Woman of Sin

by Debra Diaz

  Paulus made a conscious effort to dismiss Alysia from his thoughts. It was difficult, for he’d thought of little else for the past two weeks but her, and the child she had tried to keep a secret from him. This had even crowded out his thoughts of the Nazarene. But now, as he listened to Peter, his own problems began to recede and his interest heightened, until he was no longer aware of anything but the story unfolding before him. The words penetrated into his deepest being; it seemed that a ray of light had somehow pierced a crevice of his soul and was shining in, exploring…

  “That night he tried to warn us of what was to come. He said that we would all be scattered, that one of us would betray him, and that I…before morning came…would deny three times that I even knew him.” Peter stopped then, and looked away for a moment. His voice grew a bit gruffer. “Of course, I swore it would never happen…I was ready, I said, to die for him.

  “We—that is, eleven of us—went to Gethsemane, the place across from the valley. Part of it is a public garden, and there’s an olive grove there, where we often went at night when he wanted to be alone. And he…began to pray. But, not as we had ever seen him pray before. He seemed to be in great anguish. There was a rock there, and sometimes he knelt beside it. Sometimes he lay prostrate on the ground. He would come to us and ask us to pray, but we were awed, and almost horrified…we hardly knew what to pray for. There was a sense of great oppression. I cannot describe it. We waited for so long that we finally fell asleep.

  “Then we heard voices shouting. We woke to see the place filled with the Temple guards, armed with spears and cudgels, carrying torches. Everything was lit with a red glow. And Judas was there in the midst of them. Judas, the betrayer.”

  There was utter silence for a moment; Peter’s listeners found themselves leaning slightly forward. He went on, steadily. “The signal was, we discovered later, that Judas would give the kiss of greeting to the man they were to arrest. There was so much confusion and moving around…there were so many of us. When he did so, Jesus said something to him—I didn’t hear the words, but I think John did. John could add much to this…I wish he were here. But, even after Judas identified Jesus, they made no move to arrest him. They just stood there.

  “Jesus asked them who they were looking for. They said, Jesus of Nazareth. He answered that he was that man. But still they made no move toward him; some of them even fell to the ground, as if in awe of him.”

  Peter looked intently at the faces before him. “I cannot explain this, except to say that there was something about Jesus at that moment…so majestic, and God-like, that even we who knew him were overwhelmed. Again, he asked them who they were looking for, and again they answered, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus said, ‘I told you that I am he. If it’s me you’re seeking, let these others go.’

  “When Jesus said that, something happened to me and I became like a wild man. James and I both had swords with us. I struck out at the man closest to Jesus and cut off his ear. Whether I meant to kill him or not I cannot say, even to this day. Jesus put out his hand to stop me and said, with great emotion, ‘Put away your sword. Shall I not drink the cup my Father has given me?’ There was a great deal of pushing and shouting around us, and during the commotion Jesus touched the man’s ear, and healed it.

  “By then we were surrounded by the guards. But they only took Jesus. They bound him and led him away. We all stood for a while in the dark, trying to think what to do. Judas had already left us…he went and tried to give the money back to the priests, the money they had given him to lead them to Jesus. He said that he had…betrayed innocent blood. But the priests wouldn’t take it. He went out and hanged himself from a tree, though we didn’t know all this until much later. The branch had broken off the tree and the body fell down into a ravine.”

  “Why, Peter?” called out an old man, who had tears rolling down his face. “Why did Judas betray him?”

  The disciple shook his head. “Some say greed. Some say he believed Jesus was going to lead a rebellion against the Romans and was trying to force him to take a stand. Some say he was possessed by Satan. But only Judas really knows. And Jesus.”

  Dark had fallen and now Peter stood against a backdrop of stars, the lamps flaring and smoking around him. His voice thickened and he spoke slowly, as if reluctant to go on.

  “Finally, John and I began to follow Jesus…at a distance. The initial hearing was held at the house of Annas, the former High Priest. Little was accomplished there. I’m sure I need not tell you that so many laws were broken by the Sanhedrin during these trials that it was all a complete travesty…it was the only way they could deal with an innocent man! From there they took him to Caiaphas’ house. Only certain people were admitted, and John was one of them. Caiaphas knows him and his family. But I don’t believe the High Priest knew John was there; a servant let him in. I stayed in the courtyard. There was a fire, and several people around it.

  “John said that the interrogation was very severe. That they beat Jesus, and spat on him, and treated him with the utmost contempt. One of the servants, a young woman, accused me of being one of his disciples. All I could think of was being dragged in there and treated the same way. I said…I didn’t know him.”

  Someone said, “Oh,” in a sympathetic way, but Peter seemed not to hear.

  “Another woman began talking about seeing me with Jesus, and so one of the men accused me. I denied knowing him—again. Then, a man who turned out to be a relative of the man whose ear I cut off, looked at me and said, ‘I know I saw you in the garden with him.’” And I cursed. I swore, ‘I do not know the man!’ At that exact moment, two things happened. A rooster crowed, for it was almost morning, and they pushed Jesus out onto the courtyard. He looked directly at me.”

  Peter stopped. He turned slowly and sat down on the wall, looking at the faces around him. “I need not tell you of my remorse. I need not tell you how bitterly I wept. I hid the rest of the day, hid and wept like a child.” He paused and his eyes seemed to blaze in the lamplight. “I will never deny him again.”

  Lazarus stood and laid his hand briefly on Peter’s shoulder. He took up the story.

  “Andrew came to the house where my sisters and I were staying and told me Jesus had been arrested. I arrived at Caiaphas’ house after the first interrogation. They took Jesus down to a room beneath the house and left him tied there while certain members of the Sanhedrin discussed what they would do…behind closed doors. None of us heard anything, but I don’t think they were quite prepared. They hadn’t wanted to do this during the Passover, but Judas had gone to them and made his offer.

  “At last they brought Jesus back out, in chains this time; they really believed he was going to elude them, as he had in the past. They took him to the Antonia Fortress, to be sentenced by Pontius Pilate. They had not the authority to condemn him to death. But Pilate was a bit more stubborn than they expected. He tried to put it off on Herod, but Herod couldn’t get Jesus to say anything at all, and sent him back to Pilate. The prefect wanted to release him.”

  Paulus sat back a little; Lazarus had thrown the barest glance in his direction. Lazarus spoke lower than Peter and with less intensity, yet with the same calm assurance.

  “Pilate had Jesus scourged. The Romans dressed him like a king and mocked him. All the time he said not a word of rebuke. He only answered the questions Pilate put to him. Again, John was there. But the prefect gave in to the priests, and the crowd. They crucified him between two others.”

  Here Lazarus seemed overcome by emotion; he stopped for a long moment. Many of his listeners were wiping tears away.

  “He spoke several times from the cross. You know the things he said, for they have been repeated many times. Mary, you know…write them. You know of the darkness, and the quaking of the earth as he died. And he was dead, my dear friends. A Roman lance thrust into his side made certain of it. And then, two men who were secret followers, Joseph and Nicodemus, came forward to help bury him. They purchased linen and spices to
prepare his body. Joseph offered the use of his own tomb.”

  Now Paulus leaned forward again. His heart began to pound in his head and in his ears, so that he had to strain to hear.

  “As they were doing this, and discussing arrangements, so much time elapsed that it was almost the beginning of the Passover Sabbath. I think everyone here knows that, according to our law, the handling of dead bodies is not permitted on the Sabbath. Someone, an officer, ordered the soldiers to help us get the body off the cross. We carried him to the tomb, in the garden near Joseph’s house. We wrapped him in the linen cloth and put the few spices they had been able to buy around his body, and left him there. The entrance was then sealed and guarded by the Romans.

  “After three days, Mary of Magdala and some other women went to the tomb with more spices, intending to complete the burial. But they found the tomb empty, and the guards nowhere in sight. Mary ran to tell the disciples, but they didn’t believe her. At last, Peter and John went to the tomb, and found it as the women had said.

  “When I heard about it, I went to the house where the disciples were staying, and I was there when Jesus appeared to them that evening. At first we were afraid, thinking he was a ghost. But he wasn’t a ghost. He let us touch him, he spoke to us and reassured us.”

  Peter nodded. “It is hard to believe. But we saw him. He was seen here in Bethany. He was seen that very day on the road to Emmaus. He has been seen in many places, by many people. And most of you saw him on the day he left us, on the Mount of Olives, not far from here. You heard what he said; you saw him taken up by what appeared to be a cloud. And you heard the two men, angels, say that he would return in just the same manner.”

  It was over. No one said anything for a long time. Looking from one person to another, Paulus saw that his was the only pair of dry eyes. He alone remained bereft of something wonderful and glowing that shone from the faces around him. Whatever questions he had wanted to ask were forgotten. Any questioning at all would have seemed incongruous in this atmosphere of reverence and quiet elation.

  He frowned a little, still looking from person to person. Many were nodding at Lazarus’ words. The man named Stephen was looking up beyond the edge of the awning into the night sky, and he seemed apart from them all, as though he understood something even Peter and Lazarus had not yet grasped. Alysia, too, brushed at her tears; she, too, wore an expression of serenity and of some ineffable knowledge.

  “I really don’t know her at all,” he thought…and a vast loneliness engulfed him.

  The others began talking in low voices. It seemed clear to him that he did not belong. He quickly said something to Lazarus and took his leave. Later, he would have no memory of the walk back to Jerusalem.

  Then he remembered something…something that Peter had said, and it burned within him like an inner fire that didn’t consume, but instead cleansed and comforted. Peter had repeated Jesus’ words: “Put away your sword.” For the first time since that terrible day, Paulus felt an almost insupportable burden begin to shift away. He had not imagined those words. In some inexplicable way, the Nazarene had imparted that same message to him.

  Somehow it was not meant that he should intervene in the events of that day. But if that were true, if there were indeed some “divine” plan being carried out, he would have to admit the existence of God. And if he went that far, he might as well admit that the Nazarene had exhibited all the qualifications a god might have…except that Paulus knew he was human.

  Paulus had seen him bruised and bleeding, torn literally to shreds and nailed to a cross.

  He had seen him die.

  * * * *

  Not long afterward all the guests departed, except for the three disciples. Martha, yawning, went down the steps to enter the house. Alysia remained sitting next to Mary, who continued to write, her brow furrowed with concentration. The men had gathered close by and were talking.

  “Who was that man, the one called Paulus?” Peter asked, and now they had Alysia’s full attention. “You called him a friend, Lazarus. Yet he’s not one of us.”

  “I know him,” Lazarus replied, without hesitation. “I think he will be one of us, someday. Perhaps soon rather than late.”

  “He seemed troubled,” said Andrew. “How do you know you can trust him?”

  “What does it matter who we can trust?” said Lazarus mildly. “We need only trust God.”

  Peter looked thoughtful. “He had the bearing of a soldier. He is a Roman, isn’t he? He could have arrested us all. Just to satisfy my curiosity, why did you bring him here?”

  “He asked to come,” Lazarus answered. “And there were things he needed to hear.”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  “What? Is my stepbrother actually taking time out from his duties? The world must be coming to an end!”

  Lucius’ mocking voice interrupted Paulus’ thoughts as he swam another length of the huge marble pool. He pushed his hair back from his face and looked up to see the tribune, in full uniform, standing above him. Maybe if he ignored him he would go away. Paulus kept swimming, feeling the stretch and pull of muscles and tendons as he ploughed expertly through the cold water.

  The Antonia’s gymnasium was new and immaculate, resounding with men’s voices and their hollow echoes. Paulus had had the building constructed soon after his arrival, for though Herod the Great had lavished his attention on luxurious details, he had not provided a place for those inclined to more athletic pursuits. Gymnasiums were not as popular in Rome as they were in Greece; Rome preferred the baths, which Paulus considered an inexcusable waste of time. He saw to it that there were rooms equipped not only for swimming, but for the practice of swordplay and mock fist fighting.

  Lucius did not go away. At last Paulus emerged from the pool; a slave handed him a towel and he sat down on a bench, rubbing the linen over his face and hair. “Do you wish to speak with me?” he inquired, none too pleasantly.

  “If you don’t mind,” said Lucius.

  Paulus rose and walked to the other end of the vast room toward the dressing chamber, where he began to put on his clothes. Lucius strutted after him.

  “Well?” he prompted impatiently, when Lucius didn’t speak.

  “I want to know what you’re going to do about this new cult.”

  “Cult?” Paulus repeated indifferently, pulling his tunic over his head and fastening the belt around his waist.

  “The followers of this Nazarene—the one they call Christ.” A thinly-disguised look of hostility crept into Lucius’ gaze. “Christ—the anointed one—after a dead Jew! They’ve actually begun preaching in the streets. The Sanhedrin obviously cannot control them. Who wants to hear their drivel?”

  “You don’t have to listen to them,” Paulus said shortly, as he tied his dagger into place.

  “They are a nuisance. They’re disturbing the peace. Jerusalem hasn’t been the same since this Jew was killed. Even some of the largest and oldest businesses are suffering, the wealthiest men in the city…because so many of these stupid sheep won’t patronize the shops of those who opposed their leader!”

  Paulus gave him a cool stare. “For someone who has always criticized my intolerance of certain things, you seem to have acquired a large measure of it yourself. You are free to leave anytime, Lucius.”

  “So, you’re going to do nothing? I’m sure the emperor would be interested in learning what is happening here, how these people prattle that the Nazarene is their king!”

  Paulus sat down to put on his shoes. “It is not Rome they object to. They don’t think of him as an earthly king…it has to do with their religion. But by all means, go ahead and write the emperor. Perhaps he will appoint you to get rid of these troublemakers.”

  “Obviously I am wasting my time. I would almost believe you are sympathetic to the fools.” Lucius began to stride arrogantly from the room, but turned to say over his shoulder, “You’ve had something on your mind for a long time now, Paulus. Don’t think I’m not watching you.”
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br />   “It’s regrettable that I am your main source of entertainment…your life must be exceedingly dull. Perhaps it is time for you to leave Jerusalem.”

  Lucius stopped. “I seem to be the only Roman in Judea with any sense of alarm over this new movement. Pilate has washed his hands of it…literally, and Herod is so afraid of seeing ghosts he won’t come out of his palace. The Jewish Council can only beat them and put them into prison, which hasn’t discouraged them in the least! You are the one to stop this, Paulus, before it gets out of hand.”

  Paulus stood up. “Do whatever you feel is your duty, Lucius. As long as it falls under your authority…which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you have none.”

  Lucius’ eyes bore into his stepbrother’s. “I came here in good faith, to express my concern over a faction that is growing more rapidly than anyone would suspect. You show no interest, therefore my next step will be to write the legate in Syria.”

  “He and I have already discussed the matter. These followers of the Nazarene are not violent. Neither of us feel it necessary to restrain them at this point.”

  “If it is not stopped it will reach all the way to Rome! Violence is not the only precursor to rebellion, Paulus. There are more subtle ways of invasion, of change and corruption.”

  Paulus laughed outright. “Corruption? There are not many ways left to corrupt Rome.” Inclining his head toward the door, he added, “Sentry, escort the tribune back to his lodging.”

  Lucius drew back his shoulders and glared at the approaching legionary. “That will not be necessary. I’m going and I won’t return…until you no longer command this fort. And that, Paulus, might be sooner than you anticipate.”