According to Mary Magdalene by Marianne Fredriksson

used to it. Circular walls here, too, dark as if in a womb. They sat in silence at the table as the food was put out. Mary was hungry. She took some bread, and as she bit into it, a foolish thought raced through her head. She would like to have the recipe.
    Then she tried to give thanks for all the help her young relative had received, but the old woman did not want to hear. “You have a strong god,” she said.
    Mary had no time to think. For the first time since she had come to Antioch, the whole amazing story of Jesus of Nazareth swept through her as if from a spring that could no longer be stemmed. She did not weep, even when it came to the crucifixion. Not until she described how the disciples had rejected her and the other women did her voice break.
    The old woman looked sad. “I had hoped the new man of god would restore the womanly force on earth.”
    Then Mary wept. “Nothing will change,” she said finally. “The apostles are Jews, rooted in ancient prejudices that woman has no soul and man is the only human being.”
    “It's not just the Jews. The ancient goddess lost power all over our world. People free themselves from agriculture, from childbirth, and from the flow of life. We are heading for the time of the big city, for the era of the merchants.”
    They were interrupted by a young priestess who told them the women from the harbor town had arrived and were waiting for the priestess in the courtyard.
    The old woman explained. “We bring the prostitutes here in groups and cure their diseases and injuries as best we can. They are given rest, baths, and new clothes. Unfortunately that is all we can do.”
    Mary thought about Jesus' words and everything she had neglected. “For I was hungry and you gave me meat; I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you took me in. Naked, and you clothed me. I was sick and you visited me. I was in prison and you came unto me.”
    As they parted out in the courtyard, the sun was already high. Another hot day had begun.
    “May I come back?”
    “Come early. The mornings are best.”
    Mary crossed the courtyard, avoiding looking at the prostitutes and their gaudily-painted faces.
    Livia, pale and tired, was sitting with Mera. The child was asleep. Mary said goodbye to Mera. “I'll be back in the morning,” she whispered.
    Leonidas was waiting outside in the street.

M ary did not take in the enormity of the morning's events until she told Leonidas about their talk. “You told her!” He did not want to believe her.
    Mary sat in silence, then said with great certainty: “She knew.”
    Leonidas shook his head. “I don't think the priestesses can see into the past,” he said. “On the other hand, they're very clever at reading other people's minds.”
    “That could be the same thing.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “I'm thinking of taking some of my ill-gotten money and giving it to their work with prostitutes in Seleucia.”
    “You must do as you wish.”
    His voice was curt as always when the talk came to the old tribune in Tiberias. She changed the subject.
    “Are you pleased about the new child?”
    “Oh, yes, for Mera's sake. And Livia's.”
    She knew he found Mera's husband difficult, the boastful Nicomachus, who had a great many opinions and a lust for power, and whose influence in the merchant house would increase now that he had a son.
    At dawn the next morning, Mary went through the portal of the Isis temple, and was at once taken to the old woman, who again offered her newly baked bread. That morning she had lit an oil lamp, but although it did not make much difference to those dark walls in the circular room, it did mean they could see each other.
    “I've given your story much thought and would very much like to hear more about Jesus and his view of women.”
    Mary thought hard, but could find no answer. “He had no views on women,” she said in the end. “He saw them as human beings. He never flattered them and was not protective toward