Alban stepped forward quickly. “Here, let’s move over into the shade.”
She allowed him to guide her back into the trees, as helpless as an invalid.
Alban bent his head. “May I ask what has brought you out here?”
She whispered again, “I don’t know what to do.”
He glanced around, saw nothing save a pair of crows stalking a mouse. “Are you alone?”
“I came with . . .” She shook her head a trifle. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You came with someone.” Alban spoke in hopes it would steady her. The expression in her eyes worried him. He had seen that shocked, confused gaze when riding into villages after bandits had left. Mothers staring at the ashes of their homes, but seeing only a life broken beyond repair. “A woman? A woman brought you to the tomb where Joseph and Nicodemus laid the prophet. Did you know where you would be going, Leah? Is that why the woman brought you here?”
When her only response was to begin weeping anew, he motioned her over to a rock. “Here, sit on this stone. Would you like water? No, I don’t have any. The soldier . . . Never mind. Is that water you’re carrying in your satchel?”
She made no protest as Alban lifted the satchel from her shoulder. She watched him pull out the jar. He asked, “What is this?”
Her voice was low and hoarse. “I suspect from the fragrance it is nard.”
“Is it?” He sniffed the top. “Why are you carrying this perfumed oil?”
“She . . . Mary gave it to me.”
He slipped the vessel back into the satchel and placed it on the rock beside her. She gripped it with both arms, hugging it to herself.
“Should I know this woman friend of yours?”
“She was . . . was the first to see him.”
“First to see . . . ?” Somehow he knew the answer, “She saw Jesus?”
When she nodded, Alban knelt in the dust by her feet. There must have been a few eucalyptus trees among the grove, for the scent was suddenly very strong, as though it clung close to the earth and was more noticeable when he was on his knees. “Leah, please. This could be very important. Who is this Mary?”
Alban slowly reached for her hand, making certain he did not alarm her. The palm was wet with her tears. “You are safe now.”
“I will never be safe.”
“That is not true. I know how—”
“You do not know. You can’t.”
A rock dug into his left knee, but Alban stayed as he was. There was bound to be more at work than whatever this woman Mary told Leah. But he sensed that if he asked her directly, she would flee. He held to a patience he did not feel. “Can you tell me who all these Marys are?”
“They are with the prophet’s disciples.”
“Ah. I heard you were seen with them. Why did you go there?”
“Procula, my mistress, she sent me.”
“So this Mary is among the disciples. But why did she bring you here, Leah? Can you tell me that?”
She stared at his hand holding her own. “To give me hope.”
Alban had the impression that she wept that last word. “Did this Mary flee when she saw me arrive with the soldier?”
“She left before you came.”
“You said she was the first to see Jesus. See him when?”
For some reason, his question caused Leah to go very still. Finally she said simply, “After.”
“After the disciples stole his body.”
“They did not steal him.”
“Then . . . after he left the tomb on his own?”
“Yes.”
Alban eased his legs so he now sat on the ground by her feet. “Do you believe that, Leah? Do you think this prophet Jesus actually lives again?”
“They do.”
“Yes. I understand that.” He saw that Leah no longer wept, and her breathing came more steadily. “What do you think?”
She looked around fearfully as though she suddenly realized who she was, where she was. “We should not be here like this. Together.”
“We are betrothed.”
“But that gives us no right. It is not proper. Judaean custom forbids us to be alone.”
“I am Roman. You are—”
“We did not take the vows under Roman law. You took the betrothal vows as a God-fearer and I as a Judaean. Either we are betrothed, with the Judaean customs in place—or we are not.”
“We are betrothed.”
Leah nodded, her eyes meeting his briefly. He could not tell if it was relief or fear he saw reflected there. He heard the deep sigh and saw the quiver of her shoulders beneath her shawl. “I am so afraid.”
“Tell me how I can protect you, Leah.”
She turned back toward him and raised fathomless eyes toward his. The tears still glistened in the corners. “I am so afraid of hope.”
“Ah. I understand.” And he was quite sure he did. “It is not merely hope, is it? It is also trust. In me.”
A single tear trickled from her eye as she nodded.
Alban held back. There was much to tell her of his life. But not now. “Who has hurt you, Leah?”
Another tear disappeared beneath the shawl drawn across her face. She whispered, “Life. My father. Even my mother . . .”
“Tell me,” he invited softly.
“We were a happy family. My father was a good man.” The words gradually gained momentum as she began. “I was the youngest, and Father rather pampered me. Mother moved easily among the wealthiest and most prominent families of Verona.” Her voice trailed off as though her thoughts were going back to a place she had not visited for a long time. Then, “Father was a good man. I loved him dearly. And then it all changed. He lost everything. Mother became ill with worry. Our friends vanished. Young men stopped calling upon my sisters. And Father . . . he changed utterly. He became angry and belligerent. He forgot about others and buried himself in solitude and self-pity. He married off my two sisters into dreadful situations. Eventually he would have arranged for my marriage as well, given enough time. I remember my sisters pleading, crying, but to no avail. I watched them both taken away. Still in tears, still begging. I couldn’t understand how Father could have betrayed us so. Before, he had loved and protected, yet then . . .”
She stopped briefly to wipe new tears. “Word soon came that the brute who had married my dear older sister Portia had changed his mind. He had met a woman who promised a large dowry, so he divorced my sister and thrust her out of his home. She was left alone and penniless. He told her she could make her own way on the streets.”
Alban reached for her hand once more. There was no other way for him to share her deep sorrow. No words with which to comfort her.
She stiffened, and he was afraid she would refuse to take his hand again. But she didn’t seem to even notice. “They found her in a canal,” she said simply, but the few words held more sorrow than he could imagine.
He remained still, willing her to accept his strength. She did not look at him. Did not even seem to be aware that he was yet beside her, holding her hand.
“I don’t believe I will ever find peace.”
“Someday you shall,” Alban said softly. “If it is in my power to give it to you.”
She stared at him a long moment, the expression in her eyes now dark with struggle. When she spoke it was in a low voice he had not heard before. “They are out to kill you.”
“Who, the prophet’s men?” He was astounded.
“No. From what I have seen, the followers of Jesus would never do that. No, it is Herod.”
“This is about the Parthians?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back as the realization struck home. “So the Par-thians are in league with Herod Antipas, just as the fortress commandant predicted.”
“Who?”
He waved her query aside. “Herod was feeding information about the caravans to the Parthians. They no doubt paid him well. So now they demand my head. Do you know when?”
“
Soon. They will watch to find you outside the Jerusalem walls and isolated.”
He rose and reached for where his sword should have hung, but his hand felt only air. “When did you learn of this?”
“Today. Antipas gave the orders before leaving for Herodion yesterday.”
“It is unlikely the assassins could have already set up an ambush.” Alban held Leah by her arm as she rose to her feet. “Even so, we should leave here.”
They walked in silence back along the trail leading toward the city walls. Alban kept careful watch and did not speak again. They entered the main avenue behind a trio of shepherds, who shouted and whistled as they herded their sheep toward the holding pens just within the city gates. Alban waited until they were deep in the gates’ shadows to ask, “Who gave you the information about this plot against me?”
“A member of Herod’s household. He is only interested in himself and what he can get. He requires gold for everything, but in spite of all that, I believe the warning is real.”
“You must not tell anyone what we have discussed. In fact, it would be best not to mention we have met. Can you find your way back to the palace on your own?”
With a quick nod she spoke again. “Was I . . . was I right to tell you?”
Her eyes were filled once again with doubt and fear. Alban longed to reach for her hand and bring it to his lips. Instead he said with all the feeling he could put into the words, “I am deeply in your debt, Leah. And I will repay you in the coin of trust.”
The following morning, Procula again sent Leah off to the courtyard where the followers of the Galilean rabbi congregated. Leah felt torn. She longed for more of these visits. Yet she couldn’t bear the thought that her reports back to Procula and the prelate might put these people in danger. She was confident that the prophet’s followers meant no revolt against Rome’s rule. But her mistress was far from convinced, and Leah once again entered the courtyard and took a position on a narrow bench near the outer wall.
As the sun and heat rose she moved farther into the shadows. Time passed slowly while she watched and listened. She was beginning to understand some of what she was seeing. It wasn’t merely a crowded square, with individuals drifting in and out and small clusters gathered here and there in discussion. Guided both by her own observations and what the women had told her, she began to see beyond the surface. Jerusalem was filled with observant Judaeans who came for the first spring celebration, the Passover, and stayed until the second, Shavuot. Yet there was none of the frenetic tension that gripped other districts of this overcrowded city at this time of year. The longer Leah remained, the more she was certain that what Mary Magdalene had said was correct. These people gathered here and waited.
But waited for what? That was the question for which she must find an answer.
Two women entered at the far end of the square. Quite a few had been passing between dwellings that opened onto the plaza—airing blankets, shaking mats, bringing in firewood, or coming from the market with produce. But something about the two coming toward her drew Leah’s attention.
As they neared the disciples’ residence, one of them reached up and drew back her shawl. She turned to her companion to help free the shawl that had become caught in her hair. Both heads were now bare—one as dark as night, the other much lighter. Leah recognized the dark-haired woman from the market. They were almost through the portal when the girl abruptly stopped and looked at Leah. She walked over.
“Excuse me” came the lilting voice, “but aren’t you the girl from the market? I think I remember your eyes.”
Surprise warmed Leah’s face. She rose to her feet as the young woman turned to her companion and said, “This is the one I told you about. Where we shopped for one another’s hand.” The two girls dissolved into merriment.
Leah managed a smile as the girl stepped closer and said, “I am Abigail. This is Hannah. And you are?”
“Leah.”
The girl smiled. “Welcome, Leah. Are you waiting for someone?”
She was the most astonishingly beautiful young woman Leah had ever seen. Her eyes were dark, framed by thick lashes, her features delicate, and she had a complexion as rich and soft as the marble figure on Procula’s corner shelf. Her hair glistened with deep auburn highlights in the sunlight. No wonder she used her shawl to hide her beauty. Any man on the street would be sure to find her desirable. And with all of the soldiers milling about the city . . .
Leah said, “I was in hopes of seeing Mary or—”
“Which Mary?” asked Hannah with a smile.
Abigail smiled too. “We have so many, we need give them another identification. Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany, Mary mother of James, Mary of Joppa, Mary mother of our Lord, and—”
“She wouldn’t be waiting for Mary, mother of our Lord,” Hannah interrupted.
“No, of course not,” agreed Abigail, her teasing voice suddenly subdued.
“Mary Magdalene or Mary of Bethany,” offered Leah. “Either one. Or Martha. I also would love to see Martha.”
“I think the two Marys have gone out to the fields. But Martha may be in the kitchens. I will find out.” Hannah stepped through the door and disappeared.
Abigail settled upon the stone bench where Leah had been seated. The girl blew playfully at a strand of dark hair that had managed to pull lose from its braid and lay against her cheek. The curl hung back for a moment, then fell forward again. She shrugged and laughed. Leah couldn’t help but smile at her joy and obvious love of life.
“Do you come here often?” Abigail wondered.
“I . . . I’ve visited a few times.”
“For a special task? Our vendor at the market that day told me you were from Pilate’s household.”
Leah’s eyes must have shown her surprise.
“I did ask,” the girl admitted with a slight flush. “I had not seen you in the market before. I’m sure I would have remembered you if I had.”
“I go early,” Leah explained, “to try to avoid the heat of the day and the rush. And find the best leeks.” Now they both laughed.
“That’s wise,” Abigail noted, nodding her head so the curl moved up and down. “I am not the one who’s usually sent to the market for the morning purchases. Actually, my duty is the laundry tubs.” She shuddered in exaggerated fashion. “There is never an end to that work.”
So much like Portia, thought Leah with a pang. Her sister would have chosen to be amused over continual tubs of dirty laundry. Not that she’d ever had that task. . . . Leah gave her head a brief shake and turned her attention back to Abigail.
“So you know Martha and her sister Mary,” the girl was saying. “They are wonderful women. I don’t know how we would manage here without Martha’s capable hands and Mary’s tender heart.”
Leah nodded.
“Oh,” announced Abigail, rising to her feet. “Here comes Hannah with Martha.” Indeed, the two women were hurrying toward them from the doorway, Martha’s hand raised in greeting.
Abigail looked back at Leah. “I’m so glad to see you again. I do hope you will come back often. I would love to talk some more. Just look for me at the washtubs.” She smiled as she said it, adding another shudder.
Leah enjoyed the twinkle in her eyes. “I will,” she promised as Abigail turned to follow Hannah toward the stairs leading to a second floor.
Leah watched her go, feeling her heart warm with the thought she had made a friend.
“I’m very glad to see you, Leah. When one finds good kitchen help, other hands are found wanting.” Martha comfortably slipped her arm under Leah’s and led her toward the kitchen.
Several more days passed while Leah continued to visit the courtyard and help with the meal preparations. She reported regularly to Procula, holding back nothing save her unexpected contact with Alban at the tomb earlier that week. From the centurion she did not hear a word. Had her warning come in time? She felt a pang in her heart.
Many of the palace servants, already
jealous over her marriage and what they viewed as its promise of an enviable rise in status, were doubly resentful of her supposed freedom to come and go, sent out by the mistress herself. Only Dorit remained loyal among the household staff.
On the shelf above her pallet stood Mary Magdalene’s jar of nard, almost as if Leah willed someone to steal it and free her from all the gift meant. Yet there it remained. These mornings, when Leah entered the kitchen, a place was set for her, and one of the young kitchen maids brought her meal. Leah protested, or tried to, but the senior cook pretended not to hear, which suggested that Procula had ordered it. When the men were banned from the baths and women of the household entered, Leah was informed that she was to accompany them. Leah knew the invitation was a polite command. She often found Procula there, always with a maidservant in attendance, occasionally with a female guest. Leah was introduced to these outsiders as a niece of Pilate, promised to one of his trusted centurions. As though Procula were forcing Leah to accept the marriage.
Leah masked her true feelings during the day, but her sleep remained broken. For hours on end, she relived the time in the grove. She had every logical reason to have remained silent about the threat. Yet she had gone ahead and warned Alban, and so sealed her own fate. Why? She did not have an answer.
Even so, when dawn would finally arrive and she rose wearily from her pallet, the sealed vessel given to her by Mary Magdalene was there upon the shelf. The faint fragrance gave her the impression of standing at the edge of a meadow. One lit by a sun far more gentle than that which illuminated the Judaean hills. Surrounded by the fragrance of wild flowers and by a peace that defied the shackles of her daily life—and her future.
Saturday morning, when Leah had finished a solitary bath, she discovered her servant’s robe had been removed from the alcove, and in its place was one of Procula’s older gowns. It was a custom among some Roman households to reward faithful servants in this way, granting them garments no longer wanted. Wisely, Procula had refrained from this practice, since it often created disharmony among the staff.
Leah knew instantly Procula had a purpose in mind, most likely some kind of audience. Leah shook her head in dismay. She had no choice but to hastily don the garment. In the kitchen she tried to assist one of the maidservants who was cutting meat for the day’s stew, but the cook would have none of it, impatiently waving her over to the table and the waiting food. Leah could hardly swallow the fruit and flatbread, and she finally retreated to a bench by the side wall, one that granted her a view of the courtyard trees.
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