The Centurion's Wife

Chapter 9

Alban and Linux left the palace, riding fresh horses from Pilate's private stable. The prelate had commander them to make all haste, his imperious tone suggesting that usage of his baths followed by a good meal was all any Roman soldier needed in order to fully recover. And Linux was ordered to accompany Alban and see that the Jerusalem garrison granted whatever aid was required to accomplish his assignment.

Alban's mount was the finest horse he had ever set eyes on, a chestnut mare with a gentle nature, enormous strength, and a coat that shone. The horse's mane and tail were considerably lighter than her coat, and she tossed her head as if well aware of her beauty. Linux must have noticed Alban's admiring looks, for he said, "I am specifically ordered to return with both mounts."

"Horses can get lost," Alban quipped.

"Not that one. Not and either of us survive."

~

After Leah served Procula's early afternoon dose of medicine, she found Dorit in the kitchen in a chair pulled up close to the fire. The old servant watched as Leah cleaned the mixing bowl, pestle, and cup, then said, "It's true what they said, the centurion captured Parthian bandits?"

Leah's sigh came from the depths of her soul. "All I heard was how Pilate and Herod and the centurion have bartered me into a marriage not of my choosing."

Dorit remained silent.

Leah set the items back on the tray to dry and slowly made her way into a chair beside Dorit. "Yes, it's true."

"And he's as handsome as they say?"

Leah hesitated a moment. "What I could see of him was favorable enough."

"Even a soldier who resents the centurion's methods calls Alban a true leader of men," Dorit reminded her.

The weight of inevitability lay upon Leah like a stone mantle. "Does that make it right for them to chain me to him for the rest of my life?"

"Of course not." Dorit hesitated, then continued, "Still, after years of rumors and entire merchant clans disappearing into the sands, the centurion brings two Parthian leaders to Pilate. And saves a caravan. And loses no men in the process." Admiration colored her tone, and Leah could argue with none of it.

The two women sat quietly, staring into the flames.

Leah recalled how, soon after her arrival at the palace, Dorit had taken her into the town of Caesarea. Beyond the hippodrome, at the border of the port side market, stood a temple dedicated to Mercury, the winged Roman god of prosperity and messengers and merchants. The temple was a squat and orderly affair, built with all the practicality of a counting house. As they passed the side entrance, Dorit had adjusted her shawl as she checked in all directions, then leaned forward as though to place an offering in the temple bowl. Instead she had spat at the god's statue.

At that instant Dorit's calm mask had dropped way, and a bitterness turned her face as stern as death. Then she had carefully hidden her feelings away.

Only when they were on their way back to the palace did Leah ask about what she had observed. Dorit explained that she had once loved a caravan guard. After Procula had blessed their marriage, the guard went on a journey carrying wares of his own, which he had intended to sell and then buy Dorit's freedom. Neither the man nor the caravan were ever heard from again.

Dorit went on, "I would not resign you to the fate of growing old in the service of others, with nothing to look forward to besides lonely nights in front of a fire that refuses to warm away the hollow ache."

"Better that," Leah shot back, "than trapped in the house of a man who uses you to further his own ambitions. A man who views you as just another slave."