by Tessa Afshar
My family disintegrated before my eyes with a quiet, inexorable force. Helplessly I watched, unable to alter anything. I worried most for Joanna. I had my work, my father his wine, and my mother her household management. But at an age when she should have received the most attention, Joanna started to fade into a terrible obscurity. She disappeared into the background of our lives, forgotten. She grew trapped in our sorrow, like a delicate sparrow with a broken wing caught in a dark barn.
Joanna was not like me. She had no interest in fabrics or business. I could not involve her in my world. She avoided the workshop as one might avoid a venomous snake.
My sister’s passions centered around the household. She loved attending the chores, seeing to our meals, guiding the servants. But these were my mother’s responsibilities, and while she took pains to share them with her daughters, she could no more relinquish her position as mistress than she could stop the beat of her heart. This left Joanna with little to engage her mind and senses. She flitted about lost, lonely, and unmoored.
No one spoke of marriage arrangements for her, though I knew Joanna would make the best of wives. By now my parents should have spoken to her of the possibility. They should have sought the connections that might lead to such an eventuality. The hope alone would have brightened her heart. No one spoke of the future in our home, however. Too much grief bound our family in its poisoned tentacles. We were entrenched in the dark past; the future held no appeal for us. Neither of my parents showed interest in anything as joyful as a possible marriage for their younger daughter. My sister sank like a stone under the weight of our despair.
It had been some time since I had visited the market near the fortress of Antonia; I had little time for pleasurable pastimes anymore. I spent so many hours dealing with the needs of the workshop that my normal practice of visiting the market stalls—bakers, jewelers, cobblers, herb sellers, metalworkers, silversmiths, potters, and all manner of wonders—had gone by the wayside. In the old days, the markets would have provided me an enjoyable distraction even if I bought nothing.
Now, even though I needed to purchase a few necessities from the stalls, I would have preferred to send a servant. We had a large order of wool that needed my attention. But I had a good reason for wanting to go myself. It gave me an excuse to drag Joanna out, knowing how much she would enjoy meandering through the market. Joel and Keziah accompanied us, and we traveled through Jerusalem’s narrow streets on foot rather than bothering with the cart. The fortress of Antonia was not far from our home.
A large wall extended from the fortress, arching over the northern part of Jerusalem, enclosing a number of markets. By the time we reached the stalls, I had managed to make Joanna smile three times. I intended to make her laugh before we returned home. I felt my heart lift at the sight of the sparkle in my sister’s eyes, and I realized that I had allowed work to swallow up too much of my time. I vowed to make more room for Joanna; nothing, not even my father’s business, could equal her happiness. She could not enter my world, but I could enter into hers, no matter the price.
The silversmith’s wares drew Joanna’s attention and we approached his table, examining delicately carved rings and hair ornaments. Joanna had just picked up an ebony and silver armband to show me when a man shouted, his sharp voice causing me to jump out of my skin. Joanna gave me a dismayed look, and we both turned to find the source of the unusual clamor.
“We don’t have any!” The unpleasant screech belonged to the merchant in the next stall.
“Isn’t that sweet incense on display behind you? You have a number of amphorae that seem to contain what I am looking for.” I knew that soft, patrician voice. It belonged to Lady Claudia. I had seen her a number of times in the past year. She had become a faithful and enthusiastic patron.
“I’ve already sold those,” the storekeeper said and turned aside to spit on the ground. “I told you; we don’t have anything you want.”
I gaped, aghast at the rudeness of the man. Lady Claudia stood, regal and unflinching. Her maid, red in the face next to her, pulled on her mistress’s arm in an effort to move her away from the stall.
I narrowed my eyes and marched over, my sister, Joel, and Keziah at my heels. We must have made quite a cavalcade.
“What is going on here, Reuben?” I knew the young man minding the perfumer’s stand. His father owned the business, and the son sometimes helped, though his sour disposition and foul temper made him a poor merchant. Ever since he’d taken up with a group of zealots intent on overthrowing our conquerors by violent means, he had grown more petulant than ever. He was a disaster waiting to happen. I had no fondness for our subjugators myself and would see them gone if I could. Yet I knew that the violence of the zealots against a fierce power like Rome would only win us blood and misery in the end.
Besides, I liked Claudia, never mind her people.
“This Roman wants to buy something I don’t sell,” Reuben said with a rude gesture.
“This lady wishes to honor you by purchasing something from your shop. Now show me what you have, Reuben, and make no delay about it.”
I turned to face Claudia and gave her a smile. “My lady. Please forgive our rough manners.”
“I’ve heard of the fire of resentment that burns in some of your people. Palestine has become legendary for the trouble it causes our army. I thought supporting the locals might render them less acrimonious.”
“Most of the merchants are happy for your custom, my lady. Some—” I gave the perfume seller a warning glance—“are unsociable by nature.”
Reuben slapped a marble amphora in front of us.
“Several more, if you please, Reuben. How about the one your father sold Lady Jerusha last month? I might wish to purchase a small jar myself; my mother admired it, as I recall.” I turned to Claudia. “If you like a touch of cinnamon, you will love the scent of this particular mix.”
Reuben slammed a few more miniature urns and amphorae in front of us before slithering away and leaving Claudia, Joanna, and me to survey his goods at our leisure.
“Who is this ravishing creature?” Claudia asked, gesturing toward Joanna.
“This is my younger sister, Joanna.” Joanna bowed her head, her cheeks turning vermilion.
“Beauty runs in your family, I see. Venus herself must be jealous of two such stunning kinswomen.”
I had heard of Venus, a Roman idol that heathens worshipped with a great deal of enthusiasm. She had her own temples around the world, and many avid followers engaged in unspeakable acts in her name. What these unspeakable acts might entail, I had no idea. I only knew they were exceedingly vile.
Once, while travelling with my father to Caesarea, I had seen a marble statue of her as it was being transported to some temple far from Judea. Naked except for a drape of fabric over her hip that tied low in the front, the marble goddess stood unashamed of her bare body. In spite of this callous exhibition, even I had to admit she was lovely. My father, catching me staring at her, had covered my eyes with the palm of his hand, though not before I noticed him staring at her himself.
I had no desire to make her or anyone else in the Roman pantheon take the least notice of me. But I did not know how to say so to Claudia without causing offense.
Thankfully, Reuben’s father turned up, rendering a response unnecessary. After that, our time passed in a far more pleasant fashion, especially after the merchant dispatched his malcontented son to parts unknown. Claudia chose two expensive bottles of incense, enough to put a smile on the perfumer’s face, and I bought the one I knew Jerusha admired.
“You have been very kind, Elianna. Thank you for coming to my rescue. Won’t you and your family join Titus and me for dinner one night?”
I felt heat rise in my face. “That wouldn’t be possible, my lady.”
She tapped elegant, gold-adorned fingers against her forehead. “I forgot about your food laws. Forgive me. I am still new to your land.” A shadow crossed her eyes. I had the sense that s
he had not landed in Jerusalem under happy circumstances. “And please, call me Claudia,” she said after a moment of hesitation.
How lonely she must feel, I thought, away from her home and family, in a world and culture so foreign to her. We Jews felt superior to Romans because we considered them heathens. Far from God, with no hope of salvation. The Romans felt superior to Jews because in their estimation we were weak, lacking their military might and glory in battle. But both felt sorrow. Both felt the bitterness of isolation and rejection. Rich, powerful Roman or conquered, weak Judean. How different were we, really, despite our prejudices and objections to one another?
“How long have you been in Iudaea, Lady Claudia?” I was careful to use the Roman word for the province of Judea, which also encompassed Samaria and Idumea.
“Two years.”
“It seems a strange place for a lady of your rank to settle in. I would have thought someone like you would grace the palaces of Rome.”
Claudia looked away. “I have lived there all my life. This is a new venture. We came here shortly after Titus and I were married.”
How hard it must have been for her to adjust to so much change after a sheltered life. “Your husband must be a great adventurer,” I said with a smile.
Claudia’s eyes warmed at the mention of her husband. “My Titus is adventurous, but we did not land in Jerusalem by choice. This was the fruit of his honesty, I fear. In Rome, if you don’t learn to mind your tongue, you will find yourself in all sorts of strange places. If my father did not hold such a high rank, Titus would have ended up in an elaborately crafted sarcophagus, instead of the heat of Palestine.”
We had been wandering slowly from stall to stall, examining trinkets as we spoke. I stopped dead when she made her last comment. “Jerusalem is a far lovelier place than the inside of a sarcophagus, my lady. Even if some of the shopkeepers are unfriendly.”
Claudia laughed. “Don’t let Sejanus, the new Praetorian prefect, hear you say that. He is under the impression that he has consigned us to a fate worse than death, which keeps him satisfied.”
“Ah,” I said. Jerusalem was, after all, no longer even the official capital of Judea. The Romans had bestowed that honor upon Caesarea. Of course, for the Jewish people, Jerusalem remained the heart of Israel and the seat of God and his holy Temple. To us, this was the center of the world, whereas to the rest of the empire, our city was a fading backwater. “So he is the one responsible for your present predicament?”
“The very man. Titus can charm most people, patrician and plebeian alike, but the prefect is another matter. My husband’s brother worked for Sejanus. He was killed under very suspicious circumstances and Titus challenged the prefect openly. A grave mistake, since the emperor holds the man in high esteem. Of course, Sejanus had his revenge on us. Here we are, and here we stay until he says otherwise.”
I made a sound of sympathy. Jerusalem was my beloved home. I could not bring myself to think of it as a punishment.
“I am convinced that Tiberius will one day regret trusting that man,” Claudia said. “Eventually, he is bound to see what a crooked lout he has placed in charge of the world.”
This talk approached treason. I could not afford to engage in open criticism of the emperor or his trusted henchmen. I tried to find a safer topic. “What does your husband do?”
“Poor Titus is in charge of requisitioning for the garrison at Antonia. Only two years ago, he served as quaestor, with hopes of standing as praetor one day soon. Instead, he has become a glorified procurer. Can you imagine?”
I shrugged. “Still far better than the inside of a sarcophagus. Besides, think of the good your husband can do for all those Romans. Most men in his position pocket some of the money allotted for the garrison and buy poorer fare for the men. As long as your husband is at his post, at least the soldiers shall eat and drink something decent.”
Lady Claudia gave me a sparkling glance. “Fat, happy soldiers won’t trouble your people nearly as much as hungry ones who are always in a foul mood.”
“You see. Perhaps the Lord sent you and your husband to us for both our peoples’ benefit.”
We dissolved into laughter. I noticed to my joy that Joanna joined us. It had been a very long time since either of us had laughed aloud.
Claudia reached for my hand. “You have done me a world of good, Elianna. I wish I could repay you for your graciousness.”
“No repayment is necessary,” I said.
“It has been lovely to spend this hour with you, my lady,” Joanna added shyly.
Claudia brightened. “I have it. Herod Antipas is coming from Galilee for a short visit. My husband knew him from his childhood days when Antipas resided in Rome. Titus was a young boy at the time, but Antipas knew the family and spent many afternoons with them at their villa.
“There is going to be a banquet in his honor when he arrives. I shall see to it that you and your parents are invited. Surely your father cannot refuse. Think of the potential benefit to his business. Besides, Antipas is as Jewish as you. No doubt they will observe all the necessary dietary laws for the occasion.”
“Well,” I said, “the tetrarch is of Jewish heritage, that much is true.” The Herodians were famous for many things. But sticking to the religious laws was not one of them. Still, Claudia had a point. My father could not very well turn down an invitation from a Jewish ruler, the tetrarch of Galilee and Perea no less. “It would be an honor to our family to receive such an invitation, Lady Claudia,” I said.
Next to me, Joanna flashed a smile so big and bright, it put the Judean sun to shame.
EIGHT
One who heard us was a woman named Lydia, from the city of Thyatira, a seller of purple goods, who was a worshiper of God.
ACTS 16:14
ETHAN CAME TO VISIT US that evening with an invitation for my family. “My father asks that you join us for supper tomorrow evening, Master Benjamin. It has been too long since our families broke bread together.”
My father nodded. “True enough, Ethan.”
“After supper, we shall have other guests. A dye seller from Thyatira and his young daughter, Lydia, are joining us. They have a more affordable purple dye they wish to show us.”
My father made a slashing gesture with his arm. “I know all about the cheap purple dye from Thyatira. Instead of sea snails, they use the madder root. I don’t like the results. It produces a reddish purple that fades too quickly. People want the deep imperial purple that only sea snails can give you. It grows even brighter and more beautiful with wear. Don’t waste your time with this Thyatiran rubbish.”
Ethan smiled, not taking offense at my father’s lecture even though he knew a lot more about the subtleties of different dyes. “You are right, of course. In general, the economical purples are inferior to the more expensive variety. But this Eumenes claims to have improved on the process. His dye is colorfast. He sent me a sample. A rich, bright purple as good as anything you may find hiding inside a sea snail. And it costs about half of what you pay for royal purple. Of course, that is still not cheap. But think of the increase in your sales if the quality proves as good as Eumenes claims.”
“Since I will already be there, I will listen to the man. Mind you, I have no great expectations. Clever men have tried for over a hundred years to improve on that formula to no avail. You and Ezer are wasting your time.”
“I am sorry, Ethan,” I said as my father walked away. “He isn’t interested in anything these days.”
Ethan clasped his hands behind his back and stared at his sandals. “You seem very tired. Are you working too hard?”
I shrugged. “Of course not.”
“Then why are there dark shadows under your eyes? Why have you lost weight? Why do you smile so rarely?”
I felt pelted by little sharp stones as each accusation found its mark. He made me feel insufficient, somehow. As if I had failed him by being miserable and faded. “I . . . had a bad night. That’s all.”
; “You dreamt of Joseph.” It wasn’t a question. I said nothing. If he felt like making pronouncements, he didn’t need my response.
“You are very quiet.”
“‘A silent wife is a gift of the Lord,’” I quoted from Sirach.
Ethan let out a long breath. “If I wanted a silent wife, I would not have looked to the daughter of Benjamin of Jerusalem.” And then without a word of farewell, he swiveled around and traipsed off. My mouth almost came unhinged from my jaw, I was so surprised. What ailed him now?
Master Eumenes turned out to be a man of learning as well as a shrewd craftsman. The samples of cloth he had brought with him were impeccably dyed, as vibrant as the petals in a fresh posy of viola. Even my father appeared impressed.
“And you used no sea snails to make this?” my father asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
“Oh no, master,” Lydia piped up. She was a child of ten or eleven, with hair like ripe wheat and eyes the color of Persian turquoise.
Children would not normally have been allowed at such a meeting—half social gathering, half business venture. We had ignored this strange oversight by Master Eumenes since, strictly speaking, no women should have been present at the discussion either, and there I was. Although my mother, along with Jerusha and Joanna, had slipped out after the family dinner to retire in a different chamber, I had remained with the men at Ethan’s request. He must have mastered his earlier displeasure with me; if he still harbored any resentment, he hid it well.
At the sound of her voice, we all turned and stared at Lydia. It was one thing to have her present in the room, but quite another for her to take part in the discussion with such enthusiasm. Seeing all eyes trained on her, she continued, undeterred by our astonishment.
“My father does not use a drop of mollusk secretion.” It was hard not to be impressed by her vocabulary as well as her boldness. She knew bigger words than I did.
“I see,” Master Ezer said kindly.
