However, Susannah’s advice was sensible. After the time of mourning, I approached Alexandros and explained that I wished to remarry.
My brother looked down on me. “I’m very busy these days,” he said. “I don’t see how I can do anything for you right now. Uncle Reuben has to mourn a full year for Safta, his mother, of course, and I can’t make any important decisions without him.”
“But you’re arranging Chloe’s betrothal,” I said. “She told me.”
“Ah … yes, I am negotiating a match for Chloe,” he admitted. “That’s why I don’t have time to look for a new husband for you.”
“You don’t want to help me, do you?” I said. He wants to make you grovel, said Phomelei.
Alexandros stroked his beard, not so straggly anymore, before answering, “Frankly, I wish I could help you. But I have to consider my position as Elder Thomas’s son-in-law. Everyone knows that you were called up before the council and reprimanded—naturally that makes people wonder if you’d be an obedient wife.”
I wonder if you’ll be an obedient son, Phomelei shot back. I spoke her words, and added, “Didn’t Abba make you promise, on his deathbed, to take care of your sisters?”
Alexandros flinched at that, but he recovered quickly. “I tried to bring you home, but you refused my protection,” he said piously. “Uncle Reuben says you’re really Silas’s responsibility now.”
Fury rose in me, and Zaphaunt’s bray formed in the back of my throat. But Aiandictor quickly put smooth words in my mouth: “You’re right; I apologize for troubling you about this matter. Silas will make a better match for me than you could have, anyway.” It was gratifying to see Alexandros’s offended look, but I also thought what I’d said was true. Silas listened to Susannah, and my cousin would advise him about the kind of man I would be happy with.
When I asked Silas to negotiate for me instead of my brother, he seemed reluctant at first. Susannah, too, looked troubled. But Silas agreed: he would investigate the husband prospects among men of our class in Magdala.
Meanwhile, the real world grew less vivid to me as I spent more and more time with my invisible allies. “I wish you could arrange a new marriage for me!” I exclaimed to them one night. “Can’t you? Let Silas think he’s doing it.”
Leave it to me, my lady, said Aiandictor with a sly smile. I’ll use my connections to find you a prince.
Phomelei gave a scornful laugh. Connections! Don’t listen to Aiandictor, my lady. First of all, you need an ordinary husband, and we don’t arrange ordinary matters. Let Silas find you a match for your humdrum life. Then—her red lips trembled with amusement—I’ll present you to your real consort. Yes, a prince.
Aiandictor contradicted her indignantly, and other voices chimed in, including a brassy female voice and a braying male voice. They all argued at once, until I had to order them to be silent. But I was filled with almost unbearable excitement. One way or another, I would have a prince. How could I wait?
In fact, I waited for more than a month before I asked Susannah if Silas had made any progress in finding a husband for me. My cousin shrugged and murmured something vague. She added, “Silas wondered if you might consider taking a husband in another town.”
“Perhaps, if it was a nearby town, and if I could visit here,” I said. “Which town does he have in mind?”
“Oh yes, it’s nearby,” said Susannah. “Matthew—the man Silas has in mind—lives outside Bethsaida-Julias, not far from Capernaum. And his father lives in Magdala, so you’d come here often.” She didn’t seem to know much more about this Matthew, except that he was young and prosperous. “Silas will see if he can arrange a first meeting, then.”
EIGHTEEN
THE PROMISING YOUNG WIDOW
Managing the tollgate month after month, Matthew stopped feeling anything about the travelers streaming under the stone arch. Most of them came to seem like walking money pouches, not human beings. His only interest in them was transferring coins from the pouches into his collection box. His feelings were not exactly tough, like his father’s, but numb, like a foot sat on for too long. Matthew’s occasional smile, when he recognized one of his few acquaintances approaching the tollgate, stretched his face in an unaccustomed way.
After the harvest season, Alphaeus made a visit to Matthew’s new home. Alphaeus hadn’t actually seen the house he’d found for Matthew, and he was pleased. “Just what I was told, a comfortable villa. You don’t have any trouble paying the rent, do you? No? Good.”
As Matthew showed him around the house and garden, his father mentioned that he’d found a promising prospect for a wife for his son. “I don’t suppose you’d object to a young widow, eh? I’ve heard of someone in Magdala—good family, and she has some money of her own.”
“I wouldn’t mind a young widow at all,” said Matthew, his heart leaping hopefully. He’d feared that no respectable Jewish family would even discuss marriage with the tax collector’s son.
“Apparently she’s a little peculiar.” Alphaeus waved his hand as if it was nothing to worry about. “And there were some rumors about her keeping Gentile amulets, but you could put a stop to that. I’ll arrange a first meeting, then.”
Leading his father on through the house to the dining hall, Matthew imagined this young widow very close to him. He would feel her warmth, breathe in her perfume. There would be a pink flush on the curve of her cheek as they sipped from the betrothal cup….
“Even a dining hall, eh?” said Alphaeus. “You must have fancy dinners here!”
His father’s comment jerked Matthew out of his daydream. The large, airy room was ideal for fancy dinners: open on one side, with a view of the lake through the pillars. Matthew didn’t tell his father that he had trouble filling his fine dining hall with guests. In Capernaum itself, there were only two kinds of Jews who might accept an invitation from the toll collector: his colleagues, the harbor-tax and house-tax collectors; and the brothel owner and his prostitutes. Not such a fancy dinner party.
At the tollgate, Matthew met some interesting travelers, some of them wealthy, important people. But most of them were Greeks, or Phoenicians, or Syrians, or Chaldeans—in other words, Gentiles. Matthew was determined to keep at least the Jewish law against eating with Gentiles. When Quintus Bucco, his supervisor, came by to collect the chest of tolls, Matthew offered him refreshments, as his father did. He sat politely with the Roman while he ate and drank. But after the Roman left, Matthew made sure the servants threw all his dishes (now unclean) on the trash heap.
If it hadn’t been for the few Jewish travelers he’d gotten to know, Matthew would have been miserably lonely. Travelers tended to have a more liberal attitude about associating with tax collectors, especially when they were away from home. Such was the case with Philip the salt trader, a short, genial man and Matthew’s favorite of these acquaintances. He was well-known around Lake Gennesaret, where he traveled in a slow circle through Galilee on the west side of the lake, Gaulanitis on the northeast, and the independent cities of the Decapolis in the southeast.
Philip had a talent for gathering the latest news from each place and turning it into dramatic stories for the next town. He loved dinner parties, with their natural audience for his storytelling. Matthew looked forward to Philip’s visits, not only for his own company but also because the trader attracted other guests. No one wanted to miss such an evening’s entertainment.
On the salt merchant’s recent visit, he’d told a story about a wandering preacher named Yeshua. The story began as the preacher arrived on the other side of the lake, in some Gentile town above the cliffs. Rabbi Yeshua discovered a poor lost soul, infested with demons, howling naked in the cemetery. The man’s family had tried to keep him at home by chaining him, but he’d broken loose and escaped to live among the tombs.
The townspeople warned the rabbi not to go near the wild man. His demons made him bash himself, and anyone else nearby, with stones. But Yeshua went right up to the possessed man and began givi
ng commands to the demons.
Matthew, listening to the story, thought of the rabbi who’d taught him and his brother to read and write. He had a meek manner except when he saw any wrongdoing, such as the older boys bullying the younger ones.
Philip continued with his story. “It was a terrifying scene.” He described the townspeople watching from behind the tombs, fearful but fascinated. Confronted by Rabbi Yeshua, the demons threw the possessed man on the ground. He writhed and foamed at the mouth as the unclean spirits spoke through him: “What have you to do with us, Yeshua of Nazareth?”
The rabbi demanded to know the demons’ names. They cried out, “We are legion!”
At this point in his story, Philip winked at Matthew and looked around the dining room, making sure everyone got the joke. “‘Legion’—meaning ‘many,’ but also meaning a legion of the Roman army, see?”
The guests snickered at the suggestion that Roman soldiers were demons. Matthew smiled, too. Any joke on those self-appointed masters of the world was a good joke.
The story continued: The demons bargained with Yeshua. They’d leave the possessed man quietly if only the rabbi wouldn’t banish them to the pit of everlasting fire.
But where else could they go? asked Yeshua. They couldn’t expect him to allow them to possess someone else.
Desperate, the demons noticed a herd of pigs on the hillside. “Let us possess the pigs!” they begged. So the rabbi gave permission, and instantly the legion entered the pigs.
Philip paused again, savoring the roars of laughter. A legion of Romans as not only demons but also a herd of unclean animals!
“And now the pigs were as wild as that poor fellow used to be, and they rushed down the cliff and drowned in the lake,” continued the storyteller. “Meanwhile, the man freed from demons put on his clothes and told everyone he knew, in a perfectly sane voice, how he’d been saved.” Philip looked around the room with a little smile, signaling a final joke. “And then, you’d think, they all flocked to this rabbi, this holy man of great power, for healings and blessings?”
“But they didn’t?” prompted Matthew.
“Not at all!” said the storyteller. “They didn’t want anything to do with that Rabbi Yeshua! The townspeople begged him, very politely and sincerely, to please leave and never come back again. For they all had large herds of pigs.” The dining room rang with more laughter and applause.
A fine story, thought Matthew. It insulted the Romans and made fun of the Gentiles. It also showed the rabbi’s cleverness. He’d tricked the demons into leaving the possessed man. The rabbi had had a good idea how the pigs would react to being possessed. And once the pigs were dead, of course the demons had nowhere to go.
As the laughter died away, a woman at the back of the room spoke up. “I wonder where all those demons went?”
There was an uneasy silence, and several of the guests made the sign against the evil eye, to ward off any stray demons that might have drifted across the lake. Matthew, eager to keep the party going, clapped Philip on the shoulder. “Tell us some more news, my friend!” So the salt merchant launched into a description of the magnificent public square that Herod Antipas was building in Tiberias.
A few weeks later, after the rainy season had begun, Matthew received a message from his father: the first meeting in Magdala with the young woman and her family had been arranged. Her name was Mariamne, widow of Eleazar. Her father was no longer living, but her cousin’s husband, a well-thought-of cloth dyer, was negotiating for her. She’d been married only briefly before; her old husband had died of a stroke, and there were no children.
Again Matthew imagined the beautiful young widow close to him, and he caught his breath. He quickly made arrangements to leave the tollgate in charge of his guards for a few days.
On the appointed day, Matthew and his father put on their best striped coats and hurried through a downpour to the house of Silas, Mariamne’s cousin-in-law. The host himself met them at the gate and showed them to the upper room, where a young woman with a round, cheerful face took their wet cloaks. Matthew liked her on sight, and a picture flashed in his mind of her tenderly washing his feet at the end of a long day’s work.
“Welcome to our home,” Silas said to Alphaeus and Matthew. “This is my wife, Susannah. And this is her cousin, Mariamne.” He motioned to a tall girl standing behind Susannah who bowed to them.
So this was Mariamne. She was pretty enough, thought Matthew. But her cool way of looking at him, as she helped her cousin serve refreshments, made him uneasy. After they were all sitting on the cushions making polite conversation, he noticed that her slim hands moved restlessly. She kept touching her left shoulder, and at times she seemed to be listening to faraway sounds.
Aside from that, Matthew thought there was something familiar about this girl. Of course, he may very well have seen her in Magdala sometime or other. Perhaps in the synagogue, in the years when Alphaeus and his sons were still attending.
It was pleasant for a tax collector to be welcomed into a respectable Jewish home so cordially, even though Matthew had been told why Silas and Susannah were eager to promote this match. According to a reliable source, Alphaeus said, Silas had taken a bad loss on a shipment of cloth to Sepphoris. The entire shipment had been stolen on the road by bandits.
Matthew glanced at his father. Alphaeus was saying to Silas with a meaningful smile, “I wouldn’t be surprised if your cloth could slip out of the harbor from now on without paying any customs tax.” He nudged Silas to make his meaning clear.
Silas nodded, looking embarrassed. “Most gracious … most appreciated,” he muttered.
“Please take another spice cake, sir!” Susannah put in, offering the platter again. “I baked them just this morning.”
Matthew caught Mariamne staring at him with a slight frown, and he realized that he’d been looking at her the same way. Suddenly an expression of disgust and contempt came over her face. In that same moment, he knew where he’d seen her before, with exactly that same expression. “You’re the girl who spit on our doorway,” he said in an undertone.
“And you are the tax collector’s son!” Mariamne didn’t bother to lower her voice. She turned on Susannah. “How could you possibly think—” Jumping to her feet, she backed toward the wall. In a different, imperious voice she declared, “I was promised a prince. I deserve a prince! I spit again, on you and your offer of marriage.”
Mariamne seemed ready to actually spit on Matthew, except that her cousin leaped up, grabbed her arm, and turned her aside. Still, Mariamne continued to speak in a queenly voice that was interspersed with chirps uncannily like a bird’s.
The rest of them jumped up, too. Silas was talking quickly, making soothing motions, but Alphaeus cut him off. “A little odd, you told me,” he accused Silas. “Odd! This girl is out of her mind. She imagines she’s some kind of a princess, or is it a sparrow? You thought you’d fob her off on us … oh yes, good enough for the tax collector. Maybe she has leprosy, too?”
A wave of fury and shame swept through Matthew. How could a shrewd businessman like Alphaeus have been deceived? He was almost angrier for his father’s sake than for his own.
“Your business isn’t really in trouble, is it?” Matthew demanded of Silas. “That was just a cover for the truth about her. And the truth is, you’d better take her to an exorcist. After that, maybe someone else will have her!” Grabbing his still-damp cloak from a peg, Matthew stamped out into the driving rain.
Alphaeus followed his son down the stairs, flinging over his shoulder, “And don’t expect any customs-tax breaks from me!”
NINETEEN
THE TOLL COLLECTOR PAYS
The first morning after his return from Magdala, Matthew rode up to the tollgate in a gloomy state of mind. So much for his bright marriage prospects with the suitable young widow. “A little peculiar,” his father had told him! Completely deranged was more like it.
To add further insult, the demented woman had sc
orned him. She might be stark, staring mad, but she wouldn’t sully herself by marrying a toll collector. Matthew laughed hollowly. He supposed it was good that both he and the young widow, although shunned by the rest of the Jewish community, still had their shreds of pride left.
Matthew squinted into the morning sun. A group was approaching the tollgate from the east, the direction of Bethsaida-Julias. It wasn’t a merchant’s caravan, or a train of cushioned wagons bearing wealthy travelers, or farmers with carts full of produce. Just a group of men on foot. Judging from their rough, worn clothes, their cloaks had to double as their blankets at night.
There were about thirty in the group, but as they approached the gate, several dropped away. These laborers couldn’t afford to pay the toll, even the small fee for travelers on foot without merchandise. Instead, they’d hike over the rocky hillside and rejoin the road farther south.
Matthew expected the whole group to peel off—why should any of them pay just to walk through his gate? But the core of the group, led by a tall, long-faced man with an easy stride, kept coming. As they neared the gate, Matthew heard the others arguing with their leader. “Rabbi, why not turn aside? Why should we pay the toll? We need to save the money. Simon can’t feed all of us.”
“That’s right, Rabbi,” said the biggest man in the group. “On this road, we always cut across the hill back there, to duck the toll.”
Since they were calling the tall man rabbi, Matthew guessed that he must be one of the many wandering preachers who led disciples here and there around Galilee. Matthew glanced up at the ridge to see if Herod’s soldiers were keeping watch—although this ragtag band didn’t look like much of a threat.
Their leader held up one hand to answer his followers. “It’s important to walk through the tollgate,” he answered. “I have business there.” The others fell silent.
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