Faithful Daughter of Israel Read online

  Faithful Daughter of Israel

  Wanda Ann Thomas

  Copyright © 2019 by Wanda Ann Thomas

  Published by Wanda Ann Thomas. All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but tax collectors and harlots believed. Matthew 21:32

  One

  Thank the Lord God for the Roman soldiers.

  The sentiment was as foreign to Anna as darkness to light. Yet she meant it.

  The safety of the alley’s deep shadows behind her, she moved steadily toward an arched stone passage, the Dung Gate. A full moon cast an eerie bluish-gray glow over the white walls of Jerusalem, illuminating her presence. Each brilliant star adorning the sky acted as a finger pointing to her sorry state. Frayed cuffs. Loose hem. Multi-colored splotches of stain. The harsh slap of a broken sandal hitting the stone roadway with each step she took mocked the growls clawing at her empty stomach.

  Accustomed to wearing a headscarf, she felt naked without it.

  And guilty.

  What nonsense—feeling guilty over a bare head? What was that compared to whoring oneself to the Roman soldiers?

  And that was why Anna was here. She intended to offer herself as a harlot to the men who lived in Jerusalem’s Fortress Antonia. Her worry over her bare head was foolishness compared to that.

  She had no other choice.

  Good Jewish girls kept their heads covered. And until tonight, that is what she had always been—a good Jewish girl.

  She sagged against the wall.

  It had been days since she’d had more than scraps to eat. A homeless outcast, she spent her days avoiding the reproachful glances of her fellow Jerusalemites and her nights defending against the bitter cold and her growing fear. Desperation had driven her here.

  But a harlot? Her mind protested against the idea. What should she do next? Her weak legs had gotten her this far, but she was rapidly losing heart.

  The sound of hobnailed sandals striking stone set Anna’s heart racing. A Roman soldier approached.

  Tall and broad shouldered, the foreigner strode up the wide thoroughfare as all Romans did—as if he owned the road. A slight hesitation on the soldier’s part told Anna he had spotted her. Caped neck to ankle in a scarlet mantle that swirled about him, the man possessed a hard face that looked as imposing as the metal blade sheathed at his side.

  She was tempted to bolt.

  Lips pursed in disgust, the soldier surveyed her with angry dark eyes.

  A tremble went through her.

  If his uniform did not already declare him a Roman, his short hair and clean-shaven face would have. When she had tried imagining what it would be like to give herself to a soldier, she envisioned a faceless body covering her and how horrible and repulsive it would be. She did not consider what would go on before and after, or that there would be a face to remember.

  If Anna knew one thing, she knew this—she would never forget this man’s face.

  But if she was to survive, it would not stop with this man. There would be more faces. Too many faces to count.

  A wave of nausea struck, and she pressed a hand to her stomach. Could she live like that?

  How could one’s life go so terribly wrong, so quickly? Just a few short months ago, she was living a safe boring life. The food and shelter provided her, though not especially good or fine, were all she could expect. And there had been an arranged marriage promised to her. And though she had not looked forward to marrying, she had not despised the prospect. As humble and limited as her life had once been, it appeared a veritable paradise compared to the one looming large and sickeningly before her.

  Once she threw her respectability away, there would be no way back. Once her virtue was compromised, she would be ruined for life.

  A cynical laugh escaped her lips. It was already too late. Whatever she did tonight would not destroy her reputation because she was already considered a fallen woman. Her actions tonight would serve only to turn the vicious rumor into vile reality.

  Anna’s laugh called the soldier to her.

  Tall and menacing from afar, up close he was twice as intimidating. The top of her head did not even come to the man’s shoulders. Looking up at a wall of red, she swallowed. There was no sign of lust on his face. A tremor went through her at the fierce anger in his blue eyes.

  The soldier’s voice sliced through the silence. “I should have you flogged.”

  Why the continued downward spiral of her circumstances? Hadn’t she suffered enough? Why did she have to fall into the hands of a brute? “Go away.” She hated the quiver she heard in her voice. “This is a mistake.”

  He captured her arm. “Do you know who I am?”

  She tugged against his iron grip. “What does it matter?”

  “I am Julian of Alexandria, commander of Fortress Antonia.”

  She sagged against the wall. The stones still radiated heat, but the warmth did nothing to dispel the chill spreading into her bones like frost from God’s mouth. The new commander was said to be more wicked than Governor Pontius Pilate.

  Her vision swirled and the stars spun in circles.

  Then everything went black.

  Two

  Julian scooped the unconscious woman up in his arms. He looked over his shoulder in search of someone to take her off his hands. But Jerusalem was quiet as a frozen wasteland, with the city’s pious citizens locked tight in their homes for the obligatory Sabbath rest.

  He ought to set the woman against the wall and walk away. But it was too much to hope the young harlot would be treated mercifully. Not in this hellish place.

  The city was a festering pimple on the backside of the Roman empire. He had been in the country only a month, and he was already sick of the hostile stares and undisguised hatred that followed him whenever he stepped a foot out of the fortress.

  The harlot was his problem.

  Except he was not convinced she was a harlot.

  Nothing about it felt right. Jerusalem’s whores never wandered far from the inns or small establishments that housed them. None would be so blatant as to stand at the city gates openly seeking a man as this young woman had. She did not look like the harlots who entertained the Roman army. Unlike them, she was modestly dressed. And before she had fainted dead away, her eyes had shone with an innocence difficult to command at will.

  “For the love of the gods, what are you doing out here, woman?” he said under his breath.

  Her moonlit face was beautiful. Her dark hair hung in a long mass over his arm, the silky strands brushing his bare forearm. Delicate and fine-boned, she weighed almost nothing. In truth, she felt dangerously thin.

  His anger surged again.

  First, he wanted to gut the person responsible for letting the poor girl come to this. Secondly, he was disgusted at himself for lusting over a half-dead Jewess.

  “Get your mind out of the sewer, Julian,” he growled.

  What next?

  He turned toward the harlot’s den favored by his officers, then toward the fortress.

  Shivers convulsed the half-conscious woman’s body. He pressed the back of his hand to her neck. Her skin was icy.

  He cradled her with one arm, clutched his cloak and wrap
ped it around her, tucking the loose ends between his body and hers.

  The young Jewess responded to the gesture by curling toward him and pressing her face against his chest.

  He frowned. If she was the innocent he supposed, she should be struggling to get out of his arms. Or if truly the harlot, her movements might be called suggestive. Instead, the poor creature had fallen into a deep sleep.

  Making a quick decision, he strode away.

  ∞∞∞

  Other than the curious stares Julian garnered on his long progress through the fortress, the men left him alone. The soldiers were still too leery of their new commander to question him about the woman cradled in his arms. Which was convenient, as he could not even explain to himself why he had brought her here.

  He kicked open the door to his suite.

  “Go.” The single word sent his sleepy servant scrambling from the bedchamber.

  Thankful for once for Tevy’s habit of keeping a lamp burning for him, Julian lay his feather-light burden on a reclining couch. The soft cushions threatened to swallow her.

  He lifted a heavy wool blanket from a basket and covered the shivering woman.

  The incessant chirping of insects sounded outside the window. The smell of burnt offerings assaulted his nostrils. Shadows danced on the water-stained walls.

  He stared at the woman. Now what? He would bet his last silver denarii she was awake now and only pretending to sleep.

  Tucking the edge of the blanket under her delicate chin, his fingers brushed against her cold skin. He thought that would have her eyes flying open.

  She stiffened and clamped her lids tighter.

  He sat down beside her. She was a puzzle in need of solving. And he would have answers.

  “Who are you?”

  She shrank away from him.

  If she was a harlot, then he was Caesar.

  He grasped her thigh. “Talk, woman.”

  She sat up and pushed at his hand. “Don’t!”

  Familiar with the fear and disgust Roman soldiers aroused in the locals, he blew out a frustrated breath, but maintained his grip.

  “What sent you to the streets, woman?”

  Defiance flared in her eyes. “I was hungry.”

  “So, you decided, just like that, to take up harlotry?”

  “I expect to be paid.”

  He was not fooled by the show of spirit. “If you are a virgin, you can charge three times the usual rate.”

  “Truly?” After she’d examined him from head to toe, her countenance fell. “I am not feeling well. Would you mind finding another virgin to... for…” She blushed and buried her face in her hands. “May I go?”

  She was too innocent for her own good. He hated to think of the cruel life awaiting her.

  “Where is your family? Why didn’t you turn to them for help?”

  She lifted her head. Anguish filled her amber eyes. “I do not have any protectors. You could kill me and no one would care.”

  “That is not why I asked.”

  Why was he torturing himself over a woman of no consequence? He should give the unfortunate woman coins for food and send her on her way.

  “What happened to leave you homeless?”

  Anger flashed in her eyes only to fizzle into utter hopelessness. “You would not understand.”

  “That may prove true, but I will hear it anyway.” He brushed his knuckles over her jaw.

  Her face drained of color. “I cannot think with your hands on me.”

  “Tell me your story, woman.” Why was he feeling guilty for touching a woman playing at being a harlot?

  Her mouth remained stubbornly sealed.

  “Out with it!” he bellowed, with the same force used on an insubordinate soldier.

  Her face crumpled. “I am disgraced and cursed.”

  Gingerly removing his hands from the Jewess, he waited for her to compose herself.

  He could afford to be patient. Under the weight of his ferocious temper, Julian had felt it—the thin shell of her courage shattering to countless pieces. She would not dare defy him any longer.

  The victory was hollow.

  Watching her shoulders shake with her silent crying, he felt like the evil beast she believed him to be.

  Three

  Moments after admitting her downfall, Anna dashed away her tears, firmed her mouth, and purposely looked beyond her assailant. Follow this brute’s orders and the night will be over before you know it. It was a lie, but one she was desperate to believe.

  What was he waiting for? “Please, just do what you must. I am…” Her face heated. “I do not know anything about these… ah… ah… matters.”

  “Is that so? I hardly noticed.”

  The sarcasm galled her. She lifted her chin and met his eyes.

  He had to be the largest, most imposing man she had ever shared a room with. Other than his haughty sneer, his face was pleasing. Firm of jaw with a perfectly straight nose, he looked exactly as she imagined a great warrior would look. A bold champion like David and Joshua, men capable of leading vast armies to glorious victories.

  And keen eyes that saw absolutely everything, like the fact that she was studying him.

  She swallowed. “Do we have to talk?”

  Like the rising of the east wind, his warm breath spilled over her face and down the length of her bare neck. “Woman, do not test me.”

  She pulled the blanket higher, but it proved flimsy protection. “My name is Anna.”

  His nose flared. “Anna, why did you believe harlotry your only choice?”

  Why allow a Roman soldier to rattle her? At the age of twenty, she had suffered heartache enough for three lifetimes. “I am, or I was, a bondmaid. It is not the same thing as a slave.”

  In cases of extreme poverty, a Jewish father could sell his daughter, but only to another Jew, and only if she was under the age of twelve, and always with the understanding the man buying the young girl would, at some point, marry her. Or if the buyer had sons, the girl could be married to one of them as well.

  The hard set to his mouth softened. “I am aware of the difference. You say you were a bondmaid. Does that mean your years of service are done or did your master die?”

  A wave of sadness rolled through her. “My six years were almost at an end when my master and his sons died.”

  “What was your master’s trade?”

  Her nose wrinkled of its own accord. “Simon was a dung collector.”

  “Ah, I see.” The soldier’s nose twitched, too.

  Despite the difficult circumstances, she smiled. She could not help it. Mention of the lowly trade always invoked the same involuntary reaction. If one could disregard the stink and reproach, dung collecting was a profitable trade. Tanners and fullers purchased loads of the noxious waste.

  “Your father did not do well by you.”

  Indignant, she lifted her chin. “He did the best he could.”

  “That would make you a widow. Jews take care of their widows. So, I ask again. Why resort to harlotry?”

  Explaining without casting insult was difficult. “Master Simon and his sons were simpleminded. “He insisted I had to serve my six years before we could marry.” She looked down at her lap and admitted her foolishness. “I never bothered to correct him. So though I have never been married, nor touched by a man, my virtue is in question.”

  He heaved a weary sigh. “Another man could not be convinced to wed you?”

  She hugged the blanket tighter. “Jewish women must be above reproach. That is true, even for women who are so poor they must marry dung collectors and tanners.”

  “Return to your family.” Sympathy shined in his eyes. “If no one else will have you, surely they will take you back.”

  Sorrow robbed her of breath. “They cannot help me. They are dead.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Poison.” The truth always felt closer to a confession. “My father, mother, brothers, and sisters all poisoned. I told you. I am cursed.�
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  “Why would anyone one want to poison a poor farmer… or his whole family, come to that?”

  “I was told they ate some spoiled fish. It killed them all. People felt sorry for me then. But since Simon and his sons died, people are afraid of me.”

  “How did Simon and his sons die?”

  “All three had sore throats that went bad.”

  “All three?”

  “Each in turn,” she whispered. “First the sore throat, followed by a fever, and then the vomiting. It left them weak and breathless. They did not last long after that. I was not sick at all.”

  “Your people blamed you?” he asked gently.

  “They say I brought a curse down on Simon’s house. I stand accused of having done something to incur God’s wrath. How else, they ask, to explain men as hale and fit as Simon and his sons succumbing to mere sore throats?”

  “Cursed Anna,” he murmured.

  She grasped his hand. “Have mercy. Do not tell your men to shun me.”

  Penniless and without family and an outcast, if the Romans spurned her too, sure as there was a God in heaven, she would die. The thought of dying alone, unmourned and unloved, did not terrify her half as much as the idea of dying unredeemed.

  “Curses are religious nonsense.” But he pulled his hand free. “Not that my men are any less superstitious than you Jews, but a beautiful face like yours will have my soldiers throwing caution to the wind.”

  She seized on the lone hope pushing her these last few months.

  The belief, one day, somehow, God would answer her prayers and her fellow Jerusalemites would once more call her a faithful daughter of Israel.

  To see that day, she must live one more day, and one more day after that.

  “Does that mean you will allow me to…” She swallowed her trepidation and revulsion. “Will you allow your men to consort with me?”

  “Consort?” he asked amused.

  She gritted her teeth. “That will teach me not to complain. How was I to know marriage to a dung collector was not the worst of all possible fates?”