The Centurion's Wife (13 page)

Alban remained silent and waited. He marveled that the man could speak so coherently after the amount of ale he’d obviously consumed.

“His father was worse still. Do you know Herod the Great heard about the birth of this Jesus from Magi who claimed to have read the signs in the stars? Herod the Great’s own advisers found writings in old Judaean scrolls that spoke of a king rising from a lowly birth. That Herod had every male infant in the boy’s village slaughtered.” The centurion drank deeply, swiped his mouth and beard with a filthy sleeve, then added, “The things you hear in this city are enough to curdle a man’s gut.”

Alban asked, more softly this time, “What happened, old friend?”

“I was there.”

“Where?”

“Golgotha.” He drank again. “If I could have the day to do over, I would abandon my post and flee the city.”

“I was told you saw the prophet crucified.”

He drained the mug and shouted for another. The innkeeper was ready this time, for scarcely had the centurion raised his voice when another foaming goblet was set upon the stained table. But when the soldier reached for it, Alban clamped his hand on the soldier’s arm.

The centurion’s face darkened. But just as suddenly, the fight went out of him. He slumped forward, seeming to curve inward around a hollow core. “You know what they’re saying now?”

“Who?”

Atticus swept his free arm in a broad circle, taking in the entire city. “Some of the Judaeans. Three days after it happened, I was down in the Lower City. I heard them talking about how the body had disappeared from a sealed tomb. Some claimed the prophet had simply swooned. That he wasn’t actually dead when we took him down.”

Alban admitted, “I’ve heard that too.”

This time, when Atticus tugged, Alban released the arm. Atticus lifted the mug, then lowered it back to the table. “I’ve seen death. We were sent to do a job. There were three of them crucified that day, two thieves and the prophet. I was in charge. Do you think I’d walk away without being certain?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I watched him die.” The man slumped further still. “The Judaeans were frantic about getting the three of them down before their Sabbath. My men broke the legs of the other two. But when they came to the prophet, he was gone. When we took him down, he was cold, rigid. No blood flowed. I swear to that.”

“I need to know what you haven’t told the others.” Alban leaned closer. “Pilate has ordered me to learn if there is a threat against Rome. He worries that the prophet’s disciples stole the body to start such rumors and cause the people to revolt.”

The older centurion gave no sign that he had even heard.

“You’re my oldest friend in Judaea,” Alban tried again. “I need to know—”

“It haunts me.” The words were a groan wrenched from the man’s core. “Every time I shut my eyes I’m back on my horse on that cursed hill. Before we hung him on that cross.”

Alban sat and waited.

“The streets were packed with the festival crowds. I was on horseback. They saw me and got out of the way. They’d heard of the scourging and the Sanhedrin’s threats and Pilate’s decisions. News travels fast as the wind in Jerusalem. They knew, and they stood aside, and they wept. They reached out to touch the prophet as he passed. They were weeping and wailing and tearing their garments. The sound chills my bones.”

Alban did not move or breathe. Did not even blink.

Finally Atticus dragged in an uneven breath. “We made him carry his cross for a time, but he was torn apart by the scourging. So I had one of my men pull in someone from the crowd. We brought Jesus to Golgotha, and it seemed like the entire city was there. We nailed him to the cross. The people screamed like we were hammering the nails into their souls. He hung there for a few hours. Not long. Then it happened.”

This time, when Atticus did not continue, Alban pressed with quiet urgency, “Tell me.”

“He called out to his father. Since that moment, night after night I hear the man’s cry echoing in my soul. He speaks like no man I have ever heard before. He invites one of the thieves to join him that very night in the heavens. He asks his father to forgive us. He asks his father why he is forsaken. And then he says three final words:
It is finished
. And he leaves.”

Alban felt a tight wind, as strong and silent and cold as death itself, drift through his chest. “You mean, he dies.”

Atticus looked directly at him for the first time, an emptiness in his eyes. “I mean, he leaves. He is gone. Like it was his own will—his decision.” He dropped his gaze back to the table between them. “The sky darkens, like the breath of life is sucked from the entire world. The earth shakes.”

“I heard there was a storm.”

“Not
was
.” Atticus’s fist struck the scarred wood. “The storm is with me still.”

Alban rose from the table. “Come. I will take you back to the fortress.”

“There is nothing for me there.” But the older centurion did not struggle when Alban gripped his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Alban did not speak further because he knew Atticus would not hear him. Even if Pilate’s seal was not enough to gain him clear answers, at least he could repay a friend’s favor by bringing him back from the abyss.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Pilate’s Palace, Jerusalem

JUST OVER A WEEK after their arrival at the governor’s palace in Jerusalem, Leah was summoned from the kitchen with news she had a visitor. Leah had never been called on by anyone save the occasional merchant and one Temple guard who had spied her on the street and wished to pay court. Leah had made it abundantly clear she had no interest in his attention. Today, as soon as she entered the courtyard foyer, she knew the one awaiting her came from Herod’s household. The lovely young woman possessed a knowing gaze far beyond her years. She was dressed in the Greek style, including a lined outer garment and a necklace of semiprecious stones. “You are the one they call Leah?”

“Yes, I am.”

She dismissed Leah’s simple cotton garb with a condescending glance. “My master wishes to speak with you.”

“King Herod has arrived?”

“Of course not
him
. Enos bids you attend him immediately.”

“One moment.” Leah hurried back to her alcove in the servants’ quarters and drew out a plain grey hooded robe. The summons from Enos could mean one thing only—he had discovered where the dead prophet’s disciples were hiding and would give her directions. Leah wanted to begin her explorations in a modest and inconspicuous fashion.

Herod’s servant gave a sniff at Leah’s choice of outer garment. “Come.”

The morning had started dark and blustery, and it still threatened rain. The maid did not speak to Leah again. They hurried back down the hillside avenue. The palace guard saw them coming and held open the main outer portal. As soon as they passed through the inner doors, the maid called, “She is here.”

The plaintive tone that responded was all too familiar, though Leah could not see Enos. “Could you possibly have taken any longer?”

The maid adopted a tone as pained as the head servant’s. “She insisted on dressing herself for the visit.”

“Come on then. No, not you. Over here, Leah.” The maid sniffed a final time and disappeared. Enos complained, “As if I had nothing else to do with my day but wait on your convenience.”

Leah remained where she was. The double portals led into one of the palace’s receiving rooms. Like everything else about Herod’s residence, it was so ornate as to appear garish. Enos stood by an inner window, and in the dim light a figure knelt upon the carpet before him. Leah had seen the position well enough for her own stomach to clench with dread. The figure was clearly female, with long black hair spilling about her. The robe she wore was as plain as Leah’s, which was odd, for everyone else in Herod’s household tended to dress as flamboyantly as their master. Yet the woman was clearly a servant, for she remained in the position adopted for punishment. Enos held a supple cane and tapped it lightly against his other hand. Leah had seen it applied all too often. In her recent fevered state, she had dreamed about it, and though she had never felt the cane herself, she had heard herself scream.

Leah’s voice was low but clear. “I have no desire to witness this.”

“Oh, do behave sensibly and come in. I have far better ways to spend my hours than delaying a simple lashing.” He smiled thinly as the woman at his feet shuddered. “This troublesome slave ran away. Didn’t you—what’s your name?”

“Yes, master. I’m . . . I am Nedra.” The voice that spoke was not young. Nor, another oddity, did it hold the typical mixture of whining and terror.

“I knew she was gone, but I had not yet alerted the authorities,” Enos said. “Yesterday she went away on an errand. She did not return. But some of our maids can slip away from time to time. So long as Herod is not here, I grant them a bit of freedom. I am far too indulgent, I know.” He tapped the cane once more against his open palm. “I do hate the sight of blood. It upsets the other household help.”

The woman at his feet trembled but did not speak. Normally by this point the slave to be punished would be reaching for the master’s feet, begging and pleading for a mercy that seldom came.

“Then what happens,” he continued, “but the slave returns this morning. Alone. And she tells me the most curious thing. Didn’t you, Nedra?” When the slave remained silent, he prodded her with the cane. “Tell our guest what you told me.”

“They . . . they ordered me to return, master.” Her voice shook but the words were clear.

“And who, pray tell, told you to do that?”

“The prophet’s disciples. They said . . .”

“Yes, go on. We are fascinated by what you are telling us. What could these riffraff possibly have told you that would have forced you to return, knowing the punishment that awaited you?”

“They said, sir, that I must remain in my earthly position until the Messiah brings our final freedom.”

Enos studied the kneeling woman, then turned to Leah and asked, “Do you have any idea what she is talking about?”

Leah shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving the kneeling figure.

“And yet I have the strange feeling that the slave speaks the truth. At least, as much truth as she is capable of.” He tapped her back but not hard. “Nedra, listen carefully to what I have to say. This young woman’s name is Leah. She wishes to go to the prophet’s disciples. You will take her, do you hear me? This is not a request. You will take her, and you will do whatever she asks of you.”

The woman did not move. She appeared not to be breathing.

“Do this, and I will be gentle with you. I will show you mercy you do not deserve.” When the woman did not respond, he tapped her again with the cane. “Tell me you understand.”

“I hear you, master.”

“Now tell me you will obey.”

“I will do as you say.”

Enos’s lips drew down as he glanced at Leah and shrugged, clearly having expected more of a struggle. Either that or the woman’s unearthly calm unsettled him as it certainly did Leah. He started to say something further, then shook his head and told her, “You may rise.”

Nedra unsteadily got to her feet, then stood with head downcast. Enos flicked the supple cane, causing the air to whistle around the woman. The slave flinched but did not move. He warned, “Your fate depends upon your doing exactly as I ordered.”

“It will be as you said, master.”

“Wait for Leah by the outer gate.” When the door shut behind her, he said, “I’d heard the man had secret followers everywhere. But never, not in my wildest dreams, did I expect to find one here in Herod’s house.”

“They sent her back?” Leah still could not fathom it.

This was troubling Enos as well, Leah knew. “You will tell me if you find something that explains what we just heard, yes?”

“Of course.” Leah took that as a dismissal and bowed. “Thank you for your help. My mistress will be most grateful.”

“Wait, I’m not finished.” He pointed to a scroll unrolled across the nearby table. “Word came this morning from my master. Herod bids me to make preparations for your betrothal.”

Had it not been for what she had just witnessed, Leah would have wailed aloud at the news. Instead she saw herself in the slave’s position upon the floor, kneeling and helpless, awaiting the lash. She shivered and did not speak.

Enos went on, “Herod travels here with Pilate. They arrive in three days. The betrothal is to take place the following week.”

Leah feared if she tried to speak she would retch. She turned silently for the door.

“One further moment.” When Leah paused and looked back at him, Enos showed his thin, humorless smile. “It is customary at such moments to reward those who do your bidding.”

Leah fumbled at her waist and drew out more coins. They disappeared as quickly as they glinted in her palm.

Nedra stood in submissive patience by the gate. The daylight had strengthened somewhat, though the sky remained shrouded in gloom. The slave’s eyes were a remarkable combination of sorrow and calm.

Leah sought something to say that might partly erase what she had just witnessed. “You were very brave to return.”

The slave merely turned to the open portal, ignored the guard, and started down the hill. Leah hurried to walk abreast of her. “I want you to know, I do not mean you or your fellow disciples any harm.” The woman gave no sign she had heard.

At the juncture of the palace avenue and another of Jerusalem’s many crowded lanes, the slave stopped and turned to Leah. “Enos loves to inflict pain almost as much as he enjoys ruling with fear.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

“I have seen women beaten until their ribs were exposed. I have seen . . .” Nedra shuddered and blinked, dislodging a tear. “And yet he let me go unpunished.”

“I told you, I intend no harm either—”

“Listen to what I am saying, I beg you. I did not agree to bring you because of my master’s threats.” Even though her dark eyes remained filled with tears, they burned into Leah’s. “My brethren told me that the Lord our God would protect me this day.”

Leah’s mind floundered over what she was hearing. “Your . . .

brethren?”

“They said I must return to Herod, and I could trust in the Lord God to be my shield and protector.” Another blink, another tear, then, “They said this was the season of miracles, and I was to trust in the risen Messiah, the one you know as Jesus of Nazareth.”

Leah felt swept away in a tide as strong as the tumultuous crowd pushing down the lane behind Nedra. “Risen?” She could hardly form the word.

The woman turned away. “Come and see.”

The Tyropoeon Valley divided the lower half of Jerusalem into the Upper City to the southwest and the Lower City to the southeast. The Upper City was located on the slope of the city’s western hill and contained Herod’s palace and the residences of most members of the Sanhedrin. The Lower City was where most commoners lived. Leah had visited this area a few times, for most of Jerusalem’s craftsmen and woodworkers had their shops along the Lower City’s market avenue.

Nedra led Leah along the overcrowded Lower City market street, the crowds thick as dust. Somewhere up ahead, toward the Pool of Siloam, Leah heard the crash of cymbals and shrill cry of flutes, no doubt a wedding procession. The thought clenched her insides tight. But before the pageant came into view, Nedra had turned onto a side lane and began climbing a steep cobblestone lane. At its crest was a narrow stone-lined plaza.

As every other open space within the teeming city, the square was packed. Yet it also held a strange sense of calm. Nedra asked, “Who should I tell them you are?”

Leah could think of only one reply. “Tell them the truth.”

Nedra looked at her. “It is true what you said, that you mean them no harm?”

“I have been sent for information only.”

“And what about those who sent you?”

“I do not know. I am a servant. I do what I am told.”

Nedra appeared satisfied by the answer. “Wait here.”

Leah walked over and seated herself on the bench rimming the courtyard’s public fountain. Common enough in desert cities, this was a simple pool set in an octagonal stonework frame, intended to be used for drinking and washing and supplying the neighboring houses. The people who filled the plaza were as unadorned as the fountain. Leah wore the attire given to all Pilate’s servants, a Roman dress made from one strip of unadorned fabric called a
stola
, covered by her grey cloak, called a
palla
. Yet she was far better clothed than many she saw there. Most wore the sort of homespun garments used by shepherds and the poorest villagers.

Nedra emerged from a doorway on the plaza’s opposite side with another woman, and all eyes turned toward them. Leah rose to her feet at their approach. The woman with Nedra was an enigma. She too wore the simple clothes of Judaea’s poorest, a dress gathered about her waist with a simple cotton tie. Her head was covered in the modest fashion of a religious Judaean, a long shawl lined in pastel blue. There was nothing Leah could point to as the reason this woman seemed to catch everyone’s attention. Leah herself felt unsettled.

“You are Leah?”

“I am.”

“Sit, please. You are of Pilate’s household?”

“Yes.”

“The prelate sent you here?”

“His wife.”

The woman spoke in a voice as calm as flowing water. Her gaze held a vivid tranquility. Leah also was filled with a conviction that the woman saw to the heart of her. “I’m sorry, but you are . . .”

“My name is Mary Magdalene.”

The name meant nothing. Mary was perhaps the most common of Judaean names, and Magdalene could signify either a family connection or the region of her birth. Leah said, “My mistress, Procula, sent me to inquire of the prophet’s disciples.”

“I am a follower of Jesus. Please inform your mistress that she is welcome here at any time.”

Leah blinked. The idea that the wife of the most powerful man in all Judaea would venture into such a gathering on this side of town was unthinkable. Leah doubted Procula had ever entered the Lower City at all. Yet this woman made the offer as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Mary Magdalene added, “She suffered from nightmares before her husband crucified our Lord.”