“They sent her back?” Leah still could not fathom it.
This was troubling Enos as well, Leah knew. “You will tell me if you find something that explains what we just heard, yes?”
“Of course.” Leah took that as a dismissal and bowed. “Thank you for your help. My mistress will be most grateful.”
“Wait, I’m not finished.” He pointed to a scroll unrolled across the nearby table. “Word came this morning from my master. Herod bids me to make preparations for your betrothal.”
Had it not been for what she had just witnessed, Leah would have wailed aloud at the news. Instead she saw herself in the slave’s position upon the floor, kneeling and helpless, awaiting the lash. She shivered and did not speak.
Enos went on, “Herod travels here with Pilate. They arrive in three days. The betrothal is to take place the following week.”
Leah feared if she tried to speak she would retch. She turned silently for the door.
“One further moment.” When Leah paused and looked back at him, Enos showed his thin, humorless smile. “It is customary at such moments to reward those who do your bidding.”
Leah fumbled at her waist and drew out more coins. They disappeared as quickly as they glinted in her palm.
Nedra stood in submissive patience by the gate. The daylight had strengthened somewhat, though the sky remained shrouded in gloom. The slave’s eyes were a remarkable combination of sorrow and calm.
Leah sought something to say that might partly erase what she had just witnessed. “You were very brave to return.”
The slave merely turned to the open portal, ignored the guard, and started down the hill. Leah hurried to walk abreast of her. “I want you to know, I do not mean you or your fellow disciples any harm.” The woman gave no sign she had heard.
At the juncture of the palace avenue and another of Jerusalem’s many crowded lanes, the slave stopped and turned to Leah. “Enos loves to inflict pain almost as much as he enjoys ruling with fear.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“I have seen women beaten until their ribs were exposed. I have seen . . .” Nedra shuddered and blinked, dislodging a tear. “And yet he let me go unpunished.”
“I told you, I intend no harm either—”
“Listen to what I am saying, I beg you. I did not agree to bring you because of my master’s threats.” Even though her dark eyes remained filled with tears, they burned into Leah’s. “My brethren told me that the Lord our God would protect me this day.”
Leah’s mind floundered over what she was hearing. “Your . . .
brethren?”
“They said I must return to Herod, and I could trust in the Lord God to be my shield and protector.” Another blink, another tear, then, “They said this was the season of miracles, and I was to trust in the risen Messiah, the one you know as Jesus of Nazareth.”
Leah felt swept away in a tide as strong as the tumultuous crowd pushing down the lane behind Nedra. “Risen?” She could hardly form the word.
The woman turned away. “Come and see.”
The Tyropoeon Valley divided the lower half of Jerusalem into the Upper City to the southwest and the Lower City to the southeast. The Upper City was located on the slope of the city’s western hill and contained Herod’s palace and the residences of most members of the Sanhedrin. The Lower City was where most commoners lived. Leah had visited this area a few times, for most of Jerusalem’s craftsmen and woodworkers had their shops along the Lower City’s market avenue.
Nedra led Leah along the overcrowded Lower City market street, the crowds thick as dust. Somewhere up ahead, toward the Pool of Siloam, Leah heard the crash of cymbals and shrill cry of flutes, no doubt a wedding procession. The thought clenched her insides tight. But before the pageant came into view, Nedra had turned onto a side lane and began climbing a steep cobblestone lane. At its crest was a narrow stone-lined plaza.
As every other open space within the teeming city, the square was packed. Yet it also held a strange sense of calm. Nedra asked, “Who should I tell them you are?”
Leah could think of only one reply. “Tell them the truth.”
Nedra looked at her. “It is true what you said, that you mean them no harm?”
“I have been sent for information only.”
“And what about those who sent you?”
“I do not know. I am a servant. I do what I am told.”
Nedra appeared satisfied by the answer. “Wait here.”
Leah walked over and seated herself on the bench rimming the courtyard’s public fountain. Common enough in desert cities, this was a simple pool set in an octagonal stonework frame, intended to be used for drinking and washing and supplying the neighboring houses. The people who filled the plaza were as unadorned as the fountain. Leah wore the attire given to all Pilate’s servants, a Roman dress made from one strip of unadorned fabric called a stola, covered by her grey cloak, called a palla. Yet she was far better clothed than many she saw there. Most wore the sort of homespun garments used by shepherds and the poorest villagers.
Nedra emerged from a doorway on the plaza’s opposite side with another woman, and all eyes turned toward them. Leah rose to her feet at their approach. The woman with Nedra was an enigma. She too wore the simple clothes of Judaea’s poorest, a dress gathered about her waist with a simple cotton tie. Her head was covered in the modest fashion of a religious Judaean, a long shawl lined in pastel blue. There was nothing Leah could point to as the reason this woman seemed to catch everyone’s attention. Leah herself felt unsettled.
“You are Leah?”
“I am.”
“Sit, please. You are of Pilate’s household?”
“Yes.”
“The prelate sent you here?”
“His wife.”
The woman spoke in a voice as calm as flowing water. Her gaze held a vivid tranquility. Leah also was filled with a conviction that the woman saw to the heart of her. “I’m sorry, but you are . . .”
“My name is Mary Magdalene.”
The name meant nothing. Mary was perhaps the most common of Judaean names, and Magdalene could signify either a family connection or the region of her birth. Leah said, “My mistress, Procula, sent me to inquire of the prophet’s disciples.”
“I am a follower of Jesus. Please inform your mistress that she is welcome here at any time.”
Leah blinked. The idea that the wife of the most powerful man in all Judaea would venture into such a gathering on this side of town was unthinkable. Leah doubted Procula had ever entered the Lower City at all. Yet this woman made the offer as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Mary Magdalene added, “She suffered from nightmares before her husband crucified our Lord.”
To hear of palace intrigues recounted by this woman was shocking. “How, may I ask, do you know of this?”
“I was with our Lord that day. I saw her speak with her husband.”
The sorrow welling up in the woman’s features was so unmistakable Leah felt it as a weight in her own heart. “I’m sorry.”
“I saw Pilate’s wife come out onto the veranda where he was seated. We heard later how she reported that she had been told in a dream that they should have nothing to do with the rabboni.”
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Rabboni. In Hebrew, the word is rabbi. It means teacher, great one.”
“My mistress continues to have these dreadful dreams—not every night, but when they come it is very bad.” Leah thought back to the early hours of that morning. “Last night they were bad indeed.”
“I shall pray for her.”
Leah inhaled quickly, again at a loss. The offer was made so easily she could have dismissed it as meaningless. Yet she was certain nothing about this woman was either false or unthinking. “Forgive me, but who are you?”
No face Leah had ever seen held as much joy, or so much sorrow, or such calm, as this woman’s. “As I said, I am a follower of our
Lord Jesus. That is my whole life. Before he rescued me from my fate, I was a village madwoman. Many also called me possessed with demons. They were probably right. All I can say for certain is that the Lord healed me, delivered my life from destruction.”
There was nothing in those words that should have caused Leah to weep. But suddenly her carefully prepared questions, all her own worries, seemed as meaningless as the dust beneath her sandals.
“What does your mistress wish to know of us?”
Leah forced her mind to concentrate. “Who is this Jesus, and what happened to his body?”
“He is risen.”
That word again. “He was taken away?”
“He took himself away.”
“You mean, he didn’t die?”
“He died. He was buried. And he rose again after being in the tomb three days.”
Leah would have scoffed were it not for the illumination that filled this unusual woman’s face. Leah finally asked, struggling to form the words, “How do you know this?”
Mary Magdalene almost sang her answer. “Because I have seen him and spoken with him. And felt the touch of God.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Jerusalem
Six Days Later
LINUX WORKED HIS CONNECTIONS within the Antonia Fortress and elsewhere in the city, but despite the offer of gold, no word about the missing guards surfaced. Alban spent fruitless days searching the crowded city, in the meantime gradually learning his way around. He and Linux had taken lodging above the fortress stables, close enough for the commandant to feel he was in charge of them. Yet here they remained independent of garrison life. The pair of cramped rooms included a narrow balcony overlooking the corral behind the stables. Alban liked waking to the odor of horses and leather. It was a familiar note in this alien city.
On the sixth morning after finding Atticus and restoring him to the legion, Alban awoke to the scent of fresh bread. His servant lad must have finally arrived from Capernaum. “Jacob?”
“Coming, master!” The boy appeared in the doorway, a grin firmly in place. “I have heated your shaving water.”
“Tea?”
“That is also ready, master.”
“Is that lazy dog in the other room awake?”
“I have found no dog, master. But there’s an officer with a look of the royals about him, and he still snores.”
Alban laughed. “Have you grown since I saw you last?”
“No, master. I’m still the runt you left behind.”
“I have never called you that. Scamp, most certainly. Scoundrel, almost daily. But never runt.”
“That’s the word the sword master used when he refused to teach me his craft.”
“That will come in time.” Alban sat up and accepted the hot mug. After a sip he asked, “How was the journey from Capernaum?”
“Magnificent, sire!” The lad’s face was now split by an enormous smile. “I tended two camels!”
“I’m sure you were a great help to everyone.” Alban nodded to the figure that appeared yawning in the doorway. “This is Linux, my boy. He is indeed a lesser royal. They decided they could live without him in Rome and sent him here to pester me.”
Jacob gave him a slightly awkward salute. “It is an honor, sire.”
They breakfasted on bread that Jacob had found in a shop nearby and goat cheese and fresh pomegranates. Jacob waited until Alban had shaved and dressed for the day to announce, “I slept in the tent of the Capernaum elder whose caravan brought me to Jerusalem, master. I passed on the message you sent back to the garrison with your officer. The elder said to tell you he awaits your visit.”
“Excellent news,” Alban exclaimed. “Well done, lad.”
Jacob beamed. “Thank you, master.”
Linux must have noticed Alban’s relief. “You have a plan?”
“A hope, nothing more,” Alban replied, then asked Jacob, “Where is the Capernaum contingent camped?”
“At the amphitheater, master, by the city’s easternmost border.”
The lad had the look of a young lamb, all knobby angles and huge eyes. Overlarge hands and feet suggested he had a good deal of growing left to do. “Jacob, I could use your help with something.”
The lad’s eyes grew round as Alban described what he had in mind. “It will be as you command, sire!”
“Take no risk,” Alban warned. “I want you to go and return unnoticed. If that cannot happen, you must leave the task for Linux and me.”
“I will do as you say!” Excitement captured the boy’s whole being, and he looked as if he was ready to spring out the doorway at a mere nod from his beloved master.
“Do you still have money?”
The boy slipped the pouch from his belt pocket. “More than half of what you left with me, sire.”
“Go, then.”
When the lad darted from the room, Linux observed, “He worships you.”
“His father was a minor merchant dealing in sandalwood and oil. The family’s caravan was wiped out by the Parthians. He and a few others were saved alive. We gave chase, and rescued them, and I found Jacob.”
“He is fortunate to have you.” Linux nodded his own admiration, adding, “You make allies everywhere you go.”
“Let us see if these allies can actually do us some good.”
When the two came downstairs, they found a young officer in the gleaming uniform of Pilate’s household guard awaiting them. “Linux Aetius, the prelate sends his greetings and requests your presence.”
Linux’s languid air vanished. He straightened and demanded crisply, “The prelate has summoned me, and you’ve been waiting about down here?”
“Pilate said you were free to report at your convenience, sire.”
“When did the governor arrive in Jerusalem?”
“Last night. Herod came with the prelate’s company.”
“Is the centurion to come with me?”
In response, the soldier saluted Alban and said, “Pilate sends his compliments, sire. He asks if you are ready to make your report.”
“Not yet, but soon,” Alban said, fervently hoping it was indeed true.
“Then the prelate says you are to proceed with your duties. He also says that your betrothal is set for next week.”
Linux grinned at Alban’s evident shock. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten.”
“No, of course not. But . . . well, will you attend as witness since I have no family here?”
Now both officers grinned at Alban. Linux replied, “That’s one skirmish I wasn’t trained for. But yes, if you wish, I’ll guard your back. Little good it will do you.”
The only way Alban could mask his feelings was to turn away. “I will speak with the Capernaum elders and meet you back here tonight.” He forced his leaden legs to carry him away.
“The greatest problem with this camp is water.” The chief officer overseeing the amphitheater settlement was a young sub-lieutenant likely on his first command. He carried himself with an air of self-importance. “We have just three wells for over a thousand families. And these are not families in the Roman sense, centurion. The Judaean clans are far more extended. We have no way of determining how many people actually are dwelling here.”
“I am not here to survey your command,” Alban assured him. He had not wanted to meet the lieutenant at all. But a guard had challenged him as he had turned off the main road. Few of the Judaeans had horses, and the guard had met Alban with spear held horizontally to block his path. Now they stood by the main guardhouse, in plain view of anyone entering or leaving the camp. Alban said, “I have confidential business with one of the Galileans here.”
But the lieutenant stood his ground. “Forgive me, sire. Romans are forbidden entry.”
“Under whose orders, may I ask?” This was not what Alban had expected.
“The tribune of the fortress, Bruno Aetius. In past years, some of the younger soldiers came out here looking for trouble. At least that was
the Galileans’ protest. The Romans claimed they merely came to observe the city’s visitors.”
“There have been altercations?”
The lieutenant bristled. “Not a whiff of trouble. Not under my command.”
Alban reached into his satchel and retrieved the scroll. The lieutenant’s expression altered immediately at the sight of the Imperial Eagle. Alban said quietly, “I am here under orders from the governor.”
The lieutenant saluted, as much to the unseen prelate as Alban.
“In that case, I will accompany you.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Centurion, I am personally responsible—”
“I seek the assistance of the Capernaum elders on a very delicate matter.” He took his time returning the scroll to its place. “I do not wish to meet them accompanied by the might of Rome. I must perform this duty alone.”
The Roman eagle flashed in the sunlight as he stowed away the document. He could feel the lieutenant’s gaze on him as he walked into the camp, but the man made no attempt to follow.
The tents formed a colorful tide that washed up against the amphitheater’s boundary wall. Linux had told Alban that the massive arena had been completed by Pilate’s predecessor, but only after several riots, because that governor had siphoned Temple funds to finance the structure. As usual, Rome had won, and the extra money was used to erect the largest amphitheater east of Rome.
Alban endured hostile glances following him along the meandering lane between each clan’s collection of temporary dwellings. The pathway was deeply rutted and fouled by the donkeys the Judaeans used as pack animals. Otherwise the camp was amazingly clean and orderly for such an overcrowded settlement.
As Jacob had instructed, Alban headed east into the morning sun until he arrived at the camp’s perimeter. From there he picked his way along an outermost row of tents. The amphitheater occupied a hill only slightly lower than the city, which crowned the region’s highest ridgeline.
A young lad about the same age as Jacob climbed over a rocky ridge ahead of him. “Are you the centurion Alban?”
“I am.”
The lad answered in words loud enough for the men scowling in Alban’s direction to hear. “My grandfather salutes you and invites you to join him in his tent.”
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