CHAPTER XV

 

Morning came; the night was over, drawn down into all the past nights of her life. But this one…this one she would remember, forever and ever.

She pulled Nathan’s cloak over her gown. Paulus had just slipped his tunic over his head. He was about to go and get Simon; the two men would return to the inn and Paulus would watch for Lucius while Simon followed her at a safe distance and made sure she arrived safely in Bethany. The coals in the brazier had died to ashes and it was cold again. Paulus tied his belt and went to her, taking her arms in his hands. “You must be more careful. You must stay safe. I’ll find a way to make Lucius leave Jerusalem. I should have done so before now.”

Alysia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He put his hand beneath her chin, lifted her face, and gently kissed her.

Without warning the door crashed open, the wooden bolt flying across the room. Shocked, they both spun to face the door. Paulus reacted with a swiftness the two attackers had not anticipated, and in a single movement pushed Alysia out of harm’s way and grabbed his dagger from where he had placed it on a table.

One of the men was a giant, a head taller than Paulus and twice as wide. As Paulus sprang at him, the other man swung a club and knocked the knife from his hand. Paulus’ fist smashed into the man’s face, slamming him backward against the wall. The larger one struck Paulus from behind with stunning force. He whirled and knocked the breath from that assailant, just before the other man recovered his senses and brought his club down hard on Paulus’ head. He slumped to the floor, then groaned and attempted to rise. The larger man struck him with his fist, while the other kicked him in the ribs. Paulus moved no more.

Too stunned to scream, Alysia was pulled, struggling, through the door…all the while hanging back and trying to see how badly injured Paulus might be, whispering his name, barely able to speak. Instantly a rank-smelling cloth was stuffed into her mouth The street was empty as the two men dragged her into an alley, and from the shadows emerged four robed and turbaned men. Coins quickly exchanged hands; there was a brief, muttered conversation. One of the attackers had a bloody face and limped down the alley. The larger one remained, holding her tightly.

Alysia managed to spit out the cloth and found her voice. “Let go of me!”

“Be silent, adulteress,” said one of the Jews.

She stopped her wild grappling as the word exploded in her brain.

“The punishment for adultery is death, by stoning.”

“I am not Jewish!” she cried desperately. “You cannot judge me by your laws!”

The men, all of whom were bearded and dressed as Pharisees, looked at each other. One of them said in low tones to the man holding her, “You were to make certain that the criterions were met.”

“Oh, I know who she is—she’s married all right, to that Zealot I’ve told you about. And that wasn’t him she was with.”

All four of the Jews then turned and began striding rapidly down the alley, their black robes and broad, tasseled borders flapping, their pointed turbans bobbing beneath the head coverings that were almost as long as their robes. The hired man forced her to follow. Alysia was frantic, choking back sobs. Through the narrow, unpaved streets, past the yellowing limestone houses they went, until she saw they were heading for the Temple.

“They are going to kill me,” she thought, and stumbled against the man dragging her. He picked her up and carried her struggling form under one arm, climbing up the steep flight of stone steps until they came to one of the entrance gates. Once inside the gate the man shoved her through the dimly lit passageway, up more stairs, until they emerged onto what was called the royal portico; it was upraised and surrounded by innumerable white columns. The morning sun threw the portico and the vast pavement into shade, and there sat a number of men and women, listening to a man who sat on a row of steps before them. He had dark hair tied in the back, and alert dark eyes that glanced away from the crowd and directly into her own.

Jesus of Nazareth . This was too great to be borne…surely nothing she had ever done warranted having to face this man with her shame!

“Master,” called one of her captors, in a deliberate, falsely humble tone, “we are sorry to interrupt, but we have a question of the utmost importance.”

The four Pharisees had been joined by several other men, clad in expensive-looking robes; they were scribes and other authorities in the Law. All were somber and silent, and stared fixedly at the Nazarene. None of them so much as looked at Alysia, whose head was covered by the hood of her cloak. She was in front of the crowd, so that no one but Jesus and the disciple who sat next to him could see her face. As she stood there, trembling, her abductor yanked the hood down, causing her hair to spill out and over her shoulders; he shoved her forward yet again and turned to disappear amidst the rows of mammoth columns.

She held her head high, drawing the cloak tightly across her body with trembling hands. Her lips parted and she breathed rapidly; she could see her breath plume before her in the cold morning air. A sudden gust of wind lifted her wildly cascading hair, and it played about her head like a cloud of darkness. Bright color stained her cheeks. Her knees shook so that the enveloping garment quivered over them.

“The Law,” continued the Pharisee, “commands that those guilty of adultery be stoned to death.”

They would take her outside the city walls, they would pick up the heavy, jagged rocks…Alysia would steel herself for the first cruel blow, her body would be broken beyond recognition. Her scalp tingled, as if anticipating the first stone that would flatten her skull.

“What,” said the Pharisee,” do you say?” They stood there, watching him.

But the Nazarene did not even seem to hear them. After his first glance of recognition, he had turned his attention away, as though to show his contempt for her accusers. His jaw tightened with what seemed repressed anger. His gaze was on the pavement, which bore a coating of the white dust that covered everything in Judea. Then he leaned over slightly and with his finger began writing in it.

Alysia could look at no one else. Her cascading hair still shielded her from the crowd behind her. The people were utterly silent and she could feel dozens of pairs of eyes pinned to her back. All activity at this early hour had ceased, the babble and movement of those few strolling across the Court of the Gentiles, the clinking of coins at the Treasury…

“This woman,” said the same Pharisee, rather testily, “has been caught in the very act of adultery!”

The Nazarene continued to trace a finger in the dust, his brow furrowed as if he were deep in thought.

“Rabbi,” called one of the scribes. “Our Law says to kill her! Will you deny the Law? What shall we do with this woman?”

The crowd began to murmur. And at last the Nazarene moved.

He rose, his lean form unfolding with slow deliberation. He drew himself to his full height, and under his steady gaze the crowd quieted again and waited for him to speak. His voice came low but seemed to ring in the stillness.

“Whichever one of you has never sinned, be the first to cast a stone at her.”

Silence hung in the air. Alysia held her breath and closed her eyes, but only for a moment. And, unbelievably, Jesus sat down and began writing again. One of the Pharisees seemed about to speak, but he stopped and looked at his comrades. He was the eldest, the one of most authority. He turned abruptly and walked away. He was followed by the remaining three, and finally the younger scribes and lawyers. The crowd, too, began to disperse, with puzzled and guilty looks; only the disciple remained sitting, and he had propped his arms across his knees and was staring at the ground.

Alysia found herself alone. Once again the Nazarene’s eyes met hers, and his look of compassion was more than she could bear; it was more painful than the cruelest taunt, the worst insult. There was no accusation in his eyes, no anger, but she saw clearly reflected in them the enormity of what she had done. What had seemed right now seemed terribly wrong…wrong for so many reasons…wrong because she had created a breach in her marriage, and marriage was a sacred thing. Wrong because she had violated the law of God as willfully as if she had stood before him and shaken her fist in his face.

She had only just begun to accept the concept of God. He had no face, no form …whenever she tried to envision him she could only see the Nazarene. She felt as if she had sinned against him , for his teachings about the sanctity of marriage had been all too clear. A great sorrow clutched her heart, greater than any sorrow of her life.

Once more he rose to his feet and stood before her. “Where are your accusers?” he asked quietly. “Has anyone condemned you?”

She stuttered with cold, and delayed emotion. “N-n-no man, Lord.”

“Neither do I condemn you.” He reached out and touched her arm, and the moment he did so she felt a peculiar energy that seemed to seep strength into her failing limbs. “Go, and sin no more.”

Her eyes stung with tears. She took a single, experimental step and found that she could walk. She tried to speak, but her voice broke and she turned away. Bringing the hood up to cover her hair and shield her face, she slipped past him between the marble pillars, down the stairs and through the passageway, then down, down the endless steps to the street below. The motion seemed to have a rhythm; every touch of her feet against the earth seemed to say “sin no more, sin no more.” In a deserted alley she fell against the side of a building, leaning her head against its coldness.

With rising panic, she thought only of Paulus. Had they killed him? She began to run again with short, dragging steps; she stumbled and half fell, sliding down until she leaned against the wall of the building. Her heart thumped so erratically it was difficult to breathe.

Dimly she heard the sound of hoof beats as a horse thundered past at breakneck speed. She raised her hand to shield her face from the bits of dirt churned by the racing hooves. A wild neigh came from the horse as it was violently halted, then someone lifted her head. She opened her eyes to see Paulus kneeling beside her.

“Alysia,” he said hoarsely, brushing the dirt from her face and smoothing her tumbled hair. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Just get me away from here.”

Wordlessly he lifted her in his arms and settled her upon the horse, once more pulling the hood of the cloak over her face. He urged the horse forward, passing under one of the arches of Herod’s bridge. He guided the horse up the steep ramp of the fortress, passing several surprised-looking guards; he helped her dismount and ushered her through a little-used door of the praetorium. Paulus spoke brusquely to the sentry, who stood at attention and averted his gaze. Once inside, he picked her up again and carried her swiftly down a deserted corridor. He entered one of the rooms and kicked the door closed, setting her down gently in a chair.

“I was afraid…you were dead.” Her throat was so dry she began to cough.

Without speaking, he went to a table in the corner of the room and poured water into a cup. Coming back to her, he laid his hand on her shoulder and put the cup into her hand.

“I’ll have an ache in my head for a few days to come. I found a horse outside the inn and went looking for you. Are you feeling better?”

She nodded, handing him the empty cup.

“I want to know what happened.”

Alysia told him, haltingly, and saw with growing alarm that he had fallen into a cold and silent rage. She read the look in his eyes.

“Paulus,” she implored, stretching out her hand to touch his arm. “You mustn’t do anything. Whatever you do to those priests will cause them all to hate Jesus more. It will cause trouble for him. And it was he who saved me.”

Paulus turned abruptly and crossed the room, slamming the cup onto a table. “Do you mean they took you from the inn, forced you to the Temple and tried to kill you?”

“By Jewish law, I have sinned.”

“Rome is the law here! They have no more authority than—than those crows strutting in the field they try so hard to imitate!”

“Paulus.”

He stopped his angry pacing at the sound of her voice. “What is it?”

“Please promise me you won’t arrest anyone. I don’t want him in trouble because of me.”

“Alysia, I’m not going to arrest the priests, simply because it would involve you . But they will answer for what they did. As for those two miscreants who abducted you I will make no such promise. I should have known that—” He seemed to think for a moment, then gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. “You’ve been the victim of a double treachery in as many days. First Megara, and now this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was intended to be a trap, Alysia. The leaders of the Jews want to discredit your Nazarene. Either he had to tell them to disregard the Law, or say you had to be killed. Either way, so they thought, he would be finished. He could not, and probably would not, evade their Law, and yet only Rome can order the death penalty. Anyone who does so, an official, a priest, a teacher, risks his own life.”

“Yes,” she said, “it did seem like a kind of test. He seemed to want to ignore them and they wouldn’t stop.”

“What was he writing on the pavement?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t see it. I don’t know if that’s what made them stop. I only know that they looked guilty and walked away.”

“They weren’t going to kill you—I’m sure he knew that. They only wanted him to say you should be killed, and probably hoped the crowd would go along with it…”

An authoritative knock sounded on the door leading from the corridor. Paulus flung it open to reveal an agitated sentry. “I am sorry, sir, to interrupt. We have new prisoners, captured last night raiding an army outpost. They’ve admitted their guilt and pledge that only death will stop them. The officers need you to look them over and sign the order of execution.”

“In a moment.” Paulus closed the door and glanced back at Alysia. “Are you well enough for me to leave you?”

She nodded, trying to smile. To her surprise he moved to the side of the chair and knelt beside her. “Alysia, forgive me,” he said earnestly. “I have done you a great wrong. The only thought in my mind was that I loved you, and wanted you. I can never make amends for what this has done to you.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “Paulus, your guilt is no greater than mine. But God help me, it will never happen again.” She dropped her hand from his face.

Paulus got slowly to his feet. “Rest for a while. Then we’ll find a way to get you home.”

She nodded again, and with a last look he quit the room, closing the door behind him. Outside, Paulus gave the captives only a cursory glance as he reached for the sheet of papyrus awaiting his signature. But he looked up again with a sharpness that puzzled the young sentry. Paulus fixed his gaze on one prisoner with wild auburn hair, glaring brown eyes, and a face streaked with dirt and blood. There was something familiar about that face. He looked at the list of names before him.

There it was. Nathan bar Samuel, of Bethany.

 

* * * *

 

“Paulus, you can save his life!” Alysia stared at him with disbelief. “You cannot mean to—” She cut off her words; it was unthinkable.

Paulus laid his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. He seemed suddenly cold and austere, a stranger to her, and she couldn’t discern the expression in his eyes as deep regret.

“If I release him he will go on just as he is now. If he kills any more men, I will be responsible.”

“How can you do this? No matter what I’ve done, no matter what I feel, he is my husband!”

Paulus turned away without speaking. Alysia looked at him frantically, seeing the sun coming through the window and shining down on his hair. From somewhere outside she heard a man’s voice barking orders, heard the rattle of chains and a door swinging open. She didn’t dare look out the window, fearing that if she saw Nathan being led away she would lose the tenuous grip she had upon her self-control. She didn’t understand the intensity of her feelings. She only knew that Nathan must not die, not now, after what she had done.

“Paulus, you must listen to me—”

“No, Alysia, you listen to me.” He faced her again and she was appalled. He was a stranger.

“You want him to die,” she whispered. “Because of me.”

“What you ask is impossible,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Your husband is a rebel and a murderer. He has been identified as one of their leaders…he is the one who arms and trains them. It is my duty to stop him, and all men like him.”

“You would put your duty over your love for me?”

“Even if I let him live,” Paulus said slowly, “his days are numbered. I could have told you last night I knew who and what he is—I could have told you to warn him against doing what he does. But it would have done no good. Do you think you can stop him? Do you think he will ever stop, as long as he lives and breathes?”

She had no answer.

He looked full into her eyes. “He has brought himself to this end. Do not make such demands upon me, Alysia, and do not question my love for you again.”

She knew by the look on his face that any pleading was useless. “But—” she could barely force the dreaded word past her lips, “—crucifixion—”

“I do not order crucifixions. My prisoners are shot by archers.” He hesitated. “Their aim will be quick and sure, I promise you.”

She bowed her head and covered her face with shaking hands. Paulus stood still for a moment, then began to walk toward the door. He stopped as he reached her, and when she looked up he went to her and took her in his arms, holding her close against him.

“Let me take you home.”

She pressed her face against his shoulder. “I want to see Nathan.”

 

* * * *

 

The entrance to the dungeon was dark as a pit and smelled of mildew and unwashed bodies. When Herod built the splendid fortress he saw no reason to make the prison comfortable; it was only for those awaiting execution. Paulus’ footsteps echoed hollowly down the narrow corridor, where torches set in the walls cast weird, dancing shadows. He had put on his uniform, and his mantle swung about his boots as his sword clanked at his side. A silent guard saluted him, unlocking a rusty, creaking door to allow him entrance.

Paulus peered through the gloom at the condemned prisoners chained to the wall. “Release that one.”

Nathan lifted his head in surprise. The guard obeyed with a noisy rattling of metal, as the other prisoners watched apathetically. Nathan stood rubbing his raw wrists and blinking in the darkness.

“Come with me,” said Paulus, leading the way into a small, bare room across the hallway. The guard waited outside as Paulus closed the door.

Nathan looked at him curiously. “What do you want with me? Who are you?”

“I am the commander of this fort.”

“Yes,” Nathan said slowly, watching his face. “I have seen you before—somewhere.”

Paulus said abruptly, “I have come to offer you a pardon, if you will accept my conditions.”

“What conditions?”

“You must swear an oath that you will stop your activities and never commit another crime against Rome. Then you must take your family and move them to a place of safety, a place far from any city, and live in peace for the rest of your life. There’s a farming village I know of where you would be able to find employment.”

Bewilderment began to replace the suspicion in Nathan’s eyes. “Why do you make this offer?”

“Let’s say we have a mutual friend. Someone of influence, who has intervened in your behalf.”

“Whoever my friend may be has wasted his time and yours, Legate.”

“So, you prefer that your family suffer for your crimes, when you leave them with no means of support.”

“I have no family.”

“I happen to know that you at least have a wife. Do you care so little for her welfare that you would throw away your life so cheaply?”

Anger flared in Nathan’s eyes. “I care for my wife and my nation, Commander. I have already sworn an oath, and I will never retract it. I have sworn that I will do my part to abolish Roman rule.”

“You Zealots wish to provoke war with Rome,” Paulus said, with narrowed eyes. “Do you know what that means…torture and enslavement, the starvation of your women and children? My duty has been to stop revolts before the innocent become acquainted with the horrors of war.”

“War may be horrible, as you say, but so is living beneath the heel of tyranny. Tell me honestly, Commander, if you would not do the same in my place.”

“Then you refuse a pardon?”

There was a pause. Then, Nathan spat on the ground at Paulus’ feet. Their eyes met.

Paulus said, “There is someone who wishes to see you.”

He left the room. In a moment Nathan heard light, halting footsteps coming down the hall and the door opened to admit Alysia, still wearing his cloak over her own gown. His gaze went over her, his surprise leaving him speechless. The sight of her left a sickness in his gut that no words of reproach could have induced.

“Alysia,” he said hoarsely. “How did you know?”

“I was in Jerusalem this morning and I—saw you.”

There was a long silence; neither knew what to say. At last he took a deep breath and spoke in a husky voice. “You have been unhappy, Alysia. I once thought I would draw that sadness from you, but I wasn’t able to do it, was I? I have not been a good husband for you. Perhaps when I’m gone you will be happier.”

Her hand came out from under the cloak and slender figures closed over his arm. “You will leave me desolate.” She drew in a long breath. “Oh, Nathan, this is all my fault!”

“Your fault?” Nathan smiled a little. “You are not even angry with me? Alysia, I am responsible for this, not you. I have always believed I would be killed in battle, or like this.” He hesitated. “It was selfish of me to marry you. I thought I could manage both sides of my life. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Alysia lowered her eyes, unable to face him. He paused again and said, “I know that Lazarus and Martha will take care of you. I have always depended on that.”

“Yes. You need not worry about me.”

Another long moment of silence stretched by. He said finally, “I suppose there is nothing more to say. Except that, you must be strong and steady, and believe that our cause will one day be vindicated. Goodbye, Alysia.”

Tears streamed down her face. “Nathan, I am so sorry. If I had been a better wife—”

“Stop,” he said at once. “What are you saying? You are a good wife. You were not happy, and that is my fault.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I cannot let you say that. You do not deserve this.”

“Who is to say I do not deserve to die? I’ve killed a great many men, Alysia. Soldiers, yes, for to us it is a war. The commander offered me a pardon, if I would renounce my beliefs, vow never to fight again. I refused.”

Alysia looked down. He mustn’t see how her heart lifted at his words about Paulus.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you refuse?”

“It is—who I am. And by all that is holy, I can never stop, as long as there are foreigners ruling over us.”

Alysia said tiredly, “You must do what you must do. Goodbye, Nathan.”

She let her eyes meet his, then she kissed him, pressed his hands with her own, and left.

Nathan sank slowly back against the wall as if his strength had deserted him. After a moment he looked up to see the Roman standing in the doorway, as though to give him one last chance to change his mind.

“The guard will take you back now,” Paulus said soberly.

Nathan gave a slow nod, walked with a pained, shuffling gait to the door, and stopped. “Can you tell me when—”

“The execution will take place tomorrow…at sunrise.”