Child of the King

by Debra Diaz

  “She was placed in the care of the Vestal Virgins,” Simon replied. “With God’s help, Paulus escaped his guards during the day of Alysia’s funeral—in time to get Rachel away from them. Caligula planned to force Rachel to become one of them, to worship the goddess, Vesta. Daphne and I were to wait for Paulus to bring Rachel out of the House of the Vestals. By the time they reached us, it was too late. The soldiers were practically upon us.”

  Daphne stretched out her hand and grabbed a linen napkin to wipe the tears from her face. “If you could have seen them together, you would know why Rachel is—the way she is.”

  Her husband finished: “Paulus put Rachel on the horse with me. Then he turned back to stop the soldiers, so that we could get away.”

  Metellus said nothing, more moved by the story than he cared to admit. He saw in his mind’s eye the terrified, grief-stricken little girl…who had never grown up.

  “Perhaps you would like to know what happened to my face,” Daphne said softly, and before he could speak, she added, “Roman soldiers laid hot irons on me, when I wouldn’t tell them where Paulus and Alysia were. But don’t think I am so very brave. I couldn’t have done it, without God’s help.”

  “I’m sorry,” Metellus said soberly. “How did you come to know them…her parents?”

  “They brought me to the Lord,” she answered, a smile brightening her almond-shaped eyes. “And now, Simon, it is time for you to tell him about Jesus!”

  “If you will forgive me, I have already heard. He is the Jewish carpenter who was crucified for high treason, and who was rumored to rise from the dead.”

  Simon exchanged a solemn look with his wife. “Sir, you saw Paulus Valerius die. Do you believe he would have done so…on the basis of a rumor?”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Metellus answered, reluctantly.

  Daphne smiled again. “You’re not the first person to say that! And we are not offended. But please let us tell you—Jesus did not die for committing treason. He died…”

  “Please.” Metellus held up one hand. “I have heard everything I care to know. I don’t know why Paulus Valerius—or anyone who isn’t a Jew—would involve himself in this…superstition.”

  “As I was going to say, he died for you. And for everyone who has ever lived.”

  Simon put his arm around his wife. “If you really want to know the truth, sir, perhaps Rachel will tell it to you, during your journey.”

  Metellus sought to change the subject. “I have one last question in my mind about Rachel. Why did she go and live with the man Lazarus, instead of the two of you?”

  “At the time,” Simon answered, “Paulus didn’t know that Daphne and I would choose to remain here, instead of returning to Rome. Lazarus was like a brother to Alysia. It was Rachel’s parents’ wish for her to live with him, safely out of Rome, if anything should happen to them.”

  Daphne looked up at the darkening sky. “Speaking of Rachel, she should be back by now. Why don’t you go and find her, sir? I’ll tell you exactly where she is.”

  CHAPTER IV

  The faintest hint of red glowed in the western sky as Metellus approached the spot of land to which Daphne had directed him. He had to cross a large field, step over rocks and in and out of small gullies, until he came near to where he thought Rachel would be. Just before pushing through a thicket of shrubbery, he heard a sound that made him stop and stand perfectly still.

  She was singing. She had a clear and lyrical voice…but its tone was sad and haunting, as was the melody she strummed on a lyre. Beginning to push through the tall shrubs, he could see her sitting on a rock, the lyre on her lap, and she was looking up at the village that crowned the opposite hill. There were a few sheep scattered here and there, and two lambs lying next to each other, near the edge of the copse in which she sat.

  Before he could move she stopped abruptly, and barely seeming to stir, set the lyre on the ground next to her. At the same time she grabbed something with her hand. Reaching behind with her other hand, she drew something forward, and he saw with astonishment that she held a bow and arrow. His eyes moved swiftly over the landscape near her, and he saw the wolf, low in the bushes, its glowing eyes on the two resting lambs. His hand went to his side, but he had left his sword behind…he made a move forward, but when he saw Rachel, instinct made him stop and stand motionless.

  She had risen, one foot on a smaller rock before her, and with a perfect stance that astonished him still further, took careful aim. The sheep had begun to move restlessly, sensing danger, and just when Metellus thought the wolf was about to pounce, Rachel released her arrow. It pierced the animal’s neck, causing it to spasm and almost leap in the air, before it dropped in an ungainly heap upon the ground.

  She had reached swiftly for another arrow and stood poised to let it fly should the wolf get back on its feet. He waited a moment, and the word escaped him before he thought: “Diana!”

  He had spoken under his breath, but she heard him. She whirled to face him as he stepped through the bushes, the arrow now aimed at his heart. As recognition dawned, she lowered the bow and glared at him.

  “Do not ever call me that name again!”

  “I’m sorry.” He half-raised his arms at his sides. “Please forgive my pagan ways, damsel. You looked exactly like her—goddess of the hunt.”

  He was close to her now, and smiling. She noticed that the indentations on either side of his face deepened when he smiled, making it almost impossible not to return it, but she frowned instead.

  “Are you going to kill me?” he asked, when she did not move.

  Grudgingly, she let down her bow and arrow. “Not yet. I suppose you’ve come to collect me, and I’m not leaving until the shepherd returns.”

  “Then I’ll wait with you. Shall we sit?” He took a seat on a ledge jutting off the crag, opposite her own rock. It was almost dark. The sheep, momentarily alarmed by the brief appearance of the wolf, had already forgotten and were beginning to flock together, as if also waiting for the return of the shepherd.

  “I thought abandoning sheep was punishable by death,” he said, watching as she settled herself, keeping the bow and her quiver of arrows within reach.

  “I will allow you must be joking,” she answered, “but it is very strange that Reuben hasn’t come for them by now.”

  “Should we go and look for him? You don’t suppose the wolf—”

  Rachel shook her head. “Oh, no. He will be here.”

  Metellus crossed his arms. He could barely see her now, but he sensed her uneasiness. He didn’t know if it was because of him, or the wolf. Probably, to her, one was as bad as the other.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, gesturing toward her weapons.

  She looked down at them. It was a long time before she answered, in a small voice, “My father taught me.”

  “He taught you well. You must have been practicing a great deal.”

  She gave a little shrug. “You see, I don’t need your protection. I can take care of myself.”

  “Nevertheless, you shall have me. Maybe you will see fit to save my hide should the occasion arise.”

  She had to smile at so unlikely an occurrence. “Or put an arrow in your hide…should the occasion arise.”

  “I assure you, I have the greatest respect for a marksman such as yourself.”

  Rachel said nothing. Metellus uncrossed his arms, placed his hands on either side of the ledge, and leaned slightly forward.

  “You really need have no fear of me,” he said quietly. “I give you my word. Even your guardians trust me.”

  “And what have you done to earn it, except talk?”

  “I was prepared to wrestle that wolf to the ground, at risk of grievous injury to myself, to save you! For what more can you ask?”

  “I suppose the emperor would put you to death if something should happen to me.”

  “No, Claudius is no Caligula. But I do take my duties seriously.”

  He t
hought that she turned her face toward him, but then her voice sounded distant and muffled. “As you say.”

  Something moved among the distant trees, and they both stood…it came crashing through the undergrowth and resolved itself into the missing shepherd.

  He wore a short robe and carried a staff in his hands. He was panting heavily. “I’m sorry, Rachel. You know how close my house is…I was to be gone only a moment, but my mother is ill. “

  “Then you should go to her. I’ll stay here, until Simon can get someone else.”

  “My sister is with her now. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes…but, watch out for wolves.”

  “Have you seen one? We don’t get many around here.”

  “He’s over there,” Metellus told him, gesturing. “With an arrow in his throat.”

  Reuben glanced at Rachel’s bow. “Good for you! Thank God you were here.”

  “Goodnight, Reuben.”

  Rachel reached for the quiver of arrows, as Metellus picked up the lyre. She waited for him to precede her, but he said, “After you. Please.”

  Hitching up the edge of her gown, she began to make her way over the uneven and rocky ground. She stumbled once, and the Roman was instantly beside her, his hand on her elbow.

  She shook it off and hurried away from him. He let her go, but kept her in sight until they came to the house, whereupon he heard her skitter inside and the sound of a door slamming. He noticed Daphne standing in the shadowed hallway, watching…and there was a faint smile on her lips.

  * * * *

  Rachel surprised everyone by rising before dawn and cooking breakfast, having it ready to serve when the others began to emerge from their rooms. Miriam, the servant, had just arrived in the kitchen as Rachel began carrying dishes to the courtyard.

  “Please, you must let me do that!” she protested, and Rachel called over her shoulder, “Come and eat with us, Miriam—I made the wheat-cakes just the way you like them, with berries and honey!”

  Simon and Daphne laughed, and made the servant sit down with them. The tall Roman entered, wearing a brown tunic and with his dark hair damp from a recent combing.

  “This is my going-away gift,” Rachel said, pouring everyone a cup of goat’s milk. Her mouth quirked and she added, “Even though it is your food!”

  “How thoughtful of you!” Daphne answered. “I hope my husband won’t expect something like this every day from now on… I didn’t have Martha for a teacher!”

  “It’s nothing,” Rachel protested, gracefully sliding into her place. “Besides, Miriam is an excellent cook. I wanted to do this today. And I have something to ask in return.”

  Simon rolled his eyes in mock alarm. “Now what are we in for?”

  “It’s very simple. I want you to dissuade Lazarus from making me marry that man from Jerusalem.”

  A silence fell, and Rachel glanced innocently at Simon. “He said you knew about it.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss this in front of our guest—”

  “Oh, it’s already been discussed in front of the tribune. And I confess…I behaved rather badly.”

  Metellus looked at her. “She made quite a scene,” he agreed. “But to the man’s credit, he didn’t run flying back to Jerusalem.”

  “Rachel,” Simon said, so gently that Rachel steeled herself. “Daphne and Lazarus and I were all in agreement. This man would be good for you, and neither Lazarus nor I will be around forever, to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself!”

  “Indeed,” said Metellus. “She proved that last night.”

  Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “She killed a wolf, with a single shot.”

  No one looked surprised at this. Simon went on, “What have you against him, Rachel? He’s some fifteen years older than yourself…about the same age as the tribune, no doubt…a man settled in his ways, successful and well thought of—and he very much wants to marry you.”

  “Why, that’s much too old for me! He’ll be dead in a few years, and I will be alone again.”

  Daphne pursed her lips, as though restraining a smile. “He is just the right age, dear. Believe me.”

  Rachel looked at her indignantly. “How can you not be on my side, Daphne?”

  The other woman became serious. “I am on your side, Rachel. We all are. But, suppose we have been hasty, Simon? She’s going on a long journey to another city—she may meet someone else.”

  Simon glanced at his wife, hearing something in her voice that made him pause. “Not likely,” he said. “Not in Rome. But I will talk things over with Lazarus and Benjamin. There’s no need to do anything until you return.”

  “Oh, thank you, Simon!”

  “Rachel,” Daphne asked softly, “what do you have against marriage, when your parents had a perfect one?” She watched Rachel’s eyes flit quickly toward the Roman, and saw her cheeks fill with color. She knew, then, that her suspicions were correct.

  “No one could match what my mother and father had,” Rachel said stiffly. “Not even you and Simon. And I don’t think I could be happy with anything less.”

  “It wasn’t always that way between them,” Simon said pleasantly. “They had to work at it, like everyone else.”

  “All we want to do is fulfill our duty to your parents, and take care of you, because we love you.” Daphne rose. “Metellus said you would be leaving us today. Simon and I want to walk with you to Bethany. We’ll stay the night with Lazarus and see you off in the morning.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Daphne.”

  “We want to. Now, let’s all get ready to go, shall we? Miriam will clear the table.”

  Metellus also stood, and said, “Thank you, Rachel, for an excellent breakfast.”

  She hesitated, inclined her head awkwardly, and left the courtyard.

  Before Metellus could leave, Daphne reached out and touched his arm. “You will take good care of her, won’t you?”

  His eyes met hers. “I will do anything I have to do, to keep her safe.”

  * * * *

  The return to Bethany was much more endurable than had been the journey to Bethlehem, since Simon and Daphne were along. Metellus walked behind them, always watchful. Rachel thought it ridiculous; this was not a dangerous road. But then, she’d once heard something about her mother being abducted on the tiny road between Jerusalem and Bethany, so perhaps it was just as well that the Roman seemed to be prepared for trouble. She threw a glance back now and then, wishing he didn’t always look so serious. But—what did she expect? She didn’t know him at all, and was about to spend practically every waking moment with him for the next few months!

  They reached Bethany without mishap, spending the day lounging about the courtyard, and watching Samuel sail his boat. Judith had a banquet prepared, in honor of her departure. Rachel was vaguely disappointed that Metellus didn’t stay…instead he returned to Jerusalem to spend the night at the Antonia. She spent much of the evening packing her clothes and everything she could think of that she might need. She was just about to put on her nightgown and get into bed when someone knocked on the oaken door. It was Daphne.

  Daphne, too, wore a nightgown, covered by a green silk robe, with a white shawl over her head and shoulders. She removed the shawl as she sat down on Rachel’s bed.

  “May I speak with you, Rachel?”

  “Of course, Daphne.”

  The other woman seemed to search for words. Rachel gazed at her silently, admiring her beauty, aching for the scars on her face.

  “We’ve been so concerned about you, dear. And shall we be frank?—Anything could happen on your journey, and we might never see you again. Your father would want—oh, Rachel, I must know that you still love God! I know that you are saved and you can never lose that, but what precious time you waste when you hold yourself from him!”

  “Daphne, this is something I—I cannot talk about.”

  “Please try to mak
e things right! Will you promise me?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  Daphne stared at her searchingly. “Well, then—will you do this? This man, this Roman, is not a believer. We tried to tell him about the Lord, and he would not listen. He has a mission, to protect you—will you make it your mission to tell him the truth, as soon as—as soon as the opportunity presents itself?”

  Rachel thought for a moment, and nodded. “Of course. I can do that.”

  “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

  “What does that matter? He is just a soldier, doing his duty.”

  “Your father was a soldier once.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Daphne smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with being a soldier. They can be brave and good and—well, I won’t keep you up any longer. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She glided through the doorway, her light perfume lingering behind her.

  * * * *

  Metellus was not looking forward to this day. Emotions were private, not to be made a spectacle to the world—and the Jews were an emotional people. He hoped there would not be an outburst of weeping and wailing.

  He eyed the donkey he had bought. Her name was Huldah, the merchant had told him…a strange name for this friendly female, and he gave her a pat before he tightened the straps holding on his baggage and other accoutrements. The merchant had said she was five years old, but she was probably older; she was a dull brown with a white belly, and white legs speckled with brown.

  He sent a casual wave toward the men working in the stable and led the donkey down the wide ramp to the street below. It was a warm and windy day, and the streets were crowded. He made his way to the lower city and finally across the valley to the road leading to Bethany. They would have to turn back onto the same road, for they would be leaving from Jerusalem. He planned to travel by way of Emmaus to Lydda, then north for some miles until reaching the highway to Joppa. These were well-traveled roads, and would be less dangerous than the more direct route he might be inclined to take were he traveling alone.