by Debra Diaz
“Yes,” said his son-in-law thoughtfully. “It would behoove us to have one of the twelve on our side. But we will continue to watch for any opportunity to arrest him. I still say that destroying his credibility is vital.”
“It will be destroyed,” said Annas complacently, “when he is dead.”
* * * *
In the pearl gray sky of dawn, Alysia rose and dressed and ate the light breakfast prepared by Judith. A small, demure woman who spoke little, looked younger than she was and always kept herself busy at some task, Lazarus’ servant had proven invaluable in caring for Rachel whenever Alysia wanted to leave the house. And feeling often confined, Alysia left it at any opportunity—to buy food, to draw water, to visit Lazarus and his sisters (though she took Rachel with her on those occasions.)
She had thought it would be awkward to visit Lazarus; she hardly knew what to say to him since the miracle. But Lazarus was the same as ever, and his sisters, once they had gotten over their sense of wonder, seemed to accept Lazarus’ return as a completely natural event.
Jesus and his disciples had left that same night, traveling by necessity under cover of darkness in the direction from which they had come. Not only were the religious leaders still seeking to entrap him, but everyone knew that once news of the miracle had spread there would be hundreds, if not thousands, of people converging upon him.
Alysia had found the courage to ask Lazarus what it was like…to be dead and raised again. But he only looked thoughtful and said, “Either God has not permitted me to remember, or…perhaps time does not exist on the other side. It seemed that I had just closed my eyes, and then immediately awakened.”
“And did you…hear him call you forth?”
“Oh, yes, I heard him. And was compelled to obey. And you know, Alysia—I feel well now. He has healed me. I know that someday I will grow old and die again, but not of that former affliction.” He paused and looked into her eyes. “There can be no doubt now, can there? About who he is.”
Alysia had nodded, somehow both thrilled and afraid. She had to shake off all the myths and legends she’d been taught in her youth and tell herself: this is real; this man, Jesus, is real; he is flesh and blood and something more, something divine…And why was he here? Why did he not go to Athens or Rome and perform some miracle where the world would sit up and take notice!
She started out for the marketplace to buy meat and vegetables for the evening meal. The shops were already crowded; people milled about and argued with the merchants, who loudly defended the quality of their produce and lamented the low prices they were forced to accept. It seemed a typical, fine spring day…until there was a sudden, concerted murmuring among the patrons, who—just as suddenly—fell completely silent. They began to move, some passing to the right, others to the left, and at last Alysia had a full view of the road.
A company of mounted soldiers was passing through the town. Weary and sweat-stained, many of them bore wounds covered with bloody bandages. Alysia stepped aside and watched as they drew nearer, noticing the looks of fear and resentment on the faces around her. Her eyes went back to the approaching soldiers, and with a start she almost dropped her basket.
Paulus rode at the fore, his helmet off and resting on the bar of his saddle. It was the first time she’d ever seen him with a helmet. His hair was damp with sweat and there was blood on him, though she could detect no injury. His horse bled from the shoulder. He stopped abruptly when he saw her, and immediately the entire company came to a halt.
He surveyed the hostile faces around him, and said in a loud voice, “I require a man to care for my horse. Where is the nearest stable?”
For a moment no one answered. Even Alysia, who felt no threat with Paulus present, was awed to the point of speechlessness by the appearance of these battle-worn warriors. Finally one of the merchants stepped forward and said timorously, “There is but one stable in town, sir, and one man to tend the animals. The owner’s name is Lazarus.”
“And where will I find the house of Lazarus?”
The merchant swallowed and said, “The last house on the right side of the road sir, before you reach the north gate.”
Paulus nodded at the man but sat still for a moment, letting his eyes pass over the townspeople as if inviting them to speak their minds. No one did. Paulus’ gaze didn’t linger upon Alysia longer than any other, but she knew what he wanted her to do.
Everyone watched as the soldiers passed slowly by. At the end of the procession were twenty or so prisoners, bound, and soiled with dirt and blood. They were guarded by more soldiers, and at last the street had cleared, save for the residents of Bethany. Others had come out of their houses to watch in silence, staring at the prisoners, hoping not to see anyone they knew. Many of them looked at Alysia with sympathy, remembering that her husband had died at the hands of these Roman invaders.
She took a firm hold on her basket and began to walk home, trying not to hurry. She stopped at her house, left the food, and told Judith where she was going. The Romans had disappeared by the time she arrived at Lazarus’ house. She didn’t speak to anyone, but walked the short distance to the wooden building where Lazarus kept his donkeys and mules and his one horse. Still, she saw no sign of the soldiers. The man who tended the animals carried a bucket of water inside the stable.
Alysia followed him, but paused outside the doorway. She saw Paulus’ horse, drinking noisily from the bucket. The man was carefully washing blood from the horse’s shoulder; the flesh along the great animal’s side quivered and he stamped his foot. It was dim inside the stable, but she could see Paulus wasn’t there.
She stepped silently away from the doorway and followed a short path that meandered downward to a shallow brook, fed by a rare spring or two occurring on Lazarus’ property. There were times when it ran almost dry, but now it was quite full, due to the winter and spring rains. It was a secluded spot, for tamarisks and poplars grew abundantly here, and the gnarled branches of squat terebinths spread out like grasping hands. Red and white flowers bloomed among the shrubbery.
Paulus sat on the bank, in a band of early sunlight that fell slanting through the trees, one knee drawn up, one arm over his knee. His hair was wet from washing his face in the little stream. He was looking out beyond the trees toward the vineyards and, as she watched, he picked up a stick and poked it restlessly into the earth, unaware of her approach. She could have stood there all day, quietly observing him, but he seemed to sense her presence and turned.
He froze for a moment, as if startled, then tossed away the stick and got to his feet. Again she noticed the blood splattered on his uniform.
“Are you hurt, Paulus?” she asked quickly, somewhat surprised that she could speak in so normal a voice.
He shook his head. “We learned of a group of rebels camped southeast of here. We rode out last night to take them by surprise, at dawn. I chose to return this way in the hope of—seeing you. I sent the rest of the men ahead.” He raised his hands a little and said lightly, “If I believed in the goddess of fortune I would thank her most fervently.”
The thought struck her forcibly that now, perhaps, was the time to tell him about Rachel. Perhaps God had arranged this meeting so she could do that very thing. Paulus had a right to know he had a child. He wouldn’t be so cruel as to take her away. But, what would he do? How could they arrange for him to spend time with Rachel without everyone knowing of it?
She simply wasn’t prepared to make this decision now. She wasn’t prepared for this meeting!
Paulus’ gaze moved slowly over the loose robe that fell to just above her ankles and was belted at her slim waist. The mantle covering her hair was tied behind her head, and framed her face in a way that flattered her high cheekbones and slightly tilted eyes.
“You are more beautiful than ever,” he said softly.
“I—I—” Words were sticking in her throat. He didn’t seem to notice that she was in a tumult of anxiety.
“There is something I m
ust tell you,” he said, and paused. There was really no gentle way. “Megara is…dead. I had sent her back to Rome. She took her own life.”
Alysia swayed. He made a move toward her, but she turned away from him and put her hand against the trunk of a tree. He stopped and stood still, seeming uncertain.
Finally she looked up at him. “I am sorry, Paulus, for your sake.”
Her thoughts swirled as though in a windstorm, and began to sift themselves with almost no conscious action of her own. What came clear to her, at last, was that she couldn’t tell Paulus about Rachel. Not now, with Megara dead.
Without actually being aware of it, she had depended on Megara to keep Paulus from claiming Rachel as his own…not that Megara could have forced him into anything. But it would have been difficult and troublesome for him to do so against her wishes. Without her, what was to stop him from taking the only child he might ever have? He wouldn’t want his daughter raised in the simple manner in which she lived, and as a Jew!
No, she would not risk losing Rachel.
Paulus’ voice scattered her thoughts like sunlight upon mist. “Is it safe for you to be here? Can we talk without being seen?”
She straightened and looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to avoid his, and at that moment a barrier came between them that would not easily be removed. It was the barrier of deception, of a lie told without words.
“I must go. I wanted to make sure you were not wounded.”
“Alysia, wait. There is something else. I would like for you to consider leaving Bethany. Megara told her father about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“She left a letter, saying you were still alive and where you are living. Her father was the only one who saw the letter. I don’t believe he will ever tell anyone, but all the same it’s dangerous.”
“I will never leave here. All the people I care about are here.” She added, looking down at the ground, “Or nearby.”
He waited a moment, and when she looked up again she saw that he understood. But he only said, “Lucius is still in Jerusalem. Supposedly he is here on behalf of the Senate, and I do not have authority to dispute that. I could write Tiberius, but whatever mind he had left a year ago is about gone, from what I’ve heard. The situation there is still chaotic. All I can do is keep having Lucius watched.”
“I will be careful.”
He took a step toward her. “This man, Lazarus,” he said, unexpectedly. “What is this rubbish about the Nazarene raising him from the dead?”
She answered him quietly, but with conviction. “I was there. I saw him die. I saw Jesus raise him four days after he was buried.”
Paulus stared at her in disbelief. Finally he said, “Such things are not possible, Alysia.”
“It may not be possible, but it happened.”
“You—have accepted the God of these people?”
After a moment, she replied, “Because I believe in Jesus, I must also believe in God.”
His eyes met hers, and it seemed that another barrier leaped up between them, this one of his making. But he fought against it and said impulsively, “Never mind that…it doesn’t matter. I, too, am sorry about Megara, but there is nothing anyone can do about it. Marry me, Alysia. Nothing stands in our way.”
“Nothing but the man I killed, who still controls my life whether I would have it so or not!”
“It doesn’t have to be this way. We could go anywhere in the world. Let me protect you. Don’t you know I would give my life for you?”
She bent her head. “Of course I know it, and it is what I fear the most. That you will die because of something I’ve done. You must not keep waiting for me, Paulus.” What she said next had to get past a great lump in her throat. “You should find someone to love, and have a family.”
“Alysia, if you think—” Paulus broke off, words failing him. He began again. “Be it known that while you live and beyond that, I will never love another as I love you. And know this…someday we will be together, if I must snatch you up and carry you to the far ends of the earth!”
Tears began to flow down her face.
“Think well on why you refuse me, Alysia, and if it’s only because of my life, or my profession, then your reasoning has no merit. These things are nothing to me without you.”
“But your life is everything to me,” she answered, in a choked voice. “Do you think it is easy for me to deny you?”
“Don’t be a fool, Alysia,” he said harshly. “What is it you’re really afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything, except what will happen if you’re caught with me! Why can’t you understand that?”
“I know only that we belong together, and whether soon or late, our time of waiting will come to an end!”
They stared at each other with such intensity that they failed to hear anyone approach, until someone’s light cough broke the impassioned silence. Paulus’ head jerked up. Alysia whirled to see Lazarus standing nearby, looking apologetic but firm.
“Is anything wrong, Alysia?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but it was a moment before she could think of anything to say. “No, Lazarus, there is nothing wrong. This is Legate Paulus Valerius, commander of the fortress in Jerusalem. I met him the night after I was taken by the soldiers to Jerusalem. He was…responsible for seeing that I arrived safely in Bethany.”
Lazarus said nothing. It was obvious to all of them that there was more to the story than that, considering what Lazarus must have overheard. Paulus glanced at Alysia, who said no more, and easily took command of the situation.
“I assume you are the owner of this property. I would like to thank you for the use of your stable, and your servant.”
“Of course. He came at once to tell me of your presence, after he’d seen to your horse. You are welcome to whatever I have. Are you in need of a physician?”
Paulus glanced down at his bloody uniform in some surprise, as if he’d already forgotten the battle he’d fought just a few hours earlier. “No. I will go now, if the man is finished with my horse.”
Lazarus inclined his head and waited for Alysia and Paulus to precede him. When they reached the stable, Paulus’ horse gave an impatient snort and jerked at the reins, which had been looped over a fencepost. The injured shoulder had been cleansed and plastered with a strong-smelling salve.
“Again, thank you for your hospitality,” Paulus said.
Lazarus humbly bowed his head.
Paulus swung into the saddle and hesitated for a moment, looking down at Lazarus and Alysia. There was an expression of puzzlement on his face as he said, “This rumor that has reached Jerusalem about you—can you explain it?”
“Explain it?” Lazarus smiled a little. “I suppose if it were only a rumor, that would be the explanation.”
Though Paulus waited, Lazarus made no further comment.
“Well, then,” Paulus said, “good day to you.” His eyes went to Alysia, and somehow conveyed to her what he could not say in the presence of another. They were full of promise and determination. “Farewell, Alysia.”
The word “Goodbye” failed to form past the tightness in her chest, and she could only watch as he wheeled his horse about, gained the rocky path, and in a moment disappeared over the brow of a hill. She turned a little away from Lazarus, dashed her hand over the tears, and faced him again. Her voice, though she made a great effort to sound natural, was hollow and shaky to her own ears.
“Why didn’t you tell him about what happened to you?”
Lazarus glanced at her speculatively, almost as though he were seeing her for the first time. He took her arm, leading her away from the stable, and said, “Because, my dear Alysia, what makes you think he would have believed me…if he didn’t believe you?”
CHAPTER XVIII
This time he came quietly by night, arriving just after dark with his twelve disciples. Earlier in the day, a messenger brought word to Lazarus; it was decided that a supper would be held at th
e home of a man named Simon, whom Jesus had healed of leprosy. It would attract less attention, at least for that one night. His fame had grown so that everyone in Bethany wanted to congregate at Lazarus’ house when they knew he was there.
Martha was to serve, since Simon had no wife or female relatives. She, Alysia and a servant went to Simon’s smaller house and worked all afternoon preparing roasted quail, smoked fish, a red lentil stew spiced with cumin, rice, cheese and bread, and small honey-laced cakes. Simon, a tall, thin man with long, gray-streaked hair, watched their progress with obvious delight. Mary, to Martha’s annoyance, did not accompany them.
“She’s been no help to me since Lazarus—since it happened. Not that she was ever much help in the kitchen, but she did try!”
“She studies a great deal,” Alysia tried to explain. “She reads the Scriptures.”
Martha did not reply, perhaps remembering the reproof she had once received for criticizing her younger sister. Soon after dark the men arrived and everyone gathered in the courtyard. The food had already been set out and the men ate heartily, but Alysia observed a subtle change in them. None of them were talking and laughing as usual; they were strangely subdued and, with the exception of their leader, almost glum. Jesus made an effort to talk pleasantly with Simon, but he too seemed preoccupied.
The meal was barely over when someone appeared in the entranceway from inside the house. Startled, Alysia saw that it was Mary, her head uncovered for the first time since Alysia had known her, and holding in her hands an exquisite alabaster jar.
When Jesus glanced away from Simon and saw her, his expression changed from one of courteous listening to an intent, serious look that followed Mary as she advanced slowly toward him. Without looking at anyone, she broke the flask at its neck and moved to stand behind Jesus. All conversation halted.
It was like a ritual. In the manner of anointing a king, she poured some of the oil on his head. Immediately the breeze from the open door to the outside caught the ethereal fragrance and carried it throughout the courtyard. Then she moved to kneel before him, and with humility and tenderness, poured the oil upon his bare feet. Then she wiped his feet with her hair.