The Centurion's Wife

by Davis Bunn; Janette Oke

  “Look at me,” Abigail boasted. “I’m walking with my stick.” Her dark eyes sparkled as she took three careful steps across the room.

  “Oh, Abigail, this is wonderful.” Leah clasped her hands together with joy.

  “Martha said I might go outside if I continue to improve. Maybe even go to the market. I can hardly wait. Do you know how long I have been in this room? On that cot? But no more. I am going to practice with this stick. I am going to become so good with it that I can outrun Hannah.” She lifted her stick and shook it, as if admonishing the quick-stepping Hannah.

  “Where is Hannah now?”

  Abigail lowered the stick. “She is still assigned to the washtubs in my place. That’s the real reason I must recover quickly. She has been carrying my responsibility far too long.”

  “You’re going back to the tubs?”

  “Of course. That is my assignment.”

  “But—”

  “I must learn to be more careful. I was trying to hurry when I slipped. It is not only Hannah who needs to slow down.” She gave another quick smile. “Now—what shall we do today? I would love to get outside into the fresh air. Could you help me down the stairs?”

  Once into the courtyard and open air, Abigail convinced Leah and Hannah, who had joined them, that she was feeling fine, enough so to venture to the market nearest the compound. The three heard strict warnings from every woman they passed, but Abigail assured them she would be careful. She still needed her walking stick, but in spite of that was in the best of spirits.

  Before stepping out onto the busy street, the three young women folded one end of their shawls across the lower portions of their faces. Even so, Abigail was unable to hide her striking beauty. She walked with a grace even the stick in her hand could not disguise. The dark eyes danced and teased by turn. A few tendrils of hair escaped from their confinement to curl upon her brow, framing her face and adding soft femininity. Altogether, she made a picture so compelling that the gazes of many followed their progress.

  Leah wondered as they walked if Hannah ever felt jealous over her friend’s astonishing beauty. If she did, she did not let it show. The two girls were the best of companions. As they chatted animatedly, Hannah carefully measured her steps to accommodate Abigail and her stick.

  The crowds grew thicker around them. Leah allowed the two young girls to move ahead. Her thoughts swirled like the throngs moving to either side. She thought of Alban, and his confession of the previous day. How strange to find such joy and such concern in one moment! He sought to be a follower of Jesus, but could he? She had no idea whom to ask, or even if she should involve herself in this. She too felt such an outsider, she knew so very little about what was required of the followers. But to have Alban wish to join them and be barred from this group, and from her, was unthinkable.

  Abigail caught sight of Leah’s expression and demanded, “Whatever are you thinking?”

  “She’s thinking about the centurion, of course!” Hannah answered, and both girls laughed.

  Leah was tempted to confess the worries that had kept her awake the previous night. But Abigail chose that moment to ask, “Have you planned a gown for your wedding celebration?”

  “Gown? No, I haven’t . . .” It had never crossed Leah’s mind.

  Abigail exclaimed, “You will want something festive for the wedding celebration. Mary and Martha and the others will plan one for the appropriate time. Let us help you find something to wear!”

  “But . . . I don’t—”

  “Oh do. It will be so enjoyable.”

  “Please, Leah. I know the very place for beautiful garments,” Hannah chimed in.

  “But I don’t even know when the wedding celebration will take place.” Or even if, she added silently. The thought sent an arrow through her heart.

  “One never knows exactly,” said Hannah, shaking her head.

  “One is not supposed to know. That would take much of the fun and excitement from it. It’s the not knowing that’s so wonderful.”

  “That’s why you must have your wedding garment all prepared in advance,” Abigail explained. “You never know when your bridegroom might come. It would be unthinkable not to be ready to go at the sound of the wedding trumpet.”

  Leah found herself grateful for the chance to look ahead with anticipation. “I’m very grateful for anything you can teach me. Growing up in a Roman society has left me . . . what shall I say? Unschooled? I don’t even know what the proper wedding garment is. When I went for the betrothal garments, Nedra came with me. I never could have done it without her.”

  “Now it is our turn,” said Abigail, sounding delighted.

  “But . . . but I don’t have any way to pay for it,” Leah confessed.

  Abigail moved forward, her stick softly thumping across the cobblestones. “Then,” she said with her customary brightness, “we will go look for the perfect wedding garments, and when you have the amount needed, you will know exactly what to buy.”

  It did not take long for Abigail and Hannah to encourage Leah’s excitement. Their eagerness in examining the merchandise showed in their eyes and in the hands that gently fingered the fine linens and delicate cottons. The garments were white, some elaborately bordered. Leah even saw some with gold or silver threads gently interwoven among the red, blue, and purple adornments.

  Then a more simple gown caught her eye, so white it shimmered in the sunlight coming through the open doorway. The cloth was light in weight and texture, with a dainty design that bespoke elegance. It slipped softly through her fingers as she caressed it.

  “This is one you would like?” asked Abigail at her shoulder.

  “Yes, yes, I would.” Leah felt herself flush.

  “I have found the perfect shawl to match it.” Hannah moved up beside them, the white gossamer linen with its own decorations held out in both hands.

  She was right, Leah admitted. They were beautiful together. But the price! Where would she ever find the money?

  Then she remembered Procula’s pouch, still securely fastened about her waist, under her shawl. The money that Procula had given her to spend on bribes, should bribes appear to be required, still lay at her disposal. It had been freely given her. Hadn’t it?

  But even as the thought came, she quickly dismissed it. It was not her money. It belonged to her mistress. It had been given for a certain purpose. But she had not paid any bribes for information. Now the money must go back to Procula. She would see to it as soon as she returned to the palace.

  She thanked the shopkeeper and shepherded the two girls out of the store. “I think we must get on to the markets,” she said briskly. “How is your leg, Abigail? Do you want to—”

  But the girl wouldn’t even let her finish the question. “I’m feeling very well, thank you, and let’s go find some leeks!”

  The sound of their laughter drew the attention of a Roman officer striding the lane ahead of them. Leah recognized Alban’s associate, Linux, from the betrothal ceremony. Now she felt heat flood her cheeks. What would Alban think if he knew she had been looking at wedding finery, especially after she had been the one to raise the questions about whether she could actually give herself to a centurion? She felt sure Linux could detect her secret in her eyes. She looked quickly from side to side but saw no place to conceal herself.

  Linux approached and bowed. “Leah, I thought I recognized you.”

  He straightened and glanced at her two companions. His gaze lingered upon Abigail, though much of her face was sheltered behind the shawl. Linux seemed to bring his attention back to Leah with some difficulty. “And am I to have the pleasure of an introduction?”

  Leah looked imploringly at her friends. Was it proper to introduce two Judaean girls to a Roman officer? Then Abigail stepped back a pace and lowered her eyes in a respectful manner.

  “Perhaps another time,” Leah said softly. “We are anxious to complete our duties at the markets.”

  “Of course. Another time.” Reg
ret was clear in his voice as he inclined his head again. He gave Abigail one more look. “Another time,” he said softly and strode away.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Hannah pulled on Leah’s arm. “Was that your centurion?”

  “No, that is Alban’s friend. Linux is on the prelate’s personal staff.”

  “He is so handsome,” Hannah noted, awe in her voice. “And he certainly had eyes for Abigail.”

  “He was too bold,” said Abigail with a shake of her head. “It was not proper. And he is Roman.”

  Leah let Abigail set the pace as they entered the bustling market. The conversation made her feel old and settled, hearing the women chatter about their impressions of the soldier. Yet she was hardly more than a year or two older. It made her realize how much her life experiences had shaped her.

  Hannah turned to her and said, “And soon your own centurion will be coming for you.”

  Abigail brightened. “And you will meet him dressed in that beautiful gown you have chosen. Oh, you must be so excited!”

  Leah hid her concerns by picking cucumbers and melons from the street vendors’ carts. “We must hurry.”

  Leah was busy in the kitchen later that morning with preparations for the midday meal. She was stirring a large pot over the coals when Jacob appeared at her elbow.

  “Mistress, could you please come with me?”

  “Is Alban with you?”

  “He awaits us in the courtyard.”

  She glanced at Martha, who nodded her understanding. “I am in need of a breath of air. I will come too.”

  Jacob led them into the courtyard, where Alban waited, his concern evident even before they spoke. Martha seated herself, motioning Jacob to join her a short distance away.

  “What is it, Alban?” Leah asked softly as they stood by a short wall.

  “Linux has heard from an ally in Herod’s court. The tetrarch has been discussing us with a man called Enos.”

  “I know him. He is most dangerous.”

  “This guard has reported that Herod and Enos are conspiring to dissolve our betrothal and my claim for you as my bride.”

  Leah felt her heart squeezed until she could scarcely find the breath to ask, “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “I think he intends to keep us permanently apart. Herod is angry because I survived the attack and fears I now know of his partnership with the Parthians. He wants me punished—and worse.”

  “He will do anything to save his own skin.”

  Alban took a very hard breath. “And further, I have been summoned to appear before Pilate.”

  Leah could read the alarm in his eyes. “What does that mean, summoned?”

  “I have not brought him the news he wished to hear,” Alban continued. “I have not been able to solve his problems concerning Jesus’ followers. And now, when I tell him I seek to join their cause, I cannot predict what he will do. I know he will be terribly angry. I may escape with my head—but even that is in question.”

  Leah could only stare, her hand covering her mouth beneath the shawl.

  “They all are afraid, Leah. The high priest, the Sanhedrin, Herod, along with Pilate—all are afraid of Jesus. Even if they will not admit even silently that he is alive, they are afraid of what he represents. Of what his followers believe about him. And most of all they are afraid of losing power.”

  “So that is to be their way—destroy any who embrace the truth of Jesus?”

  “Perhaps. If they can.”

  When Leah was able to speak again, it was in no more than a whisper. “So what will happen to all of the followers? If the rulers would destroy even you—one of their own—what chance do the rest of us have?”

  “I have no answer to that.” His voice was husky with tension.

  “What of us, Alban? The betrothal ceremony has already taken place. By law I belong to you now. I am your wife.”

  “That’s true. By law.” A grim smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “But the only way I can stake my claim now would be to steal you away.”

  Then and there the answer seemed perfectly clear. He had declared his allegiance with a far stronger conviction than she could ever have hoped. She replied, “So steal me.”

  She saw a flash in his eyes, then it faded just as quickly. “Don’t jest, Leah.”

  “I am not one to jest. I have never been more serious.”

  “But the danger. When they discovered it, our lives wouldn’t be worth a single farthing.”

  “I returned from Bethany fearing that my new faith would keep us apart. I arrive to find you have committed yourself as well.”

  “If they will have me,” Alban finished grimly.

  This would happen. She had no logic behind this certainty, nothing beyond the clear voice that had spoken to her heart in the middle of the night. Alban was one of them. “I am your betrothed. We are to wed.” She heard the strength and certainty and desire in her own voice, and felt the breath catch in her throat. “I am yours, Alban.”

  He blinked fiercely, his face taut with emotions that turned his own voice hoarse. “Leah, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. It might mean gallows. At the very least, my career is over. How could I ask—”

  “You are not asking me. I am asking you. Our lives are in God’s hands now. Perhaps he has plans, a mission for us to fulfill. Instead of a soldier of Rome, you might now be a messenger of God. But if not, then I still choose to be your wife, for whatever time he allows us to have.”

  His words sounded strangled. “But I have nothing.”

  “Then nothing will be enough. We will share it. And watch it grow into a happiness that will fill our hearts. God can do much with nothing. Have you heard the story of the little boy’s loaves and fishes?”

  “I am so tempted by this idea of yours.” Slowly he shook his head. “But I cannot. I have given my oath. I must follow this through to its conclusion. We would be hounded to the ends of the earth. If only . . .”

  She saw a change, a gradual dawning. “If only what?”

  The silence between them seemed magnified by the square’s tumult. Alban remained hunched over, staring intently at the stones by his feet.

  Suddenly he straightened.

  “What is it?” she begged.

  Alban managed to smile. “I have an idea.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “Soon.” He rose to his feet. “Please pray. For me, and for us. I will come back as quickly as I can.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-THREE

  Pilate’s Palace, Jerusalem

  THE MAN AND BOY walked quickly, taking the way that followed the ancient walls dividing the Upper from the Lower City. Jacob kept looking up into Alban’s face, no doubt full of questions but deciding not to voice them. Then they saw Linux shouting and waving to them. “The prelate is waiting for you,” he said quickly when he was close enough to be heard. “And I would advise sooner rather than later. Where have you been?”

  “I went to warn Leah of the prelate’s summons.”

  Linux shook his head dolefully, but said merely, “This way.”

  “Wait.” Alban turned to Jacob and ordered, “Go to Simon bar Enoch and wait for me there.”

  “But, sire—”

  “I do not like to order you about, but this time I must. Nor do I know how long this will take. But when I can, I will come for you.”

  Jacob must have realized Alban would not change his mind and started away, shoulders slumped and head bowed.

  Alban watched the boy depart, then asked, “Linux, if anything happens to me, would you make sure Simon—”

  “I will do what is necessary,” Linux said. “If necessary.”

  As they approached the palace gates, Alban said, “Thank you for trying to help me, friend.”

  “We will know soon enough if it is of any use.”

  Inside the palace, Linux’s expression became sterner still. Alban sensed that their time of traveling as cohorts would soon come to
an end. After today, things would never be the same. If he had anything to say to Linux, it had to be said now. He slowed their pace.

  Alban cleared his throat and began, “I asked you once before what would happen if you found yourself willing to forgive your brother.”

  Linux recoiled as if Alban had struck him. “You had best be working on your strategy to deal with Pilate rather than asking me such nonsense.”

  “But what if—”

  “It could not happen, and you know it.”

  “It has happened to me.”

  Linux stared at Alban. “You’ve been spending too much time with that lot. They’ve damaged your thinking.”

  “I have never understood more clearly.” Alban stopped Linux’s response with a hand upon the officer’s forearm. “I ask you again: If you found yourself willing to forgive your older brother for all his wrongs, would you accept that the impossible has happened?”

  Linux’s gaze tightened. “This is what your time with the Judaeans has taught you, how to ask the impossible of a Roman officer?”

  Alban could have almost heard the bond between them snap. “I will ask God for this sign to be shown to you. And when it happens, remember my words today. Find me, and let us speak of the impossible made real.” He held Linux fast with his gaze. “If not me, find another of the believers.”

  “You’re one of the prophet’s rabble now?”

  Alban allowed himself a moment’s hope. “If they’ll have me.”

  Leah and Martha slowly walked back to the kitchen without speaking. But when Leah bent over the boiling vegetables, shoulders shaking, Martha came to stand beside her. Leah lifted tear-filled eyes to the older woman’s face, and at the tender concern she saw there, she fell into Martha’s arms, sobbing. When she found some control of her emotions, she recounted the dire news from Alban.

  “I don’t quite know how to ask this,” Leah said, “but would you pray with me? For . . . for Alban? For me?”

  Martha’s face held both concern and confidence. “Of course we will pray. And would you like me to ask the other women to join us? We don’t have to tell all the details, but I’m sure they would want to be part of this prayer time.”