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Centurion

By L D. Alford

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Against thee, thee only, I have sinned
and done what displeases thee,
so that thou mayest be proved right in thy charge
and just in passing sentence.
In iniquity I was brought to birth
and my mother conceived me in sin;
Yet, though thou hast hidden the truth in darkness,
through this mystery thou dost teach me wisdom.
PSALM 51:4-6

One

Naomi walked swiftly across the screed hillsides toward the
village. The sun was as merciless as her tormenters. She shaded
her eyes. She shouldn’t be going for water during the hottest
part of the day, but it was the only time she could approach the well
and find no other women there.
The women—pah. She had no time for them, and they had too
many opportunities to harass her. Their cold, hard stares were painful
enough, and though Naomi had brave intentions, she could not make
herself face them. Hot tears pressed between her eyelids. She shook her
head and dashed them like twin raindrops into the dust. Alone in her
small house she had time enough for sorrow; she didn’t need to display
her grief to the world. She didn’t need to tell her tormenters they
succeeded.
Perhaps with the newest scandal in the village, they would forget
her. Naomi had heard the rumors before and had not believed them;
the youngest daughter of Eli had conceived a child. Eli’s daughter was
the last girl anyone would have imagined caught in that sin. She was
always so disconcertingly truthful—and naive. Who would have
thought her capable of it? Especially when her prospects were so good.
The betrothal was fresh on her and her bridegroom had not taken her
to the marriage bed. He had not even had time to prepare the bed, and
no one knew whose child she carried.
Naomi supported her own swelling belly. No one knew whose
child Eli’s daughter carried, but unfortunately, everyone knew the
father of Naomi’s child. Naomi was the most beautiful girl in
Natzeret—perhaps in all of the Galil. Had she not been chosen out of all
of them to be the wife and consort of Abenadar Iustus, the Roman
emissary to the court of Herod the Great?
Naomi had lived the past ten years like a great gentlewoman. All
that time, she served as a lady in Herod’s court, and she lived with
Abenadar Iustus in a large house in Yerushalayim. She learned to speak
Latin and Greek, and unlike most women, she could read and write a
little. She had servants and slaves to wait on her. And for the whole
time, her family and countrymen despised her as a whore and a traitor.
Naomi knew Abenadar Iustus had a family and a wife back in
Rome, though that knowledge came to her gradually. She was once as
naive as Eli’s daughter. The existence of the Roman’s family was wellknown.
She was foolish to believe it could have been otherwise. All of
the highborn Romans who served the Emperor in Palestine took local
“wives.” Naomi refused to use the word concubine.
When the officials’ appointments came to an end, they were
recalled to Rome and new responsibilities. They left their heathen
countrywomen and gladly returned to their rich and cultured Roman
brides.
Naomi knew all this, and as the time approached for Abenadar
Iustus to leave her, she tried every wile, at first, to convince him to
stay. Then she begged him to take her with him, if only as a slave. Of
course, he could not—would not—take her, an uncultured
countrywoman who would be entirely out of place even as a slave in
his house in Rome. Naomi could hear the contempt in his voice as he
held her in his arms and conceived his child upon her. In ten years, she
could not produce a child for him, and now, the Lord, Adonai, blessed
be He, punished her with the blessing of a child.
Tears again threatened to fall, but she valiantly cut them off.
Though he had left her, Naomi still loved Abenadar Iustus. She was still
a young woman. She still held to notions of love. Yet he condemned
her to the life that she, without realizing, had chosen ten years before—
the life of an outcast among her own people.
Ahead of her, the village of Natzeret swam in the midday heat.
Palms and brush surrounded the well at the edge of the small town. As
Naomi stepped into the path and neared the place, she caught sight of
another woman already there. Naomi stopped short and started to turn.
Better to wait until there was no one at the well. Better to go hungry
and thirsty than to face the taunts of the wives and unmarried women.
But then Naomi recognized the slight figure bending over the well; it
was Eli’s daughter.
The woman was very young and small. She had long dark hair that
flowed in a heavy braid out from under her veil, a petite face, and large
brown eyes. Naomi thought her pretty, but not nearly as beautiful as
she. The girl barely showed her pregnancy, but her small belly pressed
out through her robes, displaying for all the world her abomination.
Naomi nearly turned around in the path again. She did not want to
gloat, and she understood the solitude the girl desired…knew what she
must be feeling. But Naomi was also hot and the clay pot on her head
was heavy. She didn’t want to make this trip again today. Neither did
she want to face this young woman. Who knew what the daughter of
Eli thought of Naomi?
While Naomi stood in the path, still undecided, the young girl at
the fountain glanced up and noticed her. The girl cocked her head.
Naomi instantly made up her mind. She could take any taunt from
this one and turn it back twice.
The girl smiled as Naomi walked cautiously to the well. “Good day,
Naomi.”
“Good day, daughter of Eli.” Naomi set her pot beside the open
well.
“I am called Miryam. Surely you remember me, Naomi? I am the
betrothed of Yosef.”
Miryam, thought Naomi, the cuckold of Yosef. That was surely not
Yosef’s child. But she only acknowledged Miryam with a nod.
“Let me help you with the water bag,” said Miryam. She pushed
the leather bag back into the well and brought it up heavy with water.
Naomi held her pot under the bag, and together, she and Miryam
poured the water into the pot.
“Thank you,” said Naomi pertly.
“Here, cool yourself from the bag,” and Miryam held it for Naomi.
Naomi drank deeply until her thirst was slaked; then she splashed
the dust from her face and hands.
“Why are you here now, Miryam?” Naomi wished she could take
back her words the moment they were said.
“For the same reason you come at noon, Naomi.” The girl hung her
head. “I can’t stand the cruel ridicule of the women.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Thank you for helping me with the water.” Naomi
touched her pot. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“I was visiting my cousin Elisheva.”
“She is expecting a child, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Miryam laughed, “a child in her old age, and Z’kharyah
cannot speak. He cannot praise the Lord, Adonai, blessed be He, with
his own lips.”
Naomi had heard the story. It was reported throughout the
country. How Z’kharyah was the priest offering the daily incense in the
Holy Place, who could not bless the people because he was struck
dumb. “When is she due?”
“In a few months. Z’kharyah still cannot speak, but we are blessed
with an abundance.” She stroked her swelling belly with her palm.
Naomi glanced at Miryam to see if she spoke with sarcasm, but the
girl just stared back at her with large, trusting eyes.
“When are you due?” asked Miryam.
“Soon. One or two months.” Naomi glanced again at the girl to see
if she spoke with mockery.
“Who will be with you?”
“No one. I will give birth by myself.”
Miryam touched Naomi’s arm. “You will not be alone. I will be
there, and I will ask Puah to midwife you.”
“Puah will not come.”
“I will ask her. May I visit you, Naomi? I am alone, too. Although
Yosef is kind, and he helps me, he is a man and doesn’t wish to speak
about women’s things.”
Naomi almost sat in the dust. “You would visit me?”
“Yes, anytime.” Miryam paused. “You may visit me too.”
“No, daughter of Eli, I cannot visit you. You, like me, are disgraced
already. You don’t need the taint of Rome in your house.”
Miryam glanced up in gratitude. “I will meet you at the well
tomorrow at this time and then we will go to your home.”
Naomi’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Miryam, daughter of Eli, come
visit me anytime you wish.”
Miryam looked down at the ground, then took up the heavy pot
and turned toward the village. “I would stay longer, but Yosef expects
me. Shalom, Naomi.”
“Oh, thank you, Miryam, thank you,” Naomi whispered as Miryam
walked away. Then she said loudly, “Shalom.”
Miryam paused a step and slowly nodded, then continued into the
village.
Naomi picked up her water pot, set it on her head, and wept all the
way back to her small house.

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