Faithful Daughter of Israel

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  “Can you sing, dear?” Jochebed asked.

  “But Julian and I are not avowed celibates.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Julian’s mouth widen with a smile. Her face heated. “Will we be welcomed among them?”

  Jochebed was not the least perturbed. “For this one visit, yes. Besides, my fellow Therapeutae are likely to be so agog over the book of Enoch they will hardly spare you two a passing glance.”

  Anna and Julian shared a private, skeptical look. She could not imagine anyone overlooking her husband. Even out of uniform, his was a formidable presence. No, Julian did not blend in.

  He raised an inquisitive brow.

  Embarrassed to be caught staring, she ducked her chin.

  His arm pressed lightly against her arm. “Mother, you will be pleased to hear that later I plan to leave you to your rare scroll and to your celibate friends while I take an upriver trip to inspect the family farm.”

  Anna knew Jochebed preferred the country home. That Julian would go without her told her how highly her mother-in-law esteemed the Torah scrolls. Anna could not help but be disappointed over the prospect of losing Julian’s company, even if only for a few days.

  Julian’s warm mouth brushed Anna’s ear. “A trip up the Nile would be quite long and lonely. Will you accompany me?”

  Her insides heated. “With pleasure.”

  The visit to the synagogue should have kept her engrossed in the communal eating, singing, studying, and prayer. And in her first view of the Moses Seat, the large marble-carved chair placed in the primary place of honor, reserved for the archisynagogue, the ruler of the synagogue. Not even the grand finale, featuring the women’s choir joining their voices to the men’s choir distracted her long from the sweet allure of a leisurely trip up the Nile with her husband.

  Thirty-Two

  The gleaming white hippodrome of Alexandria marked the ends of the city limits and the start of their Nile journey. Julian loved it out here. With the stink and noisy bustle of the harbor far behind, the river ran flat and still.

  Seated on the wide couch that served as a bed by night, Anna had never looked lovelier. Surrounded by bright blue cushions, her brown hair shone with extra brilliance.

  Julian joined his wife, assured all the arrangements for the pleasure trip aboard the Rose of Sharon were in order. He propped an elbow on a small mountain of pillows and stretched out beside her. He and Anna enjoyed relative privacy, traveling with a minimal number of slaves, who were under orders to go unobtrusively about their duties.

  She pointed toward the hulking oval monstrosity now looming large before them. The loose sleeves of her tunic pooled at her shoulders. “For all its grand size, I think it by far the ugliest temple we’ve passed.”

  He did not spare the hippodrome a second look, as he had viewed the circus hundreds of times, but he had seen Anna’s bare arm only a handful of times. “That is because that oversized stadium is a Roman hippodrome and not a temple. I will take you there someday to see the chariot races.” Talk of a common future posed risk. He continued more carefully. “If the races are unpalatable to you, you could always view it as an opportunity to visit a place where one of your miracles occurred.”

  “Miracle?”

  “You know, Ptolemy IV ordering all the Jews of Egypt executed?”

  “Oh… the Maccabees.”

  “Yes, I thought you would know that one. Stories of avenging angels and drunken elephants tend to be unforgettable. Especially to children.”

  “I am surprised you know the story.” She pulled away. Puzzlement darkened her eyes. “For someone who claims never to have heard a word of Jewish ways, you seem awfully well informed about our scriptures and stories.”

  “Mother told them as bedtime stories. They did not seem any different to me than the fables my tutors taught. It was not until I got old enough to train with the boys at the gymnasium, and they called me names, that I connected my mother to the Jews. It was all very confusing. I loved Mother, but hated that she branded me a Jew.”

  “I am sorry you were teased.”

  The careless insults had ultimately worked to his good. “It made a fighter of me, and the Roman army proved a convenient place to hide. Act the fiercest warrior that ever lived, and they forget everything else about you.”

  He did not want to dwell on the past. “Why was Ptolemy so intent on killing his Jews?”

  “They were not Ptolemy’s Jews. All Jews, in all places, are the Lord’s special people.”

  He kissed her perfect nose. “My long acquaintance with two certain stubborn Jewesses leads me to believe Ptolemy might not have been totally to blame for the trouble.”

  She gave him a playful slap on the arm. “Ptolemy was on his way home from battle and puffed up from victory. He insisted on entering our Temple and was struck down by the Lord. Cheers resounded throughout Jerusalem, and he raced home in a rage and imprisoned all the Jews of Egypt in the hippodrome of Alexandria.”

  “Then he loosened five hundred drunken war elephants on them.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But the people prayed, and two angels appeared. Frightened, the elephants turned on the royal guard and trampled them to death. And now there are more Jews than ever in Alexandria.”

  He gathered her closer, envying her sense of belonging. He suspected that was why he needed Anna—she gave him that sense of arriving home.

  Seeing her face first thing in the morning, talking about this and that with her, all of it felt perfect, right, and good. Anna did not need him in the same way. She already belonged. Despite the recent patch of trouble, he did not doubt that with his mother’s help, Anna could slip back to live a happy life among her people. His mission to steal her for himself might constitute the most selfish act of his life. Success would relegate Anna to living at the fringes of her own world. His mother had endured it for love. Absent love, it was a lot to expect of someone. He loved Anna. But would his love suffice for both of them?

  His mother believed Anna suffered from a broken heart and needed only a little persuading to overlook his atheism. What would his wife think if he converted to Judaism? Would it make a difference to her? Probably. Though he was curious, it constituted a drastic step, one he would need to consider carefully.

  Should he beg, again?

  But he never begged anyone, for anything.

  He was not sure which cowardice he would hate himself for more. Going on his knees begging her to stay, or the years of overwhelming loneliness stretching before him if he failed to do so.

  What then? Return to his post in Jerusalem and be surrounded by Jews, except the one Jewess he longed to be with? Transfer to another post? Go to Rome and marry a Roman wife? Pursue dignitas and a place in the Roman Senate?

  Empty. Empty. Empty.

  Without Anna, all was vanity.

  The hippodrome passed from view. His vision blurred.

  For the first time in his life, Julian of Alexandria prayed to the Lord God of Israel, Oh, that the Nile went on and on and on.

  ∞∞∞

  The river boiled with crocodiles. A week on the Nile had not taught Anna to stop quaking at the sight of the diamond-backed creatures. Whether basking on the sundrenched banks, or a pair of beady eyes afloat on the water, or a jaw-stretching crunch on some unlucky prey, the crocs’ menacing presence always unnerved.

  Aside from the crocodiles, life aboard the floating oasis had taken on a dream-like quality. The Nile’s still waters, verdant banks, fertile plains, and brilliant sunsets and sunrises entranced and amazed her.

  Julian joined her at the rail. Arms encircling her, he rested his chin on her shoulder, and together they watched the roiling bubbles slip into the distance. The barge rounded a bend, and a pyramid and temple came into view.

  “Crocodilopolis… the crocs’ temple,” he said in her ear.

  Here was an opportunity to speak on the sensitive subject of his idol worship. “Crocodilopolis? I have to know more.”

  “It is called Arsinoe now,
but back in the times of the pharaohs it was a significant center for the cult of Sobek.”

  “Sobek?”

  “The cult worshipped the crocodile god, Petsuchos, represented by a lone croc the followers decorated with gold and gems and penned in the temple complete with sand, pond, and food. When it died the priests replaced it with another.”

  Having seen temples dedicated to animals ranging from honeybees to hippos, she was more interested in the first pyramid to cross their path. “Does this pyramid hold any important pharaohs?”

  “No. Just croc and priest mummies.”

  “Who built all this?”

  “Native Egyptians. Several hundred work my lands and groves. They still worship every creature under the sun, but less elaborately and in a more Greek and Roman fashion now. There is a Jewish Temple in Leontopolis. I can take you there one day, if you like?”

  “Jewish Temple? What do you mean by that?”

  “Just what I said. An exact replica of the Jerusalem Temple, complete with priests and sacrifices. Priests who claim better bloodlines than your current crop of high priestly families does.”

  “And the Jews of Alexandria sacrifice there?” She did not like the idea one bit. Sacrificing at a Temple other than the one in Jerusalem was blasphemous. If Jochebed asked her to join in, she would have to say no. But how could she refuse, especially considering all the woman’s kindness and generosity? “Does your mother pay tithes and homage there?”

  Julian chuckled. “Heavens no. In my innocent youth, I pointed out to my wise mother that Jupiter, Isis, and Apollo claimed temples of grand magnificence in countless cities across the Roman Empire. Her reply is the same clever one she gives anybody foolish enough to say otherwise. ‘One God. One Temple.’”

  Anna relaxed.

  He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I assume you do not want to visit Leontopolis?”

  “Oh, I want to see it out of curiosity, but that is all.” Anna turned into the kiss. “I would be pleased to have you take me there…someday.” She did not add any of the usual qualifiers—if, perhaps, maybe. Would he notice?

  For an answer, he scooped her up and turned for the curtained shelter hiding their bed.

  Her heart sped up. The end of the journey was close upon them. “There is not enough time.”

  Julian stopped and peered one way then the other. She recognized that look. It was the first hint since leaving Alexandria behind of the all-powerful Roman commander.

  “Drop anchor!” he bellowed.

  Thirty-Three

  Dressing hastily and donning the first real clothes they had worn in days, Anna stood with Julian at the bow of the Rose of Sharon watching the sleepy town of Arsinoe pass by. Her mother-in-law was called Jochebed of Arsinoe and must still have family here, but no mention had been made of it. Had Julian’s parents’ marriage been as blissful as Jochebed recalled?

  “Your mother and father were happy here?”

  “Anyone who knew them would say it was so. My parents not only married for love, but they stayed in love.” A smile curved his mouth. “Despite dire predictions from both set of parents and having to overcome a host of differences, they found happiness together. I envy them that.”

  “Did your mother’s family and the Jews of Arsinoe shun her?”

  “At first. But Mother’s enduring kindness has worn down the majority of her foes and earned her acceptance among them again.” He pointed to the largest building Arsinoe boasted. “Our synagogue. Mother made me promise to introduce you to everyone. I think she is looking forward to the prospect of causing another stir.”

  Her heart beat faster. There it was again—talk of a shared future—which appeared to enjoy his mother’s full blessing.

  The trip up the Nile, free from all outside influence and prejudices, proved she and her husband suited. It was becoming difficult to imagine a life without Julian in it. And the notion left her questioning her staunch belief heathens and Jews must never mix. Was she truly obligated to divorce her heathen husband, especially one declaring his readiness to abandon his idol-worshipping ways and showing real interest in Hebrew ways? Anna needed only a little more convincing. And, by every word and deed, Julian proved he meant to win her over.

  A life together with Julian meant this place would be her home, too. The size of the synagogue prompted a question. “Why such a large meeting house? Are there so many Jews here?”

  His hand found hers. “Egypt is home to several large Jewish exilic communities. Arsinoe is one such place. I trust that pleases you?” His mouth brushed her ear. “I have longed to show you my country home. My greatest desire is that you will love it as much as I do.”

  She squeezed his hand and looked out over Arsinoe. “I like it here. I feel as though I’ve come home.” She hoped he heard the depth of meaning behind what she said. The words of love she had not yet found the courage to speak.

  The barge glided to the grassy bank and came to a gentle stop. The bow rail was lowered, forming a convenient ramp onto dry land.

  “Welcome to our country home,” Julian said.

  She stared in awe.

  An ornamental garden formed a whimsical path to a multi-tiered, tiled-roofed villa sprawled along the face of two hills. The rich splendor of Julian’s childhood home did not match her idea of a farm. This place represented bucolic heaven.

  Julian offered her his arm and they made their way slowly up the path. The slaves kept a respectful distance away. “I will show you the house today and the nearby grounds. It will take several days for me to inspect all the groves, vineyards, and wheat fields. You can come along if you like, but I warn you, you will have to ride horseback.” Nonchalant about the vastness of his fortunes, he went on, “I will need to spend some time with my steward. You can spend that time acquainting yourself with the household slaves or exploring the gardens.”

  Boyishly handsome when at complete ease, this was a side of Julian she had not witnessed before. Enthusiasm sparkled in his eyes with each new object or detail pointed out. His deep love for the place was plain. And it suited him, too. Though he made an impressive soldier and commander, the mantle of master and caretaker to a vast country estate appeared an even better fit.

  “Your farm does well?”

  Julian smiled. “The most foolish of farmers could not help but do well here. The land is the most fertile in all the Roman Empire. And Rome’s policy of supplying her citizens with free bread guarantees a steady market for Egyptian wheat.”

  “As dear as your home sounds to you, I am surprised you live so far from it.”

  “Do you want to hear the sad truth?”

  A commotion came from the river. A small boat filled with rowers surged up onto the bank. A Roman soldier leapt off the bow and headed straight up the hill. His unmistakable hurry gave Anna a sense of foreboding. When she recognized Crispus, her stomach clenched. Something must be terribly wrong for him to come all the way from Jerusalem.

  Julian spared her a concerned look, then his calm, detached commander’s mask slipped back into place. He turned and strode off to face matters head on.

  She followed.

  With a bleak look, Crispus handed Julian a sealed letter.

  Julian ripped open the message and his face drained of color. He offered her a pained frown. “Herod Antipas has executed John the Baptist.”

  Anna reeled. “Lord help us. They killed the Lord’s prophet?”

  Thirty-Four

  Julian died inside watching the light go out of Anna’s eyes.

  Crispus looked equally disturbed over the Baptizer’s death.

  Curse Salome and Herodias to Hades. Persuading him to arrest John, when they meant murder for the prophet. Herod Antipas was equally duplicitous. Taking advantage of Julian’s absence to execute his harshest critic.

  Anna swayed in place. He offered her his arm. “I cannot tell you how sorry—"

  “Stay away from me.” Her voice was remote and cold.

  “Anna, please let
me explain.”

  She stared with unseeing eyes. “They murdered the Lord’s prophet.”

  He should have done more to protect John. “Salome and Herodias will pay for—"

  “Lord help us,” she repeated. “They killed a prophet.”

  He ached to hold and comfort her. “Anna, my love—"

  She reared back as though he was the vilest of creatures. “I am not your love. I could never love a murdering Roman.”

  The rebuke gashed open his heart. “You do not mean that.”

  Unhearing and unseeing, she dropped to her knees and rocked and keened for the dead prophet.

  He did what should have done a long time ago. “Anna the Jerusalemite, I divorce you.”

  She continued rocking.

  Crispus gripped his shoulder. “Give her time.”

  Why? So they could hurt each other over and over. “Take her to my mother.”

  “But—”

  “Take her and go.” The sound of Anna’s sorrowful weeping would haunt him forever. “Be sure to treat her with care.”

  Crispus gave a tight nod.

  Gutted, Julian did the most difficult thing of his entire life.

  He walked away.

  ∞∞∞

  A full day passed before Julian recovered enough of his wits to see to the estate duties that had necessitated the trip to Arsinoe in the first place. He spent untold days after that in the saddle, blindly inspecting olive groves and wheat fields, visiting various merchants, overseers, and tradesmen.

  To his shame, he wept daily and copiously over Anna. Any attempt to justify his part in the Baptizer’s death led to self-recrimination and despair. He hardly dared sleep for dread of Anna’s grief-stricken face haunting his dreams. The days proved no better. Visions of Anna ranging from her looking beautiful, to looking at him with loving gazes, to smiling caught him unaware, ruining whatever he put his hand to in the vain effort to forget her.

  The utter loneliness was the worst of it. It was not just Anna’s company he missed. Though he did miss her laugh and her soft breathing at night and watching her puzzle something out and every little thing about her. But the return to a life lived adrift and apart seemed far worse for having experienced a life lived to the full. He felt lonelier than ever.