by Joan Wolf
I was horribly afraid that I did understand. “Yes,” I breathed. “Good. Then come to bed.”
I shivered. “I don’t feel very well right now, Marcus. Could you call me a litter?”
He jumped up. “You have no color in your face. Come and lie down.”
I let him help me to the bed. I was not pretending; I did feel ill.
“I’ll see if Julia is home,” he said.
I shut my eyes, but all I could hear was his voice in my mind repeating over and over, the old Jew’s death.
Chapter Sixteen
Julia came into the bedroom, sat beside me, and put her cool hand on my forehead. “What’s the matter, my darling?”
“I want to go home,” I whispered.
“Mary, if you’re ill, you must stay here. I can look after you much better than the servants at your house.”
“I’m not ill. I’m upset, and I can’t stay here. Please, Julia. Get me a litter.”
She gave me a shrewd look. “Did you and Marcus quarrel?”
“No. I just . . .” My voice trailed away, and I looked up at her imploringly.
“All right,” she said. “Don’t upset yourself any further. I’ll get you a litter, but I’m coming with you.”
“Thank you.” My lips formed the words, but no sound came out.
There was no one more efficient than Julia. She had me wrapped in a warm cloak and bundled into a litter before Marcus even knew what was happening. He wanted to carry me to the door, but Julia shook him off and said this was women’s business.
Those were always magic words, women’s business; men invariably backed away as if they were in danger of catching leprosy. Before I knew it, I was home and in my own room, with the Sea of Galilee all around me, and Julia ordering Elisabeth to bring me a jug of cool water.
After I drank some water, I looked at Julia, sitting on a stool beside my bed. A few strands of her hair had loosened and hung in feathery locks around her ears. “I’m sorry for putting you to so much trouble,” I said in a small voice.
She waved away my apology. “Are you going to tell me what has made you so distraught?”
I shut my eyes. What was I going to say? That four words from Marcus had made me certain he was responsible for my husband’s murder? But I had to tell someone; I couldn’t carry this burden alone.
I opened my eyes and met hers. “I think Aaron was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Her blue eyes were filled with disbelief. “What are you talking about, Mary? Aaron wasn’t murdered. He fell.”
I pushed myself up, so that I was sitting taller. “Let me tell you a story. It’s about the greatest of our kings; his name was David.”
“I have been in Sepphoris long enough to have heard the name of David,” Julia said.
“He was chosen by God to lead our people, but he didn’t always follow the law that God gave to Moses. David was susceptible to women, you see, and one evening, when he was walking around the palace roof, he saw a beautiful woman bathing in one of the palace pools. David sent to inquire who she was and was told her name was Bathsheba and that she was the wife of Uriah, the Hittite, one of David’s best battle commanders. But David had been smitten by Bathsheba’s beauty, and he sent for her anyway and took her to his bed.
“When Bathsheba found she was pregnant, David didn’t want his men to know he was responsible for seducing a married woman, so he sent to the war front to have Uriah report to him immediately. His plan was that Uriah would sleep with his wife, and then he and everybody else would think the baby was her husband’s.
“But Uriah was a dedicated leader and refused to take advantage of the comforts of home while his men were sleeping in the open. The two nights he was in Jerusalem he didn’t go to Bathsheba’s tent; instead he slept with the slaves.
“When David saw his plan had failed, he sent Uriah back to the battlefront with a letter for his commander. In the letter the king ordered the commander to put Uriah opposite the enemy where the fighting was fiercest and then to fall back with his troops, leaving Uriah to meet his death. David’s plan worked, and Uriah was killed in battle.
“Bathsheba mourned for Uriah, but when her mourning was over, David took her into the palace and made her his wife, and she bore him a son.”
Julia had been listening intently, and now she opened her mouth as if to say something. I didn’t give her a chance. “What David did was a sin against God; he took the wife of another and then arranged for her husband’s death so that he could marry her.” I stared at the lake, so peaceful under the setting sun on my walls. “Does this story have a familiar sound, Julia?”
Julia said, “Mary, look at me.” When I reluctantly obeyed, she enunciated with great clarity, “Aaron’s death was an accident. There can be no comparison between this old story and you and Marcus.”
“‘The path to our marriage is clear because of the old Jew’s death.’ That’s what Marcus said to me this afternoon, Julia. And I knew, I knew with every fiber of my being, that he had arranged for Aaron to fall.”
Julia shook her head, stood up, and began to pace back and forth. Finally she halted. “Do you really believe that Marcus Novius Claudius would stoop so low?”
“Julia, even you said Aaron’s death was amazingly fortunate. It freed me to marry Marcus and left me with a fortune to smooth the way with his parents.”
She stood at the foot of my bed looking at me. “He loves you, Mary. I don’t think you understand what a staggering thing he is doing in marrying a Jew. He must love you very much indeed.”
Marcus’ face flashed before my eyes: the green eyes, the hawk nose, the arrogant mouth. “He did this terrible thing because of me, and I don’t think I can live with that.”
“Mary, you’re making too much of this. It was an accident. But what if it were true? What then? What could you possibly do?” Julia’s voice was calm and reasonable. “You’re carrying Marcus’ child. If you refuse to marry him, then what will happen to the child? Do you want to marry someone else so the child will have a name?”
“No!” I couldn’t possible marry a strange man for such a reason. I didn’t want a repeat of my marriage to Aaron.
If only Daniel had waited for me.
“Would you lie and pretend the child is Aaron’s? No one in Sepphoris would believe you, Mary.”
“I could go back to the lake and bring my baby up there.”
“You don’t think the gossip will follow you? This is a tiny country, my love. Even with all your money, you’ll not be able to protect your child from the stigma of bastardry. And besides, Marcus would be a wonderful father. He loves you, and he will love this baby. Do you want to deprive your baby of his father?”
I felt as if I was being torn in two. “I don’t know what I should do! I want a family so much, Julia. I want to marry someone I love and bear his children and watch them grow. Time for that is running out. It’s just . . . if I marry Marcus, I will always feel that my happiness is stained by Aaron’s blood.”
“You don’t know Marcus was responsible. All you have is a suspicion. Don’t let a suspicion poison your future, Mary.”
After Julia left, I remained in my room, my mind raging with doubt and fear. I pictured the family Marcus and I could make. I pictured his face as he gazed at his firstborn son. I imagined smiling up at him as he tenderly kissed the top of my head.
I finally drifted off to sleep and had a succession of strange and frightening dreams in which Marcus and Daniel and Lord Benjamin appeared. When I awoke the next morning, I still didn’t know what I was going to do.
Then came the day of Julia’s reception. In all the years I had known her, I had not missed a single one. But today I felt I couldn’t face all those sophisticated Romans.
It wasn’t that I suspected any of Julia’s guests of being a murderer. If Marcus had employed anyone, it would have been an ordinary soldier. If—that was the word I couldn’t banish from my mind. Julia had said that I shouldn’t let a suspicion poiso
n my future, and I needed to think about that.
So I stayed home from the reception and was sitting in my bedroom rereading the Aeneid when Elisabeth appeared and said that Marcus Novius Claudius had come to call.
My maid’s face was scrupulously blank as she made this announcement. Most of the Jewish servants in my household had long since learned that our ways were very different from the observant religion they practiced in their own families and villages. I suspected that Elisabeth prayed for me to be rescued from my sins, although she never told me so.
I panicked. Julia must have told him what I had said to her; the two of them had always formed an alliance against me.
What was I thinking? I put down the scroll and jumped to my feet. Julia was not allied against me! She just wanted the best for me and believed that meant marrying the father of my child.
The father of my child. The thought was powerful. I longed for him with all my heart—except for a persistent doubt. How could I build happiness founded upon the commission of a murder?
I said to Elisabeth, “Take Marcus Novius into the small reception room, and tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As soon as she left, I snatched up my wool cloak and fled into the garden and then into the street. It was a foolish thing to do. I couldn’t run away from Marcus forever. But I was afraid to see him just now; I felt too vulnerable. I needed to know what I was going to say before I could trust myself in the power of his presence.
I hurried along the streets, which were crowded with people on their way home from work. Many stared at me as I hastened by. Roman women rarely walked unaccompanied by a servant. But I pushed on, not knowing where I was heading, just knowing that I had to get away from Marcus. After a while I found myself on the road that led into the poorer part of town, where the craftsmen and day servants and laborers lived. The street was narrow, the houses crowded close together. I didn’t look around, I just walked, my eyes straight ahead, my mind preoccupied.
Then I tripped. It was so stupid—a bump in the street I didn’t see. I fell forward, unable to break my fall because my hands were tucked into my robe.
People came running to help me. I felt dizzy and embarrassed and kept apologizing for being so clumsy and assuring them that I was all right. But when two men helped me to my feet, I swayed, and they had to hold me up to keep me from falling again.
“Bring her into the house,” I heard a woman say, and the men half carried me across the threshold into a cramped, sparsely furnished room. “Put her here,” the same voice said, and I was lowered to the floor and a cushion put under my head.
“I’m all right, really.” I tried to sit up.
A gentle hand pushed me back. “You hit your head when you fell, my lady. It’s best to stay quiet. We’ve sent to your house; someone will come to take you home shortly.”
I squinted as I looked up at the woman kneeling beside me. “How do you know where I live?”
She smiled. “You are Mary, the wife of Aaron, the merchant, am I right?”
“Yes, but—”
“You have lived in Sepphoris for years now, my lady, and you’re not easy to forget. Now, I’m going to get you some water.”
Suddenly I was desperately thirsty. “Thank you.”
I closed my eyes and rested my hands on my stomach. How could I have been so stupid? I might have endangered my baby. Nothing, nothing in the world was more important than my baby.
I felt vastly tired. Julia was right. What would I do with a baby on my own? I had money, but a baby needed more than money. A baby needed a father, a family. A baby needed to belong.
When Marcus came into the room, I tried to push myself to a sitting position, but he called to me to stop and said he would carry me. When he reached my side, I raised my arms to him. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing and carried me to the litter that was waiting outside. I buried my face in his shoulder and felt loved and protected and safe.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his ear.
“You should be,” he returned. “If anything had happened to you . . .” He sounded angry, but I knew it was because he had been afraid for me. I closed my eyes. Marcus would always take care of us, and that was all that mattered to me now.
Chapter Seventeen
After Marcus had laid me on my bed, he bent and kissed my forehead. “Trust in me, Mary. Everything will be all right, I promise you.”
I smiled up at him. “I know,” I said and watched him leave the room.
I nodded off at once. My sleep was deep and dreamless. A pain in my stomach woke me at dawn. I frowned and moved a little, to see if I had been sleeping in an awkward position. It was then that I felt the wetness between my legs.
My heart stopped. Slowly, fearfully, I reached to feel what the wetness was. When I brought my hand back, I saw the blood.
“No!” I said out loud. “No! This isn’t happening. I won’t let this happen!”
The house was still asleep. The live-in servants would just be getting up, and it was too early for Elisabeth and Jeremiah to have arrived. I was alone.
I grabbed the silk sheet off the bed and stuffed it between my legs to stop the bleeding. It would stop, I told myself. This was just a minor thing; the baby was fine.
But the blood kept coming. I grabbed another sheet. At last my door opened, and Elisabeth peeped in. When she saw me, she cried out.
“It’s just a little bleeding, Elisabeth, but I need your help.”
Elisabeth came over to the bed and looked at the blood-soaked sheets. She said, her voice infinitely gentle, “You’re having a miscarriage, my lady.”
I wouldn’t believe her. “No, I’m not. It’s just a little bleeding. Stop it, Elisabeth. Make it stop!”
She grasped my hand in hers. “There is nothing to be done, my lady. I am sorry.”
My stomach cramped again, and more blood gushed out. I doubled over but not from physical pain. “Noooooo!” I wailed. “Not my baby. Noooooo!”
Elisabeth put her arms around my shoulders to support me. “You must be brave, my lady. There will be other children. This will be over soon. Be brave.”
The cramps and the flow of blood began to slow, and finally she took the bloody sheets away and put on new ones. She helped me back into bed and put another compress between my legs. “You will need to stay in bed for a few days, but then you’ll be fine,” she assured me. I nodded, and she left to get me something to eat and drink.
I knew I wouldn’t be fine. Something terrible had happened to me with the loss of my child. God was punishing me, as He had punished David by taking his son. And, like David, I deserved to be punished. Marcus might have ordered the murder of Aaron, but he would never have had the opportunity to do such a thing if I’d remained true to my marriage vows. I was as guilty as he was.
Two deaths now separated me from Marcus, an impenetrable barrier, and I could never marry him. Giving him up was part of my punishment, and I deserved it.
I saw Marcus one more time, three days after the miscarriage. He called at the house to see how I was doing.
I watched him come into the garden. He was dressed in his military uniform, and somehow that symbol of battlefields and death made it easier for me to say what I had to say.
He tried to change my mind, of course, but I was adamant.
He was angry and hurt. “You’ve tried and convicted me in your own mind. And now you dismiss me. I never thought you could be so unfair, Mary. Unless you’ve been lying to me all this time, unless you never loved me at all.”
“I love you, Marcus. I’m not saying I don’t love you. I’m just saying I can’t marry you. I know this isn’t all your fault. I had a hand in Aaron’s death as well. You would never have done it if it hadn’t been for me.”
“You are so sure I was responsible?”
I looked into his angry green eyes. “Tell me you didn’t ask one of your men to follow Aaron and cause an accident. Swear that to me, Marcus, on you
r honor as a Roman. Will you do that?”
We had been sitting side by side on the stone bench that gave the best view of the roses. I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, and he stood up. “I wouldn’t have to swear anything if you truly loved me.”
He wouldn’t swear to a lie on his honor as a Roman.
“I’ll miss you,” I said, the tears beginning to seep down my cheeks.
“Mary!” He extended a hand to me.
I shook my head and looked down at my lap. Then I listened to the sound of his footfalls as he walked out of my life forever.
For the first time ever, I had no one to answer to but myself. I could make my own choices. I had the money to do whatever I wanted to do. I was free.
And I was inconsolable.
I don’t know what I would have done if Julia hadn’t stood beside me. She moved in to live with me while I tried to sort out all of Aaron’s business. Her advice was invaluable. Julia had been handling her own money for years; she knew what she was doing, while I most certainly did not.
In all those weeks I never left the house, going outdoors only to visit the garden. I didn’t want to risk meeting Marcus. And in all the time we were together, Julia never once tried to get me to change my mind about him. All she said was “The loss of a child is the worst thing that can happen to a woman. But you still have a life to live, Mary, and you’re going to have to make some decisions about where and how you want to live it.”
I couldn’t remain in Sepphoris. It wasn’t just my fear of meeting Marcus. It was the realization that Sepphoris was a place of sin for me. I needed to get away, and the only refuge I had was Bethany, with my brother and sister.
I wrote to Lazarus. Instead of writing back, he came to fetch me. I left the day following his arrival; I couldn’t ask my observant brother to remain in my unclean house. Elisabeth packed a few items for me, and Julia said I should write and let her know what I wanted to do with the things I was leaving behind: my clothes, my jewelry, the furniture, the kitchenware, the decorations, the very house itself. I said I would do so, and I also told her to keep all the servants employed until they could find other positions.
