by Debra Diaz
She felt rebellion flare in her chest, but managed to nod demurely, and set out walking. Her pace was swift and sure, and she tried to forget he was there. As the town of Bethany was left behind them, she looked out across the hills and fields, the low stone walls marking the boundary between one man’s property and his neighbor’s, the terraces and vineyards, the flocks of sheep and goats. There were not many people on the road…a few farmers and field workers, a cart or two pulled by oxen.
It was still morning but the sun beamed high overhead in the cloudless sky, and at last Rachel pushed back the mantle from her head and loosened it about her neck. Her pace began to slow. She drew the mantle completely off and hung it over one of her arms.
“What is it like,” came his voice, almost at her elbow, “living as a Jew?”
She started, not having known he was so close, but realized that in the last mile or two her stride had grown much shorter.
“It is very comforting,” she said, without looking at him. “The Jewish Christians no longer have some of the same rituals, but there is a code of honor and high morals among the Jews. I would be careful how you speak of them, sir, for they are God’s chosen people.”
“So I’ve heard.” His voice was dry. “I meant no disrespect. But somehow, I don’t believe you enjoy dressing as you do.”
Rachel was reluctant to engage in casual conversation with this man—why, she did not know. But they were going to be together…quite a lot…for a long time. She glanced at him and allowed herself a slight smile.
“No. I was raised in the Roman way of dress, but still very modestly. My mother—” She stopped abruptly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken of her mother…except yesterday, to Lazarus.
When she failed to speak, he said quietly, “She was Greek, and very beautiful.”
“Did you know her?” Rachel’s sharp tone betrayed her distress.
“No. But I heard of her, after—after she died. What were you going to say?”
“Only that, she dressed in the Roman way, but she never forgot how it was when she lived here. She had a deep respect for Lazarus and his sisters. She was a Christian, yet she didn’t think it necessary to wear the same clothes as the Jews, or keep her head covered at all times. And I—believe the same.”
He nodded, and for a moment their footsteps continued along the rocky path…until Rachel’s unexpectedly halted. Metellus stopped, too, and looked down at her. Her face was white and set.
“There is one thing, sir,” she said softly, “that I want you to remember. I do not wish to talk of my childhood, or my parents, or of myself—at all.”
She walked ahead of him, again very swiftly, and he wondered what in the name of Romulus they could talk about. It was going to be a long journey.
* * * *
As they approached a house on the outskirts of Bethlehem, a man tending some shrubs in front of the house straightened and peered down the road at them. Rachel began to run toward him, and Metellus watched as he ran toward her and gathered her into his arms.
“Rachel!” he said, finally putting his hands on her shoulders and looking into her face. “I was wondering when you would be along for the summer!”
Metellus had not seen her smile so brightly. “Where’s Daphne?”
“She is inside. She—” The man broke off as he realized the Roman was with Rachel. Taken aback, he looked from one to the other.
“Simon, this is Tribune Metellus Petraeus, from Rome. He’s come to—well, I should tell you and Daphne together. Tribune, this is my other guardian, Simon.”
Annoyed by her insistence on giving him a title, Metellus nodded at the other man, who was tall with thick dark hair, liberally streaked with white.
“Come inside,” Simon invited them, and they entered the large adobe house. The entrance hall opened onto a courtyard, similar to Lazarus’ house, though it was not as luxurious, and there were no servants in sight. Simon asked them to be seated and went in search of his wife.
Daphne paused in her folding of clothes, hearing voices in the courtyard. Before she could move, Simon entered the room with a strange look on his face.
“Rachel is here,” he said abruptly. “With a Roman soldier.”
“What?” Daphne dropped the gown she was holding.
“She said she would explain.” Simon went to his wife and, as he often did, cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs lightly touching the vivid scars that still showed on her skin. “Please get them something to eat and drink, and I will return to them. They must have walked from Bethany.”
He met her eyes, kissed her forehead, and left the room. Daphne hurriedly smoothed back her chestnut-colored hair, and walked through the inner passageways to the kitchen. They had one servant, who had gone to the market, and her hands shook as she pulled a serving dish off a shelf and began setting out bread, bowls of figs and tall cups of water. Why did he have to be from Rome? Daphne had found a new life in Judea, with a man she loved—yet she never knew when she might meet someone who would recognize her, who might know what she had once been, before becoming a Christian. She had, in those days, been with many men.
She glanced at her hands…they too, were scarred. It’s only the outside of me, she thought, laying napkins on the large platter, which she lifted and began to carry from the room. On the inside I am healed, and it doesn’t matter if I’m recognized…
The stranger was standing and speaking with Simon. Rachel sat in a large, cushioned chair, looking hot and tired. Daphne almost held her breath as the man turned…but no, she did not know him. She would have remembered him.
“This is my wife, Daphne,” Simon said. “Daphne, our guest is Metellus Petraeus, from Rome.”
She nodded a greeting, as she set the tray down on a table. Rachel came to her at once with a long embrace.
“I’m so happy to see you!” Daphne cried. “But I cannot imagine—” She asked teasingly, “Are we under arrest?”
“Let us all refresh ourselves, then we will talk,” Simon said, and they sat to partake of the light meal. Latticework over their heads shaded them from the noonday sun. Daphne inquired about Lazarus and his family, and Rachel told of the latest exploits of Samuel, until her voice trailed off and she could think of nothing else to say. Her gaze shifted toward Metellus, who took it upon himself to explain his presence.
“I’m here by the order of Tiberius Claudius Caesar to escort Rachel to Rome, where she is to receive a document in care of the Vestal Virgins.”
“The Vestal—” Daphne began. Her hand went out to strongly cover Rachel’s. “What can the Vestals want with you, Rachel?”
Metellus waited. When Rachel didn’t answer, he asked, “Do you want them to know?”
She swallowed, and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“There is a letter they’ve been holding for her for a long time, which has recently come to light. Because of their vows, they will not release it to anyone but Rachel.” He paused before adding, “It was written by her father, while he was imprisoned in Rome.”
“Paulus!” Daphne’s eyes went to Simon and filled with tears.
Rachel said quickly, “I’ve come to tell you goodbye—for a time. I will return. But I have no choice but to go.”
“The emperor commands her to come to Rome,” Metellus said. “He believes he is doing what his friend, Paulus Valerius, would have wished.”
“Oh, my dear!” Daphne rose and quickly moved to sit beside Rachel, putting her arm around her. “Would you like me to go with you?”
“I—I couldn’t ask you to do that, Daphne. It is very good of you. The tribune doesn’t want anyone to come with us.”
“I am no longer a tribune,” Metellus said, trying to hide his irritation. “My service with the Praetorian Guard recently ended.”
Simon and Daphne looked at each other. They had never told Rachel that they’d heard Praetorians had been present at Paulus’ execution.
Simon cleared his throat. “Daphne, if
you and Rachel would leave us, I would like to speak to the trib—to our guest—alone.”
The two women rose at once and removed the dishes, carrying them to the kitchen. Rachel strained her ears to hear what the men were saying, but only a deep murmur of voices came from the courtyard.
“I wish I could go with you,” Daphne said again, almost angrily. “I know how difficult this is going to be, Rachel. But, I know that God will see you through it.”
Rachel busied herself rinsing the clay dishes in a basin of water, drying them, and placing them on the shelf. Simon and Daphne understood her better than anyone in the world, and if she let herself think about that it would only weaken her; it would cause her to feel sorry for herself, and then she would begin to weep…and if she began to weep she would never stop.
“Rachel.” Daphne stopped putting things away and came to her, taking her hands in her own. “It’s been ten years,” she said gently. “It is time you faced certain things. Perhaps this is for the best. You must remember—your father and mother are together, for all time, just as they wanted to be.”
“But I wanted to be with them,” Rachel whispered, looking past the other woman, and seeing nothing. “Oh, Daphne, would to God that I could be with them!”
* * * *
The men must have come to an understanding, for they seemed amiable as the women rejoined them some time later. The servant, a middle aged woman named Miriam, returned from the market…and she and Daphne began to prepare the evening meal. Declining Rachel’s offer to help, Daphne urged her to go with the men as Simon showed the Roman around the farm…the pastures, pressed close within the hills, the sheep grazing contentedly, the barn with its hens and strutting rooster. Everything was neat and well-kept, and though it didn’t show, Simon had amassed a small fortune from the sale of wool. He employed several shepherds who moved the animals from one pasture to another, protecting them night and day from predators and thieves.
Rachel followed the men at a distance, half listening, her thoughts inclined to roam elsewhere. Once she had dreamed of living here with Simon and Daphne, when her education was complete and Lazarus was willing to let her go. She realized now that his sense of responsibility would not end until she was married! She knew Simon and Daphne wanted her; Daphne had not been able to have children. She’d spent every summer here since she was nine years old. But she was grown now. Somehow the thought of living here was not so appealing…it would be a lonely existence, just as lonely as in Bethany.
Something familiar reached out to touch her, in her spirit, and as always she shrank back, unwilling to be comforted. She didn’t deserve to be comforted.
Just outside the barn, Simon turned to her and called, “Rachel, come and see the new chicks.”
The men waited as she approached, hens fluttering to avoid them and then resuming their busy scratching in the dirt. She ducked her head to go through the doorway, blinking in the dimness. Boards had been nailed together high off the floor, and partitions had been built along the length of the shelf and filled with straw. Only one was occupied…by an alert black-feathered hen who eyed them sharply, and her chicks.
“They were hatched yesterday,” Simon told her, smiling, as she rushed to scoop one into her hands.
“They’re adorable!” Rachel exclaimed, running her finger lightly down the tiny head while the chick peered at her curiously and tried to hop away. She laughed with delight and set it down, reaching for another.
The men lingered for a moment, watching her, and Rachel was supremely conscious of the Roman, whose vibrant presence seemed to overwhelm the little barn. When he and Simon stepped outside, she wanted to call him back. Instead, she gently set down the chick, went through the doorway, and walked with a rapid stride back to the house. She found Daphne in the kitchen.
“Daphne, please don’t trouble yourself greatly about us. I am not very hungry, though the tribune may be.”
“Why, dear—are you ill?”
“No. It isn’t that.” She watched for a moment as Daphne went on stirring something in a pot. “Who is watching the sheep this evening?”
Daphne looked at her curiously. “Reuben, I think. Why do you ask?”
“I’m going to go out there for a while, if you don’t mind. You know how I love to see the sun go down. But please don’t tell anyone—where I am.”
“Remember how quickly the sun sets here, Rachel. You must not be out there after dark.”
“Don’t worry—I’m taking my lyre and my bow.”
Daphne looked at her again; the corners of her mouth quirked slightly in understanding, and she nodded. Rachel slipped away to the bedroom she used whenever she stayed here. She picked up the lyre Simon had purchased for her years ago, and the bow and quiver of arrows. The men had returned to the courtyard, and she left the house by another door, walking across the lawns to the gate opening to the meadow.
Enormous rocks were strewn everywhere, surrounded by shrubs and trees, and green grass just beginning to turn brown. She found her favorite spot, where she could sit on a rock and look across a short valley to see the town of Bethlehem, rising on a hill before her. All around her, sheep bleated and moved idly here and there, their bodies fat and bulky with wool, their legs spindly. She knew they weren’t the same ones each time she visited, but they never seemed to mind her presence.
She didn’t see the shepherd, Reuben, anywhere—he was probably on the other side of the trees, gathering the remainder of the sheep for the night. He was not much more than a youth, but very responsible, and he would never leave them for long. She sat down on her rock, warm with the sun, lay down the bow and arrows, and took the lyre in her hands. She strummed absently as she watched two lambs, frolicking near their mothers.
The lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.
The words she had been taught as a child burned in her heart. Her eyes lifted to the town before her, where he had been born. Why did everything have to remind her of him? Suddenly, she remembered what she had been told of his weeping over the holy city: “Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that kills your prophets and stones those who are sent to you—how often I would have gathered your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you would not!”
As a hen gathers her chicks. How like the city of Jerusalem she was! He wanted to bring her close, and she would not let him.
“I can’t help it,” she said softly, her gaze moving upward, to the sky. “I just can’t help it.”
* * * *
Metellus, as the honored guest, sat on his host’s right side, and Daphne sat further down the table. The food was delicious, roast kid with vegetables, plenty of hot bread and the best wine he had ever tasted. He found himself liking Simon…he thought the woman exceptionally beautiful and wondered how she had received the scars on her face.
“Since Rachel isn’t here,” he said cautiously, “I wonder if you would help me to understand her a little better. I don’t know the full story of what happened to her parents.”
Simon looked down at his plate for a moment, and a furrow appeared between Daphne’s shapely black brows.
“If you don’t wish to speak of it—”
“It isn’t that,” Simon answered. “Even after all this time, it is painful to remember.” He glanced at Daphne, who gave the slightest nod. “First, I would like to know, were you present at his death?”
“I was,” Metellus answered readily. “A number of us were assembled and forced to watch the execution. Caligula wanted to have us believe the same could happen to any of us, should we be accused of treason.”
“I see.” The other man sighed heavily. “I hardly know where to begin—”
“Did he suffer?” Daphne asked abruptly, her voice thin and cold.
“Physically, only for a moment. But the days and hours leading to it had to have been—” Metellus paused. There didn’t seem to be a word for it.
“Difficult,” Simon offered, adding, “to say the least.”
“He faced it with rare courage. I have never forgotten it. There were all kinds of rumors going around, but it seemed he had been falsely accused. He spoke of his God, refusing to renounce him. Caligula couldn’t watch, and fled. Claudius remained. He had great respect for this man.”
Daphne moved to sit close beside her husband, taking his hand. Simon looked at her, and began.
“Paulus’ wife had been accused of murder, an old offense that happened in Rome many years before they returned there. She had slain a man who was about to rape her. He happened to be a senator’s son, and Paulus helped her escape. She came here, to Judea, and lived with Lazarus and his family. The emperor, Tiberius, made Paulus commander of the Antonia, and so, they met again.”
Simon paused to gather his thoughts. “She had been a slave to Paulus’ sister. And I—was his slave.”
The Roman’s eyes widened a little in surprise. Simon went on.
“Alysia became a follower of Jesus of Nazareth. And of him I will speak more, when I am finished. Later, Paulus also became a follower. All this time, the authorities were seeking Alysia, to charge her with murder. When she was arrested, Paulus rescued her again and they left the country, arriving finally in Rome.”
“We are leaving things out,” Daphne told him, half smiling. “Things you need not know. It is quite a story.”
“They were—what is now called Christians. When Rachel was eight years old, her parents were betrayed by—someone—”
“Megara,” Daphne said flatly. “Paulus’ former wife…who was supposed to be dead.”
“And there was someone else—we’ve never known everything that happened. Rachel and her parents were…close. They all loved each other, very much.”
“I know that her mother died in the arena. I know what happened to Paulus. But I’ve never known what happened to Rachel.”