Behold the Man

  “So he’s an impostor,” Quintus observed.

  Marcus agreed. “Both a merchant and a thug. The highest bidder, and the one who bowed the lowest to Rome. Even so, the people can’t do anything to change it.”

  “So the Baptizer is right?” Carta asked.

  Once more, Marcus agreed. “Yes, he speaks the truth. But to no purpose.”

  “But,” Carta mused aloud, “if he’s telling the truth about the Jewish rulers, maybe he’s telling the truth about their messiah?”

  Mockingly, Marcus returned a fair imitation of John the Baptizer’s hoarse cry. “Get ready—Messiah is coming! The Jewish warrior-king approaches!”

  The foremost pair of soldiers in the column snickered.

  Quintus barked, “Quiet, there, unless you want flogging!”

  Instantly they fell silent.

  “Empty promises to draw crowds,” Marcus argued. Yet unfortunately, he knew, such hollow nonsense could become the soil in which rebellion took root. Was the Jewish holy man really no threat?

  A clump of thornbrush, torn free and swirling on the wind, smacked Quintus in the face. Savagely he yanked it away and flung it down. The double file of troops following stomped it underfoot. “By all the gods,” he swore. “From seed to root to branch, this is a rotten, bloody land.”

  “True,” Marcus responded. “But Judean wine pleases Rome’s emperor. So Judean vineyards will be pruned by the sword as needed and watered with Jewish blood. Quintus, let’s get out of this dust storm. Pick up the pace.” Pavor already offered to perform a parade canter, as if facing an enemy.

  “You heard the centurion,” Quintus bellowed. “Lively, now. Quick march!”

  The dust in the air did not dilute the piercing, unknown aroma. Despite his scoffing words, Marcus felt an unease that had not been present before. It was as if what he scented on the Judean wind was change . . . unexpected, dangerous change.

  Chapter 14

  Had there ever been so many stars? Claudia leaned back against the mast and turned her face heavenward.

  The black curtain of the sky arched over the ship like a diamond-studded dome. The flat sea was without horizons. There were no hills or treetops to conceal the whole picture of glory.

  Claudia’s mother had once told her that there was only One God, the creator of the heavens and the earth. Before there had ever been an empire created by man, the Hebrew God of her ancestors had counted the stars and knew them by name.

  Tonight, in the silence of the voyage, Claudia looked up, remembered, and could almost let herself believe in One Great God above all. There was a temple dedicated in Rome to the Unknown God. Why did the Hebrews not name their God? Could the two be the same?

  The starry pantheon of Rome’s gods marched through the constellations from east to west. Mars, the God of War, gleamed blood red in the west above Venus, the Goddess of Love. The two bright points of light hovered just above the edge of the western sea.

  Is Marcus looking up at these same stars? Does he remember? she wondered.

  On such a night as this, when Love and War shared the constellation of the Virgin, Claudia had first pledged herself to Marcus. Under an ancient tamarind tree, they had made a covenant of eternal love with each other.

  But what were vows and eternal love compared to the will of Tiberius Caesar?

  She had watched as the love Marcus had felt for her transformed to hate when Caesar decreed she would marry Pilate or die.

  After that, Marcus had turned his eyes from her when she passed by. She wrote him about the child within her, but he did not reply. Only when Marcus sent the slave Jono as a gift to her and the boy did she know he had not forgotten her. Every day since then, Jono, the gentle giant, had been a reminder of the man who had once loved her.

  Might he love her still? Her heart quickened at the possibility. His kiss on her fingertips at the seacoast and the flicker in his expression said he did. But his gruff stepping back and saying it would be better for them not to meet again had cut as keenly as a knife. Reality . . . Rome . . . had once again intruded.

  Except for the cheerful company of her son since his birth, her life had been unbearably lonely. There was an emptiness in her heart that no one could fill.

  Tonight Claudia whispered a new prayer. “Unknown God, God of my mother, I do not know your name, but she told me of your greatness. I do not know you, and yet, if you made the heavens and the earth, surely then you must know my name. And I long to know if you exist. I am asking . . .”

  The rigging of the ship creaked. Ropes and sails groaned against the tugging of the wind.

  Was that an answer? She strained to hear God’s voice.

  Mars and Venus. Two stars hung in the west beyond Jerusalem. Restless at the thought of Claudia’s impending arrival, Marcus paced along the parapet of the Antonia. He could just see the governor’s palace where she would be living. It was a cruel irony—to have her so close, yet unreachable.

  When she came to Jerusalem, would she walk on her balcony and gaze up through the lattice to see his fortress? Would she think of him and long for him? Would her love draw him like a torch draws moths to their deaths?

  What would the penalty be, he wondered, for loving the wife of a brute like Pontius Pilate?

  He shook his head. He was a soldier, a hardened man of war. Besides, who was so insane that they would die for love? Marcus had long ago decided that he would rather live and keep alive the possibility that somewhere there was a woman he might love as he had once loved Claudia.

  Perhaps he had already found her—Miryam, the beautiful Jewish widow in Galilee who had become his mistress. At least she pleased him and made him forget for a time, even if she frequently tended to mention a young man she loved in her youth.

  But as the time for the arrival of Pilate’s ship drew near, his thoughts turned back to the conjunction of Mars and Venus, a fire in the western sky.

  Marcus told himself he hated Claudia for marrying a man she detested. There was no comfort in the knowledge that she did not choose Pilate. No relief that she was locked in a loveless union with a second-rate politician.

  Marcus was her first love, he knew, and she was his. Perhaps she was the only one he had ever truly loved. His heart twinged with the memory of the day they had been torn apart because of Pilate’s betrayal. How had he not seen the true colors of his friend—that he was a man of no loyalty when it came to raising his own position—until that day? If Marcus could go back, do it all over again . . .

  But no, there was no going back. There was only pain in the recalling.

  Later, after she had been hastily married to Pilate, she had written him about the child. He had read her letter and steeled his emotions. He did not dare reply. He could not permit himself to come so near the edge of love’s abyss. One step too close to her, and he would tumble to a bloody death.

  Marcus knew Pilate well enough to be certain he did not love Claudia. But Pilate owned her, like he owned his horse or his vineyard or his slaves. And Pilate, being a man who cherished power over people and things, would never let her go.

  So it was hopeless.

  The stars may have twinkled in the sky the unforgettable night Marcus and Claudia swore they were one soul. But vows made before heaven had been broken by the reality of earth.

  Marcus, more restless than ever, gazed out over the sleeping city. When she arrived, he would do what he could to protect her and Philo . . . and what he must for the man who had betrayed them. But Marcus knew he could never again give in to the weakness of touching her. Those days were gone forever.

  As he stared up at Mars and Venus again, despair
swept over him. His loneliness peaked.

  Then he thought of the perfumed air and soft moonlight on the water of the Sea of Galilee. He could reach the home of his Jewish mistress by morning. She would be more than happy to help him forget . . . at least for a time.

  “Carta.” He called his servant from a sound sleep.

  The boy appeared after a moment. “Yes, sir?”

  “Saddle my horse. I have urgent business in the north.”

  Chapter 15

  The Mercury docked in Cyprus to resupply. Jono carried Philo down the gangway onto the quay and Claudia followed close behind.

  The solid ground beneath her feet seemed to move as though she were still standing on the deck of the ship. She swayed a moment, then reached out to steady herself on a bale of cotton. “I fare better on the ship, I think.”

  “You have your sea legs,” the captain congratulated her. “A true sailor, Lady Claudia. Better than most passengers on this journey.” With an amused smile he stepped back and saluted as Pilate, gaunt and pale, staggered onto shore.

  Pilate cursed. “Can it be I am to endure weeks more of this misery? Then step on dry land and find I am just as miserable as I was on the galley?”

  “It will soon be over, sir,” the captain assured him.

  “If I am to die, I hope it is over soon.” Pilate squared his shoulders in an ineffectual attempt to regain authority. “It is in our orders from Caesar that we are to board a passenger in this port. A Praetorian. Vara is his name. Caesar’s finest. He will be my personal assistant.”

  “I see him,” Jono said dully.

  Claudia followed Jono’s unhappy gaze to a bald, coarse-featured Roman officer who waded through the bustling crowds toward the ship. Vara was notorious for his cruelty among the guards of Rome. Like his master, Tiberius Caesar, he was known for and feared for his brutality.

  Claudia leaned close to Pilate. “I was not told of this.”

  “Your dear father thinks so highly of us, my love, that he has sent his worst to watch over us.”

  That Vara was the worst, Claudia knew. But she also knew the truth, through the chatter of women in Rome. Vara had raped a Roman merchant’s daughter and thus was being banished to the province of Judea. Accompanying Pilate was merely an excuse to move him effortlessly into a land where his brutish behavior at least wasn’t within sight of Rome. The only reason he was still alive was because he was a distant kin to Lucius Sejanus, the head of the Praetorian Guard. But that relationship also made Vara even more dangerous. He would be trying to buy himself back into Commander Sejanus’s good graces. Claudia shivered.

  Vara came near. He brushed past Jono with a sneer. Vara’s dark-eyed gaze lingered too long on Claudia’s throat. Thin lips curved in a half smile. He saluted. “Governor. Lady Claudia. Beautiful as ever. I trust you are well.”

  Pilate, dry mouthed, struggled to speak. “I’m not well. The sea is no friend of mine.”

  Vara nodded. “You are a man of terra firma. The sea is for the merchant class, Jews and wanderers and those unsteady in life. Like that one . . .”

  At that moment a white-bearded old Jew led his porter up the plank and onto the ship.

  Pilate seized the opportunity to insult Claudia. “That explains it. So Claudia, my wife, fares better than I on this journey. She is born to the swells and squalls of the ocean.”

  “Thank you.” Claudia bowed slightly. “My merchant-class ancestors gave me the stomach to conquer even the most unpleasant experiences . . . and the vilest of company. On land or sea.”

  Vara brushed the remark off and addressed Pilate. “You shall soon have your legs under you, sir. Judea is a brutal land, filled with rebels and ruled by impostors who are not Jews, but one step beneath . . . Idumeans. I have crucified many Jews and many Idumeans. The Jews die with less shouting, but they die all the same. Judea is a land that must be governed by a man like you. Caesar has chosen well.”

  Claudia could not resist asking, “And you, Praetorian Vara, how well do you manage on the sea?”

  He bowed slightly. “I am a Roman, Lady Claudia. I pray to the gods I will sleep from here to port. And when I awaken, I will wake with the strength of a dragon.”

  It was stifling in the dark cabin. Starling peeped as the ship rocked gently.

  Philo stuck his finger through the bars of the cage and stroked her head. “I know. It has been a very long journey. Only a few days more, and then we make port.”

  Pilate moaned in his sleep. He was too ill to get out of his bunk.

  Philo noticed that his mother was not in the cabin. As the Mercury had sped farther south and the nights grew warmer, Claudia had spent almost every night on deck beneath the stars. By now, it had become a habit.

  Philo called Jono, who slept in the corridor across the threshold.

  The big man rumbled his sleepy reply. “What is it, young master?”

  “I want to go up and see the stars.”

  The hinges squeaked as Jono cracked open the door and scooped cushions, boy, and birdcage in a single motion.

  As they climbed the gangway, the big man said, “I was hoping to sleep beneath the stars tonight. Somehow that makes the nausea less.”

  “I think Mother shall miss the sea when we are on land again.”

  “And so shall you, eh, boy?” Jono emerged into the warm wind and breathed in deeply.

  “Yes. Our journey will soon end, the captain said today. We are very close. What will it be like, Jono? You were there long ago. You know the land of the Jews.”

  Jono stood quietly a minute, as if scanning for Claudia. Philo spotted her silhouette near the bow and almost instantaneously Jono moved toward it, as if servant and boy were symbiotic.

  “The people are a strange lot. As the old man has told you, they have only one god and they will not eat the meat of a pig, though they be starving.” Jono jerked his thumb toward the heavens. “And they believe that stars tell a tale of paradise yet to come and a great righteous King who will rule the world. They call it the Promised Land, where we are going. Yes, I know it all sounds foolish, but they seem to be a happy people with many festivals and feasts.” He picked his way over rope coils and cargo. “And when they are not happy, they also have many riots and rebellions. They do not like to pay Roman taxes. For this reason your father must govern them. And they hate the gods of Rome.”

  “Mother,” Philo called, “you are sleeping beneath the stars?”

  “Come,” she instructed Jono. “Put him down here beside me.”

  Jono deposited Philo on her lap. “If you do not mind, my lady, I will rest in the bow and keep watch over you and the young master until day breaks.”

  She nodded her permission.

  “Philo,” she murmured, “if only we could stay in this moment and never sleep again. There is some mysterious wonder that stirs my heart tonight. As though I am about to live an adventure much greater than anything I ever dreamed.”

  Philo rested his head against her. “I feel it too. Excitement. Like everything is going to change for us. What can it be, Mother?”

  They sat in wordless awe at the vision of so many stars. By and by Jono slept in the bow. His snoring rumbled like quiet thunder.

  Philo grew suddenly very sleepy. He did not remember when he drifted off . . .

  It seemed like only minutes had passed before the dawn penetrated Philo’s dreams. His eyes opened to see gulls circling and crying overhead.

  His mother was awake. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Now she searched the horizon. “Good morning, Philo,” she said with some hint of sadness.

 
He looked up at her and smiled. “Good morning, Mother.”

  “I think we have spent our last night upon the sea.” She raised her hand and pointed. “Look there.”

  He lifted his head. In the distance, the outline of the land of the Hebrews loomed. “The Promised Land.”

  “Yes. At first light. I think it may be.”

  Starling chirped as white-winged gulls cried and floated above them in the breeze.

  “Do you smell that?” Claudia asked.

  Philo inhaled the scent of the new land. “It smells like . . . what is it? Not like Rome.”

  She caressed his hair. “Adventure, Philo. Vineyards, orchards, oak trees, and a whiff of cedar and blue sage. Yes.” She laughed, raising her face to the rising sun. “It smells like home, I think.”

  Jono held Philo up to face the wind in the bow of the ship. The ebony giant smiled and held a quiet conversation with the child. Claudia could not hear their words, but it did not matter. Philo was smiling.

  Josephus sat beside Claudia.

  “I can smell the land.” The elderly Jew raised his nose to the wind.

  “I don’t welcome arriving.” Claudia shrugged.

  “You have had peace, these weeks, at least. Pilate and Vara sick together. Perhaps there is justice in that.” He smiled at her. “And mercy for you of sturdy merchant stock on board our little island paradise.” He patted her hand.

  “I do love the solitude on board ship.” She hesitated. “There is no love lost between me and Vara, the interrogator of Caesar’s court.” She didn’t mention why Vara was really being sent to Judea.

  “That is unmistakable, Lady Claudia.” Josephus lifted a brow. “And perhaps an understatement.”

  Claudia managed a grin. “Vara is the sort of creature that, if the gods entered into the bodies of men, he would be inhabited by the very blackest, most evil god of all.”