by Debra Diaz
Unbidden, the handsome face of the tribune flashed into her mind. She stopped, turning slowly to the mirror. She’d already made a fool of herself in front of him. What did it matter what she looked like…what did anything matter? She wasn’t going to marry anyone. Now was the time to put an end to it.
With rare defiance, Rachel picked up her comb and pulled it backward through her hair until it stood up all over her head. She removed the belt from her gown and let it hang in a shapeless heap over her body. Looking around the room, she spied the grilled brazier she used in the winter to warm the room and opened it, stuck her hands in the soot, and rubbed them over her face and the front of her gown.
Looking at herself again, she almost laughed out loud. She had overdone it; she looked like a crazy woman she’d once seen running and screaming down a street in Jerusalem. She smoothed back part of her hair but left the tangles, and rubbed off a smudge or two of soot. Surely this would end the talk of marriage! A feeling of guilt touched her, but she had to admit that she was, for the first time within her memory, angry with Lazarus. No matter what he said about it being for her own good—what right had he to force her to marry a man she did not love? Once, when he’d brought up the subject before, he had said that it wasn’t necessary to be in love when one married—that one did not marry for love, but it would come…in time.
She knew he was wrong, because she had seen the way her parents loved each other. Besides, his younger sister, Mary—the one who had died long ago—had never married. Why was he so determined that she must have a husband?
A brisk knock sounded on the door and she heard one of the servants say that the meal was about to be served. Rachel started toward it and paused, placing her hand on her chest. What was she doing? Well, it was too late to change anything now…it would take at least half an hour to repair her appearance. She opened the door and walked coolly toward the courtyard.
The eating area was encircled by brass stands on which hung dozens of oil lamps. Above them, the sky was turning rapidly from orange to black. In Lazarus’ house, men and women did not dine separately, and the table had been set for all of them. The chairs were still empty…everyone was standing and waiting for her.
Her eyes fell on the tribune and shifted purposefully away from him, landing on the only other unfamiliar man in the room. He was not old, either. His face was narrow, tapering from a high forehead to an almost pointed chin; his eyes were set close to his perfectly straight nose. His ears were pointed, too…visible because his black hair was cut short in the Roman fashion—a fashion obviously not adopted by the tribune. His eyes, so dark as to be almost black, were horrified.
Someone gasped—Judith, a servant? Rachel’s gaze moved to Lazarus, who looked calmly back at her, and then to Judith, whose bewildered expression made her want to laugh again. Instead, she frowned.
“What is everyone staring at? I am sorry I’m late. I was trying to—to clean up.”
The tribune, who stood close by, leaned toward her and said, very low, “You missed a spot.”
She refused to look at him. After a moment of stunned silence, Judith said, “Rachel, we—we have a guest. This is Benjamin, a friend of ours from Jerusalem.”
Rachel sat down at the table. “I’m starving,” she announced. She sensed everyone looking at each other, then they all took their places. Covertly, she glanced around and saw that the tribune was amused, and that her intended husband was watching her acutely with understanding and compassion.
She had fooled no one! Sitting beside her, Samuel looked up and asked, with great solemnity, “What happened to you, Rachel?”
Samuel’s words, and the absurdity of her behavior, struck her so forcibly that she began to laugh. It was a light and infectious laugh, and soon everyone else was doing the same.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said at last. “I apologize to all of you. This was very rude, and childish of me. But, sir, I must tell you—”
“There will be time enough later to speak of that,” Lazarus interrupted, still smiling. “Rachel, I have never heard you laugh in that way.”
She didn’t answer. Something had shifted inside her; something that had lain still and silent had moved, infinitesimally, but moved nevertheless.
“I have just been telling Benjamin about your journey to Rome,” Lazarus went on, as the platters and bowls of food were passed.
“A matter that causes me great concern,” Benjamin said. His voice was articulate and refined. She noticed that he had an elegance in his bearing that would have appealed to her, if she were so minded…He went on casually but directly, “May I ask, Tribune, why you are not in uniform?”
“Because I am no longer a tribune.” The soldier met his gaze with equal directness. “I have recently retired from the Praetorian Guard. The emperor refers to me as a tribune in his edict, but he did not wish me to wear a uniform, in order to avoid any unnecessary attention. I do, however, carry a weapon.”
“Where is it?”
“Out of courtesy to my host, I left it with my horse in the stable.”
There was a short, almost tense silence, and Benjamin said, “The Metelli is a very distinguished family—in Rome, that is. Many of your forefathers were consuls, were they not?”
“That,” the other man replied, “I do not know.”
Benjamin raised his brows. “Are you not of the Caecilian gens?”
The former tribune placed both of his arms at rest on the table and looked at Benjamin. “I was exposed as an infant. I was adopted by Lucas Caecillius Metellus. I am called by the name Metellus, but I know nothing of my real family.”
“And how did you come by the name Petraeus?”
A general feeling of discomfort had fallen over the table, for it seemed to Rachel that the two men were engaging in some sort of contest. She saw Judith send a swift look toward Lazarus, who shook his head.
“Perhaps,” the soldier said, smiling grimly, “because I was found on a mountain slope, on top of a rock.”
Rachel suppressed a shudder, always having loathed the Roman practice of placing unwanted, newborn babies in some outdoor place to die. She listened as the tense conversation went on.
“Your knowledge of Latin names tells me that you must associate with Romans,” said the former tribune, still not partaking of the food on his plate.
“I am a physician. I frequently attend Romans at the palace in Jerusalem. And men at the Antonia as well.”
That would explain why he spoke Greek as fluidly as the Roman, Rachel thought.
Metellus’ gaze moved from Benjamin to Lazarus. “I don’t know what the rules of hospitality are here, but please allow me to speak frankly. Your other guest is understandably concerned about the safety of this young woman traveling with me to Rome. I was trained in the protection of the emperor, and he has placed rare trust in me by sending me on this task. I don’t intend to fail him. I have pledged to return her to her loved ones—” he glanced at Benjamin—“exactly as I found her.”
After a moment Rachel grasped his meaning and felt a surge of blood rush to her cheeks. She sensed Benjamin looking in her direction, and turned toward him.
“Rachel,” he said gently, “it startles me each time I look at you. Would you please go and—correct your appearance?”
Feeling more than a small tug of rebellion, she opened her mouth to refuse when she thought better of it. If she wanted to be taken seriously, it would be better to look like a human rather than a hag conjured from some age-old myth. She caught a glimpse of the tribune who seemed to again be restraining a smile, and felt a flash of irritation toward him as well. The situation was not at all humorous! At least, not anymore…when she had an unwanted betrothal and a dreaded trip to Rome hanging over her head.
She rose with dignity and walked to her bedroom, where she washed her face, and smoothed and belted her gown. There was, however, nothing she could do with her hair, so she pulled her mantle over the tangled mass and tied it behind her head. When she retu
rned to the courtyard she became conscious of a smoldering silence.
“What is it?” she asked, taking her seat.
Lazarus started to answer, but Benjamin interrupted. “The tribune says he will not allow any servants to accompany you on the journey!”
“I am not a child,” she answered coolly. “And I do not need bodyguards.”
“But, Rachel,” said Judith, “it would not be proper—”
“The emperor is not concerned with propriety,” said Metellus, looking directly at Rachel and not smiling now. “He has commanded that I bring you to Rome, and then return you safely to your people. I have sworn on my own life to do so. I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with anyone else on what will be an arduous journey at best. However—” he paused and added, still very sober, “if your betrothed wishes to accompany us, I will not stop him.”
“He is not my betrothed!” Again a heavy silence fell over the table, except for the frogs and insects chirping outside the windows. She sensed Judith’s embarrassment and Lazarus’ disapproval. She looked at Metellus and he was still looking at her. Why, he had said that on purpose! He knew she wanted the issue resolved, and for some reason, had given her the perfect opportunity.
“I am sorry. I do beg your forgiveness, all of you. But, sir, I cannot marry you. I am not ready for marriage. I think it is best that I tell you now, before there is any further misunderstanding.”
Benjamin looked at Lazarus as if he could not believe his ears. “I realize she spent some time in Rome, and things may be done differently there. But she has been here long enough to realize she must obey you, her guardian.”
Lazarus answered patiently, “You know very well that she was raised in our household, but she is not Jewish. She has always shown respect for our ways. But in this matter, her feelings are strong. Perhaps this is something we should discuss on her return.”
“But that will be months from now,” Benjamin protested. “A betrothal lasts a year. If we could have the ceremony tomorrow—”
“It is out of the question,” Rachel said stiffly.
He reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. She tried to draw it back, but he tightened his hold. “I will be a good husband to you. I want you for my wife.”
He looked at her so earnestly that her eyes filled with tears. What was there to say to that—except no, no, no! She was beginning to feel ridiculous. She had no reason to give them…Lazarus had been so good to her…and this man, even with his air of possessiveness was not altogether repulsive…
“You don’t even know me,” she whispered, pulling her hand away from his.
“I know who you are, and what you have been through. I have seen you many times when you walked in Jerusalem, unaware you were being watched. When I mentioned this beautiful young woman to my friend, Lazarus, he knew immediately that I spoke of you. How could I not love you? How could I not long to help you?”
“I do not need your help,” she answered, as gently as she could. “There will be no betrothal tomorrow. I will go to Rome, as I am commanded, and when I return I hope there will be no further talk of this. You, sir, deserve a better wife than I.”
With that she rose again, and left the room. She didn’t look at anyone except Samuel, whose eyes were very large, and tried to give him a smile. No one called after her; no one spoke. When she reached her bedroom, she pulled a traveling bag out of her closet, and began to pack.
* * * *
Metellus Petraeus left his borrowed horse at the Antonia’s stable and walked toward the praetorium…built like a palace and only one of the many ornate buildings within the fortress. Its towers stood higher than the Temple Mount, which was its immediate neighbor in the city of Jerusalem. The Antonia’s commander was absent, and only the sentries were standing about in their assigned positions. He went straight to the room he’d been given, lit a lamp, and sat down with a map. The route he had planned for their journey to Rome had unexpectedly changed.
He thought back to the events just past. The young woman had been waiting for him beside his host’s stable, her hair still covered and her face luminous in the hazy moonlight. He was already on his horse and about to ride down the pebble-strewn drive when she stepped out of the shadows.
“Sir, please wait—I have something to ask you.”
He reined in the startled horse and gazed down at her, unable to see her clearly, but struck by the perfect shape of her face against the dark cloth over her head.
“What is it?” he asked, more sharply than he intended. She had startled him, too.
“There are two people I love very dearly, and I cannot leave without telling them goodbye. I—I might never see them again.”
He passed over her implication that he might fail in his mission to protect her, and asked, “Where do they live?”
“Bethlehem. It’s three or four miles south of here.”
“A small distance,” he answered. “How long a visit did you have in mind?”
“A day or two, if I might,” she said, her eyes wide with entreaty. “If it does not interfere with your vow to the emperor.”
The horse moved restlessly and Metellus shifted in the saddle. “Very well. You needn’t pack everything tonight…only what you will need for your visit. We will have to come through here again in order to reach Joppa. You may get the rest of your things then.”
She lowered her head. “Thank you, Tribune.”
“Rachel.”
Her head came up swiftly when he spoke her name. Her eyes met his in the dimness.
“I am not a tribune. My name is Metellus.”
Her voice was almost a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
He waited a moment, holding her gaze, wondering if he could trust her, or if she was planning to run away and hide somewhere…But, she wouldn’t have asked to visit her friends…and she wouldn’t have such a look on her face. He had known many women in his life, and none had possessed a countenance so devoid of cunning and subtle manipulation. No matter that she had just tried to fool the Jewish physician into thinking she was an ill-mannered slattern—there was an innocence about her, a purity, and the thought came to him that she was worth whatever it took to get her safely to Rome. Not for the emperor’s sake, but so that she might hold in her hands the letter her father had written.
She had stiffened suddenly, and took a step backward. “What time might I expect you?” she asked quietly.
“Will three hours after sunrise give you enough time to prepare?”
She nodded. He was about to bid her goodnight when she slipped away without a word, disappearing again into the shadows.
Now, staring at the map before him, Metellus deliberately shook his head and refused to think of her. The last thing he needed was to allow his emotions to intrude upon his mission. Because when it was completed, he had very definite plans. He had been given five thousand denarii and a large tract of land upon his retirement from the army; he had a house to build and workers to hire. He had to decide how he was going to earn his living from now on. Later, much later, he would think of finding a wife.
Besides, this young woman seemed to be much opposed to marriage…even if she were practically betrothed!
He folded the map and laid it aside. He hadn’t really needed to look at it, for he had almost the whole province of Judea memorized. The brief visit to the town of Bethlehem would not result in a change of route after all; it would just delay the beginning of their journey by a few days. And that he didn’t mind…in the least.
CHAPTER III
Rachel heard Metellus’ voice as he entered the house, and hurriedly tied her almost waist-length hair at the nape of her neck. Today she wore a light blue gown with a darker mantle, which she draped over her head, tucked under her chin, and allowed the remaining edges to fall across her shoulders and down her back. She grabbed her bag with a change of clothes and left her room, stopping at Lazarus’ study.
Metellus stood with his back to her, turning
as she entered. A rust-colored tunic was belted at his lean waist, lending a touch of copper to his brown-gold eyes. A short sword hung, sheathed, at his side. His dark hair was smooth and gleaming, and again Rachel felt some small shift, some change taking place inside of her, unbidden, and unwelcome.
“My dear Rachel.” Lazarus came forward and took her hands in his. “Please give Simon and Daphne our greeting, and we will see you in a day or two. May the Most High be with you.”
“Thank you, Lazarus. Where are Judith and Samuel?”
“She took him with her to the market this morning. There is no need to seek them out. They will see you on your return.”
“Very well then…goodbye for now.”
She smiled at him and turned to look up at Metellus. Her smile faded and she lowered her gaze. “Shall we go?”
“I’ve been discussing with your guardian the best mode of travel…do you like to walk? Would you rather ride a donkey, or on a wagon?”
“I want to walk,” she said instantly. “When we leave, I’d like to walk all the way to Joppa.”
“A journey of two days,” he replied, and glanced at Lazarus. “There will be a donkey to carry the baggage, and she may ride if she’s so inclined.” He picked up a satchel at his feet, turned abruptly and left the room, obviously expecting her to follow.
She kissed Lazarus quickly and followed the former tribune, who strode out to the courtyard, exited through the arched opening, and headed for the road. There he paused, and waited for her to precede him.
She stopped, confused. “Men always walk in front of women,” she said, knowing him to be ignorant of Judean customs.
“During our journey you will walk in front of me.” He reached out for her bag and stuffed it inside his satchel, which he then slung over his back. Before she could move he added, “There is one thing I would have you remember. You must obey me without question, whether what I tell you to do makes sense to you or not. Do you understand?”