Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate: A Novel (19 page)

“I owe you much, Joanna. Does my husband know you did this?”

The older woman shook her head and sighed. “No, my lady, he credits the gods for giving you your life back and has gone to make sacrifices.”

Claudia began to weep. She had given birth to the son Lucius wanted and he was flawed. As paterfamilias, head of his household, Lucius had the right to accept the boy, or because of the deformity, he could order her to get rid of him.

“My husband . . . how long was he here?”

“He was at your side for hours. A matter came up that demanded his attention and he had to go. We are to send for him the moment you awoke.”

Claudia needed to see Lucius. She must know how he was feeling about their child. She looked toward the door and Hotep, anticipating her need, hurried to the door. “I will tell your husband our Domina is awake and seeking him.”

Claudia forced herself to speak. “I am grateful, Joanna. Thank you for all you’ve done.” She looked down at the small, perfect face and grimaced with pain as she watched his small mouth move. She
held him to her and marveled. Except for the foot, he was a beautiful child. A fierce anger rose in her. She would not give up her son, even for Lucius. The tears flowed again.

Joanna wiped her face with a damp cloth. “Hush now, my lady. You have given birth and you must regain your strength. The Lord God has given you a son.”

“But I don’t believe in your god, Joanna.”

The woman smiled gently. “He believes in you, my lady.”

The door opened and Lucius strode quickly to her bedside and stood looking down as she held her son tightly to her. There were tears in his eyes. He was a Roman soldier through and through, and she knew it was hard for him to show weakness in front of others.

“I thought I lost you as well as our son.”

Our son. Would he feel the same when he knew about the foot?

Lucius reached down and gathered the small bundle from her arms. He gazed wonderingly down at this new life, as she thought fathers through the ages must have done.

She watched him with fear, like a shadow, constricting her heart, and spoke haltingly. “He is not perfect, Lucius.”

Something in her tone caused him to narrow his eyes. “Not perfect?”

“His right foot, Lucius. Our son has a deformed foot.”

He quickly unwrapped the linen from the baby’s legs, and he stared at the small deformity for a long moment.

She watched his face and waited, holding her breath.
Give him back to me, please, Lucius. Don’t take him away.

“Oh Lucius, I’m so sorry. I have been searching my mind for anything I might have done to have this happen. Do you think the gods are angry with us for not honoring them properly at our wedding?”

He didn’t answer, but slowly wrapped the baby’s legs again and then leaned down and placed their son in her arms. “He is our son. The gods have given us this challenge for their own reasons.”

She wept with relief. “Oh Lucius, I was afraid . . .”

Hotep returned from the kitchen with a bowl of something hot and
a small loaf of fresh bread. She came forward hesitantly. “The lady Joanna sent me for this nourishing chicken soup.”

Lucius took the tray and handed it to Joanna, then picked up his small son and handed him to Hotep, who cooed softly and gently rocked him.

Joanna tucked a cloth under Claudia’s chin. “The soup is a favorite of our people when we are ill. It will strengthen you.” She settled the tray in her lap and began to spoon soup in Claudia’s mouth.

Lucius touched his wife’s cheek with his finger. “I must go. I will return later to see how the two of you are doing.” He leaned down and kissed her and left the room.

Claudia watched him go and dutifully ate the soup. She closed her eyes, weariness overtaking her again.

Joanna resumed feeding Claudia. “You must give your body time to heal, my lady. You must not carry another child for at least a year.”

A year? Claudia knew there was only one way she could prevent that. “And you have spoken to my husband of this?”

Joanna nodded.

“What was his response?”

“My lady, he wishes your health above all things.”

Claudia turned her face to her pillow and large tears rolled down her cheeks. She and Lucius loved each other. He seldom slept in his own quarters. How would he manage a year of celibacy? Who would he turn to? As she wrestled with her thoughts, a new emotion filled her heart—jealousy.

 28 

W
hile Lucius had wished to postpone the naming of the child until they returned to Caesarea, it was the custom to have the naming ceremony eight days after the birth. Claudia was not yet well enough to travel and so it was held privately in the castle in Jerusalem. To his surprise and consternation, his wife beseeched him to allow the Greek name, Doros, which meant “gift,” as the child’s
praenomen
, the given first name. She felt that her surviving the difficult birth was a gift. He reflected on this and while having his wife recover was indeed a gift to him, it was with reluctance that he finally agreed. The boy’s
nomen
, his second name and that of his clan, would be Pontius and his
cognomen
, or third name would be Pilatus. Lucius was firm on that, wishing to follow accepted Roman customs. Claudia had looked at him with such love and happiness, he felt justified in deviating from custom on the first name.

Now he looked back on his decision with chagrin. He could imagine the comments of his compatriots when they learned the boy’s name. Perhaps he had been hasty. He sighed. There was no changing it now, but he didn’t want to be perceived as weak in bowing to the whims of his wife!

There were few Romans in Jerusalem that Lucius wished to invite to the ceremony, and he felt a low profile should be kept of any Roman
ceremonies while in Jerusalem, knowing there was still an undercurrent of distrust among the Jews over the banner incident.

The
crepundia
, a necklace of tiny metal trinkets, had been placed around the baby’s neck according to Roman custom and the sound they made seemed to amuse him. Lucius provided the
bulla
, an elaborate gold locket that Doros would wear until the day he became a man in the eyes of Rome and received the white toga signifying his Roman citizenship.

Lucius had duly registered the boy’s birth according to the decree of Caesar Augustus introduced many years before. Indeed, in less than a year it would be time for the Roman census again when he must register all he owned. So far there had been no negative communication from Tiberius, or Sejanus for that matter, and he could breathe freely for a while.

His thoughts were interrupted by the official Roman scribe, who asked, “The name—Greek, is it not?” His look was almost accusing.

“There is a reason,” was all Lucius could mutter and stared him down, daring him to speak of it. The official wisely held his peace.

They had remained in Jerusalem while Claudia recovered her strength and the Jewess, Joanna, assured Lucius the baby was strong enough to travel. He reflected on the good fortune of having her there at the time of birth. She had proved herself extremely capable and, according to Hotep, had saved Claudia’s life. In his gratitude, he was willing to listen to her advice over that of the physician, who had told him there was nothing he could do. Lucius ground his teeth. The man was obviously incompetent.

Lucius considered his son’s deformed foot and remembered the fear in his wife’s eyes. He could not deny the child for he would lose the love of his wife, and he loved her to a point that surprised him. He had cared for no one in the rise of his career. Women were only for his pleasure. Then he had seen Claudia and still felt the astonishment
that this beautiful woman, the granddaughter of the Emperor Augustus, was his.

When at last he was assured they could leave Jerusalem, he couldn’t return to Caesarea fast enough. He had ordered their carpentum lined with cushions. In the care of her handmaids, Claudia and their small son had made the journey back to Caesarea.

His concern for Claudia had been so great, anticipating the possibility of her death, that he was eager to make sure she was cared for in every way.

He brooded over the dinner he had shared with Claudia privately. It was difficult to do often, for there were times when he had guests in the city on business for the emperor and it was expedient to dine with them alone.

As he prepared to dine with some Roman officials, he reflected again on the words of the Jewess and knew she spoke the truth. Claudia must recover and it would take time, time when he must be celibate. Then a nagging shadow touched his mind. She had endured a very difficult time with this birth. Would she be able to bear other children? He had a son and heir, but would the foot hinder the boy in life? As a man, he wanted a son to bear his name. Now he was faced with a dilemma. He had never dishonored their marriage with other women as he knew friends in the military and senate had done, yet facing a year of abstinence, he balked.

After several months in Caesarea, he was restless, and frustrated. His wife’s attentions were centered on their son. He had plunged into his work, spending long hours in his study. He needed a project, something to totally occupy his mind. An idea formed.

He’d studied the water supply for Jerusalem and had received reports that the city had a desperate need for additional water. The problem had been greatest when the city was flooded with pilgrims for the various holy days. Four times a year he had to be on alert with his soldiers to oversee the city when the Jews were required to travel there for worship. He felt it was vital to find a way to bring more water into Jerusalem.

The source of water was a long way off. It would take an aqueduct and the skill of a good engineer, but it would also take a great deal of money. He had the idea, but not the funds. How did the emperor expect him to govern this difficult province with so little? He thought a moment and then smiled to himself. There was another source of money and he intended to use it.

With a goal in mind, he made a special trip to Jerusalem and took temporary quarters in the Antonia with his troops. The next day he gave his tribune a message for Caiaphas, the high priest, to come with the other Jewish leaders to the audience hall on a matter of grave importance. He was tempted to add, “at once,” but considering what he would be asking, felt compelled to add, “at their convenience.”

Lucius poured over a diagram of the city of Jerusalem with his architect and designer. Together they drew the course that the aqueduct must take to supply more water to the city. It would need to be built a distance of forty kilometers, four furlongs, from the hills south of the city. Supplies and materials were estimated, as well as the man-hours to build the aqueduct. Because it was sorely needed, Lucius reasoned to himself that this would give him a more favorable relationship with the Jews.

Two days passed, and just as Lucius was losing patience with the delay of Caiaphas, he was notified that the Jewish leaders had come and were waiting for him. With purpose of mind, Lucius strode into the hall and had chairs brought for their comfort. He knew they could not eat with him in his dining room because of their abominable customs, but he knew they would accept refreshments in the hall, a neutral area. He ordered wine to be brought.

Caiaphas slowly lowered himself on a chair and the other leaders followed suit. The high priest eyed Lucius skeptically, clearly uncomfortable.

Lucius considered his words. “Thank you for coming. There is a
matter of grave importance I wish to discuss with you. I have noted that the water supply to Jerusalem is extremely inadequate to supply the needs of the people, especially when the city is crowded on Holy Days. It is my responsibility to make sure these needs are addressed. Therefore I have drawn up plans to build an aqueduct from a considerable distance to supply additional water for the city.”

The leaders murmured with Caiaphas a moment, then the high priest turned back to Lucius. “This is a worthy goal, your Excellency. We indeed need the water, but have you sent for us just to notify us of this decision?”

“No, I am going to need your assistance. There is not enough money in the allotment from the emperor for Judea to pay for such an undertaking. I have been informed that you have the funds that would make this possible.” He stared steadily at them as they again murmured to one another.

“Excellency, what is this money you are intimating that we have for such a project?”

Lucius sat back, keeping his face bland as he spoke the words. “It is called Corban.”

There was a shocked silence and the leaders all began speaking at once.

“Those funds are holy!”

“It is set aside for God.”

“This is sacrilege!”

Caiaphas stood angrily and shook his staff at Lucius. “That is impossible. You may not have the use of those funds, they belong to the Temple.”

Lucius glared at him. “May I remind you that you hold your office at the direction of the emperor? Your own people need the water. You would deny them this need to preserve those funds? For what? Would not your god approve of this money being spent to help his people?”

Caiaphas waved a hand in exasperation. “Excellency, you must understand. This money is not to be used for this purpose.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “I behold the fine garments you wear, and the fine houses you live in. You serve as priests but are not lacking in any luxury. I suspect this money is not used for your god’s purposes, but for your own.”

There was a shocked silence and then the priests began to protest again. Lucius realized he had struck a note of truth. Disgusted with the lot of them, he raised a hand. “Silence! This is not a matter for discussion. I will send my soldiers to receive the funds from you tomorrow. This audience is over.” He rose from his seat of judgment and strode from the room.

When the funds had been placed in an account for the project, Lucius, still smoldering at the arrogance of the Jewish leaders, left Jerusalem. His architect and designer had been given his orders to begin hiring the workers for the aqueduct. Lucius noted that while the Jewish leaders were irate over the project, it didn’t stop Jewish men from signing up to work on the project in droves. His eyes narrowed and a smirk crossed his face. They needed money to feed their families, and evidently they had no scruples about receiving the Corban money for their pay.

He rode furiously back to Caesarea, and though feeling a pang of regret for the strength of his horse, they were both spent by the time he arrived and turned the animal over to the soldier in charge of the stables. The soldier noted the horse almost foaming at the mouth, and there was a question in his eyes, but he remained silent, saluted his superior, and took charge of the exhausted animal.