#theme:peace

Quietly, clearly distracted, Simon muttered a noise of agreement and went on his way. He drew up the hood to hide himself from other residents of the Roman quarter in Capernaum. It was possible only because Gaius had lent him the cloak.  

Things must really be bad at home, Gaius reasoned. Funny, really, how he’d come to learn some things about Simon in the last week or so that he’d never learned of any Jew in the last ten years of his posting in Capernaum. Unless it was a matter of public welfare, he minded his own business, even with his own countrymen.

Some part of him that was always a Roman soldier, now bearing the rank of a primi, reminded Gaius that he was in uniform and needed to return to his rounds before his men started looking for him. It also occurred to him that Livia might be anxious to know the truth of his relationship with Simon. Not because she was curious over why he’d be the least bit friendly with a Jew, but whether Simon had a connection to that “Jewish doctor” he’d spoken of.

He'd tried to explain to her, after his slip of the tongue, that this Jesus wasn’t really a doctor in the usual sense. That didn’t much matter. The rumors about him, the stories that began cropping up about his ability to heal lepers and paralytics, kept spreading even to non-Jewish ears. Now that Livia had wind of it, and by extension their son Marius, the hope of curing Ivo of his illness couldn’t be snuffed easily.

Gaius pressed his lips together, told himself to walk, and strolled out of the alley like the stoic, single-minded officer he was supposed to be. In short order, he found a few of his men and assured them that the trespassing Jew had been interrogated, found to be drunk and stupid, and with intimidation cautioned to avoid this breach again. He also found the patrolmen who’d been distracted and failed to notice Simon wandering into the area and left their egos plenty bruised.

Through it all, a few thoughts kept echoing in his head. He kept brushing them off until the first watch of the night sounded and he was free to retire from duty. Just as he stepped through the door, Livia appeared. Her drawn expression, the growing lines of worry that were aging her beautiful face, probably mirrored his own.

“Did you learn anything more?” She spoke softly and calmly. She didn’t want to rouse Marius, wherever he was.

“About?” Gaius shouldn’t have asked—he knew what she meant. He was buying time to go to his quarters and call his slave to start undressing him.

“You know about what.” Livia stopped herself when the slave entered the room. She didn’t leave, merely stood back and waited. Their slaves were privy to the household secrets, but it didn’t mean she needed to spill out her thoughts and emotions in front of them. She also took the hiatus to compose herself.

Gaius did the same. It was like a boulder had rolled down a hill and was pressing against him, not yet crushing him, but little by little it was growing heavier and pushing him down the slope. Like Sisyphus, but in reverse. That boulder was the silence between them, the unspoken knowledge and pain that he’d successfully ignored for years. Now it suddenly demanded to be acknowledged. And why? Because Ivo was sick. And a damned street preacher had gotten to him. Gaius had let him, or his words, get to him.  

The slave put away Gaius’s armor and garbed him in his evening tunic. Gaius nodded and sent him out to tend to his other duties. At last, Livia and he were alone. Alone with the silence that needed to be shattered, or it would flatten them.

“That man,” Gaius began hesitantly, “is … is a student of Jesus. The doctor, so to speak.”

Livia breathed in. She didn’t speak. Gaius gritted his teeth, then continued.

“He wasn’t here because of his teacher. He’s … let’s just say Jews have their marital problems, too.”

“But did you tell him the rest of it?” she said. “About …?”

“… yes.”

She couldn’t help the wince, he knew. She was embarrassed, even annoyed. “Will he help?”

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“Why not?”

“Because … why should he? You do realize the Jews hate us, right? Maybe even more than we find them repulsive. Just because a boy is sick doesn’t mean …”

Gaius swallowed. He had to stop not because he buckled under the notion of no one in the world caring about Ivo, his flesh and blood. Instead, he could imagine Jesus accepting a request to come heal him. The man was a strange specimen. That idea burned him. A mix of Roman and Germanic pride held him like irons from accepting help from a Jew, even a miracle worker. And yet … if Ivo was going to get worse … if he might die, how could Gaius live with himself without trying every route to save him?

And there was the sticky situation of going to Jesus or having him come to his house. Jews didn’t go into Gentile homes, from what he gathered. Unclean and all that. He’d learned quite a bit about “clean” and “unclean” from Simon of late. But hadn’t Simon entered his home just now with no fuss? Might not Jesus? But the other Jews might get riled by it, not to mention by the betrayal of a Jew helping a Roman officer.

No, it was all a disaster waiting to happen.

“Gaius.”

He broke out of his thoughts. He looked at Livia.

Her voice cracked right as she continued. “He … Ivo … he’s your son. You have to try.”

His eyes widened. She’d never said it aloud before.

“Do you really want me to? He’s …”

“He shouldn’t be punished for what you did.” Her expression was stiff. She said these words as one does when taking a noxious medicine. It was necessary, even good, but deeply unpleasant. She’d worked herself into believing this, despite every reason she had to feel the opposite.

For some reason, Gaius thought of Simon’s face from when they met by chance at the cistern in front of the synagogue. In a way, it had been easier to talk to Simon then than to Livia now. The alcohol had helped. Slight inebriation didn’t affect Gaius’s memory; he could capture the distress on Simon’s face at the question of whether he and his wife were arguing.

On top of that memory came a much fresher one. Simon, standing before him and wearing a borrowed cloak: “Silence between a husband and wife … it’s poison.”

Why did the cure have to hurt worse than the venom?

“I was worried you hated him,” he said.

Livia’s eyebrows jumped up, then fell. “Maybe, for a while, I resented him. Not now. Marius loves him, and … I decided that I could live with that. What … what do you … I know you don’t want to tell me, but I want to know what he means to you. Truthfully.”

The truth came out of Gaius far too easily. The boulder rolled over him.

“He’s my son. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Then seek out the doctor. Do it, Gaius, for all our sakes.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

The weight passed like a cloud, and he could breathe. But now that he wasn’t exerting himself in holding up the boulder, now that he was free, his armor started to fall away. A sob broke in his throat. He tried to suck it back in.

Livia didn’t rush to him; that wouldn’t have become a proper Roman wife, certainly not one married to a soldier. She came over to him, all the same. She didn’t chide him. She touched his arm.

He gasped. Another sob managed to heave out.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I carried my anger with me for so long, and for what? Well, to punish you. But I don’t want that now, and I’m sorry I ever did.”

“I’m sorry.” He did his best to speak clearly through the tears. “I was wrong. I … I’m sorry.”

Livia smiled. “You’re good at saying that. At least now I know you mean it.”

“I always mean it,” he said through a wet laugh.

She shook her head and shushed him. “It’s all right, Gaius. No one is watching.”

They sat on the bench, the one near his table where he reviewed official papers and other business. She guided his head to her shoulder and let him unleash the rest of the flood inside him.