Fifth Gospel(71)

‘But this love, Lea…is it magic?’

‘It is wisdom, a wisdom that works like magic in the soul. To one, this wisdom is as sweet as honey, pairé, while to another, it is bitter. This good will enabled those at the wedding to see what lived in Mariam, and they never again called her the stepmother of Jesus. They called her…the Mother of God.’

Now, as I walk in this darkness, those words ring in my ears and I remember how a rush of understanding had washed over me.

‘Oh my! This is the Mother of God!’ I said to Lea, ‘This is how the Sophia of our faith, the Sophia of the Greeks and the Gnostics, is one with the Mary of the Catholics!’

‘Yes, pairé,’ she said simply. In her eye there was a look I had seen before, the look of a mother observing a child experiencing the simple joy of discovery.





34


A GOOD WIFE




As Claudia Procula entered the large court on her husband’s arm she sensed his muscles tense.

This night he wore a red cloak over the insignia of his military office, and it did much to temper the paleness of his face, held in check to appear calm and relaxed. She watched him scan the open court of the praetorium, decorated with plump cushions and silks, lighted candles and flowers. Beyond it the sun was setting and a hint of coolness had come to rescue the heat of the day. All seemed harmonious. Only Claudia knew the reason for her husband’s discomfiture and perhaps, because of it, she walked beside him with calm and poise, her back straight, her chin raised so as to accentuate the length of the neck, the curvature of the cheeks and the groomed hair that cascaded in browns over gold combs.

She had chosen a regal dress that moved in long volumes of white and yellow silk around her legs. There was no jewellery to accompany it, save a necklace of gold, a present from her grandfather, Caesar Augustus. Yes, Claudia was a creature of politics, accustomed to intrigues and machinations, and she knew she must not seem grand, she must exude a simple grace and charm, and her smile must make even the most difficult person melt to the soles of his sandals.

For this was an important night.

The previous week, after a disturbance at the Temple, her husband had cancelled his family’s return to Caesarea. He wasted no time in dispatching messages to Herod Antipas and the High Priests, requiring them to attend a banquet, over which they would discuss the disturbance. This would not only redress the imbalance of power, which had existed since his posting to Judea, but it would also give him the opportunity he had long sought, to see what friendship and alliance, if any, existed between priests and king.

Claudia had made it her personal task to see to all the practical arrangements and had spent the entire week before the banquet attending to the smallest detail. She had the praetorium appropriately cleansed of idols and representations of the gods of Rome. In her kitchen, Roman cooks and servants were traded for Jew counterparts, and all utensils, dishes and trays, everything down to the smallest knife, was discarded and bought anew to ensure no unintentional contamination by forbidden substances. She allowed a handful of priests to come then, to inspect every corner of her home for anything that might be seen as unclean – anything that might contradict Hebrew law. In truth, it had been a monumental task, for even their son’s playthings had to be removed from the house, lest they injure the priest’s sensibilities. But she understood the reason for these measures. She did not wish to give any opportunity to those who would cast her husband in the mould of a man insensitive and dishonourable, a desecrator of Hebrew law, and a hater of the people of Israel.

Now, as her husband led her to the tables where sat their guests, she greeted them cordially and gave a command for the servants to bring in the food: the best fish cooked in garlic and spices, fried locusts, fresh vegetables and fruits, pastries and sweetmeats. One servant after another came and went, serving food and pouring Galilean and Judean wine, while from the galleries wafted the sounds of drums and flutes.

The high priest Caiaphas sat at the table on her right. The short, portly man was too small for his garments and his towering mitre, which threatened to topple from his head. He sat scratching his back and looking discomforted, as if he had left something of himself behind at the Temple and would now need to return for it. Beside him sat another priest, a taller and thinner man, who appeared to be the senior of the two. His sour-eyes were those of a man who is dragged to a place foul and suspicious, fraught with hidden desecrations.

Conversely, on the table to Claudia’s left, the family of Herod were to the priests like night is to day. Herodias, entirely dressed in red, seemed comfortable and confident, and nodded with an air of amusement in Claudia’s direction. Claudia returned the nod with cool urbanity, acknowledging also Herod Antipas, wearing robes of Murex purple threaded with gold. He sat between his wife and Salome, his stepdaughter, who was adorned in a silken dress of azure blue embroidered with silver. She appeared the opposite of her name, for there was nothing tranquil about her. When her eyes touched on Claudia the impression they made was of stagnant ponds full of insects. Her mouth was curled in scorn, as if Claudia had been a promise of entertainment, which had failed to meet with her approval. Claudia, for her part, ignored it.