I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  “Lucius…”

  He shouts for his soldiers. The harbor fills with movement as people race across the dock. “If they can’t keep it from the harbor, it’ll set it alight!”

  My fingers tighten on the rail as he leaves. Smaller crafts sail out to meet her, oars thrust against her side in an effort to slow her progress. The beam crashes into the deck and flames spill into the sea; screams echo across the water and dark shapes fall overboard. Timbers crack and splinter, flames spread and die; it drifts toward the dock and the people scatter, shrieking. It misses and crashes into another ship. Men rush to put out the fire, but it spreads too fast. The first ship breaks apart and sinks into the sea, flames licking floating timbers.

  The second ship takes longer to burn but eventually it too disappears beneath the waves. Since I can do nothing, I turn away from the smoke. I sleep fitfully, waking every few hours to find the bed empty. Before dawn, he returns. Cold air wraps around me as I sit up and grip his shoulders. “What is it?”

  “The Marcus burned, Claudia.”

  Horror sinks into me. “Is your sister…?”

  “She’s dead.”

  My arms go around him. “I’m so sorry.”

  Pilate smiles faintly and places his hand over mine. “I keep remembering how we parted in Rome, how angry she was over me separating her from Caligula.”

  “You spared her from him, at least.”

  He pulls away from me and goes to the window. “I may have spared her from Caligula, but not from death in a ship ablaze. And you ask why I don’t believe in gods?”

  Our conversation haunts me in the next three days. Pilate finds distraction in the arrival of priests from Jerusalem. “I must see a representative of Caiaphas today,” he says, “concerning the latest ‘messiah’ in Jerusalem.”

  I help him with his tunic and armor, strapping it on. “What do they know of him?”

  “In his speeches he’s no different from any of their messiahs, but he is open in his criticism of Rome, and my spies tell me he gains popularity.” His blue eyes seek out mine. “You see, Claudia, your messiah is forgotten. A new zealot arises.”

  “Jesus’ followers have nothing to do with this man.”

  He touches the side of my face. “I hope not.” Kissing my forehead, he leaves as a servant girl enters.

  “Octavia, I want to visit the market today.”

  She offers me a basin full of clean water. “Should we take a guard with us?”

  I shake my head.

  The harbor sparkles under the sun. Merchants and tradesmen crowd the dock. The scent of fresh fish and fruit fill the air. I move along the stalls making purchases. Feeling eyes on me, I glance across the way. A man looks on with interest. Our eyes meet and he nears.

  “You’re Pilate’s wife, aren’t you?” he asks. Fingering some figs, I add them to my basket. I look to Octavia, who indicates one of the centurions stationed at the end of the dock. The man notices and says, “I mean you no harm. I was sent to speak with you.”

  I move to the next stall. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you know of me?”

  “I know who you are, and of your dreams.”

  The centurion passes. I turn my face away, hiding it under the fabric of my veil. Stepping around me, he asks softly, “Is it true you warned your husband not to crucify the messiah?”

  “Yes.”

  His face is familiar somehow. “Then you are one of us, as he said.”

  “Who said that?”

  A plump piece of fruit lands in my basket. “He did.”

  Cold cascades over me. “What did he say to you?” I sneak a look at his face as he looks out over the sea. He picks up a fig and pays the stall boy for it. On his way past, he says, “I’m to tell you that dreams are forewarnings of what may come, not what will happen. The fate of many can be changed through a single act.”

  Turning after him, I say, “You’re one of his disciples.”

  “Yes, I’m Peter.” Smiling, he disappears in the crowd.

  I hand Octavia the basket. She trails after me along the dock. I reach the end and turn to the palace but stop to let passengers disembark from a ship. One of them catches my eye, a lean, small feminine face hidden in a veil. When I run after her and pull it off, Hermina starts in alarm and softens at the sight of me. Her arms go around me and we cling to one another. “We thought you dead!”

  “I’m meant to be!” Trembling, she glances into the crowd around us. Her face is pale, her thinness worrying me. She looks ill. “It isn’t safe! No one must see us! Go to the palace! Leave your servant so I may enter in secret!” Replacing her veil, she hurries away.

  “Go with her!”

  Octavia runs after her, weaving through the crowd. My stomach knots and I look around to see if anyone is watching. Returning home I pace until she arrives. She takes my hands in hers. “No one saw me and no one outside of you and my brother, apart from trusted servants, must know that I’m here. He must believe I’m dead!”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  She sinks into the nearest chair. “Caligula! He had me followed, tried to stop me… so many died because I said I’d sail on that ship!” Covering her face with her hands, she takes several ragged breaths.

  I pour her a cup of wine. “Octavia, is my husband out of conference?”

  The girl tears her eyes away from Hermina long enough to nod. I rest my hand on Hermina’s shoulder. “Tell him to come at once.”

  Hermina accepts the wine.

  “Now tell me what’s happened.” Stroking her arm, I kneel beside her. Hermina looks older than she is, all the childlike innocence gone from her face.

  “There’s so much to say,” she whispers.

  The door opens and Pilate enters, stopping at the sight of her. She runs to his arms, bursting into tears. “Our father is dead!” she cries.

  “What?” Pilate pulls away to look at her.

  A trembling hand wipes at her tears. “We found his body floating in the bath, with so much blood…”

  Fresh tears appear. Pilate holds her, stroking her hair. “How did it happen? Did he do it himself?”

  She sniffs. “Caligula arranged it.”

  Concern darkens his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  I indicate a chair and he leads her to it. Hermina clings to his hand. “Father wanted more control in Rome. Sejanus never liked Caligula, so our father encouraged him to accuse the family of treason! The Praetorian Guard arrested Caligula’s mother and siblings, so he fled to Capri. Caligula blamed our father after Sejanus’ execution, but Tiberius refused to arrest him. He likes me too much.”

  Her humorless laugh sends chills through me. “Tiberius is frail and will die soon. Caligula has total control of the senate. Most fear and hate him but know better than to speak against him. I had to leave Capri. I knew once our father died he’d send for me.”

  Unconsciously, she pulls at her tunic. Pilate’s voice hardens. “What did he do to you?”

  Misery fills her face. Pilate reaches for her shoulder. She stumbles away from him. “Please, don’t!”

  “Show me.”

  Hermina glances at me helplessly and lowers the shoulder of her tunic to reveal scarred and rippled skin. “He came to me in Capri. He said he wanted to speak to me. Our aunt was out and I saw no harm in it.”

  Pilate shuts his eyes, his hand tightening into a fist.

  New tears appear. “I fought him, but he was too strong! When he finished, he burned me with one of the lamps for resisting. He bribed my servants to read my letters! He said I’d be his wife, and he’d kill me rather than let me go!”

  I put my arm around her. “You’re safe now.”

  “How can I be safe anywhere in his empire?”

  Staring out across the harbor, Pilate says nothing.

  “Lucius, I know that look.” Hermina goes to him. “Promise me you’ll do nothing against him.”

  His hands rest on the ledge. “I ca
n’t promise that.”

  “Caligula is powerful. He’ll be the emperor soon!”

  Taking her by the shoulders, Pilate says, “Caligula believes you’re dead and I’m unaware of the truth. He has no reason to suspect me. This is enough for now. You must rest. Claudia will show you to a room where you can sleep.” He kisses her forehead and turns away.

  I lead her to one of our larger guest rooms, and leave only after she falls asleep. Returning to him, I ask, “What do you intend to do?”

  “I still have friends in what’s left of the Praetorian Guard. Sooner or later, Caligula will be repaid.”

  “Lucius, you shouldn’t descend to his level!”

  Pouring a cup of wine, he asks, “Does it make me a murderer? Did you forget I killed your messiah?”

  “He forgave you from the cross! You’re pardoned!” My eyes plead with him as he drinks.

  “Caligula murdered my father and defiled my sister. I have every right to hate him. What will we do with her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Pilate indicates the harbor. “She can’t stay here.”

  “Do you think Caligula has spies in Judea?”

  A sad smile crosses his face. “The emperor has spies everywhere. We need somewhere to hide her.”

  Leaving me on the verandah, he enters the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dawn streams through the pillars in the baths. Servants leave the room as I enter. The doors shut behind them. I remove my robe and slide into the warm water.

  “I know where to send Hermina.”

  Pilate considers me from the far end.

  “Send her to Jacob and Libi in Bethany.” I swim nearer, searching his blue eyes for resistance.

  His head tilts. “Send her to them, his followers?”

  “Caligula won’t find her there.”

  Water streams across his arm as he rests his hand on my cheek. “Send my sister to the people whose messiah I had executed? Claudia…”

  I wind my fingers through the short hair at his neck. “They don’t hate you! He taught them not to hate. None of them will harm her.”

  Laughing, he leans his head against the wall.

  My hand falls to his shoulder. “Do you trust my judgment?”

  Water laps at his shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me in this. Lazarus will help her. Libi will look after her. Quintus and she will soon marry. My brother won’t let any harm come to them.”

  Pilate stares at me. “Quintus intends to marry Libi?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No, but he knows me well enough not to.”

  My skin tingles. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d forbid it.” He moves away from me, toward the center of the pool.

  I follow, demanding, “Why?”

  Turning to face me, he shakes his head. “I don’t want to help him destroy himself.”

  “Tell me, since when does love end in destruction?”

  He snorts. “Quintus has wanted Libi in his bed since she turned fourteen. Love and desire are two completely different things.”

  “Who are you to decide whether love is true?”

  Blue eyes harden and he swims closer. “It won’t make either of them happy. He’s marrying beneath his station to a woman of a much different background, in a society that neither accepts nor condones such things.”

  My face flushes. “Haven’t we been happy?”

  “We’re not the same.”

  “Aren’t we? Didn’t you marry beneath your station?”

  Frustration flickers across his face. “It’s hardly the same thing!”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No! You are the daughter of a wine merchant; she is the child of an indentured servant! And you’re not a Jew.” He climbs out of the bath and wraps a towel around his waist.

  I follow, snatching up my robe. “That’s what you dislike, isn’t it? You’d prefer him to marry a Roman heathen!”

  “Yes, I would!”

  Salty air stirs the draperies and I shiver, dripping all over the tiles. “Why do you hate the Jews so much? Is it because they won’t submit to your authority?”

  “If I liked submission, I wouldn’t have married you.”

  The humor in his voice irritates me. I grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “But you did.”

  “I did.” A smile lurks at the corners of his eyes.

  “You wanted to marry me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you’d deny Quintus the same freedom.”

  Pilate sighs.

  The door opens behind us and a servant, his eyes downcast, says, “Prefect, your messenger has arrived.”

  “Let him wait in the hall.” Pilate waits until he leaves and says, “Claudia, your brother is respected in Rome. Tiberius has taken an interest in him, but if he marries a Jewish servant girl in Judea, his prospects fall away.”

  Gripping his hand, I say, “Doesn’t that prove his love for Libi, if he gives up so much for her sake?”

  “Love shouldn’t get in the way of ambition.”

  As he opens the door I ask, “What about my idea for your sister?”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  His footsteps fade into the hall and Octavia enters. “You shouldn’t stand in the draft, Mistress.”

  In my room, her delicate fingers comb through my long hair. I play with the fringe on my tunic. “Who knows the girl is here?”

  “Hardly anyone knows, Mistress.”

  My senses tingle. “Can you keep it that way?”

  “Yes, for a few days.”

  Pilate only needs twenty-four hours. He comes to me and says, “We’ll take her to Bethany. I hope your belief in the messiah’s friends is right… for their sake.”

  We set out at dawn under the pretense of a short trip to Jerusalem. A dozen centurions accompany us. Hermina wears simple homespun and walks beside my litter. For all the men know, she is one of my servants. Midway through the day, I ask, “Are you all right?”

  She smiles ruefully. “It’s better to walk to Jerusalem by choice than be dragged in a chariot to Rome.”

  I glance at my husband, riding ahead of us. “We’ll stop the night in an inn along the way.”

  The first one we find has a large enough stable to provide for our men and horses. The innkeeper rushes out to invite us in; his sons unsaddle the horses. “Come, Prefect, sit and eat!” He motions to a table.

  Pilate answers, “We’ll dine in our room.”

  The man looks relieved. “Come!” He shows us into his largest room at the top of the stairs. The door shuts behind him as he hurries away promising to bring supper.

  Hermina drops onto the bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever walked so far in my life!”

  “I’d let you ride but it’d be suspicious.” Pilate moves aside a curtain to peer into the street.

  When supper arrives, Hermina is asleep. I pull a blanket over her and smooth the hair out of her face. “Is this a life she can handle, Lucius? Can she hide? Can she learn discretion?”

  He looks up from his wine. “She’s too afraid not to.”

  I rest my hand on her shoulder and look at her, altered from when we parted long ago. I pray for her happiness in Bethany.

  Jerusalem is quiet in our absence and our arrival met without the usual interest. Quintus awaits us at the gate and escorts us to the palace. I step out of my litter and nod to Octavia, who takes Hermina inside. Quintus hands Pilate a scroll. “I’ve seen to my orders, Prefect. And Caiaphas wants to speak with you on the new plaques in Herod’s palace.”

  “Naturally,” Pilate says wryly.

  Jerusalem has never felt more dangerous and with relief, we set out the next morning for Bethany. I borrow a simple garment from my servant and join Hermina in the courtyard. Both of us are surprised when Pilate descends the stairs, looking common in a homespun tunic.

  “You’re coming with us?” I ask.

  He shoots me an incredulous l
ook but says nothing. Memories tug at me as we walk the streets of Bethany. I half expect to see the messiah in the courtyard, but Libi runs to meet us, thinner than I saw her last, but alight with joy. “Come, we’ve prepared a meal for you!”

  Pilate considers the house suspiciously and enters the courtyard behind the rest of us. Jacob rises from the table at the sound of our voices. A man moves forward. “I’m Lazarus, welcome to our home.” His eyes betray a hint of concern over Pilate. “Please… sit here, Prefect.”

  Everyone watches as my husband has a seat. I take my place at his side. Lazarus indicates the others. “That is my sister Martha… and my younger sister, Mary.”

  She smiles at all of us.

  “And of course, you know the rest.”

  Libi invites Hermina to sit and pours wine, passing the bread. Lazarus casts a look at Pilate. “It’s our practice to bless it before we eat.”

  Pilate motions for him to continue.

  Turning his hands upward, Lazarus lifts his face. “Our Father, we thank you for these blessings, for the food we share and the new faces at our table. Let what is said and done among us this day honor your son, amen.”

  Picking up my glass, Martha fills it. Hermina asks, “Aren’t you Jews?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re willing to eat with us?”

  Lazarus says, “Our messiah told us to love one another, to bless one another. He ate with others not of his faith and so do we.”

  I look at my husband. He says, “You speak of Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “The man my centurions put to death.”

  Quiet fills the courtyard. Everyone looks at Lazarus. He smiles gently. “That is true, but he is not dead.”

  “Yes, I had heard that.”

  Martha fills her brother’s cup, her eyes darting to me. Lazarus tears off a piece of bread. “You don’t believe it.”

  “I had men guard that tomb. They tell me his body was stolen in the night.”

  Dipping bread into his wine, Lazarus asks, “Is that what you believe happened, Prefect?”