The open carriage was awash in sunlight as it clattered along the cobblestone road out of Jerusalem. Samara sat close to Valerius on the narrow rear seat. They were both wearing hooded cloaks for anonymity, yet Valerius felt vulnerable, exposed. He noticed a few dark blue clouds that threatened rain.
The driver was a young Christian legionary named Appius with blond hair and a rosy face. He kept looking back at them, beaming, proud that Valerius had chosen him for this task of taking the Legate of Judea and a famous Hebrew merchant woman to a country villa belonging to a wealthy Christian bookseller.
Valerius began to relax. At last he was with the woman he loved, whether or not he’d be able to stay with her. He was seeing his way clear to leave Jerusalem with her, even though what would happen after that was unknown. They didn’t even know if their destination, a Queendom in Africa, was real or only a fantastic legend.
Suddenly Samara said, “Valerius, when do you intend to marry me? And where?”
He felt as if the carriage had thrown a wheel and tumbled into the ditch. His mouth opened and shut, yet he couldn’t speak. With difficulty, he met her relentless stare.
“Truth be told, Samara,” he said finally, “I don’t know how we can do it.”
She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh.”
He twisted around to face her, took both her hands in his, and fixed her with his gaze.
“Samara, you know as well as I do that my Romans and your Hebrews alike would do almost anything to stop our marriage.”
From his driver’s perch, Appius said cheerfully, “You should both become Christians. Then you could marry easily.”
Simultaneously Valerius and Samara said, “Be quiet!”
Samara asked Valerius, “So how do we get past those obstacles? You’re supposed to be the wise second Solomon.”
He reddened. “That name is an embarrassment. I’m no sage. I just did what was right. That woman deserved to have her baby returned to her.”
“Well, sage or not, you’re a good man, Valerius. You must have some thoughts about how we can marry.”
“Yes. You can convert to the Roman state religion.”
She laughed. “And I should grow a beard, too.” She watched his face, waiting for him to smile. He didn’t.
“Samara!” he shouted. “Think for a minute. The power-possessors in Rome would bitterly oppose a Roman official marrying a Hebrew. They might tolerate it if you converted. Then, things might go smoothly for us.”
“No. Of course not, Valerius. Even if the Romans were to adore us and dance around us scattering flowers, the Hebrews never would sanction my conversion. I’m a prominent woman here, although I’m scorned and reviled for doing what my people think is men’s work. If I married you, the Hebrews would be even more furious at me and at my family, and at Rome as well. They’d make a world of trouble for us.”
“In time, they would accept it, Samara. They’re reasonable people.”
She smiled ruefully. “I wish.”
“As for Rome, my brother is practically Emperor now. If you converted, it’s just possible that Marcus might bless our union.”
She scoffed, “Do you think I care about your Emperor’s blessing? What about the Lord of the Universe? Would the Lord bless me if I abandoned the Lord’s religion?”
After a moment, he sighed. “I should have known. You’ll never convert.”
“Valerius, you should become a Hebrew. You already believe more than half of what I believe.”
“What I believe hardly matters. If I left the Roman religion, I’d lose everything – my office, my land, the troops I command. I could no longer help your people as Legate of Judea.”
“That may be so, but if I worshipped your gods, I could never sleep again.”
He shook his head and frowned at her. How unreasonable she was.
She said, “You should see your face. You’re looking at me as if I were a small unruly child.”
“I’m just trying to fathom your stubbornness.”
The carriage stopped at Hiram’s villa. The two stared at each other.
Samara trembled inside. Losing Valerius would be like losing myself. Yet losing the Lord’s blessing would be worse.
Soon they were sitting in a small private room, and Hiram, proud and happy to have such important people meeting at his home, brought them corn porridge, figs and honeyed wine. It had been hours since they had any food, and they ate hungrily. Finally Valerius took Samara’s hands and gazed at her.
“I’ve told you how I’ve prepared myself for years to be Prefect of the City of Rome. It’s an honorable position, and quite a challenging one. You should come there and become my wife in a Roman ceremony, and help me do my job there.”
What was left of her appetite evaporated. She burst out, “Your Roman deities are not going to have a part in our wedding. They behave too badly.”
“Samara, a Roman wedding is not necessarily all that religious.”
“Any Roman ceremony would have your gods in attendance.”
He laughed. “You speak as though the Roman gods were real.”
“Unlike the One True Lord,” she insisted, “your Roman gods are only as real as people make them. You don’t believe in them, so they’re not real around you. Yet other people who do believe in them can inflict them on you. No, Valerius. Please accept it. I could never become an official Roman wife.”
He shoved his plate aside and leaned towards her. “All right,” he said. “I anticipated your being so stiff and inflexible. But listen; I have a plan. It’s almost certainly absurd and doomed to fail. It might even mean changing the course of nations, changing history.”
She met his eyes steadily and said, “History has been a nightmare all my life. To me, any change you propose in history could well be for the better.”
He nodded. “All right. First we go to Alodia as a trading expedition. If we manage to create good relations with their Queen, we could return together to Judea, and use the promise of new trade and new wealth to create a peace treaty between Rome and the Hebrews. Then Rome could rebuild Judea and make her our ally. Don’t you see, Samara? We could make Judea an honored province with a degree of independence.”
Samara felt her jaw drop. She tried to speak and heard herself saying, “You don’t mean – you can’t – ” Then she was silent, watching Valerius, wondering how he could believe that his overstuffed, vainglorious Rome would ever accept such things.
Valerius went on, seemingly oblivious to her incredulity. “Then, I could declare myself a Hebrew. I could still preside over Judea as Legate, but then I would be a Roman Hebrew governor, with you as my wife.”
Samara had the uncomfortable thought that he had perhaps lost his mind. Finally she blurted out, “What makes you think such a thing would be possible?”
“It wouldn’t be unprecedented. When Greece ruled Egypt, Alexander’s generals became Pharaohs, called the Ptolemys. They adopted the Egyptian religion and married Egyptian women. Thus, the Egyptians peacefully accepted Greek rulers. It would be much the same thing.”
She sighed. “You don’t understand my people nor our religion.”
“So, you’ll have to help me understand.”
“My people could never compromise that much with Rome.”
“Even if Rome offered to return control of your lives to you and reinstated a Hebrew King, to co-rule with me as the Roman Legate?”
“If what you say came to pass, the Great Temple could be rebuilt, couldn’t it?”
“Yes. And we could marry,” he said, taking her hand.
“Our marriage,” she said pensively, and then her face lit up. “Oh, Valerius! What a wedding it would be! A wedding to unite Judea and Rome in the eyes of the Lord!”
“So you agree, then? We should try it?”
“It’s a mad plan,” she said. “You may have gone insane.”
He laughed, “Yes, I have to agree.”
He took both her hands in his and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Together, could they risk defying the whole sorry past history of the relationship between Rome and Judea?
“Tell me, then,” she asked, “if we were to undertake this strange adventure, what would our next step be?”
“Crossing the Sahara Desert. The question is whether we could survive it. No one goes south below Egypt, through the land called the Atbai. There are weird stories about that place: tales of warriors called the Blemmyes who destroy anyone who crosses their path, supernatural warriors whose faces grow out from their chests.”
She tried to laugh, but her knees sagged. “Where did you hear such stuff?”
He shrugged. “Stories like that are written for the masses. Probably mere fables. Yet there may be something to them. The northern Sahara is well known enough, and Rome has troop movements across it. Yet to the south, the desert is a blank expanse of nothingness and death. They say it marks the end of the earth. We would need to take troops and supplies, but not so many as to make the Africans mistake us for invaders.”
“Do you really think you can get Rome to support these strange plans of yours?”
“I’d pressure my brother as he’s never been pressured. I’d force him to accept my way in this. He could convince Emperor Antoninus to give me leave from Judea to go on a trading expedition to Africa with you for the purpose of creating wealth for Rome. Later, Marcus could do the heavy work. That would be convincing Antoninus to accept a new disposition for Judea. Many Roman vested interests would lose money from that, initially. I would have to convince them that eventually they’d gain more than they’d lose.”
She trembled. The feeling that she could join her fate with this man had become overwhelming. He had vision, he had courage. “I love you,” she said simply.
He didn’t smile, but said, “You’re the woman I’ve always longed for.”
She came close to him, laying a hand on his chest. “Your plan would mean you’d establish a whole new day for Rome. You’d link your Empire with parts of Africa that are new to our world, and in the process you’d be creating a just peace with my people. All this would surely make you feel that you’ve finally escaped Marcus’ shadow.”
He flared up. “I am not in his shadow.”
“I only meant that he’s in line to be Emperor and you’re not. Now, you’re about to show him and all of Rome how powerful you can be.”
He looked at her doubtfully, but as her gray-green eyes gazed steadily into his and he felt her belief in him, a tight knot inside him began to unravel.
“It’s late,” Samara said. “We’d best get back to the city.”
The sky had turned darker, and from Hiram’s veranda they watched the rain pound the grapevines spread out before them. Hiram, all smiles, provided them a closed carriage for their driver to return them to Jerusalem.
As the carriage sliced through sheets of rain, they held hands, yet Samara spoke little. She must be feeling overwhelmed, he imagined, and asked, “Is something wrong?”
With a wide-eyed, sad look, she said, “We’re soon going on a long voyage far from my home. I’ll have to practice my religion in places unknown, and maybe without the company of other Hebrews. I’ve never done anything like that, Valerius. I’ve never known anyone who has.”
Silence filled the inside of the carriage, rain raging on its roof. He had no idea how to help her, nor to understand the way she related to her religion. As for his own ancestral religion, he hardly ever thought about the practice of it, except when he was required to attend some Roman ceremony.
She finally spoke again. “I shall take one of my people with us: Leah. She’s my friend, and a resourceful woman.”
Something relaxed inside him. He said, “I’m glad for you to have a female companion on our travels.”
She smiled. “You are in fact somewhat relieved, are you not?”
He was silent. Long moments passed.
“Never mind,” she said. “You’re wise not to answer. Before we leave, I must see a rabbi and ask for his blessings on our voyage.”
“Well, you could meet with one of the itinerant rabbis that visit Jerusalem in disguise.”
“No. It would have to be one with real authority. A Sanhedrin rabbi. But I don’t know how I can travel to the Sanhedrin’s home in Jabneh, a day’s ride from the city through the desert. A woman wouldn’t be safe, making the journey alone.”
“I shall take you there.”
“Valerius, if I were seen in your company, it would raise too many questions, both for Rome and for my people.”
“I’d disguise myself. I’ve learned how to do that.”
“Yes, I know,” she smiled. “You’re not always what you seem.”
“Yet Samara, I’ve never been able to conceal my heart from you.”
Back in Jerusalem, the rain was even heavier. After Samara silently kissed him goodnight at her doorstep, Valerius rode on to his palace. Arriving at the gate, he stepped out of the carriage and turned to walk the city streets in this downpour, which offered him the anonymity and solitude he was always seeking. No one would see the Legate himself, alone, with no troops or courtiers around him, walking in the rain. Like an ordinary man. Yet the thoughts and feelings that he was full of were far from ordinary.
His thoughts seemed to tower over him, top-heavy, a column going straight up from his heart. They made him a swaying giant, and he urgently wished he could find relief from them.
Pulling himself down into his heart and solar plexus, he felt the thoughts tremble there.
The mad illogic of his life had never been so disturbing.
He was going to marry a woman from another world, and he would travel with her to yet another world, and with only a few troops, without the imperial machinery that had always sustained him. They would also be without the support of her culture and family. They would have nothing except each other.
He put his attention on an aching point below his navel, and then he felt his turmoil subside. He became aware of a life force in him which was not easy to get in touch with, but which was calming and serene. There it was, from his throat down to his groin, no matter what chaos might be rampant in his head. He slowly began to get centered and grounded.