Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate

by Taylor, Diana Wallis

  Claudia went to find her son. Doros listened solemnly as his father explained he had to make a journey to Rome. The boy squared his shoulders. “I will look after Mater in your absence, Pater.”

  Lucius put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will count on that, Doros.”

  The horses were brought and the staff of the villa came out to see them off. Lucius thought to go alone, but Vitus insisted that he was needed and wouldn’t be put off.

  Claudia, standing bravely, would not show her emotions in front of the staff. She waved and returned to the villa. With the distance, it might be at least ten days before she could hope to see Lucius, or hear the outcome of the hearing.

  That night, Claudia gathered together the small group of believers in her household, and they earnestly prayed for her husband’s journey and the outcome that could change their lives.

  49

  Each day Claudia looked in the direction of Rome, wondering what was happening and feeling helpless. Their future was in the hands of a young emperor.

  On the ninth day, near sunset, Claudia heard the sound of hoofbeats. She hurried to the entry as the riders pulled up in front of the villa. It was Lucius and Vitus. As Lucius dismounted, she put a fist to her mouth. His face was pale and his eyes had a haunted look.

  Lucius slowly followed her into the villa. When he finally spoke to her, his voice was low and broken. “All is lost.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “The hearing was a travesty. Vitellius had notes on every infraction, every riot. It was as if he’d had someone following me every single day of my tenure in Judea taking notes.”

  She entered his office with him and closed the door. “Your defense was well prepared, was it not?”

  “I laid out the truth that countered their lies and had my tribune from Judea speak as a witness in my defense.”

  He sat down wearily. “However, Thallus, who led the prosecution, suggested that death, not exile, was not too great a punishment for my shameful abuse of public trust in a province of imperial Rome.”

  She clasped her hands to her heart. “He was calling for your execution? Oh Lucius . . .”

  “I told the emperor I was not on trial for treatment of the unruly Jews, that no prefect has governed that territory without trouble. I told him the province needed more garrisons and is vastly misunderstood by Rome. The delegation from Samaria must admit that they have their own confrontations with the Jews—there is no love lost between the two. Finally I rested my case, having presented a clear report of the actual happening at Mt. Gerizim.”

  “And Caligula’s judgment? You are here so it could not have been death.”

  “He taunted me, with pleasure, with the prospect of death and what it could entail. I was expecting the soldiers to arrest me at any moment. I thought that I would never see you again. Then he smiled and it chilled my heart.”

  “And . . .”

  “And in his clemency, his gracious charity in the early days of his reign, as he put it, he would be lenient. He sentenced me merely to the loss of my rank, position, my entire estate, and banishment from Rome. I have three weeks from the day of sentencing to leave. He suggested Gaul.”

  “Oh Lucius!” She put her arms around him and wept on his shoulder. He held her and she felt his chest rise and fall with his own emotions.

  They remained that way for a long time, and finally she pulled away and looked him in the face. “I told you we would face this together. We have almost ten days before the soldiers come to take the villa. Caligula does not know about the house in Vienne. We will start packing at once.”

  As she started toward the door, she turned back. “You kept the wagons just in case, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I thought it best to be prepared, if not for both of us, at least for you and Doros.”

  She nodded. He left her and climbed the stairs to his room, and Vitus, always waiting to be of service, watched him pass and climb the stairs.

  That night after dinner, she and Lucius lay in each other’s arms, listening to the frogs in the garden and the hooting of the owl that lived above the stable. They had taken a walk in the orchard in the early evening, and Claudia had looked at the trees that would be ready for harvest by spring without them, bearing fruit for another household.

  In the morning the villa was in a flurry of activity as they hurriedly packed the wagons. Claudia considered what to take and what to leave behind. They would need to travel rapidly with as little as possible.

  Lucius called the staff together and told them what was happening. Marcus was a freedman and, in his advanced age, chose to go to his daughter and son-in-law. Out of loyalty to the Pontius family, he’d remained until Lucius had returned.

  Medina had been involved with believers in Rome and had friends there. She too didn’t want to travel so far away. Claudia understood. Medina would send them news of what was happening in Rome. Claudia sent her off with Marcus, who would take her to the city on his way to his daughter’s. Lucius provided a cart and a mule for the journey. He also gave Marcus the goats.

  With a last embrace of her old nurse, Claudia tearfully said goodbye. “Give my greetings to the believers, Medina. May our Lord watch over you and protect you until the day we meet again in his kingdom.”

  “May he watch over you also, Domina, and see you safely on your journey.”

  Claudia watched the two old people ride away in the cart, and her heart was heavy. “Oh Lord, take them safely to their destinations.”

  Vitus and Hotep would go with them to Vienne. Rufina begged to remain near Rome, and Claudia suspected a man was involved. She was sent to the household of a neighbor. Florian left to seek new employment in Rome.

  Doros was sad, but Claudia suggested that he might attend grammar school with other boys. He’d had few companions his age and he seemed happier at the idea.

  He took the news of his father’s exile well and Claudia vowed to keep up her courage in front of the boy. He would never wear the Roman toga, nor be declared a citizen of Rome, and that grieved her husband.

  Lucius and Vitus bound one wagon to another and hitched the four mules to each of the front wagons. The horses were tied on the rear. Vitus would drive one set of wagons and Lucius would drive the other. Claudia, Hotep, and Doros would ride in the smaller coach. The larger coach was loaded with necessary household items—linens, some dishes, sheets and bedding, and cookware. Marcus had sold several valuable vases and smaller items in the marketplace. Lucius would need all the money they could get for their journey. Claudia carefully packed her jewelry in a pouch to keep it in the coach with her to be sold later if needed. She brought her simplest tunics, and Lucius dressed as a common citizen, leaving his uniform behind. There would be no need for it since he had been stripped of his rank.

  Pieces of furniture that had seen three generations in the villa had to be left behind. Lucius said little, but the tight set of his jaw said much to Claudia. She remembered how she felt leaving Reggio and grieved for her husband.

  When at last they were ready to leave, Lucius took one last look around his family home. He would not ride as prefect of Judea but as a common citizen of Rome, banished forever from the city where he’d come so long ago to better himself.

  Claudia refused to look back. She would be strong for her family. She didn’t know what the future held, but she placed it in the hands of the Most High God. Knowing others far away were praying for her, she set her face toward Vienne.

  50

  They traveled more than twelve hundred kilometers in two weeks. Lucius pushed the mules as hard as they could go, averaging almost eighty-one kilometers a day. He needed to be far from Rome, across the border before the end of the three-week grace period Caligula had given him.

  They avoided the large cities and bought what food they needed in small markets along the way. Lucius would have liked to remove the ornate carvings on the coaches that called attention to them, but there was no time nor funds to pay a workma
n to do it. Once, when someone inquired about the coaches, Lucius told them he was delivering them to a Roman senator.

  They stayed at the cheapest mansios and Claudia covered the bed she and Hotep shared with a large sheet, shaking it well each morning. Doros shared a room with his father and Vitus. After forcing down the coarse, dark bread and the well-diluted wine offered by the innkeepers, they were glad to be on their way in the mornings.

  They passed Venice and finally crossed into Gaul. A friend of Caligula’s, Valerius Asiaticus, was consul of Vienne and Lucius felt he would no doubt report their arrival to the emperor.

  After a few inquiries, they found the road to the villa. “It has been fifteen years since I’ve been here,” Lucius told her that morning. “My second cousin, Gaius Pontius, lived there, but at present he’s a consul in Rome. We conferred briefly after the trial and he gave me a document entitling us to dwell in the house.”

  They passed through rich pastureland dotted with flocks of sheep and fields of waving wheat. Vineyards were plentiful and it seemed a bountiful land to be exiled to. Lucius had commented on the vineyards that morning. “It is said that the wine from Vienne can cost up to a thousand sesterces for one amphora. It is highly prized by the Roman gentry.”

  She tucked her arm in his. “I shall look forward to tasting it, my love.”

  After a few inquiries, they finally came to the small villa tucked among a copse of sycamore trees. It looked ill cared for and unoccupied. As each of them got down from the wagons, Claudia’s heart sank. She and Lucius approached the entrance and Vitus pushed open the door. A mouse scurried across the floor and dust was everywhere. There were dirty dishes in the small kitchen area. At least some furniture had been left.

  Hotep was surveying the mess with a shocked expression on her face and followed Claudia upstairs. To their relief, there were beds in the three bedrooms.

  Satisfied that the house could be livable with a good cleaning, she turned to her handmaid. “You cannot do this alone, Hotep, I will help you.”

  Hotep shook her head. “This is not work for you, Domina. Perhaps in the town we can find another servant to help?”

  “That is a possibility, but for now, if we wish to sleep in this place tonight, we must set to work.”

  “I will clean. You can make the beds, Domina, and direct the unloading of the wagons. We need to know where to put those things.”

  Claudia resisted a smile at the directions of her servant, but nodded her head.

  The men went to unhitch the mules and horses and see if there was any hay in the stable.

  Doros helped his father and Vitus unload the wagons, and Claudia decided to put things in the main room until the house was cleaned. Hotep began scrubbing the kitchen. At least they’d brought soap.

  Vitus went to town and secured the help of two local women who soon had the villa spotless. They had been told that the master of the house had retired from the army and come to Vienne for his health.

  There were many Roman exiles in Vienne and people did not ask questions. It was better not to know too much.

  Vitus had packed tools and set to work trimming dead branches in the orchard for the fireplace and the kitchen. He and Lucius went to Vienne and sold the ornate wagons and six of the mules. They kept one flat wagon and the last two mules for hauling feed.

  Claudia discovered the kitchen garden. A melon and squash had come up by themselves, and she saw the evidence of carrots, garlic, cucumbers, and beans. She and Hotep worked to weed and water it to see what else might come up.

  Coming upon his wife on her knees working in the garden, Lucius angrily raised her up. “You are not a servant. This is not work you should be doing.”

  She looked up at him, sensing more his frustration with their circumstances than anger. “I must do my part, beloved. We must make the money you got for the mules and wagons go as far as possible.”

  He hung his head. “What have I bought us to, Claudia? The granddaughter of an emperor, raised in the palace of Rome, now reduced to working in her own garden in a wretched villa?”

  “We do what we must, Lucius. You had no idea the emperor would rule against you. I am thankful he spared your life. We are together, Lucius, and that is all that matters.”

  “That is all? What lies ahead for us? The army has been my whole life . . . but now there is no pension. How can I support my family? How will we live?”

  “I have jewelry I can sell, and I am skilled at embroidery. I will sell my things in the marketplace. We have Vitus and Hotep to help us, and Doros can go to the local grammar school and get to know other boys his age in the area. We will be all right.”

  He looked down at her and his eyes were filled with a sadness she had not noticed before. “You will support the family with your jewels and embroidery?”

  Why had she not thought before she spoke? Lucius was a proud man. He would never stand for using money from his wife to manage their household.

  “Surely there is an opening for someone as knowledgeable as you are in one of the government offices.”

  “Yes, perhaps.” He turned away and left the room. She knew he would walk in the fields where he could think most clearly.

  The weeks went by, but there was no work. He was only one of many exiles seeking employment. Some, in desperation, had committed suicide in the hopes that their families could return to Rome unscathed by their scandal. He told Claudia he had met ex-senators and men of praetorian rank like himself, now struggling to live.

  A cloud of depression settled on his shoulders, and she watched him with growing anxiety. Even Doros received absentminded responses. One night Lucius fingered the bulla around the boy’s neck. It would have been put aside in the ceremony to make Doros a citizen of Rome. It served only as a reminder that he would never be able to parade his son to the Forum ceremony.

  They had found a grammar school taught by a former slave, and Doros excelled in literature, Latin, and poetry. The company of other boys his age was exhilarating to him.

  Claudia went into the city with Hotep and sold a few pieces of her gold jewelry. The merchant’s eyes glittered as he noted the quality. He tried to offer a low price, but Claudia was able to bargain for a price both she and the merchant could live with.

  Lucius worked the orchard and the land around the villa. The fruit was ripening and Claudia saw it as the providence of her God, but Lucius felt he had brought his family to a poor existence.

  Time and again, Lucius sought work in one of the government offices to no avail. He would return to the villa discouraged, wanting only to sit on a bench and stare out at the fields.

  When she tried to encourage him, he flung at her, “What is our life, Claudia? My house and lands are gone and we live only at the discretion of my cousin. You and Doros could go to Rome to your grandmother’s villa. You have family there and could return to society.”

  Fear stabbed at her heart. “What are you saying, Lucius? Do not do what I think you are considering. You would break my heart and the heart of your son. That is not the life I want. I am content here. Do you not remember I grew up in a small villa like this in Reggio? I don’t care for all the pomp of Roman society. Please, beloved, there is another way. You will find work, I know you will.”

  He did not answer. He only drew her head down and kissed her tenderly, as he did when he left on a journey or went out into the fields. She watched him go, silent tears running down her cheeks, her anguish too great to even pray.

  51

  The wind caused the leaves on a sycamore tree outside the window to slap against the house. The rain had been falling all day in a steady cadence. As Claudia worked on her embroidery, she watched Doros by the fire, studying his assignment from school. Vitus brought in wood to keep the fire going. Lucius was in his study with the door closed. She sighed as she pulled the thread tighter. He spent too much time alone, and no matter how hard she tried to distract him, his depression grew. Vitus found work in the orchard of a nearby villa and
gave all he earned to Lucius. His loyalty to Lucius was deep. Claudia wondered what they would do without his help.

  One of the sources of his deep pain surfaced one day when Lucius told her of something else Caligula had said. “He accused me of killing a man who called himself the Son of God and wanted to know how I could willfully murder a man considered a prophet by the Jews. He asked me how it feels to put to death a god. The way he said it made me realize I had lost the trial. The emperor had ignored all our testimony. I can still see Caligula’s face. It was pure evil staring at me.”

  Lucius turned a tortured face to her. “It was only a moment, but enough to convince me that Caligula borders on madness.” He shook his head sadly. “Are we safe even here?”

  She had done everything she knew to reassure him. “You did not put him to death, Lucius, the Jewish leaders did. They gave you no choice. They wanted his death.”

  She put her arms around his shoulders. “Oh my dear husband, Jesus had to die for all of us. He was the Passover Lamb that was sent for the sins of all of us. He made atonement for us for all time. You must understand. You were part of the plan. He died for you. You are forgiven.”

  He reached up and touched her hand. “I do not feel forgiven. I should have done more to save him.”

  “You tried four times to save his life, beloved, and they would have none of it. Didn’t they cry, ‘His blood be on our heads and on our children’?”

  “I washed my hands of it.” He examined his hands. “But the blood is still there.”

  Claudia recoiled. Was he going mad? Could she not convince him?

  She took another direction. “Come, dearest, let us retire for the night. You are weary.”

  “Yes, I am weary. Weary of many things,” he said tonelessly as she took his arm and led him out of the study.

  To her surprise, Lucius made love to her after many weeks of abstinence. She held him and willed him to come back to her, to be the man she had married, a man who could be ruthless and selfish, but infinitely patient with her and a loving husband.