The Centurion's Wife

Chapter 7

Alban had never before visited Caesarea. His original troop ship had landed at the far larger port of Tyre. He could have visited the Roman center of power at any time, but he had avoided Caesarea for a very specific reason.

Outlying garrisons such as his were manned by mercenaries. He knew the elite of Caesarea considered them to be nothing more than gristle clinging to Rome's outer rim, scum who often disgraced their uniform. Alban had vowed he would only travel to Jerusalem or Caesarea when he had established himself, had become strong enough to prevail over such derision, when he would be singled out as a leader of men. Generals had become caesars. Why not a Gaul?

Never had Rome's might seemed clearer than on the approach to Caesarea. The city occupied nine seaside hills and a narrow stretch of rocky flat lands. The surrounding ridgeline was rimmed by Roman guard towers. Alban and Linux saluted the city's official watch master and entered Caesarea by the southern passage. The broad colonnaded avenue led them past the city's colosseum before turning north to flank the sea.

After months in the Galilee, the city's mix of odors -- of camels and donkeys and spices and fires and men -- was an assault to the senses. The farther they moved into the city, the more crowded it became. When the lane they traversed opened into a plaza, it was easy to see why visitors called Caesarea a miniature Rome. The hills might be golden sand instead of Roman rock and scrub, but the palaces were as fine as those of the empire's capital. The freemen he saw were dressed in elegant togas and took their ease at splendid inns or well-stocked market stalls. Their servants wore better clothes than any Alban owned.

To Alban's eyes, the governor's palace occupied the finest position in all Judaea Province. South of the port a ledge of rock and shale extended far into the Mediterranean. The palace grounds occupied this entire peninsula. The guard house formed a low perimeter between the compound and the city. The main structure stood upon the highest ground, with an uninterrupted view of both city and sea. The descent to the Mediterranean was a series of polished steps, each as broad as the entire garrison Alban had just left.

As he dismounted, Alban knew a taste of nerves. So much depended upon the next few hours ...

Linux ordered the household guards to lock away the two bandits, then turned to Alban. 'You and your man can wait inside, if you like. I'll go make my report."

"You're leaving me here?"

Linux saluted the approaching duty officer and lowered his voice. "You'll take counsel?"

"Always," Alban replied.

"No commanding officer likes to be caught off guard. The last thing Pilate expects is for a summoned to arrive bringing treasures and captives."

Alban knew a fleeting fear that Linux intended to poison Pilate's first impression, or steal credit. He pushed the concerns aside. "I am grateful for your wisdom."

The guard motioned Alban toward a room with a window overlooking the city's northern hills. But Alban chose to remain with his sergeant in the shade of the guard house roof. Between them and the port stretched the city's magnificent hippodrome, its oval track floored with fine white sand. The stadium had seats along three sides, with the fourth left open so that the fans could enjoy the azure waters.

His sergeant wiped a dusty face. "I do believe I smell roasting lamb."

Alban nodded. From the palace kitchen in the building just beyond the guard house he heard women's voices and wondered if one belonged to Leah.

"Mind you, they probably feed the ranks swill here, same as everywhere else," the sergeant complained.

"I'll make sure you eat what I am served. Then you're free until later." When the man did not respond, Alban asked, "Is there something that's bothering you?"