According to Mary Magdalene by Marianne Fredriksson Page A

them. He accepted people as he found them. He had no prejudices.”
    The old woman laughed. “He didn't have that manliness which constantly has to be defended?” she said.
    Mary smiled and nodded. “That's true. But he had great wrath within him.”
    “Who was his mother?”
    “She was a widow and a strong person. It's true of the Jews, too, that their women have invisible power.”
    The priestess repeated what she had said the day before. “It's not just the Jews. If women didn't have that power, then the injustices against them would be fewer.”
    Mary laughed aloud. “If women openly exercised their power, we would have war between the sexes.”
    The old woman changed the subject. “Christians talk about the kingdom of God that is soon to come?”
    “Jesus talked about the new kingdom as if it were not of this world. The kingdom of heaven is near, he said. But that was misunderstood, like so much else. It was forgotten that he said that the kingdom of heaven is within us and the new kingdom among us.”
    The priestess drew a deep breath and her voice was stiff as she said, “It's important that you give your view of what happened.”
    “I am writing it down. But it is becoming so personal.”
    The old woman shook her head. “Which means no one need take it seriously,” she said.
    “There is one thing that makes the task difficult. I can hear him saying it—write no laws on this that I have revealed to you. Do not do as the lawmakers do.”
    They parted and Mary went to see Mera and the child.
    Livia had stayed with her daughter this second night after the birth of the child. She had decided to have a long sleep, out of relief about the child and that all had gone well.
    But sleep evaded her.
    Her anxiety over Mera and her husband kept her awake, that boastful cockerel, incapable of any awareness of anyone else. When he had been told about the birth of his son, he had invited all his colleagues in the house to wine and had gotten very drunk, then disappeared into the wild quarters of Seleucia.
    Then there was Mary. Livia was honest enough to admit it was jealousy that drove her into dark thoughts of her sister-in-law. She had gone to Mera like a queen, prayed to some unknown god, and taken command. And all that talk about the wind had infuriated Livia. By no means do the winds carry the birds that have not learned the difficult art of flying, Livia thought.
    Afterward, when the boy had been born, Mary had retreated into her usual humility. Livia detested the humble, suspecting that they were concealing an arrogant spirit.
    In the end, however, she must have escaped her wicked thoughts. When Mera woke to feed her child, her mother was sleeping so soundly, not even the cheerful morning greetings of the priestesses woke her.
    Mera felt great tenderness for her mother.
    “She's tired. She's been very uneasy,” the youngest priestess said.
    “Yes.”
    Mera thought Livia would have good reason to be uneasy even in the future.
    After their breakfast, Livia woke and managed to smile at her daughter and the little boy.
    They were told that Mary had already arrived and was talking to the mother of the temple. Livia's eyes hardened. Two witches, she thought, of course they seek each other out. Then she was ashamed and tried to conceal that ugly thought behind a crooked smile.
    Mera bathed her child herself that morning, lovingly and with sure hands. But that great joy she expected did not come to her. “Mother, I won't go home with the child to the merchant house and Nicomachus.”
    “But where will you go?” whispered Livia.
    “You know he hits me.”
    Livia drew a sharp breath, but they were interrupted by Mary knocking on the door and coming in with flowers, a vision of joy in herself. But she stopped halfway. “Is anything wrong?” she said.
    Livia collected herself, but her voice was unsteady as she said, “The women of this family have a problem.”
    Before she could say any more, the door was flung open