Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (32 page)

Smiling down at me, he said, "Once again I tell you, truth cannot be hidden by a simple gown."

Puzzled, I studied the face before me. Dark, intense eyes...eyes that seemed to...look into my soul. "It was in Egypt!" I exclaimed. "We met at the Iseneum. You told me your name then, but I had forgotten. Miriam's Jesus!" How familiar he looked, as though I had known him all my life. Why had I not recognized him? Then I realized, "You had no beard then."

"I was a boy...still searching."

"And now?"

A smile lit Jesus' face as he nodded. "I have discovered my
abba
in heaven. He was always there but for a time I knew him not."

"Your
abba
?" I asked. "What does
abba
mean?"

"It is much like your word '
tata
.'"

I looked at Jesus in surprise, "You feel so close to Yahweh that he is like your own father?"

"Yes." He nodded. "A very loving father." He smiled reassuringly. "My own people know him not. It is for me to show them the way back."

Before Jesus could say more, Mary appeared beside us, tugged at his sleeve, admonished, "There is no more wine!"

Jesus shrugged. "What has that to do with me?"

Clearly he did not want to be interrupted. Perhaps there was more that he wished to say to me, but Mary was not to be put off. "It has everything to do with you!" she said. "This wedding is your choice. These are your guests."

When Jesus merely smiled, Mary beckoned to a group of servants. "Do whatever my son tells you," she instructed them.

They looked questioningly at Jesus, who pointed to six large stone jars resting by a far wall. "Fill each of these to the brim with water."

I watched incredulously as the bewildered men followed his directions. Jesus thanked the servants with a pleasant smile and bade them draw water from the jars, then take it to his uncle Cleophas. Mary's jaw dropped. What kind of joke was this?

Turning back to me, Jesus took my hand. "You will see me again," he said before leaving to rejoin his friends. Jesus' manner was kind, but there was something unsettling about him. I thought back to our first meeting more than ten years before...a wise young man, gentle but confident, seeking his place in this world...or beyond it. But there was something else, something more. It was as though I possessed another memory, something ugly, frightening, that I could not quite recall.

"So you do know my son." Mary was still standing close by, her gaze now fixed on me.

"Not really. It was merely a chance encounter long ago."

Mary's melancholy eyes regarded the assembled guests. "An encounter," she repeated softly. "That is all any of these people are to me--except for a few relatives who took pity on my shame--my old uncle, Jesus' brothers and sisters. Those others..." She looked sadly at Jesus' table companions. "'Disciples,' he calls them. Small wonder we ran out of wine. Who knows where they come from! Some are illiterate fishermen, boys really, scarcely half his age. Another is a tax collector. A tax collector, mind you, in my brother's house! Jesus insists that he be welcomed like any other guest. Women, too, have begun to follow Jesus. Rabbis don't address their sermons to women! We are seated separately behind a curtain. Now Jesus invites everyone--men and women--to sit before him." She looked suspiciously at me. "I suppose you are a new one."

I shook my head emphatically, thinking once again of the Baptizer's tragic fate. "I assure you I am no disciple. I came only to be with my friend Miriam. Believe me, I would steal her away from here if I could."

"Then we are agreed on one thing. Last night he told me that this Miriam person will one day sit at his right hand in the house of Yahweh. Have you ever heard such blasphemy! It is all so terribly wrong. A woman such as that should not be his queen."

Tears coursed down Mary's pale cheeks. Instinctively I moved to shield her from view. Taking Mary's hand, I led her to the stone bench where I had been sitting. "Mothers are often sad when their sons marry," I reminded her.

"No, no, you do not understand. You cannot understand. Long ago I had a vision. It was revealed to me that Jesus was born to fulfill a prophecy. His is a wonderful destiny, but also a terrible one. No mother should feel such sorrow, bear such loss." Mary buried her face in her hands.

I put my arms about her, stroking her back until she was still. At last Mary disengaged herself, slipped a linen cloth from the pouch at her waist, and dabbed at the tears. "Do you have children?" she surprised me by asking.

"Yes, one. A little girl."

"That is nice," she said. "Promise me that you will enjoy every moment with her. The time is so short." She sat silently for a while, seemingly lost in thought. When Mary turned her gaze on me again, her expression was apologetic. "You must think me a terrible hostess, unburdening myself to you, a stranger."

"Sometimes I think it easier to talk with strangers. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Yes." Mary looked into my eyes. "I know that."

We were silent for a time and then Mary spoke. "Do you ever think that..." she hesitated, began again. "Do you think it possible that visions can be false, that bad things do not
have
to happen?"

"I have often hoped so."

When Mary said nothing, I ventured at last, "You will learn to love Miriam. She is a wonderful woman, wise and kind and full of humor."

Mary shook her head in disagreement. "Surely you must have heard that her family cast her out."

"Is there any family that does not have a scandal hidden somewhere?"

To my surprise Mary's face turned white. "What do you mean? What have you heard? We are a fine family! I have done nothing wrong! People don't understand--"

Just then the flutes and drums sounded. Miriam emerged from the house. She wore a gown of the sheerest linen, the color of rich cream, exquisitely fashioned, but simple. Her only adornment a crown of white flowers twined with olive leaves. The assembled crowd turned toward her, their expressions curious, appraising, often openly hostile. Seemingly oblivious, Miriam moved forward, swaying gracefully as she approached an arched canopy at the back of the courtyard. Jesus was led to her side by his companions. A few of the men didn't look much happier than Mary. I wondered if they were not a little jealous of Jesus' love for Miriam. I thought longingly of Holtan, remembered the adoration of Marcella and Quintus, of Mother and
Tata
.

Beside me, Mary struggled to control her tears. I signaled to a passing servant to bring water. In his place a portly, well-dressed gentleman approached, introducing himself to me as Mary's brother. "I am Cleophas," he said, putting a large jar down on the table beside us. Red-faced from the effort but smiling, he filled our cups from the jar. To my surprise, it was not water at all but a rich red wine.

I accepted the cup curiously. "I thought you were out of wine."

"Taste it," he replied, smiling even more broadly. "Everybody I know serves his best wine first and then brings out the poor stuff, but our Jesus has kept back the good wine until now."

Miriam and Jesus stood together under a silken canopy, sipping from cups that had been offered them. As the flutes began again Miriam circled Jesus in a slow, twining dance--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven times around.

"The bride binds them together, creating a family circle," Mary explained to me. "Such a tie cannot be broken," she added sadly.

The music faded as Miriam stepped forward. Addressing the assembled group, she spoke softly, yet all could hear:

"I am the first and the last

I am the honored one and the scorned one,

I am the whore and the holy one..."

The assembled group gasped. What kind of wedding vow was that? I doubted that any of them had ever heard the sacred words of Isis, yet how perfectly they fit the moment. A shiver ran through my body.
An earthly union of Isis and Yahweh.

"You are my beloved, you are my bride," Jesus replied, pulling Miriam to him and kissing her full on the lips.

A man stepped forward, black-bearded with fore curls dark as the robes he wore. Kneeling before them, he placed a clay drinking cup on the ground. Jesus kissed Miriam once again, then ground the cup slowly beneath his heel.

"What does that mean?" I asked Rachel, who was now standing beside me. Mary answered. "It is a reminder of the fragility of life, a reminder that there is sorrow even in times of joy."

The music began again, drums, flutes, lutes, and sistra. People stood uncertainly, looking at each another. "It is done, he has made his choice. She is his bride," Mary said softly. "Nothing can change what must now follow."

Sitting at Mary's side, I saw Jesus turn his gaze to her. A long look passed between them. How close son and mother were, even in their differences. At last Mary nodded silently. She rose, unexpectedly taking my hand and pulling me forward toward the canopy, gesturing for others to follow. One by one, group by group, they did so. Everywhere guests and servants were clasping each other's hands, dancing now, encircling the wedding couple, singing a lively, vigorous song that I knew not but hummed happily. Everyone, even Mary--
especially
Mary--seemed to possess a sense of love and hope, a joyous knowing that we were as one in this moment. Round and round we danced, everything a glorious haze, rich and sparkling like the miraculous wedding wine. Lovely Miriam, gown spiraling about her, Jesus at her side, strong and handsome. Rachel and Joanna, eyes bright and eager, disciples singing lustily, jealous tittering women smiling now, faces soft and kind.

I whirled and whirled until all was a blur. At its center only the face of Jesus, eyes dark and wonderful, his lips smiling, smiling, smiling.
No!
In that instant, Jesus' face changed, everything changed. I closed my eyes, struggled to hold the picture of a happy young man wearing a crown of flowers, but now the crown had turned to thorns.

P
ilate returned from his hunting trip in a festive mood. He'd slain a large bear, soon to be a rug for me. Poor creature. More significantly, he'd stopped at Herod's palace on the way back and found Barabbas languishing in the dungeon. Once again he'd been captured. Pilate was delighted. The fiercest kind of Zealot, a
Sicarri,
Barabbas had killed not only Roman soldiers but Jews he regarded as Roman sympathizers, people who in his opinion had strayed too far from the traditional ways. He was a wild man, hero to some, terrorist to others. I was reminded of the bear.

That evening as I prepared for bed, my husband came up behind me, wrapping his arms about my waist. "Did you miss me?" he asked.

"Of course," I murmured, praying this wasn't a lead-in to questions about my activities in his absence.

Fortunately, he had something else on his mind. "I heard a strange story at Herod's today," he said, slipping off his sandals.

"Don't tell me someone else has been beheaded?"

"More bizarre than that," he said, pulling me down on the couch beside him. "Chuza--the steward--has lost his wife. She's run off to follow one of those messiahs. Joanna's her name--do you remember her? An attractive blond women, a little on the plump side." Pilate paused, head to one side, smiling wryly. "A few months of living off the land should take care of that."

I remembered Joanna as I'd seen her last, joyously dancing in the courtyard. Perhaps I was staring into space, for Pilate took my chin in his hand, raised it slightly to look into my eyes.

"What kind of woman leaves her husband?"

I shrugged, trying to back away from his gaze. "An unhappy woman, perhaps a searching woman."

Pilate shook his head impatiently. "Joanna had a good life. Her husband is well favored by Herod. What could possibly have been missing from her life?"

"Someone should have asked her."

Reaching for the flagon beside the couch, Pilate splashed wine into my glass. He didn't cut it with water in the usual way. "Claudia,
you
are not searching?" His blue eyes fastened on mine. "There is nothing...missing in your life?"

I thought of Joanna's courage as I smiled up at him. "I have a good life. What could possibly be missing?"

T
O MY SURPRISE
P
ILATE URGED ME TO ACCOMPANY HIM ON AN OUTING
to Sepphoris. A series of minor uprisings had delayed Barabbas's trial, but finally Pilate had scheduled it. Though I was not to attend the trial, he wanted me to make the trip with him. We would see a play or two at the city's famed amphitheater and explore the countryside on horseback. Fearing that someone might recognize me from my previous visit, I busied myself fabricating possible explanations. Fortunately, the one person who did recognize me was not likely to tell my husband.

While Pilate's court was in session, Rachel and I, accompanied by an honor guard, wandered through the busy streets. Crowds pushed and shoved in all directions as they examined oranges and dates, amphorae of wine and olive oil, stacks of carpets, and shelves of carvings. What stopped me was a cry: "Mud! Mud! Dead Sea mud! It's the best in the world!"

Tucked in between a spice shop and a storyteller was a booth with bright orange awnings fringed with gold. Its shelves were filled with pottery vessels containing thick, black mud. Why would anyone buy that? I wondered, looking from one elegantly painted container to another.

"You don't need it--
yet
, but Herodias swears by it." A familiar voice spoke up behind me. "She has a mud facial every day and swears it keeps her young. Such foolishness!"

To my amazement I turned to find Joanna standing beside me. Pilate was right; she did look more svelte.

"With your husband officiating at the trial, I thought I might see you here," she said, taking my hand.

I laughed. "You were the last person I expected to see; I thought you'd be far away." Eagerly I added, "Is Miriam here?"

"No, she and Jesus are visiting friends in Bethany. He has asked some of us to go out on our own for a time. We are to serve as examples while spreading his word."

"Surely you aren't traveling alone?"

"No, my companion is Simon, one of the disciples." She nodded to a man in black who stood at a distance watching intently, his sharp, narrow face angrily contorted. He seemed to be glaring at me.

"What a fierce-looking fellow. What example is he supposed to be setting?"

"He is a little different from the rest," Joanna admitted. "They call him Simon the Zealot. Today his heart is heavy for his friend Barabbas."

"You're traveling with a
Sicarius
! Aren't you frightened?"

"He isn't one anymore. Not every Zealot is a
Sicarius,
but of course they are all jealous for Yahweh--that's what makes them Zealots. They desire freedom above all else. No more Roman gods, no more Roman taxes."

"Perhaps...in that kingdom of heaven you people talk about, but it won't happen in
this
world." I looked anxiously around, relieved that my guardsmen were temporarily distracted by a street fight. Pilate would have Simon imprisoned in a heartbeat, Joanna too. I turned back to Joanna. "Are you happy?" I asked her. "Do you ever miss Chuza or your old life?"

"Never," she assured me. "Every day I see miracles. The master has made the blind see and the crippled walk. One day he fed five thousand people with only three loaves and two fishes."

Hmmmm. Faith in Isis sometimes healed people, but as for that other miracle...I'd have to see it for myself to believe. "How is Miriam?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Radiantly happy. She hopes to have a baby, but the midwives think it unlikely given her history."

I thought of the young woman I'd first met years before at the Asklepion, so sure of what she did and didn't want. "What about Jesus? Does he mind?"

"Not at all. He tells her that all children are their children and all the children that will follow. The master favors Miriam above all others. He confides in her, tells her things that he tells no one else." Joanna paused in thought. "Sometimes that makes her sad."

"Sad!" I exclaimed, my own longings making me impatient. "She is with the man she loves. How can she be sad?"

Simon still watched me angrily. He looked ready to pull a
sicarius
from his sleeve at any moment and hold me for ransom. For once, I was grateful for my guards, who had begun to eye him suspiciously. Previously instructed by me to maintain a distance, I saw them edging closer. Bidding Joanna a hasty farewell, I wished her Isis's blessings and moved on.

By the time we reached the governmental palace, Barabbas's trial was over. It had ended, as everyone knew it would, with a conviction. "What will happen to him?" I asked Pilate. "What always happens?" he shrugged. For a political criminal there was only one punishment. The ugliest and most humiliating. Barabbas would be crucified.

P
ILATE AND
I
RETURNED TO A TRANQUIL LIFE IN
T
IBERIUS
. I
SPENT AS
much time as possible with Marcella, sailing with her on the lake, building sand castles, reading endless stories, basking in her smiles and laughter. Before my eyes, my daughter was changing from a toddler into a spunky little girl.

One day followed the next, weeks, months. I thought often of Miriam, wondering if I would ever see her again. How will you live? I'd asked her. "Off the land with Jesus," her reply. Child's talk, I thought, and said so. Miriam had merely laughed. "We'll be rich in all that matters," she assured me. I felt a sharp sting of envy. To be with one's love for however short a time...

And then early one evening, I slipped away. Leaving Marcella with Rachel, I went to the room that had become my shrine. It was twilight, the shadows lengthening. Tossing a few grains of incense onto the brazier, I knelt before a golden statue of the goddess. Looking up at Isis's face, strong yet so full of compassion, I imagined her searching the world for the fragments of her beloved Osiris. I felt her anguish and rapture as she sought his hands and his heart, his thighs, his belly, his beloved face. Isis had found them, gathered them to her until he was warm once more, roused to life, eager to fill her womb.

Mother Isis, I can stand it no longer. I must see Holtan.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I
SAT IN MY WEAVING ROOM LOOKING ABSENTLY AT
the lake's sparkling waters caught in early sunlight.

"Your design goes well," Rachel said from behind me. I hadn't heard her enter. "Marcella will love her new tunica."

I glanced up at the pegged skeins of woolen thread. Reds and purples, oranges and yellows, snared by a sudden shaft of sun, blazed dizzily. I reached for a loop of pale rose spun fine as hair. "What do you want?"

"Only to serve,
Domina
."

I looked around suspiciously. Rachel had brought in a bouquet of flowers, was arranging them on the table beside me, her face hidden. "Out with it!" I said, grabbed her arm, pulled her toward me. "Tell me now!" The flowers scattered, slipping unheeded to the floor.

Rachel sighed. "A beggar approached me in the marketplace. He had a message..."

I dropped the shuttle. "Holtan!" I exclaimed, turning to face her. "I know it's from Holtan." Thank you, Mother Isis. Thank you.

Rachel hesitated. "Oh,
Domina
...your husband loves you. Marcella--"

"Tell me!"

"There's to be an exhibition combat, in Cyprus..."

"Cyprus, so near...when?"

"The Ides of April."

"That's perfect! A holiday's coming up. Passover, isn't it? Thousands of pilgrims will be pouring into Jerusalem from everywhere. Pilate's few hundred men will be hard pressed to maintain order. He'll be too busy to notice where I am."

Rachel dropped to her knees. "
Domina, Domina,
where is your sight now?"

I pulled away impatiently. "Never mind the sight! I don't care about the future, I only want to be with Holtan now. Was there more to his message?"

"He'll come to Caesarea from Cyprus. He wants you to meet him there. He even wants you to bring Marcella. He says he has a plan--oh,
Domina,
don't do it," Rachel begged, tears filling her eyes. "You have a fine life. Don't go, and please don't take our Marcella."