“Mary will leave Galatia when she finds out I’ve gone looking for Sarah,” I said.
But in this I proved to be wrong. And if you ever wondered what teacher Paul railed against in his letter to the Galatians, now you know.
“What about Miriam?” asked Martha sharply. “Who will care for her?”
“The mountain people revere her as a goddess,” I explained, almost able to smile. “And she said…she said she would call me back when it’s time.”
Martha just nodded, giving up trying to understand, trying to make sense. Then, so quietly I didn’t see him until he was beside me, Lazarus appeared.
“Beloved friend of my beloved friend.”
I rose to greet him, and Lazarus gathered me into his arms and held me close. Not since I had rested in the arms of my foster-father, King Bran, had I felt so simply, unquestioningly loved. I would have said safe, but that word had ceased to have any meaning for me.
“I will keep watch with you in the place between,” said Lazarus. “As you kept watch with me.”
When you have lost your child that is where you dwell. I let go and wept into his chest. He held me for a long time, and when he released me he sought my eyes with his.
“We will all be together one day,” he said. “You, the child, Mary, Martha, me. We will all be together.”
I remembered waiting with Lazarus on the shoal in the river, the place between life and death, and all the people waiting for him on the far shore he had not yet reached. Did he mean I would have to wait till death to find Sarah again?
“No,” Lazarus called me back. “Not there. Here. No, not Bethany.” He looked as confused as I felt, and almost fearful. “There is more to come. We will be together.”
I understood that he didn’t know what he meant either, but he was not offering comfort. He’d had a seeing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
FIT TO BE TIED
UPON REFLECTION, I WAS SURPRISED that James did not have a description of me given to all the doorkeepers. Did he think I would not come searching for my child? Or did he assume I was dead? I guessed that Sarah would have told him nothing. Or did I simply not match any description he might have made from memory?
Abigail, the head housekeeper, greeted me coldly. I had after all gone awol for almost twenty-four hours, but she was still short-handed what with all the delegates to be housed and fed. I spent the day in the laundry, but when it came time for the evening meal, she promoted a kitchen maid to server and left me to scrub pots and plot my next move. I didn’t think a public confrontation would be the best maneuver in any case. They would probably just throw me out. What I wanted was to round up the three principals, James, Peter, and Paul, and confront them together. And I reckoned I had to do it by putting the fear of god into them—or goddess. By this time, you will remember, I had been without a night’s sleep, I had been wandering by foot for weeks, and I had just learned that the head of the ecclesia in Jerusalem had kidnapped my daughter, so the plan I came up with, if not outright insane, was certainly bold and clearly desperate.
Even after I had scrubbed the last pot, I had hours to wait for the household to settle down to sleep. I was by design the last one in the kitchen, where I helped myself to two of the sharpest knives I could find, secreting them in my cloak. Then I passed the time by tearing some of the household’s finest, strongest linen into serviceable strips. In the small hours of the night when the house was at last absolutely still, I made my way silently to the men’s dormitory, with which I was familiar, as I had made up all the sleeping pallets with fresh linen only two days ago. Paul and Peter would be in the guest wing, while James had his own little solitary cell so that he could spend hours in undisturbed prayer and meditation.
I came to Paul first, who slept neatly and tidily on his back and managed not to snore, one of his only redeeming qualities as a houseguest. I managed to bind his hands securely before he woke to find a knife at his throat.
“Do not make a sound,” I spoke in a low voice in his ear. “Or everyone will know that you shared a bed with me. Get up and take me to where Peter sleeps.”
I had succeeded in striking terror in his heart, and Paul of Tarsus was gratifyingly silent and obedient as he walked before me with my knife pricking the back of his neck. Peter was also sleeping on his back, but very untidily with the covers all tangled up. He snored loudly and occasionally snorted. Paul made no attempt to bolt while I tied Peter’s hands. Then, knife at his throat, I threatened him in turn.
“Unless you come quietly, I will tell everyone in the ecclesia about the deal you made with me, how you were the one that let the Lord’s child disappear into nowhere with her crazy whore mother.”
Peter was completely disoriented, for unlike Paul, he did not know I was in Jerusalem.
“Is this a nightmare?”
“In your dreams!” I clamped my hand over his mouth and pressed the knife closer, stopping just short of breaking the skin. “Not another sound. Get up. We are going to see James.”
I tied my prisoners’ arms and legs to each other and walked behind them, a knife at each man’s back.
When we came to James’s cell, he was prostrate on the floor in a posture of prayer, except, from the sound of his breathing, he had clearly fallen asleep, which made my job easier.
“No noise,” I said to Peter and Paul. “Do as I say and you won’t get hurt. Sit down back to back.”
I bound them together, and then I tied their legs. My early training among my warrior-witch mothers was coming in handy. Next I grabbed the sleeping James’s hands and had them tied before he knew what was happening. By the time he got to his feet, I had the knife at his throat.
“What in the name of—”
“Jesus?” I suggested. “Sit down on the floor with the others. And don’t even think about raising the alarm or everyone will know that you kidnapped the daughter of the Lord and stripped her naked by force.”
“No one would believe you,” James was quicker than Peter and had less horror over his deed than Paul had over his part in driving Sarah away. “Yea, they would think you are possessed of an evil spirit, which of a certainty you are.”
“Sit!” I pricked his skin with the blade. “They might not believe me, but there would be rumors, and they would soon be out of your control.”
James sat and I tied him to the others, and bound his legs.
“In the name of Jesus,” began James, and the other two joined in, “I command the evil spirits to come out of this woman.”
The three men, without whom Christianity as a world religion would never have existed, sat at my mercy intoning various formulae for exorcism while I stood watching them, a knife in each hand, fighting the hysterical laughter rising in my throat. I knew I couldn’t let go now or I really might go mad—if I wasn’t already.
“That’s enough! Don’t you know it’s a sin to take the name of my husband in vain?”
That shut them up temporarily.
“Did it ever occur to you that Jesus might not like the way you have treated his widow and child? Did it? Answer me!”
“Leave Jesus out of it.” Peter tried to sound surly, but his tone was pleading.
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that,” I said.
“We have not harmed her, yea, not one hair on her head,” said James. “And why is Paul of Tarsus here? He knows nothing of the Lord’s daughter. No one knows anything of her. We have sent her away where she can live in safety until such time as it is revealed unto us what is to be done.”
“James,” Paul piped up. “I do know about the child. It was I who baptized her. I found her living among ignorant heathens in the Taurus Mountains. An extraordinary child. Even before I knew she was the child of Christ Jesus, I recognized in her angelic qualities, and I did my best to save her from the influence of her wanton mother—”
“Who saved your sorry life,” I cut in. “And whom you baptized. Unless you have something to say about where my daughter
is, keep your mouth shut or I warn you, I will tell the whole despicable story.”
“I would hear this story,” said James.
“That’s not the purpose of this meeting,” I said. “Where is she? Talk!” I brandished my knives.
“In the name of Jesus,” James began; I decided to let it pass. “Endeavor to have a meek and contrite heart. The child has run away from you, yea even departed from your ways and teachings. She has come seeking the Way of her father, my brother. She is my niece and of a noble priestly lineage—”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that last bit, James,” I cautioned.
“Are you even saying unto me, that my brother is not the father of the child?”
“I’m saying nobody really knows who Jesus’s father was. As you should know better than anyone, since you used to torment him about it when he was a boy. And it shouldn’t matter.”
James looked deeply perturbed. Now that he had embraced his brother’s cause and headed his church, he had come to fully believe in Jesus’s royal lineage.
“Just tell me where she is. I need to see her. I need to know if she is safe and free. If she chooses to stay with the ecclesia, I will not stop her.”
Suddenly I felt so weary. It was so simple. Why couldn’t they understand?
Then Peter, who had been extraordinarily quiet, burst into tears.
“I don’t know where she is!” he sobbed.
“What can you mean,” cried James. “Yea, I entreat you to tell me what you are talking about! You yourself had charge of her, yea, even escorted her to Jaffa, where you did assure me and promise me she could abide safely until you arranged passage for her, even unto—” James stopped abruptly, not wanting me to know what they had planned.
But their plan had failed.
“Peter.” I sank down in front of him on the floor. “Tell me.”
He looked at me, really looked at me for the first time, maybe for the first time since Jesus had died. For that night when we had made our pact had been dark.
“Mary, I’m sorry,” he wept. “The others, they don’t know…what it was like…when we, when we were all together with him. But I knew, I knew how he felt about you…I was jealous. I failed him….”
And that brought a fresh bout of tears. Part of me wanted to slap him silly, and part of me wanted to weep with him, so for the moment I just let him go on.
“I failed him and now—”
“Peter,” said Paul sharply. “For the love of Christ Jesus, what happened to the child!”
“She got away from me.”
“Verily, how can that be!” demanded James. “Did I not send you with six men to guard her and to keep watch over her?”
“You did, but I think the child is a witch like her mother. We should have exorcised her first thing.”
“There were no signs of demonic possession, yea, no evil spirit seemed to have attached itself unto her.”
“The child is an angel,” insisted Paul.
“Tell that to the men who still have bruises and scratches on their arms,” said Peter, seeing a possible way out of blame. “It was James’s fault for not exorcising her.”
“Peter,” I picked up my knife again. “What happened?”
“Birds,” he said. “She whistled or signaled or something and a whole flock of seagulls came and attacked us. We were by the port. They were pulling at our hair and pecking at our eyes. We had to shield ourselves or be blinded.”
“And so she ran,” I finished, feeling exultant for her even as my hope of finding her dimmed.
“We looked everywhere, James, I swear to you. No trace of her.”
“And you were going to confess this unto me, when?”
“I thought we would find her. I have men combing the port, searching the ships, looking for her everywhere, even the brothels.”
“You lost the only child of my brother, yea, the only person on earth who could carry on his line?”
“I did,” Peter began to sob anew. “Jesus forgive me, I did.”
“I will find her,” I said softly.
But none of them heard me. They were too busy wailing and gnashing their teeth. I rose to my feet, picked up my knives and started out of the room.
“Wait!” said James. “You must untie us, yea, even loose us from our bonds. I ask it of you in the name of Jesus.”
“I told you not to take his name in vain,” I reminded him. “And it is in vain, for I have no intention of untying you. Someone will find you soon enough, and then you can explain your predicament however you like. In the meantime, if you want to do anything in the name of Jesus, I suggest you spend some time praying for the safety of his daughter and thanking Jesus that I have not slit all your throats, because it is only for his sake that I have not.”
With that, I turned and left them to their prayers.
And if I am, therefore, responsible for the existence of the church that gave us the inquisition, the witch burnings, the crusades, and pogroms among other horrors, I hope someday to make full amends and be forgiven.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THE WIND BLOWS WHERE IT WILL
THAT NIGHT I FELL ASLEEP on some pilings on the docks at Jaffa, exhausted by my previous night’s work and my day’s journey to the port, heartsick over my fruitless inquiries. A few people remembered the spectacle of the gulls attacking the band of men, but no one had seen the girl who had given her escorts the slip—or any boy who answered my description, for I was almost certain Sarah had resumed her disguise as soon as she could steal some rags and find an alley.
Have you ever noticed that when you are in despair, a dream will come to give you comfort, and when you are full of happy confidence a nightmare will remind you of your fears and failings? Well, I had failed and my worst fear had come to pass; I needed no reminder. So whatever strange mercy lives in the depths stirred itself and entered my dreams as the stars moved in and out of mist and the night grew still and cold around me.
But in my dream I was not cold. My arms were wrapped around the warm body of a sleeping child; I was rocking her or rather we were both being rocked, up and down, back and forth, and after awhile I recognized the rhythms of the sea. And then a voice began to sing, at first I thought it was Miriam’s voice, her ethereal tunelessness, like the drone of a hive, but then the voice changed, softer and more melodic, and I was the child held again in my own mother’s arms. Then the voice shifted again, and I knew this time it was Sarah who sang over and over an old Celtic song that I had taught her when she was a child as my mothers had taught me, the song my combrogos had sung long ago when I drifted beyond the ninth wave in a tiny coracle with no oar or sail.
Hail to thee thou new moon
jewel of guidance in the night
hail to thee thou new moon
jewel of guidance on the billows
hail to thee thou new moon
jewel of guidance on the ocean
hail to thee thou new moon
jewel of guidance of my love.
I woke before dawn cold and aching, in time to see the old moon rising above a gathering mist over the sea, the same curve as the new moon but in reverse. I gazed out at the thickening fog, certain now that Sarah had not turned back to Bethany or headed overland to the North. She had taken ship, just as her father had when he was only a little older than she was. But how on earth or sea was I to find her? She might have gone anywhere; if she had fled onto a ship and stowed away among the huge amphorae of wine and oil, she might not even know herself where she was going.
“Jesus,” I said out loud. “What do I do? Where do I go?”
“You would not be taking my name in vain, would you?”
For the first time in what seemed a horribly and unforgivably long time, I sensed him with me.
“That is not funny, not funny at all,” I snarled at him, silently this time.
“I thought it was funny when you said it to Peter, James, and Paul.”
“They kidnapped her,” I tol
d him. “If you know so much, I suppose you know that, too. The leaders of your goddamned ecclesia kidnapped your daughter and humiliated her, and now she’s run away again.”
Jesus said nothing, but I could still feel him there, as if the sun had risen early and found its way through the dawn chill.
“I know,” I answered his silence. “It was my fault, my fault that she ran away in the first place. I screwed your apostle; drove away our daughter, left your mother behind, fought with everyone in the ecclesia, and now poor old Mary B has been excommunicated into the bargain. I’ve made a mess.”
My beloved said nothing, either to exonerate or condemn. I didn’t much care which he did, as long as he stayed with me, the warmth of his presence keeping away the damp, the desolation of looking into the thickening fog with no clue where my daughter might be bound.
“Don’t go away. Don’t you dare go away,” I whispered. “Not until you tell me what to do.”
“Maeve, my heart,” I heard him at last. “When did you ever do anything I or anyone told you to do?”
“But you tell the others what to do, Peter, Paul, James. Whenever anyone wants to win an argument, they say they know what you would do. They back it up with prophecies from the scriptures. Or better still, they claim you spoke to them. Tell me the truth. Don’t spare me. Would it have been better if I had given Sarah to the ecclesia when she was born? Did you want James to arrange the right marriage for her, so that she could carry on your lineage or Jesse’s or David’s, or whosever? Never mind what I wanted or what I did or didn’t do right or wrong. What did you want? What do you want!”
There was silence for a moment. I shivered. Afraid that he had gone away, afraid I only imagined these conversations with him.
“Who is my mother?” he finally spoke. “Who is my brother? Do you remember when I said that? Do you remember why?”
“You’re quoting yourself now? Yes, I remember. You repudiated them. You said blood ties were not the ones that counted. Your mother and your brothers showed up afterwards at Temple Magdalen, and believe me, they were not happy with you. But we’re not talking about your brother, who by the way happens to be the head of your ecclesia in Jerusalem, or your mother, who last I saw her was being revered as an oracle by a bunch of mountain Celts. We’re talking about your daughter. Your daughter!”
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