LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

put yourself and my men in danger.” He clenched his teeth so tightly they should have splintered.

      “I had to see for myself. You wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

      “This isn’t a contest of wills,” he shouted. “I can’t protect you unless you follow the rules.”

      His shoulders slowly fell back to their usual position. “When your husband finds out, he will not like this.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      His mother said…“do whatever he tells you.”

      —John 2:5

      Crumpled on my bed, alone and confused, I sank into a dreamy sleep. From a place near the window, a narrow figure of a man came toward me. He was carrying a physician’s box. One of Chuza’s doctors, I supposed. Rolling back the sleeve of his robe, he uncovered his long fingers and pressed them against my cheek. The warm impression lingered, like a blessing. He placed his hand upon me, a hand so large it formed a collar around my throat. His touch freed my labored breathing. I thought I knew him but could not recall where we met. Opening my eyes, I expected to see him beside me. He was gone.

      “Chuza,” I called, drowsiness weighting my voice. I went from room to room searching for my husband, until I realized it was midday and he was not at home. Octavia prepared a bath with chamomile, where I steeped until I heard him coming along the hall. His thick leather sandals padded his heavy steps. Dressing quickly I met him as he entered my rooms.

      “Manaen told me what happened this morning,” he said. He was stern and unapproachable.

      “We got separated at the temple.”

      “Separated? You ran away from him. Joanna, you knew it was dangerous.”

      “Something happened to me, Chuza.”

      “You could have caused a riot. You put my men in danger.”

      Leaning against the window behind me, I moved my fingers along the sill like a blind woman feeling her way.

      “I wanted to pray.”

      “You promised to stay with Manaen.”

      “I knew I was safe.”

      “Joanna.”

      Chuza’s disappointment melted my confidence.

      “What will Pilate say?” he murmured. “And of course Antipas will hear all about it, if he hasn’t already.”

      “Someone called my name. I heard a voice.”

      “Manaen is one of our best men. He could have been slaughtered by that crowd.”

      The sound of a heavy object dropping on a hard surface came from the next room. Chuza hurtled in that direction. There was Octavia, sitting at my writing table, cleaning ink bottles and pens.

      “You can go,” I said. She hurried away without trying to explain herself.

      “I forgot she was here,” I said. “I trust Octavia, she is very loyal.”

      My husband looked out at the tile roof across the courtyard that sheltered the rooms where Antipas stayed when he was in Jerusalem. On the rise of the next hill was Pilate’s villa. Chuza’s reputation, his honor, depended on their certainty that he was a strong leader. I saw my actions through his eyes. They were inexcusable, yet I tried once more to explain.

      “God called my name this morning,” I said.

      “No one will believe that,” Chuza answered. “God is a social obligation, not someone who talks to people.”

      “We don’t have to tell anyone.”

      “After the spectacle you made of yourself this morning? Everyone in Jerusalem knows.” Chuza’s short thick hands flying in the air above his head told me he was as angry as I had ever seen him.

      “Maybe no one will mention it,” I whimpered, hoping to win his forgiveness.

      “That’s what spies are for.”

      I was not helping matters, and Chuza was not really listening.

      “I have to lie down,” I said. My husband left me.

      Of all the plans that came to me when I was alone, only one brought comfort. I called Octavia and asked her to find Phineas, my driver. He entered my sitting room, bowing slightly.

      “Go to Nazareth in the morning,” I instructed him. It was a long trip. He would be gone at least seven days, yet my good servant did not flinch.

      “Tell no one here where you are going. When you reach Nazareth, find the healer’s mother and ask if I might visit her twelve days from now.” I took a small stone jar of rose water from my dressing table and gave it to him as a gift for her.

      The next day Pilate and his wife invited us to the governor’s palace to celebrate the end of the Jewish festival. Chuza escorted me to the women’s quarters on his way to join the men. Of all the women at court, Pilate’s wife, Claudia Procula, was the only one I ever much liked. For some reason she took to me, as well. I suppose it was that we could talk for hours about our astrologers and the excitement of luck and chance.

      I believed that wonder-workers were my best hope for an end to my illness. It was a matter of stumbling upon the right one. As for Procula, the pressures of her husband’s high rank gave her endless reasons to seek the advice of the soothsayers.

      In her airy apartment on the second floor of the palace, Procula bounced from guest to guest. For such a large woman she was unusually light on her feet, balancing wide, rolling curves of flesh above her small, dainty shoes. She fussed over us, passing bowls of plump raisins and braided bread flavored with almonds. I recognized it, a family recipe from home. Cordoba, was it? I’d never been to a party at the governor’s palace that did not include almond bread.

      As I crossed the room I began to notice that the other women were watching. When I passed the dessert table three of them covered their faces to hide their laughter. I knew it was at my expense.

      An older woman sat alone in the corner nodding to the sounds of a harp. I passed her by, and she opened her eyes doubly wide to make certain I noticed before she turned away. I folded myself into the nearest couch, a shining thing of red-and-gold stripes. Procula came bubbling in my direction.

      “Joanna,” she said, “my dear friend.”

      I smiled, straining to understand my hostess, who delivered every sentence with trills and coos. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She stretched out her hands but quickly drew them back in a strange half greeting. I had long since learned to accept such behavior without reacting. There are people who refuse to be in the same room with any who have suffered from consumption. Some doctors won’t treat us for fear they will fall ill.

      “Tell me everything,” she urged me. “I’ve been waiting.”

      My face burst into a moist heat. “There is nothing to tell you, really,” I began, dabbing my throat with a handkerchief. My illness sometimes filled me with flashes of inner fire that caused this embarrassing wet condition.

      The whole room seemed to be watching us. Some of the devout women among us had probably been there at the women’s court and witnessed my humiliating departure. Procula was the only one bold enough to ask.

      “I wish I had the pluck to do what you did this morning,” she said, delighted with me. “I’m always trying to find ways to attract handsome men. To have Manaen rescue me! What was it like?”

      “I don’t know how to describe it,” I said. My hostess was a woman who fed on gossip and scandal. I was not about to offer myself as her next meal.

      “Don’t be shy,” she coaxed. “My astrologer already told me.” Her eyes grew as wide as orbs. “His Magnificence, Lord Darius, predicted it. A woman from the north, someone I knew, would come to Jerusalem.

Скачать книгу