The Centurion's Wife Read online

  The

  CENTURION’S

  WIFE

  ACTS of FAITH, BOOK 1

  The

  CENTURIONS

  WIFE

  D A V I S B U N N

  &

  J A N E T T E O K E

  The Centurion’s Wife

  Copyright © 2009

  Davis Bunn and Janette Oke

  Art Direction by Paul Higdon

  Cover design by Jennifer Parker

  Cover photography by Mike Habermann

  Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Bunn, T. Davis.

  The centurion’s wife / Davis Bunn and Janette Oke.

  p. cm. — (Acts of faith ; bk 1)

  ISBN 978-0-7642-0654-2 (hardcover : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-7642-0514-9 (pbk.) — ISBN 978-0-7642-0655-9 (large-print pbk.) 1. Bible. N.T.—History of Biblical events—Fiction. I. Oke, Janette, 1935- II. Title.

  PS3552.U4718C46 2009b

  813'.54—dc22

  2008041670

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty -One

  Chapter Twenty -Two

  Chapter Twenty -Three

  Chapter Twenty -Four

  Chapter Twenty -Five

  Chapter Twenty -Six

  Chapter Twenty -Seven

  Chapter Twenty -Eight

  Chapter Twenty -Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty -One

  Chapter Thirty -Two

  Chapter Thirty -Three

  Chapter Thirty -Four

  Chapter Thirty -Five

  Chapter Thirty -Six

  A note from the publisher

  Books by Janette Oke and Davis Bunn

  It may sound simplistic, but is meant wholeheartedly. We are so privileged to have the Scriptures written, preserved, and passed on to us. What an indescribable blessing it is for us to have easy and early access to the accounts of our spiritual roots. Writing a story involving the early Church has made this appreciation deepen.

  It is also with a sincere sense of gratitude that we express our thanks to you, Gary and Carol Johnson, for your part in enabling us throughout our writing careers to share our faith base with many readers. Through your commitment, encouragement, sensitivity, insight, friendship, and good, hard work you have enriched our lives in so many ways. Our sincere thanks, and may God continue to bless you both. We know that you have left Bethany House Publishers in capable hands as you have moved on to enjoy all that God has in store for you in the more relaxed years ahead.

  The Authors

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  AD 33, Caesarea, Judaea Province

  Six Days Before Passover

  USUALLY LEAH FOLLOWED the path briskly from the main kitchen to the baths. Today, with the Mediterranean breeze caressing her face and the sun not yet a scorching heat overhead, she could not help but slow her steps. She lifted her eyes at the cry of the seabirds. How peaceful it appeared. Only a few clouds hung in the sky, like a flock of spring lambs. Down below the walkway, sea waves lapped gently along the promontory’s edge. Not even the first stirrings within the palace compound behind her could diminish her sense of delight.

  For one further moment Leah drank it all in, her gaze sweeping across the panorama before her. Finally she turned away from the vast blue sea and studied the beauty of the city’s setting.

  Caesarea stretched like a royal necklace along the seafront, with the palace of Pontius Pilate its centermost jewel. From her position upon the rocky point, Leah studied the elaborate courtyard with its columns and statuary, the opulent ceramic-tiled baths, and the impressive marbled façade of the palace itself. Broad, grand entrance steps rose up to gold double doors. In different circumstances, Leah would have found it all impossibly beautiful. Even though she had been raised as no stranger to fine things and elegant living, never had she dreamed of residing in the palace of the prelate of Judaea. Yet here she stood, strangely a part of it all.

  In different circumstances . . .

  It was the first occasion in a long time that Leah’s thoughts had flown across years and countries to her grandmother. Whatever would she think of Leah now, standing here amid such splendor? Leah recalled how the old woman often stroked her face and said, “I see great things in store for you, my little one.” Then she would pat her generous silk-gowned bosom with bejeweled fingers, as though sealing the promise in her heart. Her dear grandmother. What Leah would give for just a few hours with her beloved grandparent now. But she had been gone for eight long years. Leah would have that opportunity no more.

  Leah sighed and turned away from the opulence of the palace and back to the contrasting beauty of the sea. Its surface sparkles like Grandmother’s jewels. How easy it would be on such a dawn to overlook the reality that she was here because she had no recourse.

  Far beyond the rolling waves lay her real home. True, there was no longer any place for her there, but it still held her heart. Would she ever see Verona again? And in Rome, her mother faced a new dawn as well. Alone. Bereft. Leah yearned to be with her, offering what love and comfort she was able. But she remained trapped within this imposing palace of a Roman prelate, surrounded by elegance she could appreciate only from a distance. Yes, she had been born to wealth and position, yet here she stood, little more than a slave. Bitterness filled her throat and caught her breath.

  Another thought chased through her mind. If nothing more, she faced an easier circumstance than her two older sisters. She was free in spirit, if not in body. She was able to call her life her own, even if it was a life of servanthood. She would far rather be a servant in Pilate’s household than slave to a man she neither loved nor respected, who ruled her every move. Hers was a bondage far more easily endured, she was sure.

  Leah cast one more longing look over the blue expanse of sea, and with a determined lift of her shoulders walked on toward the bathhouse. Her first duties of the day would have her laying out fresh towels and robes and making sure that all the expensive unguents and soaps were readily available.

  You must take what is good from the world for yourself, a quiet but firm voice echoed in her memory, for the world will never come to you with outstretched hand. Her father’s words. Yet even as she recalled them, she was forced to admit that the philosophy had brought even him no lasting rewa
rds.

  The next morning, Leah’s demanding day suddenly veered toward chaos. Like every other servant in Pilate’s household, she always dreaded word that the prelate was moving to Jerusalem. For the servants and slaves it meant that their normal duties, already keeping them busy from early morning to late night, were multiplied many times over.

  Leah struggled to meet the increasingly frantic pace. She had felt well enough the night before, when she had finally finished the day’s work and retired to her pallet in the servants’ quarters. Yet during the night she had tossed fitfully, and when she had lifted a hand to her brow, she knew she had a fever. Before dawn she had gone to the kitchen for water. She had slept some again and hoped her discomfort would pass. But now her strength drained away as her activities mounted along with the day’s heat.

  Leah knew her mistress, Pilate’s wife, noted how sluggish Leah was that morning. She tried to add quickness to her step and lightness to her countenance. A servant’s misfortunes, whatever their source, were not permitted to taint the lady’s day.

  But as the hours wore on, Leah found she was unable to sustain the brave front. Her body felt like it carried its own fire pit. Her stomach was unsettled, and she ached with a dreadful bone weariness from her head to her feet.

  She touched her face with one hand, and her own fingers felt the unusual warmth. Though this was the first time she had ever suffered with the fever that swept the land at every winter’s close, Leah knew its symptoms. She could feel the slow burn begin to scorch her limbs. I don’t have time to be ill, she groaned inwardly.

  Not today!

  A palace guard appeared from around the corner of the bathhouse and glanced her way. Despite the late afternoon light and the distance, Leah could see the scowl that touched his face. Had he noticed something? Were her steps dragging? Was she staggering? She forced herself to keep moving. Even though the sun was dropping into the western horizon, there was still much to be done. For on the morrow they all would leave for Jerusalem, where Pontius Pilate would take charge of maintaining the peace during the annual Passover festival.

  She reluctantly turned away toward the servants’ quarters. Maybe if she could rest for a few moments. . . . Midway there, however, she felt as though a wave from the sea were rising up and sweeping over her. She grabbed the wall as the light dimmed to grey, uncertain even where she was. She heard a voice call her name but did not have the strength to respond.

  Leah did not fear the darkness that rose up to claim her. In fact, she welcomed it.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Nine Days Later

  LEAH FELT MORE THAN HEARD the sound of her name. She sat up on her sleeping pallet in the early morning darkness to a whisper so tender it could almost be ignored. It vanished with her return to full wakefulness, but the memory remained, making her feel in some undeniable way that whatever the reason, the call came surrounded in love and gentle caring.

  She did not realize until she was on her feet that the fever was gone.

  For over a week she had lain in the servants’ quarters, so weak she could not rise without help. She had counted the hours by the distance the sun traveled across the tiled floor. Now she washed her face in the basin against the wall and rolled up the pallet as though illness had never touched her. Her face was cool to the touch. She held out her arms and looked at her hands in wonder, for they no longer trembled. She shook her head, wishing she could recall the details of the dream. She was sure it had been a man’s voice that had called her name with such kindness.

  The dawn was a faint wash upon the eastern sky, still so muted the breaking waves below the palace grounds were just shadows of varying light and darkness. A pair of stars defied the rising sun. Two guards walked the palace perimeter, dousing the night torches as they went.

  With almost everyone else in Jerusalem, the palace was utterly still. When Pontius Pilate was present, the house buzzed and the atmosphere was sharp and pungent with tension. Even when the night brought quiet, the place was filled with an air of expectancy, sometimes dread. There was hardly a private moment, especially for a young servant like Leah.

  Leah entered the kitchen to find Dorit seated on her pallet. The old woman preferred to sleep close to the fire, though it meant rising with the arrival of the first kitchen slave. But even with the household help away, Dorit never slept past dawn.

  The old woman’s eyes widened. “Leah, what are you doing away from your sickbed?”

  “I feel like I’ve just emerged from prison.”

  “You’re better, then?”

  “More than that, Dorit. I am well.”

  “Come, let me feel your face.” Dorit stood and settled an age-mottled hand upon Leah’s forehead. “I feared for you, child.”

  Leah’s response was interrupted by a guard’s shout from the direction of the palace gates. Leah straightened to the sound of approaching horses. She instantly recognized the voice that responded, coarsened by many years and battles. “It’s Hugo,” she remarked.

  “That is not possible.” Dorit slowly moved across the floor to sit at the table. “He left after you were felled by the fever. Surely he is still in Jerusalem with the prelate.”

  Leah did not waste time arguing. She bent to the kitchen fire, blew upon the embers until they glowed, and laid down kindling.

  Footsteps stamped across the terrace, and Hugo’s voice said behind her, “So you’re awake. Good. I could kill for a bath.”

  Pilate’s household guards came in all shapes and dispositions. Hugo was Leah’s favorite, a grizzled veteran who had been with the prelate since his earliest campaigns northward in Gaul. Hugo had nothing to prove, unlike some of the others.

  “There’s no fire yet, neither for a bath nor tea.” Leah turned and smiled a greeting. “But it’s good to see you nonetheless.”

  The big man grumbled under his breath, then settled with a sigh onto a stool across the table from Dorit. The kitchen was a massive affair, a full forty feet in length and almost as wide. Two storage rooms opened off the eastern wall. The table ran down the kitchen’s center, large enough to seat the servants and slaves at once. The guards were not permitted to enter the kitchen or the house proper, save for certain trusted soldiers such as Hugo. The others ate in the guardhouse, plaguing the unfortunate slaves sent to bring them their food.

  Hugo groaned again as he stretched out his legs. “Been riding all night and all the day before. I was sent ahead from Jerusalem when Pilate departed.”

  Dorit exclaimed, “The lord is already on his way back here?” She struggled to rise from her place.

  “Stay where you are,” Leah said as she sawed at a portion of flatbread and set it on the table between the two of them, followed by olives and goat cheese and dried fruit. A soldier’s breakfast. “Would our Hugo be sitting down if the arrival were imminent?”

  Hugo grunted his gratitude and glanced at her face. “You’re well again?”

  “I am indeed.” Leah filled a copper pot with water and hung it to boil. She hesitated and then said into the open flames, “This morning I dreamed of a voice. Someone called my name—a man, I think. I woke up, and my fever was gone. More than that. It is as though I was never ill.”

  She felt more than saw Hugo’s eyes lift again to study her, but he did not question or comment.

  Leah turned and silently threw more wood on the flames. If he had asked for more, she would have had no more explanation to give.

  They all dreaded the complicated and difficult transition from the one palace to the other. The governor loathed Jerusalem, and his foul mood tainted the entire household before every move. Leah never feigned illness as many did who hoped to be among the few left behind to tend the seaside palace, enjoying the breeze and languid days. No, her illness had been very real indeed. Frighteningly so. In her more lucid moments, she had heard other servants muttering predictions that she would not be alive upon their return from Jerusalem.

  Hugo now said around a mouthful, “T
he mistress was worried about you. That is, until she fell ill herself.” Leah turned her full attention to his words. “Dreams, nightmares she’s been having. Since the night after we arrived in Jerusalem, she’s suffered from nightmares strong as the plague. Her cries wakened the entire household.”

  Leah murmured, “I should go to her.”

  “She’s coming to you, lass. They’ll all be back before nightfall. I came ahead to alert you—”

  “Pilate is traveling with his wife?” Dorit asked quickly.

  “He’s remained at her side the entire way.”

  “Surely her condition has improved for them to be traveling.”

  “Not when I last saw her.” Hugo popped an olive into his mouth. “Is there meat?”

  “I’m certain there is some salted pork left from our meal last evening,” Dorit told him.

  “And ale,” Hugo added. “Like I said, I’ve ridden all night, and I’ve a terrible thirst.”

  Dorit untied the bundle of keys from her waist and handed them to Leah. Leah moved across to the locked chamber, found the proper key, and opened the door. She passed the shelves of gold and alabaster dishes meant for Pilate’s table, as well as the amphorae of honey and fine wine. She stopped before the stacks of cheese and salted meat. Lifting a platter of pork from the shelf, she carried it out to the table, then returned to fill a mug from the stone vat.

  When she had locked the door and brought the ale to Hugo, he lifted the mug and drained it in one long pull. He sighed with genuine satisfaction, set down the empty vessel, and declared, “There’s been trouble over the prophet.”

  Neither woman asked of whom Hugo spoke. Dorit asked, “Was there revolt?”

  “Would I be sitting here if there had been?” Hugo’s gaze was on his plate as Leah arranged the slices of pork. “This land spawns trouble. And this prophet made more than most.” He lifted a bite to his mouth, shaking his head.

  Leah dropped pinches of dried leaves into three mugs, ladled in water from the steaming pot, and set one in front of Dorit. Hugo took his own, pushed his plate away, and said, “The Sanhedrin threatened Pilate with revolt. They said this rabbi, this Jesus, was a blasphemer against their Temple and their God. That he’d declared himself king of the Judaeans.”