The Galilean Secret: A Novel (11 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE COMMOTION ON THE BROAD PLATEAU BROUGHT JUDITH RUNNING FROM THE HILLSIDE BEHIND THE CAMP. She saw Naomi and Leah, the wives of Simeon and Mattathias, embracing their husbands, while Barabbas and Gestas were drinking water amid a swarm of Zealots welcoming them home. Where was Dismas? Her stomach dropped as she searched for him. A vision of his death flickered across her mind. She imagined him lying in the desert, a Roman sword impaled in his stomach, agony frozen on his bloodstained face. She had wondered if she would miss him if he didn’t return. Now she knew the answer: yes. In the commotion, no one noticed her. Her feet felt rooted to the ground. A second passed. Two. Three. An eternity. Then Mattathias caught a glimpse of her and motioned toward the corral. “Dismas fell behind, but he’s all right. He’s putting his horse away.”

Judith gripped her heart in gratitude and headed toward the corral. Haunted by Judas Iscariot’s crudeness, she needed Dismas to be her protector. When she saw his muscular frame moving toward her, silhouetted against the setting sun, she ran and fell into his arms. He held her tightly, evoking a memory of when he had first embraced her in the Herodian gardens. Then she stiffened. “There’s something I must tell you.” She stepped back and took Dismas’ hand. “I want you to know what happened while you were gone.”

He gave a concerned frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about Judas Iscariot. As I was changing his bandages, he grabbed and kissed me. He said that he wanted me to leave you and run away with him. I slapped him hard and demanded an apology, but he refused. I cannot express how humiliated I feel.”

Dismas looked as if he’d been cut in two. Without a word he turned and stormed back to camp. She followed close behind and arrived breathless on the marl plateau. Judas was by the fire, listening to Barabbas and Gestas tell the others, both men and women, about their spying. She paused as Dismas burst into the group, pointed at Judas, and said, “You, sir, have no honor.” Lunging at him, Dismas knocked Judas to the ground and began to choke him.

Judith gasped as Judas resisted with his good arm, but Dismas held on. Judas’ face turned red; he coughed and twisted desperately so that Dismas lost his balance and tumbled over. A shudder of terror ran through Judith. She felt the urge to help Dismas but dared not as he and Judas stood staring at each other, enraged. Barabbas, Gestas and Simeon leapt between them and held them apart.

Barabbas glared at Dismas. “Why did you attack a fellow Zealot?”

Dismas was panting, trying to catch his breath. His eyes searched the group and locked on Judith’s. He gestured toward her. “While I was away, Judas kissed my wife. He treated Judith as a whore! If she hadn’t resisted, he would have stolen her from me.”

Barabbas spoke sharply. “How do you answer these charges, Judas?”

“This man’s wife
is
a whore.”

Judith cringed to hear the words, and then anger crept up her spine. She began to protest, but Judas interrupted.

“Judith cared little for changing my bandages; she only wanted to lie with me, and when I rebuked her, she said I would regret it.” Judas straightened his tunic and caught his breath. “How can an honest man defend himself against such a conniving woman?”

Judith felt every eye staring at her.

“What do you have to say?” Barabbas asked.

Judith made no attempt to restrain herself. “I say that Judas Iscariot is a liar.”

Barabbas narrowed his eyes at Judas. “It is your word against hers.”

“Yes,” Judas said with a slight grin, “and who would believe a woman?”

Dismas lunged at him again, but again the other men intervened and kept the two apart.

Judith’s heart was thumping, every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes were riveted on Judas.

Barabbas grabbed Dismas and Judas by the arms. “I won’t tolerate dissension in my camp. You’re good fighters, and our movement needs both of you.” He released Judas and turned to Dismas. “I will talk with
you
in private.” Then he said to Judas, “I’m sending you to Mount Arbel in Galilee to forge weapons for the revolt.”

“Forge weapons!” Judas sounded indignant. “That’s not fair. I’ve helped you plan the revolt. You need me to carry it through.”

Judith saw a flash of anger in Barabbas’ tawny eyes. “You
think
we need you. That’s because you consider yourself more valuable than you are.”

After Judas had stormed off, the others retired to their tents, and Barabbas took Dismas for a walk, leaving Judith by the fire. She feared that Barabbas would also banish Dismas. That would be unjust. Judas had lied.
How could he act so treacherously and then accuse me of being a whore?
Hearing Judas call her one was like getting attacked in a dark alley. She had given herself only to Dismas, and then not until after she knew she loved him and had married him.

On this moonlit night, Qumran’s indifferent silence echoed with the injustice of it all. How could she regain her reputation? It would happen only if Judas admitted he had lied and publicly apologized. But with him banished, that could not happen. Judith felt a twisting in her stomach and pressed her hands there to quiet it. Speeding her pace, she circled the dying flames, as if to ward off the encroaching darkness.

When Dismas finally returned, she stopped and embraced him. “Are you all right?”

He took her arm and led her toward their tent. “I’m fine, but Judas’ accusations raised questions about you in Barabbas’ mind. I assured him that he can trust you, but he expects you to prove it by your actions.”

Judith nearly choked on the sulfurous Dead Sea air—the odor reminded her of rotten eggs. She clenched her teeth as hot shame flooded her cheeks. How could she have gotten herself into such a mess? Her mistake wasn’t telling Dismas about what Judas had done; rather, it was not realizing that Judas would lie and call her a whore, and that he would have everyone in camp questioning her morals. She appreciated that Dismas had defended her, but she knew he had done it as much for himself as for her, as a vindication of his manhood. He was good at fighting, but not at listening or taking a real interest in her concerns and feelings.

They wove a path through the tents that were scattered across the broad plateau. Dismas said nothing. She thought of the steep hillsides beyond, as creviced as an old man’s sun-ravaged skin, and wondered how she had ended up in this desolate place. Her arms and chest felt heavy, as if she were buried in sand and couldn’t dig out. Her thoughts swirled from the loneliness of the camp to Eleazar’s death to Judas’ lies. Maybe she should never have joined the Zealots. As much as she wanted to drive out the Romans, she needed more reason to live than a cause. If Judas didn’t apologize—and now he never would—everyone would think she was a whore and a liar. How could she live with that?

Just because Dismas had defended her against Judas didn’t mean she wanted to stay with him. For her entire life she had lived by the Torah and maintained her honor. Now her reputation was ruined, first by eloping with Dismas and then by making herself vulnerable to a scoundrel like Judas. She should never have changed his bandages alone.

If the Zealots thought she was a whore, she might as well go home. There, too, of course, she would be called one. But her father was influential. Perhaps he could save her from being stoned. After facing her shame, she could again live in safety.

Dismas laid a hand on her shoulder, which seemed to her more threat than comfort, but not wanting to make him suspicious, she didn’t pull away. She had decided that she must go home. It was the only way to begin a new life. Why should she stay with a man she no longer loved? She had always admired Dismas’ strength and his ability to protect her and provide for her. But these weren’t enough. Life was more than cooking and forging weapons and bandaging wounds. She needed a man with whom she could truly share her life, her thoughts and dreams. Even when Dismas was with her, he showed little interest in her except as a sexual object. Rather than heal her loneliness, being with him increased it.

As she and Dismas entered their tent, she considered how to leave. Her best chance was to steal a horse and ride for Jerusalem. Home was only twelve miles away. She donned her nightshirt and lay down. When Dismas joined her on the straw mat, she turned and stared into the dark. The odor of his dried sweat overpowered her. The tent felt smaller than ever, as if constricting her with each heavy breath he took. Tomorrow she would fill a wineskin with water and hide it in a corner of the tent, along with some honey-dried locusts for the horse, and some lentils, figs and olives for her. Then at night, as Dismas fell asleep, she would flee for home with only the clothes on her back.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WHEN MARY MAGDALENE SAW JESUS FROM A DISTANCE, SHE FROZE, HER FEET SEEMINGLY STUCK IN THE HOT, GRAINY SOIL. He was with his disciples outside Bethsaida, along the Sea of Galilee. They were setting up camp when she and John emerged undetected from a cluster of date palms. John ran ahead and didn’t notice that she had stopped.

She drew a breath and glanced at the late-afternoon sun, low and ornament-like in the cloudless sky. A breeze was beginning to blow in off the sea. The fishy smell of the moist air, so familiar to her from her childhood in Magdala, would usually have comforted her but not now. Not as she pondered risking her heart again.

Jesus was hammering the stakes of a tent. Watching him, she fought back the old feeling of being out of control. Of losing herself to him. He laughed, and the memories poured in—the quiet moments together, the depth of their conversations. She dug her fingernails into her palms as she remembered leaving him and getting attacked in the olive grove.

Her mouth went dry, her knees weak. If Gabriel ben Zebulun hadn’t come when he did, she could have been killed. She gazed at the sails of the fishing boats gliding effortlessly toward shore, and thought of how much she owed Gabriel: he had risked his life to save her. How could she ever repay him?

Jesus spoke to his disciples, asking them to get dinner ready. The sound of his voice sent a tremor through her. He may have humiliated her at Simon’s house, but she realized that she still loved him. And the best way to repay Gabriel’s kindness was to help Jesus stop the Zealots’ violence.

“Hurry, Mary.” John’s voice broke into her thoughts. He had stopped to glance back at her. He approached and reached for her hand. “Are you all right?”

Mary stared at him, speechless. She wanted to say yes but couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she knew where she stood with Jesus. Did he love her? Would he apologize? She could stay with him only if they began anew—and only if she settled John’s claim about him. Could Jesus really be the Messiah? Before she could truly be all right, she needed to know.

She reached for John, linked her arm in his and descended the soft slope that led to the camp. They walked past bushy green mimosa trees, across a landscape dotted with jasmine and oleander. Joanna saw them coming and rushed to hug her, followed by Susanna and the sisters Martha and Mary. They rejoiced and guided her toward the grassy area where several tents had been pitched around a pile of firewood.

Jesus was setting up a fourth tent with Philip and Matthew. Mary Magdalene glanced at him and resisted running to confess how much she had missed him. When his eyes met hers, he smiled, stopped his work and walked over to embrace her. “I’m so glad you’re back.” He turned to the others and told them to finish preparing the camp. “Mary and I need to talk. . . . We will return in time for dinner.”

Jesus led her down the sandy trail toward the beach. He said nothing until they were far from the others. Then he stopped and took both of her hands in his. “I missed you, Mary.”

Disarmed by the sincerity in his eyes, she considered discussing some unthreatening subject—how he had been, the weather—to avoid the tension between them. She turned away and admired the harplike shape of the sea, its colors ranging from sapphire blue to jade green. She realized she had to risk being honest with him. She would either lose him or establish a new bond, truer than before. Her temples pounding, she faced him. “I had to leave. When the prostitute anointed you at Simon’s house, I felt humiliated. How could you allow such a thing?”

He was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry that I didn’t give you the letter sooner. If you had read it before we went to Simon’s house, you would have understood.”

“I still haven’t read the letter.”

“What? Didn’t Nicodemus take it to you?”

Mary watched a lone beetle scurry across the sand. “Yes, but I was too angry to read it.”

“I spent hours writing that letter.”

“I spent many more supporting your work.”

Jesus raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “I know you have, and I considered giving it all up for you, but . . . well, I prayed about it . . . all night. . . on more than one occasion. In the end, I couldn’t abandon my calling. The letter reveals what came of my prayers. I wrote it to help others who may struggle with love and attraction, as I did . . . and to honor your influence on me. Because of the struggle, I came to know God in a much fuller way, and it would be a betrayal of this knowledge not to share it.”

She touched his hand. “I told Nicodemus to keep the letter. Someday I may be ready to read it but not yet.”

He drew a long, slow breath. “You have loved me as no one else has. Don’t you see? Your love has made me sensitive to the needs of all women, even prostitutes. Please do not resent either them or me. Rather, give thanks for the love that sees good in all people, and for your part in awakening that love in me.”

Mary stepped back and glared at him. “How can I be thankful that you cared more for another woman than for me?”

He said nothing until she calmed down. Then he began to walk again and led her to the beach. The wind had picked up. Clouds were rolling in and whitecaps beginning to form atop the water. “I am so sorry, Mary.” He rubbed the sand with his foot. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was trying to help that poor woman.” He paused and glanced at Mary, his large, wide-set eyes moist. “And I will always believe that you taught me the true meaning of love. I tried to describe this love in the letter, hoping that the explanation might be consoling to you and helpful to others as well.”

Mary frowned and measured her words. “But when you spoke publicly to a prostitute, you cheapened your love for me.”

“That woman was burdened with shame. I wanted to help her recover her worth, and to teach everyone how valuable even the worst sinner is.”

Mary walked a few steps down the beach, her back toward him, and studied the distant fishing boats, pondering his words. He was affirming what Nicodemus ben Gorion had said—that Jesus had offered a radical example of love by accepting the tears and kisses of a prostitute. It still sounded like an excuse. She moved back and faced him. “But I thought that you loved only me, that we would eventually marry. I feel betrayed.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “Now I realize how stupid I was.” Without thinking, she said, “When I ran away, two men attacked me in Samaria.”

Jesus narrowed his eyes. His face reddened. Storms of turmoil rose in his expression. “Oh, Mary!” He took her in his arms and gently stroked her cheek.

She rested her head on his chest and felt his frantic breathing, which was oddly comforting. When it finally slowed, she said, “Nicodemus’ friend, Gabriel ben Zebulun, saved me. If it weren’t for Gabriel’s bravery, I would have been raped and possibly killed.” Eager to forget the traumatic memories, she continued with what was really on her mind. “I came back because I still love you.”

He began to weep. “Your suffering is my fault. How can you ever forgive me?”

Mary felt her cheeks grow hot. “I’m trying to get over what happened. I’m beginning to understand, but it’s still taking me time.” She paused and lowered her voice. “I owe Gabriel my life. Now I want to spread your message of healing and peace. Gabriel’s betrothed and his brother ran off to join the Zealots. You may be the only one who can stop them.”

Jesus wiped away his tears and grasped her hands. “The best way to stop the Zealots is to win them over to love. In order to do this, there must be a spiritual awakening in the land.”

A shudder ran through Mary, as if the force of the waves pounding the beach had entered her body. She had heard Jesus speak of love and healing many times, and she would never forget how he had healed her. But now he was speaking with deeper conviction, and this distressed her because it was leading him away from her. “If you love me, why must you let me go?”

Sadness etched his face. “I should never have allowed myself to become too close to you, Mary. I explained in the letter that the love I feel for you should lead to marriage, but I cannot marry you. I must give myself completely to preaching the kingdom of God. The destiny of our nation is at stake, for if the Zealots start a war with the Romans, thousands will die. And there’s even more at stake than this—more than you could ever imagine.”

Mary felt her jaw begin to shake. Her arms and hands trembled too. He had said the words that she feared most, and she fought to steady herself. “But I want you to continue preaching.” A wave slapped her feet, and she backed away. “Why can’t you love your work and me? I will always support your dreams.”

He glanced at the darkening sky and then at her. “My dreams bring great danger to those around me. There was another miracle, the healing of a man with a withered hand. Rumors have spread that I am the Messiah. If the Romans hear this, they will want to kill me. I do not know what all of this means or where it will lead. I just know that it would not be safe for a wife and a child.”

She kept her voice low and spoke deliberately. “True love is also a miracle. If you turn your back on it, you may never find it again.”

Jesus regarded her tenderly. “You will always be special to me, Mary, and I will always love you. But the closer you get to me, the greater your heartbreak will be if my enemies kill me.” Drawing a long, slow breath, he said, “I should have realized these things earlier, but my feelings clouded my judgment. Now I know that I cannot continue to see you in private; the others resent it, and knowing how we feel about each other, it would not be wise for either of us.”

She threw up her hands. “Why did I come back?”

“Because you feel the same for me as I do for you.” He never took his eyes from hers. “I believe that we can have an even richer future, but not as lovers or as husband and wife.”

Mary reached to embrace him, wanting to hold on to him, to bring him back. When she spoke, she felt the words clotting in her throat. “I need more from you than friendship.”

He accepted her embrace and then stepped away. “It would be easy for us to give in to passion, but I am inviting you to do something harder. We must resist the passion in order to serve something higher. In this way we will both become more than we thought we could be.”

“And how are we to do this?”

“We must manage our feelings from within and give them fully to God.”

She began to pace to lessen the impact of his words. “What you are asking is not hard—it is impossible.”

Jesus thought for a moment and then spoke. “With God all things are possible. Struggling with my feelings for you has taught me this. As I examined myself, I found more love than I ever imagined, and I learned that I must give that love to all women, all
people
, not just one. That is why I allowed the prostitute to shed tears on my feet. Without my struggle, I would never have grown strong enough to do that. You also must struggle. Otherwise you will always be vulnerable to unhealthy men like your former husband.”

Mary said nothing but stared at the parched earth, evading Jesus’ eyes. How dare he talk of struggle. Did he really know what struggle was? If he could let her go, then he clearly had never felt for her what she felt for him: losing him was like an amputation, a bloody severing of a limb that would never grow back.
What he says may be true, but he can never talk me out of loving him
. “Perhaps some day I will find the love of which you speak.”

“It is already yours, Mary. Look within yourself and you will find it.”

It really is over
, she thought. Part of her wished that she hadn’t returned; another part was glad she knew the truth. What should she do now? Could she rejoin the disciples as if nothing had happened? She knew she had no choice. Even if she couldn’t marry Jesus, she still believed he was the only one who could mediate between the Romans and the Zealots. She must stay to help—she owed it to Gabriel and to herself. Moreover, she wondered what the miracles meant. Could John be right about him? Whatever the answer, she decided that things would be different now. When they finally started back to camp, she thought,
If he wants only a distant relationship, that is what he’ll get.