I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  “And you met with no violence on the road?”

  His helmet under his arm, Quintus says, “No, Prefect. Other than travelers coming for the Passover, it’s quiet.”

  I return my scroll to its shelf. Pilate says, “The temple priests are concerned with Jesus of Nazareth. What do you know of him?”

  “He heals the blind, casts out demons, makes lepers clean… they say he can raise the dead. He is not violent, and any suggestion of proclaiming him ‘King of the Jews’ is met with his disapproval. I saw a mob try it once. He simply disappeared.”

  Pilate blinks and raises an eyebrow, “Disappeared?”

  “Yes, Prefect, there one minute and gone the next. No one saw where he went but by the next day he resumed his travel and the crowd followed him. From what I saw on the road on my way here, many will follow him to Jerusalem. I’d advise anticipating twenty thousand Jews or more.”

  Shock fills the faces around me. Demetrius asks, “Should we send for another legion, Prefect?”

  “Send for five legions. I want Jerusalem full of Roman soldiers to dissuade riots. How soon can they arrive?”

  “From Caesarea, within a day, but from the outer provinces, it’ll take longer… the middle of the week?”

  Pilate nods and Demetrius quickly leaves us. The first garrison arrives the next evening, slipping into the city under the cover of darkness to avoid suspicion. Pilate meets with the Sanhedrin to discuss the impending Passover week, leaving me with Quintus.

  “This messiah of yours is … interesting,” he says.

  Wind stirs the curtains in the hall. I bite into a piece of fruit. “What do you mean?”

  “Messiahs are common in Judea yet this one is different. He never speaks against Rome. He claims to come not to liberate men from oppression but make their souls right with God. Unlike the sorcerers in Rome, his miracles are still working after a week. Lepers are still clean, the blind still see, and the lame walk.”

  His servant enters the room. Quintus watches him pour the wine and retreat demurely to a corner. “I went to him, Claudia,” he says softly.

  I look at him in surprise.

  “Pilate sent me there to see him, follow him, listen to him; I spent weeks watching him heal, bless, and bring peace to his people and anyone else who approached. He spoke to Jews and Gentiles, men, women, and children. I heard him speak Greek, Hebrew, and Latin.”

  Footsteps pass in the hall; we wait until it is quiet. Quintus lowers his voice. “Not long ago, Germanius fell ill and the physicians couldn’t heal him. Jesus returned to Capernaum. I ran to meet him on the road. I asked him to heal my servant. I fell on my knees before him, and begged for Germanius’ life.”

  I glance at the servant, who is listening to us.

  “He offered to visit the house despite it making him unclean. I told him not to, that he could heal Germanius on the road, if he willed it. And do you know what he told me, Claudia?”

  Stillness fills the room, sending shivers up my spine.

  “That he’d not found such faith in all Judea.” Smiling distantly, Quintus swirls the wine in his goblet. “I returned home to find Germanius healed and in the kitchen preparing my supper!” He laughs without humor and looks at me. His eyes soften. “Claudia, he is the messiah. He’s their messiah and yet… he healed my servant.”

  “Maybe he’s our messiah too,” I whisper.

  Pilate returns and we say no more. I retire but sleep uneasily, knowing more legions enter the city. Morning dawns with an unexpected sharpness, a swelling of anticipation in the streets. Restless, I go out and hunt down my husband in his office.

  “My dressmaker is finished with my new tunic. I want to pick it up myself,” I tell him. His hand covers mine against his chest. I lean over his chair from behind and rest my face against his.

  “Take Quintus with you.”

  I pass Demetrius on the way out and hear Pilate say, “Now, these executions…”

  My tailor lives not far from the city gates. Libi walks with us, now and again glancing at Quintus. Nearly at her door, we hear a loud cheer. People race past us out onto the road. Quintus pulls me out of their way.

  “What is it?”

  None of us can see over the crowd waving their hands. “I’ll go,” says Libi, and disappears into the throng. So many are shouting it is hard to make out the words.

  “Hosanna!”

  Children pass carrying palm fronds, fighting their way to the front.

  “Messiah!”

  I look at Quintus in astonishment. “Is that…?”

  His hand catches my elbow and pulls me forward. The crowd jostles us as we strain to catch sight of him, and part as Jesus enters the gates riding a donkey, its colt trailing at its side. They throw cloaks into his path and we drift with the crowd along the street. Quintus asks, “Do you see Libi?”

  Tearing my eyes from Jesus, I search the eager faces. Libi is not among them but it is hard to see anyone, there is so much excitement. Quintus leads me into an alley as the mob passes. “I must take you home!” I start forward and he grabs me. “This will turn into a riot, Claudia! Pilate won’t want you here!”

  He drags me away. The chant follows us through the streets, growing louder as the procession goes toward the temple. We force our way through the crowd; the noise is a dull roar when we reach the palace.

  Pilate meets us at the gates. “What is it?”

  “Their messiah enters Jerusalem.”

  Sending Quintus a sharp look, Pilate asks, “Will it turn into a riot?”

  “I don’t know, Prefect.”

  The shouting intensifies as Jesus nears.

  “Do we have men in the square?”

  “Yes, Prefect,” says Demetrius.

  Shouts pass behind the gates and move toward the temple. Pilate motions to his guard. “Watch them but don’t interfere unless it turns violent.”

  At nightfall, Libi returns. I watch for her from my balcony and hurry downstairs as she crosses the yard, but Quintus intercepts her first. I stop in the shadows.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her face falls into the torchlight as he catches her arm, causing her veil to slip. Her eyes shine with happiness. “I’m more than all right; I sat at his feet and heard him speak!”

  “You shouldn’t scare me like that!”

  Libi glances at his hand and her face alters; she steps back. “You’re not my guardian; there’s no need to worry.”

  “I worry because I love you.”

  Fear causes her to look toward the house. The doorway hides me from view. “You shouldn’t say that.”

  “I must say it.”

  She lifts her veil to cover her thick, dark hair, and his hand catches hers. “Don’t. Why must you hide from me?” He touches the side of her face and she pulls away.

  “Stop it.”

  Quintus steps before her. “Please, don’t leave me. I ask your forgiveness.”

  Shadows form around them. Libi stares at him. “Why?”

  “I wanted you at the cost of your good name. Evil drove me to want you for my mistress, to force you to give up your faith for my pleasure.” He lifts her hand to his armor, over his heart. “Forgive me. Please.”

  “I forgive you,” she whispers.

  A servant crosses the hall behind me to light the lamps and I dart out of sight. Quintus kisses her hand and says, “My commission will be up in a few years. If you’ll wait for me, I will marry you.”

  “But you’re not a Jew.” Her tone wavers with hope.

  Quintus rests her head against his. “Does it matter to our messiah? Your own high priests dislike him.”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers.

  “That isn’t a ‘no,’ so I’m content.” Quintus moves away from her. “Go to your mistress.”

  By the time she appears in my room, I lie on the bed staring at a scroll in the lamplight. I put it aside and sit up. “What happened after you left us?”

  “He went to the temple and then t
o a room above an inn here in Jerusalem. I did not dare go inside until Mary, the sister of the woman we met in Bethany, saw me and invited me to eat with them. I listened to him speak, and when it got late and they departed, I hurried home.” Taking my hand, Libi says, “As I left, he pressed my hand like this and said, ‘Tell her not all dreams are evil.’ ”

  The candle flames sputter in the draft and the hair lifts on my neck. Her eyes search mine. “Do you know what it means?”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t dreamt in a long time.”

  Jesus’ words linger in my mind long after she leaves. I ponder them until Pilate enters. “The Messiah certainly frightens the high priests. They are terrified he will disrupt the Passover. I’ve spent the last two hours warning them to keep order in the temple unless they want me to shut its doors.”

  “You can’t do that on their holy week!”

  Dismissing the servant holding his armor, Pilate joins me in bed. “I won’t if I don’t have to. The mob that followed him into Jerusalem concerns me. They might turn ugly if I refuse them. I’ve seen it here before, and in Rome.” Playing with my fingers, he adds, “Herod arrived in the city tonight, five hours later than he anticipated. The procession held him up on the road! He followed the messiah into Jerusalem unnoticed!”

  I shake with laughter. “I’m sure he hated that.”

  He smirks. “I’m sure Herodias hated it, too. I must pay him a diplomatic visit and console him. I would ask you to come with me and save me from Herodias, but my accountants want to see you. You made an impression on them in my absence.”

  Turning over to look at him, I ask, “Is that all right?”

  “If you want to oversee that bunch of conniving, coin-counting thieves, I’m delighted. I’d rather fight a Roman gladiator single-handed than listen to them complain.”

  Most of them are old and I pretend not to know that they like me as much for my appearance as my mind. Patiently, I listen to their various appeals, concerns, and ideas with interest. “So we are low on funds,” I say.

  “Yes, Mistress,” says one of them, bowing. “The collapse of the aqueducts proved expensive, and the temple refuses to contribute to its repair.”

  Another man says, “Caiaphas is unreasonable!”

  Seated on my husband’s judicial seat in our inner room, I answer, “It is his money, after all.”

  “It should benefit Jerusalem, not line his pockets.” The man flushes under my sharp glance.

  I smile. “Still, we must not count on their involvement. Taxes will soon be levied in Judea, can we last until then?”

  “If we cease the rebuilding process,” he says, “yes. Work stopped in honor of Passover week. We could simply not start up again.”

  Distant noise comes to us, a faint roar outside. I itch to go and see what it is and shift in the chair. “It sounds reasonable. What might the fallout be?”

  One of the men steps forward. He is younger than the others are. “I doubt any will speak against it. Many see the collapse as a judgment from God. It’s difficult enough finding men to work on it, as it is.”

  The noise continues and several of them look toward the open arches. My fingers tighten on the arm of the chair. “Is that all?”

  Glances shift between them and all nod. Darting into the hall, I collide with Libi. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s in the temple!”

  Screams fill the air as we go upstairs, to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. It is hard to see through the frenzy of movement; overturned tables, scattered coins, doves fluttering into the air, people fleeing in a panic out into the street. I hear the crack of a whip and flinch.

  “Can you see who it is?” I ask, craning my neck.

  Her voice is quiet. “You know who it is.”

  Shocked, I look at her. Guards move uneasily below. A crash returns my attention to the temple.

  Everything stops and silence falls in Jerusalem.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Caiaphas is furious. “He entered our temple! He turned over the tables! He chased out everyone with whips! He called us a den of thieves!”

  I know the look in Pilate’s eye, one of amusement. “I fail to see what business this is of mine. You’ve told me many times that it’s your god, and not Rome, that governs law in the temple.”

  “You’re the judicial authority in Jerusalem! You must put a stop to this!” Caiaphas bangs his staff on the floor.

  Pilate leans back in his chair. “This messiah…”

  “He isn’t a messiah,” Jacob hisses.

  “This… man is a Jew, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet he disrupts the temple in Passover week?”

  Jacob scowls. “Yes.”

  “Then he’s yours to deal with, along with your temple guard. I have no authority in religious disputes, since he commits no crime and harms no one. He entered Jerusalem with over a thousand followers. Unless you want a riot that will force me to close the temple, I suggest you leave him alone.”

  “But Prefect—”

  A lifted hand indicates the interview is at an end. With a final seething glance, Caiaphas leads his rabbi out. Pilate descends from his judgment seat. “I’ve seen enough of the high priests to last for months. Let’s hope the rest of this week is uneventful.”

  Several days pass without significance. The moneychangers and tradesmen return to the temple. I busy myself with the state of our Roman treasury and with organizing our library. Libi helps me. Neither of us says much, other than to remark on the location of important documents.

  “Do you feel like something is coming, Claudia?” She stares out the window behind us at the darkening skies. A breeze blows through the curtains, moving them eerily against the columns. The skin on my arms prickles. “I feel it here,” she continues, pressing a hand to her breast.

  Touching her shoulder, I smile reassuringly and put Plato on the shelf. The feeling leaves neither of us. Her face is uncertain and pale as she serves supper and readies me for bed. Pilate notices my unusual quiet and putting his arms around me, says, “It’ll be over soon.”

  Sleep descends and I dream. I wander the halls of our palace, pausing to listen for the small cry that tugs at my heart. It is a child’s cry and I follow it to the judgment seat. There is no infant, no child. It is empty. I move forward and my sandal tips over a basin, spilling blood onto the floor. It seeps into the hem of my tunic, causing me to move backward.

  Claudia…

  The messiah stands before me, torn flesh covering his body. Forgive him.

  I lower my hands from my mouth. Jesus?

  He stretches out his hands. I can see through the nail marks in them. His blood covers the floor.

  No!

  He smiles at me sadly.

  The judgment seat is no longer empty. Pilate sits on it. Water drips from his hands and turns red as it reaches the floor. Emptiness is in his eyes. Claudia, he says, without moving his lips.

  I feel someone shaking me. Darkness fills the room and the messiah fades.

  “Claudia, wake up!”

  Strong hands lift me from the damp pillows. My eyes fly open. Pilate leans over me, concerned. I push him away and fall out of bed. He kneels beside me. “Claudia, what happened?”

  Choking sobs wrack my body. I shove him away, not wanting him to touch me, to comfort me.

  A knock sounds at the door. “Prefect?”

  The room feels cold as his hands leave my shoulders. He crosses to the door and opens it. Demetrius says, “I’m sorry to wake you but the Sanhedrin guard arrested the Galilean messiah. I thought you should know.”

  My heart pounds and my hands shake. Pilate glances at me. “Where have they taken him?”

  “He’s in the temple courts, on trial.”

  Dim light shines across the floor from the hall. I reach up and draw the coverlet off the bed, shivering. Pilate considers carefully. “How many know of this?”

  “Almost no one, they arr
ested him a couple of hours ago. Most of his followers fled. There are a few people outside the temple but not many.”

  He looks at me again. “Keep an eye on them.” The door shuts with a soft click. Dawn colors the east in faint streaks. Pilate returns and pulls me to my feet. I try to push him away and he tightens his grip. “Claudia, look at me. Tell me your dream. It’s this, isn’t it?”

  I whimper.

  His eyes soften. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

  I yank my arm out of his hand. “You’ll kill him.” Fear enters his face followed by disbelief. I take his hand. “And when you do, his blood will be forever yours. It will ruin us and bring your downfall.”

  Pilate’s fingers slip from mine.

  “Don’t condemn him,” I plead.

  Emotion flickers behind his gaze. He turns and leaves the room. I lean on the table for support and then go to the door. My appearance causes our servant to stir from his place against the far pillar. “Send Libi to me, wake her if you must.”

  I remove my damp clothes and dress. She enters and I tell her what happened. “Go to the temple courts. Stay with his followers. Tell me if anything happens.”

  The city sleeps and dawn approaches. I pace until footsteps sound in the hall. I accompany Quintus into Pilate’s office. He stands on his balcony overlooking the city.

  “The high priests want to speak with you, Prefect.”

  Pilate nods. I follow him into the judgment room. He crosses to the seat. “I see you didn’t take my advice, Caiaphas.”

  “It’s in the best interest of Rome, Prefect.”

  Standing there in their rich robes, I find it hard not to hate the high priests. My eyes move to Jacob’s self-satisfied expression.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” says Pilate.

  Tension fills the air. Caiaphas bows his head.

  “Why have you come to me?”

  Moving closer, the priest says, “This man claims to be the messiah. He’s a heretic and must be killed.”

  “Then do it.”

  Caiaphas leans on his staff. “Alas, we can’t, Prefect, not so near Passover. It will make us unclean.”