Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate: A Novel (29 page)

“Pater?” Doros looked up, his face a combination of delight and concern. “Are you well, Pater?”

“I am well. Sleep now, my son.” He reached down and touched Doros’s face.

The little boy smiled happily, enjoying the rare attention from his father.

Lucius looked down at his son for a moment and then turned and slowly left the room.

As Claudia watched him, she wondered what Lucius was thinking. Had not the sons of Sejanus been little boys like Doros once? Apicata
had nurtured them and, when they were small, tucked them in their beds. How devastated she must have been to learn they were both murdered because of their father. Then, suddenly Claudia saw again in her mind the mother of Jesus, wiping his face with a cloth as he struggled under the burden of the heavy beam in the street. He may have been God’s Son, but she had given birth to him and raised him. Pain struck like a heavy blow to her heart. What awaited Doros if they were recalled to Rome? She drew herself up and, with a mother’s resolve, vowed to protect her son with her life.

When the door between the two rooms was closed, Claudia and Lucius were alone. He sat down heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands. She knelt at his feet, her hands on his knees.

“Do not despair, my love, I will pray that the Most High God have mercy and spare you from the emperor’s wrath. You have been far away for so long that perhaps the emperor will not connect you with Sejanus. You have had nothing to do with his actions these past five years. Whatever happens, we will face it together.”

He looked down at her, tears in his eyes, and reached out a hand. He cupped her chin. “You are always my comfort, beloved. There is nothing we can do but wait.”

“You have done well, Lucius, just continue to govern the best way you know.”

He stood up and gently drew her to himself. “Whatever happens, you have been the light of my life, beloved. I do not fear for myself, but for you and my son. If I am recalled to Rome, I will send you and Doros to the Villa Ponti, and if that is still too close to Rome, our family has a villa in Vienne. It is seldom used but is adequate. It could be far enough away to protect you from Tiberius.”

“I am his ward, the granddaughter of Augustus. Surely he would not harm me.”

He took her by the shoulders. “That is not something you can count on. Look at what happened to the family of Sejanus.”

“You have not committed treason, Lucius. You have not done the
things Sejanus has done with an eye on taking the throne from Tiberius.”

“No, but I could lose my position as governor. My lands and possessions could be taken away. Who knows what Tiberius will do?”

She shivered against him. “Hold me, Lucius. I need you so.”

With his arms tight around her, he leaned down and kissed her slowly. “And I am in need of you, beloved.”

 42 

C
laudia went to the garden and sank down on a stone bench to think. She wrapped her shawl closer around her shoulders. The sun shone, but the air was cool still. As she watched butterflies sailing from flower to flower, their golden wings fluttering in the slight breeze, she remembered wanting to catch one as a child in Reggio. Their old gardener, Cato, had told her solemnly that if she touched the wings, the beautiful creatures would not be able to fly again. What freedom they had to fly where they wished.

She wondered if she would take Doros to the Villa Ponti or the villa in Vienne. Did Tiberius know about the villa in Vienne? Lucius said it was held in the name of his cousin in Rome, and few people knew about it. If Lucius was recalled to Rome, that is where she would go, before Tiberius knew she was gone.

Claudia turned just then and saw Lucius standing at the entrance to the garden. She rose and went to him, her eyebrows raised in question.

“I must see to a problem at the Antonia with the auxiliary troops. There is an uproar—probably over their pay again.” He shook his head angrily. “That is the problem of having native troops. Throwing Syrians, Samaritans, Idumeans, and Nubians together like a pot of stew and expecting them to all get along. A more unruly and undisciplined
group I’ve not known in all my years in the army. I may not be back until late this evening.”

She watched him walk away, the burden of his governorship bowing his shoulders.

They returned to Caesarea for the late spring and summer. While Claudia would miss Jerusalem and the band of believers that seemed to be growing every day, she loved the sound and smell of the sea. At night she could lie in bed and hear the waves crashing against the breakwater. In Jerusalem she was confined to the palace because of the unruly element of the city, but in Caesarea she was free to attend the marketplace and accompany Lucius to various events.

In Caesarea she and Lucius attended the theater. The histrions, as the actors were called, made Lucius laugh, if only for an evening, and took his mind off the worries of his office.

The chariot races were a favorite of her husband. She loved to see the horses with their manes flying and their hoofs churning up the soft earth of the arena. Doros would clap his hands in delight.

He was nearly four and Claudia was teaching him to read Latin. She showed him the letters of the alphabet on a wax tablet and had him trace the letters with his finger as she had been taught by her grandmother years before. Soon he was carefully making the letters himself with a stylus. She had only a few years until he was seven, when he would go to a regular teacher and Claudia’s influence on him would be diminished. She prayed every day for the right teacher for him. One that would not lead him back to the Roman gods, but who knew the true God.

Lucius seemed to tolerate her faith as long as it did not interfere with what he had to do. Sometimes he listened to her as she shared and sometimes she sensed it was a time to be quiet and just lend him her strength. Her faith in the Lord was a constant source of joy to her, and she felt peace settle over her spirit when she prayed.
Yet while Claudia grew in her faith, to her dismay, Lucius seemed to revert to crueler measures to keep the peace at all costs. Isolated when in Jerusalem, she heard stories in bits and pieces, whispered by the palace staff.

The Jews still rankled over the matter of using the Corban for the aqueduct, but other than the usual small crimes of a city, Jerusalem was peaceful. Like a sleeping giant, the huge city sprawled over the hills, awakening on high holidays when the masses poured into the Holy City. During those days, every soldier was on high alert.

Lucius rode ahead of the carpentum bearing his family and Hotep. He sensed a lifting in his spirit as he put Jerusalem and the troublesome Jews behind him and returned to Caesarea. The garrison there held soldiers more disciplined than the ones in Judea, and he could relax his hold a little, trusting the officers he’d put in charge.

As he rode, he had time to think and his mind turned to the religion his wife had embraced. She was discreet, sharing some of the information about this strange rabbi, Jesus. He still scoffed at the idea that Jesus had risen from the dead, yet she told him there were dozens of witnesses to the fact.

The one who puzzled him most was one of the Teacher’s disciples by the name of Peter. The man was an ignorant fisherman, unlearned and crude, but after a strange incident having to do with what they called the Holy Spirit, the man had preached with courage of conviction, and over three thousand people had gone to be baptized and follow the teachings of Jesus. The city had literally buzzed with this amazing performance.

Lucius knew the leaders were watching Peter, and he sensed, to his amusement, their total frustration. They thought by killing Jesus that they had ended this teaching for good.

Instead, the disciples spread the teaching even farther. His soldiers were told to be on the alert for any sign of a rebellion or insurrection,
but so far these believers seemed content to meet with each other in various homes to sing their hymns and share stories.

His brow furrowed. What was there about this dead rabbi who inspired such loyalty and belief? More and more stories came to him about those who had seen this risen Jesus. Chuza the steward seemed like a levelheaded man, thorough in his duties, yet he too was a believer in Jesus, his wife, Joanna, one of the rabbi’s followers. All over Rome and the provinces there were statues of the Roman gods, so people could see whom they were worshiping. How could one worship an invisible God?

“You are deep in thought, Excellency.” His tribune had ridden up to join him.

Lucius glanced at him. “The events of the last few months puzzle me. Have you heard rumors of that Jewish rabbi who was crucified being alive?”

The tribune shrugged. “Perhaps he wasn’t completely dead, Excellency. He might have revived in the tomb.”

“Impossible. I ascertained his death before releasing him to Joseph of Arimethea, a leader in the Sanhedrin. I was assured by my centurion that Jesus died before the sword was even thrust into his side.”

The tribune nodded, thoughtful.

“So you think this Jesus is alive?”

“I have no proof, Excellency, other than the account of witnesses who swear they saw him.”

Lucius shook his head. “These are difficult times, Tribune. I’m not sure I understand them myself. The Jews are a strange people with strange beliefs. I’m always glad to return to Caesarea.”

The tribune was dismissed and rode on. Lucius turned back to ride alongside the coach. Doros put a hand outside the window and waved at him. On impulse, Lucius had the coach stop.

He lifted Doros in front of him on the horse. The little boy was apprehensive at first, but safe in his father’s arms, he beamed. As the horse jogged along slowly, Doros fell asleep against him. Lucius looked
down at the boy’s tousled hair and was filled with pride in his son. He and Claudia had hoped for another child, but so far there had been no indication of a pregnancy. She had gone through a dangerous birth with Doros. He had almost lost her. Was she now unable to conceive again? He had made offerings to Juno, the goddess of the well-being of women, on Claudia’s behalf, but to no avail. At least he had a son to carry on the family name and for that he was grateful. He rode back to the coach and gently lifted the sleeping child down to his mother’s arms. He tipped two fingers to his forehead, then rode back to the head of the detail.

Claudia watched him ride away, still tall and handsome. It appeared he would be left as governor of Judea, but for how long? Would they ever return to the Villa Ponti? Would she ever be mistress of her own home? And Medina. Had the old servant gone there after the death of her grandmother? She leaned back against the seat of the coach, holding Doros against her, and gazed out the window of the coach at the countryside. Lucius had not heard from the emperor in Jerusalem, but what awaited them in Caesarea?