Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate

by Taylor, Diana Wallis

  © 2013 by Diana Wallis Taylor

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-4145-0

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  “Diana Wallis Taylor has written another stunning and powerful novel of controversy, romance, and rebellion, this time focusing on the life of Claudia. . . . Meticulous research, drama, and passion hold readers to the page in this exquisite tale of inspiration and intrigue. Buy a copy for yourself and for a friend.”

  —Karen O’Connor, author of When God Answers Your Prayers: Stories of How God Comes Through in the Nick of Time

  “Expertly researched, Diana Wallis Taylor’s Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate takes the reader into the very heart and soul of an obscure New Testament woman whose few but compelling words have captivated readers for centuries. Inspiring and imaginative.”

  —Susan Meissner, author of The Girl in the Glass

  Past Praise for Diana Wallis Taylor

  “Taylor has crafted an exquisite love story about Martha, sister to Mary and Lazarus, in this absorbing biblical drama. Readers will embrace Taylor’s vision of Martha as a woman of imagination, dignity, and grace. This book will enhance and further every woman’s spiritual journey.”

  —RT Book Review, 4½ stars TOP PICK

  “Taylor pays great attention to detail in order to provide verdant descriptions of this world to create an eye-opening expedition into the past. Fans of increasingly popular biblical fiction centered around recognizable characters . . . may have found themselves another author who can write historical inspirational novels of strong, faithful women.”

  —Booklist

  “Excellent historical detail and a respectful yet not cloying retelling of this story make Martha an outstanding choice for readers looking for inspirational biblical fiction.”

  —Historical Novel Review

  “This imaginative retelling of the biblical story of the Samaritan woman who encountered Jesus at Jacob’s Well traces her path to that fateful meeting. Set in a vividly depicted first century, this absorbing debut novel is populated with charming characters.”

  —Library Journal

  To the women who, with love, finesse, and courage, stand behind their man, even in adverse circumstances.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Endorsements

  Dedication

  Map

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Diana Wallis Taylor

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  AD 24 REGGIO

  “Who is my father?”

  Claudia was sitting with her grandmother on a stone bench in the garden reviewing her Latin. It wasn’t the first time she had asked, but so far she had never received a satisfactory answer.

  Scribonia sighed heavily. “You need to ask your mother that question.”

  “I have and she won’t answer.” Her mother, Julia, ordered her out of the room whenever she persisted.

  Her grandmother rose, her mouth prim with impatience. “I have things to attend to. Practice your words on your tablet.” Without a backward look, she hurried away.

  Claudia frowned and put the wax tablet down on the bench. Why don’t they tell me who he is? She knew it was not Tiberius, her mother’s third husband. He had divorced her long before Claudia was born. She would find out somehow, she resolved, and reluctantly returned to her Latin.

  With the question lingering in the back of her mind, it took little to distract her from her studies. A butterfly settled delicately on a leaf and fanned its wings, but the beautiful creature suddenly flew off into the blue sky before she could capture it. A small lizard caught her eye and she watched the creature’s quick spurts of movement until it disappeared over the wall. The pear that Medina, their Syrian slave, had given her looked delicious, so she took a bite and savored its sweetness.

  The garden in the center of their villa, which had been a refuge for her as a small child, now seemed confining as she grew older. Now, on her twelfth birthday, she longed to see something of the outside world. The faint sounds of the city could barely be heard, muffled by the thick walls of the villa. It was more a prison than a home, for only their two slaves were allowed out to go to the market for food.

  Why are we not allowed to leave the villa?

  She knew from her grandmother that the town was called Reggio and it was far from Rome.

  Her grandmother told her their living situation had been ordered by the emperor, Caesar Augustus, Claudia’s grandfather. A shadowy figure she’d never met but, from her grandmother’s description, feared.

  “Our lives depend on his favor,” Grandmother had divulged to her one day. As the years ticked by, her mother and grandmother grew more apprehensive when speaking of him.

  Julia’s soft laughter came from the atrium. The latest soldier was leaving. Claudia was old enough to know why they came. Julia ignored her mother’s admonishments, but when they argued, Claudia, who had learned to move quietly and listen unobtrusively from the shadows of the latticed pergola, learned many things.

  “Augustus has eyes and ears everywhere, Julia. Sooner or later there will be a reckoning. The soldiers put their careers and perhaps even their lives in jeopardy. Do you not care, daughter, about the consequences? What of your daughter?”

  Julia sighed impatiently and waved a languid hand. “They are probably transferred to another post. Don’t be so gloomy, Mater.”

  Scribonia shook her head and walked away.

  It didn’t
seem to matter how often or strongly her grandmother voiced her opinion, Claudia’s mother brushed it off and did as she pleased.

  Hearing voices, Claudia rose from the bench and slowly approached the atrium, her soft footsteps making no sound on the tile floor. They were arguing again.

  “Julia, you are forbidden their company. Do you wish to be sent back to the island, or worse?”

  “I should be allowed a little entertainment, Mater, seeing as we must spend day after boring day within this accursed villa.”

  “He could take his wrath out on the child. Only the gods know why he did not order her exposed to the elements when she was born. Obviously she is not the child of Tiberius. I’m asking again. Whose is she?”

  Claudia held her breath, and stood in the shadows, watching them.

  “Perhaps someone resourceful who bribed the soldiers guarding me.”

  “Sempronius Gracchus? He got himself exiled to the African coast for his efforts.”

  Julia shrugged and Scribonia pressed her case. “If you hadn’t treated Tiberius the way you did, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Tiberius was a harsh man, Mater.” Julia nearly spat out the words. “All of Rome knew he and Vipsana were expecting their first child. Do you think he wanted to divorce her and marry me? Tiberius hated me and we were both miserable. When our infant son died, it was the end of any pretense of marriage.”

  Scribonia paused and regarded her daughter, her eyebrows raised. “It was your actions that caused your father to send the divorce papers in Tiberius’s name. The letter Gracchus wrote to your father asking him to allow you to divorce Tiberius was his undoing. He was too ambitious and your father knew it. He had the choice of executing you for your adulteries or banishing you from Rome. Your father spared your life, but what kind of a life do you have?”

  Julia waved a hand in frustration. “You didn’t have to come, Mater.”

  “I petitioned Augustus because of the child, Julia, and I am your mother. I felt you needed me after five years on Pandataria, that barren island. Be thankful he allowed you to come back to the mainland.”

  Julia’s shoulders sagged. “That was lonely, but it is lonely here too.” She turned to her mother. “I’m sorry. It was a sacrifice for you to come.”

  Scribonia reached out and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, a rare sign of affection for the austere woman. “I worry about Claudia. What will become of her?”

  Julia shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. She is his grandchild, whoever the father.”

  “A common Roman soldier, not a man of nobility. Was it Gracchus?”

  Julia didn’t answer. Scribonia’s gray eyes flashed. “Well, it is done and you have an illegitimate child.”

  “Why should it matter now? My father has not contacted us or acknowledged her.”

  “Julia, in three years Claudia will be old enough to be married. What then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Scribonia gave a huff of exasperation, then noticed Claudia standing in the shadows, but didn’t acknowledge her as she hurried away. “I must see to the weaving.”

  Claudia regarded her mother. Julia had dyed her hair a red-gold in the fashion of the day. The blue stola enhanced eyes that could twinkle like tiny stars when she was excited, yet brood darkly when she was angry. She was still beautiful. At meals her mother ate little, always priding herself on keeping her well-proportioned figure. As Claudia gazed at her now, she wondered if her mother was eating enough; her face had a gaunt look.

  Julia turned and faced her daughter. “Spying on us again, Claudia?”

  “I heard you and Grandmother from the garden.”

  “Your grandmother worries about too many things.”

  “Mater, it’s my birthday. I was wondering . . .”

  “Speak up, child, I am not one of the gods that I can read your mind.”

  “I would like a pet to keep me company. Please, Mater?”

  Julia looked at her daughter thoughtfully. “A pet?”

  “I’m too old for the other toys. I want something alive.”

  Julia tipped Claudia’s chin up with her finger. “I don’t know, child. I will speak with Medina. Perhaps when she goes to the marketplace she can find something.”

  They had been allowed two slaves when they came to the villa, a pauper’s household to be sure, but the women were grateful Augustus allowed the help. Medina did the cooking, looked after the house, and helped with the weaving of cloth for their clothes. Cato, from the African coast, had to do everything from repairs on the villa to taking care of the small garden.

  Medina had been Claudia’s nurse since she was born. She would do anything for her. Claudia hurried to find their servant.

  The slave listened and folded her arms. “Your mother does not consider costs. The allowance from your grandfather is small. It barely covers our needs. A pet would require food, Dominilla.”

  “But it is my birthday and that is the only thing I want. I have no one to play with. It would be company.”

  The servant’s face softened. “This is no life for a child. If your mother did not tell you no, I will see what I can find.”

  Claudia hugged her. “You are so good, Medina.”

  The woman gave her a skeptical look. “Don’t let your hopes rise too high.”

  Claudia returned to the garden. Medina was thrifty. She would bargain for day-old vegetables and fruit, and upon rare occasion, fish, then prepare them as only she could into tasty dishes. Claudia was sure Medina would find a bargain for her pet too.

  She sat on the bench, swinging her feet, and let the name Sempronius Gracchus sift through her mind. She liked the sound of the name. Perhaps he was her father, but remembering that he’d been banished to a distant post, she wondered, Would she ever meet him?

  2

  Claudia’s birthday dinner seemed their usual meager meal. She watched her mother and grandmother quietly eating pieces of goat cheese, and hoped for a word about her request for a pet. Then Medina brought in a stew with small chunks of goat’s meat, cabbage, and garlic. She had bargained for something special for Claudia’s birthday. To her surprise, her second treat was a slice of melon. She smiled up at Medina, who smiled back. Nothing had been said about the pet she requested, and when her mother and grandmother were not looking, she raised her eyebrows in question. Medina gave an imperceptible shake of her head. Claudia’s shoulders slumped. She had been told not to set her heart on it, but she had hoped.

  Julia broke off a piece of the coarse, dark bread. “Did the courier come today?”

  Scribonia shook her head. “Not yet.”

  Julia sighed. “My father sends so little. Medina is thrifty in the subura, though it grieves me to have her shop in a poor man’s market.” She turned to Claudia. “I wish you a happy birthday. Enjoy it while you are young, for soon you will have no control over your life.”

  Claudia nodded. Her mother was in a strange mood.

  After dinner her grandmother rose. “Let us go to the garden. It will be cooler there.”

  Claudia dragged her feet. She would spend another boring evening, sitting and practicing her embroidery.

  They reached the garden, where Cato stood solemnly with a basket in his hands. He waited for the three women to be seated and then with a nod from Scribonia, set the basket at Claudia’s feet. Small whimpers emanated from the container.

  With trembling hands, she removed the woven lid and gasped. A tiny mongrel puppy lay on a bed of rags, so thin, its ribs were showing. It looked up at her with large, luminous brown eyes.

  She carefully lifted the puppy and cradled it against her chest. The small creature quivered and she could feel its rapid heartbeat.

  “It was abandoned, Mistress,” said Cato. “The runt of the litter. It was all Medina could find. It will need much care.”

  “Oh, Cato, I will care for it!”

  Her grandmother reached out and stroked the puppy with one finger. “He may not live, Claudia, he
is very weak.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mother, Grandmother. He will live. I will tend him day and night.”

  Her mother merely exchanged glances with her grandmother and gave a slight shake of her head.

  Claudia stroked the soft fur and spoke quietly to the puppy. “I will name you Felix—lucky—for I am lucky to have you.”

  Julia rose from the bench and looked at the puppy. “Take him to the kitchen and see if Medina has some goat’s milk for him.”

  Claudia gently placed Felix in the basket and, with Cato following, hurried to find Medina.

  His tummy full, the puppy promptly went to sleep and Claudia gently placed him in the basket. Claudia looked up into the slave’s dark brown eyes. “Oh, thank you, Medina.”

  Cato’s deep voice behind her answered. “Pray the gods will have mercy on the small creature.”

  Claudia gave one last look at her puppy and hurried to the Tabilnum, the alcove where the statue of their household god, Vesta, stood and prayed fervently for her puppy to live.

  Felix began to fill out, and while his extended stomach seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body, Claudia thought him beautiful. She spent hours throwing a knotted rag for him and laughing as the puppy waddled after the toy and tentatively explored every inch of his limited surroundings. Claudia held him and talked softly as the puppy licked her cheek with his small wet tongue.

  Felix made the long days bearable.

  It was obvious that Julia was losing weight. One evening as she picked at her meal, Scribonia shook her head in exasperation.

  “Daughter, we must call for a physician. You cannot go on like this.”

  “We cannot afford him, Mater. I am just tired. I need to rest.”

  “You rest most of the day, Julia. This is more than weariness. You are ill.”

  Seeing her mother’s condition and her grandmother’s anxious looks, Claudia felt a knot of fear form in her stomach. What was this illness that was draining her mother of her beauty and leaving her so weak?

  Her mother walked the house now on Scribonia’s arm, moving slowly as they talked together. Claudia continued to listen to their conversations every chance she had. She had to find out what was happening. Today her mother sounded so sad.