The Centurion's Wife (11 page)

Alban clambered up the sidewall of a shuttered tavern and stood upon the roof. Crowds completely filled every lane and avenue and alley. The ones on the stretch of road below him were all male. To his right, another lane was packed with women, as though they had segregated the very city in one silent maneuver. Every person he could see faced toward the Temple compound. The women covered their faces with the shawls draped over their heads. The men wore strange woven cloths with tasseled edges over their heads and shoulders. Though they held texts in their hands, few of them actually seemed to be reading. In fact, most everyone had eyes not merely shut but
clenched tight.
They dipped their heads in time to their droning voices. A great heaving mass of people, moving back and forth where they stood, murmuring in one gigantic voice.

The sun had descended below the western hills. The Temple itself seemed to hover above the city, drifting upon a cloud of golden dust and the chanting voices, more connected to the golden-blue sky than to the earth.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Antonia Fortress, Jerusalem

BY THE TIME ALBAN had made his way to the Antonia Fortress, the city was shrouded in the shadows of dusk. He’d become lost twice in the winding ways and had to search for someone to direct him. The empty streets only heightened his disquiet over the ethereal scenes of religious fervor he had just witnessed at sunset.

The tavern across from the fortress was the only establishment along the market lane still open. Linux, however, was nowhere to be found. The aromas of cooking food were enticing, and Alban ordered a flatbread filled with roast lamb and carried it with him up to the fortress baths. His body ached from the day and his mind from the burden of questions with no answers.

He paused in the passage between the entry and the changing rooms. As was customary for Roman baths, three alcoves held statues dedicated to minor deities—Abundantia, goddess of good fortune; Epona, goddess of good health; and Moneta, goddess of prosperity. The vessels before each idol held mostly
lepta
, the smallest coins, often tossed in with a laugh or jest. Alban had seldom even noticed such idols, they were such a common part of life among the Romans. Today, however, his mind still vibrated from the echoes of fervent prayer.

In the past he had visited the Capernaum synagogue and seen fleeting glimpses of the occasional man draped in his prayer shawl, rocking to and fro as he prayed. Alban had never witnessed an actual Sabbath service, of course. Or a festival like this one. He frowned at the figures in their small shrines. Who was to determine which was the god men should turn to?

The new baths were a true Roman affair, with room for half Alban’s garrison in the caldarium alone. He discovered Linux in the steam room. The air was thick with vapor and the smell of healing unguents. Linux sat with his elbows planted on his knees and a towel draped over his head. He gave no sign he noticed Alban settling in beside him until he muttered, “Every time I leave this city I swear I won’t return. But here I am. Ordered by the prelate to remain here for how long I don’t know. And it’s your fault.”

“Sorry,” Alban said, though in truth he was glad for an ally within the city walls.

“I’m commanded to expedite your every request. Me, a prince of the realm.”

Alban felt the welcome heat of the baths begin to work its way through his weary muscles. “It’s your brother who’s the prince.”

“A trifling detail. His black heart can’t keep beating forever.”

Alban shrugged. It was a soldier’s right to complain. Often it was his only defense against orders not to his liking. Alban wiped his sweating face and said, “I became trapped by the crowds.”

An unknown voice carried through the chamber’s fragrant mist. “You didn’t know enough to get back before sundown?”

“The centurion has never been to Jerusalem before, and I forgot to warn him about the Sabbaths during festivals.” Linux wiped his own face. “We arrived from Caesarea just after midday today.”

“The crowds were unlike anything I have ever seen in my life.” Alban felt another surge of sweat with the memory. “I climbed on a roof. You know what I thought when I surveyed the mob?”

Linux looked at him for the first time. “An army?”

“The fact is, they seem to move as one.” He shut his eyes and again saw the crowd and heard their murmurs wash over him like waves of a human sea. The chants themselves were not alarming, but the sound
as of one voice
held implications of a power he could neither understand nor truly describe.

Alban finally realized why Pilate was so concerned about revolution. The man ruled this province with one irregular legion, mostly mercenaries, few fully trained. Against him stood a people who were united only by prayer. But united with a mysterious bond totally foreign to any Roman Alban knew.

Roman gods were fickle allies to be bribed into cooperation, at least temporarily. Many of his own Gauls worshiped certain trees and hilltops, or spoke of faeries and wood sprites by name. But nowhere had Alban seen anything like the way these people worshiped. The intensity they shared, the passion. They truly
believed
. All they needed was one voice, one man to claim the right to lead them. And every Roman in Judaea and the whole province would be swept into the sea.

Alban spoke almost to himself, “If they can be so joined by a simple act like prayer, think what would transpire if they decided to revolt.”

The voice from the sauna’s other side held a veteran’s gruffness. “Where are you stationed, centurion?”

“Capernaum.”

Alban saw through the mist a man rise and head for the exit. “Every arriving soldier should be brought to Jerusalem for a week,” he growled over his shoulder. “It’s the only way to understand the threat we face here.”

When the door shut behind the departing soldier, Linux stood and walked through the steam, making a circuit of the entire chamber. He returned to sit beside Alban and whispered, “I was not able to find your Atticus or the guards.”

“If the sauna is empty, why do you whisper?”

“You really are a provincial, centurion. Pilate was right to have me watch your back. Without me, you would perish within the hour.”

“I made it back from the high priest’s house, no thanks to you.” But Alban made sure his tone held no malice.

“I fear I deserve that.” Linux leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs. “The fortress commandant spent a good half hour dressing me down, if that’s any consolation.”

“What did you do?”

“Other than breathe the air of this pestilent city, I have no idea. I asked around in the guardroom where I might find the two who had been stationed at the tomb. I might have been talking to the floor beneath our feet.”

“They refused to help you?”

“They claimed to know nothing. I then asked the duty officer where I would find the centurion Atticus. The officer didn’t know, he said. The next thing I knew, the commandant had sent his aide with two armed legionnaires to fetch me. The commandant demanded to know why I was pestering his men.” Linux rose to his feet. “Come, my provincial friend. It’s time we cooled off.”

Alban followed Linux into the cooled waters of the smaller bath, its water piped directly from an underground spring. After rinsing off, they chose an alcove at the far end from the entrance. Alban asked, keeping his voice low, “What can you tell me of the commandant?”

“He’s a veteran campaigner. He earned the rank of tribune in battle. This tribune also asked me who rode one of Pilate’s own horses. He knows his steeds, that man, and he has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“But why did it seem as though he might arrest you?”

Linux dragged the towel over his handsome features. “Before commanding the Jerusalem fortress, he served the governor in Damascus.”

“Ah.” Alban nodded his understanding. Originally Judaea had been under the direct command of the regional governor in Damascus. Nine years earlier, Emperor Tiberius had changed all that when news of a possible Judaean revolt alarmed him greatly. Not because of Judaea’s strategic importance, which was paltry, but rather because of all the Judaeans living throughout the entire Roman Empire. Tiberius feared the prospect of such a revolt spreading through the realm and toppling his own rule. So the emperor elevated Judaea to full provincial status, personally choosing his ally Pontius Pilate to become its new governor. He refused to submit Pilate’s name for senate approval and ordered the prelate to answer directly to him, which enraged the senate.

It also enraged Herod’s brother, who lost his governorship. A man loyal to Damascus was a natural enemy to Pontius Pilate. And vice versa.

Linux went on, “The tribune demanded to know why we had been sent here during the busiest period of the year. He could not grasp how Pilate would place such importance on one more bothersome Judaean, particularly one who was already dead. I’m probably only here because I found opportunity to tell him about your authorizations from Pilate himself.” Linux leaned his head against the tiled wall. “One more thing I can tell you for certain: The tribune hates Gauls.”

The next day, Leah left Pilate’s Jerusalem residence and walked around the outer wall to the corner and to the main portal of Herod’s adjoining palace. It included a fortress that guarded the Jaffa Gate into the city, and the grounds contained vast ornamental gardens. The whole complex was so large Herod Antipas had offered Pilate one wing as his own Jerusalem residence, an attempt to strengthen their alliance.

Unlike Pilate, Herod permanently staffed each palace. He loved to rub the noses of his Judaean subjects in his lavish way of living. Pilate was conservative with his money and left only a few trusted older servants in his absences.

Leah exchanged greetings with the guards. Notorious for troubling the young and pretty, Herod’s guards left Leah alone. The two men only nodded and saluted as they opened the wide outer door to her. She gave her name to the first servant who passed, and settled onto the bench used by supplicants seeking Herod’s aid.

Enos, Herod’s chief of staff, appeared shortly, looking shocked to find her waiting on the supplicants’ bench. “What, pray tell, are you doing out here, Leah my dear?”

“Resting.”

“This won’t do at all. Come with me.” Enos snapped his fingers at a passing slave. “Bring water for washing and wine and food.”

“Not wine, please,” Leah said. “I’m afraid I would sleep and not wake up again.”

“Tea, then,” he called to the slave. “And hurry or I’ll give you the lashing you’ve been asking for.” Enos sniffed as the maid scurried away. “As if they ever learn the meaning of the word hurry.”

In a household known for every possible excess, where pleasure was the only idol to be worshiped, Enos was a curiosity. He had the look of an ascetic and wore only white. He was as lean as a whippet, and his nose thrust out from his cavernous face like a great hawk’s beak. He wore his thinning hair in a long silver tail that trailed over his right shoulder. Yet his simple robes were of the finest material, and his skin gleamed from daily baths and rich ointments. Herod’s slaves were terrified of him, yet to Leah he had always appeared friendly enough. Even so, Leah was certain that given opportunity for personal gain, Enos would sell her to Parthian slavers for a handful of silver.

There was only one thing that Enos loved more than money. And that was gossip.

Enos ignored Leah’s protests and ordered the maid to wash her feet, as for a visiting noble. When the maid was gone and a table by the central fountain had been spread with food and tea, he said, “Weren’t you too ill to travel here with the governor?”

“That was the previous time. I’m well now.”

“Indeed. You do look healthy—if you were one of my maids I’d suspect you had been faking to avoid Jerusalem during the festival season.” But his tone was jovial.

“That is not my way.”

“No, you never were one to shirk your duties. Unlike my own servants. Procula is fortunate to have you.” He folded his hands and leaned toward her in a familiar manner. “How is your lovely mistress? Recovered, I hope.”

“Her headaches come and go. Actually, she is here.”

He showed genuine shock. “What, back in Jerusalem?”

“It is not an official visit.”

“You’re certain? You can’t be wrong about this!”

Enos’s visible unease was justified. Throughout the Roman Empire, governors were the center of social, political, and financial life. Pilate’s official presence would require the city’s governing structure to shift drastically.

Leah replied, “The prelate will not arrive for another week or more.”

The head of Herod’s household blew out a sigh and relaxed. “Why is
she
here?”

“My mistress seeks information about the crucified prophet. She is hoping you might be able to help her.”

Leah had half expected the man to dismiss her out of hand. Instead Herod’s servant gave his nose a thoughtful rub. “She was having dreams.”

Leah did not bother asking how the man knew. “Nightmares.”

“About that man Jesus.”

“Yes.”

Enos continued to rub his giant beak. “The prophet may be dead, but he continues to trouble others as well. How much do you know of Caiaphas?”

“The high priest? Very little, in fact.”

“Caiaphas was actually appointed to the position by Gratus, the governor who preceded Pilate. I have never known anyone to love gold as much as that man.”

Leah blinked. To have Enos make such a statement was astonishing indeed. “So Caiaphas bribed Gratus for the job?”

Enos smiled indulgently at her. “What a delightful young woman you are.
Everyone
bribed Gratus. He actually sold the position of high priest to five different people. Only Caiaphas was devious and powerful enough to actually hold on to the job. I have heard the amount he paid to Pilate to keep the job was his own weight in Temple gold. But that is not the only reason he still holds the position today. Caiaphas is the son-in-law of Annas, who was a high priest before him. Annas remains the most powerful man on the Sanhedrin.”