When he wakes from his sleep, Big James stretches out his arm in search of your soft and welcome warmth, but when he rolls onto his side to reach you, he finds your bedroll deserted. Instantly ripped out of his drowsy state, he sits up as he eyes the empty bed, panic swelling in his chest as he sees your sandals still at the entrance of your shared tent, your veil absent. 

You have wrapped it haphazardly around your head to keep your hair out of your face as you sit retching at the edge of camp, leaned against a large boulder for support as last night’s dinner ends up in the grass. A few wild dogs are already looming from a distance, waiting for you to leave again so that they can feast on whatever is left behind. 

You hurl again just as Big James rushes up to you and helps you keep your (h/c) locks out of your face, gently rubbing circles over your back as he keeps you steady. “Hey, now,” he whispers, “Let it all out.” 

Your husband doesn’t have to ask what is going on or if you’re feeling alright. Both of you have known for a few weeks now about the child growing within you, but the group has yet to be told the wondrous news. James and you have been waiting for the right moment to break it, but you aren’t showing yet and you are also perfectly content with keeping it your little secret for a while longer.

As you spit in the grass, Big James holds a waterskin in your direction and you use it to rinse the sour taste from your mouth, a shaky breath leaving your lungs as you slowly begin to calm down. James, not disgusted in the slightest, gives you a worried yet loving look as he gently caresses your cheek. “Feeling better, love?” 

You hum and nod, closing your eyes as you straighten out your back. For a moment, you feel dizzy, and your husband grabs your arm to help you regain your balance. “I’m fine,” you hoarsely say, clearing your throat before once again flushing your mouth with water and spitting out to get rid of the flavour. “Just… A little shaky.” 

“That’s fine. Are you feeling well enough to head back to our tent?” You hum in agreement and James gently holds your waist when you walk back to the comfort you were forced out of upon waking with a horribly tight throat and the urge to throw up. The wild dogs already dare to approach as you retreat. 

James places you into a cross-legged position onto your bedroll as you take a seat, smiling wryly at him as he ties the flap of the tent shut. “My love,” he breathes as he sits next to you, offering you another drink, this time to consume it instead of rinsing your mouth with it, “You have been throwing up more often.” 

“I know,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead for a moment before taking a sip of water. “It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out.” 

Your husband puts a hand on your arm, pulling your hand into his lap. “(Y/n),” he whispers, “I need you to know… That if something occurs that may force me to reveal your condition for either your own safety or to ease others’ worries, I fear that I’ll just… Just blurt it out, you know?” 

You give him a soft look and squeeze his fingers with yours. “I know,” you whisper, “And if that were to happen, it would be fine.” 

“Would it, though? I thought you wanted this to be our secret for a while longer, at least until you are showing, and then we can tell the others during a special occasion.” 

“I still want that,” you tell him, “But sometimes the circumstances require something different from us. We can’t always do things in the way we want.” 

James smiles a bit and gently tucks some hair behind your ear. “Wise words, my darling wife. It’s clear you’ve been travelling with the Messiah.” You blush at the gesture in spite of being married to him for several years now, and smile at him shyly. 

“There’s that pretty look on your face that I adore so much,” James murmurs, leaning forward to peck your lips in spite of your earlier queasiness, “Never fails to give me butterflies after all this time.” 

You hum and fondly smile at him, sighing happily as he puts his hand on your stomach. There isn’t a bump just yet, but both of you know that it will show soon, and then the world will know about the little family you’re starting. James lifts your hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Let’s get dressed and go get breakfast,” he states, “I believe we’re travelling today.” 

Knowing that your husband is right about that, you follow his suggestion and don a clean tunic, making sure it sits around your waist loosely enough. Even though it isn’t visible, you’ve started to grow self-conscious about the tiniest mannerisms you’ve been developing over the past weeks. You’ve been feeling tired faster than normal, lost your appetite for date cakes. Suspicions may grow amongst the group if you’re acting out of the ordinary too obviously. 

Wordlessly, you start packing up your belongings as well as the tent itself. Having done so countless times before makes it so that neither of you has to say anything during the process, enjoying the peace and quiet of the moment as you silently tuck everything into the bags it belongs in. After this, you join the others for breakfast, able to stomach a small handful of grapes whilst the men discuss what the next possible destination might be.

When Jesus shows up, He reveals that not Jerusalem, but Bethany is the next stop to visit His good friend Lazarus. Hearing that His eema will be there as well, you are instantly on edge, having a strong feeling that Mary will most likely notice your current condition upon first glance. There is something about her that makes you feel like she would.

You walk with your husband as he pushes one of the carts at the back of the group, chatting about life for a while before he urges you to speak to your other friends as well and that he’ll be fine. Smiling at the comment, you kiss his cheek and go to walk with Tamar and Thomas, wondering how the latter has been doing these past weeks after what happened to Ramah.

The journey has been taking about an hour or two when a small squad of Roman soldiers stands in the middle of the road. The way they are prominently standing still, spears and shields at the ready, is a telltale sign that they are not just here on patrol. “Halt!” the leader of the group says, a young soldier wearing a helmet with a red crest on top calling out to you. “Jewish citizens.” 

Everyone carefully walks towards the squad of soldiers, Jesus casting a glance over His shoulder to show that it’s alright. “Everyone remain calm.” You can vividly picture the tension rising to James’ shoulders. You have to resist turning around to look at him. 

When Jesus turns back, two soldiers approach Him, barking a command before the Messiah can get as much as a word in. “Disarm yourselves and leave your bags. You’re carrying ours now” Brief silence as Big James puts his hand on your shoulder; he must have approached you without you noticing. You give him a worried look.

Matthew removes his bag from his shoulder as he explains: “Under Roman law, a soldier can force a Jew to carry his things.”

Tamar is taken aback. “At random?”

“There is a legal limit. A maximum of one mile and no further.” 

The soldiers approach with their arms full of items for you to carry. Your heart sinks inside your gut. A shield is pushed into your arms, a bag suddenly heavy over your shoulder containing more weight than you’d ever carry on you, and a helmet is forced over your head. “Ouch!” 

“Quiet,” the soldier hisses. James steps towards you instantly, a hand on your lower back.

“Hey, watch it.” James mutters.

The solider gives him a challenging, mocking grin. “She your woman or something?” 

James narrows his eyes, the centurion’s smile falling into hardly contained annoyance as he shoves a bag into James’ arms. “Some extra weight for you, lover boy.” 

“What must it be like, walking around all day with no metal weighing your head down?” his colleague taunts as he puts said headgear onto your brother-in-law, “Ever had helmet hair?” He chuckles mockingly. You put your hand on James’ arm to prevent him from doing anything rash. No matter how well-intended, interfering would spell even more trouble than playing along for a mile.

“Hurry along, rats!” the decanus spits over his shoulder as he leads the group forward. You take the shield and carry it in your arms whilst James looms over you like a hawk, making sure you are alright with every step you take. 

“Rats, with nice hats!” Stupid laughter from the soldiers. 

Forced to leave behind your own things, everyone follows the squad of soldiers. “Let me carry your things,” James whispers your way to make sure none of the Romans can hear you. “You shouldn’t be lifting heavy items, especially in your condition.” 

You give him a soft smile. “Oh, James. It’s not like I’m that far along yet. I can do this just fine. But thank you.” In spite of your gentle, grateful look, he’s still not convinced. 

“My darling, please—” 

“What are you two talking about?” one soldier starts walking in between you with a taunting edge to his tone, “Don’t you know it’s rude to whisper in company?”

“I am allowed to have a private conversation with my wife.” James says with obvious rage bubbling under the surface.

The soldier gives you a once-over and grins. “I can see why you married her. Pretty thing you are.” You grit your teeth as he attempts to touch your cheek. 

“Don’t touch her,” James bites instantly, a little taller than the soldier, glaring daggers at him as he puffs out his chest. 

The centurion shows his palms in defence, a disdainful look on his face, but before he responds the decanus demands the attention by lifting Tamar’s arm in the air alongside the vile comment: “Which one of you does this belong to?” 

“Hey!” you instantly protest, “Shut up!” The centurion next to you raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. 

“Your wife has claws,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at you, “Let’s see if she’s got lip when she’s carrying your stuff as well.” 

Before James realises what is going on, the soldier is already lifting his load from his shoulders and dumps them around yours instead— “Hey! Don’t do that, be careful with her!” 

“What, afraid she’ll break? Ha!”

Big James is seething as you struggle under the additional weight. He opens his mouth, wanting to speak up, but the centurion points a warning finger in his direction. “Careful, don’t give me a reason to give her the rest of your things.” 

You give James a look and he sighs in defeat, lowering his gaze as he is forced to watch you suffer under the heaviness.

Your legs start to ache as you step on, your neck killing you by the time you turn the last bend, approaching the ending point. You feel your husband’s worried eyes on you, meeting them with your own as you give him a watery smile, indicating that you will be fine.

“Decanus,” one of his men announces, “The sign is the mile marker.” On your right, a pillar of rocks stands as a clear indication of distance.  

A mocking huff leaves one of them. “In your entire lives, I bet you’ve never been so grateful for the enshrined Roman law. We know this has been an honour for all of you.”

“Stop here!” the leader brings the group to a halt, much to your relief, and you are about to put the heavy things onto the ground with a thud when you witness how Jesus keeps on walking. 

“I said stop!” the decanus exclaims, causing the Messiah to slow down and turn around. 

“Your destination is that outpost a mile ahead, yes?” He asks. 

“It is, but we’re only permitted one mile.” 

“By coercion.” Jesus clarifies, “There is no law against citizens assisting you the rest of the way of their own volition.”

You swallow hard as it dawns on you what the Messiah is getting at. “Come, My friends.” 

And whenever Jesus says to follow, you always will. Taking up the encumbrance onto your shoulders once again, you step on forward. 

“But—”

“—If anyone says anything, say that we offered.” 

Although there is a strange ambiance hanging over the group of followers, everyone wordlessly lifts up the equipment forced to carry and follows the Messiah. For a few longs moments, the soldiers are left to process what is going on. Big James swallows hard as he watches you. 

“Love, are you—” 

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, “Let’s not risk any—” 

“What did I tell you about not whispering in company?!” the same soldier seems to have remembered little of what has just happened. “Come on, lover boy. Due to your gentlemanly nature, she is now obliged to carry the rest of your stuff as well, see if she likes you afterwards—” 

“Don’t!” James cries out as his fingers tightly grip the items in his arms, “Please, don’t, let me carry all of her things instead.” 

“Why should I listen to that? You’re just a Jew—” 

“—Because she is pregnant!” 

The statement rings so clear that everyone halts. The decanus in the front, who was just about to take the embellished helmet off Jesus’ head, turns to face the source of the disturbance. Mary and Tamar gasp as they look at you, the others observing in either confusion or sudden realisation as they piece two and two together. 

“You’re pregnant?” Mary whispers, “For how long?” 

All eyes now suddenly on you, you gulp. The soldier seems to feel his conscience get the better of him and reaches for the heavy load on your shoulders, hanging them over his own instead. You could swear you hear him mutter an apology under his breath, your state seemingly hitting a nerve within him, as he walks off ahead of you. 

“I… I was planning on telling you soon…” you whisper, “Just… I was waiting for the right moment. And I—”

“Not to be rude, but we are on a tight schedule,” the decanus cuts you off. 

The group is forced to walk forward again before it can be given any more attention. As Matthew nearly stumbles, one of the Romans reaches out to take over the burden.

Something seems to have shifted in the air. The soldiers reclaim their own belongings one by one, lifting the equipment onto their own shoulders instead. James hands his shield back to its owner and puts a hand on your lower back, leaning closer. “Are you alright?” he is wearing an apologetic look on his face, almost hollow, as if he regrets blurting it out like that. “I’m sorry for revealing our announcement like that. I know it is not what you wanted.” 

You smile softly at your husband, sliding your hand into his. “I’m fine, James,” you promise him, “Just a little sore. And it was going to come out some time soon anyways, yes? And I’d rather have it happen like this, than that anyone would find me throwing up my breakfast somewhere in a corner.” 

James snorts a laugh and squeezes your hand. “Still, I’m sorry. I wish I would have kept my mouth shut.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, my love. It doesn’t make me want this family any less.” 

He softly hums and brushes his lips against the side of your head before pulling a weird face. “Your veil smells like sweaty Roman-head.” 

You laugh at that, rolling your eyes as you follow the rest of the mile, whilst the soldiers have mostly taken back all of their equipment. Nevertheless, you still go with them — you remember the sermon on the Korazim Plateau, on going two miles if someone forces you to come with them for only one mile. It seems that right now, the teaching is put into literal practice.

 “Thanks for letting me know,” you muse, “I’ll make sure to wash it in the evening.” 

At that, your husband chuckles contently. In silence, you share this moment together, knowing that on your way back to your own belongings, which are hopefully left untouched in the middle of the road two miles away, you will be overwhelmed with words of congratulations and countless questions about how you are doing.