The Centurion's Wife

Chapter 6

"Your mate was put in charge of the crucifixion. It was hard on him. Extremely hard. And on Pilate. And worst of all on his wife, Procula."

Despite the desert heat, Alban felt the day chill slightly. "Pilate's wife?"

"Dreams, she's had. And is still having, according to some. Fever dreams, so bad she wakes the entire palace with her screams. Which is why we're traveling to Caesarea. Pilate and the province's entire administration left Jerusalem eight days ago to return to his seaside palace."

Caravan traffic converged around them, making further conversation difficult. They were joined at one point by a senior equestrian officer traveling from the Syrian province. Alban accepted the tribuni's grudging congratulations for the successful raid, then backed away and watched Linux ply the crusty gentleman with aristocratic charm until the Syrians turned north toward Tyre.

They made good time and camped that night upon the fields of Armageddon. A large caravanserai, a trading outpost, stood at the juncture of the province's two main roads. To the north were Tiberias and the Galilee, from which they had begun their journey; to the west was the Roman capital of Caesarea. South lay Jerusalem, and farther north was Tyre, the region's largest port and home to the Roman navy. Where they halted, ruins of a fort from beyond remembrance jutted into the sunset. There local traders sold fresh fruit and bread and fodder for animals at outrageous prices, while their women danced in the fire light for gold.

The Romans camped well apart. As darkness fell the stars formed a gleaming wash overhead, while the surrounding hills glittered with fire light from Samaritan villages. Alban saw to his captives, personally pounding their stakes firmly into the earth, then told his sergeant he would take the second watch.

Their needs were tended by the soldiers who traveled with Linux. Though the pair wore the uniforms and cloaks of Roman legionnaires, Alban suspected they were trusted servants. As they made themselves comfortable by the fire, the officer revealed that his family ruled much of the Umbrian province. "My elder brother has the nerve to complain about it, as though being the most powerful man in Umbria is a burden he carries out of concern for my own weak shoulders."

"I've met such men."

"Sooner or later I'll be forced back into the fold. My dear elder brother is obliged to toss me a few crumbs. I'll be granted some drafty palace with a leaky roof, perched on some lonely cliff. All the servants will come to me suffering from diseases my brother wishes upon me." Linux motioned at his hovering servants. "Much like this lot, I fear."

The nearest one accepted the comment as soldier's humor and grinned as he announced, "Your meal is ready, sir."

"Well, serve it, man. Serve it." Linux shook his head and sighed an apology to Alban. "It will be all grit and dust road, I wager. So where is your home?"

"Here, as much as any place."

"Ah. Bad as that."

"Worse."

Linux accepted a plate from the servant and stared at its contents. "Where did you obtain this?"

"A Samaritan herder sold me a launch of lamb roasted with rosemary and thyme."

Linux sniffed appreciation. "Sorry, centurion. You were saying?"

"My father was a chief, my eldest brother a coward who fears my sword."

"And rightly so, no doubt. If I came upon you in battle I'd hoist my toga and flee like the wind." He pointed at Alban's plate. "Please, enjoy."

In between mouthfuls Alban felt the need to continue. "The life of a soldier was my father's desire. My eldest brother's first act after becoming chief was to have me shipped to Judaea. And you?"

"Military service is a long-standing family tradition. I might have a few generals scattered about my ancestry. One forgets. My brother ordered me to continue the tradition."

Alban snorted. "Brothers!"

Linux lifted his cup. "May they be plagued by pestilent sores."

Alban used his belt knife to slice the meat. "Why does a Roman aristocrat travel to an outpost on the Galilee border?"

"I volunteered for the duty. I was so relieved not to be left back in Jerusalem that I would have volunteered for almost anything." Linux shuddered. "Dreadful place, Jerusalem. Especially now. The city is one step from revolution, and Pilate leaves town because of his wife's bad dreams."

"You don't approve?"

"I don't approve of the whole province. Nest of vipers, if you ask me. But you, now. You've a reputation for making friends among the Judaeans."

"My region stretches from Tiberias to the Golan border, from Galilee almost to Tyre. I have but one hundred men.I could not rule effectively without making friends and cultivating local allies."

"I happen to agree with you, even if most of your fellow officers do not. They fear the Judaeans too much to ever form alliances. Especially now."

Alban read the man's concern in the fire light. Perhaps there was more depth to the man than he had first assumed. "You're speaking of the prophet?"

"Be glad you missed that little drama, centurion." The officer's careless manner turned serious. "Procula fears it will bring about Pilate's downfall, which worries the governor like nothing I've seen." He fed the remnants of his meal to the fire. "Dreams and women. Like oil on an open flame."

"Tell me what happened."

Linux was silent long enough that Alban assumed the man had politely refused. When he did speak, his voice was so low Alban had to strain to hear him above the sputtering embers. "How many crucifixions have you witnessed?"

"Enough." Though Alban had never ordered anyone crucified, his predecessor was notorious for littering the region with crosses. Road signs to proper behavior, the old centurion had called them on the day Alban had summoned command. Put up enough such road signs, and even the Judaeans will learn to read the Roman message.

Linux went on, "I've seen far too many of the dreadful killings. The emperor Tiberius is a great one for crucifying his enemies. But never in my life have I seen one like this, nor the trial which came before it. The Judaean council, the Sanhedrin, you know of it?"

"The name only."

"But you've heard how they fight among themselves, yes? The Sanhedrin is made up of two groups, the Pharisees and the Saducees. They loathe each other." Linux shook his head. "Yet on that day they came together and stood in Pilate's court as one. They shouted the same words echoed in the streets by crowds they paid from their own pockets. The scene was one step away from riot. They all shouted, over and over, 'Crucify him.' Pilate had the prophet scourged hoping that would satisfy their blood thirst. But they threatened the governor with open revolt. He washed his hands of it. The council won. The prophet carried his own cross to Golgotha."

Linux's expression had gone dark in the glow from the fire light. "I'd been sent to the south on an errand. I arrived back at the Lion's Gate just as it happened. A storm rose out of nowhere, the likes of which you can't imagine. The sky went dark as Procula's dreams. The wind blasted from all four corners of the globe. And then the earth shook. I've known earthquakes before. This one felt like the world was breathing its last."

Alban felt the same bitter dread he had known upon first hearing the news. "And Atticus was at the center of it all? No wonder he has fallen ill."

Abruptly Linux rose to his feet. "Sleep well, centurion. Tomorrow will be a momentous day."

"Wait." When Linux turned back, Alban asked, "What can you tell me of Pilate?"

"You have never met him?"

"For only a moment upon taking up my command. One of twenty new officers in an overcrowded room."

Linux inspected him carefully. "He gives nothing freely. Whatever you ask of him, he will exact the highest price you are willing to pay, then demand more besides." The Roman's eyes glittered in the fire light, full of warning. "Know well what it is you want, centurion, and be certain your desire is worth the price. Because pay you will. Pay with your booty or your blood. Maybe even your life."