Faithful Daughter of Israel

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  “Romans are lower than dung collectors, are they?” Merriment danced in his blue eyes. “I suppose that means me, too?”

  She froze.

  His smile was magnificent.

  She smiled back.

  They stared at one another far too long. A knock at the door startled her.

  He strode to the door and carried on a hushed conversation with a fellow soldier.

  A reminder he was a dangerous man and hers was a desperate situation.

  “Anna, I am needed elsewhere.” Taking a few coins from a leather pouch, he pressed the cold disks into her hand. “You will sleep here tonight under my protection and leave come morning. After that, I wipe my hands clean of you.”

  “That is all? Take your money and go. Nothing else?”

  The pleasing grin reappeared. “Nothing else.”

  She scrambled to stand on legs that felt woefully unsteady. “I want to leave now.”

  The soldier’s broad chest loomed close. “Please, stay the night.” Though a request, it sounded more like an order. “My slave is on his way with food. He will be here any moment now.”

  Defeated by hunger and legs so weak she doubted she could make it to the door, never mind walk to shelter—an uncertain destination these days—she collapsed back onto the couch. “Very well, but just for tonight.”

  “You could not be safer than if you were in Abraham’s bosom.”

  Then he was gone.

  Strangely, the soldier’s words proved a welcome word of comfort.

  Four

  A short while later, her ravaging hunger satisfied, Anna left the lounging couch behind to explore the roomy suite.

  Fortress Antonia.

  She still found it difficult to believe she was ensconced inside a building gracing the Temple compound. Worshipping at the Temple, she had observed the Roman soldier standing guard in the watchtowers and resented their presence. But had never given thought to what went on behind the stone walls.

  A grouping of heathen idols was displayed in a corner niche. They represented one example of the many blasphemies wrought upon holy ground by the Romans.

  The blatant desecration sickened her.

  She turned her back on the idols and retraced her steps over the plush carpet.

  The soldiers who lived here might be brutish beasts, but the palace-like surroundings of the fortress were impressive. The room was far grander and far more refined than any she had ever seen. It boasted high ceilings and plastered walls decorated with fanciful repeating patterns in bright shades of red and orange. Intricate carvings and gilt flourishes adorned the heavy wood furniture. The pillows and blankets on the couch and bed were finer and softer than any she had ever used.

  If her situation were not so desperate, she might think she had landed in Paradise. Actually, her idea of Paradise was nowhere as pleasant as this.

  Evidence of the wealth of goods eased one worry. She needed not feel guilty for taking money from the Roman commander. Clearly the heathen devil could afford it.

  Exhausted by the short trip around the room, she dropped onto the couch. The jingle of the coins in her hand sounded sweeter than the notes of the ram’s horn. They would afford her a few weeks reprieve. She did not care why the soldier had spared her, only that he had. She examined the windfall.

  “Holy angels!” She covered her blasphemous mouth. “I am rescued.”

  The tiny treasure would not save her from harlotry, but would buy her a safe place to live.

  Leaving Simon’s house without a mite to her name, she had relied on charity for every scrap of food to pass her mouth these past months. Shelter had been wherever she could lay her head without getting chased off.

  She had stood at the city walls tonight because she had not known what else to do. These coins would pay for a room outside the city gates. Having lived beside the dung gates, she knew of the inns and low establishments that rented rooms to harlots. More importantly, the soldiers knew about them. If she rented one of these rooms, the soldiers would find her. She might not know what to do, but they would.

  She hugged herself. “Blessed are you, Anna. You are leaving one Paradise for another.”

  A harlot’s room might not be many people’s idea of Paradise, but to a destitute, cursed outcast it was as safe a haven as she could ever expect.

  Reclining on the couch, she slept sounder and deeper than she had in weeks.

  ∞∞∞

  “Jupiter, Mars, and Venus!” Julian cursed, disgusted with himself an hour after leaving Anna behind. He placed the blame for his foul mood right where it belonged—a guilty conscience brought on by his lascivious longings.

  Restless in the too-small cell procured from a junior officer who was probably still complaining about being given the boot, Julian punched his pillow and searched for a comfortable position on the short cot.

  The girl, Anna the Jewess, was a problem.

  But she was not the only matter troubling him.

  It was this place.

  Jerusalem.

  His conscience had suddenly roared to life, squawking loud enough to give the most hardened Epicurean a headache. And while he was neither an eat-drink-and-be-merry type, nor a pillar of stoic virtue, he had managed for most of his thirty years to do as he liked without consulting his conscience overmuch.

  Until now.

  This cursed assignment could not be over soon enough. Judea would be his last pick of places to live.

  He suspected he had his mother to thank for this bit of bad luck.

  His Jewish mother.

  She denied it being her fault, of course. But he did not believe her any more than when she had said, “It will make a better man of you, my son.”

  He did not want to be a better man. He wanted to be a successful one. And he would bet his last coin the Jerusalem posting would hurt more than help.

  Raised thoroughly Roman, with never a whisper of Jewish ways mentioned, Julian wanted nothing to do with the Jews.

  That is until Anna.

  Anna, the beautiful, spirited Jewess who meant to be a harlot.

  Jupiter! Was she crazy?

  No, that distinction belonged to him given the absurd thoughts making their way through his mind.

  Undeniably attracted to Anna, he had left her aching for the woman and for her miserable lot in life, and wanting to do something about it.

  Why not take Anna as a mistress? Where was the harm in that?

  She would have food and shelter. And he would have, in a word—Anna. Except his conscience reared, rendering the perfect scheme tasteless.

  What he needed was a wife.

  And not just any wife, but a Roman wife.

  He would turn his attention to the task the moment he returned to Rome. A Roman wife would bring promotions and any other number of opportunities.

  Making this decision, he proceeded to spend the night not thinking of a Roman wife and a successful career but of Anna.

  He held no hope she was thinking of him, except maybe to curse him.

  He smiled, recalling her grumbling to herself that consorting with Roman soldiers was worse than marrying a dung collector.

  Most women of questionable character welcomed a man of Rome in their beds. Rome ruled the world. There were none so powerful, or so wealthy, as the men of Rome. To be dismissed by a fallen woman, and dung collector’s slave at that, pricked his pride.

  Yet Anna had not been the one to say no.

  He had.

  But why?

  Having availed himself of the services of harlots before, he supposed he would again.

  But not Anna.

  There it was again—his troublesome conscience. “Stop being a Greek fool,” he chided himself, placing the blame, not where it belonged with Anna, but on the Greek philosophers he had been reading for pleasure. He would do well to find another tonic for insomnia. The philosophers’ nonsense was killing him.

  More tossing and turning, and his mind went back to Anna.

&
nbsp; Yes, her story was unfortunate. Through no fault of hers, all her protectors were dead. He believed what he had told her—talk of the gods’ curses was so much rubbish.

  Good luck. Bad luck.

  Jew, Roman, Greek.

  None of that mattered.

  Evil people prospered, and good people suffered. Proof the gods were too busy dealing with their own kind to bother with the mass of mankind.

  He blamed fate.

  Luck could be helped along, but fate was like a fist coming out of nowhere.

  Innocent, beautiful Anna had not stood a chance.

  Was it any wonder she had turned to the only means of survival available to women short on luck and virtue—harlotry?

  He did not blame her.

  Well, not much.

  Anna was not the only person with a sad tale.

  There were harlots with stories ten times worse than hers.

  More tossing and turning.

  “I do not care,” he yelled and punched his pillow.

  He stared into the darkness. “Just keep telling yourself that, Julian, and maybe in a thousand years you will believe it.”

  In his lifetime, he must have passed thousands of people suffering.

  Anna was different.

  For some reason, her fate mattered to him.

  He felt sure if he settled his fractious conscience on this matter, he could put his pesky new companion back to bed, as it were.

  The answer came with the breaking of dawn.

  He knew what the trouble was.

  He could not stand the idea of Anna being a whore to him or anyone else.

  And knew what to do about it.

  He would find a husband for her.

  Five

  Anna paced the bedchamber to the sounds of the fortress coming alive for the day.

  The gift of the generous meals, a hot bath, and a pristine tunic—the new tunic had brought tears to her eyes—had taken care of the worst of her woes.

  Her jitteriness had to do with where she was and the reason for it.

  She should not be here. Had she really confessed everything to a stranger? Could she have acted more shameless? She buried her face in her hands.

  Her heart skittered at the sound of the door latch lifting.

  “Greetings, good woman.” Her captor strode into the room. “You look as though you are feeling better.”

  She retreated until she bumped against the edge of the bed. Why did he have to be so tall and imposing? “How can you call me good? When…”

  Her face heated.

  She needed to thank him for his generosity, then she could run far, far from the fortress and never come back.

  “You have a good heart.”

  They were the pleasantest words she’d had from anyone in a long time.

  She could not quite credit the kindness coming from a Roman, and a Roman soldier at that. It went against everything she believed about Romans, and most especially about Roman soldiers.

  More than one maiden of Israel had been used shamefully by them.

  But he had been kind. “The Lord has been gracious. I want to thank you for showing such compassion. It will mean nothing to you, but my life is saved due to your food and coins. If you will show me the way out, I—”

  His expression turned thunderous. “Are you thanking me or your god?”

  “You. Both. I do not know. What is your name?” He did tell her at the gate, but in her weakened state, she’d forgotten.

  “Julian of Alexandria. What does it matter?”

  Good question. It was not as if she planned to add him to her nightly prayers.

  “Thank you, Julian of Alexandria, for the coins and food.”

  “You are welcome.”

  All her bravery used up, she ducked her head. “Would you be so kind as to have your servant show me the way out?”

  “No. You will be staying here.”

  “What?”

  He stared back sober-eyed. “I have decided to find you a husband.”

  “A husband?” The room tilted. She could not have heard that correctly.

  Julian remained an isle of calm. “It would be unpardonable to let you sink to harlotry for lack of a husband. I will not allow it.”

  She did not believe for an instant he was serious about finding her a husband. And even if he were, it would be a task nigh impossible. Even for a Roman as insufferably confident as this one.

  “Why would you make such an offer?”

  He shrugged. “For myself, of course. Your own prophet says it is so.”

  “Did you bump your head this morning?”

  “Surely, even dung collectors’ servants are taught the Laws of Moses?” His tone was teasing. “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

  Julian had said he’d made a study of the Jews. She was impressed he had gone so far as to read the holy scriptures. “The books of the Law say many things.”

  “Love your neighbor as yourself implies something, doesn’t it?” Julian studied her, questions in his gaze.

  Not in the mood for guessing games, she crossed her arms and sealed her lips.

  “Loving your neighbor as yourself implies you love yourself.”

  She remained silent.

  “I am helping you to satisfy myself. My own selfish desires are at the heart of all I do. Just as they are at the core of all you do.”

  There had to be a way to make him stop babbling. “The prophet does seem to be saying we love ourselves. But Moses is not talking to you.”

  “How foolish of me to forget.” His face turned the color of ash. “I am nothing to you but a Gentile dog. Lower than a dung collector. Lower than—”

  “That is not what I meant,” she protested, surprised he cared what she, or for that matter, what Moses had to say. And how had she come to be on the defensive? Why should she care what he—a Roman—thought of her?

  She sucked in a calming breath. “What I was trying to say is the Law is speaking to those who are tempted to do wrong. The Law says, do what is right. And the right thing to do is to treat others like you would want to be treated.” She opened her hands in apology. “Why you help others, whether you are doing it to please the one you are helping or to please your own gods or to please yourself is another matter altogether.”

  Lips pursed, Julian studied her for an uncomfortably long time.

  Just when she thought she would burst from discomfort, that magnificent smile of his reappeared. “Good. We are agreed. I am going to find you a husband. Follow me.” Then he turned and marched out of the room.

  What now? Anna did not know how many more surprises she could take.

  There was only one thing she was sure of.

  Julian of Alexandria was the most exasperating man she had ever met.

  ∞∞∞

  Julian was not used to people taking him by surprise. But Anna had. The sound of her grumbling as he led her through the fortress had him smiling. He knew the feisty Jewess would be curious about why he would want to help her.

  He had posed the scriptural question expecting to confound her, to direct her away from asking questions he did not care to answer.

  In his experience, most people knew little about their beliefs. Most believed what they had been told. Anna had probably been taught the basic tenets of Moses’ Law before she was sent off to the dung collector. But he would bet his leather sandals Simon had not spent time talking over the finer points of the Law with Anna. No, she must have contemplated those things on her own.

  His would-be harlot was a philosopher. The idea made him smile.

  She would have to keep guessing at his motives. He did not intend to explain about his Jewish mother and his nagging conscience.

  His decision to find her a husband was selfish. As was this expedition.

  He looked over his shoulder as they climbed the spiral stairway leading to the southeast watchtowers. Anna was huffing loudly and falling behind. Not surprising considering her recent trials. He doubled back and r
eached for her hand.

  Her brown eyes widened.

  The air smelled of white jasmine. The veil of her silky hair swayed across her slender back. Her lovely mouth was asking to be kissed.

  His gut clenched. “You are perfectly beautiful.”

  Color suffused her smooth skin. And, if he guessed right, the pink bloom on her cheeks was not from the exercise alone.

  She felt it too—the keen awareness between them.

  Good.

  He hated to suffer alone.

  She shot him a scathing look as she marched past.

  Simon the dung collector must have had his hands full. Perhaps the simple man’s reluctance to marry Anna was not totally due to his being slow to act.

  A moment later they emerged from the stairwell.

  The centurion Crispus greeted Julian with a nod.

  Unmindful of his presence, the sentries stared at Anna.

  “Soldiers of Rome, eyes forward,” Crispus commanded.

  Julian could not blame them. The dereliction of duty was understandable. Not only would simple boredom account for his men’s curiosity—pulling guard duty at a Temple sight had to be boring duty for men worth half their salt—but the novelty of having a woman up here would double their interest.

  He knew the moment Anna saw it.

  The Temple.

  Her breath caught and her feet stumbled. “Oh my!”

  Nestled like a crested, white-plumed bird within the walls of the holy compound, Jerusalem’s Temple was called the most beautiful in the East. With expectations raised so high, the actual sight was bound to disappoint, except that the splendor of the glorious edifice more than lived up to the boast.

  Julian guided her to the crenellated wall edging the tower rim. A gust of warm dry wind ruffled his hair and tunic. The east wind pushed the smell of the sacrifices out over the city before it had time to drift this way.

  “I thought you might guess where I was taking you.”

  Anna’s eyes swept over everything, then methodically moved from site to site as if making a careful study of each of the separate structures.

  “What do you think?”

  And still she did not look at him. “I have never seen it so calm and peaceful. Simon came here only when he had to… for the required feasts. But you probably know all about the festivals?”