Read Online The Centurion's Wife by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn - Free Book Online
Authors: Janette Oke, Davis Bunn
Ads: Link
one step away from riot. They all shouted, over and over, ‘Crucify him.’ Pilate had the prophet scourged, hoping that would satisfy their blood thirst. But they threatened the governor with open revolt. He washed his hands of it. The council won. The prophet carried his own cross to Golgotha.”
Linux’s expression had gone dark in the glow from the firelight. “I’d been sent to the south on an errand. I arrived back at the Lion’s Gate just as it happened. A storm rose out of nowhere, the likes of which you can’t imagine. The sky went dark as Procula’s dreams. The wind blasted from all four corners of the globe. And then the earth shook. I’ve known earthquakes before. This one felt like the world was breathing its last.”
Alban felt the same bitter dread he had known upon first hearing the news. “And Atticus was at the center of it all? No wonder he has fallen ill.”
Abruptly Linux rose to his feet. “Sleep well, centurion. Tomorrow will be a momentous day.”
“Wait.” When Linux turned back, Alban asked, “What can you tell me of Pilate?”
“You have never met him?”
“For only a moment upon taking up my command. One of twenty new officers in an overcrowded room.”
Linux inspected him carefully. “He gives nothing freely. Whatever you ask of him, he will exact the highest price you are willing to pay, then demand more besides.” The Roman’s eyes glittered in the firelight, full of warning. “Know well what it is you want, centurion, and be certain your desire is worth the price. Because pay you will. Pay with your booty or your blood. Maybe even your life.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Pilate’s Palace, Caesarea
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 flatlands. 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 coliseum 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 guardhouse 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
Linux’s expression had gone dark in the glow from the firelight. “I’d been sent to the south on an errand. I arrived back at the Lion’s Gate just as it happened. A storm rose out of nowhere, the likes of which you can’t imagine. The sky went dark as Procula’s dreams. The wind blasted from all four corners of the globe. And then the earth shook. I’ve known earthquakes before. This one felt like the world was breathing its last.”
Alban felt the same bitter dread he had known upon first hearing the news. “And Atticus was at the center of it all? No wonder he has fallen ill.”
Abruptly Linux rose to his feet. “Sleep well, centurion. Tomorrow will be a momentous day.”
“Wait.” When Linux turned back, Alban asked, “What can you tell me of Pilate?”
“You have never met him?”
“For only a moment upon taking up my command. One of twenty new officers in an overcrowded room.”
Linux inspected him carefully. “He gives nothing freely. Whatever you ask of him, he will exact the highest price you are willing to pay, then demand more besides.” The Roman’s eyes glittered in the firelight, full of warning. “Know well what it is you want, centurion, and be certain your desire is worth the price. Because pay you will. Pay with your booty or your blood. Maybe even your life.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Pilate’s Palace, Caesarea
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 flatlands. 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 coliseum 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 guardhouse 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
Similar Books
