Daughter of Jerusalem

by Joan Wolf

  His eyes shifted briefly from my face. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  The question was directed to the young man who was sitting next to me. It was phrased as a question, not a command, but the young man jumped up as if the emperor himself had spoken.

  “Not at all, Legatus,” he said and moved away quickly, without even excusing himself to me.

  “That was rather overbearing,” I remarked as Marcus sat down on the couch, much closer to me than the young man had been.

  He shrugged, then stretched his arm along the curved back of the couch and turned his body toward me. “What’s the use of being the commander if you can’t command?”

  I smiled faintly. “I suppose that’s so.”

  “How was the play?”

  His lion’s eyes were fixed on my face with total intensity. I could feel his gaze all the way down in my stomach.

  “Entertaining enough, I suppose,” I replied with forced lightness. “It was one of Plautus’ sillier comedies.”

  The rest of the party had moved into the garden; later I would wonder if Julia had deliberately steered them all away from us. However it may have happened, when I glanced around for help, I realized that Marcus and I were alone. The murmur of voices seemed very far away. The moonlight was streaming through the open ceiling and reflecting off the pool. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

  He took my hand. I tried to pull it away, but he held it tight. He bent his dark head down to mine. “Mary, you must know how I feel about you. Stop pushing me away. We can do better than this, we two.”

  I forced myself to breathe. “I cannot become your lover, Marcus,” I replied, wishing my voice sounded more forceful. “I am not a Roman, I am a Jew. My God isn’t like your gods. My God demands that I be a faithful wife, as all the renowned women in our scriptures were faithful.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his gaze became even more intense. “Has that old man ever given you a single moment of pleasure, my love? I think not. I can love you the way you deserve to be loved, Mary.”

  He had called me his love. I felt as if my heart would burst out of my chest.

  I pushed myself to my feet. “I can’t stay here with you, Marcus!” I cried wildly. “Tell Julia I want a litter. I must go home! I must go home right now.”

  His green eyes glittered between his thick black lashes. “Don’t fight me, Mary. You know you don’t want to.”

  “I have to,” I said desperately. “Go away, Marcus! Go away!”

  Chapter Twelve

  I scarcely slept that night, and in the morning I went to see my husband. He went most days to his warehouse in the city, but I was able to catch him before he left. When I asked to speak to him, he took me into the room off the courtyard where he kept his account books, his business papers, and his money chest.

  While Jewish women in Sepphoris had adopted much of the Roman way of dress, Jewish men still kept to the robe and tunic that had been standard for our people for centuries. For a brief moment I compared in my mind the figure of my aging husband, with his big belly and skinny arms, to the figure of masculine perfection that was Marcus, and I winced.

  Aaron sat on the stool behind the room’s one table, which was empty except a carved wooden box. “What is it, Mary? I’m meeting today with a man from Lebanon who has wood he wants to ship to Rome. I don’t want to be late for the appointment.”

  “I would like your permission to go to Bethany to visit my brother and sister, my husband.”

  He frowned suspiciously. “Why?”

  I had spent half the night trying to come up with a good reason for the visit, but the best I could answer was “I miss them. They’re my only close kin, and it will do me good to spend some time with them.”

  “You’ll see them when we go to Jerusalem for Passover. You know I always allow you to stay with them then. I cannot afford to dispatch a contingent of men to escort you to Bethany just now. I’m too busy.”

  “Aaron, please. I want to go. I need to go. Don’t deny me this, I beg you.”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave me a long look. “Does this have anything to do with Marcus Novius Claudius?”

  My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

  “I may be old, but I’m not a fool, Mary. Nor am I deaf. I’ve heard the gossip about the two of you. All of Sepphoris has heard it by now.”

  I swallowed. “Aaron, nothing has happened between us, I promise you. It’s true that he has been pursuing me, and that’s why I want to get away from Sepphoris for a while. And if the gossip is really rampant . . . well, surely you can see that it will be best for me to go to Bethany.”

  There was a calculating look in his eyes. “You have been refusing his advances, then?”

  “Yes, my husband! I’ve been a faithful wife. I haven’t betrayed your honor, I swear.”

  Aaron pushed his stool back and folded his arms on his chest. His bare toes, with their thick yellow nails, protruded from brown leather sandals as he stretched his legs in front of him.

  “I said I wasn’t a fool, Mary, but you are not a fool either. Has it never occurred to you how useful a liaison with Marcus Novius Claudius might be to the both of us?”

  My mouth dropped open. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  His voice was perfectly reasonable. “I’m telling you to give the Roman what he wants, Mary. It will benefit the both of us.”

  What could he mean? I didn’t understand him at all. He was already getting most of the Roman business! I said carefully, “Aaron, what advantage could we possibly reap from my sleeping with Marcus Novius?”

  He looked down at the empty table, then he looked up. His voice quivering, he said, “A child.”

  I understood immediately, and I was filled with pity. He was so desperate for a son that he would take one any way he could get one. I answered in the most sensible voice I could command. “Aaron, you don’t want the child of a stranger and a pagan to inherit all you have. God has seen fit not to give you children, and you must accept that.”

  He slammed his hand on the desk. “I will not accept that! A Jew is the child of a Jewish mother, and you are a Jew. Your son will be a Jew, and that is good enough for me, Mary. I’ll raise him, and he will be my son as well.” He gestured around the office, at the chests filled with documents on papyrus rolls, at the big money box chained to the floor. “I built this business with my own sweat and blood. What’s the purpose of my labor if I have no one to leave it to?”

  I backed away. He was beginning to frighten me.

  He shouted, “Did you really think I didn’t know what was going on between you and the legatus? Everyone in this city knows what’s going on. What I didn’t know was that you were stupid enough to deny him. I have been praying all this last month that you would tell me you were with child.”

  His face was mottled with rage. My heart was pounding with fear. “If I should have a child, he wouldn’t belong to you, Aaron. He would belong to Marcus.”

  “That isn’t true! Your child will belong to your husband. That is the Jewish law. And don’t think you can divorce me, Mary. The Romans may allow women to initiate a divorce, but we Jews are not so stupid as to give that power to a woman. You are my wife, and your child will be my child. Do you understand?”

  I understood all right, and I fought back with as much reason as I could muster. “Aaron, you cannot push your wife into an adulterous relationship. That’s against God’s law.”

  He pushed his chair away and stood. “What do you care about God’s law? You’re more a Roman now than you are a Jew. And think of yourself, Mary. I have seen the legatus. He is exactly the kind of man any woman would like to have in her bed.” For the briefest moment I thought I saw a glint of sorrow in his eyes, but then they hardened and he leaned toward me.

  “I’ve seen how you are with the children at synagogue. You love children. Surely you would like one of your own.”

  His words struck a chord in my heart. I wanted very much to have a child—a child to love, to
teach, to give my life a purpose. The desire was so strong that at times it was an ache. I thought I had reconciled myself to the fact that it would never happen as long as Aaron lived. But at his words, it was as if my very womb was calling out to me to be filled.

  We stared at each other across the table. He read the emotions warring visibly across my face, and he nodded. “I don’t think this is the time for you to go to Bethany. I think it will be much better if you remain here in Sepphoris and continue your visits to Julia Tiberia.”

  I went outside to the garden and sat for a long time. Who would I be wronging if I followed Aaron’s wishes? I thought of Marcus. Would I be wronging him?

  I had no illusions that Marcus loved me. He desired me because I was a beautiful woman, and because I had put him off, I’d become even more attractive. I was sure Marcus Novius Claudius wasn’t accustomed to being refused much of anything.

  How far I had come from the innocent girl who had dreamed of marrying Daniel. How simple and pure my love for Daniel had been. I didn’t love Marcus, at least not in the way I’d loved Daniel, but I wanted to sleep with him. It was time to be honest, and that was the truth. He stirred me deeply, and I wanted to find out what it might be like to have that sort of man make love to me.

  Pain pierced my heart as I thought of what my life would have been like if I’d married Daniel. One thing I knew: I would most certainly never be contemplating sinning against my husband. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  Stop this, I told myself. You’re a grown woman, and you know that if you wait for someone to hand you happiness on a golden plate, you’ll wait forever. God isn’t interested in your little life, Mary. It’s up to you to grasp whatever happiness you can find and perhaps you can find some happiness with Marcus. Perhaps . . . oh, perhaps . . . there might even be a baby.

  I was still sitting in the garden when a servant arrived with a note for me from Julia Tiberia. She wrote that she’d received some bad news, and my company would be immensely comforting to her. Could I come tonight before sunset?

  I wrote back immediately that of course I would be there.

  I arrived at julia’s door at the appointed time, and the porter opened at my first knock. “My mistress is waiting for you in the garden, my lady,” he said. “Shall I summon someone to show you out?”

  I smiled. “No need for that, Plutus, I know my way.”

  He nodded and went back into the porter’s box beside the door.

  I walked the long length of the deserted atrium and then through the peristylum, which was empty as well. No slaves carrying water or newly washed linens were in sight, which was unusual. The large garden doors were open, however, and I stepped through them into the sweet, flower-scented air. The only sound was the trickling of water from the fountain. I looked for Julia, but she wasn’t there.

  I called her name, but it wasn’t Julia who emerged from behind the statue of Venus holding a seashell. It was Marcus.

  I was shocked. And angry. It was one thing for me to decide I might wish to be closer to Marcus, and another for Julia to put me into this kind of position.

  I could feel the color flaming in my cheeks, and when he stood in front of me I said coldly, “I must tell you I had nothing to do with this meeting. I thought I was coming to see Julia.”

  His short black hair was still damp from the baths. His lion’s eyes were drinking me in. He said, “I asked Julia to arrange this, Mary. She was kind enough to accommodate me.”

  My lips parted.

  “Don’t look so surprised. Surely you know how I feel about you. How obsessed I have become with you. I have been reduced to using a go-between, and I assure you that is not something I’ve ever done before. But”—his voice deepened—“you’re driving me mad, Mary. Surely you must know that.”

  A pulse began to beat wildly in my throat. “I never meant to.”

  He gave a husky laugh. “I know, but it has happened anyway.” He lifted his hands and put them on my shoulders. I could feel the strength of them through the thin gauze of my robe. “Tell me you don’t feel the same about me, and I will go away.”

  My heart was hammering. He was so close that I could smell the sandalwood soap he used. My lips were dry and I moistened them with my tongue. He stared at my mouth.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” he said.

  “I . . . don’t think I can do that,” I whispered.

  He smiled. Then he bent forward, and his mouth came down on mine. A dark hood dropped over my mind, and a rush of sweet fire ran through my body. He kissed me until I could hardly stand, and I was clinging to him, my whole body pressed against his.

  He said in a low, husky voice, “Julia told me the garden bedchamber will be free. Come with me, my love. I will make you happy. I swear I will make you happy.”

  And I went.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That evening in the room adjoining Julia’s garden, my world changed. Marcus awakened something in me that I hadn’t known existed. I was apprehensive at first, but he was so patient and said such beautiful things to me, that I soon lost myself in the fire of passion that leaped between us. I had never dreamed that things could be this way between a man and a woman.

  I had to attend Julia’s reception the following day, and I was afraid to go. I knew that as soon as I saw Marcus, my feelings would be clear on my face for everyone to see and gossip about. I considered sending a message that I was ill, but in the end I went. I couldn’t stay away forever, and I supposed it was best to get the first time over and done with.

  I arrived a little late, and Marcus wasn’t there. Julia whispered in my ear that he had thought I might be more comfortable if he stayed away, and I was enormously grateful for his tact. It was much easier to laugh and talk and pretend to be the person I had always been without feeling the power of his dark masculinity hovering over me.

  I had fallen in love with him. I had fooled myself into thinking that could never happen, but it did. We began to meet regularly, three afternoons a week at Julia’s, during the time after lunch when most of the Romans of Sepphoris were taking their daily siesta. Julia took her siesta then as well, and we never once saw her when we were together in her house. Julia was always discreet.

  The rains of winter passed into the sunny warmth of spring, and I lived counting the hours from one meeting with Marcus to the next. Seeing the rest of the world through a sort of haze, I was focused on the man who had become the center of my life. When we weren’t making love, we were telling each other our life stories. I told him about my father and Judith and about being sent to live in Magdala with Aunt Leah.

  I didn’t tell him about Daniel. I tried not to think about Daniel, about how physical love might have been between us if we had been together. It was too hurtful and confusing to bring him back into my mind and heart when I knew I would never see him again.

  Unsurprisingly, Marcus’ life had been very different from mine. He had grown up a treasured son of the Claudian family, and great things had always been expected of him. He spent his childhood at the family villa in the countryside, and I could see that this place, and not the Roman palace, was truly the home of his heart.

  His green eyes lit up when he described the beautiful, golden countryside to me, the gently rolling hills, the soft, sweet-smelling air. And he talked about his beloved horses. He had ridden since he was two years old, and he told me the names of all of his own horses and described their different personalities and quirks. I never knew anyone who had such a love for animals.

  I didn’t tell him that I was afraid of horses. When the Roman soldiers stormed through our towns at a gallop, we were always terrified of being trampled. The horses snorted, tossed their heads, and sidled and backed as if they would kick at any moment. For Jews, horses were a symbol of Rome.

  We didn’t meet only in Julia’s bedchamber. It wasn’t long before we were acknowledged in Roman circles as a couple, and together we attended the theatre and chariot races and dined as guests at other Rom
an homes.

  In my heart I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I tried not to think about it. The Jews in Sepphoris, once so tolerant, now thought me a sinful woman and couldn’t understand how Aaron put up with my blatant adultery. As for Aaron himself, I scarcely saw him. I stopped going to the synagogue, and when we were home together we were courteous when we saw each other, which we tried not to do very often.

  One evening Marcus and I, along with Julia and her current lover, went to the chariot races, which were held in the amphitheatre Herod the Great had built on the edge of the city. Afterward, we were standing outside in the cool spring air, waiting for Marcus to finish speaking with an officer he knew, when a frightening thing happened. A man dressed in Jewish clothing pushed through the crowd and started shouting at me in Aramaic. He called me a whore, a toy of the Romans, a traitor to my people. A group of soldiers descended on him and dragged him away, but he went on shouting at me and shaking his fist all the while, his face twisted with hate. It was horrible, and I turned away.

  Marcus put his arms around me, sheltering me from the staring crowd, and shouted for a litter. I could tell from his voice that he was livid. A litter appeared immediately, and Marcus helped me into it and told the bearers to take me to Julia’s.

  I huddled behind the curtains, shaking like a leaf in a high wind. Such ugliness. Were all the Jews in Sepphoris cursing me like that?

  A huge horse stood in front of Julia’s doorway when I arrived, and Marcus was handing the reins to a servant. Then he came over to me, almost lifted me out of the litter, and took me inside. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  We sat on one of the atrium sofas and Marcus put his arm around me and cradled me against his side. He said grimly, “Don’t worry, my darling. That piece of dung won’t live to see the morning.”