Woman of Sin

by Debra Diaz

  He couldn’t bear to watch any longer…couldn’t bear the looks on the faces of these people, who had loved this man. He motioned to the blood-soaked centurion, who came to him at once. “Follow them,” he said. “Take these other men with you. You are not to leave the body for one moment. Watch where they bury him, and stay there until you are relieved. I’m sending out a company of men to guard the grave. And I want no one interfering with his burial…especially the priests. He deserves that much.”

  The centurion looked mystified, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Paulus mounted his horse, tugged gently on the reins, and turned onto the path to the city gate. It was almost evening, and by the Jews’ reckoning would be the beginning of their Passover Sabbath. The day after that was their regular Sabbath, so there would be no activity on the streets by religious Jews for two more days.

  He felt deeply depressed. Someone should tell Alysia, he thought. She was probably alone in Bethany. But…how to explain why he had let something like this happen when he knew the man was innocent? How to explain the fact that the events of the day seemed to occur in such a chaotic and yet cohesive way, and completely outside his or Pilate’s control?

  How to explain thinking he had had heard the Nazarene tell him to put away his sword!

  * * * *

  Hours earlier Alysia had stood in her doorway, a look of deep apprehension on her face. The sky had turned completely dark. She could see nothing, not even the outline of the distant mountains. She went inside, closed the door, and slid the bolt into place. She found the one lamp that was always kept burning and went about lighting the other lamps. She had heard about eclipses…perhaps this was one.

  She looked at Rachel, who had just been put down for a nap. Her daughter was sleeping peacefully. Alysia returned to the table where she had been making bread, but she kept stopping to listen, not knowing what she listened for, and heard only the anxious thudding of her own heart. She wished Lazarus and his sisters hadn’t gone to Jerusalem. Judith had gone as well. The only people left in Bethany were those too old or too sick to attend the Passover. There weren’t even any travelers on the road outside.

  She didn’t like being alone today. It frightened her, this darkness hanging over the land like a cloud of doom. But, no, it was not like a cloud. It was like a blanket, heavy and oppressive, bearing down in suffocating folds of fear and alarm, and an indescribable sorrow.

  It was like the end of the world.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Paulus found it impossible to concentrate on his duties. He decided to ride to the city of Emmaus, where workmen were building a small Roman fort. Emmaus was a picturesque city, almost halfway to the coast, sitting on a hill and accessible by a newly paved Roman road. When finished, the fort would fall under his supervision and would be staffed with part of his own legion. For two days he watched the construction, consulting with the carpenters and stonemasons. He tried not to think about what was happening in Jerusalem, having confidence in the men he had set to guarding the Nazarene’s tomb. Besides, what could possibly happen? The Nazarene was dead, there was no threat of any rebellion by his followers…who, in fact, all seemed to be in hiding. And the priests’ idea that the disciples would try to steal the body was ludicrous. How could they hope to even carry out such a plot, much less convince people that their leader had risen from the dead?

  However, on the morning of the next day his restlessness had only increased, so after one final meeting he departed for Jerusalem. On the road he passed several travelers apparently returning from Jerusalem, some of them serious and quiet, others walking together in animated conversation. He noticed three men in particular, for the man in the middle was taller than the others, and though his outer garment covered his head, there was something familiar about him. The men were talking earnestly, and only the man in the middle looked directly at Paulus. But, intent on his thoughts, Paulus only glanced at him and rode on.

  He was standing in the doorway of the stable stamping dust from his boots when one of the tribunes approached him and saluted gravely. “Greetings, sir. The prefect instructed me to tell you he wishes to see you at once.”

  “Very well.” Paulus preceded the tribune into the praetorium, not even pausing to wash the journey’s grime from his face. Pilate sat in the library, his elbows braced on a table and his head in his hands, rubbing as if to blot out some pain. Claudia perched on the edge of a chair near him, white-lipped and silent.

  Pilate looked up and gestured weakly. “Come in, Paulus. Close the door.”

  Paulus obeyed. He glanced at Claudia, who would not look at him.

  “Paulus, just how reliable were those guards you placed at the Nazarene’s grave?”

  He felt a strange quiver inside him. “Completely. They had orders to change guard every three hours. Sirius, one of my best men, was in command.” He paused, and though he knew the answer, asked, “What happened?”

  “The Nazarene’s body is gone!” Claudia cried. “He is gone, and it is the third day!”

  “Please, Claudia.” Pilate continued to rub his aching head. “The body has been stolen, Paulus. The Sanhedrin is outraged, saying your men were asleep on duty.”

  Paulus looked incredulous. “They were not asleep! Every one of my men is aware of the penalty for sleeping on guard duty.”

  Pilate leaned forward and said in a cold, clipped voice, “They have admitted that they fell asleep. When they awakened, the body was gone. The Jews say that if this news spreads, the people will become convinced the Nazarene was a god. Then they will turn against the Sanhedrin for crucifying him. All of this could be disastrous, Paulus, for the Jews and for us. That is why I want you to find the body.”

  “That should be simple enough. And if I find that this is true, I will have the guards executed.”

  “No, you are not to punish them. Caiaphas has already convinced me that this is the best handling of the matter.”

  “What do you mean, don’t punish them?”

  Pilate and his wife exchanged looks of uneasiness. “Very well—here it is. Caiaphas paid them to say they had fallen asleep, and promised them immunity from prosecution. I realize he went beyond his authority…and so does he. However, executions of Roman soldiers over a dead Jew’s grave! What would that do for our army’s morale? Besides, it makes us look like fools.”

  Paulus’ eyes speared the governor to his seat. “Were they, or were they not, asleep when the body was stolen? By the gods, Pilate, there were twenty of them!”

  Pilate’s own gaze shifted away. “They had to be. They had some wild story…Caiaphas didn’t want to tell it, sounds like a hallucination of some sort. Nonsense. But we must prove once and for all that this miracle-worker from Nazareth is nothing more than a decaying corpse.”

  “I warned you,” Claudia said in a despairing tone, which was so uncharacteristic of her that both men stared. “I warned you to have nothing to do with that man!”

  * * * *

  Still half in a daze, Paulus went to his room where he washed and donned a clean uniform. Then, immediately, he confronted the captain of the guard.

  “Do you think I believe this rubbish about your falling asleep? I want the truth. What happened out there?”

  “That—that is the truth, sir.”

  Paulus stared at the officer with contempt. “You know that the penalty for sleeping on duty is death. If you persist with this story I will be forced to carry it out…with or without Pilate’s permission. I have only to consult with his superior officer.”

  The captain turned pale, but made no answer.

  “Sirius, I’ve known you a long time. You are not a simpleton, nor are you a liar. You are the best soldier I have, which is why I put you in charge. And since I wrote the orders myself I know that you were on duty this morning. Tell me what happened.”

  Sirius licked his lips, eyeing his commander nervously. “Sir, you won’t believe—”

  “Never mind what I believe!”

  �
��We—we came upon the priests as we were running away. They were going to the tomb, I think, to see if anything had happened. And they paid us all a great sum of money to say that we had fallen asleep and the body had been stolen. They said they would arrange with Pilate that we would not be punished.”

  “Running away from what, Sirius?”

  “I—had just come out to join the morning watch, as you ordered. There were twenty of us. Nothing at all had happened the previous two days…the guards had seen no one anywhere near the tomb. I suppose we were all wondering why we were even there. And then—”

  He stopped to run a hand over his face. “And then, the earth shook, sir, as if a giant beast had set his foot upon it. There was a sound from inside the tomb, like—a huge chorus of singers. We saw a light coming from around the stone, so bright that I think we would have been blinded if it hadn’t been blocked by the stone. Just that much of it hurt our eyes. There was a—man, dressed in white. He came from nowhere. He rolled the stone away, as if it were nothing—a pebble. Sir, no mortal man could have done that! Then he—sat down on it and just looked at us. That was when we ran, sir. We didn’t look back.”

  Paulus stared at the officer for so long that Sirius cast down his eyes and almost began to shift about like a schoolboy. “What else did you see?”

  “Nothing, except—there were some women approaching from a distance.”

  “And the Nazarene’s body? What happened to it?”

  “Sir, I am not trying to make myself—appear any better in this thing, for I know it is inexcusable. But I was the last to leave. When everyone else ran, I—well, I was the last. I looked into the tomb. And there was nothing there.”

  “How can you be sure of that? You have said you were almost blinded by a bright light.”

  “The tomb was not dark. It was—glowing, as if the light inside were slowly growing dimmer. I could see perfectly. And there was no body inside.”

  “Who was this man in white? Why did you not confront him, fight him?”

  “I don’t know. His strength—the way he moved. I suppose we assumed he was a god.”

  “So you believe, Captain, that one of the gods came and rolled that stone away so that you and the world could see that, by some supernatural means, this Nazarene had come back to life and just—disappeared?”

  Sirius winced at the sarcasm in his commander’s voice. “I don’t know what to believe, sir. I only know what I saw. No one, nothing, was in the tomb except the Nazarene’s body when the entrance was sealed. We examined it thoroughly. It was an ordinary tomb.”

  Paulus’ mind flew; he told himself again there was always a rational explanation for everything. It was a fantastic story…told by a man not given to fantasy, an honest and intelligent man that Paulus had admired…until now.

  “You have brought disgrace upon this legion by your cowardice,” he said sternly. “And by your willingness to lie, and by accepting a bribe from the Jews. Pontius Pilate has ordered your pardon from execution, but I will not be so lenient, Captain. I will find a way to punish you and your men. Now tell me where I can find this grave.”

  Sweating, Sirius gave him directions. Paulus went for his horse and rode northward, to see the gravesite for himself.

  * * * *

  Below and slightly west of the cliff-face that so eerily resembled a human skull, the tomb was apart from the city and carved from the sheer rock wall. Paulus left his horse close to the road and walked down the graveled path. The massive boulder that had covered the rectangular opening stood some distance away. Spikes had been driven into the stone on either side of the entrance to hold the thick leather strap in place. This was the seal protected by Roman law; to break it would involve severe consequences. The strap now dangled at one end.

  He saw an upraised area of rock-covered earth to the right, where the soldiers would have stood guard. A square of pavement graced the front of the tomb. Flowers in full, riotous beauty…white lilies, roses, tulips, crimson poppies…grew in large clay pots bordering the pavement. Their scents filled the cool spring air. The evening sun was ready to descend, and its last rays surrounded the place with an aureate glow.

  Paulus stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at the darkened entrance. He didn’t for a moment believe in a resurrection…but something had happened here, something that had so frightened twenty hardened soldiers that they had risked their lives by running away from their post. He was about to enter, to see if there was some evidence that had been overlooked, when a small noise came from within…as of a pebble scraping against a shoe. He hesitated, and in spite of himself a shiver wound along his spine.

  “Who’s there?” he called out, in a tone of authority.

  There was no answer. Paulus drew his dagger and went down the stone steps, bending his head as he cautiously entered the sepulcher. A waft of cool air struck him, bringing a smell of stale air and mustiness…and something else, something like the scent of earth after a storm of thunder and lightning. He didn’t move as his sight adjusted to the dimness. Another sound, like the rustle of clothes, came from his right. He stiffened, and cautiously turned his head in that direction.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  A clear, feminine voice replied. “I am called Mary, the Magdalene.”

  After a moment’s pause, and with an unmistakable sense of relief, he replaced the dagger in its sheath and stepped closer to the motionless woman. He could see that she was tall and quite thin. She wore a black cloak that also covered her hair.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came here to pray,” she said simply.

  “How did you get in here? This tomb was under the seal of the Roman army.”

  Her eyes went over him for a moment, taking in the crimson mantle clasped at his shoulders, the mail cuirass and pleated kilt of his uniform. “Are you going to arrest me?” she asked softly.

  “Not yet,” he said, trying to curb his impatience. “But someone broke the seal and stole the body of a man buried here three days ago. What do you know about that?”

  The woman made no reply. He felt that she was debating what she should say to him.

  He said quietly, “Who was it—the fisherman they call Peter? Were the others involved also?”

  Again, she didn’t answer. She lifted her arm and pointed across the small chamber. “That was where we put him. There was so little time, for the Passover Sabbath was beginning. We wrapped him in the linen, and laid him there.”

  Paulus turned and looked where she pointed. There was a long, gently sloping groove along the floor. There was, of course, no body lying there now, and once again a strange shuddering swept over him.

  “What happened to him?”

  The woman began to weep softly. Again he fought to control his impatience. The peculiar smell was making him light-headed, and he touched her arm. “Let’s go outside,” he said gently.

  She allowed him to lead her up the steps and out into the diminishing sunlight. She stumbled once, as if she too were dizzy. When they stood in the garden, he looked intently into her face.

  She was about his own age. The black cloak had slipped back, revealing auburn hair that seemed aflame in the setting sun. He remembered seeing her at the crucifixion. Tears streamed from her brown eyes, but he saw with some surprise that she wasn’t weeping with grief…instead, she seemed filled with some deep, inexpressible joy!

  “She’s insane,” was his first thought, and her next words confirmed his suspicion.

  “Jesus is alive!” she said rapturously, her arms spread at her sides and her fists clenched. “You will not find a dead body, sir, though you may search for a thousand years…because I have seen him! I was the first to see him, and to speak to him.”

  Paulus stared at her, knowing that his face revealed his disbelief, but he said calmly, “When you saw him, what was he wearing? Was he still in his grave clothes?”

  She shook her head, smiling, and closed her eyes for a moment as if to calm h
erself. “No. He wore a robe. Like gardeners wear. He must have borrowed it from the caretaker of this tomb. We found his shroud lying there, where his body had been.”

  “Where is it now?”

  She stopped smiling, her eyes meeting his. “It is in a safe place, and if I must die for it, it will never fall into Roman hands.” After a moment, she added, “If I thought it would help you, I would show it to you. But I think—not now.”

  Though he waited, she said nothing else. He struggled to make sense out of what she had told him. But there was no doubt in his mind that she had succumbed to the distress of seeing her friend and teacher killed, and completely lost her reason.

  “You said you were the first,” he remarked. “Who else has seen him?”

  Again she smiled a little. “Sir, I cannot tell you that.”

  “Who rolled the stone from the grave?”

  She turned and looked at the great circular stone. “Perhaps it was the men we saw when we first looked inside the tomb.”

  Her statement grabbed his full attention. “What men?”

  Her face was lit as with some inner flame. “I think that when we got there, it had just happened. I had come, with a few other women, to finish placing the herbs around his body. As I told you, there was not time on the day of his death to see to these things. This is our custom, but we had to wait until the Sabbath was over.

  “We wondered what we would do about the stone. We even considered asking the Romans to move it. But when we got there, it was already moved. The guards were gone. When we looked inside—”

  She stopped as her voice broke, and continued, “When we looked inside, the air seemed strange and…crackling with some kind of current, and there was a smell—it’s going away now. There were two men inside, whose faces were like—like lightning. And one of them said, “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here. He is risen.”