Poisoned Honey: A Story of Mary Magdalene (18 page)

Phomelei answered me,
First, understand that Eleazar’s spirit has no right to trouble you. You filled your wifely duties better than he—

A harsh, ugly voice broke in.
We taught that man a lesson, didn’t we? Wasn’t it fun to watch him twitch and mumble, his face sagging lopsided?

A grating laugh burst from my mouth, and Kanarit turned again. “Don’t do that, cousin Mari,” she begged. “I don’t like that voice.” Susannah, who had been washing her baby’s face, looked up with a frown, but then he cooed and drew her attention back.

Shaken, I tried to soothe Kanarit while Phomelei took charge again.
Never mind that brute, Odjit; I have him under control now. As for the bothersome spirit of Eleazar: if you believe what I say, this recipe will bar him from your home
. She advised me to brew a mixture of wormwood and gall and smear it on the lintel of my door.

I did so, and sure enough, I had no more dreams about my dead husband. Susannah asked me about the stain on the door frame, but I told her it was a substance to keep out biting insects. Luckily, Susannah didn’t notice how little effect the mixture had on the wasps that swarmed around the fig tree by my door.

A few days later, as I chased a wasp around my apartment, a man appeared at the courtyard gate and asked the serving woman for Silas. I recognized him as a scribe from the synagogue.

After a moment or two, Silas came to my door with a serious expression. The visitor was a messenger from the council of elders. They were holding an inquiry, and they wished to ask some questions of Eleazar’s widow.

“It’s just a matter of a few questions, they say,” Silas tried to reassure me. “I’ll come with you.”

Silas was being kind, but fear put a sour taste in my mouth. Did they suspect me?

Don’t be afraid
, chirped a familiar voice in my ear.
No one knows what you did to that old lizard, except us friends of yours. Just do what we tell you, and you’ll be safe
.

So I covered my head and walked with Silas to the assembly hall. It seemed strange to climb up the broad stone steps on an ordinary day. I’d never been in the synagogue building for anything but Sabbath prayer meetings.

On this day, Silas and I were shown to a chamber off the main hall. The usher waved Silas to a seat against the wall and showed me to a bench facing a table with three empty chairs behind it. Another woman already sat on the bench, and although her back was to me, I recognized Chava’s shawl. Sure enough, it was Chava who turned to glance at me. She looked frightened, too.

I sat down on the bench, as far from Chava as possible, and then we had to rise as Elder Thomas and two other men from the council entered. One elder, wrinkled and white-bearded, walked with a staff. The other, a stocky man with a bald head, was dressed in even finer robes than Elder Thomas. The scribe who’d summoned me came with them,
carrying tablets and stylus, and took his place standing at a high desk. The elders sat down in the chairs.

“Peace to all,” said Elder Thomas briskly. He turned to Silas. “This is only an informal hearing, but understand that our questions must be answered fully and honestly. We who lead the Jews of Magdala are troubled that some of our community are disobeying the Law against images. This is not a private matter, you understand. If one in the group sins, the whole group is affected. As it is written: ‘Did not Achan the son of Zerah break faith in the matter of the devoted things, and wrath fell upon all the congregation of Israel?’”

The elder then spoke to Chava and me. “Widow of Eleazar bar Yohannes, and daughter-in-law of Eleazar bar Yohannes. It has been reported that heathen images appeared in the house where you lived with the aforementioned man.” He placed a pouch on the table, opened the drawstring, and picked out the green scarab with wooden tongs.

“His brother and heir, Hiram bar Yohannes, found this”—he held up the scarab—“in Eleazar bar Yohannes’s chest. And this image of a heathen goddess”—he held up a piece of broken pottery, again using tongs, and grimacing at the clusters of breasts—“was discovered in the alley behind the deceased man’s house, evidently thrown off the roof.” He looked straight at me. “What do you know of these?”

My knees, already watery, began to tremble. How would
the elders punish idolatry—by flogging? Then I heard Phomelei’s firm, cool voice:
Say: “I did not bring the heathen images into the house of my husband. Perhaps Chava, who ran his household, knows where they came from.”
I kept my eyes downcast before the elders, but I repeated the words in my own firm, cool voice.

“Well?” asked Elder Thomas, turning to Chava.

I expected her to accuse me in turn, but Chava seemed to have lost her nerve. “If only dear Father-in-law”—her voice broke with emotion—“were here to tell you what a disgraceful excuse for a wife—”

“Stop!” Elder Thomas leaned forward, frowning solemnly from Chava to me. “Can’t you see, the important thing is, our Jewishness is at stake? We’re ruled by Gentiles; we’re forced to live cheek by jowl with Gentiles—and all you women can think about is your petty grudges!”

I was afraid they would punish both Chava and me, just to punish someone. Then the bald, stocky elder spoke up. “Yes, it’s deplorable how these women behave, but it seems they know nothing of the images. Isn’t it more probable that the Egyptian is to blame? Let Ramla of Alexandria be brought before us.”

This made no sense; as far as I knew, Ramla had never even set foot in Eleazar’s compound. I stole a glance at Chava, who also looked puzzled. But then she burst out, “The Egyptian did visit Father-in-law, now that I think of it.”

I stared at her. Chava stared back, as if daring me to defend Ramla.
Say nothing
, counseled Aiandictor.
You’ll only cause trouble for yourself. The elders want to blame the Egyptian, not one of their own
. I said nothing.

An assistant to the elders led Ramla through the doorway. This day, she was dressed like any ordinary respectable woman of Galilee, in a long-sleeved tunic, robe, and head scarf. The only unusual thing about her appearance was the parrot perched on her wrist. Her husband/bodyguard followed her into the room and stood against the wall near Silas.

Bowing to the elders, Ramla spoke in a shrill voice. “Sirs, I must protest this high-handed treatment—forcing me to appear before you, even searching my dwelling! The Jewish council has no authority over an Egyptian such as myself.”

“The evidence, revered elders,” said the assistant. “This item was found in her room at the Syrian inn.” He put a scroll, which I recognized as Ramla’s Scroll of Wisdom, down on the table.

Elder Thomas frowned at the scroll before he turned to Ramla, still frowning. “You are correct, woman of Egypt, in that this council has no right to punish you ourselves. But the civil magistrates listen carefully to our recommendations.”

Ramla sat down on the bench between Chava and me.
She took hold of my hand, and I felt her trembling. She must be imagining, as I had, how it would feel to be flogged. The parrot squawked,
“Shalom
, Mariamne.”

The elders are watching you
, cautioned Aiandictor’s smooth voice. I didn’t answer the parrot, and I pulled my hand out of Ramla’s.

The elders seemed glad to turn from Chava and me and our family quarrel to Ramla, a foreigner and a known dealer in magic. Elder Thomas began with a stern lecture. “Ramla of Alexandria, you realize that we only tolerate your presence in Magdala. If we find that you have tempted any Jews to take up heathen practices, we will use our influence with the civil authorities, and you will find yourself very unwelcome in this town. And if your actions have caused harm to one of our synagogue, we will turn you over to the courts for punishment.”

Elder Thomas went on in that vein, and the other two elders added their comments, throwing in quotations from Scripture. Ramla sat silent and shaking, but the parrot squawked out one of its senseless remarks: “Adjo loves Naomi.” Meanwhile, the scribe picked up the scroll and began to read, moving his lips silently. As he unrolled the parchment, his expression turned from a frown into bafflement.

Finally, the eldest of the council suggested looking at the
new evidence. Elder Thomas nodded to the scribe. “Have you examined the scroll of magic spells found in this foreign woman’s dwelling?”

The scribe cleared his throat in an embarrassed way. “Yes, revered elder, I have examined the entire document.”

“Well?” asked the aged elder.

“It is written in common Greek,” said the scribe.

“What?” exclaimed Elder Thomas. “I can see from here that the handles are carved with Egyptian hieroglyphs.”

“They are,” admitted the scribe, “but the parchment doesn’t match the handles. It’s coarsely finished, and it seems to have been glued onto the handles rather inexpertly.”

“Yes, yes, never mind,” said the bald elder. “Tell us the contents of the scroll.”

The scribe coughed gently. “Revered elders, this scroll is … a bill of lading.” He bent his head over the scroll and began to read. “Received by Kronos, captain of the ship
Dolphin
, of Apollodoros, merchant of Cyprus: Two hundred amphorae of olive oil. To be delivered unbroken and full to the warehouse at Joppa.” He glanced up. “It goes on like this.”

The elders looked dumbfounded. Then Elder Thomas asked, “Could this not be a kind of code for magic spells?”

The scribe shook his head. “Revered sirs, this is certainly a bill of lading.”

The elders all turned toward Ramla. “Ramla of Alexandria, explain yourself,” ordered Elder Thomas.

Ramla answered in an unmystical tone with no trace of her Egyptian accent. She admitted that she’d filched an old bill of lading from a merchant’s storeroom. Her husband/ bodyguard had carved the handles for the scroll, inscribed them with hieroglyphs copied from a public obelisk, and glued the bill of lading onto the handles.

Elder Thomas gave her a piercing look. “You are not actually from Egypt, are you?”

Ramla said with lowered gaze, “No. My father was Jewish, from Joppa; my mother was Phoenician. They named me Naomi.”

“Naomi,” echoed the parrot.

“In other words,” said the bald elder, “you are a fraud.”

The elders conferred in whispers for a moment. Then Elder Thomas announced their decision: for the offense of bringing Gentile images into Jewish households (Ramla/ Naomi protested here, but at a threatening look she fell silent), Ramla was to leave Magdala at once, taking her parrot and husband (or was he her bodyguard?), and never return. Chava and I received a lecture on our selfish and quarrelsome hearts, but we were free to go.

Back home, Susannah brewed me a cup of calming mint
tea. She let Kanarit carry it to me. “The child was so worried about you,” Susannah whispered to me. “So was I.” She added to Kanarit, who was watching me solemnly, “You see? Cousin Mari is fine after all.”

I gave the little girl a secret smile and wink, and then I told Susannah what had happened at the council. “I
knew
she was an imposter!” exclaimed my cousin. “Ramla of Alexandria, indeed!”

“Well, as a name for a wise woman, Naomi of Joppa doesn’t have quite the right ring,” I said. We laughed and laughed.

After the first thrill of relief, though, I had troubling thoughts. That night, I entered my private garden with many questions. Was Ramla truly a fraud, or had she pretended to be a fraud in order not to be punished? If Ramla was a fraud, then how could the magic she’d taught me work so well? What of my sparrow companion, and my invisible guides and counselors? What of the spell I’d cast against my husband?

Wings brushed my hair as the sparrow lighted on my shoulder.
Don’t you understand? You’re the one with magical gifts, not Ramla! You, not she, can enter the spirit world at will. You, not Ramla, commune with powerful spirit advisors. You, not Ramla, cast potent spells
.

It must be true! My mood soared, and I laughed out loud.

Phomelei, also laughing, was waiting to greet me with a slim, winsome young man.
I am Aiandictor, my lady
, he said, bowing, and I recognized his smooth voice. I’d expected those two, as well as the sparrow on my shoulder.

However, there were also several other beings in the garden. I could only glimpse them from the corner of my eye, but there seemed to be something strange about each of them. I thought I saw ears like a donkey’s, and someone else’s skin seemed to shimmer like scales—or was it only brocaded cloth? “Who are these others?” I asked Phomelei.

Why, these are your attendants, my lady
, said the Greek woman.
Behold those whose only wish is to serve you! Dionesiona. Odjit. Zaphaunt. Panhasaziel
.

I was reassured, although I still couldn’t see them clearly. Crowding around me, they placed a laurel wreath on my head and seated me on a gilded chair.
Hail, Mariamne, sorceress of great power!
said Aiandictor.
Aren’t you pleased with us? We turned the elders’ suspicions to Ramla! We confused those old hypocrites!

I took the jeweled goblet they pushed into my hand and drank the sweet, spicy drink. It made me giddy. “Yes,” I giggled, “I
am
well pleased with you!”