The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene

by Frank G. Slaughter

  “What would you do in my place then?”

  “You can only find peace through forgiving Gaius Flaccus.”

  “Forgive him!” Color surged into her cheeks. “How can you suggest such a thing and still claim to be my friend?”

  “Because I am your friend I know it is the only way. Give up this insane plan, Mary,” he begged. “Gaius Flaccus is a favorite of the Emperor Tiberius and a nephew of Pontius Pilate. You could not kill a prominent Roman like him and live.”

  “Not even when it is my right under the law?”

  “What law gives you the right to kill?”

  “It is written in the laws of the Jews: ‘If in the open country a man meets a young woman who is betrothed, and the man seizes her and lies with her, then only the man who lay with her shall die.’”

  At the moment Joseph had no answer, for as she said, that was the rigid law of the Jews. “But it does not say you yourself have the right to kill,” he protested lamely. “Execution of the law is the province of the council and the judges.”

  “The law says the life of the guilty man belongs to him to whom the damsel is betrothed. You did not take Gaius Flaccus’s life, Joseph, so I must do it.”

  “That would have been murder,” he protested.

  Mary stamped her foot angrily. “I was your betrothed!” she cried. “But neither you nor the Jewish authorities would have dared to kill Gaius Flaccus because he is a Roman and you were afraid. The law of our people says he must die, and I am not afraid, so I will carry out the sentence myself.”

  She was magnificent in her anger and her determination, and yet he knew that what she proposed was folly, a rash act which could only end in her death, whatever she thought the justification might be. And then he thought of a way he might prevent her. If somehow he could get her to reveal her plans, he might be able to foil her and save her life, although it would mean that her hate would be turned on him. Even that, however, was not too high a price for saving the life of the woman he loved.

  “How do you propose to do it?” he asked.

  Mary tossed her head. “Do you think I would tell you now? But my plans are made, and all of Alexandria will know the hour of my vengeance.”

  “Alexandria? I thought Gaius Flaccus was in Rome.”

  “What do you think I have been working for these past months?” she asked tartly. “Remember, I told you Plotinus would have Gaius Flaccus transferred to Alexandria. He is due here in a few weeks to serve as praefectus vigilum, in command of all Roman troops in the city.”

  X

  Knowing that he could do nothing to turn Mary away from her firm resolution to be revenged upon Gaius Flaccus, Joseph was tempted to do what she had advised, leave Alexandria and return to Jerusalem. But first he had to treat the cataract in Demetrius’s other eye, and when the operation was followed by an inflammation that threatened to destroy the eye, he was forced to make daily visits to Mary’s luxurious home on the shore of Lake Mareotis until the inflammation subsided. It was a month before Demetrius was able to leave the house, and then he moved with difficulty because of a plethora and dropsy that caused his body to swell.

  When the old Greek musician was able to be up long enough, Joseph took him to the theater to see Mary dance. From a seat back of the tribunalia Demetrius was able to see fairly clearly, since his vision was much better at a distance than closer up. Mary seemed to be inspired that night; never had Joseph seen her dance more spiritedly or with more grace. And watching her beauty, the slender loveliness of her body as she moved about the stage in the expressive rhythm of the dance, he felt a deep sense of depression and foreboding grip his soul. She had embarked upon an insane course, he was sure, and yet he could do nothing at all to stop her. She was truly possessed of a demon, but he knew no way to drive it out. And his depression deepened when he glanced at the box usually reserved for the Roman governor of the city and saw Gaius Flaccus sitting there, as handsome as a Greek god.

  When the performance was ended, they made their way to Mary’s dressing room through the corridors beneath the great theater. She still wore the costume in which she had danced and was sitting before her dressing table when they entered, while her maid, a dark-skinned slave from Cyrene, brushed her hair. Mary got up and ran to kiss the old musician. “I was dancing for you, Demetrius!” she cried. “Did you like it?”

  “There has never been one to equal you, child.” Demetrius’s voice was thick with emotion. “This is the crowning moment of my life.”

  “We will have other moments,” she promised gaily, “many of them. The director has agreed to present the Bacchae of Euripides at the Great Dionysia, and I am to lead the dancers.”

  “I know you will triumph,” Demetrius told her. “You have everything you wish for now.”

  “Not everything,” Mary said, suddenly serious, “but I am very near.” She turned to Joseph. “You saw him?”

  “Yes. How long has he been in Alexandria?”

  “Only a few days. Plotinus is arranging a dinner in his honor tomorrow night.”

  “What is all the mystery about?” Demetrius demanded.

  “Gaius Flaccus is in Alexandria,” Mary explained. “He was in one of the tribunalia tonight.”

  “How will you keep the two of them from flying at each other’s throats?” Joseph asked. “Plotinus is bound to be jealous if you show much attention to Gaius Flaccus.”

  Mary laughed confidently. “I have learned a lot about handling men in the past five years, Joseph. You simply tell each of them that he is stealing your affections from the other.”

  “But suppose they compare your statements.”

  “When each distrusts and is jealous of the other? Hardly.”

  Joseph shrugged. “We had better go, Demetrius,” he said. “Doubtless the lady called Flamen will have suitors wishing to visit her.”

  Mary flushed at his tone, but before she could say anything, a sharp-voiced challenge came from the guard outside the door. A moment later the curtains were thrust arrogantly aside, revealing a tall man in the uniform of a Roman tribune. It was Gaius Flaccus.

  For a moment Mary was like a marble statue, then as the young Roman strode forward and lifted her hand to his lips, color came into her cheeks and she relaxed. “I could not wait until the dinner tomorrow to meet you,” Gaius Flaccus said, kissing her hand. “Such beauty and talent deserve a more spontaneous tribute.” And then, as his eyes met hers, a puzzled look came into his face. “Your face seems familiar.”

  “Does it?” Mary asked, still smiling, but her eyes were hard and cold.

  Gaius Flaccus seemed to realize for the first time that there were others in the room. He turned to them, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Are you not the leech, Joseph of Galilee, that I knew in Tiberias and Magdala?” he asked.

  “I am Joseph of Galilee,” the young physician said quietly.

  “And my name is Demetrius,” the old musician added, “a lyre maker of Magdala, lately come to Alexandria.”

  Gaius Flaccus looked from them to Mary, and his eyes widened with amazement. “But you couldn’t be the little dancer,” he cried. “The one I knew in Tiberias.”

  Mary’s voice cut him short. “In Alexandria I am called Flamen,” she said proudly.

  “Mary of Magdala,” Gaius Flaccus said softly. “And the streets of Tiberias. You have come a long way, my dear. And you are more beautiful than ever. No wonder they tell me the men of Alexandria are at your feet.”

  “And you?” Mary asked. Her voice was soft, almost coaxing. Hearing it, Joseph could understand her power over men.

  The tribune smiled fatuously and lifted her fingers slowly to his lips once more. “No doubt I shall be there too,” he said softly. “Dare I hope one day to be first among your admirers?”

  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.”

  XI

  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.”