Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (31 page)

P
ilate had grown increasingly fond of Galilee. He was drawn north to the rugged mountains, a desolate area inhabited primarily by panthers, leopards, and bears. Herod's courtiers frequently hunted there. Sometimes my husband took a small contingent of officers and went with them. I knew that Isis was smiling when Pilate announced another such excursion, for it solved the problem uppermost in my mind.

I feared for Miriam, so vulnerable in her joy. Although I was powerless to alter the path she had chosen, I must at least be at my friend's marriage. Yet how could Pilate's wife attend the wedding of a former harlot and a self-appointed messiah? Messiahs and the controversy they caused in a contentious land had become the bane of Pilate's existence and Miriam's background was a social embarrassment to the governor's lady. But with Pilate far away...a peasant woman might go...two peasant women...of course!

My plan was simple. Rachel and I traveled on horseback due east to Sepphoris with a small contingent of guards. When we reached the hostelry--a palatial affair with an obsequious staff that welcomed me as though I were Livia herself--I surprised my honor guard with a holiday. "I want to explore Sepphoris at my leisure," I explained. "Go back to Tiberius and return for us tomorrow."

The soldiers stared at me as their leader protested: "
Dominus
would never permit..."

"You dare to know the governor's mind!" Tone softening, I explained, "One of Herod's conjurers has promised to show me a rare herb to soothe my husband's headaches. The wizard is a jealous man. He will refuse if he imagines that you are spying on him. Leave now," I ordered, "and no looking back!"

Rachel shook her head as the men rode off. "What a storyteller you are! Yahweh should strike you dead."

"I am sure he would," I agreed, "if I believed in him."

"
Dominus
cannot be dismissed so easily," she reminded me. "The risk, the occasion itself--everything about this is wrong. He will be furious when he finds out."

"
If
he finds out. With Isis's blessing he will not." I sighed impatiently. For weeks I had been the good wife, going only where Pilate wanted me to go, seeing only the people he wanted me to see. Miriam was
my
friend, I loved her and wanted to support her decision--whether I agreed with it or not. Beyond that, something told me that I should go to Cana, that I was meant to go.

I shrugged, mind made up. "Even if Pilate does find out, what can he do? Order away a memory? Hurry, let us change our clothes."

We dressed simply. I wore a gray cotton tunic with a blue-and-white-striped mantle. My only jewelry, tucked well out of sight, was the golden sistrum the priestess of Isis had given me long ago. Eschewing the carriage offered us by the innkeeper, we rode donkeys. "No one will ever recognize us," I assured Rachel. The donkey I had chosen nuzzled my shoulder. Such a gentle beast, a far cry from the spirited horses I ordinarily rode. I stroked his ears.

S
EPPHORIS WAS A BUSTLING CITY
. F
OLLOWING
H
EROD THE
G
REAT'S
death, it had been a rallying point for Zealots seeking to overthrow both Rome and the Herodians. Retaliation had been swift. Roman troops from Syria swept through Galilee routing out dissidents and burning Sepphoris to the ground. A few years later Herod Antipas had rebuilt the city as an administrative capital. It looked very prosperous--and very Roman. In the public
nymphaneum,
water gushed from the nipples of Venus. Above the entrance to the public bath stood a nude statue of Apollo. Twin images of a drunken Dionysus flanked the stairs to the theater. "The Jews must hate it," I commented to Rachel as our donkeys plodded behind carts and chariots.

"They have more to worry about than artwork," she responded. "Herod's spies are everywhere, making certain that no one shirks his taxes."

O
N THE ROAD TO
C
ANA, A MORNING'S RIDE TO THE NORTH, WE PASSED
tiny villages, farmers and shepherds living in stone homes built in clusters. The houses, surrounded by an inevitable patchwork of small pastures and fields, looked like they had been there forever.

Just outside Cana we heard drums and flutes. As we followed the cheerful clamor through the small town, the resonance of music and laughter led us up a hill past a carefully cultivated vineyard. At the top, encircled by an olive grove, we found an attractive villa bigger than any dwelling we had seen since Sepphoris. Rachel and I followed a small group through the main gate to a large courtyard. For some reason I had imagined Miriam's messiah as a poor peasant. Apparently that was not the case. The colorful plantings, splashing fountains, and intricate mosaic pathways indicated a wealthy family.

Despite our simple clothing, servants hurried forward to help us dismount. As our donkeys were led off to be watered and fed, I glanced inquisitively about. Weddings draw women like moths to a flame, or so it has always seemed to me. They laugh, giggle, rush here and there, bright eyes alert to their own advantage. This occasion was a marked exception. Tight-lipped guests gossiped in corners, their eyes critical, some even malicious. "The king and the whore, what a pair!" one young woman laughed loud enough to be heard. "What a fool to choose
her
when he might have had anyone." The others giggled among themselves, straightened the bright roses in their hair and drifted off to other groups. The very air felt charged with their resentment.

A somberly dressed woman came toward us, moving with quiet elegance. "Welcome to my brother's house," she said, her voice oddly toneless.

Before I could say anything, Rachel stepped forward and introduced us. "I am Rachel. This is my sister, Sarah."

"I am Mary, the bridegroom's mother," the woman replied, extending her hands to each of us.

"Mary?" I repeated. In the past year I had acquired a working knowledge of Aramaic. I understood her words well enough, yet wondered at the reserved manner. Mary was tall. I thought of a slender willow tree stirring in the breeze. Clearly she was a gentlewoman, the mistress of a fine house.

"You know my son?" she asked.

"We have not yet had that pleasure," I explained. "We are Miriam's friends."

"Really?" Mary looked startled. Perhaps she wondered what two peasant women were doing there. I stared back. She was a pretty woman with dark hair just beginning to gray; but looking closer, I saw that her wide brown eyes were red and puffy. It did not bode well for the bride-to-be.

"I am eager to see Miriam," I said. "Where is she?"

Mary nodded to a young woman carrying a pitcher of wine. "Leave that on the table and take our new guests to the bride."

The servant girl led us inside the villa past comfortable couches, exquisitely carved tables and chests. I caught glimpses of frescoed walls and statues--no likenesses of gods or humans, to be sure, but animals aplenty. None of this was what I had expected. What sort of messiah lived here?

I found Miriam sobbing quietly in an upstairs
cubiculum
. Leaning over her was a small, blond woman who stiffened at the sight of us. Miriam jumped up from the couch where she had been lying and rushed forward to embrace me. "Oh, Claudia, you
did
come! How good of you. I know the risk you took..."

"Isis protects me," I assured her, smiling, hoping it was true. "Tell me, dear, what's the matter?" I asked, hugging her tight. "Why are you crying?"

"There is no one from my family present and none of my friends from Rome would dream of coming. I thought this would be the happiest day of my life, but everyone hates me. Have you ever seen so many sad faces?"

"Let's do something about yours," I said, leading Miriam to an ivory-inlaid chair before a large mirror. "Your future mother-in-law doesn't look particularly happy," I had to agree, stroking the tangles from her hair.

Miriam smiled wryly. "Every rabbi is supposed to have a wife. Mary has prayed for fifteen years that her son would marry. Now that he has chosen me she believes the most high has played a very bad joke on her. It is all a terrible mistake, she says. Her son deserves a better wife than me. Mary says that a dazzling being appeared to her before my betrothed was even conceived. He called her 'Blessed among women' and said she had been chosen to bear the son of Yahweh."

"Really! I wonder what her husband thought about that? What does your betrothed say?"

"That no one will ever understand anyway and not to worry about it."

"When Mary knows you better..." I ventured hopefully, reaching for a basin of water. Miriam's eyes must be bathed. I signaled to Rachel.

"That is what Jesus says."

"Jesus," I repeated the word. "So that is his name. Thus far you have called him only 'the master.' When I was very young I was obsessed with my husband. I adored him, yet even then would never have addressed him as 'master.'"

The blond woman who had been attending Miriam turned, studying me closely. "But the governor is not Jesus," she stated matter-of-factly.

"You know my husband?" I asked curiously. "Who are you? Have we met?"

"I am Joanna, wife of Chuza, King Herod's steward. We met briefly once. You and your husband were at the banquet...that awful banquet."

That awful banquet.
"Yes, of course, I remember you now," I said, but did not. The day of John the Baptizer's death was an ugly blur. I had blocked out all that I could. Now to be recognized, particularly by someone connected to Herod! It was bad luck. Forcing a smile, I stepped forward to take Joanna's hand.

Rachel moved between us. "It is best that
Domina
's identity remain secret. She came here without her husband's knowledge."

"I understand." Joanna nodded. "My husband does not know that I am here either. He is Herod's man through and through. Chuza would have done anything to prevent me from following the messiah."

"Who
is
this Jesus?" I wondered aloud.

"The king of the Jews," Miriam answered, a proud smile hovering about her lips.

"The
king
! Herod Antipas is king."

"Herod Antipas is a usurper!" Joanna broke in. "His father, Herod the Great so-called, was not even Jewish. He was a converted Edomite. The Romans have ignored the rightful rulers of Israel in favor of a puppet king they choose themselves."

"Is that true?" I asked Miriam.

"Everyone knows it," she assured me. "It is Jesus who is the Christ, the anointed one. He is descended from the royal line of David on his father's side and the priestly order of Aaron on his mother's. Judaea, Galilee, Samaria--all the lands of Israel--are rightfully his, but he cares nothing for that. He says that Yahweh's children are equal with no division between male and female,
dominus
or slave. Jesus' true kingdom is in heaven."

"Pilate will be relieved to hear that!" I knew not whether to laugh or cry. "Do you realize how serious this is?" I took Miriam's hands in mine. "A religious leader might be tolerated but a political one--never! Do you imagine for a minute that Pilate--that Rome--would permit the removal of their appointed ruler?"

"Claudia, Claudia, calm yourself." Miriam's arms encircled me soothingly. "It is not at all what you think. Jesus was sent into this world to save men's souls. He has come to fulfill a prophecy with no desire to rule our bodies. He wants only for us to love one another. He is so full of love himself, it brings out the love in me--in everyone who knows him. There is no one like him."

The tears were gone. Miriam was her old confident self as she smiled up at me. "I will be at Jesus' side, his beloved companion, and"--she paused, smiling--"my money will further his ministry."

I looked at Miriam in amazement.

"Why should that surprise you?" she asked. A gentle air of pride lighting her face, she confided, "It is fortunate that my dowry is large for we will have need of it. More and more followers come every day. They leave their parents, their wives, even their husbands behind--as Joanna has done. They want only to sit at the feet of Jesus, to walk in his footsteps. Someone must see that they are fed and clothed."

"But," I ventured, looking about the well-appointed room, "it appears that Jesus' family is quite well off."

"Cleophas is a fond uncle, but not a follower. Indeed, his tastes are rather Roman--perhaps you have noticed. Jesus merely laughs at the family differences. It is difficult, he admits, to be a prophet in one's own land."

"He has no money of his own?"

"Jesus' father was a builder. He and his workers rebuilt half of Sepphoris, but long ago Jesus gave his share to his mother and brothers. I would that Jesus could be content with what must have been a very good life, but that is not his path. Jesus says, 'Take no thought for the morrow,' but someone must. That someone will be me."

I hugged Miriam quickly lest she see the tears that stung my eyes as I imagined the heartache awaiting her. "Isis's blessings on the path that you have chosen," I whispered. Hurrying from the room, I left Rachel and Joanna to prepare the bride for her vows.

Once downstairs, I noticed Mary, who wandered listlessly from guest to guest, her manner more appropriate to a funeral than a wedding. Some women even put their arms about her, openly consoling. Poor Miriam.

Across the courtyard a group of men in simple white tunics sat with a man I assumed must be the bridegroom. They joked, slapped him on the back, the traditional masculine teasing of a man on his wedding day. The bridegroom laughed heartily, teeth startlingly white against his sun-browned face. Perhaps feeling my gaze, he stood up, detaching himself from the others, and approached me. The bridegroom was tall, with long, beautiful hands that he extended in greeting.