The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene by Frank G. Slaughter Page A

be completely hidden from the road. There they crouched, each with a reassuring hand on the bridle of a mule, lest the animals stir and betray their presence. By the time they had hidden the mules and the cart, the rattle of harness and the rhythmic tread of leather-shod feet were plainly audible. Shortly a party of soldiers with torches came into view, but without pausing at the fork they wheeled to the left along the upper road leading to Magdala.
    The two remained in the darkness beside the cart on which Mary’s body lay until the Romans were out of sight and earshot on the heights above, then they worked the cart back to the road. Joseph wiped his face and felt it damp with a cold sweat. Had not Hadja’s sharp ears heard the soldiers in time, they would have taken the road to Magdala, he knew. Nothing, then, could have saved them from capture, for the road above was narrow, with no way of getting the animals and the cart into hiding.
    “Which way now?” Hadja took a long breath. “We cannot follow them.”
    “They must be going to the house of Demetrius in Magdala,” Joseph agreed. Then a thought struck him. “Do you know where Simon’s home is in Capernaum?”
    “Yes. I have been there many times.”
    “Good! We will hide Mary with Simon until it is safe for her to return to Magdala.”
    “The fisherman is a good man,” Hadja agreed. “He will be glad to give us shelter.”
    With Hadja riding one mule and Joseph leading the one drawing the cart, they set out along the shore road to Capernaum.
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    Joseph stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The sun was already bright upon the floor of Simon’s house, but Mary still lay on the couch where he had placed her when they arrived around midnight. He had spent the night stretched out on a quilt on the floor where he could hear her if she stirred from her stupor.
    Simon and his wife had accepted without question Joseph’s story that Mary had been dancing for Pontius Pilate and had fallen in one of her fainting attacks, especially since he had taken the precaution of slipping Mary’s rough dress over her body while Hadja rode ahead on the mule. The drapery from Gaius Flaccus’s bedchamber had been discarded in the bushes beside the road.
    Hadja’s wound proved superficial when Joseph dressed it, and he had been dispatched with the mule and cart to Magdala during the night to reassure Demetrius about Mary.
    The sun was shining brightly on the shore outside the house. The soft lap of water against the sides of Simon’s fishing boat drawn up on the shore with its bright sails furled about the mast, the chatter of gulls around the fish house of Zebedee nearby, and the myriads of small, intimate sounds that went with an awakening household made last night seem only a nightmare. But when Joseph looked down at the girl sleeping on the couch and saw again the dark angry bruises upon her neck and arms where she had fought against Gaius Flaccus, he knew in a sudden rush of concern that her own tragedy was very real indeed. Mary’s hair was tumbled about her face and shoulders, and some color had come back into her cheeks, but her very helplessness as she lay there set a flood of tender concern rising within him. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, letting her awaken in a safe haven that could always be hers if she wanted it. But she could not have heard these things had he been able to say them, and so he contented himself only with bending over and kissing her upon the forehead.
    When he raised his head he saw that her eyes were open, staring at him with a puzzled expression. “This is Simon’s house,” she whispered. “How did I get here?”
    Joseph gave her a quick account of his finding Hadja outside the villa and how he had taken her from Gaius Flaccus’s bedchamber.
    “You know what happened then?” It was barely a whisper.
    “Yes. But no one else does.”
    “Why didn’t you leave me there to die?” she said piteously. “There was a dagger