LITMIR.BIZ

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speeches or learn the teachings of Jesus. I only wanted him to save my life. Mary’s silence told me that she understood all of this.

      I looked up at the sky to avoid her questioning gaze. A full moon slid from behind the clouds and lit the town, turning whitewashed huts into blue pearls.

      It seemed best to end our conversation and continue it another time. My cousin was protective of her son, or, perhaps she did not agree that I deserved special treatment. A moment’s shame came over me, an uncommon thing for the wife of Herod’s steward.

      “May I come to see you again?” I asked. Mary pressed my cold hands between hers, which were strong and reassuring. She did not explain her earlier reticence and I did not dare to ask about it. For all her quiet grace, I sensed a formidable nature.

      “I hope you will come to see me again,” she said. “You are welcome here.”

      Octavia had been sitting a close distance from us. I motioned for her to call Phineas. Mary waited with me until he arrived. We were just about to leave when she made a promise. “I will tell my son about you.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      My soul yearns, even faints

      For the courts of the Lord

      —Psalms 84:1

      Spring brought the rain that forced the crocus into bloom and the feast of Passover that set the Hebrews on pilgrimage. Each year they entered Jerusalem in such numbers that every rooftop was rented two or three times over. By night the hills outside the city flickered with campfires.

      That year Antipas’s knees and ankles swelled to twice their normal bulk. He was in such pain from his gout that he could not walk. Chuza went to Jerusalem in the tetrarch’s place, to keep order during the festival. I arranged for us to transport my husband’s bed, his copy of Virgil and his most comfortable sandals, hoping to lift the gloom out of the guest rooms in the governor’s compound where we would stay. Pontius Pilate governed Jerusalem and Judea with disdain for those he ruled. It soured the very air around him, even in his own household.

      From the day that we arrived in Jerusalem my husband made a point of being visible on the streets, especially in the Hebrew quarter. At home he turned quarrelsome and complained about things he could usually ignore.

      “Give back those berries,” he snarled one night at dinner. Manaen, my husband’s trusted colleague, was our only guest. Chuza drank several extra glasses of wine, and then he craved something sweet. He reached for the small bowl of wild strawberries, a gift from Claudia Procula, the governor’s wife.

      “You’ve had enough,” I said. “You know what will happen.” Berries raked through Chuza’s insides like shattered glass. I slid the bowl away from him.

      “Tell me,” Manaen interrupted. “What have you seen around the city these last few days?” Manaen was at least ten years younger than my husband, closer to my age. He spoke with the respect he would show a teacher. Chuza warmed to it.

      “Chaos,” my husband said, tossing back another swallow of wine. “You would think Tiamat and his demons had taken control.”

      “The Syrian god,” I offered. “The one who rebelled against heaven.” My husband’s references to his native gods were always from the old regime. It was his way of mocking the whole idea of a heaven and an underworld. He didn’t believe in gods any more than I did. He therefore called on those who had been cast out after the Greeks conquered Syria.

      Manaen nodded politely, not much interested in my help.

      “I have seen it, of course,” he said about the frenzied crowds.

      “Does it offend you, that the Jews are patrolled this way?” Chuza asked. “You are one of them, after all.”

      “I’d rather it be me keeping order in the streets than someone who has no understanding of them.” Our guest was a clever politician.

      “The city swells to three times its normal size during Passover, as you know,” my husband said. “You can help by reassuring the Jews that the Romans only want to keep the peace.”

      They were at ease with each other in a way I rarely saw in either of them when Antipas was present. They talked about how to relieve traffic near the temple and limit the fire hazards in the campsites outside the city. I stole glances at Manaen’s amber-colored hair, his green eyes.

      “We had to stop repairs on the aqueducts as of this morning,” Chuza said, swizzling the last of his wine. “It’s the worst possible time for it. After all the rain, the plaster is peeling off the canals.” Every year at Passover, what Pilate resented most was the work stoppage. He had no choice.

      “The Hebrews don’t work on their holy days,” Manaen said. “I am only here because it is my duty. Antipas has never asked me before.”

      “It’s pointless to force them when so many refuse to cooperate,” Chuza said. “Nearly half the men working on the aqueducts now are Jews. Pilate gives in to them for one reason. He expects them to give him seven days of peace in return. No riots.”

      “Bribery,” Manaen said. An outspoken man, he must get noticed at court, I thought as I guessed the width of his shoulders. Nearly double that of his waist. He ran his fingers absently over the leather cuff he wore on his wrist.

      “There have been riots, you know,” I said, looking to my husband for approval. “That was before you were born, Manaen.”

      “Some of the worst were more than thirty years ago,” Chuza said. “Oddly enough, they were in Sepphoris.” He sat forward on his couch, more interested now that the conversation turned to war stories. “Herod the Great sent soldiers to inspect the city, with Caesar’s insignia blazing on their shields. It’s against Jewish laws to make a human replica.”

      “Idolatry,” Manaen answered.

      “They stoned the soldiers and forced a retreat. The next day Herod sent five hundred men into Sepphoris. They torched the city. Hundreds were killed.” Excited by this talk of military strategy, Chuza reached across the table, scooped up a few more berries and tossed them into his mouth.

      Manaen picked up the story. “There were no Hebrews in Sepphoris for some time after that. Not until Herod the Great died and Antipas was named Tetrarch of Galilee.”

      “That’s right. Antipas brought them back.” Chuza was delighted by all this talk of blood and battles. “He needed workers to rebuild the city and they needed jobs. Why not bring them back? He is a Jew himself, though he doesn’t keep their ways. I give him credit. The city has improved its relations with the Romans, over time.”

      Finishing the last of his wine, Chuza placed his cup on the table. In the same move he dropped a few more berries into his mouth, looked at me and smiled sweetly.

      He knew what I was about to say and so answered me, “They will not.” I went to sit beside him on his couch. His drooping eyelids told me he was tired. I nudged him to his feet and aimed him toward the door.

      “I’ll take the first shift in the morning,” Manaen said, rising in respect for my husband. He was taller than Chuza by a hand’s width.

      “May I go with him?” I asked. Chuza stopped our swaying walk and puffed up his cheeks to hold back a laugh.

      “I’ve always wondered,” I said, pushing away the berry bowl as we passed by the table, “what it is like in the temple precinct at the festival.” Perhaps I would see the healer from Nazareth. His mother might have told him about me, as she promised.

      Chuza reached around me. His fingers danced mischievously along the rim of the berry bowl. Life with him was a game of negotiations. He did not reach for more but passed the table and went toward Manaen. “A woman from court is never welcome in the temple precinct,” he said. “It will make your work more difficult.”

      “She’ll be all right with me,” Manaen said.

      Chuza

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