I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  “Yes, Matthew has asked me to go with him.”

  I take a shuddering breath; he hears it and pats my hand. “He said ‘go and make disciples of men,’ Claudia. Everyone in Judea has heard his name, but not in the far reaches of the world. I’ll be fine.”

  Pilate steps over a crack in the floor. “Not if you’re caught. Rome won’t look fondly on the promotion of a single Judean god.”

  “Then I fear more for your lives than my own.”

  Footsteps approach and Demetrius ducks inside. “Prefect, I must speak with you.”

  They pass outside and Jacob turns to me. “I know you are a believer, Claudia. Don’t lose faith in him.”

  “I believe in his resurrection, Jacob… I won’t.”

  He shakes his head. “I speak not of our Lord, but Pilate. A man is not lost until he gives up the fight. One day he must choose between life and death. This much my father foretold, entrusted to him by our messiah.”

  Light wavers as centurions pass before the door. I clutch his arm. “What else did he tell you?”

  “I can’t say, but have faith. Guide him, if you can.”

  Glancing after Pilate, I lower my voice. “My faith is feeble, Jacob. He asks me to love and I find hate; he tells me to seek him out, but I can no longer remember his face; he promised to heal me, yet still I’m without children.”

  “And I’m without sight, though Peter could have healed me if the Lord had urged him to. What matters is his work in your life and spirit, not your body. You live, Claudia! He saves you instead of condemns you! Isn’t that enough?”

  Tears cloud my vision. I wipe them away as Pilate ducks inside. “We must go. There’s trouble in Jerusalem.”

  Horses await us outside. I lead Jacob to Mary but linger at his side. My voice catches. “Is this farewell?”

  “It may be, but only the Lord knows all.” He smiles. “Never forget what he’s done for you, Claudia.”

  “Be safe, my friend.” I kiss him and let Pilate pull me onto his horse. Demetrius and three centurions ride with us to the city. Jerusalem is quiet but a crowd convenes in our courtyard. Entering through the side door, Pilate meets two bloody tribunes. “What happened?”

  “Our legion went to the mountain as you commanded, Prefect, to keep order among the Samaritans.”

  Darkness slithers into the hall as the sun sets. I feel cold, but from no chill in the room.

  “You engaged them?”

  Rising at Pilate’s command, the tribune says, “Yes, Prefect. Many fought and died. We captured the ringleaders and put them to death as ordered.”

  “I see… and why does my courtyard overflow?”

  The second tribune steps forward. “The Samaritans claim they gathered for religious purposes. They say we incited violence against them for no reason.”

  “Ah.” Pilate dismisses them with a wave. Slapping their fists to their hearts, they depart. He turns to Demetrius. “Have them choose three representatives. I’ll see them.”

  I follow him into the meeting hall and we wait. Soon, Demetrius escorts them in. They bow and approach.

  “You find fault in me?” Pilate asks.

  One looks up at him angrily. “You attacked an innocent gathering and slaughtered them where they stood!”

  “I received information of an uprising.”

  Another shakes his head. “They didn’t intend violence! They met to climb the mountain on a holy journey, to meet our prophet and see the promised scrolls of Moses!”

  “Men need arms for a holy journey, do they?”

  Servants enter to light the lamps. Faces flush with rage. “Prefect, some of them traveled hundreds of miles! There are thieves on the roads of Judea! Even a Roman man defends his family!”

  Pilate considers. Silence enters the hall. Finally, he asks, “How many died?”

  “Over a hundred and your men took many prisoners.”

  He looks to his scribe, who nods. “It’s true, Prefect. We took over two hundred prisoners in the riot.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  The man creeps forward. “They’re in our prison, sir.”

  “Question them and if no fault is found, release them.” He turns to the others as the scribe hurries away. “I have no quarrel with the Samaritans, only with insurgents. Yet, you expect me to believe this ‘messiah’ of yours didn’t intend to incite them to violence?”

  “Our prophet is a peaceful man, Prefect. This is your doing. You govern with force and teach your soldiers brutality. Even if you didn’t order this, they took their initiative from your example!”

  Danger lurks in Pilate’s eyes.

  “You speak of Roman law but care nothing for our laws, our justice, or our ways. You are to be our judicial overseer, not our executioner!”

  Demetrius looks at my husband, who shakes his head. “I understand your anger but I must govern with strength in a nation that so despises Rome.”

  Laughing, the man answers, “You incite riots so you can stop them with violence! Protests are not riots. Religious gatherings are not riots. Since your arrival, you have insulted us, demeaned us, beaten us, brutalized us, used the temple funds and put to death a Jewish messiah. Now you mount an unprovoked attack against the Samaritans!” He points his finger at us. “You will pay for this, Pilate! I’ll have you sent back to Rome in disgrace!”

  “You have every right to complain against me, but you may find the Roman authorities less than concerned. They sent me here to control Judea and that’s what I have done.”

  The man spits at his feet and storms out. Others follow. Pilate motions to his guard. “In the morning, send me four centurions pulled at random from the legion responsible. I want to speak with them.”

  I return with him to our room, where he sorts through his scrolls. Glancing at me, he says, “Your silence burns my ears. Say whatever it is you’re trying not to say.”

  “The Samaritan is right; you did cause this.”

  He sinks into his chair. “Yes, I did, and if it comes to it, I’ll answer to Rome for it. I don’t regret my orders, unless I find them innocent… and I’m not convinced of it.”

  “But what if it is the truth?” I finger the edge of the desk in the lamplight. Night air stirs around us.

  Pilate smiles sadly at me. “It wouldn’t be the first time I condemned innocent men to death.”

  Darkness stirs around us and I shiver. “Take me with you tomorrow.”

  “So you can hate me for my actions?” He shakes his head.

  I put my arms around his neck, his cheek to mine. “Don’t you know by now I could never hate you? I may be disappointed in you, but I’ll never stop loving you.”

  “But you also want me to change.”

  Kneeling beside his chair, I stroke his arm. “I want you to be all you’re capable of being, whether it’s here in Judea or in Rome. If they send us home, I will defend you. Whether or not you’re the governor of Judea means nothing to me.”

  He kisses my forehead. “Let’s hope Tiberius shares your opinion of me.”

  “You’ll let me go with you?”

  Considering at length, he nods.

  The small town at the foot of Mt. Gerizim is quiet, its inhabitants subdued at the slaughter imposed on their doorstep. Blood stains the earth, little left but a ruin since the centurions set fire to it. Pilate dismounts and approaches the smoldering timbers of a former inn.

  “They convened here, Prefect,” says the tribune. “We ordered them to disband and they refused.”

  Breaking away from the others, the Samaritan with us says, “That’s a lie! You attacked us without warning!” He points to the road. “That’s where you cut down an unarmed child!”

  A face appears and swiftly vanishes in the near window. I leave my litter and approach the door of the burned out hovel. Shadows slip away from me as I step inside.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Fearful eyes shine at me under a coat of grime, as the girl holds a knife before her. The room smells
of death.

  “I won’t hurt you. I want to know what happened.”

  Raised voices continue outside. Her eyes dart toward them. “The soldiers came and killed many of them.”

  “Did your family come to climb the mountain?”

  She barely nods. “Gerizim is our holy place. The prophet wanted us to make a holy vigil on the top of the mountain.”

  The house creaks as the scorched timbers settle.

  “What did the soldiers say?”

  The knife wavers and she wipes her tears with her hand. “They didn’t say anything.”

  “They didn’t order you to disband?”

  Her head shakes. “No, they …”

  Tears fill her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. I show her the emptiness of my hands. “Stay here, wait for me.”

  I step out into the afternoon sunlight. The days grow cold as winter sets in. Passing behind the arguing tribune and Samaritan, I touch Pilate’s arm and incline my head. He follows me into the building. Fear covers the girl’s face.

  “It’s all right. Just tell him what you told me.”

  Fearful eyes dart between us. Pilate steps over the broken beam. “Come,” he says. Still gripping the knife, she stands before him. “Tell me what happened. You won’t be punished.”

  In a shaking voice, she repeats our conversation. Pilate’s face is unreadable. “Do you have others to go to?”

  “Yes, I came for our things.” Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she motions to a small heap in the corner. He motions for her to leave. She snatches up her bundle and slips outside. He looks around at the ruin and nudges the charred remains with his foot. Our eyes meet and hold.

  Demetrius steps inside. “Prefect, we should return before dark.”

  The Samaritan approaches as we return to the street. “Well, Prefect?”

  Pilate says, “Those responsible will be reprimanded.”

  We travel to Jerusalem in silence. The streets are more subdued than usual. More than a month passes without any change in our situation. Still, I know it is inevitable; I see it in my dreams.

  Hermina is distraught when we tell her. “What do you mean you may have to return to Rome? How serious is it?”

  Children chase one another around the garden. I watch through the narrow window. Glancing up from his work, Lazarus reminds them to stay out of his fig trees.

  Pilate takes her hands, his blue eyes solemn. “The Samaritans accuse me of massacring them without cause. If I’m reprimanded by the governor of Syria, I’ll have to go to Rome and defend myself against the charges.”

  “But that’s absurd! You did no such thing!” He glances at me and her confidence fades. “Isn’t it?”

  “My men did kill them without cause on my orders, and as prefect it’s my responsibility to answer for it.”

  Pulling away from him, she asks, “How could you?”

  “I made a bad assumption.”

  Laughter drifts in from the courtyard. Hermina rubs the chill from her arms. “What’ll happen to you?”

  “The senate will hear the case.”

  Shuddering, she grips his hand. “Will they kill you?”

  “No, my darling, no… but I may face exile. Whichever way it’s decided, I won’t be sent back to Judea.”

  Her eyes fill with concern. “So this is goodbye?”

  “Until Caligula’s death… yes, but I can make other arrangements for you, if you don’t want to stay here.”

  She squeezes his hand. “They’re kind to me. I want to stay with them. And Demetrius will look after me.” Remembering his attentiveness at the wedding, I smile. Hermina blushes a little. “I will miss you both.”

  Crossing the room, I sit beside her. “Have faith there’s a purpose in this.”

  Light plays across her beautiful auburn hair. She ducks her head. “It’s easy for you. You knew the messiah as a man! How can I have faith in someone I never met?”

  “You’ve seen him in the faces of everyone around you, in Lazarus and Martha, in Jacob and Libi, and in me. Take comfort in it.”

  Her voice catches. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “We don’t want to go either, but we may have to.”

  Tears appear but she bites her lip and nods. I hold her until she is finished weeping.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The darkness makes me uneasy. It winds upstairs and slithers through halls. It drifts against the wall and darts up into the arches. It follows me, full of haunting voices, whispers.

  Claudia…

  My bare feet slap against the floor; I stumble and scrape my knee, blood trickling along my legs. Barabbas haunts me in my dreams. He stands in the upper hall, his head in one hand, the other extended to me.

  He will come for you, Claudia…

  I shiver. Who?

  The Destroyer…

  He fades away into nothingness.

  The vision haunts me the next day as I pace the palace halls. Tired of waiting, of praying, of hoping, I want it to end, for Tiberius to send for us… or reprieve us.

  Octavia comes to me. “Your brother and his wife are in the main hall.”

  Gladness enters my heart. “Tell Pilate.” She nods and hurries away. I enter the room and Libi embraces me, swollen with child. I touch her and ask, “How much longer?”

  Blushing with happiness, she says, “A month or so.”

  “Our child may be born in Rome.” Quintus leads her to a chair. She sits awkwardly, unused to carrying so much weight in her thin form.

  I move a tray of fruit closer to her. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, Thais sent word for me to return. She’ll marry soon and the vineyards need tending.”

  Servants pour out wine. I sit on the divan. “You used to want to go to war, now you return to tend the grapes?”

  “Life changes our perceptions.” He smiles at me, and turns as Pilate enters. “My friend, how are you?”

  “I’m glad to see you but tired of Judean politics.”

  “They’re leaving for Rome,” I tell him.

  Dark brows shoot up. “So, you’re a wine maker?”

  “Indeed though I haven’t Father’s talent for it.” Quintus swirls the liquid in his cup. He and Libi exchange glances. “We wondered…”

  Sitting beside me, Pilate finishes, “If we’ll travel on the same ship? It’s likely, since I expect a reprimand from the Syrian governor by the end of the week.”

  “Then you will be deposed?” Libi is concerned.

  He smiles at her. “Tiberius has heard the story from my enemies. I’ll be forced to defend myself before the emperor.”

  “It’s fortunate he’s fond of you.” Quintus’ hair moves in the breeze. “You’re not popular with the Samaritans.”

  Pilate squeezes my hand. “He’s fond of Claudia, not me, but let’s be happy until the official summons arrives. You will stay the night, of course?”

  “We intended to ride on until dusk.”

  Libi glances at me and I urge, “Do stay!”

  “I suppose we could leave at dawn,” Quintus relents.

  This lifts our spirits and we sit as the afternoon wanes. A servant enters bowing. “Prefect, a man demands an audience with you in the main hall. His name is Marcellus. He says you know of him?”

  “I’ll be there in a moment.” Darting out again, the servant closes the door behind him. In the ensuing silence, we exchange glances.

  Quintus asks, “Marcellus from the Syrian prefecture?”

  “Yes and no doubt eager to depose me.”

  Rising with him, I say, “I’ll go with you.”

  My skin tingles as we enter the judicial hall. Marcellus is a tall, thin man with a severe face and shrewd dark eyes. He turns at our entrance and holds out an imperial scroll. “Your orders are to report to Rome and stand trial before the emperor. I’m appointed to replace you.”

  I feel sick but try not to show it. Pilate breaks the seal and reads the scroll.

  “You have two weeks to manage y
our local affairs. A ship will await you at Caesarea at the end of the month.”

  Demetrius stands by the nearest column; I sense by his eyes his empathy for my distress.

  Marcellus asks, “Do you accept your orders?”

  “Yes.”

  The man nods. “I want to see your latest reports.” His tone softens but his eyes remain hard. Pilate leads him through the far door and I follow. Glancing at me, he says, “So you’re the one they say spoke out against crucifying the Jewish messiah?”

  “What?”

  I hate his sneer. “His followers speak of you, when recounting the story of his death and resurrection. You warned Pilate against his imprisonment, and had a dream. It’s not the first such warning, is it?”

  My hands feel clammy. “They speak of me in Syria?”

  “Everyone in Rome knows you’re a dream-seer.”

  The color drains from my face. Pilate opens the door of his study and invites Marcellus inside. I part from them in silence and retreat to my room. When Pilate enters an hour later, I cease pacing. He tries to calm me. “Claudia, it’s not as bad as you think.”

  “How did they find out?”

  He catches my arm and leads me onto the balcony. “There are spies in Judea, probably among our servants. Your dreams are hardly a secret. They’ll think you favored by the gods, nothing more.”

  “I keep dreaming of Barabbas!”

  Concern darkens his face as he follows me inside. “He’s dead.”

  “Yes, I know! You had him beheaded!” Sick amusement creeps into my voice and I shake my head. “He comes to me in my dreams to frighten me… to warn me.”

  Pilate crosses the room. “Warn you of what?”

  “He’s coming for you. I don’t know who he is, but if my dreams are known in Rome…”

  Silence fills the hall. Pilate takes my face in his hands. “I’ll protect you, as I have always done.”

  “You won’t be able to protect me. Barabbas makes me think it’s someone you won’t be able to stop.” His blue eyes fill with sadness and his hands drop. I touch his chest over his heart. “We can trust God to protect me. They say my dreams are for a reason… as a warning.”

  “I’d take them from you, if I could.”