I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  Light plays across the floor. Pilate dismisses them. “Caiaphas, you created this outcome when you arrested a popular messiah. You deal with rumors of his resurrection. Don’t show your face to me again.”

  Furious, the high priest storms out. Demetrius steps forward and Pilate says, “Find out what happened at the tomb.”

  Pilate rejoins me in the shadows. “Do you believe them?”

  “No, but I’m not convinced of your side, either.”

  We walk through the arch into the house. “You’ve always been a man of reason, Lucius.”

  “And a man without faith, I might remind you.”

  I clutch his arm. “Think! He healed the blind! He raised men from the dead! He convinced you of his innocence! You felt remorse in having him crucified! Have you ever lamented that before?”

  Entering our room, he pours a cup of wine.

  “Lucius, he survived a brutal scourging and made it to Golgotha without dying on the way. At the hour of his death, darkness covered the sun. The temple floor split in two and the curtain with it. Jacob is blind and Avram lives! How much more must happen to convince you?”

  Pilate looks out over Jerusalem. He moves to the balcony and I go with him. “Does a god surrender to scourging, humiliation, and crucifixion?”

  “This one did!”

  He rests his arm on the ledge. Gazing into my eyes, his voice softens, “For what reason?”

  I wish I knew.

  Taking my hand, he says gently, “Find me one.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Herod has changed. The pomp is gone from his strut, the pride from his flabby jeweled fingers. A broken man climbs the steps into the palace. My eyes dart to Herodias in astonishment. She takes my arm and I lead her inside. “Ever since Jesus of Nazareth visited us, he’s been in a foul mood,” she says. “He doesn’t sleep, he won’t eat. I haven’t been summoned to his bed since!”

  I cringe at the thought. “And that… troubles you?”

  She scowls at me. “Hopefully Pilate will talk sense into him! He drones on over the messiah! ‘Did I do the right thing in sending him to Pilate, Herodias?’ ‘Should I have set him free, Herodias?’ ‘What do you think of the rumors of his resurrection, Herodias?’ ”

  Flopping onto a lounge, she covers her eyes with one arm and moans. I recline beside her. “What do you say to him when he asks such questions?”

  “I remind him that he is the messiah.” A servant pours wine and she takes the cup from him. Noticing my repulsion, she leans closer. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know how we must stroke men’s egos. I remind him that he is the rightful King of the Jews. If his people call for a messiah, why shouldn’t it be him?”

  My hair moves in the breeze. “Is that wise?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Glancing at the servant, I lower my voice. “If there is another messiah…”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you believe the rumors!” Her laugh grates on my ears. “The man is dead, dead and rotting, like the hideous so-called prophet in the desert! They stole his body from the tomb! That changes nothing! These people search endlessly for a messiah! In another year they’ll have a new one!” She shoves her cup out for a refill.

  I bite my tongue. “What did he say when brought before you? Did you meet him?”

  “I did and I thought him unimpressive. At least John had a certain otherworldly air, a mental insanity to make him entertaining. But all men die the same, regardless how it happens.” Dipping a long, curved fingernail into her wine, she licks it off. Hatred toward her rises within me and I fight it off. “Will you stay in Jerusalem or return to Caesarea?” she asks.

  I force a pleasant expression onto my face. “Pilate tires of endless appeals from the high priests, so we’ll return to the coast in a few weeks.”

  “It’s a shame our palaces aren’t in the same place. I find company other than yours tiresome.”

  We spend all afternoon together. I wave her off with a smile and turn into the house. “How was your afternoon with Herod?” I ask Pilate.

  “Interesting. He asked my opinion and spoke well. I underestimated him.”

  My expression turns wry. “Maybe his hour-long audience with the messiah changed him.”

  “Yes, he expressed concern. He shares my opinion of Jesus’ innocence. In that at least, we agree and may call ourselves friends.”

  Pausing outside my door, I laugh, “Friends, you and Herod? Oh, say it isn’t so, husband!”

  “Don’t worry, he’s going home. You will not have to see Herodias until next Passover. We’ll leave for Caesarea at the end of the week.” He touches my hand. I see longing in his eyes but refuse his kiss.

  I turn my face away and whisper, “Not yet.”

  Disappointed, he leaves me. I enter as Libi prepares the bed. She helps me undress. “Tell the servants to pack our things; we’re going to Caesarea.” She folds my tunic and puts it away. I drop onto the bed and stretch against the pillows. “I miss the cool night air on the coast, and the sight of ships coming into harbor. It’ll do your brother good to walk along the shore.”

  “We’re not coming with you.”

  Her voice is quiet but still I catch it. I sit up in shock. “What do you mean?”

  Libi crosses the room to sit beside me. “Do you remember Martha, the woman from Bethany?”

  I nod.

  “I took Jacob to see her brother Lazarus today. They spoke for hours. They asked us to join them, to become Jesus’ disciples, to live with them in Bethany. In another year, Quintus’ twenty-year service to Rome ends. He can marry. I want to stay here and wait for him.” Seeing my expression, she takes my hand. “Forgive me, Claudia! I love you as a sister but … I want to stay with Martha and Mary. I want to learn more of Jesus. It’ll be good for Jacob to have me there.”

  I free my hand. She looks hurt. “But you’re my only friend!”

  Her eyes search mine. “You have Pilate.”

  Pushing her out of the way, I get up and cross to the verandah. Wind stirs the curtains.

  “You need to forgive him.” Quiet footsteps come up behind me. “Pilate has one link with the messiah: you. Our Lord forgave Pilate on the cross. Can you do less?”

  The house is quiet, everyone asleep. My bare feet make no noise on the marble floor. Pilate stirs as I lift the netting and crawl under it. He starts to sit up but I push him down. My hand lingers on his chest as I climb on top of him. I kiss his chest, the scars from battle, gradually working my way to his mouth. It caresses mine, gently and with more enthusiasm as he pulls us together. His hands creep up my spine, sliding under my hair as he gazes at me. We search one another’s eyes in the moonlight and take comfort in each other. He strokes my hair, his fingers moving to my arm. He kisses the side of my head, his breath warm against my temple. “What was he like, this Galilean?”

  I lay my chin on his chest, my voice quiet. “I found him understanding, and kind to everyone.”

  “Not to the thieves in the temple, though.”

  His voice is laden with irony and it makes me smile. “It upset him that they’d trade in his father’s house.”

  Pilate kisses my fingers. “What do you know of him?”

  “He’s good with wood, a carpenter by trade. I never heard him preach but our servants did. He loves children. They went to him with greater understanding and trust than any who hailed him on the road to Jerusalem.”

  Drawing his hand along my back, Pilate asks, “And you’re convinced he lives?”

  My heart quickens. “Yes.”

  He nods and shuts his eyes. I pray for understanding. I want to love him; I want faith in him.

  Libi and Jacob leave the next day. They load a cart and Jacob feels for my hand, leaning on his father’s staff. He stares past me, into nothingness. “I’m sorry for the miseries I’ve caused you, Claudia, here and in Rome.”

  I embrace him and fight tears. Libi helps him into the cart and turns to me. We stare at one another and
she throws her arms around me. Her voice shakes with emotion. “I’ll write, I promise.”

  Tears stream as she drives away. My heart aches in the emptiness of the house. Our departure for Caesarea gives me a much-needed distraction. Pilate has asked me to be involved in finishing Tiberius’ Temple.

  “The temple should be finished in a month,” our architect promises one warm, late summer afternoon. The skies darken and the scent of rain is in the air.

  I stare anxiously at the brewing clouds. “Good. Have them finish early today, to get home before the storm hits.”

  “Thank you, Lady Claudia.” He gathers up his things and leaves with a spring in his step.

  I lean against the ledge as Pilate enters through the far door. “I met Arteas in the hall. He certainly looked pleased with himself. What did you compliment him on this time?”

  “I liked his plan to add a central pillar to the courtyard.” I glance at him and gesture at the fierce skies. “What do you think, should we worry?”

  Pilate glances out into the harbor, where ships already bob around on the rising sea. “Are you worried?”

  I grip the ledge. “I have that feeling of dread like I used to get when waking from a nightmare. Something is coming, Lucius… it arrives on the wind from Rome.” Shivering, I turn away from the harbor.

  Pilate rubs my arms, concerned. “There’s an augur in the city. Maybe we should consult him.”

  Only one sorcerer lives in Caesarea, on the far side of the forum. The air is heavy as we knock on his door and he ushers us inside. Eerie eyes linger on me in disapproval as I lower my hood. The hovel sends chills up my spine. “Come,” he says, and takes us to the fire.

  Spirits stir in the house, all of them unseen. The hair rises on my neck. He casts black ash into the flames and smoke surrounds us. “What is it you want to see, Prefect?” he asks.

  Pilate’s hand leaves my arm. He leans forward, his face pale in the sinister light. “What approaches?”

  Rain spatters the roof. Smoke surrounds us. It tries to draw me in. I feel it curve around my mind and then… I hear hissing. Audible murmurs enter the gloom. The torches flicker and the augur looks at me. “You’re one of them,” he snarls.

  I swallow but am silent. Darkness tears at me, the room full of growls. Pilate’s face is unreadable. “What do you mean?”

  “She believes in the messiah.”

  It comes out in a dreadful hiss. I see the evil in him and reach for my husband. “Pilate, we must leave.”

  “No.” He leans toward the augur. “Tell me what you see in the flames.”

  They leap and dance, reflecting on our skin and in his terrible white eyes. Something brushes against me, but nothing is there.

  “I can’t while she’s here,” he hisses.

  Pilate’s eyes gleam with interest. “Are your gods weaker than hers?”

  Fury lurks behind the man’s sullen face. Something moves in the darkness behind us but I see nothing. He shows his teeth. “You want the truth, Prefect?”

  “Yes. Prove to me her god isn’t stronger than yours.”

  Thunder cracks overhead. I flinch. A chill hovers over my thin form. Glowering at me, the sorcerer stirs the flames. His eyes dart to me. “Death approaches… death, betrayal, and insanity. The gods are displeased. What have you done to anger them?”

  As he speaks, lightening flashes and illuminates the room. His eyes close and when they open, they glow red, reflecting the embers of the dying coals at his feet. Pilate stumbles back from him and I clutch his arm.

  “What is this madness?” he whispers.

  The house shakes with the violence of the storm. Rising, the old man points at me. “You,” he rasps in an unfamiliar, evil voice, “you who have seen him… you will bring great evil into Rome, a force to consume the souls of all who stand in its path.”

  He lunges at me. I shriek and throw out my hands. Screams fill the air. Smoke pours around us. Hisses slither across the ground. He grips my head and tries to slam it into the wall. I stare into his face, his madness, the widening of his eyes, the gaping mouth as it opens—and see his spirit leave him as Pilate’s sword thrusts through his chest. He falls to the floor in a rush of blood. The shutters slam open and wind fills the house, exploding out into the night.

  Demetrius breaks through the door. His eyes fall on the dead sorcerer and dart to me, my hands covered in blood.

  Evil leaves this house and enters the storm. It screams and wails overhead as we hurry to the palace; it breaks with rage against the shore; water surges across the tiles and drains into the pool, which overflows as fire tears through the heavens. Rain beats the columns, not reaching the chamber where I lie. Pilate paces the floor into the dawn, his eyes watchful but his voice silent.

  For two days, it rains and blows. When it stops, the silence is terrifying. The city is undamaged but the harbor is full of half-sunk ships; their tattered sails ripple in the wind. I shade my eyes to look at them.

  “This will delay the finishing of Tiberius’ temple,” says Pilate as we watch men drag the ships to shore for repairs. “One of the columns collapsed last night.”

  His architects walk away, their arms full of scrolls. When I stay quiet, he glances at me. “Do you know what they’re saying in the streets? The storm is Caesarea’s punishment for welcoming us home. This should do a good deal for our popularity.”

  “It’s superstition. It’ll fade in time.”

  He follows me indoors. “You don’t believe that.”

  “Maybe the storm is our punishment.” I go to the table and sort through the plans the architects left us.

  Pilate moves them aside. “What do you mean?”

  “This! The temple! The sorcerer! We build a place of worship to a Roman emperor and consult a seer! Why wouldn’t God punish us?” I dash the plans to the floor and scrolls bounce into the corner of the room.

  Pilate is incredulous. “So we abandon it because you’re afraid of punishment from the Judean god?”

  “You know what I believe.”

  Gripping my arm, he turns me to face him. “Yes! But it isn’t true.”

  “Why is it so hard for you to believe it might be true?”

  He tilts my face up. “You went to him, didn’t you? You sought him out in Bethany and asked him to heal you.”

  Warmth spreads through me.

  Leaning nearer, he asks gently, “Then why are you still barren?”

  Shock renders me silent.

  Pilate’s gaze is cold but I am not the focus of his anger. “Wouldn’t a true messiah reward your faith?”

  His hand drops as Demetrius comes to the door. “A ship has arrived from Rome, Prefect. Here are the dispatches.”

  Pilate leaves me on the verandah to read them. I try to calm the thunderous pounding of my heart.

  “Claudia,” he says suddenly. Numbly, I go inside. Pilate looks at me, aghast. “Sejanus was executed.”

  I stare at him. “Why?”

  “Tiberius accused him of treason, for turning against Caligula, and executed his entire family.”

  My legs give out and I feel for the nearest chair. I take the scroll and read it, the letters blurring before my eyes. “But Sejanus’ daughter is just a child!” Superstitions in Rome claim it is bad luck to kill a virgin. I cover my mouth with my hand. Sensing my thoughts, Pilate says quietly, “Let’s hope she didn’t suffer long.”

  “Will their attention turn on you?”

  “I may have been out of Rome long enough for our association to fade. But we must be careful.” Pilate sorts through the other scrolls and opens one from his sister. He frowns and gives it to me.

  My dear brother, I arrive on the next ship, the Marcus. I bring grave tidings from Rome.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I stand in the empty corridor of the palace, a goblet of blood in my hand. A scarlet trail reaches into the inner chamber, where a figure lies. I drop the cup and run to turn him over, my tunic turning red as it falls into the crimson
pool under his body.

  No!

  Death nears him, a sword at his side. I cradle his head in my arms and kiss his forehead. You cannot leave me! Please, do not leave me… I need you.

  Claudia…

  Pilate breathes his last. Shadows fall across me and I look up into the face of Caligula. The boy from Rome is gone, and a man takes his place. He has Hermina by the hair and throws her at my feet. You are all traitors to Rome… His evil eyes drift over me and turn on the centurion at his side, Demetrius.

  Kill them all.

  The scream rips from my throat as I sit up, the bedclothes dripping in sweat. Pilate’s hand is on my shoulder, his warmth at my side. I lean over the edge of the bed and vomit into the chamber pot. Pilate strokes my arm. “Who is it this time?”

  Dawn is in the east and thin tendrils of light creep into our room. “Caligula,” I whisper.

  He presses me to his chest and I cling to him. He smoothes the hair out of my face, his eyes concerned. “Is this because you must visit the temple today?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Tiberius’ temple is finished and to honor the emperor, we must attend its dedication.

  Pilate rises and I grip his hand. “Lucius…”

  “It’s all right, Claudia. Your presence is for my sake, not yours. You know Tiberius is no god! But we must please him, and play a farce.”

  The dream casts uncertainty over my day. My unease increases as I exit the chariot. The high priest bows and leads me inside. Pilate accompanies us. Demetrius stays at the foot of the stairs. Flames flicker around us as we approach the altar. The priest places me on one side. “Stand here,” he says. He moves to the other side, lifts his hands, and chants, swaying. Emptiness fills the room and nothing stirs. Frowning, he chants louder. Wind sweeps through the columns and the flames die. The priests exchange mystified looks. Pilate glances at me. Their temple is an empty building, much like the vacant tomb outside Jerusalem. Shaken, he continues the rituals without the usual mysticism.

  Much later, we return to the palace. “At least it’s over,” says Pilate.

  Wind stirs the draperies, tinted with smoke. Darkness covers Caesarea and I look to the west. Flames dance atop the sea. The lines of a ship fall into view as it approaches the harbor engulfed in flames, fire licking up the main beam and burning through the sails.