I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  Heaviness settles over me. “But why blame me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Our return home is quiet. Several days pass before Cassius comes not for Pilate but us both. “The emperor wants an audience with your wife as well.”

  “Not a hearing?” Pilate asks with surprise.

  The Praetorian shakes his head. Pilate shoots me a rueful glance and indicates the door.

  Caligula fills his palace with guests and entertainment. Half-naked dancers swirl past as we enter. His thin form sprawls across his throne, his dark eyes fixed on me. “Come, wife of Pilate,” he says, “sit beside me.”

  His sister glares and moves aside. Pilate remains at the foot of the stairs. Caligula’s head tilts as he stares at me. “I know you.”

  “We’ve met before, Caesar, in your childhood.”

  Those eerie, disquieting eyes flicker with recognition. “I remember. Hermina spoke of you. Shame she died. I might have made her my queen otherwise.” A nasty sneer tugs at his lips. I feel cold inside. Exchanging a smirk with his sister, he says, “Tell me of the Galilean Pilate executed in Jerusalem.”

  “Why, Caesar?”

  “I’m curious. They say you warned him not to do it.”

  “That presumes much, doesn’t it?”

  His eyes narrow. “Then you didn’t warn him?”

  “What you’ve heard is probably not the whole truth.”

  Leaning against his throne, he smiles. “I heard the ‘messiah’ claimed to be a god. I heard the Judean authorities arrested him, and you had a dream that so disturbed you, you warned Pilate not to deal with him. Is that the whole truth?”

  Cold ripples over me but I fight not to show it. “Yes.”

  “You have a reputation for such things in Rome.”

  I try not to knot my hands in my lap. “Do I?”

  “Yes…” The creepy eyes flicker over me curiously. “But no matter, we’re here to deal with your husband.” He motions Pilate forward. “You return in disgrace, Prefect. The senate wants you arrested and tried for… what, Gracchus, crimes against the populace in Judea?”

  Nearby senators exchange glances.

  “Yes, Caesar, he massacred a group of Samaritans.” One of them holds out a scroll and he waves it aside.

  “What reason had you for this slaughter, Pilate?”

  “Uprisings are common in Judea, Caesar. Any large, armed gathering is suspicious.”

  Twitching a gold sandal against the floor, Caligula asks, “Did they intend to riot?”

  “We’ll never know, since he slaughtered them!”

  Caligula grins. “What do they say?”

  “He killed a religious sect intent on climbing their holy mountain.” Gracchus moves as near as he dares.

  The emperor curls his lip. “Ugh, religion… another prophet, I suppose?”

  “Yes, Caesar… there’s one every five years or so.” Pilate reveals nothing in his tone, his eyes distant.

  An aging senator I recognize steps forward. “Caesar, it caused much distress in Samaria; our Syrian governor…”

  “Sent word for Pilate to return to Rome, yes, I know, but Tiberius is dead and the matter rests with me, right, Julius?” Under Caligula’s glare, the senator falls silent. Caligula thrusts out his hand and a servant hastily hands him a goblet. He considers Pilate over the top of it. “Do the Samaritans worship me?”

  “No, Caesar, they worship the God of the Judeans.”

  The skin on my neck tingles. I glance at Caligula, noting the thinness of his golden hair. His sister sulks in her corner.

  “It’s the duty of a Judean governor to maintain order. If the Samaritans intended a religious riot, isn’t it within the Judean governor’s rights to maintain Roman authority?”

  Horrified, Gracchus says, “But Caesar, we’ve permitted Judea its own religion since our invasion. The Samaritans have the same rights as the Jews!”

  “To not display our emblems and such, yes, I know. The Judeans have too much leniency; our governor puts up emblems, they riot; he uses their temple funds to build an aqueduct, they riot. Their religion is treasonous if it contradicts Roman rule.” Caligula drums his fingers on the arm of his throne.

  Another senator says, “Sire, the only way we have peace in Judea is to let them have their religious rights.”

  “But we don’t have ‘peace,’ do we? We have riots over standards, over emperors, over messiahs, over taxes, over aqueducts, over governors…” Drusilla leans against his throne. He smiles at her. “I may choose leniency, considering Judea is a rebellious outpost.”

  This shocks me as much as the rest of them. I feel cold.

  “The Samaritans won’t like it, Caesar.”

  Pulling a face, Caligula tosses the empty cup at a slave. “They never like anything.”

  “Caesar, should this be your first act as emperor, to pardon Pilate against such grievous charges?”

  His eyes straying to the gyrating dancers, Caligula shrugs. “It isn’t a pardon, for I see no fault.”

  The senators eye one another and stay silent.

  “What, doesn’t my leniency please you?”

  Julius scowls. “Tiberius reprimanded Pilate twice! He deliberately took violent actions despite Tiberius’ orders for more benevolence toward the Judeans.”

  The emperor turns to me, catching me off guard. “What do you think, Claudia? My senators thirst for blood. Should I punish your husband?”

  “Isn’t your disapproval punishment enough?”

  Caligula considers, tapping his finger on his chin. “Why was he reprimanded?”

  “He tried to install Roman emblems in Jerusalem.”

  The hand falls. “And…?”

  “He beat rioters who objected to the aqueducts.”

  Delight fills his expression. “I see!”

  Gracchus approaches. “Do you, Caesar? Pilate is highly unpopular in Judea! Not to punish his behavior—”

  “It sets an example of Roman authority, that our decisions aren’t swayed by the disapproval of the Jews.”

  Silence fills the room; the dancers pause. Caligula motions for them to continue and the music resumes. He leans closer. “Tell me, Claudia, what did you think of the Judeans?”

  Though repulsed at his nearness, I smile. “I’m intrigued by them.”

  He indicates Pilate. “Is your husband fond of them?”

  “No, Caesar.”

  “And he governed with… unnecessary brutality?” His excitement at the thought disgusts me.

  I glance at Pilate. “The Syrian governor believes so.”

  “If I wanted the opinion of the Syrian governor, I’d ask him. What’s your opinion?” Impatience taints his voice. Drusilla sits on his armrest. His hand goes to her knee, sliding up the fabric to find bare skin. I struggle to keep an approving smile.

  “My opinion is whatever yours is, Caesar.”

  “Ha! More than just your dreams make you wise. This is true diplomacy, Senators; take heed of it!” Snapping his fingers for the scroll, Caligula tosses it in the fire. He stares at my husband. “You do look like Sejanus.”

  “Who overstepped his bounds as well,” Julius says.

  The smirk returns. “We’ll see.”

  “Caesar, what will we tell the Samaritans?”

  Staring at the ceiling Caligula says, “As our official representative in Judea, Pilate’s actions bore our consent. Let that be an end of it.”

  Scowls pass between senators. Caligula stands and taking his sister by the hand, turns to leave. He pauses at the foot of the stairs. “I’ll find another use for you, Pilate.” His lips turn in a malicious sneer and he leaves.

  “The gods side with you today, Pilate,” snarls Julius, “but you’ll not always be so fortunate!”

  I descend the stairs to his side. “Is that the end of it?”

  “Oh,” says Pilate, “I doubt it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  My favorite place in Rome is not the slave market and Pilat
e knows it, which is why when he hands me a purse, he says, “Think of it as rescuing them from a harsher master.”

  I stay away from the gladiators and search instead for a house slave to run errands for us. I find one and eye him. “Where are you from, boy?”

  Gentle, dark eyes gaze at me. “Syria.”

  “He’s strong,” the slave trader assures me. “He works hard! He’s worth a fine price!”

  I shrug. “He’s too young.”

  “He’s young enough for guidance, old enough to not need to learn it!” The man grins.

  A crowd merges around me. “How much is he?”

  He names a high price. I decline it and walk away. He runs after me, lowering it. I shake my head. “For you, Mistress, I lower the price to fifty gold pieces!”

  The boy looks at me searchingly and I nod, handing over the coins. “Take him to the house of Pilate.”

  “You’re Pilate’s wife?” His face lights up in excitement as his hands are unbound. “Then you…” Dark eyes dart behind me and hit the dirt. His happiness fades. I feel a shiver and turn to find Caligula, without his usual entourage.

  “Bit scrawny, isn’t he, for a house slave?”

  Guards move around us, Cassius among them. I smile. “I wanted to leave the best for you, Caesar. There is a fine Greek across the way. He speaks six languages!” I wave Marcus and the new slave away.

  Caligula walks with me across the courtyard. “How many do you speak?”

  “Three, but only two of them well.”

  He gazes lustfully at a dark-haired slave girl. Nodding to his purser, he walks on as the fat man waddles forward to pay for her. I feel sick. “Your husband has many enemies in Rome.”

  Others move out of our way, faces craning for a better look at their handsome young emperor. I sense the envious eyes of women following me. “He’s fortunate you’re not one of them, Caesar.”

  “Having him around infuriates Gracchus which gives me great joy.” He stops to eye another pretty slave girl. “Yet, his parentage is…”

  Hoping for her sake he moves on, I answer, “Oh, but those are rumors, Caesar! We only assume Sejanus’ affair with Pilate’s mother. For all we know, Pilate’s father is a wine merchant.”

  Caligula laughs and walks on. “You’re one of the few clever people I’ve met. Most think they’re clever but few actually are.”

  “You’d know, Caesar, being so clever yourself.” Even though I want to gouge out his eyes, I smile.

  He returns to his chariot. “I may make him a senator. Fidelus’ seat is empty and there’s no evidence he shouldn’t have it.”

  My skin crawls as he drives away. I return to the house and the boy hurries to open the door for me. “You,” I say, turning on him, “what did you start to say to me in the marketplace?”

  His cheeks flush and he drops his eyes. “I’m honored you bought me, Mistress. That’s all.”

  “No, you meant something else… what?”

  Looking at me, his face warms. “You saw him, the messiah. You spoke to him! You fought for him! They all speak of you!”

  Fear grips me. “What is it they say exactly?”

  “Your dream foretold his death.” Shadows flicker along the hall. I enter the next room and he follows on my heels. “When my stepfather sold me to the tradesman, I cursed this place. I cursed Rome. I never thought He would lead me to you, to one of us! God is merciful, Mistress!”

  “Listen to me carefully.” I pause as a servant passes and lower my voice. “You can’t speak of me to anyone.”

  Misery flickers across his face. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “How old are you and what do they call you?”

  The thin frame straightens. “Silvanus. I’m twelve.”

  “Go to the kitchens. Tell them I want you to eat well.”

  He hesitates. “Did you meet him?”

  “Yes, several times.”

  Blushing furiously, he asks, “How did you find him?”

  “Jesus was gentle and strong, compassionate but not tame.”

  His grin is infectious and he runs off, his bare feet slapping the tiles. Pilate enters the room and puts his arms around me. “I send you for a lion and you buy a lamb.”

  “He’ll turn into a lion, one day.”

  Silvanus is my shadow, trailing me by day and sleeping in the hall at night. Scrawny and kind to all things, he is the son I might have had. After he proves his worth, I let him go to the marketplace. He returns one afternoon in a rush. Shouting “Mistress!” he skids into the room and slides to a stop on seeing Pilate.

  Looking at him in amusement, Pilate says, “Continue.”

  He comes to me. “I saw the emperor in the forum.”

  “That’s not unusual.” Pilate returns to his scroll.

  Crouching at my feet, he says, “I followed him. He went into the temple to visit one of the seers.”

  “You mean one of the prostitutes?” Pilate smirks.

  The boy shakes his head. “No, the high sorceress; he asked to see the one that spoke with you, Mistress.”

  Pilate sends me a sharp glance. I pat Silvanus’ hand. “Thank you for warning me. You have done well. Go on, to your duties.”

  Once he leaves Pilate asks, “How much does she know?”

  “It depends on whether she’s a true seer or not, but she’ll remember me. She tried to kill me.”

  Pilate goes to a meeting with his fathers’ friends in the senate a week later. I go for a swim in the bath and when I emerge, Silvanus awaits me outside the door. He averts his boyish eyes from my damp robe. “You’re wanted in the main hall, Mistress.”

  A servant helps me dress and untangle my hair. I emerge to find a Praetorian guard awaiting me. “Caligula sends for you.”

  Tension floats in the air. Silvanus follows and the guard stops him. “Her husband entrusts her protection to me,” he says. “I’ll be beaten if you don’t let me go with her!”

  Frowning, the Praetorian permits it. Silvanus being there comforts me, though he cannot enter the main rooms of the palace and must wait in the hall. The Praetorian lets me into a large bedroom full of lavish furniture. My stomach clenches.

  “Ah, there you are!”

  Caligula enters through the far door, draped in a rich blue tunic, a golden cup in one hand. His eyes flicker over me as I show him the proper respect.

  “You sent for me?” I force a smile. “Are you in need of my cleverness for your amusement, Caesar?”

  He takes my hand and draws me toward the bed. My heart quickens, pounding in my ears. “Amusement… yes, I need amusement. You intrigue me, Claudia. I could have your husband killed with one command, yet you don’t fear me.”

  Throwing the cup on the floor, he shoves me onto the bed. His fingers slide up my arm and across my leg. “But I’m more intrigued with something else.” Putting his mouth at my ear, he says, “The dreams.”

  I flinch as he grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I wondered why Sejanus’ son chose a common girl out of the vineyards instead of a senator’s wife. Now, I know.” He straddles me. “I considered what to do with you,” he says, his hand at my throat. “One idea appealed to me but I’m told rape can destroy a dream-seer. Pity, you are so lovely.” Long, cold fingers drift lower. “That wouldn’t do. Dream-seers are so rare, after all.”

  He licks my throat. “Tell me, Claudia, have you dreamed my future?”

  “No.”

  Dark eyes penetrate mine; a nasty smile curves his lip.

  “She’s lying.” The voice comes from the other side of the room, and the temple seer emerges from the shadows. Darkness enters with her, swirling over her head and glowing in her face. I shudder as it touches me.

  Sharp fingernails dig into my arm. “Remember me?”

  Panic threatens to overcome my calm. She goes to the lit brazier and throws something into it. Black smoke enters the room with a heavy scent of incense.

  “Don’t, please…” I try to twist free.

  Ca
ligula pins my hands to the coverlet. “Tell me of this Judean messiah,” he says. “You wanted him pardoned. Why?”

  “He committed no crime.”

  The seer snorts and tosses powder in the fire.

  Blonde brows shoot toward the ceiling. “Innocent? He called himself the son of god, a god! There is only one god in the Roman Empire! Me!”

  My senses drift; I fight to keep hold of them.

  “Tell me!” Rage fills his face, blossoming into redness. I stare at him in terror. “Tell me what you’ve seen! Make her show me, witch!”

  She forces something bitter into my mouth; I choke on it and spit up blood. The witch takes my head in her hands. I scream as pain shoots through me, a thousand splinters exploding behind my eyes. “Show me,” she whispers.

  Blackness descends; a terrible pit of darkness where I drown; struggling, fighting toward a distant surface. I feel her reaching into my dreams, drawing them out.

  “She is resisting me!”

  Caligula snarls, “Get them from her! I want to know!”

  Blood clogs my throat. I thrash and twitch.

  “I have never felt anything this powerful before!” Fear touches her voice. I am not fighting her; something else is, far more powerful than either of us, a force that swells up inside and growls at her.

  Someone screams. It is not me.

  “You cannot stop!” Caligula shakes me violently. “My augur warned me of her threat! Find out what is in her mind! Tell me her dreams! Tell me of this god, this Judean messiah!” His eyes penetrate the blackness, cold and furious, full of terror and rage. The witch has removed her hands. He glares at her. “Do it! Do it or I’ll have your head!”

  Trembling fingers touch me again. The world implodes. Light chases screaming shadows away. The witch shrieks and releases me. Caligula’s face comes into focus above me. He stares into the far corner of the room in shock.

  You are not a god, Caligula…

  My body relaxes. The fire goes out.

  The emperor snarls, “I am! I’m a god, as my forefathers were before me!”

  There is but one god. It is I. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I am Yahweh. I am Jehovah. I am El-Shaddai!