The Centurion's Wife (20 page)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

The Disciples’ Courtyard

LEAH WALKED QUICKLY through Jerusalem’s streets toward the now-familiar plaza. A meager breeze found its way through crowds turned irritable by the heat and dust. When she arrived at the plaza, those there seemed unaffected by the heat. Their swift inspections of Leah were accompanied by momentary silences, then they returned to their discussions and activities. Leah retreated to the sidewall that offered a narrow slice of late morning shade. She sat and stared at the razor line of light and dark that split the cobblestones at her feet. And then the thought came,
All I need to do is . . . nothing.

Over and over the stark words whirled through her mind. She could be free. Free to join her mother. Free from being consigned to a loveless marriage. Free to return to Italy. She would be a Judaean widow, but she would be
free
.

She needed only to remain silent. Do nothing with the warning Enos had passed along.
And why not
?

It was not as though she held the dagger. She had not enraged the Judaean tetrarch. She was not the assassin. She was not arranging anything.

If she simply sat and waited, it would be done for her.

All that would be required of her was to allow a good man to die.

“Leah? Why haven’t you come inside?” A woman’s form enlarged the shadow at her feet. “We’ve been so concerned. How was the ceremony?”

Leah grew aware that she was rocking slowly, back and forth, like the religious Judaeans who filled the streets about the Temple on the Sabbath and the High Holy Days. She stilled herself by gripping her arms against her waist. “I am ordered by the prelate’s wife to come here day after day. I am commanded to report back what I find. But no one will explain what everyone is talking about, or what is
happening
.”

“The answer to what they discuss and why you are kept at a distance are closely linked.” Mary Magdalene seated herself beside Leah and laid a hand on her arm. “Four weeks ago, everyone you see here was in mourning because our beloved Rabboni had been crucified. His death was ordered by the man whose wife has sent you here.

“But even so they do not weep and wail and accuse the Romans—or even Pilate—of robbing them of the most important person in their lives, the man whom they expected to become their king. The Anointed One, sent to restore Israel and purify the Temple. They have not turned away from you in anger or with accusations, dear girl. And actually, they have questions that are not all that different from the ones you bring.”

She caught Leah’s hand. “Now, Leah, tell me about the ceremony.”

Leah shook her head, tears pushing behind her eyelids. The truth was, she could not. Not without confessing to the dreadful temptation that tore into her soul.

She had not wept the day the ship pulled away from the Venetian harbor, wrenching her away from her beloved home and mother. She had not wept at the news she was ordered to wed a man she had never even met. Yet here she sat, in a narrow strip of shade at the edge of a sunbaked plaza, surrounded by people who would prefer she stay away, listening to a woman ask about her betrothal in most loving tones.

Leah wiped her face and took a deep breath. “I don’t understand why, day after day, I am forced to return here.” She turned to stare at the woman beside her. “I have told Procula that your prophet is
dead
.”

Mary’s gaze was now fastened on a doorway at the plaza’s other end. “At the start of the week after Passover, after the terrible crucifixion, the Master’s disciples were gathered in a room above the courtyard. We had prepared a meal, and they were eating. Or rather, they would have been if they had not been so troubled. And confused. Because, you see, I had told them that I had met the Master.”

Leah blinked fiercely to clear her eyes. “You met the rabbi.

Jesus.”

“Yes.”

“After he died.”

“On the third day after his crucifixion.”

“You mean, you believe you saw his wraith.”

“It was no being from beyond the grave that I saw.”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“I reached out to embrace him, and he told me I should not do so. That he had not yet been brought before his Father. So I knelt with the others and touched his feet.”

“Others?”

“There were other women with me. We saw wounds where the nails had been driven through his feet into the wood of the cross.” Mary stopped, still staring at the distant doorway. Then she said, “I went back and told the disciples. Several ran to the tomb and saw his burial garments. Among them was his prayer shawl, the folded cloth that had been settled around his head in the burial. Peter saw this and believed. So did John. Others did not.” Her gaze had moved to the shuttered windows above the ancient doors. “That night the disciples gathered in the chamber and locked the door because they feared the ones who have sent you. Which was understandable, for these same people had crucified our Lord.”

Until that moment, Leah had not realized many of these followers of the prophet were afraid of her. She was viewed as one with the Roman power that had killed their leader.

And despite this they had not sent her away, had not excluded her from the group.

Mary Magdalene, now watching Leah closely, went on, “And then it happened.”

Leah searched the face looking into her own. What made Mary Magdalene so unique—and so believable—was her
innocence
in spite of her past. Her face was filled with a purity as intense as the sunlight. “What happened?”

“While they debated our report, arguing over what we had seen and whether we had seen it, and the significance of the empty burial tomb, Jesus came. Though the door was locked, he appeared. He stretched out his arms and he said, ‘Peace be upon you.’ He asked for a bit of fish. He showed them the places where the nails had pierced his hands and feet.”

“This man who was crucified.”

“Yes.”

“And died. And was buried.” Leah shook her head. “I do not understand how you can believe this.”

“Most of all, Leah dear, it is your unbelief that isolates you from the rest of us.”

Leah was stung. “I do not understand how so many people can sit here, day after day, arguing over whether the man they once knew has done the impossible.”

“You misunderstand.” Mary Magdalene swept one hand about, encompassing the crowded plaza. “These people no longer argue whether the Master has risen. The time for doubt is over. The Lord has appeared four times now. Twice to the men inside the locked upper room, once to his followers upon the road to Emmaus, and also, as I told you, to several of us outside the grave that could not hold him.”

Leah shook her head so her entire body swayed. “No.
No
.”

Mary Magdalene persisted, “What occupies us now is
why
. But before you can begin to delve into the why with us, you must first conquer your own unbelief.”

Leah found frustration welling up to where she almost shouted the words, “I do not understand why my mistress insists I return and ask about such things. The man is
dead
. It is
finished
.”

About the plaza, people shifted around to stare at her. But their expressions were not guarded or suspicious. They seemed to look at her with calm acceptance.

Her companion rose to her feet. “Would you take a walk with me?”

Mary Magdalene went back inside the inner keep and returned bearing a cloth satchel, the sort of shoulder bag that many local women carried when purchasing bread, vegetables, or other wares. Mary Magdalene cradled it within both of her arms, clutching it tightly to her chest as they passed through the crowded market lanes.

They walked down the central craftsmen’s avenue, which ran in a straight line from the Upper City boundary to the Dung Gate. The farther they traveled away from the Upper City, the more basic and primitive became the market stalls. Beyond the Pool of Siloam, the alleys branching off to either side were occupied by leather workers and tanners and butchers. Leah had never left the city by this gate. She had no reason to, since this led to the juncture of the Kidron and Hinnom Valleys and the city’s burial grounds.

Mary Magdalene must have noticed Leah’s rising unease, for she said, “Have no fear.”

Beyond the gate they took a path that led them along the valley floor. They entered a grove of desert pines, stunted trees clustered together like a crowd of old men. But the shade was welcome and the trees scented the air with their resin. Mary Magdalene said, “The last time I walked this path was just before dawn on the Sabbath after Passover. The soldiers had cut my Master’s body down from the cross. . . .”

She faltered, and tears dimmed her eyes. She tripped over a tree root and would have fallen if Leah had not been there to catch her arm.

“This is more difficult than I thought,” Mary whispered.

“Here, sit yourself on this rock. Shall I fetch water?”

“No, no, join me, please.”

“There is not room.”

“We can make ourselves small.” Mary sidled over and patted the surface beside her. “Please.”

Uncertainly, Leah settled onto the cool stone. In truth it felt good to give her feet a rest. The day was hot enough for the cobblestones to have baked through her sandals.

Mary Magdalene stared at the sunlit expanse beyond the trees. “A wealthy man by the name of Joseph of Arimathea was a secret follower of our Lord.”

“I know that name.” Leah recalled overhearing the discussion between Pilate and Alban. Her mind leapt from there to the choice Enos had unwittingly placed before her. The scalding indecision bit deeper still. She cleared her throat. “This Joseph asked Pilate for the prophet’s body.”

“Joseph of Arimathea’s burial chamber is carved from the hillside just over there,” Mary said, pointing. “Several of us followed him and another man, Nicodemus is his name, as they brought our Lord here. They were hurrying, for the Passover Sabbath was approaching. I was in no condition to recall the exact hour though. The sky was bleak and dark as my heart. You see, if Jesus was dead, then he was not who we had thought him to be, for Jehovah cannot die. He was not the Messiah as we had expected. He was an imposter. We were all overcome with despair. We held one another and wept—not just for him—but for ourselves as well.”

Mary lifted an edge of her shawl and wiped her eyes. “We returned before dawn on the first day of the week. We had agreed to meet here at sunrise, and I was the first to arrive. I was in this grove, almost in this very spot. The earth shook and I saw a flash of light beyond the trees. I was frightened at the earthquake and waited for a while. When I thought it was safe to approach the tomb, the stone was gone, and the soldiers were no longer here. The tomb was empty. Angels told my friends, who had by now arrived, that the Lord was gone from this place. I did not understand and could only stand outside and weep.

“And the Lord appeared to me.”

Mary looked a long time into Leah’s eyes, then reached into the satchel and pulled out a beautiful alabaster urn. “Each of us had come with spiced ointments to embalm our Master’s body. There had not been time to do so before the Passover began. But they were not used.”

“I . . . I don’t understand.”

“My Lord was alive. Alive! There he stood before me. The knowledge of my forgiveness washed over me again. I was free. Free from my sin. From my wretched past. I could see it in his eyes—and then he spoke my name. Just my name. But it told me everything I wanted to hear.”

Leah realized she was trembling. Tears were running down her own cheeks, though she could not have said why. She wiped them quickly on a sleeve and tried to shake off the intensity of her emotions.

Mary went on, “He didn’t stay with us for long. I was anxious to return and tell the others that he was alive. I assumed he would be with us again as before. But it is different now. As I said, he has visited us several times, but I feel . . .” She shook herself as though to bring her thoughts back in line. “We are fickle people at best. The enemy of our souls takes full advantage of that fact. Shamefully, I admit that in the days following, I had times of doubt. Had I been dreaming? Was it a cruel vision? Had it been wishful thinking that had brought me to simply fanciful thinking?

“That morning I returned home with the jar of spices.” She held the jar out in front of her. “Each morning when I would arise, I would look at the jar and I would say to myself, ‘We went to the tomb to anoint him for his burial. He was not there. He had risen, as he promised.’ As I said the words, relief washed over me in the knowledge that it was true. It is as real as life itself.”

For a moment the jar was poised between her hands, then she held it out to Leah. “I want you to have this.”

She knew how much the jar of spices meant to Mary, how expensive it was, both the alabaster itself and its contents. “I can’t accept it.”

“The jar is now yours. I don’t need it any longer, Leah. I am fully assured that he is alive. Even on the days I do not see him.” Love shone from Mary’s face. “Because I accept this, I am beginning to understand now why he had to die. He was the sacrifice for our sin. Not just mine. For all of us. The perfect Lamb that God promised to send. But this work is finished now—just as he said. Through him, we no longer stand condemned. It is almost beyond comprehension. We are free, Leah. Forgiven and free.”