“Will you be careful?” she murmured.
He sighed, feeling the weary burden common to all those in their teen years. “Yes.” He gave a wave and disappeared into the crowds.
Livia watched him for a moment, then said, “He has found a friend, a son of one of the silversmiths in our building.”
“That’s wonderful. He’s really changing, Livia. I can see it more every day.” And that was really true. For a time, Drusus had gone with them on their walks but had hung back, not participating in the women’s talk yet still wanting to be with them. The last few weeks, however, he had started to either stay home or go off on his own. That was not a surprise, really, Miriam thought. He was free. After long years of slavery, he was finally free to go where he wanted and do what he wanted.
As a young household servant he had often gone to the markets to purchase food for his master’s villa, but usually that was early in the morning. The rest of the day was spent inside, meeting the needs of the family. When Marcus had brought him to Livia that night, his skin had been pale, almost fragile. Now it was tanned and firm. Where before he had been quiet and withdrawn, speaking only when directly spoken to, Drusus now showed greater confidence. He felt almost completely comfortable around Miriam now, though he still said little when Mordechai was around. Two nights ago he had startled Miriam when he laughed aloud at something she had said. That was an important first.
Livia gave Miriam a rueful look. “I’ve thought of him as a young boy for so long,” she said, “it’s hard to remember that he has grown up.”
“But he has, hasn’t he. He’s a fine young man now.”
“I’ll be so glad to be out of Rome,” Livia said. “I hate it that he has to carry proof that he is free to go where he wants, when he wants.”
“I know, and hopefully—”
She stopped. To her surprise, Miriam saw Arcadius pushing his way through the crowds. When he saw her, he lifted a hand and waved. Arcadius was their chief household servant. He was one of the most trusted slaves from the estate of the family of Antonius Marcus Didius and had been assigned to attend to Mordechai and Miriam during their stay in Rome. He was a third-generation slave, a man in his forties, with a gentle manner and considerable practical wisdom. Miriam had come to like him very much and always treated him with courtesy and respect.
“Arcadius? What brings you here?”
“Your father sent me, Mistress Miriam. He requests your presence at home as soon as it is convenient for you.”
Miriam looked at Livia. What was this about? She had breakfasted with her father this morning. Usually she did not see him again until just before the evening meal, which they usually took with Livia and Drusus as their guests. It surprised Miriam somewhat, but her father seemed to enjoy the company of the young lad, even though they said little directly to each other.
If Arcadius noticed her hestitation, he gave no sign. He just waited for a response. “All right,” Miriam said. “We shall come immediately.”
Knowing that she did not need an escort, he bowed, then turned and started back. In a moment, he was gone again.
IV
When Miriam stepped into the room her father used as his office and library, her heart fell. He was sitting at a small table, and there was a letter on the tabletop. Had he intercepted her mail? “Good afternoon, Father.”
“Shalom, Miriam. Come in.”
She did so, taking the nearest seat.
“Out walking?”
She nodded. That would hardly surprise him. His face was grave, and he seemed to be studying her. “Arcadius said you wished to see me.”
“Yes. I received word from Caesarea yesterday.”
Yesterday! She almost cried it out. He had heard a day ago and not said a word to her? Then she realized what he had said. From Caesarea, not from Jerusalem. “Marcus?” she finally asked.
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help it. Her excitement shot upward. “Have they caught Ya’abin?”
It was dashed instantly. “No. He is hopeful it will happen soon, but no.”
“Oh, Father. Can’t we go back anyway? I would even be willing to stay in Caesarea if you don’t think it’s safe in Jerusalem. Livia and I could—”
“I thought you loved Rome.”
“Love it?” she cried. “No, Father. I find it fascinating. I have enjoyed being here in many ways. But this isn’t home. I want to go home.”
His eyes darkened a little at that, and she wasn’t sure why. He seemed distracted, only partially present with her. She was searching for something to say that might change his mind when he spoke again, making her breath catch in her throat.
“Tell me about that day in Jerusalem when you saw Jesus of Nazareth.”
She felt the blood drain from her face and feared that her expression would give her away. “Jesus?” she managed.
“Yes. It was about a woman or something, as I remember. You told me about it one day.”
“Yes.” She was fighting hard to maintain a calm demeanor. “The Pharisees brought a woman to Jesus. They were trying to trap him, make him look foolish to the people.”
“Ah, yes. They had caught her in the act of adultery.”
She realized then that her father remembered that day very well. Her heart began to pound within her chest. Had someone told Marcus about her baptism? What if her father asked her straight out? Some time ago she had determined that she would not lie to her father, not if he asked her directly.
His eyes were peering deeply into hers, probing, peeling back her defenses. “Was Azariah there that day?”
“Yes,” she murmured, dropping her eyes to stare at her hands in her lap. “I told you that.”
“Well,” he said, his mouth tightening now, “Azariah’s letting it be known that the daughter of Mordechai ben Uzziel may have some sympathy for this Jesus.”
So that was it. In a way, it came as a tremendous relief. In another way, she knew she was on very dangerous ground. “Father,” she said evenly, “I didn’t hide that from you. I thought what Azariah and the others were doing to that woman was terrible. Jesus showed compassion towards her and made them look like fools. Yes, my sympathy was with Jesus that day.”
Then she decided to forestall more questions. “If you remember, you demanded that I not speak of him again in your presence. I have honored that wish.”
She bit her lip, instantly realizing her mistake. She had said “in your presence.” Had he caught those words? Would he ask if she was speaking about Jesus outside of his presence?
But to her surprise, that seemed to satisfy him. He straightened and took a deep breath. “Miriam, things are not well in Jerusalem. There is trouble in the Great Council in Jerusalem.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Several things. Jesus, among others. The Romans are getting nervous. His following is growing every day, especially among the Galileans.”
“They think Jesus is going to start a rebellion?” she asked incredulously.
He shook his head. “No, not yet. But anything in the Galilee is of concern to them. Those fanatics are like a sheaf of wheat. One spark and they explode into flame. If Jesus can provide that spark, then we have to extinguish it right now.”
Miriam felt sick.
“Pilate and Marcus have asked that I return to Jerusalem immediately. I went to Ostia this morning to book passage. I leave the day after tomorrow.”
She shot forward in her chair. “Really! That’s wonderful.” Then, at the look in his eyes, she realized what he had said. He had used the first-person singular. “No, Father!” she cried. “If you’re going, I’m going.”
“Marcus says it isn’t safe for you yet. He’s hoping by Saturnalia we can—”
She leaped up. “Saturnalia! But that’s seven more months. No! I want to go now. Father, you can’t leave me.”
“It’s too dangerous,” he said, his voice hardening. “Sit down, Miriam.”
“Father, please. Don’t do th
is.”
“Miriam! Sit down!”
She sank back in her chair, trembling with frustration.
“I know you want to return, but the time isn’t right.” He held up a hand as she stirred. “No, listen! I have no choice. The Council is in crisis. Marcus said that Simeon and Yehuda are closing in on Ya’abin. They should have this finished in the next few months. Then it will be safe again.”
“I’ll stay at the Praetorium. If—”
“Miriam!” His voice rose sharply in warning. “The matter is settled. I will hear no more of it.”
She sat back, her eyes burning.
“I leave in two days. I’ll have Livia and Drusus move in here with you. I’ve already talked to Antonius Didius. He has agreed to leave the household servants as long as you need them and will see that your needs are met.”
“My needs are met?” she retorted, the anger flaring up in her. “If you are worried about my needs, then take me with you.”
“There’s another thing,” he said, ignoring that. “I had hoped for a more auspicious time to speak with you about this, but . . . ”
Something in his voice sent a prickle up her back. “What?” she asked softly.
“Tell me your feelings towards Marcus Didius.”
She just stared at him.
His face darkened noticeably. He was not in a mood for her petulance. “Well?” he snapped.
“Why are you asking this, Father? What has that got to do with anything at this moment?”
“Because Marcus Quadratus Didius has asked for your hand in marriage,” he shot back.
“What?”
“He has made a proposal of marriage, and I have agreed.”
She could hardly catch her breath. It felt as though something terrible was squeezing her chest.
“He hopes to come back here for Saturnalia in December. I’ll come with him. We’ll make all the arrangements at that time. Then if you want to return to Caesarea, you can do so as his wife.”
“And when did he first talk with you about this?” she whispered, already guessing the answer.
“Before he left here in March.”
“How nice of you to finally tell me,” she said bitterly.
“I’m telling you now.”
She began to shake her head slowly, totally unable to believe what she was hearing.
“I know this comes as a shock, but you told me you find him intelligent, charming, and stimulating.”
She looked up. “Were you even going to ask me? Were you even going to ask how I feel about this?”
“I’m asking you now.”
“No, you’re telling me.”
His face flushed angrily. “Have it your way. It doesn’t matter. I am your father and the decision is ultimately mine.”
Something down deep inside Miriam solidified at that moment, and she knew they had just crossed a line from which there would be no retreating. “No, Father,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay in Rome for now if that is your wish, but I will not marry Marcus.”
“You will!” he roared.
“No, I won’t.”
He got up slowly, his eyes glittering. “You dare to defy me on this? This is the daughter who betrayed her own father? You ran off to Capernaum and never gave a thought to what your disloyalty meant to me. And now you dare to defy me?”
She didn’t look up at him. She was clutching at the edge of her chair to stop from screaming out, from leaping up and dashing from the room.
“You will do what I say in this, Miriam. Our law says, ‘Honor your father and your mother.’ Does that mean nothing to you?”
Her head snapped up. “Honor?” she cried in disbelief. “You used me, Father, to help you carry out an evil thing.”
His face went a deep hue of purple. “You call me evil? I am trying to save our country from annihilation! I’ll do whatever I have to do to accomplish that.”
“Betrayal. Deceit. Treachery.” She flung the words at him. “Nothing in our law says I have to honor that.”
His voice was a low, menacing hiss. “Well, if our law means nothing to you, then consider this. We are in Rome now. Here, the authority of the pater familias, the father of the family, is absolute.” He leaned forward, frightening her more than she thought was possible. “Absolute, Miriam. You think about that.”
Just as suddenly as the darkness had swept across him, it was gone. “I know I’ve caught you off guard with this, but once you’ve had a chance to think about it, you will see this is a wonderful opportunity.”
“For you or for me, Father?” she whispered.
If he heard, he gave no sign. It was almost as though he was alone in the room now. “The Didius family is one of the great families of Rome. They have the confidence of the emperor himself. This could prove to be highly beneficial to our people.”
Miriam said nothing more. She simply stood, no longer meeting his gaze, then turned and left the room.
V
Miriam knocked on the door softly, then pushed it open. Her father looked up, then motioned her in. He didn’t seem overly surprised it was her. The house was quiet. All of the servants were in their quarters, if not already asleep.
She moved across the room and stopped in front of him. He motioned toward a chair, but she didn’t take it.
“Miriam, I’m sorry about this afternoon. I didn’t handle it very well. I—It was just that Marcus’s letter threw me in a turmoil. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.” His shoulders lifted and fell. “I’m sorry.”
She only nodded.
“Sit down. Let’s talk about it. I’m calmer now.”
“Father, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“All right. Are you sure you won’t sit down?”
She didn’t move. “First, I want you to know that my decision to go to Capernaum and tell Simeon about the trap was not an easy one for me. They saved our lives, Father. But it meant going against you, you who have always loved me and given me everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Go on,” he said. She saw wariness in his eyes.
“I understand why you did what you did. That doesn’t mean I condone it, but I understand why you—”
“Now wait a minute,” he said, his voice rising.
“That’s not the main thing I came in to say.”
His mouth clamped shut again. The calm she had seen when she entered was gone now. She took a deep breath and plunged. “When I went to Capernaum to tell Simeon and Yehuda, I talked a lot with Simeon’s mother and father about Jesus.”
There was a visible reaction in his eyes, but all he said was, “And?”
“They convinced me and Livia, and they convinced Ezra and Lilly, that Jesus is not just another preacher, not just another man trying to get people to follow him.”
“I don’t want to hear this, Miriam.”
“And I didn’t want to hear that you told Marcus I would marry him without even asking me,” she shot right back at him. Then, before he could answer her, she went on, wanting it said. “Ezra and Lilly and I went back to Capernaum the last two weeks before we left for Rome. Ezra wasn’t lying to you. He did need to go and look for a leather supplier, but we stayed in Capernaum with Simeon’s parents most of the time.”
He had gone very still now, and she felt the same flicker of fear that she had experienced when he had talked about the pater familias earlier that day.
“I went out to hear Jesus every chance I had. I listened to him, Father. I watched him work miracles. I came to believe in him. All of us did, actually.”
“That is enough,” he said, his voice very low. “I won’t have this.”
“I asked to be baptized,” she went on. “So did Livia, and so did Ezra and Lilly. We are his disciples now. I believe he is the Messiah, Father. I believe he is more than that, but that is something you wouldn’t understand. It doesn’t matter what you and the Council try to do. You cannot stop him, Father. He is the Messiah. He is the Chosen One. I know that with all my heart.�
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He was on his feet, eyes blazing. “I said that is enough!” he roared.
“No, Father. It is not enough. I am going back home. Not with you. I can see that now. I don’t expect you to accept any of this. I expect that you will disinherit me and perhaps even disown me. I understand, and I am prepared to live with those consequences. I should have told you sooner, and for that I am sorry.”
“I’ll have Ezra’s head for this,” he shouted.
“That’s right, Father. Blame everyone else. Your ordered world of politics and power isn’t working out quite like you planned is it? Your daughter has gone over to the enemy. So blame Ezra. Blame Simeon. Blame anyone but me. You can’t stand that thought, can you? You can’t stand to think that your daughter is ashamed of what her father has become and will have no part of it.”
He started around the table, his fists clenching and unclenching, the rage mottling his face.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Good-bye, Papa. Believe it or not, I do love you. I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
He stopped, trembling with fury.
“I’ll miss you terribly,” she whispered, then turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Chapter Notes
Reference has been made elsewhere in this novel to the concept of pater familias, or the authority of the father of the Roman family. To say it was absolute is not an exaggeration. At the birth of a child, it was traditional to bring the baby and lay it at the feet of the father. If he took it in his arms, it signified that he accepted it as his own, and the child was given all the rights and privileges belonging to the family. If he turned away, the child became an outcast, a pariah, without family in a society where family was everything. The child was not killed outright but was exponere, or “exposed.” It would be taken out to a roadside by one of the slaves and abandoned. Sometimes families of the poor would take the babies as their own, but often such babies perished (see Johnston, 67).
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