Woman of Sin

by Debra Diaz

  But Lazarus took a direct northern route, and on the second day they crossed into Samaria, where the hills of Judea lowered into a short plain and became the foothills of the Samaritan mountains. The highway passed through valleys, through rich green vineyards and terraced fields. Close beside the road wild thick vines ran along the ground, climbing posts, trees, and courtyard walls. They saw quaint farms and the great barns of wealthy landowners. After two more nights spent at roadside inns, they were joined by merchants and travelers from several other countries…Egyptians, Greeks, Arabians, Romans. The nearer they drew to Nazareth, the more crowded the roads became until their caravan was only one among many.

  “The town of Nazareth is small,” Lazarus told Alysia, as they waited at a busy crossroad for an Arabian merchant to coax his balking camel into mobility, “but it is almost at the center of a very important trade route. In fact, this is the most used highway from Damascus to Joppa, and then by ship to Rome. I can say one thing for Rome…it has united almost the whole world with its system of roads.”

  “And a lot of good the roads do when you can’t even pass,” Martha grumbled, loud enough to be heard by the harried camel driver. She suffered greatly from the hard seat of the cart, in spite of the cushion she had placed there. In the other cart Mary talked quietly with the servant who drove and didn’t seem to mind the jerking and jostling over rough ground.

  However, they never reached Nazareth. After inquiring of fellow wayfarers where they might find the Nazarene preacher, they were directed to a point close by the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee, or Lake Gennesaret, as it was called by those who lived near it. The ground sloped uphill and was, as always, covered with rocks, some the size of boulders. Where the soil was more fertile, poppies and anemones provided vivid spots of color and beauty. To the east lay the city of Capernaum, known for its thriving fishing industry, and below, along the shoreline, sprawled Herod Antipas’ capital city…Tiberias…as much a marvel of architecture as anything his father had built.

  When they reached the top of the incline Alysia got off of the cart to walk…and had to stop and stare. A huge multitude of people, hundreds, perhaps a thousand or more, either sat or stood along the fringes of those sitting. Just above them a large stone jutted out from the brow of the hill, and upon it sat a man who was speaking to them. She could only see that he wore a light-colored robe and had dark hair, but his voice carried well in the clear air…and from his vantage point surrounded by grassy hills.

  Lazarus stopped the creaking carts. They all walked to the edge of the crowd and stood, listening. Even sitting down this man was an arresting and dynamic figure. He spoke with a quiet simplicity, yet with such animation that the very words seemed to come alive. He seemed about to finish; Alysia received the impression that he had been talking for some time. He began to quote from the Scriptures. She had no trouble understanding his Aramaic speech…almost a miracle in itself considering her limited vocabulary in the Jewish languages.

  At last he rose to his feet, walked along the ledge to a pathway running beside it, and came down to join his audience. All who had been sitting now stood up; several people surged toward him and he was lost from view. A middle-aged woman turned to Alysia with glowing eyes.

  “No one has ever spoken as he does,” she whispered. “He’s not like the scribes, or the Pharisees. He knows us.”

  Hundreds began taking their departure, women in plain homespun gowns, men in robes with long hair and beards, noisy children eager to play after being still for most of the afternoon. Many of them carried satchels and waterskins, and began making their way toward Capernaum on the northern shore of the lake. Lazarus gestured, and Alysia joined him and his sisters as they walked slowly upward.

  At length most of the crowd had dispersed. Now Alysia could see the Nazarene standing in a grove of fir trees to her right, talking to several other men. A light robe, open at the throat and belted at the waist, covered his tall and powerfully-built frame. He moved about as he spoke, with a strength and athleticism that reminded Alysia of Paulus…indeed, both men had similar qualities of bearing and appeared to be about the same age. He wore his brown, shoulder-length hair loosely tied in the back. A well-groomed beard molded closely with the contours of his face.

  Then the Nazarene saw them. A sudden smile lit his face and he came quickly toward them, embracing them with great affection. Martha was in tears, but she remembered to take Alysia’s arm and set her before their friend.

  “This is Alysia. She is living with us now. She is betrothed to our cousin, Nathan.”

  The Nazarene spoke graciously to her in Greek, his dark eyes level and friendly upon her face. His voice was low now, but articulate, without the strong accent that characterized the speech of other Galileans she had met. She wondered why he had spoken to her in Greek.

  “I speak your language,” she said, in halting Aramaic. “That is, please don’t feel that you must speak to me in Greek.”

  “You should hear the conversations at our house,” Lazarus commented. “Half in Aramaic, half in Greek, with a little Latin and Hebrew thrown in for good measure. We’ve had more than one guest depart rather abruptly.”

  The general laughter lifted her feeling of nervousness, and she listened as they all asked and answered questions of each other. There were four other men standing nearby who seemed to be friends of the Nazarene, and they were introduced as Simon Peter and his brother Andrew, and James, with his obviously much younger brother, John.

  Those who had chosen not to leave had begun to set up camps on the hillside, for it would soon be dark. Lazarus decided their group would do the same. By the time night had fallen, myriads of small fires dotted the hills. Alysia sat just inside their tent; Mary and Martha were already asleep on their pallets. Another tent had been put up a short distance away for Lazarus and the servants who had accompanied them. She wrapped her arms around her knees and listened to Lazarus talking with the four friends of the Nazarene.

  From what she could gather, Lazarus had known these men before he left Nazareth. Mary had already told her that these four—Peter, John, James and Andrew, had been partners in a prosperous fishing business in Capernaum. They had left their livelihood to become disciples of this itinerant preacher called Jesus, who now lay stretched out on his side a little distance from the fire, fast asleep.

  The other men lounged at various points around the fire. The one called Peter rose and retrieved a jug of water from a nearby cart. He was taller than the others, wide of shoulders; she could see the hard, corded muscles in his arms beneath the short sleeves of his robe. His dark brown hair was thick, curly, and seemingly windblown — even on this windless night. His eyes were black, and his skin deeply tanned and creased about the mouth and forehead. Strands of gray streaked his short, dark beard. Of all of them, he was the most talkative and seldom stopped moving about.

  His brother, Andrew, had a kind, ruddy face and seemed of a more calm disposition. John appeared to be not much older than herself and had a distinct, deliberate way of speaking. James was shaggy-haired with a deep, booming voice. He and John, she had learned, were cousins of the Nazarene; their mothers were sisters.

  “Tell me, Peter,” Lazarus urged, “tell me all that has happened since Jesus began to preach.”

  Peter relaxed, for a moment, against the trunk of a tree. “There is so much to tell, Lazarus, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Tell what happened yesterday,” John suggested. “About the leper.”

  Peter gestured with his cup at the younger man. “You have a way with words. You tell him.”

  John waited a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. He gazed into the fire, drew his legs up and placed his elbows on his knees, and began.

  “Yesterday morning, in the city, Jesus had been speaking to a gathering when a great cry went up, and it was obvious that something was happening—for they were sounds of rage and disgust. The crowd began to part, and we saw the leper. It was—a very advanc
ed stage of leprosy. It must have been a most painful and dangerous journey, for his feet were…well, they were hardly recognizable as feet. His clothes were like filthy rags hanging off of bare bones. What little flesh covered them was decaying, like that of a dead man. The stench was unbearable.”

  John paused. Alysia felt thankful they had arrived too late to see this dreadful apparition.

  “The people were bitterly indignant,” he went on. “The poor man must have come from some leper’s colony, and had the audacity to approach a crowd of people and press his way in.”

  “They cleared a path for him fast enough,” Peter added, with humor.

  “Some of us drew closer to Jesus, as if we would protect him. Though I admit, should the man have proved hostile, I don’t know if I could have brought myself to lay a hand on him.”

  The other men nodded in agreement.

  “Jesus said to let him through. We tried to argue with him, but he only repeated himself, so we fell back a little. The leper came face to face with Jesus. Everything became very quiet. It was a…a very moving sight. The crouching, diseased man…and Jesus, tall and straight and completely self-possessed, not afraid or repulsed as we all were.”

  “Did the leper speak?” Lazarus asked.

  “Yes, very hoarsely. He said, ‘Sir, if you will, you can heal me.’ And then he knelt down.”

  A silence fell, like the silence that must have fallen the day before as everyone stood staring, waiting, feeling the suspense mount. John’s voice became unsteady.

  “And Jesus said, ‘I will. You are cured of your affliction’. And he reached out…and touched the leper.”

  Alysia sat up straighter, hugging her knees, her eyes locked on John’s earnest young face.

  “I was afraid to look…I must have been looking at the ground, because the first thing I noticed was his feet. Suddenly, where there had been two lumps of sores, there were two whole and healthy feet! And then I looked up. It was the same man, but a different man! This man’s skin was as healthy as mine. This man was well-nourished and bore no stench, though he was still in the same rags. This man was looking down at his arms and legs, and sobbing. This man was…well.”

  There was another long moment of silence as the men all looked at each other, each nodding and corroborating John’s words. Finally Lazarus asked, “Is he here?”

  John shook his head. “He left soon afterward. I suppose he returned to his family. Whoever they are, they had quite a surprise yesterday!”

  The conversation went on until the campfire remained nothing more than a few embers glowing in the darkness. But Alysia heard no more. Her head was spinning, trying to make sense out of what she heard. Such things were not possible! Her mind tried to tell her that it was trickery, but something within her rebelled at that. It would make the Nazarene a liar, nothing more than a magician practicing his craft—to gain what? Money, notoriety? He didn’t seem like that kind of man to her. And what of these others…were they liars as well?

  She had to admit she’d been strongly impressed by this man…by his sincerity, his unique ability to communicate with his listeners, his warmth and friendliness. They had been too late to hear most of his speech, but she had heard one thing…one simple statement that resonated in her mind more than anything else he had said:

  “I have come to heal the broken-hearted…”

  CHAPTER XII

  The Road of Death—The Bloody Way—they were not auspicious names for the road on which Paulus traveled. This highway was infamous for the bands of robbers and miscreants who lurked in the caves and behind the outcroppings, and many a wayfarer had met his end in this part of the Judean wilderness.

  Three days ago he had received a missive with the emperor’s seal directing him to inspect the Roman garrison at Jericho, a day’s journey from Jerusalem, to insure that it was efficient and well-staffed. He knew the order had come from Sejanus, not the emperor, but he had no choice but to obey. The reputation of this region was known even in Rome. No doubt Sejanus thought his plan amusing…no doubt he hoped Paulus would run afoul of robbers himself.

  The city of Jericho was like an oasis in the desert, green and fertile, well-watered by numerous warm springs. Beneath a hazy blue sky, and beyond a horizon lined with palm and banana trees, ran the long range of the mountains of Moab. Herod the Great had built a winter palace here and left his signature upon the city with other fine buildings, as well as a small fortress. Paulus had found the fortress understaffed; he had an unpleasant confrontation with its commander who was obviously used to running things with little interference. The place was in poor repair and the men were, for the most part, surly and undisciplined. Paulus sent the commander and several of the worst offenders off to Caesarea for Pilate to deal with, and left one of his own tribunes in charge. He also left ten of his best men, promising he would bring them back to the Antonia as soon as the Jericho fort met the standards of the Roman military.

  The return to Jerusalem began as a gentle ascent, the road curving around an escarpment, with the drop to their right gradually increasing until the slope became almost vertical. They had been climbing steadily for hours. Abrupt and unexpected turns often obstructed a view of the road ahead.

  Sweating beneath the leather of his uniform, Paulus drank from a waterskin and contemplated the scene immediately before them. They were about to top a rise which he remembered from the journey going down; just beyond it was a wider expanse of road with a ledge above it, and above the ledge was a stretch of wilderness large enough to allow any attackers to escape. Beneath the ledge he remembered seeing deep caverns—excellent hiding places.

  He hadn’t had this feeling, this tingling up the spine, on the way to Jericho. But he had it now—and every time he had felt it before, something happened.

  Paulus glanced back. He had brought with him, besides the men he’d left in Jericho, six mounted men who acted as his escort on expeditions such as this. Tiberius had assigned these men to guard him; normally only the governor traveled with an escort. (The emperor had written Paulus privately, saying that if Pilate was important enough to have bodyguards then the legate at Jerusalem must have them as well.) There were also ten regular cavalry and twenty foot soldiers, as well as his cavalry commander, Silas—who now kicked his own horse to catch up with him.

  “Won’t you drop back and let your guard be in the lead, sir?” Silas asked. He was some ten years Paulus’ senior, with thick, prematurely white hair.

  “The men are tired,” Paulus answered, not yet willing to reveal his uneasiness. “Tell them to stop, drink some water and rest.”

  “Yes, sir.” Silas turned and rode away to give the order.

  Paulus deliberated the best course of action. Should he have the men retreat back to the fort for a day or two, thwarting the plans of any would-be attackers? And only on the basis of a “feeling”; he had no real reason to suspect an ambush. Or should they press on, even though they could only form a line of two abreast due to the narrowness of the road ahead? If they were attacked they would be hard-pressed to defend themselves in such terrain. Still, they were tough and trained soldiers, and it was not the Roman way to turn back…even should the consequences be disastrous.

  “Captain Silas,” he said, when the man rejoined him. “What do you think the chances are that someone lies in wait for us up there?” He inclined his head toward the top of the rise. Paulus respected the man’s seniority and experience, and he had been at the Antonia for many years.

  “Not good,” Silas answered, with no hesitation. “We could easily put to rout either thieves or rebels. I’ve been on this road several times, sir, with no sign of trouble. Have you seen, or heard something, sir?”

  “No. And you are probably right. Nevertheless, we will take precautions. The men on foot will go first, cavalry in the rear. When we get to the top of this hill—shields up, swords in hand. There will not be room for anything but the sword, but the mounted men can perhaps use their javelins—perhaps even thei
r bows. After the first shot or two they may need to dismount quickly. Neither will there be room to organize ourselves in the usual manner. It will be almost impossible to retreat down the escarpment, so an attack must be met with full aggression. You and I will lead.”

  “But, sir, it is the duty of your escort to protect you,” Silas objected. “You should ride in the rear with them.”

  “It is my nature to guard, rather than be guarded,” Paulus said lightly. “If there is an ambush, and I fall, they will be too hard-pressed to notice. Just relay the orders, Captain, and try not to alarm the men. These are only measures of caution.”

  “Yes, Legate—it will be done.”

  Paulus put his helmet on, a signal to his men to do the same. He had permitted them to remove their helmets, for they absorbed the sun and were exceedingly uncomfortable.

  Soon the men and horses began laboring upward again, Paulus looked back at them once more; they appeared more alert than apprehensive. That was good, for as disciplined as they were, it took only one man to start a panic. Paulus was the first one over the incline. His horse, the fine dark gray he had brought with him from Rome, twitched nervously and flung his head.

  “Steady, Asbolus,” he said, running his hand over the smooth muscular neck. But the horse only pricked up his ears…and Paulus knew, but too late. At the same instant Silas made a muffled, wheezing sound. Paulus turned swiftly to see an arrow piercing the man’s neck as he fell from his horse.

  Armed men swarmed from their hiding places among the rocks, and more poured out of the dark caves just ahead. Paulus shouted a warning; with no time to dismount he wheeled his horse sharply and swung his sword at those trying to pull him from the saddle. The animal reared and stumbled backward, perilously close to the edge of the cliff. He was forced to drop his shield to control the horse. Shouts and outcries and the clang of metal filled the air.