nodded. “They were all direct in their discourse. Country folk. The sons of Zebedee, Mary of Magdala, the others. No hidden meanings to puzzle out. But now he’s gone.”
“Yes,” nodded Mark. “By Emperor’s order after the fire that killed so many of The Community in Rome.”
Mary snorted. “Ephesus is still groaning and paying the taxes that Nero levied to construct new quarters for the Senators and other men of wealth on the ruins of the old.”
“And the death of Paul? You have heard of that also?”
“Yes. No crucifixion for him, they tell me. A Roman citizen rather than a Galilean bumpkin.” Mary gave a sarcastic laugh. “Killed decently by hanging. Rome has strange ways.”
She thought for a moment and then continued.
“Paul came to see me when he was in the city below teaching the Way of my son at the School of Tyrannus. Oh, I could tell you a story about him, if that’s why you’ve come. Proud of his learning, Paul was. Studied under Gamaliel in Jerusalem.”
“As did I,” Barnabas murmured.
Her eyes grew angry. “Jerusalem!”
“Mistress,” Mark quietly continued, “Peter and Paul both faithfully followed the Way of your son.”
“Does that excuse Peter his denial? Or Paul—his persecution of others in the name of God?”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She turned to Mark and Barnabas. “Please. Those days long ago sometimes are like yesterday to her.” To her mother she said, “Calm, Mama. Calm, calm.”
“I’m perfectly calm!” Mary snapped.
There was quiet for a moment. Mark took a sip of wine. He spoke quietly.
“I am sorry if we have offended you. Peter and Paul—their story is done.”
“Enough! Tell me plainly why you are here.”
Mark and Mary stared evenly at each other before the man replied.
“I am writing an account of your son, our Master. It is compiled from many sources and is near completion. Most of it concerns the last week in Jerusalem.”
Mary nodded. “The week that began with high hopes and eager expectations but ended in horror.”
“And then joy on the morning after Sabbath,” added Barnabas.
“So some say.” Mary glanced at Mark. “Is your account a glorification of him, as the pagans do?”
Mark was silent as Barnabas responded, speaking bluntly. “No, not as the pagans do. It is not the history of an Alexander or an Augustus. It is the true tale of the Son of Man, who died a cruel death as the rejected Messiah. The Master was destined for death. He knew his teaching of a new Way, the Way of God the Father, would bring a confrontation with religious and political leaders who wanted no challenge to their power and status.”
“Enough!” Mark told his cousin firmly. He turned to Mary. “Please, I need your help.”
“My help! You who have traveled with Paul and listened to Peter? What help can a tired old woman give you?”
For a moment, Mark’s eyes watched her face filled with anger.
“It was a very difficult time for you,” he said softly. “To lose a son in such a way.”
“I do not wish to speak of it,” retorted Mary. “Events long ago and far away. I have found peace here.”
“Forgive us, Mary. I wish to speak to you of earlier times.”
Mary erupted, her speech hurried. “The brutal mockery of it all! Innocent of charges against him! Executed between two thieves instead of Barabbas, that murderous criminal. Over his head a pine board that proclaimed him King of the Jews. A warning to other upstarts that this cruelty is what awaited them also.”
Her eyes flashed. “And what have you?” Her head turned from one man to the other. “Do you have sons who are willing to die for him as my James did?”
“Calm, Mama, please!” Elizabeth cried.
There was a tense silence, broken at last by Barnabas.
“Peter and Paul were willing. I pray that Mark and I also will be willing if we are put to the test.”
Mark raised a hand to silence him. He addressed Mary.
“Please. We are not here to speak of Jerusalem long ago. Please. We need your help with much earlier years.”
His voice was calm and soothing. The tension evident in Mary’s face subsided.
“I will state again why we are here. Your son learned so much from Joseph and you. His knowledge of scripture began in his childhood. That is why we have come, to hear stories of his growth to manhood before he went to his kinsman, John the baptizer.”
Mary sighed. “Ah, the old stories. Others have come to question me. I kept my silence.”
“Before Peter’s death.” Mark went on, “we heard so many stories from him. And other events were told to us when we recently visited Galilee.”
Barnabas spoke. “From Paul we learned what he had heard of the Master’s teachings. Paul was very clear with us that stories of the childhood of Jesus might be helpful among the Gentiles.”
Mary replied with a voice filled with sarcasm.
“Oh, yes. Let us bring more Gentiles in. A whole world of Gentiles! You can tell them this from Mary, his mother. My firstborn was always exceptional. Every day was filled with blissful peace and joy. Of course, there were six other children along the way, accounts to keep for a busy husband with an expanding trade, wash to get done, meals to prepare, animals to be fed as well, the cow milked, and the stalls cleaned.” She snorted again. “Holy Mother, indeed.”
She held her gnarled hands up and turned them from front to back. “What tales do these hands relate, hmm?”
Mark glanced from Barnabas to Mary. “Please, you two.” He nodded to Elizabeth. “Your daughter is right. Calm yourselves. Let us breathe normally.”
He laid his hands palm down on the table.
“I will begin again. I have a commission from Peter.”
“Peter is dead, as is Paul.”
Mark smiled. “Perhaps we call it that but I believe they live among the blessed now.”
“As does Joseph, my husband. A righteous man.”
Mark nodded. “Please, hear me out.”
Mary leaned back as Mark continued.
“Peter and I had long conversations in Rome in the weeks before he, like your son, was crucified. There are revolts brewing all around
