The Centurion's Wife (23 page)

Abigail settled upon the stone bench where Leah had been seated. The girl blew playfully at a strand of dark hair that had managed to pull lose from its braid and lay against her cheek. The curl hung back for a moment, then fell forward again. She shrugged and laughed. Leah couldn’t help but smile at her joy and obvious love of life.

“Do you come here often?” Abigail wondered.

“I . . . I’ve visited a few times.”

“For a special task? Our vendor at the market that day told me you were from Pilate’s household.”

Leah’s eyes must have shown her surprise.

“I did ask,” the girl admitted with a slight flush. “I had not seen you in the market before. I’m sure I would have remembered you if I had.”

“I go early,” Leah explained, “to try to avoid the heat of the day and the rush. And find the best leeks.” Now they both laughed.

“That’s wise,” Abigail noted, nodding her head so the curl moved up and down. “I am not the one who’s usually sent to the market for the morning purchases. Actually, my duty is the laundry tubs.” She shuddered in exaggerated fashion. “There is never an end to that work.”

So much like Portia
, thought Leah with a pang. Her sister would have chosen to be amused over continual tubs of dirty laundry. Not that she’d ever had that task. . . . Leah gave her head a brief shake and turned her attention back to Abigail.

“So you know Martha and her sister Mary,” the girl was saying. “They are wonderful women. I don’t know how we would manage here without Martha’s capable hands and Mary’s tender heart.”

Leah nodded.

“Oh,” announced Abigail, rising to her feet. “Here comes Hannah with Martha.” Indeed, the two women were hurrying toward them from the doorway, Martha’s hand raised in greeting.

Abigail looked back at Leah. “I’m so glad to see you again. I do hope you will come back often. I would love to talk some more. Just look for me at the washtubs.” She smiled as she said it, adding another shudder.

Leah enjoyed the twinkle in her eyes. “I will,” she promised as Abigail turned to follow Hannah toward the stairs leading to a second floor.

Leah watched her go, feeling her heart warm with the thought she had made a friend.

“I’m very glad to see you, Leah. When one finds good kitchen help, other hands are found wanting.” Martha comfortably slipped her arm under Leah’s and led her toward the kitchen.

Several more days passed while Leah continued to visit the courtyard and help with the meal preparations. She reported regularly to Procula, holding back nothing save her unexpected contact with Alban at the tomb earlier that week. From the centurion she did not hear a word. Had her warning come in time? She felt a pang in her heart.

Many of the palace servants, already jealous over her marriage and what they viewed as its promise of an enviable rise in status, were doubly resentful of her supposed freedom to come and go, sent out by the mistress herself. Only Dorit remained loyal among the household staff.

On the shelf above her pallet stood Mary Magdalene’s jar of nard, almost as if Leah willed someone to steal it and free her from all the gift meant. Yet there it remained. These mornings, when Leah entered the kitchen, a place was set for her, and one of the young kitchen maids brought her meal. Leah protested, or tried to, but the senior cook pretended not to hear, which suggested that Procula had ordered it. When the men were banned from the baths and women of the household entered, Leah was informed that she was to accompany them. Leah knew the invitation was a polite command. She often found Procula there, always with a maidservant in attendance, occasionally with a female guest. Leah was introduced to these outsiders as a niece of Pilate, promised to one of his trusted centurions. As though Procula were forcing Leah to accept the marriage.

Leah masked her true feelings during the day, but her sleep remained broken. For hours on end, she relived the time in the grove. She had every logical reason to have remained silent about the threat. Yet she had gone ahead and warned Alban, and so sealed her own fate. Why? She did not have an answer.

Even so, when dawn would finally arrive and she rose wearily from her pallet, the sealed vessel given to her by Mary Magdalene was there upon the shelf. The faint fragrance gave her the impression of standing at the edge of a meadow. One lit by a sun far more gentle than that which illuminated the Judaean hills. Surrounded by the fragrance of wild flowers and by a peace that defied the shackles of her daily life—and her future.

Saturday morning, when Leah had finished a solitary bath, she discovered her servant’s robe had been removed from the alcove, and in its place was one of Procula’s older gowns. It was a custom among some Roman households to reward faithful servants in this way, granting them garments no longer wanted. Wisely, Procula had refrained from this practice, since it often created disharmony among the staff.

Leah knew instantly Procula had a purpose in mind, most likely some kind of audience. Leah shook her head in dismay. She had no choice but to hastily don the garment. In the kitchen she tried to assist one of the maidservants who was cutting meat for the day’s stew, but the cook would have none of it, impatiently waving her over to the table and the waiting food. Leah could hardly swallow the fruit and flatbread, and she finally retreated to a bench by the side wall, one that granted her a view of the courtyard trees.

She did not wait long.

“Mistress?”

Leah wrenched herself around at the realization she was the one being addressed. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. Yes?”

“The prelate and his wife are waiting to see you now.”

Leah followed the maidservant down a hall that connected the servants’ quarters to the formal chambers. Together they passed through the main doors, upon which everything changed. On one side was a floor of untreated stone, the walls bare—like her life to this point. On this side, she walked across mosaic tile, down a hallway adorned with a sweeping mural.

They entered the smallest of the palace’s three connected courtyards. Pilate’s two personal servants, one of whom was always a seasoned warrior, stood in the shadows, where they remained silent but within immediate summons. The other, the governor’s secretary, was a reedy middle-aged man with two blank slates, a writing instrument, and a rather tense manner. Both servants watched her pass. Leah knew the secretary recognized her gown as Procula’s from the way his eyes narrowed.

Her mistress was seated on a backless chair next to her husband’s throne. A faint cacophony of voices rose from the farthest courtyard. When the prelate was in residence, once each week the citizens of Judaea Province were allowed to request an audience. Pilate was dressed as an officer of Rome’s legions. He intended to remind those who appeared before him that his word carried the weight of Rome’s army. His expression matched his dress, stern and intimidating.

Leah bowed low as a woman might before the emperor himself, her forehead nearly touching her knees. She did not rise until she heard him say, “This woman remains a servant in my household, does she not?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Procula answered.

“Then why does she come before me dressed as a free woman?”

Procula remained calm. “I sought to impress you, my lord, with her bearing and stature. She is indeed my husband’s niece.”

“The only thing that will impress me is an irrefutable report on these troublemakers,” Pilate growled, but his demeanor eased somewhat. He called for his secretary. When the anxious little man stepped forward, Pilate ordered, “Bring in another chair.”

Hastily the secretary tumbled his armload of petitions and writing instruments on a table and complied. Pilate waved an impatient hand at Leah. “Sit.”

Nervously Leah did as she was ordered. She had never before seated herself in the prelate’s presence. But Pilate was in such a mood that to deny any whim would be testing fate.

“Your associations with the prophet’s followers, they always take place in the same place?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Describe it to me.”

Swiftly Leah described the courtyard and the interconnected rooms beyond the ancient doors, its large upstairs chamber.

“Are there strongrooms or weapons?”

“None that I have seen, sire. And none of the people go about armed.”

“How did they come to occupy this place?”

When Leah hesitated, Procula prompted, “It is important that the prelate know exactly what you have learned.”

Leah replied, “The day before the festival they call Passover, the prophet’s disciples entered Jerusalem. They were told by him—by Jesus—that they would find a man, and they were to tell him that their master required his rooms. They did as they were told.”

She waited.

Pilate’s frown was fearsome. “These disciples enter the city the day before the largest Judaean festival. They find a house with a private courtyard and upper chambers where they are allowed to remain for the entire festival season?”

“That is what they said, my lord.” She paused for breath and for courage. “And it seems they had never even met this man before.”

“Are they feeding you myths to confuse me?”

“I do not think so, sire.” Leah waited another moment, then added, “To be perfectly frank, my lord, I do not believe they have lied to me about anything.”

Pilate’s chair creaked a warning as he abruptly sat forward.

“Then tell me this: Do they plan a revolt against Rome?”

“I do not know. I think—”

He banged the chair arm with one fist, his gold armband cracking against the metal like a whip. “I don’t want to hear what you
think
. I want to
know
what they are saying! Speak!”

“Sire, they talk of a kingdom.” Leah concentrated on keeping her voice even in spite of the trembling in the rest of her body. “They discuss this continually. They speak of a free Judaea, but they call it by a different name.” Leah saw his expression darken further and forced herself to remain at attention.

“Israel.” Pilate ground out the name.

“Yes, sire. They speak of an Israel ruled by God himself.”

“They say the Judaean God is to come down from on high and rule this dismal place?”

“Sire, they claim that their God has already arrived.”

There. It was said. The lingering thought, the one that whispered over and over to her in the sleepless hours. She forced her gaze to remain steady on the man’s face—this man who held the power of life and death over her.

To Leah’s great surprise, Procula nodded with her entire upper body. Her slow rocking caused her husband to turn and stare at her. Pilate asked her, “You understand this?”

“What I know,” Procula replied softly, “is my nights continue to be plagued by dreams of a man who has defied even death.”

“Your headaches are gone, yet these dreams remain?”

“Almost nightly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, nor I.”

Leah had never witnessed such a discussion between them before. Whatever conversations Pilate and Procula had, whatever counsel, whatever intimacy, was kept beyond sight or hearing of the entire household.

Pilate said, “I have noted you no longer offer daily gifts to the goddess.”

Like most women of power, Procula had a small alcove in her private chambers dedicated to the goddess Diana. Leah had not noticed this change in her mistress’s habits.

When his wife remained silent, Pilate asked, “Do you believe this man has come back from the dead?”

She met her husband’s gaze. “I wish I knew.”

“I could seal up the chambers where they are staying and expel these disciples from Jerusalem,” Pilate mused. “Better still, I could order the entire group crucified. How many of them are there?”

Leah’s lips trembled. “The rabbi’s appointed apostles number eleven, sire.”

“Hardly the makings of a revolutionary force,” Procula remarked.

Pilate demanded, “Are there many beyond this group?”

“So numerous I cannot name or even count, sire. They come and go, so I am not sure of the number. But . . .”

“Yes? Go on.”

“As I told you, I have seen no weapons, sire. Not one. In fact, all of them talk in words and a manner that are completely against the very concept of battles, of revolt. They speak of forgiveness. And hope. And love.”

Pilate sneered. “You are in love with one of these disciples, perhaps?”

“I have never met one, sire.”

“What, never? How then do you know what they are thinking?”

“Though the men keep themselves apart, some of the women have accepted me. One of them, Mary Magdalene, has spoken quite openly with me. And Nedra, a servant in Herod’s household. Occasionally two sisters named Mary and Martha. And a few younger women. All I know of the disciples, the leaders of the group, is hearsay. Though everything I have witnessed suggests the women have spoken the truth to me.”

Pilate rubbed his chin, back and forth. “I am hearing rumors. Claims that this Jesus has been seen by others. Since the crucifixion, by Jupiter!” Pilate waved an impatient hand. “All the impossible nonsense you would expect of these Judaeans.”

Procula asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Leah?”

There was, though it no doubt would cost her dearly to say it. She let out a slow breath. “These followers are certain Jesus has risen from the dead. What they argue over now is whether he is a prophet or . . . or something else.”

Pilate watched her intently. “These Judaeans will argue over their religion endlessly.”

Leah took a breath. “I am hearing a new word—at least to me—rather often. Some are calling him
Messiah
. But others disagree. According to their holy writings, if he is the Messiah he must deliver to them the kingdom.”

Pilate’s eyes seemed powerful enough to brand her skin. “So they
are
planning an attack?”

“As I said, sire, I have listened carefully, and I hear nothing like that. They seem to expect this Jesus to deliver the kingdom by himself. I sense that words are very important to them. They are precise when they speak of these spiritual terms. The word they use about Israel is
redeem
. The Messiah will redeem Israel.”