Woman of Sin

by Debra Diaz

  Caiaphas, a small, thin man with skeletal features and a sparse black beard, glared down at the others from his high seat. “Are there any among you who don’t understand the plan?” he asked, in a tone that clearly implied they were imbeciles if they did not.

  Receiving no reply he went on. “The arrangements will be made and will be carried out tomorrow morning. The Nazarene will no doubt be in the Temple area, as he has been these past several mornings. I believe that our plans will at last be fruitful.”

  “I do not think so.”

  All eyes turned to old Annas, who sat placidly in his seat and returned the stares from under a craggy, wrinkled forehead and bushy white brows.

  “And why not?”

  Annas shrugged eloquently. “Nothing else has worked—why should this? The Nazarene has a talent for getting himself out of the most difficult situations, and let us admit, he does have a way with words.”

  Caiaphas’ face flushed darkly. “No matter what he says or does in this situation, he cannot fail to lose popularity with the people.”

  Another member spoke up. “But suppose we are unable to find a…participant…in the morning?”

  “I have hired two men to supply one. A real one, not someone playing a part. I admit the Nazarene is too clever for that. It will not be difficult…they know where to look.”

  “If I were a wagering man,” said Annas, “I would wager half my house that the Nazarene will come out of this unscathed. And then we will all look like fools.”

  “And I say that is impossible!” snapped his son-in-law, who rose abruptly. “This adjourns our meeting. Let us pray to the Most High for success.”

  And, Paulus had asked Phineas, what was the plan?

  Phineas did not know; he had arrived too late to hear it, but as usual it would involve trying to get the Nazarene to say something that either his followers or the Romans wouldn’t like…one would do just as well as the other.

  Yes, it was like a play, a comedy almost…except that it was likely to end in tragedy if the priests had their way. Paulus had to admire the Nazarene’s boldness, but didn’t he realize his own danger? Just recently Herod had beheaded John the Baptizer for much the same reason.

  Well, whatever the plan, Paulus would hear of it. Maybe it would be best for the priests to discredit him and send him back to his little town in Galilee. At least that way he would live.

  * * * *

  Megara reclined on her silk-covered couch and gazed steadily up at her servant. “Take this note to the woman you found for me—the one who lives in Bethany. Do not tarry, do not let anyone see you. No one, especially my husband, must ever know that you delivered this message.”

  The short, Macedonian slave was mute, which was one reason Megara had chosen him for this particular task. That, and because he was blindly loyal to her. She often rewarded him with money for errands she set him upon that might reflect badly on her, if discovered. Most often this involved keeping track of Paulus’ whereabouts.

  She knew her husband had made a trip to Bethany in the summer, and that he had spoken with a beautiful young woman dressed in the style of the Jews. From her description, Megara knew it was Alysia. It had been easy to send her small, silent slave to spy out the land; discovering where Alysia lived opened a world of possibilities for her removal, except that Megara didn’t know just how to accomplish that particular end without someone ultimately uncovering her role in it. And then a plan had presented itself to her.

  After a few more crisply-issued instructions, the slave nodded and walked away. Megara let out her breath slowly, concentrating on letting her heart regain its normal rhythm. She was nervous, yet strangely elated. Seeing Alysia captured would be worth all the misery that she, Megara, had endured since coming to Jerusalem. And Paulus would never know how it had happened.

  She found herself unexpectedly good at forgery; the handwriting on the note was identical to her husband’s. It bore his seal, too. That had been a bit harder and involved bribing a guard to “borrow” the seal, and then return it without Paulus’ knowledge. The note implored Alysia to meet him (Paulus) at a certain time and place regarding a most urgent matter.

  The place happened to be the very room of the inn at which Lucius was staying. It would look like an accidental meeting. If she knew Lucius, and she did, he would arrest Alysia immediately and take her straight to Rome without Paulus’ knowledge, lest Paulus try to stop him. Of course, there were risks, but she had considered each and resolved them in her own mind. Alysia could tell someone about the forged note before she left Bethany, but Megara doubted she would; she certainly wouldn’t want anyone to know she was off to meet clandestinely with a Roman legate in Jerusalem. And she would probably be long dead before Paulus contrived to get back to Rome and save her.

  Alysia could miss Lucius altogether, even though the time had been carefully calculated; Lucius would almost certainly be in his room when she arrived. Alysia would not mention the note to Lucius…she would want to protect Paulus. But if they should fail to meet…well, Megara would have to get rid of Alysia somehow before she had a chance to go to Paulus and ask him why he had sent her the note. Her slave would not be averse to staging an “accident” if offered sufficient motivation. But that would be a last resort; she didn’t really want to be involved in outright murder, unless it was necessary. This way Lucius would accomplish her goal for her. And it wasn’t murder. It was justice.

  Would the authorities think that Paulus had been hiding Alysia? Perhaps at first. But Megara would swear that he had not known Alysia was here when he came to Jerusalem…and that she knew for a fact. He had truly believed Alysia was dead. Megara would swear until she was blue in the face that neither she nor Paulus were aware that Alysia was here at all. And they would believe her; her father would see to that. Never mind that it was quite a coincidence that Alysia should be just a few miles away from her former master; such things happened, such things were ordained by the gods, for reasons good or ill.

  Best of all, Aelius Sejanus was dead now, denounced by Tiberius and summarily executed. There was so much confusion and chaos in Rome at the moment that no one would pay any attention to the execution of a slave or the reasons for it; nobody cared about Magnus anymore, and his sottish old father was dead, too. They were no longer threats to Paulus.

  The only possible complication would be that Paulus himself would stand by the slave even after she was dead and declare her innocent. He might even admit to having helped her escape. But why would he be so stupid as to do that?

  No, she had thought of everything. Megara’s amber eyes glittered with triumph and excitement. Probably this very night Alysia would be on her way to Rome.

  * * * *

  Simon approached Paulus’ study with foreboding. “Sir, I must speak with you.”

  Paulus regarded his slave with concern, dismissed the tribune who stood before him, and rose from behind his desk. “Come in, Simon. What is it?”

  Simon entered and closed the door. “I am sorry to trouble you, sir. It’s about your wife.”

  Paulus said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

  “I found some papyrus sheets your wife had discarded…I didn’t take them because I thought she would look for them, to destroy them. Besides, she only left the room for a moment, but there was something about her…that was why I looked around. It appeared she had been—” Simon swallowed nervously. “It appeared she had been practicing at signing your name.”

  Paulus stood very still. “Go on.”

  “Yes, sir. Because this was somewhat unusual, I lingered outside the door and heard her order one of the slaves to take a message to someone. I couldn’t hear the name, but I heard the name of the town. She said Bethany. She was very adamant about secrecy, especially that you must know nothing of it.” For a moment Simon wondered what his fate would be, for it was no small thing to tell a man you suspected his wife was up to no good.

  Paulus still didn’t move and his face remained exp
ressionless. “How long ago was this?”

  “I didn’t see you when you came in, sir, or I would have spoken earlier. It was some time ago, mid-afternoon at least.”

  “Tell me her exact words.”

  Simon did so, as best he could remember.

  Paulus’ thoughts raced. He struggled to get inside his wife’s mind; it was not a nice place to be. Obviously Megara had written to Alysia and signed his name, for he had no other connection with Bethany. She could only have purposed to bring some harm or trouble to Alysia. How to do that? And then it came to him. Send her to Lucius!

  There was no time to waste. As he was running from the room, he placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “You have done well.”

  * * * *

  Alysia had been tense and worried ever since she’d been handed the letter by a small man dressed as a slave, who had refused to answer her questions and had left without ever saying a word…and with the letter. She was amazed that Paulus had sent for her, but it was his writing, which she remembered seeing when he wrote the letter to the captain of the ill-fated ship…and it was his seal.

  He’d written that she must come to him at once, that it was a matter of life and death, and that above all she must tell no one. He had given directions to an inn. The notion that it could be any kind of trickery gave her only a moment’s pause…it was his writing, his seal. And because he would never summon her unless it was a matter of life and death…he might be wounded, he might be dying!

  Nathan was somewhere attending a “political meeting”. She didn’t know when he would return, or even if he would come back tonight. She found a scrap of papyrus and wrote that she had gone to visit a friend. She pulled one of his long, hooded cloaks over her, to hide her face and form, and began the walk to Jerusalem…knowing all the while that she should not be going.

  * * * *

  Across the street from the inn, below the Temple and situated at a corner that cut between the inn and a banking house, Paulus stood watching everyone who came and went. He wore only a dark blue tunic without the military trappings, in order to be less conspicuous, but he had his dagger strapped to his waist. He was prepared to stop Lucius, at any cost.

  He saw no sign of his stepbrother. It would be dark soon, however, and Lucius would no doubt emerge to begin his nightly exploits, as Paulus knew to be his custom. Two hulking men nearby also watched the inn, arousing Paulus’ suspicions, but he finally concluded they were only looking for a prostitute.

  He had time for doubts to assail him. Had he correctly deduced what Megara had done? Was he too late? Should he go to Lucius’ room and see if he was still there, or wait for Alysia to arrive? The most important thing was to protect Alysia, so he decided to wait a while longer. If she didn’t arrive within a reasonable amount of time he would interview the innkeeper, to find out if there had been any disturbance, any scene caused by a tribune.

  The longer he waited, the more his ire grew. Megara had done her work well. She had summoned Alysia to the inn at just the right time for a “chance” encounter with Lucius. If Lucius saw her, arrested her and sent her immediately to Rome, Paulus wouldn’t have known about it until it was too late…and he would never have known how Alysia came to be in Jerusalem. He had always suspected it was a great mistake for the male population of Rome to assume that women were mentally inferior to men. However, Megara’s intelligence was outweighed by her lack of common sense, for she often failed to consider the consequences of her actions. And for this, there would be consequences!

  His attention was drawn by a slim person engulfed in a hooded cloak. The figure’s graceful, elegant carriage assured him it was Alysia, even before she glanced around and inadvertently gave anyone who happened to be watching a glimpse of her face.

  Alysia felt a hand on her arm. She jumped and glanced upward. “Paulus!”

  “Hush.” Paulus dragged her into the shadows. At that instant he saw Lucius coming down the outer stairs from the second story—earlier than usual. Paulus pulled her into a doorway of the building, where the innkeeper sat at a low table, counting coins.

  “I want a room at once,” Paulus said.

  The innkeeper looked startled as Paulus thrust money into his hands and began pushing Alysia out again. A stout man with bleary eyes, he ran ahead of them to open a door off the ground level and ushered them inside. The tall man slammed the door in his face.

  From the street, Lucius regarded the closed door with interest. So, his stepbrother had taken to meeting women at inns these days! It would be amusing to find out who she was. Not a prostitute, surely; Paulus had never resorted to such women when it was possible to have virtually anyone he wanted. He gave a mental shrug and hurried on his way, smiling a little. The matter would bear investigating but some other time, for his friends were waiting and he had no inclination to linger about waiting for Paulus and his companion to leave the inn.

  As he passed, two huge fellows across the street were talking in low, gravelly voices.

  “That has all the looks of a lovers nest,” said the heavier of the two men.

  “Oh,” said the other, “she’ll suit our purpose well enough. I’ve seen her before…you don’t forget someone like her. She’s married to that stonemason in Bethany. My brother lives there.”

  “Who’s the man?”

  “Didn’t get a good look at him. Had my eyes on her.”

  “We were supposed to go around by the booths and catch someone in the act.”

  “This is better. Close to the Temple. Besides, I know she’s married. We wouldn’t know for sure about anyone else and I don’t care to go creeping about through the booths at night, do you? Find a place to settle down…we might be here all night. If she leaves too early we’ll just have to detain her….somehow.”

  Inside the inn, Alysia loosened her cloak and let the hood fall down around her shoulders. “Why did you send for me?” she asked anxiously.

  Without answering, Paulus walked over to the latticed window where he observed Lucius standing across the street. He waited until Lucius moved away, then turned to face her. “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of Jerussalem?”

  “But—” She paused. “You didn’t write the letter.”

  “Of course not!”

  She felt her own anger begin to rise. “I thought something had happened to you, that you needed me. I only came because—”

  She stopped abruptly. A feeling of anti-climax gripped her, and she realized how tightly her nerves had been wound and how weary she now was. Paulus moved to close the shutters, and as he did so she sank down in a padded chair and looked absently about the room, noticing its spaciousness and the fine furnishings. The close proximity of the inn to the Temple perhaps accounted for its superior quality. The floor was laid with carpet; there were several chairs and a couch covered with cushions and a blanket made of multi-colored yarn. The wooden bedstead was high off the ground and on top was a thick mat also covered with clean linens and blankets. A large, bronze brazier stood opposite the bed, for use in the colder months. The scent of aloes and cinnamon permeated the room. Several small tables bore oil lamps and bowls of fresh fruit on top of them. Tapestries lined the thick walls, making the room seem closer, more private and intimate.

  No, she should not have come here.

  Paulus turned to face her. “I would not have written you for any reason…even if I were dying. You should have known that, Alysia.”

  “I’m going home,” she said firmly.

  “You can’t leave now. We don’t know where Lucius is.”

  She got to her feet. “I am leaving. Please get out of my way.”

  “Alysia, listen to me. Megara wrote the letter, hoping you would run into Lucius, which you very nearly did. If her plan had succeeded you would be face to face with him at this very moment.”

  “Megara! I knew she would do something—oh, I have been a fool!”

  “You are no fool. Perhaps I was, by thinking I could control her. It would be easier to tam
e a cobra!”

  Alysia stared at him as he stood in the darkened room with the light from the lamps flickering over his tall form. She couldn’t stop her voice from trembling. “I won’t stay here with you.”

  Paulus took a step toward her, and stopped. “I’ll go and find out where Lucius is, and have him watched until you are back in Bethany. I’ll have Simon take you there.”

  When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Is that acceptable to you?”

  Alysia nodded, not meeting his eyes.

  Paulus turned to go. He put his hand on the door and hesitated for what seemed an eternity, and turned again to look at her. Her gaze lifted and fused with his, and she drew in her breath sharply. As though with a life of its own, the cloak she had draped over her shoulders slid off and sank to the floor. She wasn’t aware of either of them moving, but somehow she was locked in his arms and he was kissing her with a long-suppressed, ravenous hunger and almost savagery. When he lifted her and carried her swiftly to the bed, her only thought was that no one would ever know.

  * * * *

  Sometime in the night she awakened. Paulus had opened the shutters slightly just before they went to sleep, and the moonlight pierced the latticework in shafts, falling in a pale glow upon the bed. A light waft of air struck her; it had been unseasonably cold for several days but she was warm beneath the blankets.

  This, she thought, is where I belong. If only it were Paulus who sat across from her every day and ate the meals she cooked, who shared quiet evenings with her on the rooftop, who lay beside her each night. If only…

  Alysia released a sigh and rose quietly from the bed. She wrapped the cloak around her and sat down on the couch, wondering how she was to get home and what she would tell Nathan. That her friend was sick and Alysia had stayed the night with her…a friend from Cyprus who had come here for the festival…how she hated the thought of lying to Nathan, and after this! He didn’t deserve it, in spite of their trouble. She realized she was crying.