Heavy was my heart when Lea came again to the room at the top of the spiral stairs. I told her things did not look good for us and she looked at it with a nod and said,
‘No, that is certain.’
‘You say that lightly, but many will die!’
‘For every action there is a compensation, pairé, as Jesus has said.’
A memory surfaced unbidden. ‘At Beziers the French came after the dirty work was done,’ I told Lea. ‘In the end they burnt the church and all the people in it, thousands of them, both Catholics and Cathars, were kneeling at the altar praying! My mother and father and sisters perished with the others. I only survived because a dream woman like you took me from my bed and told me I must go into the woods. She saved my life. Many years later I heard that the Bishop of Citeaux had told the Crusaders to kill them all, for God would recognise his own in heaven. Tell me Lea…how can a war of religion not care for its faithful?’
She gave this her patient attention. ‘You should know that when an army enters into a city, faith soon leads to murder.’
‘Should I? Why should it be so? I have no idea!’
‘Think of it pairé, what you call faith is not really faith at all. It is only religion. Religion is only a short step from zeal, and zeal only a margin away from fervour, which is only a hair’s breadth from frenzy – the cradle of hate and murder. The truth is, pairé, that evil and good share the same small space in the soul.’
‘What makes one man evil and another good, then?’
‘How close or distant one is to the good gods.’
‘And what is the compensation for the atrocities committed against innocent people, against innocent children for God’s sake!’ I said with vehemence, for the memory of Bezier’s had come unbidden and was stirring up an anger I had not let myself feel all these years.
She sighed. ‘There is another way to look at it, pairé. It could be that destiny has brought these souls together to a place where they can suffer in order that in the future they can return again, together, for a good cause…’
This did not ease my heart. ‘I know we must suffer fro our sins, but why has God turned away from the innocent?’
‘God is just,’ she said.
‘But is that all he is? What of love?’
‘God is Love, and His wrath is also His love.’
‘How can wrath be love?’
‘Do you remember what Buddha said to Jesus? Suffering leads to Compassion. When God spills out his wrath it causes suffering, this suffering not only leads to a cleansing of sin but it also gives us wisdom, it allows us to recognise the suffering of others. It is the memory of our own suffering that brings about the understanding that helps us to forgive those who have done some wrong to us…this is true love pairé. Wrath seen from the other side is true love; a Love that cancels out sin.’
I looked out of the window to the hard snow drifting over the crests and peaks and valleys and chasms of our mountains. I realised more than ever how far I was from perfection. If she saw my despondency, Lea did not show it. True to her nature she began to speak calmly of the road to Capernaum and I let myself fall into her words, for what good was there to dwell on bitterness?
Here pictures healed my heart; pictures of that woman I had grown so fond of, that highly spirited Roman woman, the wife of Pontius Pilate. I could see her sitting proudly in her chariot and I could hear the thoughts of that near blind Centurion, who rode ahead of the small retinue…
‡
Gaius Cassius was gladdened to leave the confines and tedium of Jerusalem, to travel the wide-open spaces of the land. He was happy to feel the chaffing of his greaves and to suffer the aches in his spine, legs and buttocks, from being in the saddle. For it made him feel less like an old man, which he was, nearing sixty springs, and more like a soldier.
He looked about him. His eyes had turned bad since his failed initiation those years ago and had grown worse each year, so that now he saw the world through a brown haze. This loss, though debilitating, had not prevented him from doing his duty, for he had grown skilful at finding ways around it. And yet, as his outer eyes had begun to see less and less of the content of the world around him, in the same measure did his inner eyes begin to see more and more of the content of his soul, and this, more than anything, had not pleased him.
During the tedium of his days in Jerusalem, he had tried to dull this inner eye with wine and women and gambling. But the numbness occasioned by these diversions had not lasted, it had only served to make him feel more keenly the dishonour and shame of a man who lives a borrowed life, an undeserved life.
He grumbled and took a glance behind him to the chariot carrying Claudia Procula. He could not see her face clearly, only the outlines and the general form of it, but his inner eye knew that she was beautiful, for her soul bespoke beauty.
Soon after Pontius Pilate had arrived in Judea he had given Cassius the charge of following his wilful wife and maintaining her safety. At first this assignment had made his temper disordered, for not only was it demeaning for a centurion of his calibre and experience to waste his time minding a stubborn woman, he also found it difficult to keep track of her with his worsening eyes, but not wishing to draw attention to the secret of his failing vision he had made the best of it.
In truth, he had never understood women and their ways, having spent most of his life in the military. They were creatures wholly foreign to his experience, good for distracting a man from boredom, dulling the bitterness of defeat, or helping him to celebrate a victory. As a centurion he was aware that it was good for his men to trade the glory of steel for the pleasure of skin and warmth from time to time, but he also knew that a woman was like wine, she could make a man forget the smell of blood and disappointment in the evening, but in the morning she was a headache and a bad taste in the mouth.
And yet, here was something new! As time passed, he began to welcome this diversion with the lady Claudia! He began to look forward to hearing from Susannah, her mistress, that Claudia was leaving the praetorium. At first all had gone smoothly, but Claudia Procula was an intelligent woman and soon came awake to his task. Perhaps, even in those early days, she had already made a guess at his malady for she was in the habit of losing him. He often wondered as he floundered in the crowds like a fish looking for water, if her eyes were observing him from some corner with merriment. Yes, he had become a plaything, blown by a woman’s will, like a feather in the wind.
In the end, though they never spoke of it, a quiet understanding had developed between them; she would not venture to dangerous places and he would let loose his rope a little and give her a small semblance of the liberty she craved. All had gone well, and in time even his esteem grew for her. For he realised that when Claudia ventured out of the palace, it was not always for her own pleasure, but also for the good of others. Often times she would take hampers of food which she would deposit at the mouth of leper caves, or which she would distribute among the poor.
Despite himself and beyond his true recognition of it, he had grown to love her. And as the years passed, with the lessening of his vision there grew a picture more vivid in his mind’s eye of her beauty, whose characteristics he recalled each night with great care – as if the image of her were a precious blade in need of a careful polish at the end of a day.
Now, upon this road to Capernaum, he wondered if he had given her too much rope.
Some time ago she had sought him out on the pretext of discussing the security of the household. Instead, she had ordered him to take her along when next he set off to find the man Jesus of Nazareth. Having such an order put to him by her in person had made him quite unable to speak. She had taken from him the self-possession to say no, so that a strange covenant was then added to their other unspoken agreements by virtue of his silence, which he could not later undo, without causing disrespect to her person.
Reason told him it was one thing to allow a woman some small indulgent freedoms, and quite another to take
her on a stolen journey to Galilee, to hear Jesus of Nazareth speak, while the Governor was away, taking care of those duties pertaining to the running of his province. Where would such matters lead? He could not presage.
Such things were on his mind as they reached that place where Jesus was known to preach. When they found him, Cassius squinted to see. It was afternoon and the sky was like an ocean of red. He realised he could only make out the shape of a man standing among a great crowd on a hillside.
Claudia Procula, having come from her chariot, was now beside him, and they stood not far from the crowds facing east, behind a group of shading trees. The nearness of Claudia made him nervous. He had to curb a desire to lean into the smell of her body, scented as it was with roses. Perhaps it was this nervousness, or the heady scent, or the magic of the woman, or even his old eyes playing him for a fool but whatever the case, he was not prepared for what he saw.
All these years, he had grown out of the habit of looking at the sun since Mithras was no longer to be found in it. Nor did he feel the god in his heart, which seemed to him like a wasted vessel. And yet, as birds flew in the soft-coloured air to find their homes, and the frogs called and the people full of plagues and infirmities came to Jesus to be healed, he let his old wasted eyes look on Jesus and he saw something grand, he saw that from him came a light as mighty as the sun! A night-sun was rising in his heart, even as the day-sun was setting.
This let loose in Cassius what had not moved since those years before in that cave dedicated to the God Mithras. This movement unleashed from the locked places inside him his long lost devotion and his reverence and it seemed to him like the universe was a hollow space and that he was stood in that hollowness like a pillar of salt, about to be blown away.
‘Do I live?’ he asked himself then, ‘Or am I in the heaven of the Greeks?’
When he looked again, it was over.
Cassius tried to tuck it away, and made up his mind not to think on it, for what madness had visited him? He did not know. He turned away to look at Claudia Procula, and he saw that she was weeping.
‘Mistress, you are in distress?’ he asked, worried now.
She shook her head and told him with a small laugh of embarrassment, ‘I am not distressed, my dear, Cassius…tell me, did you see it too? It was only a moment, but did you see how the sun shone from out of him into the oncoming night? Oh Cassius!’ she said to him, ‘I cry for joy, because I am full of that sun! I am full of grace!’
Cassius did not know what to say.
40
THE CALL
Lazarus walked the road from Endor among the seventy or so who followed in his master’s train, but he did not feel himself to be one of them.
After all, he had not been baptised by John, nor had he followed Jesus directly. His destiny, like those of his sisters, had been a different one. It had been to wait.
John the Baptist had told him during the months he had spent with him, that his baptism would be a new one, performed by Jesus himself, that he would have to wait and see, for Christ Jesus would call him only if the other disciples failed him. Now, looking about him, John felt the imminence of this call, for among those chosen disciples there did not seem to be one who could hear the fullness of the word of God, which lived in his master’s voice and in his gestures. If they had seen it, surely they would not complain constantly to him of their tired feet, or challenge him with their trivial thoughts, or ask him ignorant questions, or sit with him as if they were his equal!
Lazarus could see it and so he kept himself apart.
Sometimes his master’s eyes would fall on him from a great distance and they would stir in him grand pictures, pictures that seemed to him to be more vivid than life. At other times those eyes would be full of promise for his call but he would sense in his heart – not yet.
Lazarus obeyed.
Such were his thoughts before they were interrupted. The group had come to the gates of the township of Nain and had met a great many people leaving the city. The great crowd striving to enter the city, among whom he stood, were met by a funeral procession emerging from the township and because neither party could easily give way, both were made to stand still. The funeral procession was led by a line of lamenting women accompanied in their wails by the chanting of rabbis and the sounds of flutes, cymbals and trumpets. The cacophony rose in frustrated pitch and injured the quiet of the end of day, causing even the birds to keep far off.
Lazarus looked for the body and saw that it was carried according to the tradition of his forefathers on a bier made of wickerwork. The body was not yet wrapped in burial cloths but lay with its hands folded over the chest and its face covered with a napkin. Lazarus discerned by its dimensions that it was the body of a youth.
His master moved through the crowds, unperturbed by the excited words and gesticulations of the two sides. He sought the woman who was weeping the most bitterly, knowing her to be the mother of the dead youth.
Lazarus picked his way through the people to get a better look.
‘Was this your son?’ his master asked the woman whose face was creased with anguish and streaked with tears.
‘My only treasure is gone!’ the woman cried. ‘My only son! Weep with us, rabbi, for our hearts are bitter!’
‘No,’ he gentled her, ‘no…do not weep, widow!’
She looked at him puzzled then. ‘How do you know I am a widow?’
Lazarus saw his master take himself to the wicker bier held by four men, and then saw him touch it with a hand.
‘Young man,’ he called, ‘I say to you…rise!’
All around, those who followed Jesus gasped, for it was not lawful for a rabbi to defile himself with the greatest of all defilements, contact with the dead. Some said that by overlooking this strict ordinance Jesus was demonstrating how great was the difference between him and the Pharisees and scribes. Others, those sent to keep a watch on his doings, spoke of arrogance and pride.
But Lazarus was not listening to these words, for he was hearing something else, something that had made his heart full, those words spoken by Jesus, words that had flowed out into space in rings and resonances and tones. They had drawn his attention to the youth, who having heard the command from beyond death, was now compelled to rise up from it.
When the young man sat up and the cloth fell from his face and he looked about, Lazarus was transfixed. At that moment time ebbed. The world of space darkened and was vanished leaving a pathway between Lazarus and the boy on the bier. This path was lit up by virtue of the effulgence that came from his master, and when his master looked at him, and at the same time pointed to the boy this is what he saw:
Lazarus saw molten fires and burnished metals, pyramids and ziggurats and wars fought. He saw great walls falling and the rebuilding of mighty temples. He saw the wisdom of kings and the love of queens. He saw the future, when he would be standing in a fortress on a great mountain, sequestered by the followers of this young man. This he knew would be an important life, and he understood how it would be prepared for him by this youth. Thus was made plain to him the web of destiny that was spun between them – and would last for all times.
All was noise and haze as the world returned.
And he knew in his heart this was his call.
‡
‘Who is that young man of Nain, Lea?’ I put down my quill and took up a new parchment.
‘He was born again, pairé, as Mani, the founder of your faith. Soon you will see why, through Mani, you are united with Lazarus.’
‘With Lazarus?’ I looked up, surprised.
‘Soon you will know it…do not be impatient! First we must speak of his sister again, for Mary Magdalene has found a use for her mother’s unguent…’
41
THE ALABASTER JAR
Since that experience in the field beneath the shading tree, Mary had carried her mother’s jar with her wherever she travelled, and it was with her now as she snuck out of the rooming house and made her
way to the residence of Simon the Pharisee.
Months ago, when Mary and her sister heard Lazarus’ retelling of his experience at the Baptism of Jesus, they had felt a sense of destiny and had begged their brother to take them to Capernaum, to the place where Jesus taught and healed the people.
Mary’s only fear had been what she might see hovering over him. But she had not seen anything but light, and love, and life. A life so abundant that she understood instantly that she must offer herself up as his disciple. And yet, she had hesitated, for her malady continued to plague her and the words of the rabbi at Magadala, even after all these years, still echoed in her ears.
The courage to go to Jesus had only come this night, when she heard him say these words to those who needed healing:
Come unto me all who are heavy laden, all of you who are burdened and I will give you rest.
She thought of these words now, and warmth entered into her heart as she walked resolutely, clutching that jar made from cool translucent stone, which held her mother’s oil.
It seemed to her appropriate to use this oil in just this very jar to perform the most humbling act which she knew how to perform: to prostrate herself before him, to anoint his feet, and deliver her soul into his care. And it did not matter to her that her Lord was dining at a house that belonged to a well-known and respected Pharisee, among men of wealth and stature who might make fun of her and call her to account for her madness. She did not fear their opinion, nor indeed did she worry for her family’s shame! Something beyond these trivial things moved her legs. A sense of the wonder working magic of destiny had taken a hold, and it worked deeper than her doubts and fears, to fire up her limbs and to guide her up the steps, through the antechamber and an open door that led to the sumptuous and well-appointed dining hall.
Fifth Gospel: A Novel (Rosicrucian Quartet) Paperback Page 23
