Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate

by Taylor, Diana Wallis

  “Woman, you would almost persuade me . . .”

  A servant interrupted them. “Excellency, there is a courier waiting to speak with you.”

  Lucius’s softened mood changed instantly. “Send him in.”

  The soldier saluted Lucius. “Excellency, I bring disturbing news from Rome.”

  “Speak on. I have sensed something is not right.”

  “Sejanus is dead.”

  Lucius nearly rose from his couch. “Dead? How?”

  “Sejanus was expecting to be named co-regent with the emperor. He was summoned to the senate meeting by the emperor in a letter, supposedly to confer on him the tribunician powers. As he entered the hall, the senators all cheered, and then settled down to listen to the letter from the emperor. Meanwhile, Naevius Sutorius Macro, whom we learned later had already been chosen by the emperor to replace Sejanus, quietly replaced the soldiers loyal to Sejanus with members of the Praetorian Guard, including myself, who were loyal to Tiberius. We waited until the letter was read. The emperor rambled, stating he was near the point of death and stepping down as consul, which forced Sejanus to do the same. Tiberius then conferred an honorary priesthood on Caligula, which rekindled support for the popular house of Germanicus. Then Tiberius suddenly accused Sejanus of treason! He was immediately arrested and led in chains from the hall.”

  Claudia glanced at her husband, whose face registered not only shock, but dismay. His worst fears had come true. Is this what Tiberius had in store for her husband? A knot formed in her chest and she felt she could hardly breathe.

  “Then what happened?” Lucius strove to maintain his composure.

  “The senate condemned him to death and he was strangled. When they threw his body down the Gemonian stairs, the people fell on the body and tore it to pieces.”

  Claudia shuddered. When she lived in Rome, she had seen the bodies that had been thrown down these steps that led from the Capitoline Hill to the Roman Forum. Bodies of the dishonorable and outcast were left to rot at the foot of these steps for days.

  Lucius shook his head. “I never imagined such a fate for Sejanus.”

  “That is not all, Excellency. The city was in an uproar. Mobs rioted and anyone they could link to the prefect’s reign of terror was hunted down and killed. Dozens of men were crucified. It took us days to quell the mob and bring order.”

  Claudia could no longer keep silent, shivering at the bloodbath that must have ensued. “What of his family?”

  The soldier continued, adding to her horror. “His sons were strangled and his former wife, Apicata, committed suicide, but not before she wrote a letter to Tiberius claiming Levilla had poisoned the emperor’s son, Drusus, at Sejanus’s instigation. Levilla’s own mother, Antonia, was so angry she had her starved to death. The slaves in Levilla’s household confessed to administering the poison at her request and they were put to death.”

  Claudia clasped her hands in her lap to maintain composure herself. “You said the sons of Sejanus were dead. What of his daughter, Junilla? She would be about thirteen now. Was she spared?”

  The man could not look into her eyes. He hesitated and then looked to Lucius for direction.

  “Answer the question or she will give me no rest.”

  “She was strangled also, my lady.”

  “But she was unmarried as yet, a virgin.”

  “Yes, my lady, and there is no precedent for putting to death a virgin. It seems that one of the—ah—guards took care of that matter before her death.”

  “You mean he . . . ?” Claudia felt as if she was going to be sick.

  “Yes, my lady.” He shook his head slowly and turned to Lucius. “There is more I was sent to tell you, Excellency. Tiberius has plunged into a series of trials and is relentlessly pursuing anyone who can in any way be tied to the schemes of Sejanus. Or . . . ,” and he paused meaningfully, “or courted his friendship.”

  Claudia, already distraught, gasped and put a hand on the arm of her husband, whose jaw was clenched at the news. “You were appointed by Tiberius, but it was at the suggestion of Sejanus.”

  Lucius leaned back, his face resigned. “Then I am in danger from the emperor also.” He remained silent for a long moment and finally rose. “Thank you. Now refresh yourself and partake of a meal. Then my servants will show you to your quarters.”

  The man stood and saluted. “Thank you, Excellency. I must admit I am hungry. It has been a long journey, but it was urgent you receive this news. Your friend Trajanius made arrangements with Macro for me to come to you with all haste.”

  Lucius took Claudia’s elbow as they climbed the stairs and the air was heavy with portent. She was heartsick and anxious. What did this mean for them? Would soldiers arrive one day with orders for her husband’s arrest?

  Lucius looked toward the room of his small son and slowly pushed open the door. Hotep rose from tucking Doros in his bed and bowed her head as she stepped back respectfully. He walked over and picked up the small wagon that was Doros’s favorite toy, and put it down beside him.

  “Pater?” Doros looked up, his face a combination of delight and concern. “Are you well, Pater?”

  “I am well. Sleep now, my son.” He reached down and touched Doros’s face.

  The little boy smiled happily, enjoying the rare attention from his father.

  Lucius looked down at his son for a moment and then turned and slowly left the room.

  As Claudia watched him, she wondered what Lucius was thinking. Had not the sons of Sejanus been little boys like Doros once? Apicata had nurtured them and, when they were small, tucked them in their beds. How devastated she must have been to learn they were both murdered because of their father. Then, suddenly Claudia saw again in her mind the mother of Jesus, wiping his face with a cloth as he struggled under the burden of the heavy beam in the street. He may have been God’s Son, but she had given birth to him and raised him. Pain struck like a heavy blow to her heart. What awaited Doros if they were recalled to Rome? She drew herself up and, with a mother’s resolve, vowed to protect her son with her life.

  When the door between the two rooms was closed, Claudia and Lucius were alone. He sat down heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands. She knelt at his feet, her hands on his knees.

  “Do not despair, my love, I will pray that the Most High God have mercy and spare you from the emperor’s wrath. You have been far away for so long that perhaps the emperor will not connect you with Sejanus. You have had nothing to do with his actions these past five years. Whatever happens, we will face it together.”

  He looked down at her, tears in his eyes, and reached out a hand. He cupped her chin. “You are always my comfort, beloved. There is nothing we can do but wait.”

  “You have done well, Lucius, just continue to govern the best way you know.”

  He stood up and gently drew her to himself. “Whatever happens, you have been the light of my life, beloved. I do not fear for myself, but for you and my son. If I am recalled to Rome, I will send you and Doros to the Villa Ponti, and if that is still too close to Rome, our family has a villa in Vienne. It is seldom used but is adequate. It could be far enough away to protect you from Tiberius.”

  “I am his ward, the granddaughter of Augustus. Surely he would not harm me.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “That is not something you can count on. Look at what happened to the family of Sejanus.”

  “You have not committed treason, Lucius. You have not done the things Sejanus has done with an eye on taking the throne from Tiberius.”

  “No, but I could lose my position as governor. My lands and possessions could be taken away. Who knows what Tiberius will do?”

  She shivered against him. “Hold me, Lucius. I need you so.”

  With his arms tight around her, he leaned down and kissed her slowly. “And I am in need of you, beloved.”

  42

  Claudia went to the garden and sank down on a stone bench to think. She wrapped her shawl closer around
her shoulders. The sun shone, but the air was cool still. As she watched butterflies sailing from flower to flower, their golden wings fluttering in the slight breeze, she remembered wanting to catch one as a child in Reggio. Their old gardener, Cato, had told her solemnly that if she touched the wings, the beautiful creatures would not be able to fly again. What freedom they had to fly where they wished.

  She wondered if she would take Doros to the Villa Ponti or the villa in Vienne. Did Tiberius know about the villa in Vienne? Lucius said it was held in the name of his cousin in Rome, and few people knew about it. If Lucius was recalled to Rome, that is where she would go, before Tiberius knew she was gone.

  Claudia turned just then and saw Lucius standing at the entrance to the garden. She rose and went to him, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “I must see to a problem at the Antonia with the auxiliary troops. There is an uproar—probably over their pay again.” He shook his head angrily. “That is the problem of having native troops. Throwing Syrians, Samaritans, Idumeans, and Nubians together like a pot of stew and expecting them to all get along. A more unruly and undisciplined group I’ve not known in all my years in the army. I may not be back until late this evening.”

  She watched him walk away, the burden of his governorship bowing his shoulders.

  They returned to Caesarea for the late spring and summer. While Claudia would miss Jerusalem and the band of believers that seemed to be growing every day, she loved the sound and smell of the sea. At night she could lie in bed and hear the waves crashing against the breakwater. In Jerusalem she was confined to the palace because of the unruly element of the city, but in Caesarea she was free to attend the marketplace and accompany Lucius to various events.

  In Caesarea she and Lucius attended the theater. The histrions, as the actors were called, made Lucius laugh, if only for an evening, and took his mind off the worries of his office.

  The chariot races were a favorite of her husband. She loved to see the horses with their manes flying and their hoofs churning up the soft earth of the arena. Doros would clap his hands in delight.

  He was nearly four and Claudia was teaching him to read Latin. She showed him the letters of the alphabet on a wax tablet and had him trace the letters with his finger as she had been taught by her grandmother years before. Soon he was carefully making the letters himself with a stylus. She had only a few years until he was seven, when he would go to a regular teacher and Claudia’s influence on him would be diminished. She prayed every day for the right teacher for him. One that would not lead him back to the Roman gods, but who knew the true God.

  Lucius seemed to tolerate her faith as long as it did not interfere with what he had to do. Sometimes he listened to her as she shared and sometimes she sensed it was a time to be quiet and just lend him her strength. Her faith in the Lord was a constant source of joy to her, and she felt peace settle over her spirit when she prayed. Yet while Claudia grew in her faith, to her dismay, Lucius seemed to revert to crueler measures to keep the peace at all costs. Isolated when in Jerusalem, she heard stories in bits and pieces, whispered by the palace staff.

  The Jews still rankled over the matter of using the Corban for the aqueduct, but other than the usual small crimes of a city, Jerusalem was peaceful. Like a sleeping giant, the huge city sprawled over the hills, awakening on high holidays when the masses poured into the Holy City. During those days, every soldier was on high alert.

  Lucius rode ahead of the carpentum bearing his family and Hotep. He sensed a lifting in his spirit as he put Jerusalem and the troublesome Jews behind him and returned to Caesarea. The garrison there held soldiers more disciplined than the ones in Judea, and he could relax his hold a little, trusting the officers he’d put in charge.

  As he rode, he had time to think and his mind turned to the religion his wife had embraced. She was discreet, sharing some of the information about this strange rabbi, Jesus. He still scoffed at the idea that Jesus had risen from the dead, yet she told him there were dozens of witnesses to the fact.

  The one who puzzled him most was one of the Teacher’s disciples by the name of Peter. The man was an ignorant fisherman, unlearned and crude, but after a strange incident having to do with what they called the Holy Spirit, the man had preached with courage of conviction, and over three thousand people had gone to be baptized and follow the teachings of Jesus. The city had literally buzzed with this amazing performance.

  Lucius knew the leaders were watching Peter, and he sensed, to his amusement, their total frustration. They thought by killing Jesus that they had ended this teaching for good.

  Instead, the disciples spread the teaching even farther. His soldiers were told to be on the alert for any sign of a rebellion or insurrection, but so far these believers seemed content to meet with each other in various homes to sing their hymns and share stories.

  His brow furrowed. What was there about this dead rabbi who inspired such loyalty and belief? More and more stories came to him about those who had seen this risen Jesus. Chuza the steward seemed like a levelheaded man, thorough in his duties, yet he too was a believer in Jesus, his wife, Joanna, one of the rabbi’s followers. All over Rome and the provinces there were statues of the Roman gods, so people could see whom they were worshiping. How could one worship an invisible God?

  “You are deep in thought, Excellency.” His tribune had ridden up to join him.

  Lucius glanced at him. “The events of the last few months puzzle me. Have you heard rumors of that Jewish rabbi who was crucified being alive?”

  The tribune shrugged. “Perhaps he wasn’t completely dead, Excellency. He might have revived in the tomb.”

  “Impossible. I ascertained his death before releasing him to Joseph of Arimethea, a leader in the Sanhedrin. I was assured by my centurion that Jesus died before the sword was even thrust into his side.”

  The tribune nodded, thoughtful.

  “So you think this Jesus is alive?”

  “I have no proof, Excellency, other than the account of witnesses who swear they saw him.”

  Lucius shook his head. “These are difficult times, Tribune. I’m not sure I understand them myself. The Jews are a strange people with strange beliefs. I’m always glad to return to Caesarea.”

  The tribune was dismissed and rode on. Lucius turned back to ride alongside the coach. Doros put a hand outside the window and waved at him. On impulse, Lucius had the coach stop.

  He lifted Doros in front of him on the horse. The little boy was apprehensive at first, but safe in his father’s arms, he beamed. As the horse jogged along slowly, Doros fell asleep against him. Lucius looked down at the boy’s tousled hair and was filled with pride in his son. He and Claudia had hoped for another child, but so far there had been no indication of a pregnancy. She had gone through a dangerous birth with Doros. He had almost lost her. Was she now unable to conceive again? He had made offerings to Juno, the goddess of the well-being of women, on Claudia’s behalf, but to no avail. At least he had a son to carry on the family name and for that he was grateful. He rode back to the coach and gently lifted the sleeping child down to his mother’s arms. He tipped two fingers to his forehead, then rode back to the head of the detail.

  Claudia watched him ride away, still tall and handsome. It appeared he would be left as governor of Judea, but for how long? Would they ever return to the Villa Ponti? Would she ever be mistress of her own home? And Medina. Had the old servant gone there after the death of her grandmother? She leaned back against the seat of the coach, holding Doros against her, and gazed out the window of the coach at the countryside. Lucius had not heard from the emperor in Jerusalem, but what awaited them in Caesarea?

  43

  In the tenth year of her husband’s reign as governor of Judea, Jerusalem was at peace, the emperor had not recalled him to Rome, and Lucius, with misplaced smugness, noted his term as governor had been one of the longest of the Roman rule. Claudia, however, sensed that they were foolish to assume they would
be in this position for an interminable length of time. She had observed the blunders of her husband on many occasions and his roughshod rule over the Jews. With certainty she felt their time was drawing to a close. Sooner or later her husband would incur the wrath of Rome. She just didn’t know what the final event would be and prayed earnestly for Lucius, for wisdom and peace in Judea.

  Hotep responded to a knock on the door and admitted Doros’s tutor, Florian. Chuza had found him, a freedman and a former scholar in Greece, well versed in language and art.

  Claudia presented him to Lucius, emphasizing his skills as a teacher, which duly impressed her husband. He was distracted by many things these days and readily agreed to acquiring Florian as his son’s tutor.

  “A good morning, Lady Claudia.” Florian inclined his head in respect. “Is my young charge ready for the day?”

  Doros, now dressed, emerged from his room. “I am ready, Teacher.”

  With another slight bow to Claudia, Florian smiled at his pupil and they left the room.

  “What will the boy learn today, Domina?” Hotep asked.

  “Doros is very quick of mind. They have progressed to Greek poetry.” Fortunately Lucius did not inquire as to their time spent on the gods of Rome.

  Lucius was having problems with Samaria. It was situated in the northern part of his province and populated by what the Jews considered half-breeds—Jews that had long ago intermarried with the pagans of the land. There were many religious differences between the two, and he kept a wary eye on them.

  His advisors told him that the Samaritans only recognized the first five books of Moses as their true Scripture, ignoring any other Hebrew books written, including the Psalms. They had built a temple on their own holy mountain, Mt. Gerizim, but it had been destroyed and not rebuilt in over a century. Mt. Gerizim, however, was still their holy mountain and they celebrated their own Passover there.