Child of the King

by Debra Diaz

  He had strapped his sword onto the donkey, not wishing to draw undue attention to himself. He, too, had a bow and sheathe of arrows. It was good to know that Rachel knew how to use them, should the need arise.

  Bethany’s gate came into view, and he passed through it, soon arriving at Lazarus’ house. Just as he expected, they were all gathered in the courtyard, and as soon as someone saw him they came through the opening to the front of the house. Rachel approached him first, wearing a dark, long-sleeved gown that he expected would be very hot, with a mantle draped over her shoulders that she obviously intended to wear over her hair. Her face looked wan and pale.

  “This,” he said, with mock formality, “is Huldah.”

  “Hello, Huldah,” she said, and rubbed the donkey’s nose.

  Her family stood behind her. The servants waited in the courtyard, watching through the doorway as Rachel bade everyone farewell. There were tears in everyone’s eyes, but Metellus thought they were doing very well…until she came to Simon. Then, for some reason, she broke down and clung to him as if her heart were broken.

  Daphne came to her and they all three stood together, their arms around each other, until even Metellus had to turn away. He busied himself tying the baggage to the donkey’s back, balancing it so she would have an even load.

  Then Rachel was walking away from them, toward Jerusalem, and Metellus looked at the others. “Try not to worry,” he said. “I will bring her back.”

  They stood and watched him as he followed Rachel. He heard Lazarus call out, “We have prayed for you both, and will continue to do so every day. God be with you.”

  Metellus glanced over his shoulder and nodded, but Rachel never looked back.

  * * * *

  Claudius Lysias, the tribune in command of the Antonia, was respected, if not liked, by the Jews. The procurator of Judea, Ventidius Cumanus, was neither liked nor respected. Several things happened under his governorship to anger and excite the Jews, one of which was the memorable occasion when…during a religious holiday…one of the Roman soldiers stationed along the side of the Temple Mount exposed his bare backside to the multitude, doubling the insult by making rude noises. The Jews responded by picking up rocks and throwing them at the soldiers, whereupon Cumanus brought out reinforcements, causing a general stampede during which thousands of people were crushed to death.

  Cumanus found it difficult to control his own men, and Lysias, a man of stronger character and better judgment, was unable to retain control when Cumanus constantly undermined his efforts, simply to show that he had more power and authority. This happened even when the governor was not in Jerusalem, for he usually stayed in Caesarea except during the Jewish festivals. He frequently sent messages for Lysias to do this or that, or go here or there, so that it often appeared that the Antonia had no commander. To complicate matters, Herod Agrippa the Second, who superintended the Jewish Temple, pandered to the Romans and irritated the Jews by the way he high-handedly appointed this man high priest and deposed that one.

  The growing maelstrom was fueled by the actions of the Zealots, a faction of Jews who hated Roman rule, killed them in ambushes and assassinations, and were daily growing bolder due to the lack of management in Jerusalem and elsewhere in the provinces. Add to this the daily altercations between the Jewish religious leaders and the Christians, whom the Jews regarded as a cult led by a false Messiah, and Jerusalem had become like a seething volcano.

  Thinking of these things, Metellus watched as Rachel walked before him, gracefully merging in and out of the lines of people in the streets. Lazarus had told him that she often came here, to walk and look at the sights like any pilgrim might do. It surprised him that her guardians allowed her to come, with all the upheaval and potential for sudden violence. Almost losing sight of her, he pulled harder on the donkey’s rope and called, “Rachel!”

  She slowed her steps and twisted her head back to look at him.

  “Come here!”

  Tightening her lips at his tone, she stopped and waited for him to catch up with her.

  “Stay close to me until we get out of the city—then you can run a mile ahead for all I care, as long as I can see you.”

  Someone jostled against her just then, causing her to plunge into him with such force that her head fell back and her body was momentarily locked against his. He caught her around the waist, and looking into her face, saw a deep flush suffuse it from chin to forehead.

  “Well,” he said, “perhaps not this close.”

  Rachel pushed away from him and regained her balance. “It was not on purpose, I assure you!”

  “Huldah asked me to tell you that you are causing her considerable discomfort, trying to keep up with you, and that if you can’t restrain yourself you might as well ride on her back.”

  “No, thank you!” Rachel avoided looking at him, and reached out to scratch the donkey between the ears. “Where shall I walk then, in front of you, behind you…on the other side of Huldah?”

  “Stay beside me,” he said, taking her arm and drawing her toward him. “Until we pass through the western gate.”

  Reluctantly, she fell into step next to him. Her arm repeatedly brushed against his, despite her efforts to prevent it. The contact with his hard-muscled arm, and his body, caused a rush of emotions that left her shaking…and to her consternation, a rush of other feelings that left her tingling.

  “Why,” she asked, striving to control her voice, “are you doing this?”

  She knew he looked down at her. “Doing what?”

  “Giving up so much time out of your life, even risking your own life, to take me on this journey.”

  After a moment, he said, “A service…to my king.”

  “Did he command you to do it?”

  “He asked me to do it.”

  They walked on for a moment, as the crowd began to thin somewhat, and the sound of many voices to diminish.

  “And you said yes. Why?”

  Metellus paused before answering, because she would not want to hear it.

  “It was because of your father.”

  After a long moment, she said, in a small voice, “You knew him?”

  “I knew of him.”

  “Many people knew him, or heard of him. Did you know he once commanded the Antonia?”

  “Yes, and did a good job of it, from all accounts. His name is still spoken with respect in Rome—in spite of what happened.”

  She glanced at him. “Thank you for that.” Then, as quickly, she drew a little away from him and he felt her wall of resistance go back up.

  Metellus decided not to tell her, just then, that he had been present at her father’s death. In her troubled mind she might think he’d been part of it.

  CHAPTER V

  Megara couldn’t believe she was returning to the place she’d once hated…Palestine, and in particular, Caesarea. She had come here, twenty or so years ago, with her first husband, Paulus Valerius, when he was appointed to command the Antonia Fortress by Tiberius Caesar. They had landed at Caesarea and journeyed on to Jerusalem, where she had spent several of the most unhappy years of her life.

  Paulus had finally sent her back to Rome, where eventually she had pretended to commit suicide to escape the political mayhem going on in Rome at the time—well, those had not been happy days either. Paulus had wasted little time in marrying the woman he really loved…the former slave, Alysia.

  She sat back in the carriage as it rolled over the smooth pavement toward the procurator’s palace. It seemed exactly like that other time—even the weather was the same…hot, sunny, windy. She glanced at her second husband, Drusus Appius, who sat across from her, staring morosely out the window. He hadn’t wanted to come here, either. Claudius had given him this appointment, as deputy procurator to Ventidius Cumanus. The emperor wasn’t pleased with the reports he was receiving on the administrative capabilities of Cumanus, and was setting up Drusus as a possible replacement. But Drusus had had such hopes before, being sent
to provinces all over the Empire…always merely as second in command.

  Megara sighed, and thought of those long ago days. Paulus and Alysia were gone now, and she had played no small role in their deaths. She often wondered about their daughter, who had escaped…it was likely she was somewhere in Palestine, perhaps even in Judea—where her mother had once lived.

  It didn’t matter; Caligula was dead, too, and the child was no longer sought. Just as Megara had not been sought after her own escape from that madman. Within a year she had accomplished her goal of marrying a wealthy Roman. He was short, bald, and ill-natured, but he had succumbed to her stronger will and made her his wife. Security, at last!

  Megara smoothed her hair, still red after all these years, though a shade or two darker, and thought again about Paulus’ daughter. Perhaps, when she and Drusus traveled to Jerusalem—as they inevitably would—Megara would pay a visit to Bethany.

  She had something she wanted to say to the child.

  * * * *

  After they had passed through the west gate of Jerusalem, Rachel was once again several paces ahead of Metellus. He didn’t mind, for there were far less people on this well-paved Roman road. He enjoyed the sight of her tall, slender body and gently swinging hips, which seemed to come naturally…and which she didn’t try to exaggerate in the way of many women. He watched in amusement as the mantle came down off her head, then was shrugged off her shoulders and carried.

  Rachel stayed on the pavement, but he led Huldah to the side of the road, to spare her hooves. As before on the way to Bethlehem, Rachel began to grow tired and slowed her steps, finally walking next to Huldah.

  “I need to ask you something,” she said, her gaze averted and her nose winsomely in the air. “Where are we going to sleep? Are we stopping at Emmaus? There are several inns there.”

  “That was my plan,” he answered. “Although we should go farther, and have fewer miles to travel tomorrow. We could make camp somewhere.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You mean sleep out in the open?”

  “It has been done,” he said dryly, and nodded at the items strapped on the donkey. “I brought pallets, and tents.”

  “I hardly think that would be proper! Did you discuss this with my guardians?”

  “About our sleeping arrangements? No. They were more concerned about your safety.”

  “Well, it couldn’t be safe, lying about the countryside, with robbers, and—and wild animals—”

  “I see you brought your bow and arrows. That makes me feel very safe.”

  “I think we should always stay at inns.”

  “I don’t know about the inns here, but most of those where I have stayed were full of bedbugs.”

  “Well,” she said, “better bedbugs than—other things.”

  “Meaning me,” he said, grinning.

  “I am not afraid of you!”

  “Yes, you are. You think I’m a savage and I’m going to carry you off like one of the Sabine women.”

  “That is absurd!”

  “They weren’t really raped, you know—as the story goes. The soldiers actually married them.”

  “No woman should be forced to do anything against her will!”

  “Such as—marry?” When she didn’t answer, he ventured, “Why are you so set against getting married?”

  Rachel said quietly, so as not to seem very rude, “It’s none of your concern.”

  Metellus’ brow furrowed and he wondered, not for the first time, if something else had happened to her besides the loss of her parents. It would be like Caligula—to abuse a child. The very thought stirred an almost murderous rage. He sought a change of subject.

  “I’m not trying to pry into your life, Rachel. But I would like to know you better. Tell me, if you don’t mind, how it is that your guardians allow you to roam all over Jerusalem when there is such danger there these days?”

  Rachel glanced sidewise at him, deciding there was no harm in this discussion. “They always send someone with me. And they simply have to trust God to take care of me, because it’s something I have to do.”

  “Why?” he asked curiously.

  “It keeps me close to—him.”

  “Your father?”

  She shook her head. “Jesus. Because I—I haven’t talked with him much—in a long time.”

  To humor her, he said, “You mean Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified in Jerusalem.”

  Rachel nodded. “I like to go to the places he was often seen, especially the Temple. Although I’ve never seen Golgotha—it’s outside the city gate.”

  “What’s that?”

  “ ‘The place of the skull’. Romans call it Calvary. Where he died. And I haven’t seen the tomb—where he rose again.”

  Metellus had heard the tale, and it brought to mind the still vivid memory of her father’s death, because it was for that name he had died. He found he was not comfortable with this subject.

  “If you haven’t spoken to him, you must be angry with your God,” he observed, thinking she was about to tell him the whole incredible story, and hoping to distract her. He was more successful than he meant to be.

  “I am not angry! I’m—”

  Metellus smiled. “What? Hurt? Aphrodite hurt my feelings once…I didn’t speak to her for a week.”

  Rachel stopped in her tracks and stared at him, her eyes wide and furious, and bright green without a trace of blue. “You have no idea what you are saying!”

  His smile faded and he said humbly, “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

  She wasn’t ready to forgive, and her eyes flashed at him. “You—you—”

  “Heathen?” he said helpfully. “Ignorant buffoon?”

  Rachel almost gritted her teeth. “Do not speak to me again, until we get to Rome!”

  With that she went marching ahead of him. The donkey flicked her ears and one eye rolled up at Metellus.

  “Yes, Huldah,” he said, watching Rachel’s long stride appreciatively. “I like her, too.”

  * * * *

  They reached Emmaus well before dark, but spent so much time looking for an inn that night had almost fallen…when they came to the last one. The innkeeper lamented, “You have probably heard there is some sort of gathering of merchants in Lydda. It happens every year and they bring their families—there is not a room to be had in Joppa or Lydda—or here. But there is the courtyard, if you have something to sleep on.”

  “Yes,” said Metellus, already digging out coins from the small bag he wore around his waist. He was tired, and irritated by Rachel’s continued animosity.

  “Why don’t you stay in the stable,” she said pointedly, “with the asses?”

  “Because hay makes me sneeze,” he replied, beginning to loosen straps on the donkey. “It’s a clear night—the courtyard will do. There are plenty of blankets, and I’m sure the innkeeper has more, if we need them.”

  Rachel was too exhausted to argue. All she wanted was a place to lay her head and go to sleep. She watched numbly as Metellus led Huldah to the stable, and while he was gone set about making a pallet for herself on one side of the courtyard, and one for him on the other side. They would have privacy, it seemed, for there were no lights in the small, latticed windows surrounding them, and all was quiet. Once a baby cried and was quickly hushed…far away down one of the streets a dog was barking. Overhead, the black velvet of the sky was dotted with silver, and the great yellow moon hung low, reflecting dully off the bricks and tiles.

  It had grown cold. She lay down and covered herself with blankets, glad that the soldier had the foresight to have brought thin cushions for their heads. He returned after a while, no doubt having seen to getting food and water for Huldah. He seemed to be looking around, observing everything. Without speaking he loosened the belt around his waist, placed the money bag beneath the blankets, and laid his sword at his side.

  He would have said “Good night”, but she wouldn’t have answered. He lay on his back, arms crossed over his waist,
and tried to stay awake as long as possible. Rachel was already asleep.

  * * * *

  What brought on the old dream, she never knew. It had tormented her for a long time after she arrived in Bethany, filling her with a dark desperation that made her thrash helplessly in her bed, and caused her to cry out in a voice so filled with anguish that Lazarus and Judith, and even the servants, ran to her and tried to comfort her.

  The dream began in a sunny meadow, bright with yellow wildflowers. A man appeared, walking slowly toward her. She knew by his height and stride that it was her father—even before she saw his face. How dear and familiar it was, and she ran toward him, still a little girl. As she was running, her mother appeared…lovely and smiling…and she stood close beside Paulus as he went down on one knee, holding out his arms to Rachel.

  But Rachel ran and ran and could never reach them. The dream turned dark and ugly. The meadow became a street…there were horses everywhere, bearing faceless and menacing figures. Her mother disappeared, and her father was on one of the horses, turning it away, disappearing among all the others as if being swallowed by a black sea.

  “No!” she cried. “Don’t leave me!”

  Metellus heard the half-strangled sob and leaped up, his hand on his sword and his gaze running swiftly over the courtyard. He saw only Rachel, tossing wildly among her blankets. He was at her side in a moment and bent low to take her gently by the shoulders.

  “Rachel, wake up…”

  The moment he touched her she bolted upright, her eyes wide and staring. “Mother! Father!”

  “Rachel,” he said quietly, his hands lowering to her upper arms and clasping them tightly. He went down on his haunches. “Wake up.”

  She looked up at him, and gradually her face cleared from the fog of sleep. Her brows drew together in dismay as she realized what had happened.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaking…as was her body. “I had a—a nightmare.”