I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  Our heads rest together. “I know.”

  Rather than depart without us, Quintus and Libi wait to accompany us to Caesarea. Her presence is welcome, since I dislike Marcellus. He asks too many questions. We send word to Hermina of our departure. It is too dangerous to see her in person, so I make do with the little twig cross she sends me. I pack it carefully in my things.

  “You’ll watch over her, won’t you?”

  Demetrius looks at me and his eyes soften. “Yes.”

  I take his hand and squeeze it, in silent gratitude. He sees us off without any show of affection.

  Our departure from Jerusalem meets with interest. The streets clear out of the path of our legion. They ignore Pilate but call out to me. The roads the messiah traveled fall behind us. Two days later, we are at sea. I spend my time in our cabin trying not to vomit. I drift in and out of sleep, waking every few hours to the sound of hushed voices. I no longer know what day it is, or how long we have been aboard. Dim light peers through the window above me. The curtains move gently in the breeze.

  “What do you mean to do?” My brother’s voice is low and I glance at him. He leans on the table, scrolls rolling with each motion of the ship.

  Pilate throws one into a carved wooden box. “I don’t know.”

  “Surely you intend to defend yourself?”

  He smiles wryly. “Will it do much good?”

  “Do you think Caligula poisons Tiberius against you?”

  “Considering what he did to my sister, I hardly expect a warm reception.” Glancing at another scroll, he tosses it aside. “Claudia makes it more difficult. I can’t give him any reason to get rid of me.”

  Quintus steps closer, asking, “Because of the dreams?”

  “Yes, think what Caligula could do with a dream-seer!”

  Shivers prickle my arms. Quintus’ voice lowers, full of concern, “Surely no one in Rome is aware.”

  “Marcellus knew!” Pilate opens the curtain to look at me. I pretend to sleep. “The messiah’s followers are telling the story everywhere they go! If Marcellus knows, Tiberius knows.”

  The curtain falls into place.

  “Tiberius is fond of her, he wouldn’t—”

  “Our emperor lives for prophecies and will use her if he believes her useful. Fortunately, I still have friends in the Praetorian Guard, Cassius for one. If they rule against me, he will smuggle her out of the city. I won’t say where, for your sake if they search for her, but I didn’t want you to believe her dead at their hands.”

  Documents slide across the floor as the ship tilts.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  A knock on the door brings our supper. Libi dines with us but tires easily and returns to their cabin soon after. I eat a few bites and take some wine before bed. Putting out the lamp, Pilate asks, “Feeling better?”

  “Much, but I never want to see a ship again.” I slide over to make room for him. He kisses my shoulder and puts an arm around me. My fingers cover his, entwining. “When did you plan on telling me your concerns?”

  His eyes search mine. “I didn’t.”

  “You can’t hide that from me.”

  Pilate props his head on his hand. “I certainly can.”

  “You trust this man, Cassius?”

  Fingertips run up my bare arm. “Cassius served under me in the Praetorian Guard, and in our foreign campaign. I saved his life many times. But I don’t want to talk about Cassius.” His lips capture mine and I cling to him, the thin sheet straining between us. A knock sounds at the door.

  “Every time,” Pilate complains.

  Laughing, I climb over him and answer it. Octavia takes one look at my disheveled appearance, turns bright red, and blurts, “It’s time, Mistress!”

  “What, now?”

  Muffled screams echo in the corridor.

  “She wants you!”

  Hours pass. I spend them in a darkened cabin holding Libi. She leaves bruises on my arms from gripping me with each pain; it is hot and stifling and the sea air does little to ease her suffering. Before dawn a son is born, screaming. I clean the red, wrinkled baby and place it in her arms. Rather than a sting of jealousy, I feel only joy.

  My entrance to our cabin causes Quintus to rise. I grin and say, “Go to Libi and meet your son.”

  He bolts past and I shut the door behind him. I fall asleep in Pilate’s arms and dream. Screams follow me down a long corridor. I break into a run and push through the doors. I collide with Caligula. Strong hands grab me, slick with blood. I look up into his crazed eyes and see a demon, a monster, the darkness of sorcerers.

  Let go of me!

  Caligula forces me into a room and slams the door. I stumble over a table, scattering jars to the floor. They spin away from me, the poison oozing out onto the tiles. Then, I see his sister dead on the divan. My breath chokes in my throat. What have you done?

  All earthly goddesses must die to be eternal.

  I stare into her sightless eyes, widened in horror. The marks of his hands are still at her throat.

  He grabs my ankle and drags me toward him…

  “Claudia, wake up!”

  I bolt upright, trembling. Lamps sway in the ship’s rafters above us, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Pilate bends over me, his eyes full of concern.

  A centurion pounds on the door and shouts, “Prefect!”

  Night darkens the horizon. Scrolls roll across the floor, following the natural sway of the boat. Pilate goes to the door and exchanges quiet words with the centurion. He returns offering me a cup of water. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, searching my eyes.

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  Shaking my head, I sink into the damp pillows. Pilate sits with me, stroking my arm. At another, more subdued knock, he says, “Enter.”

  “We’re in sight of the harbor, Prefect.”

  Pilate avoids his gaze. “We’ll disembark at dawn.”

  The centurion departs. Pilate pulls the covers higher. “Try to sleep if you can. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

  Unable to sleep, I prepare to leave and am ready when a Praetorian tribune comes for us. I bid Libi farewell, kiss her son, embrace my brother, and go with Pilate. We disembark in gloom. Rome stands in the distance, quiet under the dawn.

  “Cassius,” says Pilate to the guard on the dock. “It’s been too long, old friend.”

  “It has indeed.” He grips Pilate’s arm in welcome, tall and broad, but his voice is weak and high, the result of a scar across his throat. “I’m sent to escort you home, and inform you of the death of Emperor Tiberius.”

  “What?” I step toward him in shock.

  His eyes fall on me. “It’s been some days, now.”

  “How did it happen?” Pilate asks.

  The tribune’s brow twitches. “That depends on who you ask.” Removing an imperial scroll from his belt, he hands it to Pilate. “Here are your final orders from Tiberius.”

  Breaking the seal, Pilate reads in silence. “When will Caligula arrive?”

  “Soon, he left Capri last night.”

  Horses await us and I enter a litter. Home is unfamiliar after the dusty roads of Judea and no one looks at us twice. Fidelus’ house is as cold and foreboding as I remember. It sends a shudder through me as I walk its lonely halls. All but the housemaster and his family fled. He runs to greet us, his sandals slapping on the marble floor.

  “So you alone are faithful, Marcus,” Pilate says.

  Bowing, the white-haired man says, “Yes, sir.”

  We enter the main hall with Cassius, who removes his helmet. Marcus’ daughter offers us wine. “Tomorrow I’ll send you to the slave market for replacements.”

  “News came to us of your sister… I’m sorry, sir.”

  Pilate places a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Your love for her is known and you served her well. She’d be honored at your remembrance.”

  Quietly, the servants slip from the room. Cassius sits and takes w
ine. “I trust she’s safe?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiles. “Good.”

  I make room for Pilate on the chaise. “You helped her?”

  “Your husband left her in my charge should anything happen to her father. She came to me and I told her how to evade him. Caligula is a man of obsession. He never gives up until his target is dead.”

  Fingering his cup, Pilate asks, “What is said of him?”

  “He’s popular, witty, engaging… intelligent, but cruel.” Hardening his face, Cassius stares at the floor. “He’s less superstitious than Tiberius but more arrogant. Rumors abound over his relationship with his sisters. More importantly, it’s well known that he hates you.”

  Our servant returns with fruit. Pilate snorts. “Considering my father sent him running to Capri, I suspected that. Will it influence him in my trial?”

  “It may, you have powerful enemies in Rome, senators who dislike your handling of the Judeans… but others will rule in your favor. It may not come to a decision from Caligula. From what I know of him, he cares little for the responsibilities of being Caesar, only for its pleasures.”

  Remembering the impish boy, I am not surprised.

  Cassius soon leaves us to the emptiness of the house, to its unpleasant memories… to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rome is delighted with her new emperor. He enters in a gold chariot, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Hail, Caesar!” they shout. “Hail our new god, Caligula!”

  “Would they love him if they knew him as a rapist?”

  Pilate rests his hands on the half-wall. “He’s their god; he may do as he pleases.”

  “Who is with him?”

  He watches them circle the forum. “It’s his sister, Drusilla.”

  They pass out of sight into the crowd and I follow him into the house. “How long will it be until he sends for you?”

  “A week or so, he’ll want time to prepare.” He returns to sorting his father’s scrolls. Mounds of them pile on the floor and the desk.

  I finger one inscribed from Alexandria. “Have you decided whether or not to defend your actions in Judea?”

  “You make it sound like I shouldn’t.”

  Running my fingers along the tabletop, I stay silent.

  Pilate glances at me and lifts his chin. “Claudia, if they decide against me in this, it will end badly. I think of you.”

  “Then I’ll support whatever you decide.”

  Pilate draws me nearer. “And you won’t advise me?”

  “I can’t. My judgment is impaired.”

  Wind stirs the scrolls, the distant roar of the crowd fading as the emperor makes his way to the palace. “So you don’t know what you want me to do?”

  “I want you to live, but not deny the truth.” Taking the scroll he hands me, I put it on a shelf. Faith is easy when you sacrifice nothing, yet I risk losing all. I want to believe. I want to give in. I want to trust.

  Sunlight takes me outside for a walk, to clear my head. Rome rises in the distance, stark against the darkening sky. Pilate must atone for his sins before a man who hates him. How can I believe the Messiah will protect us?

  He is beside me in spirit. Do you have faith, Claudia?

  Tears flow freely. “I want faith.”

  Do you love me?

  Speech evades me, so I nod.

  Do you love me more than you do Pilate?

  Grief sends a fresh wave of misery through me.

  If I take him from you, will you still follow me?

  Earth rises up to meet me as I sink to my knees. My mind is frantic, filling with memories, with glances, with conversations, with certainty.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Yes! He is the Messiah. Whether or not I have children, whether or not Jacob regains his sight, whether or not Pilate lives, Jesus is the Messiah! My Messiah.

  Claudia…

  It whispers through the columns and catches the wind. Shadows lengthen around me as night sets in across Rome. Pilate puts his arms around me. “You’ll get cold.”

  “I’m fine.” I lean into him and we watch the sun set. Our lips caress one another, our arms around each other as night ebbs into day, until sleep claims us both.

  Pilate wakes me the next morning. “Let’s go home.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Smiling, he kisses my shoulder. “I meant your home.”

  I sit up. “To my father’s house?”

  “Yes.”

  The countryside is quiet. The vineyards flourish and the familiar road fills me with joy. Memories of my former life flood over me as we drive into the courtyard. I step out of the chariot and stare up at the house. Libi hurries out the side door. “This is a surprise!”

  “A happy one, I hope.”

  She embraces me. “Yes! Quintus is in the vineyard.”

  “I’ll find him.” Pilate hands the reins to a servant and walks toward the stables.

  Arm at my waist, Libi takes me inside. Moving a scroll off the lounge, she asks me to sit. A nurse holds the child.

  “Have you named him yet?”

  Libi takes him and hands him to me. “Judah.”

  “Not a Roman name, but it suits him.” I grin and look up as my sister enters. Returning Judah to his nurse, I hug her. “Thais, I have missed you!”

  Laughing, she says, “Liar.”

  “When will I meet your future husband?”

  Servants set out fruit and wine. I sink onto a lounge. Thais shrugs, her dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “He’s busy in the senate arguing for fewer taxes.”

  “He’s a true Roman, then.”

  Warm light falls through the columns behind us.

  “Yes! Preoccupied and absent!”

  Glancing around the room, I ask, “Where’s Mother?”

  Libi bites her lip. “She’s… not well.”

  “What do you mean?” My mirth fades.

  Waving the servants out, Thais takes my hand. “She’s not right in the head anymore, Claudia.”

  “What? How did such a thing happen?”

  “Her visits to the soothsayers increased once you left. She obsessed over a prophecy. She went to a sorcerer a dozen times but he refused to tell her more. She tried other seers with no result. I tried to keep her away from them, but she insisted. She’s… changed, Claudia.”

  My throat feels dry. “May I see her?”

  Eying one another, Thais says, “The question is whether or not you want to.”

  Our upper corridor is quiet, subdued. Thais pauses with her hand on the door and turns to me. “Don’t expect much from her; she hardly says a word anymore.” Inching the door inward, she steps aside.

  My heart beats loud in my ears as I enter. The once beautiful room is in shambles. Torn curtains ripple in the breeze. What little furniture remains is worn and splintered.

  “Mother?”

  She crouches against the far wall and glances over her shoulder at me; the once-beautiful, proud woman is sallow and thin, her eyes sunken and wild. My eyes drift to the walls, to her frantic writing.

  Death… murder… madness… crucifixion…

  Breath catches in my throat. Thais enters behind me. “We scrub it off and she writes it again, over and over. If we take her ink away, she scrapes her hands until they bleed and uses that.”

  The garish figure turns to the wall. I step over piles of torn scrolls, full of erratic writing. Kneeling behind her, I touch Mother’s arm. She stares at me with haunted, empty eyes. “When did she become like this?”

  Thais’ skirt brushes mine. “The day night came swift and sure at noon, and darkness covered Rome.”

  Mother mutters under her breath. I pick up a scroll and cold seeps into my veins.

  Defiance… darkness… death…

  “Claudia, what do you know of this?”

  Mother suddenly grips my wrist her strength inhuman, her eyes wild as she gives a flicker of recognition. “Claudia! The one who brings death to Rome! Death a
nd madness! The one who saw and believed! Because of you, he’ll die!”

  Fear strikes me. “Who will die?”

  “There is only one god in Rome! You bring another!” She wrenches my arm and I cry out.

  Thais tries to pry her fingers loose. “Mother, let go!”

  “I should have drowned you, the destroyer of Rome!” She lunges at me. Her sharp fingernails tear at my hair, my face and arms. Thais screams. I try to push her off and she follows me, tackling me to the floor. Her eyes are demented, full of rage. “Death! Madness! Murder!” she shrieks.

  Pilate drags her off me. She stumbles into my brother, who pulls her away. Pilate picks me up and carries me into the hall. The door slams behind us.

  “Are you all right?”

  Blood trickles down my throat. The door opens and a tearful Thais emerges. “I’m sorry, Claudia! She’s never been violent before!”

  A body slams into the door and I flinch.

  “Quintus will quiet her, she does better with him.”

  Libi tends to my injuries—a scraped knee and a gash in my head. Her eyes worriedly search mine. “What did she say to you?”

  “I’ll destroy Rome with my god and bring death.”

  She rinses the strip of linen in water, clouding it with blood. “You can’t trust sorcerer prophecies, Claudia.”

  The sorcerer knows what Barabbas knows…

  I stare at the bloody water, reminded of Jerusalem. Quintus enters and sits beside me. “You can’t let anything she says trouble you, sister… she’s mad.”

  “She mentioned the crucifixion! His disciples are far from Rome. How does she know him?”

  No one answers.

  “Marcellus may have written Tiberius…”

  I half-laugh. “But how does Mother know?”

  “One of her seers told her? Judean merchants travel to Rome all the time. One of them might have spoken of it.”

  Doubt clouds the air. Libi catches my hand. “Either way, Claudia, you can’t destroy Rome!”

  “You don’t think so?” Pilate asks quietly. We all look at him, as he pushes away from the wall. “Rome is full of gods, from emperors to ancestors. Your messiah says the only way to heaven is through him. Don’t you think Romans will take offense at that?” He searches my gaze. “Your mother is right, this will destroy Rome. There’ll be death… and madness… and suffering.”