JAILBREAK
The Ballad of Black Sarah
They call me Black Sarah, Saint Sarah, Sarah la Kali.
In the merry month of May the Roma bathe me in the sea,
where I greeted—or arrived—with a bunch of Saintes Maries,
but no one knows my story, no one knows but me.
They say I came from Egypt or the valley of the Rhone.
They say Black means obscure, forgotten and alone,
or else fertile and abundant like the rich Camargue loam,
but no one knows my story or how far I had to roam.
Now they like to wonder was I really something more
than a servant to assorted saints who landed on the shore.
Was my father a true savior, my mother bride or whore?
Still no one knows the story I keep hidden at my core.
Black Sarah, Saint Sarah, I am no slave to history.
I will not bear the burden of some secret legacy.
I will ride the bare wild backs of the mares of the sea.
You can call me what you like; I will still be free.
NOW AT LAST SARAH COMES BACK into the story—or I should say my story, not that she has ever been gone. Loving her, running away with her, losing her, searching for her has been my story for the last twenty years. But she also has a story of her own; and I do not know most of it. Even when she was so close to me as a small child, she had her own story, separate from mine. Nor will her story ever be mine to recount. She will be the teller, if she chooses—or not. What I tell you now is only my story still, the story of how I found my daughter again, thanks, however strange to say, to Paul of Tarsus. Whatever deity or deities had a hand in that reunion—and I suspect there were several—he/she/they certainly move in mysterious ways wonders to perform. Not to mention having a bizarre sense of humor.
We arrived at lesser Ephesus just as the gates opened for commerce, and we scattered to our separate tasks. Paul’s plan was to have his inflammatory speech in full swing by mid-morning when everyone was out and about doing business or seeing the sights. The square in front of the theatre was a public crossroads where vendors, tourists, and citizens doing their shopping could all congregate. If Christ Jesus was on our side, as presumably he was, Paul expected a riot by early afternoon, at which point everyone was to wait by the prison gates till the guards were called away and I could spring Sarah.
I was soon ready for my part. I had brought quantities of our strong mead with me, and I sought out the seediest section of the city where to my satisfaction I found street whores selling cakes shaped like vulvas and phalluses just as they did in Rome. Thus armed, so to speak, I followed the smell of piss and sewage through the back alleys to the pens under the huge theatre that housed gladiators and wild beasts as well as prisoners awaiting trial or execution.
“Cakes and wine, cocks and tails,” I sang out suggestively at the prison door, heartily regretting that I was too gray and too long in the tooth to whore my way through the guard.
“What now? I can hardly hear anything over the racket. Damn Amazon bitches.”
I listened, and I heard it, too, women’s voices singing. Not just singing but singing raucously. A thrill spread over my whole body. One of those voices belonged to my daughter.
“Food and drink,” I called louder, stepping into a corridor that still held the chill and damp of night and the stink of the ages. “Strongest mead you’ll ever taste, honey on the tongue, fire in the blood. And the hottest hot cakes, if you know what I mean.”
“Back here!” the guard answered. “Right then two lefts.”
The singing grew louder, not hymns like the ones I had sung to Isis with the other priestesses long ago when we were imprisoned, hymns to inspire courage as we faced our imminent death. These women were singing bloody battle songs, with refrains like—
and I bashed his skull with my blade
tra-la,
and his brains were sprayed about
yo-ho,
through his blood I had to wade
tra-la,
but I finally made it out
yo-ho.
I tried to sense from which direction the voices came, but the corridor kept twisting and there were places where the sound went dead and others where it bounced off the stone. I followed the guards’ directions, and soon arrived at a sort of barracks where a number of gloomy-looking guards sat rolling dice.
“Cakes and wine,” I announced myself.
“How much?” asked one of the men without another glance at me.
I reckoned they had already seen that I was not young and toothsome, so they weren’t very interested. I noticed that several of the guards looked as though they’d been brawling. Black eyes and scratches abounded.
“Rough night, eh?” I said conversationally.
“Did you not hear me, woman? How much for a wineskin?”
“That depends.”
“Depends on what!” said the man sourly. “I’ll give you a bit, and you can throw in cakes all around. Or take your wares elsewhere.”
“Have it your way then,” I said.
I turned around, thinking I could find the women by myself. The men were too intent on their game and their grievances to follow me. But I made sure some of them got a glimpse of the obscene cakes.
“Hey, look at that, boys. Way sweeter than what we had last night.”
“What? You don’t like knuckle sandwiches?” said another.
“Who wants those she-men, anyway? My granny’s arsehole is better looking.”
“Are you talking about those dreadful, unnatural female pirates?” I asked.
“Unnatural, that’s the word for it,” said one of the men. “Sooner they execute ‘em the better, I say.”
“They got to torture ‘em first. Slowly and publicly, I hope.”
“I heard some of them have three heads,” I said. “And tails and hooves. Is it true?”
“Tell, you what, woman. You leave your wares here, and you can go gawk at them.”
“But that’s my days’ wages,” I protested, not wanting to seem too eager. “You give me two bits, and I’ll leave you the lot.”
“Here!” The man tossed the coins at me. “Down the hall, right and right again. But I wouldn’t get too close, if I were you, and whatever you do, don’t put your fingers through the bars, unless you want them bit right off. In fact, don’t put your fingers through any of the bars down here.”
The men guffawed, knowing as I did not but soon guessed, that I was in the bowels of the bestiary. I waited briefly until I heard the dice rolling and the smacking of lips as the men passed round the wineskin and fell to the cakes. Then I headed down the unlit corridor, animal smells of old meat and excrement overwhelming in the close darkness. Now and then I heard groans or growls, but mostly the animals slept away their lightless misery. I touched the wall gingerly, mindful of the guard’s warning, finding the turns by feel. Daylight from the outside world had long since disappeared. The women seemed to have stopped singing, but as I made the second turn I could hear voices in some kind of debate. My sense of hearing heightened in the pitch blackness, I was soon able to make out their words.
“We have no way of knowing if it’s night or day, but I say we’ve got to get some sleep. They’re trying to exhaust us and drive us mad keeping us here in the dark.”
“How can we risk going to sleep after what almost happened last night?” someone else objected. “If they find us in an exhausted stupor they’ll have us tied up in a trice and finish their lame-ass assault.”
There were some derisive snorts here.
“They won’t be risking their tiny balls again in a hurry.”
Hoots of laughter and the first century equivalent of some high fives followed.
“One of us could stay awake and keep watch.”
My knees buckled under me, and I clutched at the dank wall. Sarah. Sarah had spoken. I was sure of it.
“Watch? In the dark?”
/>
“Hear, then. Ssh! Listen!” She lowered her voice. “Someone’s there. Now.”
Was I even breathing? Would my throat open to let me speak?
“Don’t go to sleep.” I hardly recognized my own voice as it forced its way into the air. “Help is coming, Sarah. Help is here.”
A moment’s silence and then a clamor of voices broke out—Who is that? How does she know your name? What’s going on?
“I knew she would come!” Sarah’s voice, fierce and exultant, cut through the clamor. My bones rang with the sound of it. “Did I not tell you she would come!”
Though I was trembling so badly I could hardly stand, I kept on, holding the wall for support till my hands closed on the bars of the cell.
“Here!” Sarah cried out. “Here is my mother.”
Strong hands found mine and met them on the bars.
“Here is my mother,” she said again. “Maeve, daughter of the warrior witches of Tir na mBan, daughters of the Cailleach, daughter of the goddess Bride.”
“Mother of Sarah,” I spoke at last. “Mother of Colomen Du.”
And in that bright darkness Sarah and I held onto each other’s hands and wept. I sensed the other women coming to surround Sarah. Some of them reached out their hands to me and stroked my arms.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I only know the darkness became gloriously crowded. Without the distraction of sight, I could sense the presence of my mothers, of all my sister-whores, of Anna and Dwynwyn and Ma, new-winged and vast as the sky.
“Here’s the plan,” I said whenever time began again.
At just that moment, divinely on cue, a huge roaring started somewhere in the world outside, so loud it shook the bars.
“What’s that?” everyone wondered.
“I believe that is our riot.”
“Our riot?” wondered the women.
I’ll explain later,” I said. “Can someone guide me to the bolt?”
“Do you have some kind of tools?”
“She doesn’t need them,” declared Sarah. “My mother’s hands can melt iron.”
“If she can get us out of here, we will never accuse you of bragging again. Here, Sarah’s mother,” one of the women guided my hand to the bolt. “Feel free to impress the hell out of us.”
It didn’t take very long. There was nothing impeding the fire of the stars flowing into my hands, becoming my hands, shooting sparks, turning the iron molten. When the door was open, woman after woman stepped free. At last Sarah found me, and I held my grown daughter in my arms for the first time.
“Wait here,” I said, releasing her reluctantly. “I have to check on the guards.”
Sure enough, just as Paul had predicted, the guards were being called out to control the riot.
“I don’t care if you have the queen of Amazons in there,” bellowed an officer. “That crowd out there is baying for the blood of those plaguing Christianis. If it was up to me I’d throw ‘em all to the lions, but the governor wants order restored. We’ve got to round them up for their own protection. Move it. Now!”
And under the influence of the mead, the guards lurched off to active duty, and I hurried back to Sarah and the pirates.
“Is that you, Mother of Sarah?” one of the women called out. “Good. You deal with your daughter, for the love of Artemis.”
“What’s the matter?”
I hadn’t even seen her face by the light of day and there was a problem already?
“I am not leaving here unless we free the beasts,” Sarah explained.
“Oh, is that all?” I felt giddy with relief. “No problem.”
“What do you mean no problem! There are lions and elephants, hyenas, horses, bulls, and goddess knows what else down here.”
Now it was my turn to brag.
“My daughter has a way with animals. There is not a single wild beast that would harm a hair on her head. Why, when she was not quite three years old, I found her in an eagle’s nest.”
“Oh goddess, the mother is a tale spinner, too!”
But no one protested further, and even in the dark I could almost hear shoulders shrugging and arms being thrown up in the air along with sighs of resignation. I suspected it was not the first time her companions had done what Sarah wanted against their better judgment. As for me, I could deny Sarah nothing.
So we made our way down the corridor, opening cage after cage, our procession growing larger and wilder and more fearsome. When I finally saw Sarah by daylight, she was striding happily between a lion and a horse. Despite her height and years, she still looked like the wild child of the mountain I remembered.
The others, who were waiting for us in the alley, did not share my fond view of Sarah as lady of the beasts. Joseph looked especially daunted, and I couldn’t blame him. It had been bad enough traveling with a bevy of gentile whores, which he had done for my sake when he rescued me long ago. Now he had to contend with animals and Amazons? Indeed the half-dozen pirates looked as dangerous (and unkempt) as the beasts. Only Lazarus remained unperturbed, walking straight to Sarah with his arms open.
Meanwhile, Paul’s riot kicked into high gear.
“Great is Artemis!” the crowd in the theatre above roared. “Artemis of Ephesus!”
“Whoever—whatever—is coming with us, let’s get going, while we can!” Mary B shouted over the din. “They’ve been at it for an hour in there. It can’t go on much longer.” (If you will read the Bible, you will know that they kept the chant going for another hour at least.) “Lead on, Joseph!”
“Great is Artemis, Artemis of Ephesus. Great is Artemis, Artemis of the Ephesians!”
“But we can’t bring animals!” shouted Joseph. “No ship’s captain is going to—”
Joseph’s arguments were interrupted by a new complication.
“I will say it and I will say it again,” came a shrill voice some of us knew only too well. “And I will keep saying it until the multitudes shall listen and hear. These idols are dead stone. They are dumb, blind, and deaf. In short they are utterly useless. They have no power to hear or heal. Only Christ Jesus—”
Then a minor miracle occurred—(or so it must have seemed to the guards, who were carrying him between them, for his kicking feet barely touched the ground)—Paul stopped talking and stared at the motley crew outside the prison doors. The guards did not see his face break into a grin. For they, too, gaped, as it dawned on their sodden minds that they had a full scale jailbreak on their hands.
“Call for backup!” shouted one of the guards, who held onto Paul’s bound arms while he simultaneously put a dagger to the apostle’s throat.
The other guard no sooner turned and started to run, than the lion beside Sarah took off after him, easily catching a leg and pulling the guard down to the ground, where the beast held the man pinned, apparently awaiting further instructions from Sarah.
“Paul?” Sarah took a step forward. “Paul of Tarsus?”
“Not one step further, Amazon bitch, or I cut your friend’s throat.”
“You are outnumbered,” Sarah informed the guard. “At a word from me, the hyena will rip out your throat, and my friends will cut you up so that you can more easily be consumed by the dogs; that is, if the hyena leaves anything worth carving.”
“Sarah,” Paul said, his eyes tearing. “My little Sarah. Sweet Sarah.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the pirates rolling theirs.
“You will let this man go,” Sarah commanded. “You will not pursue him or any of us, if you want to live to see another sunset over the western sea or behold the sun rise beyond the eastern mountains.” (The Celt in her was clearly coming to the fore.) “Do you understand me?”
The guard gulped and nodded, and began to lower his blade. (You must remember, all our words were shouted as the chant to Artemis went on and on.)
“Wait,” said Paul to the guard. “I am still your prisoner—or rather not your prisoner but a prisoner for Christ Jesus.”
/> “But Paul,” I stepped forward to face him. “There is no need!”
Sarah looked from Paul to me, from me to Paul.
“You two!” said Sarah; it was almost an accusation. “You two! What are you not telling me? What are you doing here? Together?”
That one word said it all.
Sarah motioned the guard to stand back.
“Paul started the riot,” I said as quietly as I could. “To help us get you out of prison. It was his idea. He was the one who came to tell me where you were.”
“Your mother and I, we are both sinners,” Paul took over. “With our pride and selfishness, we—”
“That’s enough!” Sarah cut him off. “I get it. You two are in cahoots. Let’s go.”
Paul shook his head.
“Child of my heart, it is not necessary for you or your mother to save my life again. My salvation is in Christ Jesus, and I will go where he commands me.”
“It’s very nasty in that prison,” said Sarah bluntly. “I can’t imagine why my father would command you to go there when you could take ship with us.”
Paul eyed Sarah’s pirate companions in their garish tattered clothes, their braids or dreadlocks, some with teeth missing, others with tattoos and scars crowding their bare arms and legs.
“The Holy Spirit may lead us in ways that seem strange to others,” he said with uncharacteristic diplomacy. “Go, child, go, Sarah. May the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ, your father in heaven and on earth be with you always.” He kissed both her cheeks; then he turned to me. “Christ Jesus has vouchsafed us a miracle, Healer Woman. Our sin is forgiven. Peace be with you.”
I found myself unable to speak as I embraced him. But as we made our way through the back alleys, the crowd still chanting: Great, great is Artemis, Artemis of Ephesus, I heard myself chant in return: “Great is Paul, Paul of Tarsus.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WIDE OPEN SPACES
Bright Dark Madonna Page 42
