by Debra Diaz
Another time he had outraged the people by diverting money from the Jews’ sacred treasury, money intended for the upkeep of the Temple, toward the construction of an aqueduct. On that occasion many of the Jews actually died in the ensuing tumult.
Paulus suspected that Pilate, like his mentor, Sejanus, secretly despised the Jews and would have liked to have seen them totally annihilated. After all, the land would be much easier to rule without their demands and whining over religious matters…which they couldn’t even agree on themselves. No doubt the only thing that gave him pause was the fact that Tiberius had granted the Jews leniency concerning their religion and even their laws, so that they more or less had a form of self-government. The only authority they lacked was the right to put someone to death; for that they needed permission from Rome. Pilate was usually only too glad to grant it, no matter who howled in protest.
All things considered, Paulus could understand why Tiberius wanted Pilate watched; he could also understand Pilate’s probable resentment of Paulus. But as for ever being the man’s successor, Paulus would rather be stripped of his rank completely. There was no satisfaction for him in thinking up new taxes and supervising their collection, nor of keeping dull accounts, nor of listening to domestic disputes. He’d had enough of that in Rome.
Planning and implementing new construction would be something Paulus could enjoy, but there was little of that to do in Caesarea, and he would have to involve himself in political wrangling to get the funds should he seek to improve the smaller cities. No, Paulus belonged in the army; leadership was in his blood and he liked nothing better than to create strategies and outwit an enemy on the battlefield, though, thanks to Sejanus, it had been a few years since he had done so.
True, Alysia’s death had for a time made him lose interest in everything. But now that he was here, in this restless land filled with bitterness and discontent, he actually began to anticipate a change in his life. There was a sense of excitement, of things about to happen. It would, at the very least, be a diversion.
CHAPTER IX
“It is breathtaking, isn’t it?” Alysia said, spreading her arms and lifting her head as though she were seeing it again for the first time. She stood on the narrow road from Bethany on the sloping shoulder of Mount Olivet, looking across the valley at the city of Jerusalem. Crowning a high, rocky plateau, it seemed to have risen out of the earth by some primordial enchantment. The palatial homes of the wealthy spread out in elegant lines throughout the upper city, nestled in the rolling hills and interspersed with the majestic architecture of Herod the Great. The Temple Mount gleamed white and gold in the fading sunlight...more splendid than anything she had seen in Rome.
She, Lazarus and Mary were returning from a visit to the lower city where they’d spent an enjoyable afternoon in the market. Lazarus had bought a wagonload of supplies, which would be delivered to his house in the next day or two. They’d eaten salted fish, fruit and even a pastry at one of the taverns before leaving for home, and as they always did before reaching the distinct curve in the road, turned to look back at the view.
“You are not the first to stop and marvel at it,” Lazarus said, smiling at her enthusiasm.
“If only it weren’t so noisy and crowded,” she added, as they started walking again.
“Jerusalem is flawed, yes, but its history is so interesting,” Mary began. Alysia gave her an indulgent smile but her mind wandered as Mary began to talk about the origins of the Holy City. Mary seldom spoke, but if there was one thing she was qualified to speak of it was history, for she read it constantly. Besides, Alysia now knew most of it. Just after her formal betrothal to Nathan six months ago…and in spite of the fact that she’d been going to the synagogue almost since she’d arrived in Bethany…she had confessed to Mary that she knew practically nothing about their beliefs. Because, she had said, her family was not religious. Shocked, Mary hastened to rectify the matter and had been instructing her.
She had learned that the Jews believed in one God, and that he created the world and mankind. There were beings of the spirit realm that God had also created, called angels, and one of them had rebelled against God’s authority, gathered together untold numbers of followers, and instigated a war in heaven, the abode of God. As a result, this enemy of God, whom they called Satan, had been cast out of heaven along with his followers…but in the spirit realm he still plotted and devised ways to destroy the human race, which God loved.
Satan had encouraged the first man and woman to follow his example and rebel against God. Hundreds of years later the earth had become so corrupt that God decided to destroy it with a flood, saving only one family… a righteous man named Noah, his wife and three sons and their wives.
These stories were very old, Mary told her; some of the ancient Greek and Roman myths were based on these actual events. There were other stories: of Moses, who had led the Jews out of their bondage in Egypt; of a mighty king named David, who had seized Jerusalem from his enemies and made it his capital; of Abraham, whom God had designated to be the father of this race, the Jews. There were tales of violence, bloodshed, lust, and the wrath of God toward an unfaithful people; but also of love and beauty, the everlasting love of a God promising to save and bless his people in spite of their unfaithfulness…though not without punishment.
That love was the single, main thread woven into the beliefs of the Jews, the undisputed core of their religion, and that love was in the form of a Deliverer. God would send a man to rescue them from all the troubles that had plagued them for so many centuries. They called him “Messiah”, or “Christ” in the Greek, and believed that he would eventually rule the world in a kingdom of peace and good will.
It all sounded strange to Alysia, but something about it made sense, unlike the wild and improbable escapades of the Greek gods. It was singularly comforting to immerse herself in this remarkable education. It gave her new things to think about, opened a new world for discovery.
The day had grown steadily hotter. Alysia tugged at the mantle covering her head…a requirement for a betrothed woman. It was a way of letting others know she was spoken for. She thought for a moment about the day she had promised to marry Nathan. They’d gone into the house and Lazarus had read aloud the marriage contract, wherein Nathan had promised to protect and provide for her. Nathan had given her a gold ring and they had shared a cup of wine. Her acceptance of the cup was a symbolic way of accepting his proposal. And suddenly, they were betrothed.
Alysia hadn’t seen much of him since then; it was the custom for a man to immediately begin to prepare a bridal chamber for his intended bride, and they were to remain apart until the wedding. Nathan was adding a room to his house for her, but he did manage to visit Lazarus and his sisters on occasion, especially when it was time for supper. Sometimes Alysia remained in her bedroom, and sometimes Lazarus came to her with a wink and asked her to join them.
When Lazarus, as her guardian, decided that the bridal chamber was satisfactorily completed and that the time was right, he would tell Nathan to come for his bride. Usually this occurred late at night, about a year after the betrothal, so Alysia was supposed to remain ready at all times. Her wedding clothes were to be laid out; the blankets and linens she sewed (with Martha’s help) were to be packed and waiting. It was meant to be a time of anticipation and excitement. And sometimes she did feel excited…sometimes she did look forward to leaving Lazarus’ house and having a home of her own.
As long as she didn’t let herself think about Paulus.
Lazarus and Mary were still discussing some aspect of history involving a woman named Esther when Lazarus stopped suddenly and held up his hand as if listening.
“What is it?” Alysia asked.
“Horses. Don’t you hear them?”
They all stopped and listened, and presently the sounds of rhythmic hoof beats and men’s voices were clearly audible.
“Get back from the road,” Lazarus said quickly.
Alysia felt a
familiar revulsion as she saw the group of Roman soldiers top the rock-strewn incline before them, each one close behind the other. There were five of them, with their bowl-shaped helmets reflecting the dying sun’s rays and their short, red mantles blowing out behind them. They were all drunk it seemed, and the centurion in front was no less drunk than his men…perhaps more so. They halted as they observed the three people on the side of the road, drawing their swords with comical unsteadiness.
“What! An unlikely band of highwaymen!” roared the centurion, sheathing his sword with difficulty. “Two girls and a scrawny man!”
“Be wary, sir,” said one of the soldiers, with a lopsided leer. “Perhaps it is three scrawny men in disguise!”
A bellow of laughter met that remark, and the centurion said, “No, Servius. Have you not eyes?”
The men crowded their horses about the women and inspected each minutely. Their stares returned to Alysia, who breathed rapidly with suppressed anger.
“She’d be a fine one to take to the barracks, wouldn’t she?” commented the man named Servius. “Remember, Marcus, we wagered the others on who would bring back the prettiest wench—and the new commander is not due for another week.”
Lazarus stepped to her side. “She is not going anywhere.”
“Show some respect to Rome, Jew,” growled the centurion, only momentarily diverted.
“I show no disrespect, sir, though your authority is perhaps only temporary.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He means that one day we shall fall and his people will be in authority!” shouted one of the other soldiers.
Servius raised his brows. He was a thin, dark man with a prominent nose and small, shrewd eyes. “It seems that we have a Zealot on our hands.”
“Perhaps they are all Zealots, out to set an ambush as we passed!” cried the other man and guffawed at his own words.
“Let’s take both the women,” suggested another soldier eagerly.
The centurion, who had a handsome but dissipated face, glanced at Mary. “She’s too scared to be any fun.” He said to Alysia, “What say you to our invitation to Jerusalem? We’ll show you a good time and pay you well.”
Mary gasped and Lazarus pressed closer to Alysia, his body tense with outrage.
“I would say, sir, that I would rather be torn asunder by jackals than to play the harlot for a lot of drunken fools.”
She had spoken so mildly and with such gravity that at first the men merely stared at her, their grins frozen on their faces. Then the centurion’s brows drew down in a scowl.
“I say you come with us!”
“I will not!”
The centurion’s face suffused with red and he seemed to have trouble gathering his thoughts. Servius leaned forward and said coldly, “Will you come, or must we take your Zealot friend and have him executed?”
“I am not a Zealot,” said Lazarus. “You have no evidence of such a claim.”
“We need no evidence.” Servius chuckled. He gave Alysia a raking glance and said, “Is it a bargain? Your company, for his life?”
“She will not go with you. If you think her to be a harlot for hire you are mistaken. She is my ward, and I will take this matter before the law.”
Lazarus’ words seemed to have no effect on the soldiers; in fact, only the centurion seemed to hear them for he said thickly, “We are the law here.”
Alysia thought, Perhaps I will soon have a chance to escape them. She couldn’t let them kill Lazarus, and she had no doubt they could, and would.
Her voice was steady. “I will come.”
“No, Alysia!” Lazarus reached out to grasp her arm. Mary screamed as one of the soldiers hefted his sword.
“We’ll take her anyway,” Servius announced, “and what use will you be to her, dead?”
He shoved his fist into Lazarus’ chest, knocking him to the ground. Before he could get to his feet and stop her, Alysia moved toward the centurion, who pulled her up to sit before him. She managed to poke her elbow in his ribs before he urged the horse forward with a grunt, and they started up the stony path. She caught a glimpse of Mary’s shocked, white face and heard Lazarus shout, “I’ll find Nathan—we’ll come for you!” and then there were only the sounds of clattering hooves and men laughing and jeering.
The pathway descended at a steep incline through the Kidron Valley, then began to rise as they traversed the long, Roman-built row of steps leading up the hill to the southeastern gate. One by one the horses trotted through the gate, which was dim and cool within the thick city wall. On the other side, a publican gathered up his day’s collection of coins and gave them a look of bored curiosity.
For the second time that day Alysia passed through the lower section of the city with its hills and slopes and streets running in every direction, its bazaars and shops of all manner of craftsmen…potters, weavers, bakers, carpenters, perfume-makers. Here stood the close-packed houses of the poor and those of moderate means. The heavy traffic of the morning and afternoon had all but disappeared; there were few pedestrians and a pack of half-wild dogs snarled at them from a foul-smelling gutter. A bridge spanned yet another deep valley and they ascended into the upper section…the well laid-out streets, many of them paved, the homes of Roman officials, the mansions of wealthy and powerful Jews.
Alysia rode in icy silence, though her heart pounded sickeningly and she tried to be alert for any possible means of escape. But her skirts were caught under the centurion’s legs and he kept one arm tight around her. The men had tried to draw her into conversation and, failing that, fell to giving lusty appraisals of her face and figure. Cringing inwardly, she wondered what horrors the night would hold for her. Was there no one to help her? If only Nathan would come, but he was away on one of his mysterious trips…it wasn’t possible that Lazarus would find him in time. And what could he or Lazarus or anyone do against these brutish soldiers?
Passing beneath an arched viaduct, they went around the huge platform on which sat the Temple, and began climbing a wide ramp that ascended sharply to the Roman fortress. It was almost dark now, and Alysia could see nothing but the vast outer wall. The centurion guided his horse onto the ramp and she saw a colossal wooden door that began to swing open as they approached.
They entered a courtyard, riding beneath another arched bridge that connected the fortress to what she assumed was the Temple area. Looking up, she could barely see the sentries on the wall between the battlements as another door opened; they climbed another ramp to an area enclosing the soldiers’ barracks and several other buildings.
A deep panic gripped Alysia, much like the feeling she’d had when she’d first been taken from her home in Athens. That familiar sense of unreality—that this couldn’t be happening. She felt the centurion slide off the horse, then reach up and pull her toward him. Distantly she heard the men arguing, haggling over her; she lashed out and scratched one of them. The centurion grabbed her arm and pulled her into one of the buildings. It seemed almost like a palace, with a long flight of stairs leading to other rooms. The foyer was empty and dimly lit by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling.
The centurion may have been drunk, but he was strong. When he began to pull her toward the stairs Alysia came alive, struggling, kicking and scratching, but either he was too intoxicated to feel her efforts or his body was made of iron, for he gave her little heed. She tried to grasp his dagger but he laughed and twisted her hand away. Could she bring herself to kill another man? She would never escape without being killed herself.
They stumbled into another room, a bedroom. The soldier slammed the door shut and shoved a bolt into place. Alysia ran to the opposite side of the room. He turned and with a leering grin started toward her. Seeing a heavy oil lamp beside the bed, she plunged toward it, her hand closing over the thick handle. It flew through the air to graze the side of his graying head. He yelped with pain; his grin turned into a grimace and he lurched forward.
Alysia retreated until sh
e felt the wall at her back. She could smell the heavy, fermented drink on his breath. Then he grunted loudly, hiccupped, and with a slow, weaving motion dropped to the floor. His eyes closed and he began to snore.
She stared at him for a moment, hardly daring to breathe lest she wake him from this unexpected repose. He didn’t move, and she finally forced her shaking limbs to step over the inert form. She tried the door, but it didn’t budge against her wildly pressing hands. Someone had barred it from the outside to prevent her escape. Casting her gaze frantically around the room she saw there was no window, and there was nothing she could use for a weapon. Except…one of the clay shards of the broken lamp had a jagged edge. She picked it up gingerly.
She felt overcome with weariness. Every bone and muscle ached from tension and the long ride through the city. She dragged a blanket from the bed and sat down in a corner of the room, concealing her improvised weapon underneath the blanket. She didn’t know if she would be able to use it, but it gave her a small sense of satisfaction.
She whispered, and didn’t know if she meant it, “God of Abraham, if you are really there, protect me and see me safely home.”
* * * *
A strange moaning sound woke her. The centurion sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, with a chamber pot on the floor before him. He slowly ran his hands through his thinning gray hair and turned to look at her through swollen eyelids. Alysia shrank from his gaze and pulled the blanket up to her chin, clutching the shard of pottery in her other hand. He made a noncommittal sound and turned away, as if annoyed by her presence.
She’d been terrified during the night when she heard someone knocking at the door; she’d heard voices and then one of the other soldiers had called, “Marcus, let us in! You’ve had her long enough!” She waited in horrific suspense, but the centurion snored on and never moved. She heard the men mumbling and clattering back down the stairs. They had not returned and somehow she had slept.