The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene

by Frank G. Slaughter

  The next day Joseph received a cryptic summons to the apartment of the old high priest Annas. Correctly surmising that he was to go before the political Sanhedrin, Joseph took the precaution this time of taking Nicodemus with him, lest Caiaphas and the others try to trap him on some minor point in the law.

  The same group was waiting, but it was the high priest Caiaphas, cold-eyed and furious, who opened the attack upon him even before the short exchange of greetings demanded by courtesy was finished.

  “Why did you not stay with the blasphemer they call Jesus of Nazareth?” he demanded.

  “I heard no blasphemy uttered by Jesus,” Joseph said stoutly.

  Caiaphas brushed his denial contemptuously aside. “You are a spy sent back here to keep contact with the Zealots who plot with the Nazarene. What will your friend Pontius Pilate think when I send him word of this?”

  “Pontius Pilate knows I speak only the truth,” Joseph said quietly. “He will believe me when I deny such a false charge.”

  Caiaphas whitened and bit his full upper lip until it seemed that his teeth would penetrate the flesh.

  To ease some of the tension Elias asked, “Where has Jesus of Nazareth gone, Joseph?”

  “I believe His is staying with friends in Bethany.”

  “Jesus did not have to leave unless He wished,” Nicodemus said quietly.

  “Why?” Caiaphas wheeled upon him.

  “Because He is the Christ,” the lawyer said simply. “Jesus could have stricken you and your hirelings dead where you stood if He had wished.”

  “We know where this man comes from,” Caiaphas thundered. “He is a carpenter of Galilee. When the Christ appears no one will know where He comes from.”

  “Have you forgotten the prophecies of Isaiah?” Nicodemus reminded him.

  Caiaphas shrugged. “Is the Christ to come from Galilee?” he demanded. “Do not the Scriptures say that the Christ is descended from David, and comes from Bethlehem, the city where David was?”

  “Many prophecies refer to the coming of the Messiah,” Nicodemus pointed out. “Some we understand, some we do not. How can you say He can be only of one place and not of another, when you cannot be sure of the meaning?” It was a telling point, for even the most learned Pharisees often quarreled over the meaning of many things in the Books of the Law and the Prophets.

  “Jesus is a blasphemer,” Caiaphas said flatly. “That is enough to earn Him a sentence of death.”

  “Why did you not bring Him before the council then,” Joseph asked, “instead of sending men to inflame the mob and have Him stoned? Does our law judge a man without first giving him a hearing and learning what he has done?”

  “You are from Galilee,” Caiaphas sneered. “Search and you will see that no prophet is to rise from Galilee.”

  “You accused Joseph just now of being a spy, Caiaphas,” Nicodemus said evenly. “It is a charge not lightly made. Let us take him before the Great Sanhedrin and have all this brought to light. There are many just men among the council who will not like to hear that you sent your hirelings among the Pharisees to stir up the crowd against Jesus. To bring about a man’s death outside the law is murder and punishable by death. Even the high priest is not immune from the justice of the Most High.”

  Caiaphas blanched before this threat. He knew well that Nicodemus, as one of the most respected among the doctors of the law, and Joseph, the medicus viscerus, would be heard carefully and their charges thoroughly weighed by the Sanhedrin. “I—I spoke in anger,” he admitted lamely. “No one charges Joseph of Galilee with breaking the law. You may both go.”

  “Be careful, Joseph,” Nicodemus cautioned when they were outside the building. “The high priest is a venomous man and he is close to Pontius Pilate. We have no way of knowing what lies he will tell the procurator, or what plots he will make against you.”

  It was the week of the Feast of the Unleavened Bread, which would culminate with the Passover celebration. The whole city was preparing for the greatest of all the religious celebrations, for which Jews had been arriving in Jerusalem by the thousands from the farthermost cities of the empire. It was during this time that the children of Israel traditionally buried any differences they might have had with each other in a common giving of thanks for their deliverance from Egypt centuries before. Called the Passover because it commemorated the sparing of the firstborn when God passed over the houses of the Jews in Egypt and took the sons of the Egyptians instead, the holiday was characterized by eating unleavened bread, symbolizing the deliverance from Egypt according to the promise made by God to Moses, their leader, and bitter herbs, a sign of the bitterness that had been the lot of the children of Israel as slaves of the pharaohs.

  In the temple and in the synagogues the ceremony of worship would include a prayer of thanks and recitations of praise to “Him who wrought for us and for our fathers all these miracles. He brought us out from slavery to freedom, from sadness to joy, from mourning to festivity, from darkness to great light, from oppression to deliverance.”

  And as always before the Passover, Pontius Pilate returned to Jerusalem with a large reinforcement of the normal garrison of Roman troops, lest the excitable Jews, stirred to a new fever of nationalism by this week of celebration, in which they were reminded daily of the time when they had freed themselves as a nation from the heavy hand of another oppressor in Egypt, be tempted to revolt.

  Joseph paid a call upon the procurator as soon as he was installed in his palace. The discomforts of the journey from Tiberias had stirred up Pilate’s gout, even though he had ridden in the royal chariot, and he was, even more than usually moody and irascible. While Joseph applied leeches to the swollen toe, Pilate fumed against Herod Antipas, the population of Jerusalem, and this part of the world in general.

  “I trust the Lady Claudia Procula is in good health,” Joseph said courteously when Pilate paused for breath.

  “She has spent a better winter than usual,” Pilate admitted. And then added testily, “But she attributes it to faith in the Teacher, Jesus of Nazareth, instead of the climate, which has been more favorable than for a long time.”

  “I have noticed that those who are calm in spirit are ill less often than those who are distraught.”

  Pilate shot him a surprised glance. “Even with such a thing as a gouty toe?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Absurd!” Pilate snapped. “What possible good can it do to go mooning around about eternal life and doing good to others? Power is the only thing that counts in this world, or any other that I know of.”

  Joseph was familiar with Pilate’s way of thinking and wanted nothing less than to get into an argument over his philosophy of power. To change the subject he asked, “Did the Lady Claudia Procula come with you to Jerusalem?”

  Pilate shook his head. “Yes, she is.” Pilate looked at Joseph quizzically. “While in Jericho awhile back she saw Jesus. Is what I have heard true, Joseph? Are you really one of His followers?”

  “Yes,” Joseph admitted. “I am sure the teachings of Jesus are the best way of life for all men.”

  “I am not talking about His philosophy,” Pilate said testily. “Many others have said the same things. Do you believe He is the Christ that you Jews have been expecting?”

  “I don’t know,” Joseph admitted.

  “Did you ever hear Him claim to be the Messiah?”

  Joseph shook his head. “No, I have not personally heard him say that.”

  The procurator stared at him speculatively, his lips pursed. “You would not lie to me, Joseph,” he said, “I am sure of that, and whatever they say about me, I am a just man. If I listened to Caiaphas, I would arrest Jesus and execute Him tomorrow for proclaiming Himself king of the Jews. Yet if He does make that claim, I have no choice. There can be but one ruler in Judea or anywhere else, Joseph: th
e emperor in whose name I govern.”

  “I am sure Jesus does not desire to be king of the Jews,” Joseph said earnestly. “He is only trying to change the hearts and souls of men, not their political beliefs or their government.”

  “What you say may be true of the man Himself,” Pilate admitted. “To me He is just another fanatic, like the one Herod killed. But the Zealots were ready to proclaim Him king in Galilee last fall when He suddenly withdrew into the hills. And they were preparing to do the same here in Jerusalem at that heavily symbolic entry He made the other day. But then He just left the city!”

  “You seem to know a great deal about His actions.”

  “It is my business to know such things. Judea has had peace for many years because I usually know what is going to happen before it happens.”

  “Does not Jesus’ withdrawal at these times prove that He does not wish to be a temporal leader?” Joseph suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Pilate shrugged. “But you could also argue that His followers had become too enthusiastic before the time was yet ripe for the rebellion they plan.”

  “What are you going to do?” Joseph asked, trying to make his tone noncommittal.

  Pilate laughed. “You would never make a conspirator, Joseph. Your thoughts show in your face. But you may tell Nicodemus and the rest of those who follow the Nazarene that I have no desire to destroy Him, so long as He is not so foolish as to let the hotheads among His disciples proclaim Him king. Then I would have no choice. Emperor Tiberius rules in Judea, Joseph, with Pontius Pilate as his deputy. Always remember that.”

  XVIII

  With the Feast of the Passover only day away, Jerusalem teemed with travelers and pilgrims from every part of the Roman Empire. The lodging places within the city were quickly filled, and the overflow of travelers spilled out into the surrounding villages—Bethphage, Bethany, and others, even as far as Emmaus, about seven miles away. Here Nicodemus had a country villa, a lovely place at the head of a small valley, to which he liked to go in the spring when the flowers and the fields were just beginning to awaken to new life. When Joseph received a call to visit his friend at Emmaus, he was glad to have an opportunity to get away from the clogged streets of the city and the constant babble of voices in every language that characterized Jerusalem at Passover time.

  Nicodemus was not very sick. Joseph’s diagnosis was merely one of the intermittent fevers that came and went here, often being worse in the spring with the onset of warm weather. He prescribed a bitter draught and hot spiced drinks to bring on a sweat and lessen the fever, and then started back to the city, for he still had many patients to see that afternoon.

  The hills were covered with the flowers of spring as Joseph rode along. Daffodils bloomed everywhere, interspersed with clumps of sea leek, the “flower of Sharon” with its star-shaped blooms of purest white. Occasionally a patch of “cuckoo flowers,” with blossoms shaped like a lady’s smock, set the bright color of lilac against the white. And everywhere were the thistles and the burnet, with its thorns and tiny leaves of darkest green and red blossoms like drops of blood. The burnet was both useful and beautiful, for it was used to make the hot blast of the lime kilns as well as to heat the cooking fires upon the rude hearths of the countryfolk.

  As he rode, Joseph thought about the events that had transpired in the last few days. He wondered why Jesus would knowingly walk into a place that wanted Him dead. Mary had simply said, “The time is now, Joseph. He has come to fulfill the prophecies.”

  Joseph was concerned that with Pilate in Jerusalem, he and Caiaphas would certainly take Jesus’ appearance here now as a sign that He intends to be proclaimed king. Even among Jesus’ own followers, there appeared to be uncertainty. Joseph had noticed a change in Judas Iscariot and had mentioned it to Mary, who had noticed it as well. She admitted that perhaps Judas was finally realizing that Jesus would not let Himself be proclaimed king. Even the rest of the disciples seemed subdued, disappointed that Jesus was not going to lead a rebellion. It didn’t make sense to Joseph. Now, if ever, would be the time for Jesus to whip the crowded city into a religious frenzy by means of some startling miracle that might well have culminated in His being proclaimed the Christ and king of Judea, but after riding into Jerusalem a few days earlier, He had done nothing to attract attention to Himself. Still, when He sat down to teach, His audience was far larger than that gathered around the other teachers who drew crowds at this season of religious enthusiasm.

  Joseph did not think for a moment that Caiaphas, hating Jesus as he did, had given up hope of arresting Him and having Him executed. But the crowd that followed the Nazarene Teacher was still large enough to make it unsafe for the high priest to arrest Him in broad daylight. For then the people would swarm to the trial before the Sanhedrin that must inevitably follow, and with as much sentiment as there was in the Sanhedrin itself in favor of the gentle Teacher of Nazareth, Caiaphas would stand little chance of convicting Him of blasphemy. Those who were regarded as prophets had always been allowed to speak more freely by far than those who could claim no such divine inspiration. And Jesus was already acclaimed a prophet by many of the Jews.

  In a few more days the Passover season would be finished and many of those who thronged the streets and listened to the teachers upon Solomon’s Porch would depart again for their homes.

  When Joseph returned that afternoon to Jerusalem, Mary met him. She had remained at his estate most of the time, for only the inner circle of the disciples accompanied the Master on His nightly visits to Bethany.

  “Jesus asked us to help Mary, the mother of Mark, prepare a supper for Him and the Twelve tonight,” she explained. This Mary was the sister of Barnabas, a leader of those in Jerusalem who followed the Nazarene. Her son Mark was still only a lad, but he, too, believed along with his mother. Often when in the city, Jesus and the Twelve rested there before going out to Bethany in the evening.

  “But why tonight?” Joseph asked in surprise. “The Passover feast is not until tomorrow evening.”

  “I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “The Master insisted upon eating tonight with the Twelve at Mary’s house.” She gripped his hand tightly. “Have you looked in His eyes lately, Joseph? I am terribly afraid of what I see there.”

  “Nothing that we feared has happened,” he protested. “And the Passover season has almost ended.”

  “What if Jesus knows His time has come and this is the farewell meal with His disciples?”

  “Prophets often speak parables that we cannot understand,” Joseph comforted her. “He may have meant something else when He spoke of being killed.”

  “Promise that you will watch outside the house where He eats tonight,” Mary begged. “It will be the only night since He returned to Jerusalem that Jesus has remained in the city.”

  “I will watch,” he promised her. “And Hadja will be with me. If anyone comes, we can give the alarm.”

  Darkness had already fallen when Joseph and Hadja took up their watch outside the house. It was warm, and the curtains of the windows of the upper room where Jesus sat at supper with His disciples had been drawn aside. From time to time the voices of those at the feast grew loud enough for Joseph to hear as he waited nearby in the shadow of a clump of bushes. Hadja was on the other side in order to command a view of the street from another direction.

  Mary came out to bring food and a small flask of wine to Joseph and Hadja. She clung to Joseph for a moment in the shadows, as if seeking to draw strength from him as she had so many times in the days since Jesus had returned to Jerusalem. “Watch well, Joseph,” she begged. “I have a feeling that the end is near.”

  As the feast in the upper room went on and nothing happened, Joseph began to be more and more certain that they had wrongly interpreted Jesus’ words about being arrested in Jerusalem and put to death. Then suddenly the Master’s voice rose above the others in the room. �
�Truly I say to you,” Joseph heard Him say, “one of you will betray me, one who is eating with me.”

  Immediately there was a babble of questioning as one after another of the disciples asked, “Is it I?”

  “It is one of the Twelve,” Jesus said, “one who is dipping bread in the same dish with me.”

  Joseph felt a sudden dread grip his heart, for Jesus’ voice had been resigned, as if, with His prophetic insight, He already knew exactly what was going to happen. Could Mary’s fears really be justified? Could her intuition have been really a forewarning of some terrible thing that was to happen here in Jerusalem at the Passover season?

  Soon they all began to sing a hymn, by which Joseph knew that the supper was over and the group was breaking up. He drew a sigh of relief, for now they would leave the city, and whatever threat hung over Jesus would be averted, at least until tomorrow when He returned.

  Joseph was on the point of calling Hadja to draw back into the shadows so that the others would not know they had been watching, when the door of the house burst open and a man plunged from it. The tall figure with the hawklike profile and the iron-gray hair could not be mistaken, and as the man of Kerioth ran past him, Joseph got a glimpse of his face in the light of a lamp that burned outside the door of Mary’s house. It was set in an even harsher cast than usual, and he realized suddenly that something important had happened in the upper room to fill Judas with such a fiery purpose. As he plunged on up the street, half running, Joseph obeyed a sudden impulse and followed him.

  Across the now quiet city Judas went almost at a trot with Joseph close behind, hard put to keep up. Judas never looked back, and only when he reached the palace of Caiaphas and was challenged by the armed guard that stood always before the door did he stop. The challenge was perfunctory, however, and he was admitted as soon as the guard was able to see who he was. Obviously, Joseph realized as he drew back into the shadows lest the guard see him, Judas was expected.