Slipping out of his bed, Valerius stood, pulling the sheets around him. Samara looked him up and down with a slight smile, and he felt his face burn. It was as if she were looking over a piece of trading goods in the market: a candelabra, a goat.
Finally she said, “Your servant said he wasn’t sure you’d see me, but he hoped you would. He’s a wise man.”
“Lady, let us not speak falsely to each other. Have you had thoughts about killing me?”
She laughed nervously. “Maybe I should. Yet it wouldn’t serve my purpose.”
“How did you get as far as Rufus?”
“Your security is easy for a woman to get through. All I had to do was say that you sent for me.”
First Julia, now her, both just breezing past the sentries. A thorn of anxiety stabbed him. It seemed he couldn’t control his own bedroom, let alone his life. Was there no way he could protect himself from overbearing women? “How many of my soldiers saw you come here, Samara?”
She shrugged. “Maybe ten or twenty.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So now, because of you, I face yet another difficulty in trying to do right by your people. Now the world thinks I’m consorting with a Hebrew woman.”
“I don’t think so. Have you noticed my garb? Do I look like a Hebrew tonight?” She parted her crimson cloak to show her dark red Roman gown, flowing, spectacular. A belt of Persian silver girded her hips. “My people forbid our women to wear such garments these days. I’m rather enjoying it.”
The rich gown clung to the curves of her figure, and she looked exotic, sensual. His pulse quickened. “You’re too beautiful,” he said reluctantly. It was dangerous to be attracted to her. "Why have you come?”
“You told me to meet you at the riverbank in two days. I came to learn what you expect of me.”
“What I expect of you? That you listen to me.” He felt his ire rising. “You represent a force, something I have to deal with as Legate. You associate with the dangerous kind of Hebrews that pose a threat to the city.”
“Is that all, soldier? Your soldierish worries?”
“No. That’s not all. Unfortunately, I’m attracted to you. And I know it’s ill-advised. But I like talking to you, and as I told you, Samara, I have few friends. Only subordinates.”
“You already told me about what a rebellious little boy you were. Do you want me to listen to your whole life story?”
Was she mocking him? Or asking seriously? “The truth is, now I must find out all about you. I know that you want to unite your people against Rome. If you’re really a Zealot, and if you’re plotting my death, I shall of course have you put away.”
She gave him a stony gaze. “Do you really want to do that? I thought you were fond of me.”
He laughed. “I wish you no harm.”
She sighed. “Nor I you.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to be able to trust you, Roman. I enjoyed dressing like a Roman lady, but I cannot tell you how repulsed I am at what your Empire stands for. It’s so difficult for me even to look at you.”
His heart sank. He was repugnant to her. Yet she did say she wanted to trust him. “Maybe,” he ventured, “it would help you to know how I got placed in my position in Judea.”
“Maybe.”
The bedsheet was wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. He nodded at two upholstered chairs at the foot of his bed, and he and Samara sat, facing each other.
Should he tell her about Marcus? She’d find out soon anyway; the word was on the street by now. That meant she would likely reject him once and for all. Then he could forget about her and give his full days to working against his nemesis Tullius and his intrigues. He could sit up late with Flavius with bowls of wine and brood about politics and women.
“My brother Marcus,” he began, “is about to become the next Emperor.”
“Oh.” She stared at him. “Now I know why I felt the aura of power about you – a greater power than that of a provincial Legate.”
“Well, it’s true that I’ve been given power because of the accident of my birth. Yet the life I’ve chosen is one of service, not of privilege.” He watched her closely. She seemed undisturbed by his news about his brother.
She said, “I suppose it’s possible that you’re honorable, even if you’re a Roman. Are you honorable?”
“Of course I’m honorable! My whole family is honorable. Well, for the most part, I think – it’s hard to say. We’ve been affected by politics. But why do you ask me such a thing? What if I asked you if you were honorable, or if your father were honorable, and that I thought maybe he’s not, because he’s a Hebrew?”
He saw her stiffen. “Hebrews are honorable. Hebrews love each other and demonstrate it. Furthermore, we live in our own land, and we don’t try to take the land of others. Hebrews love and worship the Lord, the one true Lord, and not any earthly king. You Romans call your Emperor a god. We Hebrews would never worship our own ruler – even if you Romans allowed us to have one.”
Valerius was silent. He couldn’t defend what the Romans did here. All he could think about was that she’d come to his chamber alone. At night. He wondered, Will she stay with me tonight?
“Sir Roman, tell me: if you’re so honorable, what are you doing, occupying our land and killing our people?”
“I’ve never killed your people. I never fought against the Judean revolts myself. And the Emperor Antoninus is not persecuting Hebrews today.”
“Not today. Not today. What of tomorrow, Valerius?”
He’d never heard her speak his name before. It felt strange.
“When my brother becomes the next Emperor, he’ll be better than Antoninus—and Antoninus is one of the best Emperors we’ve had.”
“Oh, stop.” Her anger lifted her to her feet. “Empty words. The Romans think they should control our land. Is your brother going to reverse that reality? I think not. You people have always tried to run us out of our country. The day will come, though, when every nation supports our right to be here. I am leaving now.”
As he stood and reached for her hand, the bedsheet started to slip off his shoulders. “Please stay.”
She sat.
She was bewildered. She was happy that he seemed to like her, for that was why she came, that was why she had worn the dress she had on – to see if he might actually have feelings for her. As for her own feelings for him, she was disarmed and surprised by their intensity, their pounding energy.
She could feel the forcefulness of his attitude, his body – yet he didn’t even seem aware of his own power. “Do you know how very strong you are?” she asked softly.
“Strong? I’m not weak, I know that. Yet sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough.”
“How shall you ever know?” she asked.
“Battle is the only test, actually – but I don’t like battle.”
“What about love? Don’t you need strength for love?”
“Love? Well, love is known to be a weakness. Yet I think it has some value. It helps relieve tension, and perhaps it opens the mind. Maybe there’s something to it.”
She stopped herself from laughing. A weakness? This man needs help.
He went on, “I remember what people said about my father. He was an honest man, and humble. He became a Praetor, then a magistrate, and later a Senator. He left that high office to spend more time with my mother at their country estate. In other words, it would seem that he actually loved her.”
He paused, looking at his hands, which trembled a little.
“You look like you’re about to cry,” Samara murmured.
“I don’t cry. I’m feeling shame.”
“About what?”
“About my mother.”
His eyes meeting hers, then slipping away, his broad torso with his bedsheets still draped around him, made him seem more vulnerable to her than any man she’d ever seen.
He continued: “I never knew either of my parents very well; they were usually busy in Rome. When my brother and I were adolescents, they both died of the plague that swept the city. I remember a night when we were visiting them in Rome and I saw Emperor Hadrian’s cloak on the hallway floor outside my mother’s bedchamber. There were other things I saw, and I came to know that she was having an affair with him. It took me awhile, but once I was sure, I told my father what I had seen.”
“You told him?”
“One of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“What did he say?”
“That he knew about it. That it was in the past, and he forgave her. I didn’t tell my brother about it for years.”
“Your father must have loved her deeply, to forgive her.”
“Yes.”
“Such love was unusual among your people?”
“Among the high-ranking, it was. Not so much among the common people. They can marry as they please. All the higher-up marriages are arranged, as was my parents’ union. But my father was an unusual man. He had strong beliefs, and he honored the gods, yet he didn’t care that much for advancement.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes, I do. My strongest desire is to become Prefect of the City of Rome.”
“Really! You’re that ambitious? You’re not satisfied with your lordly position ruling Judea?”
“I’m not interested in glory. If I were Prefect of the capitol city, I could work on cleaning up the graft there. Of course, that would do a great deal for the Hebrews because your people have always been among the chief victims of corruption in Rome.”
“Why doesn’t the Emperor clean it up? You say he’s a good man.”
“Emperors have less power than you may think. Antoninus is not corrupt, yet he can’t do much against the Senators, especially since there are hidden power-possessors who give orders to the Senators. Nowadays, the Emperor is forced to fight an endless series of ill-advised battles against the Germans. Unfortunately, my brother, who’s already been at the German battlefront for a few years, is sure to inherit that war and others.
“Right now, though, I face pressures here in Jerusalem. Extreme pressures. In fact –” Valerius stopped speaking. He stood, gripping his bedsheet at his throat so it wouldn’t fall off, and began pacing the floor.
She sat bolt upright. “What, Valerius? Why do you look pale?”
“I’ve been trying to ignore this, but, Samara, your life is in danger now.”
“Why? What’s different now?”
Valerius reluctantly said, “I’ve received several urgent messages from the high priest, Sergius Caius, as well as from Senator Tullius, who’s been plotting against my brother and me. They’re pressuring me to find and arrest the intruder who broke into Caius’ Jupiter temple. I cannot put them off much longer.”
She laughed. “What are you going to do, then? Turn me in?”
“I have a plan. First, though, I have to return something to you.”
He went to one corner of his room and removed a cloth wrapping from an iron rod and handed it to her in silence.
“Caleb’s rod,” she breathed. “Now some day I can return it to him. Thank you.”
“Samara, I must make an arrest for the break-in.”
She felt a chill. Here it comes. Next he’s bringing out the shackles.
“But I’m keeping you out of jail.”
“How?”
“One of my men found a little Dacian thug named Novembris breaking into a Roman home. Novembris tried to kill the soldier that caught him, and he’s being held in the garrison’s dungeon, facing the death penalty for attempted murder. I’m going to say to him, ‘I’ve been told you’re the one who broke into the temple. If you care to confess to that, I’ll ignore your crime of trying to kill a Roman legionary. If you have any objections to that, let me know.’ I’m sure Novembris won’t lose any time in agreeing, because the penalty is exile, not death.”
She looked at him curiously. Something in her started to tremble. He went on:
“So. The thug wins, and so do you, Samara.”
“But why would you go to such lengths to let me off?” Did he care about her?
“I don’t want another Hebrew revolt. I’m trying to make sure that your people aren’t implicated in the break-in.” He snorted. “Your break-in. What were you thinking?”
“That I could right a wrong.”
“Well, you can thank me from keeping you from being thrown to the lions.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m very grateful for your protection.”
“Never mind.” He stared at her sharply. “Is there going to be a revolt, Samara?”
She looked away from him. Her rebellious friends were angry, yet they weren’t planning any attacks against Rome. Part of her wished they were.
Meeting his eyes, she said, “I believe my people should stand up for themselves against you Romans. You know that about me. Yet I don’t know whether anyone is readying another rebellion. I really don’t.”
“You’re keeping something back from me, Samara.” A long silence ensued.
Finally, she felt his mood shift, and he said, “I have an even more immediate issue pressing on me. I have serious reason to believe that Rome plans to kill me soon.”
Shocked, frightened, she thought, These Romans are murderous. Am I going to lose him before I even know him? She couldn’t let that happen.
“I insist that you tell me the details right now, Valerius, so I can protect you.”
“You? Protect me?”
“You’re protecting me. I have to return the favor.”
She saw him relax and let his guard down as he sat on a sofa. He told her what Tullius said to him about dispatching him to the battlefront so he could be killed there as a hero so as to build public support for his brother Marcus.
She said, “If such a venal plotter as that Senator wishes to get rid of you, then you must be a good man.”
“Good enough to help Rome, I hope. But I won’t be able to help anybody if I walk into his trap and get killed.”
“But why would you want to help Rome when you believe Rome is trying to kill you?”
“There are two Romes. A good one and a bad one.”
“Well, then, can you keep the bad Rome from killing you?”
“I may not be able to. There are more valuable things than staying alive, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No.”
Silence fell between them. Finally Samara said, “Love is weakness, you said. What if I told you that love is wisdom?”
“You could tell me, yet the words don’t move me.”
“Then I shall have to show you.” She stood and smiled, then quickly went out the curtained doorway. She left so abruptly that he couldn’t even try to detain her, and his heart dropped.
She had told him something dubious: that she could protect him. Yet she’d also promised him something wonderful: that she would show him things he’d never learned about love.