The Centurion's Wife (31 page)

Linux approached and bowed. “Leah, I thought I recognized you.”

He straightened and glanced at her two companions. His gaze lingered upon Abigail, though much of her face was sheltered behind the shawl. Linux seemed to bring his attention back to Leah with some difficulty. “And am I to have the pleasure of an introduction?”

Leah looked imploringly at her friends. Was it proper to introduce two Judaean girls to a Roman officer? Then Abigail stepped back a pace and lowered her eyes in a respectful manner.

“Perhaps another time,” Leah said softly. “We are anxious to complete our duties at the markets.”

“Of course. Another time.” Regret was clear in his voice as he inclined his head again. He gave Abigail one more look. “Another time,” he said softly and strode away.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Hannah pulled on Leah’s arm. “Was that your centurion?”

“No, that is Alban’s friend. Linux is on the prelate’s personal staff.”

“He is
so
handsome,” Hannah noted, awe in her voice. “And he certainly had eyes for Abigail.”

“He was too bold,” said Abigail with a shake of her head. “It was not proper. And he is Roman.”

Leah let Abigail set the pace as they entered the bustling market. The conversation made her feel old and settled, hearing the women chatter about their impressions of the soldier. Yet she was hardly more than a year or two older. It made her realize how much her life experiences had shaped her.

Hannah turned to her and said, “And soon your own centurion will be coming for you.”

Abigail brightened. “And you will meet him dressed in that beautiful gown you have chosen. Oh, you must be
so
excited!”

Leah hid her concerns by picking cucumbers and melons from the street vendors’ carts. “We must hurry.”

Leah was busy in the kitchen later that morning with preparations for the midday meal. She was stirring a large pot over the coals when Jacob appeared at her elbow.

“Mistress, could you please come with me?”

“Is Alban with you?”

“He awaits us in the courtyard.”

She glanced at Martha, who nodded her understanding. “I am in need of a breath of air. I will come too.”

Jacob led them into the courtyard, where Alban waited, his concern evident even before they spoke. Martha seated herself, motioning Jacob to join her a short distance away.

“What is it, Alban?” Leah asked softly as they stood by a short wall.

“Linux has heard from an ally in Herod’s court. The tetrarch has been discussing us with a man called Enos.”

“I know him. He is most dangerous.”

“This guard has reported that Herod and Enos are conspiring to dissolve our betrothal and my claim for you as my bride.”

Leah felt her heart squeezed until she could scarcely find the breath to ask, “Why would they do such a thing?”

“I think he intends to keep us permanently apart. Herod is angry because I survived the attack and fears I now know of his partnership with the Parthians. He wants me punished—and worse.”

“He will do anything to save his own skin.”

Alban took a very hard breath. “And further, I have been summoned to appear before Pilate.”

Leah could read the alarm in his eyes. “What does that mean, summoned?”

“I have not brought him the news he wished to hear,” Alban continued. “I have not been able to solve his problems concerning Jesus’ followers. And now, when I tell him I seek to join their cause, I cannot predict what he will do. I know he will be terribly angry. I may escape with my head—but even that is in question.”

Leah could only stare, her hand covering her mouth beneath the shawl.

“They all are afraid, Leah. The high priest, the Sanhedrin, Herod, along with Pilate—all are afraid of Jesus. Even if they will not admit even silently that he is alive, they are afraid of what he represents. Of what his followers believe about him. And most of all they are afraid of losing power.”

“So that is to be their way—destroy any who embrace the truth of Jesus?”

“Perhaps. If they can.”

When Leah was able to speak again, it was in no more than a whisper. “So what will happen to all of the followers? If the rulers would destroy even you—one of their own—what chance do the rest of us have?”

“I have no answer to that.” His voice was husky with tension.

“What of us, Alban? The betrothal ceremony has already taken place. By law I belong to you now. I am your wife.”

“That’s true. By law.” A grim smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “But the only way I can stake my claim now would be to steal you away.”

Then and there the answer seemed perfectly clear. He had declared his allegiance with a far stronger conviction than she could ever have hoped. She replied, “So steal me.”

She saw a flash in his eyes, then it faded just as quickly. “Don’t jest, Leah.”

“I am not one to jest. I have never been more serious.”

“But the danger. When they discovered it, our lives wouldn’t be worth a single farthing.”

“I returned from Bethany fearing that my new faith would keep us apart. I arrive to find you have committed yourself as well.”

“If they will have me,” Alban finished grimly.

This would happen. She had no logic behind this certainty, nothing beyond the clear voice that had spoken to her heart in the middle of the night. Alban was one of them. “I am your betrothed. We are to wed.” She heard the strength and certainty and desire in her own voice, and felt the breath catch in her throat. “I am yours, Alban.”

He blinked fiercely, his face taut with emotions that turned his own voice hoarse. “Leah, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. It might mean gallows. At the very least, my career is over. How could I ask—”

“You are
not
asking me. I am asking
you
. Our lives are in God’s hands now. Perhaps he has plans, a mission for us to fulfill. Instead of a soldier of Rome, you might now be a messenger of God. But if not, then I still choose to be your wife, for whatever time he allows us to have.”

His words sounded strangled. “But I have nothing.”

“Then nothing will be enough. We will share it. And watch it grow into a happiness that will fill our hearts. God can do much with nothing. Have you heard the story of the little boy’s loaves and fishes?”

“I am so tempted by this idea of yours.” Slowly he shook his head. “But I cannot. I have given my oath. I must follow this through to its conclusion. We would be hounded to the ends of the earth. If only . . .”

She saw a change, a gradual dawning. “If only
what
?”

The silence between them seemed magnified by the square’s tumult. Alban remained hunched over, staring intently at the stones by his feet.

Suddenly he straightened.

“What is it?” she begged.

Alban managed to smile. “I have an idea.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Soon.” He rose to his feet. “Please pray. For me, and for us. I will come back as quickly as I can.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

Pilate’s Palace, Jerusalem

THE MAN AND BOY walked quickly, taking the way that followed the ancient walls dividing the Upper from the Lower City. Jacob kept looking up into Alban’s face, no doubt full of questions but deciding not to voice them. Then they saw Linux shouting and waving to them. “The prelate is waiting for you,” he said quickly when he was close enough to be heard. “And I would advise sooner rather than later. Where have you been?”

“I went to warn Leah of the prelate’s summons.”

Linux shook his head dolefully, but said merely, “This way.”

“Wait.” Alban turned to Jacob and ordered, “Go to Simon bar Enoch and wait for me there.”

“But, sire—”

“I do not like to order you about, but this time I must. Nor do I know how long this will take. But when I can, I will come for you.”

Jacob must have realized Alban would not change his mind and started away, shoulders slumped and head bowed.

Alban watched the boy depart, then asked, “Linux, if anything happens to me, would you make sure Simon—”

“I will do what is necessary,” Linux said. “If necessary.”

As they approached the palace gates, Alban said, “Thank you for trying to help me, friend.”

“We will know soon enough if it is of any use.”

Inside the palace, Linux’s expression became sterner still. Alban sensed that their time of traveling as cohorts would soon come to an end. After today, things would never be the same. If he had anything to say to Linux, it had to be said now. He slowed their pace.

Alban cleared his throat and began, “I asked you once before what would happen if you found yourself willing to forgive your brother.”

Linux recoiled as if Alban had struck him. “You had best be working on your strategy to deal with Pilate rather than asking me such nonsense.”

“But what if—”

“It could not happen, and you know it.”

“It has happened to me.”

Linux stared at Alban. “You’ve been spending too much time with that lot. They’ve damaged your thinking.”

“I have never understood more clearly.” Alban stopped Linux’s response with a hand upon the officer’s forearm. “I ask you again: If you found yourself willing to forgive your older brother for all his wrongs, would you accept that the impossible has happened?”

Linux’s gaze tightened. “This is what your time with the Judaeans has taught you, how to ask the impossible of a Roman officer?”

Alban could have almost heard the bond between them snap. “I will ask God for this sign to be shown to you. And when it happens, remember my words today. Find me, and let us speak of the impossible made real.” He held Linux fast with his gaze. “If not me, find another of the believers.”

“You’re one of the prophet’s rabble now?”

Alban allowed himself a moment’s hope. “If they’ll have me.”

Leah and Martha slowly walked back to the kitchen without speaking. But when Leah bent over the boiling vegetables, shoulders shaking, Martha came to stand beside her. Leah lifted tear-filled eyes to the older woman’s face, and at the tender concern she saw there, she fell into Martha’s arms, sobbing. When she found some control of her emotions, she recounted the dire news from Alban.

“I don’t quite know how to ask this,” Leah said, “but would you pray with me? For
. . .
for Alban? For me?”

Martha’s face held both concern and confidence. “Of course we will pray. And would you like me to ask the other women to join us? We don’t have to tell all the details, but I’m sure they would want to be part of this prayer time.”

Soon a circle of women had joined hands with Leah to implore the Almighty to give Alban courage and wisdom. “And please protect his life and Leah’s,” Martha’s sister prayed fervently.

When they were finished, Leah whispered to Martha that Alban had requested Nathanael be made award of the situation. Martha quickly sent a child to find him, and when he entered the kitchen, Leah briefly repeated the grim news, and Nathanael led them in another prayer. “I will ask the other disciples to pray as well,” he assured Leah as he left.

Alban was kept waiting in the rear garden of Pilate’s palace, watched by three very alert guards. Even so, Alban felt no distress as Linux slipped away. He knew he should be more worried. Yet he was filled just then with an image of people back in the believers’ courtyard. People who knew how to pray
. . .
to a God who promised to listen.

He looked up at the sky and wondered if the God of these people
—
the God of Israel—would be willing to accept a prayer from a man who had walked his entire life as an outsider.

The garden grew intensely still, the silence as powerful as any voice Alban had ever heard.

He had no idea how long he stood there before a guard paraded down the path and came to attention with a salute. “Centurion, you are called.”

Alban replied, “I am ready.”

Alban was led into what he suspected was the most formal of Pilate’s chambers, with a grand high ceiling, ornately carved walls, and a mosaic floor of onyx and semiprecious stones. Pilate sat upon a gilded chair, its high back shining ruddy in the light. Herod Antipas was seated to his right, Procula to his left. Alban glanced around the room, hoping his friend Linux had managed to implement the plan he had proposed. But the young officer was nowhere to be seen.

Alban knew a moment’s regret, then pushed it away. He did not feel alone.

He marched forward, saluted Pilate, and said, “I come as ordered, sire.”

The prelate scowled. “I expected your report long before now, centurion!”

Alban bowed to the prelate’s wife and his guest. “I discovered the truth myself only days ago, my lord, and that was in Tiberias. I returned to Jerusalem the moment I had what you required.”

“And yet you waited until I was forced to summon you! I should have you flogged!”

Alban stood quietly.

Procula offered, “My lord, perhaps you should hear what the centurion has to say.”

But Pilate was not finished. “This is utterly unacceptable behavior, particularly from an officer I had thought to include on my staff!”

“My most sincere apologies, sire.”

Pilate drummed his fingers on the armrest. Beside him, Herod’s eyes gleamed fiercely. Pilate barked, “Are you ready with an answer? Do you come with a report to give?”

“Sire, the betrothal agreement stated that when I had fulfilled my obligations, those requiring answers about the Judaean sect, my rights would be acknowledged.” He paused, drew a breath. “I have come to claim my bride.”

Herod snapped, “Have you found the prophet’s body?”

“No, sire. But I now have the answer. I know where he is.”

Herod’s swarthy face gleamed with malevolent anticipation. “I knew it! That ragged band of disciples stole the body away. Where did they take him?”

But Alban was not to be hurried. His eyes held Pilate’s, not Herod’s. “You promised me my bride when I brought the answer, sire. I do claim her now.”

Herod narrowed his gaze and muttered to Pilate, “Grant the centurion his wife, and you will lose your hold over—”

“I am indeed sorry it took me so long, sire!” Herod’s words were drowned out by a loud voice coming from the shadows of a doorway. Linux stamped forward, the bundle in his arms making a loud clatter. He marched to the table by the side wall, dumped his load, and offered an ostentatious bow to the three on the thrones.

“Reporting as ordered, sire!”

“Yes, yes, all right.” The governor sounded peevish. “What do you have there?”

“Items requested by Herod, sire.” He tossed back one fold of the covering to reveal a small glimpse of the contents.

“I never . . .” Herod’s voice slowly died.

Pilate rose slightly from his chair, peering at the items. “Are those Parthian weapons?”

Linux lifted a war hammer. The metal surface glinted dully in the light. “Indeed they are, sire.”

“You’ve found some of the bandits who escaped?” Pilate inquired with some interest.

“Five of them, to be exact, sire. But I don’t know if they were part of the original band defeated by the centurion here. We suspect these five to have been assassins.”

“Parthian assassins operating here in Judaea?”

Linux merely stood and glared a warning at Herod.

Herod stammered, “I—that is, we—”

Linux finished, “We managed to capture all five of the men alive, sire. Thanks to the centurion and his cunning.”

“Where are they now?”

“In Tyre, my lord. Awaiting transport to the galleys.”

“On whose orders?”

“Mine, sire,” Alban now put in. “We thought it best to offer them a hint of mercy.”

“But they are bandits and assassins! They should already be hanging on Golgotha.”

Linux answered, “At the time I thought the same, sire. But by offering them this leniency if they answered his questions, Alban gained information that was not tainted by fear. We learned a great deal, sire.” The statement was followed by another glance at Herod.

Alban took up the telling. “We can confirm they were Parthians. We identified their sources of information within Judaea and the Galilee, including certain villages upon the trading routes.”

“Thanks to the centurion’s wisdom, sire, we know where to station our garrisons.” Linux’s focus now remained hard and steady upon Herod. “We also know they had sources at the highest level of Judaean society.”

Pilate looked from his officers to the ruler seated next to him, then back again. “I thought we were here to discuss the missing prophet.”

“Indeed, sire.” Linux bowed and flicked a glance toward Alban. “My sincere apologies. Might I take this opportunity to wish Alban every good wish for his marriage?”

The Judaean ruler hissed an angry defeat and subsided into his chair.

Pilate demanded, “What were you about to say, Herod?”

The ruler fingered his beard and muttered, “Of course the centurion should receive his bride. But such arrangements take time.” He cast Alban a venomous glance. “Certainly someone of the centurion’s rank and position would wish to make the celebration a proclamation to the world. I could order the preparations begun this very night, but—”

“We have no need of such, sire. My bride, Leah, and I will make appropriate arrangements.”

Pilate studied Herod, then Alban, clearly at a loss at the tetrarch’s sudden retreat into silence. “The request seems genuine enough, does it not?”

Herod fidgeted, finally thrusting himself forward in his chair to shout, “But where is the body? I demand to know! And if you don’t fulfill your word, you will
never
claim that woman.”

“I do keep my pledge,” Alban declared. “Sire, every shred of evidence confirms what the disciples have said all along.”

Pilate’s face darkened in rage. But before he could speak, his wife cried out, “I knew it!”

All eyes swiveled to Procula.

“It is as my dreams have foretold!” Procula obviously found no triumph in her declaration, not even satisfaction. Her eyes glittered with a feverish intensity. “The prophet is alive!”

Pilate and Herod shared astonished confusion.

The governor demanded, “He did not die?”

“He was brought down dead from the cross, sire,” Alban answered carefully. “He was buried, but on the third day the tomb was discovered empty. Not because he was stolen away. Roman soldiers would not have allowed that to happen, nor did they. No, sire, the tomb was empty because he no longer required it. He who was dead lives again.”

Herod’s voice rose even higher. “Then where is he now?”

“Jesus has now returned to his Father in heaven,” Alban replied evenly. “But his presence remains here still.”

“Get him out of here,” spat out Pilate. “Remove him before I do so myself, piece by piece!”

A guard moved forward and Alban felt his arm in a firm grip. He did not resist. He felt thankful to be leaving the room.

“And he can have his bride,” Pilate’s angry voice shouted after them. “They deserve each other. But you will hear from me, centurion. You will hear from me!” The words echoed down the passageway behind Alban.