Prologue

July, A.D. 70

Blinded by smoke and falling ash, Keziah stumbled aimlessly through the streets of Jerusalem. Her family was dead.

She turned when she heard the pounding steps of the Roman soldiers approaching from behind. "That's the one!" Their paces quickened.

Keziah began to run, tripping over bodies lying in the street and splashing through a puddle of blood. Help me, Jesus, she prayed, urging her legs on. I will not become a slave to the Roman Empire.

She skidded into an alleyway, choking back sobs as her bare feet pressed into the still-warm flesh of a body left carelessly in her path. The soldiers were closing in on her. A burning on her arm told her she'd scraped it on the wall next to her, but there was no time. She clapped her hand around it and continued running with what little energy she had left. "Help me, Father," she cried aloud, her breath coming in ragged spurts.

She hit a dead end. There was nowhere to go—nowhere but back. She turned slowly, her sense of apprehension choking her from speaking.

The four soldiers approached her slowly; one was a centurion. Keziah sank to the ground as her tears evaporated. She pushed herself up against the wall behind her, as if somehow, through sheer willpower, she could melt into it and escape her pursuers. Cold fear washed over her as the centurion knelt down next to her and pushed her ratted hair away from her face.

He said something in Latin that Keziah couldn't understand, then tilted her chin up so her eyes met his. "I'm keeping this one for myself," he said in Greek. The other soldiers grinned and nudged each other.

Keziah's eyes met his for a split second, and hatred like she had never known surged through her. Then she fainted.

IIIIIIIII

Author's Note: Welcome to my first extended historical fiction attempt! If you have read Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion series, you will notice definite similarities in setting and storyline, but definite dissimilarities in our respective amounts of research. Mrs. Rivers is a very thorough writer; I am a very lazy one. Therefore I must warn you that this tale is merely an outlet for my love of Roman history, and not a study in Jewish or Roman culture. If, however, you encounter an error so egregious that it must be remedied, let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Enjoy!

One

"Catch, Aden!" Keziah laughed and tossed her nephew a piece of fruit.

The little boy turned around just in time and caught it with both hands. His face lit in delight. "Tanks, Aunt Kezi!"

She caught the little boy up in her arms, and spun. "No problem for my favorite oldest nephew," she said. She kissed the top of his head before setting him on his feet.

Aden giggled a little and wobbled as he tried to regain his balance. "Whoa…" He giggled again and fell on his backside.

Keziah laughed and set him upright as her older sister, Beulah, approached them, holding the hand of her other son, Abel. "Really, Keziah. It's nearly dark and you're getting him all worked up. Come with me, Aden." She extended her hand to her son, who had fruit juice dripping down his face. Beulah laughed. "You are a mess."

Keziah smiled sheepishly. "I'll get the boys cleaned up," she offered, wiping Aden's mouth with a swipe of her thumb. "And I'll even put them down. You go rest." She patted her sister's rounding stomach with a grin and jumped back as Beulah swatted at her rear.

She took Aden's hand in one of hers and Abel's in the other. "Come on boys," she said. "Aunt Kezi is going to help you get ready for sleep time."

"Aunt Kezi!" shouted Aden, and Abel joined in, chanting all the way to the house.

They chattered like magpies as Keziah led them through the house, and as soon as they entered the room where they slept, Abel declared that it was time to play warriors.

"No, Abel, it's time to sleep," Keziah said. She dropped to her knees and began tugging at his tunic.

"Warriors." He frowned.

"Sleep."

"Warriors!"

Keziah put her hand on top of his head and tilted his head back so they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Sleep."

"Warriors!" he shrieked.

Aden laughed uproariously at his twin's antics and joined in. "Warriors, Aunt Kezi!" He whacked her with an imaginary sword, then darted away, hollering all the while.

One very long hour later, Keziah let out a sigh as she looked down at her two little nephews, finally clean and sound asleep. She was exhausted. How does Beulah do it every day? she wondered. She left the boys on their mats and went to join her parents, sister, and brother-in-law in the family's gathering room to discuss preparations for their journey to Jerusalem.

Beulah smiled at her younger sister as Keziah entered the room. Keziah smiled back, amazed at how her sister managed to keep up with the boys and remain enthusiastic about her pregnancy. She lowered herself to the ground, attempting the same grace her sister always seemed to demonstrate, and kissed Beulah lightly on the cheek.

"Have fun?" Beulah asked, clearly suppressing laughter.

Keziah grimaced. "The boys are pure energy."

The girls' mother, Dara, laughed. "No less so than you at their age, Keziah."

Jacob, Beulah's husband, joined in. "I have no doubt you and Beulah gave your poor mother more trouble than my sons combined." Keziah made a face at him, and they all laughed.

"When do we leave for Jerusalem?" Keziah asked. Subject changes were usually in order when the topic turned to Keziah as a child. The family members present knew too many compromising stories that she would much rather forgotten.

"The morning after next," Jacob answered.

"I can't wait," Keziah said.

"Passover is an exciting occasion," Jacob agreed.

"It will also be the first time you meet Gideon," Beulah said with a smile.

Keziah felt her cheeks blaze. "Yes, that too."

Gideon ben Shahar was a young blacksmith in Jerusalem, and Keziah had been promised to him for eight months. She couldn't deny that she was nervous about meeting him. There were good reports from her mother, who had known him as a child, and her father, who had chosen him on a business trip, but Keziah still had her doubts. From what she'd gathered, he was a tall, boisterous man with a big laugh and an impressive beard. Though he was a hard worker and a reverent man of the Lord, he was also seventeen years Keziah's senior, and he sounded more like a jolly uncle than a future husband.

The conversation touched on trip preparations, and moved along to business matters between Jacob and Benjamin, Keziah's father. She watched as her father spoke, comforted at the familiar sound of his voice. Her gaze moved to his hands, and she smiled. They were large and strong, true carpenter's hands. As a child, she had always loved to watch him work—it was a habit that she had not broken. He usually sang or prayed as he carved and whittled away on various commissions. One memory in particular stood out to Keziah.

When she was barely eight years old, she had sat on the ground and rocked in time to the song her father was singing. His voice had filled the midday air, and finally, Keziah began to sing along. When she looked up into his hardened, tan face, she had feared for an instant that he would rebuke her, and that a spanking was inevitable.

But Benjamin had done nothing of the sort. He'd put down his work, lifted Keziah onto his shoulders, and taken her for a walk in the hills, singing all the way. Keziah had never felt so secure in anyone's love before. Her nightly prayers now always included the hope that Gideon ben Shahar was such a man as her father, and that she could put aside childish hopes of romanticism and learn to love him as her parents did one another.

Benjamin rose then, and indicated for his family to do the same. Evening worship was a longstanding tradition in the family, and one Keziah took more pleasure in as she grew older and matured as a believer.

Keziah took Beulah's hand and her mother's on her other side, and her father led them in reciting a hymn. The voices of her family blended, and Keziah was comforted at the sound. Their voices were not harmonious; in fact, Benjamin's deep, resonant one clashed with Beulah's warm tones, but Keziah didn't care.

In the past weeks, she had come to realize how little time she had left with her parents, sister, and surrogate brother, and was treasuring up the fleeting moments of her childhood to remember when times were tough as a married woman.

"The Lord is my shepherd," Benjamin declared. "I shall not be in want."

"He makes me lie down in green pastures," Dara said softly. Her tired face was filled with conviction. "He leads me beside quiet waters."

"He restores my soul," Keziah intoned.

"He guides me in the paths of righteousness, for his name's sake." Jacob's voice was warm.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." Benjamin paused, and Keziah shut her eyes. I don't want to grow up, Jesus, but I know I have to. "For you are with me."

Keziah's mother continued the well-known psalm. "Your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies," said Beulah, her eyes closed and head bowed slightly.

"You anoint my head with oil," Keziah murmured. "And my cup overflows."

"Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life," Jacob said, and the family recited the final line together.

"And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."

"Amen," Keziah whispered. Her mother squeezed her hand and the evening worship was ended.

IIIIIIII

Centurion Justus Triarius Appius was tired. It had been far too long a day of marching, but he had pushed his men hard and relished it.

Jerusalem was close, and the Jewish Revolt would finally see an end. Justus could hardly wait, as he longed to return to his post in Rome—back to civilization, family, and good food.

Some of the men joked that the women got less attractive the farther from Rome one went, but Justus disagreed. Women were women. What he hadn't voiced was that he intended to find himself a wife within the next year and begin producing heirs. As soon as he retired from the military, he intended to set up a shipping business, and he wanted plenty of sons to run it after he was gone. Without a wife, however, his plan would remain stagnant.

He was worried about his father. Three wives and now a widower once more. Since the death of his second wife, for whom his sister Marcella was named, Justus's father had become very superstitious, especially in matters of the heart and his household. He had not allowed Marcella to marry, despite the fact that she was now twenty-two and had been a very eligible young woman since she was about fifteen. He doted shamelessly on his youngest—Lucius, only seven years old—and worried about Justus almost constantly.

But the strangest thing he had done in some time was charge Justus the way he had before he left for Jerusalem.

"Your wife is there," his father had said.

"Father, really—I hardly think that this is the time to be plucking up brides. Where in Jupiter's name would I put her?"

"Wherever it is you all keep the rest of the priceless cargo after you've loaded it up over there. Justus, you must trust me. This was no priest's game, no puff of smoke. I heard it as clearly as you hear me speaking to you now: your wife is in Jerusalem, and you will know her when you find her."

Justus longed to protest, but the old man's sharp posture and steady gaze brooked no arguments. "Very well. I shall look."

"You promise you will bring her back?"

They clasped each other's forearms. "I promise, Father."

Justus rolled over onto his back and sighed. It had been a very, very long march.

IIIIIIII

There was dust in his mouth.

That was Justus's first sentient thought. He sat up and ran his hands through his short blonde hair before he spat into the sand next to his sleeping place. Damn this Israeli dust, he thought.

He nudged a soldier with his foot. "Up, tribune." The man stirred, then sat up quickly with a little salute.

"Aye, sir," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

Justus felt the smallest twinge of guilt, but quickly pushed it away. No room for guilt in the service of Rome. He had learned that early on, since beginning his military career at age sixteen. His father, a prominent senator, had used all his influence to get his son into a military command that would allow him to make all the right connections at an early age.

Justus thought his father could be overbearing at times, but he had to admit, it had worked, and at twenty-nine, Justus had become one of the youngest centurions in history. The official, required age was thirty, but, only weeks from his birthday, his father had waxed eloquent while listing his son's achievements, and Justus was promoted and sent to Jerusalem with Titus in what was to be a glorious, magnificent siege.

There was no purpose in feeling regret, especially about mild, material comforts. He must be going soft in his old age, he thought wryly. He packed his bedroll quickly and attached it to his steed, patting the horse lightly on the neck.

"Centurion."

Justus turned and grimaced at the sight of Drusus Cassius Gnaeus, standing at attention.

"Yes."

"We're ready, sir."

Justus didn't say anything for a moment, sizing up the tribune. The man was of average height, with shorn black hair that held unruly curls when long. He had beady black eyes, a sharp nose and prominent cheekbones. He was an obsequious, ambitious troublemaker, and Justus despised him. His jaw tightened before he answered.

"Very good, tribune. Dismissed." He turned without bothering to salute, and he caught the glimmer of disdain in Gnaeus's before he saluted and walked off.

Justus tightened the stirrups on his mount and shook his head. He was sick of campaigning, sick of waiting. He wanted to get to Jerusalem, do what must be done, and get home.

He shook his head and spat out the dust that was beginning to coat the inside of his mouth again. Finding a wife in Jerusalem was going to be a messy mistake, he was certain.

IIIIIIII

"Oh, Beulah, look!" Keziah tugged at her sister's arm like a little girl. "Look at the city."

The family stood on a hill overlooking Jerusalem, and it was a sight to behold indeed. The rising sun lit the tips of the buildings and Keziah could see people beginning to move about inside its strong walls. Day was coming.

Benjamin chuckled at his youngest daughter's excitement, which rivaled that of Aden and Abel.

"Try exhaling, Keziah," Beulah teased her sister. "I think it might do you some good."

Keziah made a face and scooped Abel up, plopping him onto her hip. "Tell me that's not absolutely breathtaking, then I'll stop gushing." She gestured grandly to the buildings jutting up into the shifting colors of the sunrise.

Beulah smiled and lines played about the corners of her eyes. "It is, sister. It's very beautiful." She paused, watching her feet for a moment as they descended to Jerusalem, then looked back at Keziah. "Are you nervous?"

"A bit, perhaps," Keziah said nonchalantly, ruffling Abel's hair before setting him back down so he could run alongside his twin.

"A bit," Beulah repeated with a skeptical raise of her brow.

Keziah felt heat touch on her cheeks. "Could we talk about this later?" she asked, embarrassed.

Beulah gave her younger sister an understanding smile. "I was afraid before I met Jacob too, and see how wonderful he turned out to be." She nodded her head toward her husband, who had picked up one of the boys and was letting his ride on his shoulders. He was laughing, and his face held nothing but love.

"You were lucky."

"No, I was blessed. And I pray you will be too." Beulah gave her sister a quick, one-armed hug. "You're a good girl, Keziah, and I have no doubts that you'll make a good wife someday. You just need a little time." Beulah winked, then smiled and pointed toward the city. "Look, we're almost there."

Keziah grinned. "Finally," she said, grateful Beulah had allowed the conversation to fall back into lighter matters.

Dara came alongside Keziah. She looked at her mother, who hadn't said anything, but just watched her with knowing eyes.

Nervous? her mother's eyes seemed to ask.

Terrified, Keziah's eyes replied.

Dara smiled at her daughter. "Do you remember the verse that you learned as a little girl?"

"You and Papa and Beulah have taught me many. Which one are you talking about?"

"The one you and I learned the day Beulah met Jacob for the first time. Do you remember? We were sitting beneath the tree in front of the house, and we played with the leaves that fell from the tree…"

Keziah nodded, remembering. "It was from the prophet Jeremiah, wasn't it?"

Dara nodded and began to recite the familiar verse, "'For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.'" She lowered her voice. "I know this is a scary step, my Keziah, and I know you don't feel that you're ready to be married. But I feel differently. I think you've reached an impasse, and I don't think you've anything left to learn from your father and me. It's time for you to move on."

Keziah nodded, lifting her face just a bit to feel the warmth of the rising sun. "I have so much to learn," she said. "I just worry I won't learn it fast enough or do it well. I guess I'm going to have to learn to trust my new husband and look to him for direction when I don't know what to do. But what if he doesn't know what to do either?"

Dara smiled. "Take strength in the Lord when times are tough, Keziah. He won't disappoint."

Keziah turned her head to look at her mother. "Thank you," she said softly, and her mother nodded once, patting her on the shoulder before falling back to walk alongside her husband.

Keziah watched the Holy City grow in size, smell, and grandeur as she and her family approached. The dust that rose around their feet seemed to Keziah very beautiful that morning, rather than bothersome. She smiled; she was walking on a dirt-colored cloud as she entered her beloved Jerusalem for her last time as an unmarried girl.