The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene (22 page)

Joseph could stand no more. “Come Demetrius,” he said, “I will take you home.”

“Stay, leech,” Gaius Flaccus said. “Do you have any news of my uncle Pontius Pilate and his lady?”

Before Joseph could speak, Demetrius said sharply, “Joseph of Galilee is no longer a leech, Roman. He is
medicus viscerus
to the temple at Jerusalem and personal physician to the procurator Pontius Pilate.”

Gaius Flaccus shrugged. “In Rome physicians are little thought of, being mostly Greeks.” He made no apology for the contemptuous title, and Demetrius snorted angrily.

“I spent several days in your uncle’s palace at Caesarea before I sailed for Alexandria,” Joseph told him. “They were well, except that the Lady Claudia Procula is troubled with her breathing.”

“She should stay in Tiberias,” Gaius agreed. “She is much better there. Anyway, I will be seeing them before too much longer.”

“I thought you were going to stay in Alexandria,” Mary said quickly, then bit her lip with vexation at having revealed her knowledge.

But Gaius Flaccus was too taken by her beauty to notice the slip and apparently mistook her sudden concern for interest in himself. “I will be in Alexandria perhaps six months, then I will go back to Judea and Galilee,” he explained. “Pontius Pilate has been too lenient with the Jews, which is always a mistake. And he needs someone he can trust in Sepphoris and Tiberias to watch Herod Antipas.”

“Should you not go sooner,” Joseph asked, “if you fear Herod?”

“A Roman procurator does not fear a mangy provincial tetrarch.” Gaius Flaccus laughed contemptuously. “But it is good political practice to keep a watch over Herod. Besides, there is trouble in Judea and Galilee. I understand the Jews are up in arms because of a man named John the Baptist.”

“Do they know of John in Rome?” Joseph asked incredulously.

“Rome knows everything that happens, even in the provinces. The emperor has always kept a close watch on Herod Antipas. Unless I miss my guess, Herod’s patience will wear out soon and this John will lose his head.”

“On what grounds?”

“What grounds does one need to behead a zealot who stirs up the people?” Gaius Flaccus demanded. “Herod reports that John the Baptist preached the coming of another king. You are old enough to remember when two thousand Jews were crucified in Galilee, Joseph, for supporting another of those upstarts who are always trying to take over your country from the Romans and their appointed rulers.”

“But John the Baptist is simply a preacher,” Joseph protested.

“You seem to know much of him,” the Roman said sharply. “Are you a rebel too?”

Joseph shook his head. “All I know is that he is an Essene who preaches the coming of the Messiah.”

“He must have preached a little too loudly then. Herod can take care of John, since he is a Jew. If Pontius Pilate has to do it, your whole nation will be screaming at the Romans again.”

“When are you going to Galilee?” Mary asked.

“Early in the summer, I imagine,” Gaius Flaccus told her. “My uncle has asked for more troops to keep down the riots that have been happening since he used the temple tribute to build an aqueduct. The way the Jews screamed about it, you would think they preferred dying of thirst to losing a little money. When the new troops are sent from Rome in the spring, I will be commander. Then your countrymen will know what it is to have a strong hand at the helm, Joseph.”

The young physician controlled his anger at the Roman’s contemptuous tone. It would do no good to quarrel with him now.

“Confidentially,” Gaius Flaccus went on, “Pilate believes some of this agitation is being stirred up by agents of Herod. If you are temple physician, Joseph, you know that Antipas is ambitious to rule both in Judea and Galilee, as well as in the tetrarchy of his cousin Philip. Herod is a fox, so it will not hurt to have fresh troops and a good hunter in Sepphoris, the capital of his kingdom.”

What Gaius Flaccus said of Herod Antipas was true, as Joseph well knew. A group in Jerusalem called the Herodians, led by Jonathan, a son of the old high priest Annas, conspired constantly to have Judea ruled by a Jewish tetrarch rather than directly from Rome under a procurator. Jonathan, a vain and worldly man, had been passed over in the succession to the office of high priest in favor of Annas’s son-in-law, Caiaphas. If Herod Antipas succeeded in convincing the emperor Tiberius that Judea would be less troublesome under a Jewish king than a procurator, Jonathan would become high priest—hence the joining of forces.

Joseph turned to Demetrius. “You must be tired,” he suggested again. “Let me take you home.”

“Are you coming with us, my dear?” the old man asked as he got slowly to his feet, for his body was heavy with plethora and his strength was rapidly failing.

Before Mary could answer, Gaius Flaccus said quickly, “I would be honored if you would let me take you home in my private chair, Flamen. You must be tired after your dancing, and we could stop for some refreshment.”

Mary smiled and shook her head. “I must rest tonight in order to be fresh for Plotinus’s dinner in your honor tomorrow.” She gave him her hand. “Until tomorrow then?”

Gaius Flaccus bowed gallantly and touched her fingers with his lips. “Until tomorrow.

“I will speak to the governor about you, leech,” he said to Joseph. “He suffers with the gout, and I remember that you had some success in treating Pontius Pilate for that disease. The favor of the governor of Alexandria should be of great help to a physician.”

The Roman was hardly outside the room when Demetrius burst out, “The arrogant swine! Just because he turns the heads of women, does he think he can insult men as well? And you!” He turned to Mary savagely. “Simpering and leading him on like a common strumpet. Have you forgotten what he did to you?”

The color slowly drained from Mary’s cheeks, and her fingers clenched into the palms of her hands until the blood was pressed from the skin, leaving it dead white. “I have not forgotten,” she said slowly, almost as if she were praying. “Before the Most High, I have not forgotten.”

If he had not loved Mary as he did, Joseph would have been tempted to leave Alexandria and return to Jerusalem rather than stay and witness the inevitable ending of the tragic course upon which she was embarked. But loving her, he could not desert her at a time when she might need him most.

And then there was Demetrius. The lyre maker was growing weaker, his body more and more swollen and distorted by the plethora and dropsy, which had grown much worse during the winter months. Actually neither Joseph nor anyone else could do much. When the accumulating fluid threatened to drown Demetrius in the secretions of his own body, Joseph dared to insert sharpened quills into the tremendously distended belly to let it out, but they both knew this was but a temporary measure.

Afterward, while the old man lay propped up in bed, they talked about Mary. The dangerous job of keeping both Plotinus and Gaius Flaccus at her beck and call, without having them also at each other’s throats, took most of her time, so Joseph saw her only rarely on his visits to Demetrius.

“Do you know any more about what Mary plans to do?” Demetrius asked him.

“No. But she said once that all of Alexandria will know the hour of her vengeance.”

“Then she must plan to kill him publicly. And the most dramatic way of achieving revenge would naturally appeal to her. But when would all Alexandria know the hour? . . . By Diana!” he cried. “The festival of the Great Dionysia, of course.”

“Why the Great Dionysia?”

“It is the greatest celebration of the year in Alexandria. For three whole days the people go wild.”

“But the Alexandrians do not worship Dionysos?” Joseph protested.

“Dionysos was originally the same as Bacchus,” Demetrius explained. “But here in Egypt he is regarded as almost the same as Serapis, who, as you know, is a combined god from Osiris and Apis, the sacred bull. His worship combines many religions, so they all join in this annual festival in his honor. It gives everybody an excuse to get drunk and celebrate the beginning of spring with a series of dramatic productions. I remember Mary telling me they are going to present the
Bacchae
of Euripides,” he continued. “In the old festivals of the Great Dionysia, the god is represented by a man and is traditionally killed and resurrected from the dead. Of course the killing is only symbolic and so is the resurrection, but years ago an animal, and even sometimes a man representing the god, was actually torn in pieces by the Bacchae at the height of the ceremony.”

“Do you suppose . . . ? But that would be unfathomable.”

“No more than Mary’s believing she can kill a prominent Roman like Gaius Flaccus and escape the consequences,” Demetrius said heavily. “Yes, I would wager that is what she is going to do. She can probably get Gaius Flaccus to portray the part of the god; he’s vain enough to play right into her hands. In some of the Dionysia a ritual marriage between Dionysos and Aphrodite is celebrated just before the climax of the festival, when the god is killed and rises from the dead. And in Alexandria who else would be chosen for the part of Aphrodite but Mary?”

“Can we stop her?”

Demetrius shook his head. “If you report her to the authorities, she will be imprisoned or executed. And you already know how futile it is to argue with her.”

“But it would be murder.”

“Would it? I think not. In the laws of the Jews a man who ravishes a young girl must be killed. Traditionally, the father or the brothers of the girl have a right to kill him. Having neither father nor brothers, Mary has elected that right to herself.”

“Roman courts would not recognize that right,” Joseph objected. “And certainly not when the man is of the ruling class.”

“No,” Demetrius admitted. “I don’t think they would. Therefore it is up to you to see that she escapes when the act is done.”

“To me!” Joseph looked at him aghast. “Why to me?”

“If Gaius Flaccus were a Jew, it would have been your duty as her betrothed to cast the first stone at his execution. If you still love her, you must see that she gets safely away, where the Romans cannot harm her.”

“But we could not go back to Jerusalem or anywhere else in the Roman Empire.”

“Why not India? You can easily escape from Alexandria by way of the Nile and the canal that leads to the Red Sea. Even a small boat could easily reach Adana at its mouth, and Hadja could find a refuge for you among the desert tribes. Or you could take a ship from Adana to the cities of the Indian coast. With Jivaka’s backing, you would be a success as a physician in any of the Indian cities.”

Joseph wondered if he loved Mary enough to help her commit murder. For that was what it really was. He could not fool himself into believing otherwise. And did he love her enough to give up forever the beautiful land of Galilee and Judea, his riches in Jerusalem, and his high position among his own people? Surely, he thought, no man had ever made a harder choice. And yet the thought of living without Mary, now that he had found her again, was a bleak prospect indeed.

“I have laid a heavy burden upon you, Joseph.” Demetrius put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “But I shall not live much longer, and I would like to be certain that someone I trust will be looking after Mary when I am dead. But do not decide now. Think of it and talk to Bana Jivaka. The prospect of life on the coast of Malabar may be more pleasant than you think, even though you love your own country. And you cannot stop Mary now. Think about this, Joseph, and tell me your answer in a few days.”

Before making a decision, Joseph went to Philo Judaeus. The Jewish leader was recognized as a high authority, not only upon the laws of the Jewish people, but also those of the Romans, and particularly the relationship between Roman and Jewish law. Because he could not mention Mary’s name and thereby reveal her plans, Joseph was forced to pose the case to Philo as a hypothetical one of a girl without father or brothers who was raped forcibly.

“Was she betrothed?” Philo asked.

“Yes,” Joseph said. “But the betrothal had not been published.”

“That makes no difference,” Philo said. “Did the act take place in the city or the country?”

“At the villa of Pontius Pilate in Tiberias.”

The jurist frowned. “According to Jewish law, the girl in such a case could have called for aid. Therefore, she should be executed by stoning along with the man, since she is guilty of the same act of adultery.”

“But she was unconscious at the time.”

“Then she is free of blame,” the jurist said promptly. “The rapist should be killed without the slayer’s incurring thereby any liability. He should not be allowed to live a day, or even an hour.”

“By whose hand should he die, then?”

“The law is very clear on that, too,” Philo said. “The accusers shall be the first to cast a stone. If her father or her brothers did not kill the man, the court could order it done.”

“But where the girl is an orphan and is herself the accuser,” Joseph interposed. “What then?”

“That is a difficult point,” Philo admitted. “However, the laws of Greece as interpreted here in Egypt give such an orphan woman the right to act for herself. It is my view that she has a right to cast the first stone.”

“Even to the extent of plotting the death of the man by her own hand?”

Philo stroked his beard. “You are asking me to make a distinction between murder and the right of execution, which is a hard choice. But the law is clear in saying that a man who seduces a betrothed virgin must die. Traditionally he has always been stoned to death by his accusers, but if I were the judge of this case, I would rule that the life of the guilty man belongs to the woman he has ravished.” He looked at Joseph keenly. “This is not simply a hypothetical case, is it?”

“No. But I cannot tell you the details, for the woman involved is now in Alexandria.”

“And the man to whom she was betrothed?”

“Myself,” Joseph admitted. “But the criminal is not a Jew; he is a Roman. And you know well the Roman courts would not hold him guilty against a Jew.”