Chapter 15


I was most grateful when Publius turned up so unexpectedly and so opportunely. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't, for there was no way I could pay that Syrian what I owed him. The gods be thanked, I have so far managed to keep out of the hands of the money lenders, though I suppose that in the last resort I might have managed to raise a loan. Twelve denarii is not all that huge a sum, after all.

Still, when Publius turned up like that it was truly a god-send and I was duly grateful, to him and to the gods - and it wasn't just because he saved Antiope for me. He looked just the same as I remembered him, a little greyer, of course, a little stouter, but the same and my heart lurched within me. Saturnus was a good man and I loved him as a wife should, but there's no doubt that Publius had a way of making your heart stop just by looking at you.

Of course he wanted to marry me - said so within minutes of coming into the house. I must say that he took it all rather well. I suppose we have both grown up a bit. All those years ago when I told him that my father had chosen Saturnus for me, he was furious. I didn't know whether he was going to kill me or my father or Saturnus or all three of us! I was half afraid that he might lose his temper this time when I told him I couldn't marry him, but I suppose medical reasons are a different matter. You can't argue with medical reasons.

Would I marry him if I could? Oh yes, no doubt about it. As I said, he hasn't changed. He's a good man at heart, really, and handsome - as handsome as a god. He only has to smile at me and my heart misses a beat. I'd marry him - if I could, but of course I can't.

This wretched problem of mine, this bleeding, it means that I can't have children and every man wants children. Well, every decent man. I know that there are posh people at Rome who don't want children; Augustus had to order some of them to have children, but we're not nobles, Publius and I, we're ordinary people and I know that men always want children, sons to carry on their name.

Even if he didn't, though, I still couldn't marry him. If there's one thing that marriage to Saturnus taught me, it is that men can't do without "it" - you know what I mean. If they don't get "it" from their wives - because the wife is indisposed or because they're off travelling or whatever - they get "it" wherever they can: a priestess of Venus, a common harlot, whoever's available. It's the nature of men, it's the way the gods made them.

Because of my problem, I can't give a man "it". For the last few years of our marriage poor Saturnus had to sleep apart from me. Even though this isn't a proper period, it's still menstrual blood and that defiles a woman and any man who touches her. Why, even the Jews, who believe contradictory things just to be different, even the Jews hold that menstrual blood is unclean.

That's why, when Publius came rushing into the house babbling on about some Jewish healer he had encountered the news didn't fill me with joy. "Who?" I said when I had calmed him down a bit.

"Rabbi Joshua!" Publius exclaimed, almost dancing in his excitement. "I've seen him. He's here!"

"Sit down, Publius darling," I said. "You're making me tired with all that shouting. Who is this Rabbi Joshua?"

It was a long story and by the time he had finished I had forgotten the beginning, but it was all about this man who was suspected of being a rebel, who went around with sicarii and zealots, but who had a reputation as a healer. When he had finished I shook my head.

"It won't do, Publius dear," I said to him. "I've had Jewish healers. They come and read stuff out of their holy books and chant incantations until your head hurts, then they command the angels and archangels - who all have the most outlandish and unpronounceable names - to drive out the illness. They're all frauds."

"But this one's different," Publius protested. "Rufus, the centurion down in Capernaum ..."

I put my finger to his lips. "I know, darling, I know, but believe me, they're all the same. Still," I said as his face fell, "if it makes you happy, go and call him. I'll listen to another round of incantations."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," Publius actually looked horrified. "You see, he won't come inside a gentile house. Rufus told me all about it. There's all sorts of purifications that are necessary if a rabbi comes into a gentile house. You'll have to come and see him."

I sighed. "Darling, I couldn't walk that far."

"I'll carry you," Publius offered.

I shook my head. "Darling, what would the neighbours think if I was seen being carried through town by a soldier? Just think of the scandal!"

Actually, that wasn't the real reason. We sick people learn to put up with all sorts of indignities and being carried through the town by a handsome centurion is certainly not the worst thing I have experienced. No, the real reason was the thought of what would happen when we got to this Rabbi Joshua.

I've seen these Jewish healers in action: a little stall or booth, a couple of stooges with long beards and pious looks, and a crowd of the curious gawping at the show. The first thing that happens is that the healer demands to know what is wrong with you: it's all part of the show, you see. If you have something common, it encourages others with the same problem to come forward; if it is something uncommon then he adds to his reputation.

I had been fairly open with Publius about my problem, but that's only because I have known him for so long. I couldn't bear announcing my shame to a crowd of strangers, hoi polloi, horny-handed labourers and the riff-raff of the streets: I would die! All those eyes staring at me, all those ears waggling to hear the sordid details - and how those wretched healers enjoy dragging the details out of you.

And there's always the possibility that this Rabbi Joshua was one of the strict ones who won't look at a woman. The thought of having some supercilious holy man turning up his lip in disgust at the nature of my problem and sending me away, that would be a worse humiliation than the first.

I know that Publius was disappointed in me. He denied it, but I could tell; there was a sense of strain between us, as if he felt that I didn't really want to get better, but I did, I really did. It was just that I had my reasons.

Three days later Publius' visit came to an end. I don't know what I would have done if he had asked me again to marry him because I did love him, but the question didn't arise. He wished me well, he urged me to let him know if I needed anything, he promised to come and see me again, but he didn't ask me to marry him. I knew that he was still annoyed with me for refusing to see this Rabbi Joshua.

And he was barely out of the house when I started to hear about the wretched man. Antiope went down to the market and came back with a story about someone she met there who had been healed by Rabbi Joshua. Calpurnia, one of the few friends I have these days, came to call and happened to mention someone she knew who was healed by Rabbi Joshua. Titus, the head priest at the Asclepion, called by and repeated some aphorism that this Rabbi Joshua had given during one of his sermons, something about lilies of the field being clothed by God.

I told him that Rabbi Joshua had been here in Paneas and he looked solemn and shook his head. "It's a great pity you weren't able to go along and see him, Secunda my dear," he said. "He does seem to have unusual powers. They say that he simply commands and the gods obey him. Others use enchantments and incantations but he just puts out his hand and touches you and that's it. Amazing."

I felt my heart sink. "Do you really think that he could have healed me?" I asked.

Titus shrugged. "I don't know, my dear. Yours is a very unusual and difficult case and as you know, everything else that we have tried hasn't been successful. I can't say for sure that this Rabbi Joshua would have succeeded, but I am certain in saying that he is your only hope."

My only hope! The words stayed in my mind as I tossed and turned on my bed that night. My only hope - and I had refused to go and see him. Oh, if only I had listened to Publius! We women are foolish creatures, guided always by our passions and whims. It's no wonder that the Jews - so I have heard - give thanks to their god daily that they were not born as women.

Of course I felt better in the morning - we women aren't so hopeless after all - but I still sent Antiope down to her friend in the market to try and find out more about Rabbi Joshua, and in particular where he might be found. She came back with more stories, but the news was not good. He lived down near Tiberias in a little village called Capernaum.

"Where is that?" I snapped, irritable at her news.

"About three thousand stadia from here, Mistress," she said. "I asked."

I felt like smacking her smug little face - but of course I didn't - for she might as well have told me that Rabbi Joshua lived on the moon. How was I going to travel three thousand stadia when I couldn't even walk to the end of the street?

And yet, over the next couple of days, the idea never left me. This man was my only hope, yet I might have dismissed him as too difficult to reach if it had not been for Publius' visit. Somehow seeing him again had reminded me of what it was like to be young, what it was like to be well - the pleasure of dancing, the long walks we used to take in the fields and woods, even just something as simple as running to meet the man you loved!

And then it came to me in the middle of the night, one horrendous night when my thoughts raced through my head and I could not sleep no matter what I did. The longest journey consists of one step at a time! I could take one step and then see if I had the energy to take the next - and if I didn't, well, I could just sit down on the ground until I did.

"Antiope," I said as she did my hair the following morning, "I'm going to Capernaum."

"Madam!" she exclaimed. "How?"

"One step at a time," I told her.