Read Online The Centurion's Wife by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janette Oke, Davis Bunn
Ads: Link
motioned Alban to one of the changing cubicles, where they both removed their clothing.
The rooms were too well appointed for a simple soldier. Towels and robes were stacked upon trays of onyx and soapstone. Flowers sprouted from solid gold vases. The floor mosaics were adorned with semi-precious stones, and the utensils in the washroom were all hand-carved ivory. Alban was sure that the man who ruled Judaea from such a home as this had little use for a rough-cut Gaul.
A bath slave offered soaps and unguents in silver vials. There was an unending stream of fresh water, and new silver-backed razors for his face. They stepped into the first of three baths, the caldarium , the heated pool. Steam drifted in the languid air, causing the murals along the walls to spring to life and dance for him. They moved from there into the frigidarium, which was set in a chamber with only three walls, the far end open to the crystal blue sea. Two steps down led to a patio containing a third bath filled with heated seawater. A half-dozen figures lolled about the space. Alban felt eyes on him from every quarter.
He ate with Linux in one of the side alcoves. Across from them, a slave pummeled a large man on the massage table. Others ate plums and drank sweet wine, their talk of Rome and money and power.
When the chamber next to theirs emptied, Linux murmured, “If you want to survive in these waters, you enter every meeting well prepared. I left you at the guardhouse so I could speak with allies.” Linux hefted the towel’s edge and rubbed his face, mashing the quiet words so they were nearly indistinct. “Procula remains very ill from her dreams. After our return from Jerusalem, Herod paid a visit to Pilate, and now the prelate has sent a messenger to Herod’s palace on the other hill above the hippodrome. They have been at odds for some time, but this prophet’s death has brought them together in a way I cannot explain. I mistrust what I cannot understand.”
In the distance, a voice called Alban’s name. Linux responded, “Here!” To Alban he said softly, “Enter Pilate’s presence as you would a battle.”
Alban found a formal toga laid out for him in the dressing chamber. The cotton and linen weave was more refined than anything he had ever worn. On the side wall was the greatest astonishment he had seen yet in this house of wonders, a mirror with a polished surface that stretched from the floor to above his head. Despite the servant’s impatience, he took time for a long look. This was the first time he had ever seen his own full image.
The man staring back at him was far more seasoned than the one who had entered Judaea’s borderlands four years earlier. The cleft in his chin was matched by a scar that ran from his left temple to his hairline, compliments of an arrow that had almost robbed him of half his vision. His hair, originally a shade between brown and russet, was now more gold in color, and his skin was as dark as saddle leather. But what held him most were his eyes. He knew himself to have always been cautious, measuring, reserved. What caught him now was the hint of fear in his gaze.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Caesarea, That Same Day
FOR THE TWO NIGHTS since Herod’s latest visit, Procula had wakened most of the household with her screams. Once awake she was again seized by the headache. Leah took to spending her nights at the foot of her mistress’s bed. As soon as the whimpers began, Leah rose to give the governor’s wife another measure of the medicine. Procula continued her weak protests, speaking in broken tones about the prophet now lost to the grave.
The other servants made no comment when Leah stumbled back to the women’s sleeping quarters after serving Procula her breakfast and morning dose. The senior cook, a bitter woman who normally never had a kind word for anyone, gently awakened Leah personally in time to serve Procula her other meals. When Leah did sleep, it was in scattered snatches, starting awake
The rooms were too well appointed for a simple soldier. Towels and robes were stacked upon trays of onyx and soapstone. Flowers sprouted from solid gold vases. The floor mosaics were adorned with semi-precious stones, and the utensils in the washroom were all hand-carved ivory. Alban was sure that the man who ruled Judaea from such a home as this had little use for a rough-cut Gaul.
A bath slave offered soaps and unguents in silver vials. There was an unending stream of fresh water, and new silver-backed razors for his face. They stepped into the first of three baths, the caldarium , the heated pool. Steam drifted in the languid air, causing the murals along the walls to spring to life and dance for him. They moved from there into the frigidarium, which was set in a chamber with only three walls, the far end open to the crystal blue sea. Two steps down led to a patio containing a third bath filled with heated seawater. A half-dozen figures lolled about the space. Alban felt eyes on him from every quarter.
He ate with Linux in one of the side alcoves. Across from them, a slave pummeled a large man on the massage table. Others ate plums and drank sweet wine, their talk of Rome and money and power.
When the chamber next to theirs emptied, Linux murmured, “If you want to survive in these waters, you enter every meeting well prepared. I left you at the guardhouse so I could speak with allies.” Linux hefted the towel’s edge and rubbed his face, mashing the quiet words so they were nearly indistinct. “Procula remains very ill from her dreams. After our return from Jerusalem, Herod paid a visit to Pilate, and now the prelate has sent a messenger to Herod’s palace on the other hill above the hippodrome. They have been at odds for some time, but this prophet’s death has brought them together in a way I cannot explain. I mistrust what I cannot understand.”
In the distance, a voice called Alban’s name. Linux responded, “Here!” To Alban he said softly, “Enter Pilate’s presence as you would a battle.”
Alban found a formal toga laid out for him in the dressing chamber. The cotton and linen weave was more refined than anything he had ever worn. On the side wall was the greatest astonishment he had seen yet in this house of wonders, a mirror with a polished surface that stretched from the floor to above his head. Despite the servant’s impatience, he took time for a long look. This was the first time he had ever seen his own full image.
The man staring back at him was far more seasoned than the one who had entered Judaea’s borderlands four years earlier. The cleft in his chin was matched by a scar that ran from his left temple to his hairline, compliments of an arrow that had almost robbed him of half his vision. His hair, originally a shade between brown and russet, was now more gold in color, and his skin was as dark as saddle leather. But what held him most were his eyes. He knew himself to have always been cautious, measuring, reserved. What caught him now was the hint of fear in his gaze.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Caesarea, That Same Day
FOR THE TWO NIGHTS since Herod’s latest visit, Procula had wakened most of the household with her screams. Once awake she was again seized by the headache. Leah took to spending her nights at the foot of her mistress’s bed. As soon as the whimpers began, Leah rose to give the governor’s wife another measure of the medicine. Procula continued her weak protests, speaking in broken tones about the prophet now lost to the grave.
The other servants made no comment when Leah stumbled back to the women’s sleeping quarters after serving Procula her breakfast and morning dose. The senior cook, a bitter woman who normally never had a kind word for anyone, gently awakened Leah personally in time to serve Procula her other meals. When Leah did sleep, it was in scattered snatches, starting awake
Similar Books
