Faithful Daughter of Israel

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  He did know about the feasts. Pilgrims swelled the population of Jerusalem to three or four times its normal size. They represented a royal pain to him as commander of the Roman guard. The Temple compound became a hive of activity. “I am surprised Simon did not visit the Temple more often.”

  “He said it was too much work.”

  “Work?”

  “The required ritual cleanings are harder on those of us working in the despised trades. The poor butchers are always beside themselves. Never busier than during the festivals, they are unavoidably soaked in blood from supplying meat to hundreds of pilgrims. And yet they must take time for purification.”

  “Commander, we’ve got trouble!” Crispus called out, pointing to the courtyard below.

  The captain of the Temple guard, one Zara the Levite, and a club-swinging detail of Temple guardsmen were striding toward a group of pilgrims. The pilgrims were striding with equal purpose toward the part of the Temple grounds reserved solely for Jewish men.

  “Crispus, sound the alarm and bring as many men as you can,” Julian ordered. “Everyone else follow me!”

  He hit the stairs running.

  Six

  When the last soldier disappeared down the stairway, Anna turned her attention to the Temple Courtyard. She heard Julian and his men before she saw them—their hobnailed sandals clattering over smooth stone, Julian’s deep voice issuing orders, and his men’s equally firm replies.

  Then Julian came into view. His movements graceful and easy, he unsheathed a deadly-looking sword.

  Her heart beat faster.

  He stood alone between the pilgrims and Temple guards who snarled at each other across the middle ground formed by his raised sword.

  Julian wielded the weapon as though it weighed nothing, pointing the blade in one direction and then the other.

  The pilgrims and guards buzzed with fury, unmindful of the Roman soldiers circling them.

  Anna chewed her lip.

  Julian was interfering in matters he did not understand. The pilgrims were most likely trying to sneak an illegal object or person past the vigilant Temple guards who were charged with keeping the Temple from being defiled, a task they took seriously.

  She would hate to see the pilgrims beaten by the club-wielding Temple Guards, but she was even more worried about what Julian and his soldiers might do.

  Julian sheathed his sword, and on the basis of his formidable presence alone, he held the peace.

  The fight drained from the pilgrims and guards.

  Watching him restore order, she could almost believe him capable of accomplishing the impossible task of finding her a husband.

  Until the shocking announcement, she was sure she would never marry. It was not only due to her plan to become a harlot. Simon had left her in a terrible fix by not marrying her, but not an entirely hopeless one. Most likely she could have found work as a servant in a respectable household if it had not been for the other—the accusation she was cursed.

  Her downfall had started as low whisperings behind her back. Then insults to her face. And finally outright hostility. No one had paid any attention to her before Simon’s death. Now, thanks to the gossips, everyone knew Cursed Anna.

  Added to this was the cruelty of the insults—death follows Cursed Anna… killing angel… curse of Jonah.

  Her tormentors were not wrong.

  Her life was a curse. Moving from place to place was a nightmare existence. The uncertainty she faced each time a new day dawned was a strain she was finding harder and harder to bear.

  Except a Roman soldier who did not believe in curses had stepped into her life and was offering to find her a husband. The announcement had sparked a tiny ray of hope where none had been.

  Several loose tendrils of hair floated in front of her face. She swiped at them. It was a useless gesture. Without a headscarf to hold her hair in place, it was untamable.

  A vivid picture of the last time she had ventured outdoors without a proper head cover flashed through her mind. Anna’s mother was calling her from the yard where she had been playing a running game with her brothers and sisters. She went breathless to her mother who stood framed in the doorway of their ramshackle house. Her teary-eyed mother captured Anna’s hair in one of her own worn scarves and tied it in place.

  She saw her mother telling her that Father would be taking her to Jerusalem the next day to live as a servant until it was time to marry. She would never forget her mother’s careworn smile as she had tucked the last of her silky locks under the kerchief and declared her a young woman now. Which meant she must wear a headscarf all the rest of her days. From that hour until last night it was a rule Anna had scrupulously followed.

  Uncovering her head as she had done the evening before to declare herself a harlot was a necessary evil. But to be standing in broad daylight, high above the Temple grounds, with her hair flying like a banner seemed a sacrilege so base she was surprised a bolt of lightning did not come out of the sky and strike her dead.

  A terrible thought entered her mind. Your days of visiting the Temple are at an end. The words rang so loud in her ears she was sure they had come from the heavens themselves.

  Had anyone taken notice? Save for Julian and Zara, the captain of the Temple guard, the courtyard was deserted.

  Gesturing wildly, Zara was complaining loudly to the Commander of Fortress Antonia.

  Julian wore a penetrating gaze, but the object of his focus was not Zara.

  He was staring up at her.

  Face heating, she turned and fled.

  ∞∞∞

  Julian cursed his weakness as he watched Anna disappear from sight. He should not have brought her to the fortress tower and then magnified the mistake by staring up at her, drawing Zara’s attention.

  A bull-like man with short sturdy legs and a broad chest, Zara the Levite stood watch over the Temple courtyards as if he owned them, ready to charge and trample sinners. “Who was that woman?”

  “She is not anyone you need worry about.”

  “Everyone and everything having to do with Temple worship concerns me, Roman!”

  Hatred for Roman soldiers ruled Jerusalem, but Zara’s abhorrence came with extra zeal thanks to his young wife deserting him for the previous commander of the fortress.

  “The woman is wife to one of my men.” Julian soothed, the lie slipping off his tongue as smoothly as warm honey.

  Zara looked skyward. “Is it not bad enough we must put up with foreign swine standing guard over us? Now we are to put up with their whores?”

  If the Levite thought addressing the heavens would lessen the insult, he was wrong. “I run the fortress the way I see fit, Zara, and I will do it without any comment from you.”

  The bullish man’s chest puffed. “We will not put up with your whores watching our sacred practices.”

  “And I told you the woman is no harlot but a married woman.”

  “That woman was flaunting her hair for all to see. That tells me all I need to know. And I know, as sure as I am standing here, that woman is a harlot.” He paused in thought. “There is something familiar about her face.”

  Julian’s pulse jumped. “Do you have private knowledge of harlots?”

  “It is my duty as commander of the Temple Guard to know those who are sinners. And to question anyone I suspect guilty of not following the proper cleansing rituals. I know all the lepers, butchers, physicians, launderers, ass and camel drivers, bath attendants, dung collectors, tanners—Wait. Wait. Her name is coming to me.”

  Julian kept his face carefully blank even as he cursed himself.

  Zara snapped his fingers. “She is the dung-collector’s servant. Or she was. The poor man and his sons are dead. She is called Cursed Hannah.”

  “It is Anna.”

  “Who?”

  Julian ground his teeth. “The woman’s name is Anna.”

  “It makes no difference.” Zara waved the distinction away like so many pesky gnats. “She is one wit
h the sinners now.”

  “She is starved and destitute now.”

  “That is no reason to go the way of sinners. There are means available to the poor. Our farmers are told to leave the remains of the harvest for the poor to glean. Or if she had a need to resort to something else, she could have chosen further servitude. But by turning to harlotry she has condemned herself.”

  The finality of the judgment worried Julian almost as much as it angered him. “She has not played the harlot…yet.” Even to his ear the argument sounded weak. He wondered why he bothered to waste his breath on the stubborn man.

  Zara did not disappoint. “She is here in the fortress with none but Roman men for company. I would say that settles the matter.”

  “It does not settle it for me.”

  “This business does not concern you, Roman, except for your duty to put the harlot out of the fortress. I expect you to be speedy about it.”

  “I have made it my business, Levite. And I will not have you, or anyone else, saying otherwise.”

  The Sanhedrin would have plenty to say about Anna. But Julian did not care.

  Zara stood his ground. “Hand the woman over.”

  “Anna is my…” Prisoner was not the correct word. “I have placed the woman under my protection.”

  “Is that so?” Zara stared up at the tower where Anna had stood. “To what end?”

  “I am going to find a husband for her.”

  Zara responded with a smirk, a twist of lips that said Julian did not know what he was talking about. A sneer that said Julian’s blustering was useless.

  “I do not want to hear one more word about Anna being a harlot,” he ordered, tempted to punch the smug look off the man’s face.

  Zara stared at him as if he were mad.

  Which was not far from the truth.

  Suddenly weary, Julian scrubbed his face. “We will discuss the unfortunate incident between the pilgrims and guards with Governor Pilate at his next scheduled visit.”

  “Wait if you will, Roman. I however, will be part of a delegation bringing the matter before Pilate in Caesarea. And I will be doing it without delay.”

  Zara marched across the deserted courtyard.

  Julian scanned the empty expanse.

  He would rather shove slivers of wood under his fingernails than admit the Temple and its environs made him uneasy.

  A trip to Caesarea was in order. This morning’s near riot was the most serious incident to occur during his short tenure as commander of Fortress Antonia. A written report alone would not do. He wanted his version heard first. And while he was at it, he could search out a husband for Anna.

  He had more than one reason for wanting Anna out of Jerusalem. Asking himself why he had risked taking her up to the observation tower in the first place, he did not like the answer. He had wanted to see her smile.

  Without his interference, Anna might have lived as peaceable a life as any harlot in Jerusalem could expect to live. Now, thanks to him, Zara would view Anna’s presence as a direct threat to his authority. Zara and his cronies might go so far as to incite the crowds to stone Anna or drive her into the wilderness.

  Julian was off for Caesarea.

  He headed back to the fortress, and yes, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end with nervous expectation on account of the Jews’ mysterious, all-powerful god.

  Seven

  This day was proving to be the strangest of Anna’s life.

  First was the morning’s disastrous visit to the tower and her fleeing and getting lost among the fortress’s many winding, identical halls and stairways. Then Julian’s finding her and stating he was leaving for Caesarea immediately. And more shocking yet, he informed her he was taking her with him.

  After giving her over to the care of another soldier, he had hurried off.

  That was hours ago.

  The soldier in charge had procured new clothes for her. The heavy veils, shapeless dress, and smothering cloak covering her were the type favored by the Pharisees’ wives. They made her unrecognizable, which she supposed was the point.

  Then she was handed to a woman who instructed Anna to follow her on a silent, zigzag journey through the narrow alleys of Jerusalem and out a little-used gate. The woman delivered her to a group of foot soldiers, who in turn led Anna to this remote donkey path.

  Without a speck of shade to be found, the heat was as oppressive as it was inescapable. The dead air was not wholly responsible for Anna’s breathless state or for the sickening dizziness swimming in her head or for the loud buzzing in her ears.

  No, the fault for her distress lay with the half dozen Roman soldiers staring expectantly down at her from very large horses.

  Julian was among them, holding his hand out to her.

  She looked back over her shoulder. The soldiers who had escorted her out of Jerusalem were already marching away.

  She peered up through the thick veil at Julian and the horse.

  He beckoned her to come closer.

  It was not the idea of riding horseback that made her nervous—though the notion was so foreign she might as well have been asked to fly. No, her discomfort had more to do with the powerful man watching her. What possible reason could he have for taking her to Caesarea?

  Her mouth dry as the Dead Sea, she glanced at the other soldiers.

  Wearing amused smiles, the half-dozen men appeared highly interested in the ongoing stalemate.

  Julian blew out an impatient breath, dismounted, reached her in two steps, scooped her up and planted her on his horse.

  He swung up onto the saddle and encouraged the horse into motion.

  She grabbed the animal’s mane in a death grip. “Help! Stop!”

  The evil beast jumped ahead instead.

  She slipped to one side.

  With the probability of remaining on the horse very much in doubt, she greeted with real relief the strong arm pulling her back in place and the solidity of the chest she bumped against.

  “Relax.” Julian pressed his lips to her head cover.

  The several layers of elaborate fabrics were no proof against the warmth caressing her ear and curling round her neck, putting the suggestion she relax out of the question.

  “Let me down,” she demanded through the stifling veils.

  Julian stripped away the head covering, and her hair flew free for all the men to see.

  She gasped and reached for the veils. “What are you doing?”

  “I could not hear you.” He smoothed the blowing strands.

  Was he deranged? Julian was riding one-handed, holding both her and the horse’s reins in one hand.

  She grabbed his hand and guided it back to her waist. “Put me down.”

  “You are not in danger. I could ride a horse in my sleep.”

  The insufferable man probably could ride the horse deaf, blind, and dead.

  “I would rather walk.”

  Good Jews walked or rode a donkey. Using litter bearers or horses was the realm of Hellenized Jews, who followed Greek ways.

  “I must reach Caesarea in all haste,” Julian answered.

  “What is your hurry and why take me?”

  “Are you always this full of questions?”

  A sudden, horrible thought struck.

  She twisted around. “A Gentile husband is not an acceptable choice.”

  Julian’s face hardened and his eyes frosted.

  Foolish her. Here she was worried over a war horse when she had neglected a bigger hazard. She was alone in the wilderness with Roman soldiers. Tales abounded of their wanton wickedness. Soldiers had burned the Torah and committed torture, murder, and rape. What was to stop these Romans from knocking her on the head and leaving her in the Judean hills for dead? Or once they reached Caesarea what or who was to keep the Romans from selling her into slavery or whoredom? And why did she have such implicit trust in a man she had not even known for a whole day?

  “I would rather not marry a Gentile, but if it is all you
can manage, it will do.”

  Julian encouraged the horse into a breakneck gallop.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the horse.

  The horse left the ground and sailed through the air, presumably to jump some unknown obstacle.

  Anna’s thoughts disintegrated into nothingness.

  Eight

  Skirting the fallen tree would have been easier and more sensible, but nowhere near as satisfying as the feel of the horse sailing effortlessly through the air. Anna’s indiscriminate disdain for Gentiles angered Julian. She must be made to pay.

  The horse landed with a thud and pitched forward.

  Anna grasped his thighs and leaned back against him.

  Her head struck him hard under the chin.

  His teeth clacked together and he twisted away, inadvertently yanking on the reins.

  The horse reared.

  Julian was not overly concerned. He could handle the horse. Handling the frightened woman trying her best to kill them both was another matter.

  His men shouted indistinct warnings as they raced to catch up.

  The horse plunged over a steep decline.

  Anna clawed at his chest and face.

  Thank the gods for a strong, capable horse. Julian hauled on the reins with one hand and hugged the distraught Jewess with the other.

  Both he and the horse somehow managed to stay upright.

  Anna was wrapped tightly around him and whimpered softly.

  The horse halted a mere arm’s length from a rocky streambed. The shallow water would not have posed any danger to them, but among the jagged rocks the horse’s legs could have easily snapped.

  Julian patted her back, feeling guilty for enjoying the feel of her body pressed to his.

  “I do not ever want to ride a horse again.” She hiccupped between each word.

  “If you say so,” he said agreeably, seeing no use in pointing out that she had little choice in the matter. It was either ride horseback or walk. And he was not about to walk the rest of the way to Caesarea.

  His priority of the moment was to put some distance between himself and his charge. Their current position was neither seemly nor wise.