Read Online The Centurion's Wife by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Janette Oke, Davis Bunn
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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 officer 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 guardhouse 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 guardhouse 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?”
“Them Parthians. They’re too calm.”
“They are desert trained,” Alban replied. “They have learned to mask their sentiments well.”
“Not like this. Not the way they’ve been talking.”
“You understand their tongue?”
“No need. I listened to them last night when they thought the camp slept. I was standing guard on the other perimeter. They were laughing like they were already freed.”
Alban left his man and sauntered about the guardhouse. It was a substantial structure, holding barracks, cookhouse, baths, sleeping quarters, and one windowless cell. Prisoners were not held here long, of course. The chamber was intended only for those awaiting Pilate’s judgment. The sentries displayed the bored alertness of guards everywhere. “I’d like to see my prisoners,” he told them.
“They are Pilate’s now,” the duty officer replied with a trace of a sneer, but he rose and reached for the keys. He kept his movements just slow enough to show what he thought of orders from a back-country centurion.
The two Parthians sprawled upon wooden benches against the inner walls. A single oil lamp granted the room’s only illumination. The prisoners looked dusty and weary but far too composed. Only one of them bothered to glance over at him. The other remained as he was, stroking a beard with one manacled hand, staring at the ceiling and humming tunelessly.
When Alban returned outside, he found Linux waiting for him. The officer announced, “You’re invited to enjoy Pilate’s bath.”
Alban leaned in close and muttered, “The prisoners are behaving as though they knew they have been granted a reprieve. Last night my sergeant heard them talking and laughing, like they were waiting for someone to slip them the keys.”
Linux casually turned his back to the duty officer before replying, “From now on, you must assume everything you say and do will be observed and reported.”
“Understood.” Alban raised his voice and said, “My man needs a proper meal. And our horses need stabling.”
Linux turned to the duty officer. “See to it.” Linux left Alban, entered the guardhouse himself, and returned a few moments later wearing a thoughtful air. “Come with me.” He led Alban around the kitchen and through a side door into the bath’s changing room.
“What did you think of the Parthians?” asked Alban.
“Worth investigating.” Linux
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 officer 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 guardhouse 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 guardhouse 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?”
“Them Parthians. They’re too calm.”
“They are desert trained,” Alban replied. “They have learned to mask their sentiments well.”
“Not like this. Not the way they’ve been talking.”
“You understand their tongue?”
“No need. I listened to them last night when they thought the camp slept. I was standing guard on the other perimeter. They were laughing like they were already freed.”
Alban left his man and sauntered about the guardhouse. It was a substantial structure, holding barracks, cookhouse, baths, sleeping quarters, and one windowless cell. Prisoners were not held here long, of course. The chamber was intended only for those awaiting Pilate’s judgment. The sentries displayed the bored alertness of guards everywhere. “I’d like to see my prisoners,” he told them.
“They are Pilate’s now,” the duty officer replied with a trace of a sneer, but he rose and reached for the keys. He kept his movements just slow enough to show what he thought of orders from a back-country centurion.
The two Parthians sprawled upon wooden benches against the inner walls. A single oil lamp granted the room’s only illumination. The prisoners looked dusty and weary but far too composed. Only one of them bothered to glance over at him. The other remained as he was, stroking a beard with one manacled hand, staring at the ceiling and humming tunelessly.
When Alban returned outside, he found Linux waiting for him. The officer announced, “You’re invited to enjoy Pilate’s bath.”
Alban leaned in close and muttered, “The prisoners are behaving as though they knew they have been granted a reprieve. Last night my sergeant heard them talking and laughing, like they were waiting for someone to slip them the keys.”
Linux casually turned his back to the duty officer before replying, “From now on, you must assume everything you say and do will be observed and reported.”
“Understood.” Alban raised his voice and said, “My man needs a proper meal. And our horses need stabling.”
Linux turned to the duty officer. “See to it.” Linux left Alban, entered the guardhouse himself, and returned a few moments later wearing a thoughtful air. “Come with me.” He led Alban around the kitchen and through a side door into the bath’s changing room.
“What did you think of the Parthians?” asked Alban.
“Worth investigating.” Linux
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