspect of Isis that I most adore."
I laughed lightly at her mock seriousness. "Somehow I knew that!" The twinkle was back in Miriam's eyes. I liked that, but something else about her puzzled me. Miriam had in some way changed. What was it? Her hair was again smartly coiffed, large pearls visible among the curls, but her gown--though cut to perfection and of the finest linen--was simple. Simple and white. "You look a bit like a Vestal," I said at last.
Miriam tipped her head back and laughed, the low throaty sound I remembered.
"A Vestal! Quite the opposite," she said at last. "I am very much of the world as always, but now something wonderful has happened. My world has changed. Soon the whole world will be changing. That is what I have come to tell you. I have met
him
--the man that you foresaw for me in your vision."
"For some women all it takes to set things right in their lives is a man, but I would never have thought that of you." I studied Miriam closer. She fairly sparkled. I had never seen her more beautiful. "I must admit, you look like a different person."
Miriam smiled happily. "I
am
a different person. I have met the messiah and he has healed me."
It was as though a sliver of ice pierced my heart. "Miriam, Miriam. The last messiah I encountered was a head on a platter."
Her face paled. "You mean John the Baptizer. He was the holy man I told you about, the one I sought. I followed him to the river Jordan, hoping that he would heal me, but when I reached John's encampment he was no longer there. Herod's men had taken him away. A great tragedy," she said, shaking her head sadly. "Some mistook him for the messiah," she went on to explain, "but they were wrong. John was a great prophet sent to prepare the way for the true son of Yahweh."
"I'm frightened for you," I said, leaning forward, my voice lowered. Anyone might be listening. Who knew these days? "Everybody in this country loves the idea of a messiah, yet no one wants to be confronted by the reality. The priests in Jerusalem are rich and powerful. The last thing they will tolerate is a challenge to their authority."
"I am too happy to argue about anything. The messiah has shown me a divine plan, I know it in my heart." Miriam smiled, leaning back against the cushions. "I have chattered long enough--tell me about you. The last time we met I was so full of my own woes that I did not even ask. Do you like Galilee? Are you happy here?"
"Happy?" I repeated, rising from the couch and looking out toward the lake. "What is happiness? I thought I knew once. I used to think, if only Pilate would be faithful--then I would be happy. How silly that all seems now. Pilate has changed in the past year. I doubt that there have been any other women. Amazing, is it not?" I sighed, forcing myself to continue. "It is I who am the adulterer. I lie in his bed recalling another man's kiss. Sometimes at night I even pretend that Pilate--"
Miriam got up, moved to the balcony beside me.
Reluctantly I turned to meet her eyes. "I am ashamed that I miss Holtan so much. Sometimes I feel that even a few hours with him would be worth any risk, any sacrifice."
"You will find your way, I know it," Miriam assured me, clasping my hands in hers. "In the meantime, I have come to invite you to a wedding--mine."