“You give me your word on that?”
“I do.” There was a momentary twinge of guilt at that, but it was true. Knowing Ezra and the family of David ben Joseph, she didn’t think she specifically had to ask for help. Once they learned of her situation, she was confident they would take some kind of action. “And I also promise you that this will be the only letter I send out.”
Cornelia’s shoulders slumped a little as she considered the implications of the request. Then a faint smile softened the corners of her mouth. “I am tempted to say that I will do this if you would reconsider marrying my son.”
Miriam smiled sadly. “And I am tempted to reconsider marrying your son so that I would finally have a mother I could love after being without one for all these years.”
Making up her mind, Cornelia reached out and took the papyrus from between Miriam’s fingers. She slid it quickly out of sight, then stood up. Miriam stood as well and put her arms around her. “Thank you, Cornelia,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
III
After letting Miriam out, Cornelia stood at the doorway and watched as Livia and her brother rejoined Miriam and started toward the road that led to Rome. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she saw the two men beneath the trellis who fell in behind them.
She went back inside the house, returning to the stone bench beside the fountain. She took out the letter and laid it on her lap, but made no effort to open it. For a long time she sat there, nearly motionless, her expression troubled. Finally, after almost ten minutes, she stood again. “Binicia!”
In a moment the young girl who had opened the door for Miriam came into the garden court. “Yes?”
She hesitated for a moment; then she held out the letter. “Would you take this around to the summer kitchen and see that it is put into the fire?”
The girl gave her a look of surprise, but immediately she bowed slightly. “Yes, m’lady.” She started away.
“Binicia?”
“Yes, m’lady?”
“Be certain that it is totally consumed and that there are not even any ashes left.”
The girl bowed again. “Yes, m’lady.”
Chapter Notes
The story of the woman who stabbed herself in order to bolster her husband’s courage actually happened. However, it occurred during the reign of Claudius, about a.d. 42, eleven years after the time depicted in the novel (see Shelton, 294).
With the significant expansion of the Roman Empire around the time of Christ, huge numbers of Oriental, or Eastern, peoples were brought in as slaves. They brought with them various Eastern religions which, because of their mystical and exotic nature, gained increasing popularity among the Romans. Worship of the goddess Isis from Egypt and the god Mithras from Persia became especially popular and spread quickly in the capital. The worship of Mithras helped prepare the way for the eventual spread of Christianity because of the religion’s belief in one God and the stark contrast between the forces of good and evil (see Grimal, 113–15).
Saturnalia is the Roman festival honoring Saturn, god of agriculture and the harvest. The festival, held in late December in the Roman calendar, was a time of unrestrained merriment and revelry. The festival often degenerated into wild orgies and riotous celebration. When Christianity became widely established in the Roman empire, it was decided to celebrate the birth of Christ in connection with Saturnalia, probably because it would receive wider acceptance that way. This was first done in a.d. 336. In northern Europe, similar festivals were held. The people prepared special foods, decorated their houses with greenery, and joined in singing and the giving of gifts. These practices gradually became part of the traditions of Christmas (World Book, 3:528).
Chapter 28
Freedom suppressed and again regained bites with deeper fangs than freedom never endangered.
—Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Officiis, bk. 2
I
Rome 26 September, a.d. 31
The skies over Rome were mostly cloudy and threatened rain, though it would probably not come until later in the day. A stiff breeze was blowing from the northwest. Flowing over the Alps some three hundred miles to the north, the wind had dropped in temperature sharply from the day before, and it was unseasonably cold. For the first time since March, Miriam and Livia exchanged light cotton tunica interiors, or undergarments, for heavier ones, and wore shawls over the stola, or outer dress, that was the standard attire for Roman women. Drusus had at first scoffed at this sign of feminine weakness, but once they stepped outside, Livia’s younger brother quickly changed his mind and returned to the apartment to exchange his summer tunic for a woolen one. Both Livia and Miriam repressed a smile when he came out with cotton leggings as well.
They had briefly debated about staying indoors for the day, but that idea was quickly dismissed. Though there would surely be several more weeks of pleasant weather, the drop in temperature was the first reminder that winter was approaching. Miriam knew that once it arrived, their time out of doors would be greatly reduced, and she decided not to let this temporary change deter her. Fortunately, Livia and Drusus felt the same way.
With Cain and Abel trailing at a discreet distance, the three of them walked past the Forum Romanum and went to the Imperial Forum built by Julius Caesar. It was not only smaller in area and usually less crowded than the Roman Forum, but it also contained the Temple to Venus Genetrix, the goddess whom Caesar credited for his numerous successes in battle and politics. The temple had a columned portico that was open to the sun on the south side and provided considerable protection from the wind. That is where they had come on this blustery morning.
For the past two months, Miriam had been tutoring Livia and Drusus in Aramaic. Having lived with Miriam and her father in Jerusalem for five years, Livia could speak Miriam’s native language quite well, but she had not learned to read or write much of it at all. As a lifelong slave in various Roman households, Drusus spoke only Latin and the Greek of his childhood. He could neither read nor write in any language. Librarii, or scribes, were the only slaves in a household allowed to be literate. If Drusus were to find any meaningful employment once they returned to Miriam’s homeland, he would need to read, write, and speak Aramaic. So each day, the three friends used some of their time out of the apartment to pursue this study. They brought their writing slates and pieces of soapstone and spent about three hours together under Miriam’s tutelage.
Miriam felt a momentary twinge of guilt as she looked up and let her eyes find their two guards. Though she could feel a little of the chill through her clothing, it was not unpleasant here beside the temple. But the escorts had taken up their station across the street about twenty-five or so paces away. They always stayed far enough back to avoid being intrusive, but close enough so they could quickly close the gap should their charges try to slip away. They stood where there was little protection from the wind, and she could see that both of them were hugging themselves and stamping their feet up and down to keep warm. One part of her wanted to take satisfaction in their discomfort, but another part of her knew that they were only doing what they were required to do. The real fault lay with her father.
“Would you like to stop for a while, Miriam?”
Miriam turned to Livia. She was watching her curiously, and Miriam realized that she was no longer thinking about Aramaic. Brother and sister sat with their slates on their laps waiting for further direction from her.
She sighed. “Sorry, I was just watching our two shepherds and wondering if they are getting cold.”
“I hope so,” Drusus snapped. “I hope their feet freeze and fall off.”
“Drusus!” Livia gave him a chiding look.
“Well, I do. Maybe then they would leave us alone.”
“They’re just doing what they were hired to do,” Miriam said, a little surprised that she felt like she had to defend them.
He snorted in disgust, then stood up abruptly. “It’s too cold to study,” he said. He rubbed out the lettering
on his slate with his sleeve and started away. “I’m going to do some drawings,” he said, not asking how the others felt about him leaving them. Glowering at the two men who had come to full alert when he stood, he moved across the street and started sketching the columned portico.
“I’m sorry,” Livia said. “He’s getting so petulant lately. But it’s because he is restless. It’s not good for an eighteen year old to be so restricted in his activities and to have nothing but the company of two women day after day.”
Miriam sighed. “I know.” She watched him lift his eyes and study the lines of the building, then start sketching with bold, even strokes. “He loves his drawing, doesn’t he.”
Livia nodded, pride evident in her eyes. Drusus had been a slave in the household of a wealthy Roman who built and rented out residential property in the city. One of the other slaves in the household had been a master builder and had taken Drusus under his wing and had begun to teach him some principles of design and construction. Drusus was fascinated and used every opportunity to learn how those principles were applied in real life.
“Perhaps when we return to the Galilee we can find him an apprenticeship in the building trades.”
Livia gave her a quizzical look. “You don’t even think about returning to Jerusalem any more, do you?”
Miriam looked away. “Return to what? My father? I still love him, Livia, but we both know that the only way he will ever accept me is if I am willing to marry Marcus and turn my back on Jesus.”
“And what is he going to say when you move to Capernaum? I assume that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t see any other options.” A forlorn note crept into her voice. “We’ll have to make a new life there. Father has taken all my funds. I’m not sure how we’ll do it, to be honest. I have never worked a day in my life. We have no way to earn our bread. I’m sure David and Deborah will invite us to stay with them for a time, but that can’t be a permanent solution. But I guess if that is what we have to face, I would rather do that in Capernaum than anywhere else.”
Livia said nothing. One of the things that had been much on her mind of late was what Mordechai would do if Miriam refused to surrender to his will. She didn’t picture him simply standing by while his daughter went her own way. That thought worried her, though she never expressed it to Miriam. “You can write and keep books,” she finally said. “There is always a place for someone with those skills.”
“If they are not a woman!” Miriam shot right back. The despair welled up like a surge of tide inside her. “Oh, Livia, no one is going to come. Ezra has no money, especially not now that Father has ruined his business. Simeon may still be in the wilderness of Judea hunting Ya’abin. David has a business to run. He can’t just drop everything and come to Rome.”
“We can’t lose hope, Miriam. The Lord has heard our prayers before, he won’t forsake us now.”
“I know,” she said, “but what if he doesn’t want us to return? What if, for some reason, we are supposed to stay here in Rome?”
“For what purpose?” Livia said in surprise. That possibility had never once occurred to her.
Miriam had no answer. “What if Cornelia changed her mind?” she asked instead. “What if she never sent the letter?”
“It’s been just ten weeks, Miriam. At the very least it takes three weeks for a letter to go from here to Judea. It would take at least another week for it to make its way to Capernaum. That’s under the best of conditions. Bad weather can delay ships, sometimes for weeks on end. And you don’t just walk up and find someone who will take a letter where you need it to go. It could have taken as much as two months before the letter even reached them. We can’t give up hope.”
Miriam listened, and let her natural resilience kick in. She hated it when she started into one of her self-pity phases. “I’m not giving up hope, Livia, but I don’t think we can assume someone is coming. We have to make some alternate plans.”
Livia’s eyes widened slightly.
“Marcus and Father will be coming back here in less than three months. Once that happens, any chance we have to escape will be gone.”
“Escape?”
Miriam lowered her voice a little, even though no one was close enough to overhear. “I’ve been carefully saving money from the allowance we receive each month.”
“Really?”
“Well, if no one is coming, then we have to make some plans of our own. I have about sixty sesterces now. That’s enough for our passage. But we need more than just sailing money. We’ll need food and warm clothing.”
Livia began to nod slowly. “I could hold out some of the money they give me to buy our food at the market.”
“Good,” Miriam said, pleased that Livia wasn’t going to balk at the idea. “I don’t think we dare sail from Ostia. That is the first place they will look for us. We’ll have to go by land to another port, maybe Puteoli, to the south of here. That will take additional funds. I figure we need at least twenty or thirty more sesterces.”
“And how do you plan to slip away from our two watchdogs?” Livia asked, glancing in their direction.
“I don’t know. Maybe lure them into the apartment and tie them up.”
Livia hooted.
“Well,” Miriam said, miffed at that reaction. “There are three of us and only two of them. And Drusus is strong.”
“I could wait behind the door and then hit Cain over the head with the big black skillet we have.”
Miriam giggled at that image. “He’s totally bald. With no hair to cushion it, it could ruin the skillet.”
Livia chortled aloud.
“And we could stuff Abel into one of the chests in my bedroom and have you sit on it.”
“Me!” Livia cried. “You weigh as much as I do.”
“We could both sit on it,” Miriam said, sniggering. “That would give us time to think about what to do with him after that.”
They enjoyed the moment together, feeling an immense sense of relief to even be talking about alternatives. But both gradually sobered again as the difficulty of the challenge they faced settled in upon them.
“Drusus is my biggest concern,” Miriam said. “And you too, Livia.”
“Why? We can hold our own, and heaven knows that Drusus is ready to do something.”
“Because if we fail, if we are caught, you know what they will do to Drusus. He’ll be a slave again. And it could happen to you as well.”
Livia didn’t answer for several moments. Then she spoke slowly. “We’ll not do anything without asking for God’s help first. And then we’ll put our trust in him.”
“Yes,” Miriam affirmed. “If no one else will help us, there is always the Lord.”
II
It was well into the second watch of the night. Miriam was partially reclined on a padded lectus, or high-backed couch, reading one of the selections from the library of Cornelia Didius, which she had sent over for Miriam to enjoy. When Livia and Drusus had bid her good-night and had gone to their rooms more than an hour earlier, Miriam had told them she wasn’t tired and would read until she got sleepy. So far that had not happened. There was only one oil lamp burning just behind her, leaving the sitting room of the apartment filled with a soft, muted light.
Suddenly her head jerked around. There had been a whisper of sound from the direction of her bedroom, almost as if someone had spoken her name. She sat up, chills coursing up and down her back, staring at the door that led into the room where she slept. The door was partially ajar, but it was dark behind it and she could see nothing. She turned her head and looked at the doors of the other two bedrooms, but both of them were closed. No. It had come from the direction of her room. She was sure of that.
She listened intently for several seconds, then chided herself for her reaction. Every house creaked and groaned from time to time, especially at night as the air outside began to cool. Then she remembered something else and felt really foolish. When they had returned from their ti
me in the city this afternoon, her bedroom had seemed stuffy and close, even though the day was unseasonably cold. So she had hooked the door to her balcony open to get some air and then had forgotten about it.
The insula or apartment complex in which they lived was three stories high. Because it was one of the more luxurious of the complexes, each bedroom had a small, private balcony. It was barely large enough for one person to stand on, but each balcony opened onto a narrow alley below. The view wasn’t much—the windowless back of one of the numerous government buildings in Rome—but it was better than being totally enclosed. The sound she was hearing was probably nothing more than the shutters rattling softly in a breeze.
Deliberately taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she picked up the scroll again and started to read.
“Miriam.”
Again, it was only the barest of whispers, as if a voice from Sheol, the world of spirits, was calling to her from across a great void. But it was unmistakable. She flung the scroll aside and leaped to her feet. Crouching down, her eyes never leaving the door to her bedroom, she edged along the wall. For a moment she considered going for help, but their night guards were three floors down, stationed outside the entrance to the building. Near the small fireplace in the corner—which they hadn’t used since the previous winter—there was an iron poker and a set of tongs. There was the scrape of a foot on tile and she froze. Every nerve in her body suddenly was tingling. Her mouth went instantly dry, and her heart raced like a runaway chariot. The door to her bedroom was slowly opening. In the dark was the shadow of a man.
Miriam gave a low cry and flung herself toward the fireplace. Her knee caught the corner of a table and she yelped with pain, but when she came up again, she had the poker in her hand.
“Miriam! It’s all right. It’s me.”
She gasped, eyes flying wide open as Simeon stepped into the room. For several seconds she stood there gaping, heart pounding like a great hammer inside her chest, her knees nearly buckling as the relief hit her like a torrent. “Simeon?” She took a step forward, her mind still not believing what her eyes were telling it.
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