56
It was within two hours of midnight after the Jewish Sabbath, which by Hebrew reckoning ended at sundown, when Longinus came to the Palace of the Herods. Claudia was already in her nightdress and prepared for bed. “Aren’t you going to spend the night?” she asked eagerly, after he loosened her from their warm embrace.
“With your permission,” he said, grinning wryly. “I have your husband’s, remember.”
“Please, let’s not talk of him.” Her expression sobered. “Did I speak too frankly yesterday, Longinus? Did I reveal too much to him ... about us, I mean? Is that why you didn’t come last night? You were annoyed with me?”
“You really spoke your feelings, didn’t you? But I wasn’t annoyed with you,” he said. “In fact, I’m glad you spoke up. And I suspect he was not surprised at what you told him, only that you would say it, and with such fury.” She had sat down on the side of her bed. He seated himself beside her and bent over to unfasten his sandals. Then he straightened and faced her. “Claudia, I was too depressed last night to be good company.” He shook his head slowly. “I’ve never been in lower spirits.”
“Because of the Galilean?”
“Yes. Because of what I had done. It felt like a crushing load on my back. I couldn’t get out from under it.” He stood up, and laid his tunic across a chair. “After I left you and Pilate, I went back out to the crosses and helped get him down, taking care to see that in pulling the nails out we didn’t tear or further bruise the flesh”—he paused in his narration, and his low laugh was hollow, mirthless—“after I had seen the nails driven through the living flesh and had plunged my lance into his side. Then we put him in the rich Jew’s tomb; they had bound the body the way the Jews prepare their dead for burial, although they didn’t have time to anoint it with aromatic spices as they customarily do....”
“They are going to do that tomorrow,” Claudia interrupted him. “Tullia has gone out to Bethany to go with Mary of Magdala and Chuza’s wife Joanna and some other followers of the Galilean early in the morning to the tomb to finish the burial rites.” She paused. “But I interrupted your story. What did you do when you had finished out there?”
“I came back to Antonia and sat for a long time on the balcony looking out over the Temple courts. Then I went to bed and tried to get some sleep, but I couldn’t, no matter how I tried. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that man ... the death march out to the hill, nailing him down, lifting him to the upright....” He cupped his palm across his eyes. “By the gods, Claudia, it was terrible, frightening. And his crying out to his god to forgive us.” His hand dropped listlessly to his side. “Well, I finally gave up and walked out along the balcony again, and then I went to see Cornelius. He was troubled, too. He hadn’t gone to bed. We sat and talked, mostly about that man, until daylight.”
“Did you come to any conclusion ... about him, I mean?”