Claudia
Michèle McGrath
Claudia
“What is the noise?” Claudia asked, as they turned a corner of the street. People sang and the music of viols and cymbals sounded above the murmuring of a large crowd.
“Another one of their prophets is supposed to be coming into the city today. Perhaps it’s him,” Abelia, Claudia’s maid, replied. “Where are you going, my Lady?” Abelia’s tone changed from quiet conversation to alarm when Claudia started walking towards the noise.
“I want to see him.”
“Why? He’ll be like all the rest, some mystic from the desert who’s appeared out of nowhere. They’ll forget all about him in a week.”
“They’re interested in him now, if the racket they’re making is anything to go by. Besides I’ve never seen a prophet up close before.”
Claudia wondered why she still needed to explain herself to the older woman. Abelia, though, was more than just a servant. A friend, who had nursed her as a child and held her in her arms when she hurt herself. Despite the difference in their positions, Claudia in many ways treated Abelia as the mother she had lost far too early.
“My Lady, you can’t. What would people say if they knew the Prefect’s wife went running through the streets like a peasant to watch some spectacle? What if someone recognises you?”
“They won’t, don’t worry.” Claudia drew the veil, that lay on her shoulders, over her dark hair and draped it to conceal her mouth and nose. “Even you would not recognise me now.”
Claudia smiled as she congratulated herself on choosing a plain tunic that morning and leaving her jewellery behind. A sensible precaution, if she wanted to walk freely in the city and not be robbed. She looked like a merchant’s wife, she thought, not worth a moment’s glance. The consort of the most important man in the country always drew attention like flies. Sometimes that pleased her, but it meant that she had to act the part and that happened far too often. Only one man had stared at her with recognition in his eyes today, before he turned hurriedly away. Claudia valued her anonymity and the illusion of freedom it brought her. She often went into the city; there was so little to do in this place. She was dying slowly of boredom.
I’m stifling in this country, Claudia thought. How hot it was here. Rome in the summer was bad, but Jerusalem was almost unbearable. If only we could return home where we belong. Where our friends are. Where we can live our normal life. Four years in Judea was enough.
Claudia left the shade of the alleyway and the heat of the sun pounded down on her head. Almost immediately, sweat broke out all over her skin, soaking into the thin fabric of her clothes. Abelia and Marcus, her bodyguard, followed closely behind her. As they walked forward, the noise increased and so did the odour of animals and unwashed bodies. A few people hurried in the same direction, looking excited. Another corner and they reached the back of a large crowd. Marcus moved in front of Claudia, shielding her with his body, but also blocking her view. Claudia pushed past him, to stand at his side. He looked down at her, fear and hurt on his face, but she deliberately did not respond to his anxiety. Too much was going on. All sorts of people clustered in front of her, merchants and serving men, citizens and slaves. Some appeared fastidious, holding pieces of perfumed cloths or posies of flowers to their noses, to block the smell of the people. For once, Claudia did not recoil, as she would normally have done. Today, it did not seem to matter. A few of her husband’s soldiers stood around, watching with grins on their faces. A disturbance, like a sudden ripple in a stream, marked the centre of the crowd.
“I can’t see what’s happening,” Claudia complained, forgetting for a moment her disguise. As the granddaughter of Caesar Augustus, she was not used to standing on tiptoe, craning over the heads of the common people.
“A moment, Lady.” Marcus went up to one of the soldiers and spoke to him. The man’s eyebrows rose as he glanced in her direction. She let her veil slip, to show him her face, and then quickly replaced it. The soldier followed Marcus back to her.
“This man tells me you want to watch, Lady,” the soldier said, bowing to her. “It’s only a man riding on a donkey.”
“Can you help me to do so?”
“By the time we get to one of the balconies, he’ll be long gone. If you allow us to touch you, we can put you up on our shoulders. You’ll be high enough then.”
“Do it,” Claudia ordered.
“Keep your face covered, Lady. Who knows what these dogs would do if they knew you were amongst them. We are too few to protect you properly.”
Although she knew it was a rebuke, Claudia ignored the remark, merely nodding and holding out her hands. The two men stooped and carefully set Claudia up on their shoulders, linking their arms to make her a seat. Once she was secure, they walked up to the back of the crowd. Claudia sat up straight, clinging to their hands to steady herself. She saw a sea of heads, stretching from wall to wall down the narrow street. Some of the people held fine cloths, others the leaves of palm trees. They cast these down, covering the ground in front of a man riding on a small donkey, pushing his way through the press. He was wearing a long white robe. His hair was dark and flowing but his beard was bushy. He was smiling at the crowd and occasionally he lifted his hand to acknowledge their cheers. Several men, dusty and dressed for travel, followed behind the donkey. After them came three or four women, who looked weary in the heat. It must be hard to breathe down there. No breeze penetrated to cool the atmosphere. The street was almost airless, with the tightly packed crowd.
Claudia stared intently at the woman who was nearest to the rider. She wore the cloak of a widow and was leaning on the arms of two of her companions, one a young redheaded girl.
The widow is about my age, Claudia thought, forty or fifty perhaps. The woman’s veil had slipped back and her dark hair showed strands of silver. A pity she does not use henna. If she did, she would look younger as I do, but what a sweet face. I would like to meet her. I wonder who she is.
Claudia shifted uneasily on her perch, as one of her bearers changed weight. Perhaps it was the slight movement which drew the attention of the man on the donkey. For a second, his eyes met Claudia’s and the shock was so great she gasped.
“Gods!” Claudia launched herself off the men’s shoulders and slithered to the ground, breathing hard.
“Lady!” The soldier exclaimed as he steadied her to prevent her falling.
“I have seen enough,” Claudia snapped and turned away, her heart pounding.
“Are you well, Lady?” Abelia asked. “You have gone very pale.”
“The heat!” Claudia said, knowing that she lied. Heat alone would not make her ill, daughter of Rome as she was. Inside she felt icy cold, shaking with a kind of terror, part fear, part an emotion she had never known before. “Let us go back.”
That evening, Claudia reclined on her couch, sipping the salty wine she preferred. Slaves with fans created a cooling breeze, which stirred the silken draperies around her ankles. The sky outside was deep blue and studded with stars. Physically, Claudia was comfortable, but her mind was not at ease. Idly, she listened to her husband’s conversation with his aides. All the men enjoyed talking about the military dispositions in Judea. Less than three thousand Romans held the seething masses of Jews and infidels in a fist of steel. If they ever lost their grip, the province would be lost, but Roman Prefects, even those of lesser rank, equestrians like her husband, never lost their grip. Claudia yawned. She had heard such conversations too many times before. Her husband, attuned to her moods after many years of marriage, recognised the signs and turned away from his companions.
“What did you do with yourself today, my dear?” he asked her.
“I went into the city to look at some silk,” she replied.
“And did you find what you wanted?” He smiled. One thing she liked about him was that he was never mean with her. Not like some of her friends’ husbands back in Rome, complaining if they spent a few denarii. If Claudia wanted silk, her husband was ready to buy it for her.
“No. I could not reach the merchant’s shop. The way was blocked by a procession of sorts.”
“The new prophet, Master,” Caius, one of the aides explained. “Surely it is unwise for women to wander the streets with such dangerous people abroad?” He shot Claudia a sharp look. She kept her face calm and did not respond. Caius had no time for women in general and Claudia in particular. He resented her influence on her husband and took every opportunity to put her in the wrong. One day she would find a way to pay him back.
“Well, my dear, were you in any danger?” her husband asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” she replied. “The crowd were peaceful, unlike some we have seen in Rome. Marcus and Abelia came with me and a few of your soldiers were nearby. I was veiled, so no one knew me.”
“A wise precaution.”
“The Prophet had an interesting face. Can you tell me anything about him?”
“He’s supposed to be from Galilee. He’s young. He brought a few followers with him but many more have flocked to join him as he neared the city. They say he does strange things that cannot be explained by logic.”
“Dangerous!” Caius muttered. “He may cause trouble.”
“We might have to stop him,” Balbus, the other aide murmured.
“I saw no sign of any disturbance,” Claudia repeated. “He did nothing, said nothing, merely rode on a donkey through the streets.”
“Yet a quiet man may cause difficulties for all that. I would not want you to be harmed, my dear. Oblige me by not going out into the city, until the situation becomes clearer.”
He rarely asked her to do anything. Although this restriction meant curtailing the freedom that relieved her boredom, Claudia dropped her eyes and murmured, “Of course,” as a good wife should.
The sticky heat lay over the city when she went to bed. Without the constant beat of the fans, she would have been covered in sweat. Despite a cooling bath and the lightest of wraps, her skin prickled and itched.
I am growing old, she thought with a pang, wondering if one day her husband would turn from her. When her lack of beauty was no longer outweighed by her inherited wealth and social position, he might reject her, as others had been rejected. She hoped not. In her own way, she was fond of him, even though the first passionate excitement of their joining was many years in the past. If she had not cared, she would never have followed him into this god-forsaken outpost of the Empire. She could easily have stayed in their villa in Rome, enjoying every luxury. Affection and a perverse sense of duty had brought her here to endure the heat and the flies of this awful place.
Eventually, Claudia fell into a restless sleep. Towards dawn, she began to dream. Highly coloured images flashed into her mind. The Prophet, the older woman and the young redhead appeared, then an older man with a sly look whom she had never seen before. Time passed and the scene changed. She was in a strange place, somewhere dark and grey. She seemed to be floating in the air, watching the people in the room who acted out a play for her benefit. Her husband was there, reading a message that had obviously been brought to him by a young, travel-stained man. They were both wrapped in the long military cloaks that her husband wore on duty when the weather was cold. Her husband’s face seemed pale. The usual golden tan of his skin had faded to a yellowish sheen. He frowned and his lips looked pinched. Something was wrong. Her heart beat faster. Her husband sighed, rolled up the scroll and motioned the messenger to leave. He sat down at his desk and put his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes, as he did when he was deeply troubled.
“What is it, my dear?” Claudia whispered, but he showed no sign of hearing her.
Slowly he rose and went over to a cupboard, taking from it his favourite sword, the one he used in battle. Carefully he laid it on the desk and beside it he placed the images of the gods Mars and Epona. He had always venerated them, the god of war and the god of his family. He touched them both, gently, finically. His eyes closed and she knew he was praying. Then he looked up. Without hesitation, he picked up the sword and took it out of its scabbard. He examined it closely and sighed. Before she could move or think, he reversed the hilt, put the tip at his left breast and thrust himself onto it. Bright blood spurted out and he fell to the floor.
“No!” Claudia screamed. “Husband, No! Nothing is worth this!”
He lay still; he had not heard her. She knew she had not been present, in this future reality, to stop him. A wave of emotion, so strong it threatened to choke her, swept over her. The horror of it snapped her eyes open, but at first, they would not focus. She was gasping as if she had been running and her heart pounded. Gradually the world resumed its normal shape. The curtains billowed in the breeze from the fan and she could see the light of dawn creeping across the sky.
“A dream,” she gasped, “only a dream!” She shuddered and fell back against her pillows. She had always had vivid dreams, ever since she was a little girl, but never like this. She could still smell the metallic scent of her husband’s blood.
It was full daylight before her eyes closed again and then, minutes later, or so it seemed, she was awakened by her maid. She faced the next day weary and distraught. Dreams don’t always come true, she told herself, but she had the horrible sick feeling that this one might. She could not think of anything else, as she ate and bathed and walked in the garden. A dark cloud lay over her spirits all day. She felt unable to tell anyone what had happened, for fear they would trivialise her experience. Her husband had gone on one of his periodic inspections and it was not until late evening that he came back. She had no time with him alone, the one person to whom she might have related her dream and who would have soothed her fears.
She was frightened to close her eyes that night, in case she saw the same scene again. Then she reminded herself that she had never yet dreamed the same dream twice in succession. Only after many months had passed, had a dream ever returned to haunt her. Eventually tiredness made her accept this reasoning and she drifted off to sleep. Immediately the face of the Prophet was as vivid as it had been in the crowded street. This time he stood alone in front of her husband, who was sitting on a chair in the atrium. At the other end of the enclosure stood three men, wearing the robes and headdresses of Jewish priests. She recognised one of them, the High Priest, to whom she had been introduced and whom she did not like. A man without kindness or a respect for women, she had decided at their first meeting. This man was arguing with her husband and pointing at the Prophet, but from a distance. She wondered why he did not want to get too close because his voice sounded hoarse and strained. Then she remembered that some of the Jews had strange fancies about being defiled, if they were in the company of people other than their own. If this belief kept that man away from her, she was pleased. Claudia could not hear the man’s words but his face was etched with anger and hatred.
The Prophet said little, only murmuring in answer to a question, which seemed to enrage the High Priest even more. Then her husband turned to one of the servants and gave him an order. The man reappeared carrying a bowl of water. Her husband carefully washed his hands. He said something, stood up and walked inside the building. Soldiers came and led the Prophet away. The scene changed and she stood in the room she would never forget, in that cold Northern land. Again she became a hapless witness, watching her husband take his own life. Again she woke terrified and this time she did not dare to sleep again.
I must find out more about this man, this prophet, Claudia thought. He is linked in some way to this dreadful deed. I am sure of it. Twice I have seen my husband die. I must break the promise I gave to him and go out into the city. I will speak with the Prophet’s followers. Perhaps I can find out why he is so important to me and mine.
That m
orning she sent Abelia to find out where the Prophet was staying and the reply she brought back was unexpected.
“He sleeps in the village of Bethany at the house of Simon the Leper.”
Claudia shuddered. Lepers were horrible sights, with their missing fingers and noses. Fancy sharing a house with such a person. Usually they had to live apart and not approach other people. Everyone dreaded catching leprosy.
“Why there? Isn’t he afraid he will catch the disease?”
“They say that the man is not a leper any more. The Prophet cured him.”
“He did?”
“That is what the people are saying.”
“Where is Bethany?”
“East of the Mount of Olives.” Abelia looked at her sharply. “Why do you ask, Lady? Surely you are not thinking of going there?”
“Of course not.” Claudia protested and faked a laugh. Abelia, knew her far too well. She would have to act quickly to escape, before the woman alerted her husband. “I am merely curious. I’ve never heard of the place before.”
“I’m not surprised. There’s nothing there but a few hovels, that’s all. Not that you could get to see the man, even if you went. They say that no one can go into the village now. A huge crowd is sitting outside, waiting for this man to perform stunts for them.”
“What sort of stunts do they expect?” Claudia asked.
“He makes lame people walk and blind people see. He casts out devils and they leave the possessed with a roar that shakes the ground. He’s just like all the other fraudsters if you ask me. He’ll have one of his followers nearby, roaring to fool the crowd.”
“You don’t believe in him then?
“Me? Is it likely? We’ve seen too many such fellows. Judea is full of them, just like Rome.”
Claudia thanked and dismissed the woman, little wiser. Because Abelia was a friend as well as a servant, she often trusted her judgement, but not this time. Instinct told her that Abelia was wrong. Whatever this man was, he was not a trickster. Otherwise, she would not have been so frightened when he looked straight at her.
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