There she was – walking fast down the rough stone pavement. He shouted “Stop!” but he wasn’t surprised when she broke into a run, pulling her long skirt up and twisting its folds around her waist. Racing to catch up with her, he soon was running beside her. He slowed to a loping pace, thanking the gods that he was wearing a tunic and not his heavy armor.
“Stop, woman” he gasped, “or at least slow down more. I know you’re no real criminal.”
“Oh, yes, I am.” She ran faster.
“You broke into the temple, yet I cannot believe you’re a Zealot.”
“Roman, I despise your Empire and your gods. Doesn’t that make me a criminal?”
“It depends on what you do about your harsh feelings against Rome.”
She halted abruptly and stood looking at him. “You must not try to change my mind.”
“Talk with me. Maybe I can help you.”
“Help me? How could some soldier help me?”
“I’m not the centurion I pretend to be. I am the Legate. The Legate of all Judea.”
“Oh, certainly you are. And I’m Queen Esther of all Israel.”
“No, no – I mean it.” He was frustrated, angry, yet hopeful. At least she’d stopped running.
“You’re just a soldier with fantasies. Besides, why pretend you care about me?” She crossed her arms and turned her back on him.
“Well, what if I do care?” She began to run again, and he kept pace with her.
“You cannot help me find what I seek. For what I seek is for Judea to be free of you Romans.”
“Stop. Talk to me,” he said, and grasped her arm. Furiously, she broke free. “Touch me again, Roman, and I shall make you suffer.”
She jostled a brassware cart, and its pots and urns crashed and clattered on the cobblestones. The cart’s bearded owner yelled at them as they ran on.
“I only wish to speak with you,” Valerius shouted. “I could arrest you.”
“Of course. I’m a rebel. It’s your duty to jail me.”
“It’s my duty to keep the peace. Jailing you could go against that purpose.”
“You think things through. That’s good.”
“Yes. I’m smart. So talk to me.”
“Go run in some other direction, Roman.”
“You could try to be kind to a man who is risking his official position to speak with you.”
“Why me?”
“You have a beauty. One that no man could ignore.” The phrase returned to him: Courage is beauty.
“Oh, I’m beautiful, am I?” she said scornfully. “I knew it. You’re after sex!”
“If that’s what I was after, would I be running after a woman who says she cannot stand me?”
“For all I know, you may be insane.” She halted, stared at him, and guffawed from her belly.
He stopped, puzzled. “What is it?”
“If any of your people,” she panted, “have seen us, Sir Legate, you might have to do some explaining.”
He laughed. “I might.” He imagined Marionus’ face gaping in disbelief at the sight of the Roman Legate of Judea loping through the city streets alongside a Hebrew woman.
They stood facing each other and her smile unburdened his heart. She asked, “So if not sex, Roman, what do you seek from me?”
“I want to talk.”
“Talk? Why? What about?”
“Well, for one thing, I want to tell you that I once did what you did – smashed Hadrian’s head.”
She crouched down in the street, continuing to catch her breath. He crouched, too, facing her.
They were outside a Greek inn. “You escaped your bodyguards,” she said.
“They’ll be scouring the city for me by now. Do you know this place?” He indicated the inn’s entrance with a nod.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve made deals here with Greek traders.”
He reached out to touch her hand, but thought better of it and drew back. “Then come inside with me,” he said. He saw her hesitate.
She was shaken by the intensity of his gaze. If he really is the Legate, maybe he could help me. He smashed Hadrian’s head? What could he mean by that?
She wondered what it would be like to be touched by a man so loaded with rage and desire.