America's goddess. Who is she ?

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AMERICA'S GODDESS
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AUTHOR'S NOTES
BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Contents AMERICA'S GODDESS 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 AUTHOR'S NOTES BIBLIOGRAPHY

AMERICA'S GODDESS Who is she? GRACE POWERS Powers Publishing

Powers Publishing Vancouver, Canada www.helpfreetheearth.com First published in Canada 2019 Copyright © Grace Powers, 2019

All rights reserved

The right of the author of this work to be identified by the pseudonym, Grace Powers, has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988

All rights reserved. This book is sold to the purchaser subject to the condition that it shall not be lent, resold, hired out, forwarded, copied for circulation in electronic format or any other format by the purchaser

1 ANONYMOUS _______________________ I am as familiar to New Yorkers as their own mother yet I am as anonymous to them as a stranger in the crowd. Since 1886, I have silently reigned over the city that never sleeps, watching the boat traffic, the tides and the seasons come and go from my island home in Upper New York Bay. When my sculptor, Frederic Bartholdi, unveiled his colossal statue of me, spectators wanted to know who the masculine-featured diva was that served as his model. Was I his mother? His wife? His mistress, perhaps? Some argued that I was the Egyptian goddess Isis, the Biblical Whore of Babylon or Mary Magdalene. Another theory that lingers to this day is that I am not a lady at all, but a man in drag. Like Leonardo Da Vinci, Bartholdi was a world renowned artist and a member of a secretive brotherhood that possessed privileged knowledge. Men like Da Vinci and Bartholdi coded and hid that knowledge in plain sight by embedding it in their masterpieces. It took more than five hundred years for the unsuspecting public to notice me as the disciple seated next to Jesus in Da Vinci's The Last Supper mural. My flowing red hair, soft feminine features, delicate folded hands and the hint of a bosom are obvious clues. By positioning me leaning away from Jesus on his right hand side, Da Vinci created a natural 'V' shape between us. The 'V' is symbolic of the vagina and womb. By tracing along the outer line of our bodies, the letter "M" for Magdalene is formed. The strange alignment of our bodies hides the message 'in plain sight' that the legendary Holy Grail is, in fact, my womb and that I gave birth to the sacred royal bloodline.

Bartholdi, a 33rd degree Freemason, hid a similar message 'in plain sight' through his Statue of Liberty sculpture of me. For more than a century, the unsuspecting public failed to notice or even question the odd shape of my body. Draped in a classical Greek robe and himation, my body balloons out at the mid-section like a woman in her sixth month of pregnancy. The pregnant shape of my body cannot be explained away as the bulky folds of my robe. My sculptured face, thick neck and muscular arms indicate that I am trim and fit, not a plump, plus-size woman. My robe should naturally hang down in a straight line instead of ballooning out at the midriff. A good comparison is the famous statue of Christ the Redeemer reigning over the city of Rio de Janeiro Rio. The 98 feet tall iconic giant wears a robe that hangs down in a non-pregnant straight line.

The image of me as a pregnant woman is not new. Many celebrated painters of the Renaissance and Baroque Era painted me pregnant like Giampietrino (Gian Pietro Rizzoli) in his 16th century masterpiece called Repentant Mary Magdalene. In 1585, Hendrick Goltzius painted Magdalene in the Desert, clearly depicting me in an advanced state of pregnancy as did Italian Baroque painter Francesco Furini.

The gospels are strangely silent about where I came from, what I looked like, who my family was, how I was educated or what I did to support Jesus and the disciples 'out of my own means'. The information blackout provoked speculation that I was a holy harlot or a redeemed prostitute-turned-saint. The biblical portrait of me is historically at odds with other Hebrew women living in first century Palestine. Hebrew women were typically veiled, illiterate, submissive and passed from the control of their father to the control of their husband. Like chattel, they were sold into marriage for a dowry settlement and were generally house-bound with domestic responsibilities that included cooking, weaving and child rearing. Political issues were left for men to handle. By contrast, I was articulate, educated, unveiled, unmarried and a woman of means who carried an alabaster jar filled with expensive royal anointing oil worth a year's wages. When Frederic Bartholdi enshrined me in his Statue of Liberty, he knew an even deeper, more guarded secret about me besides my pregnancy. He knew that my name, 'Mary Magdalene', was an assumed name that I was forced to adopt to hide my real name and my royal past. ~ See Authors Notes ~

2 SELENE _________________________ My identity is written in the Roman numeral tablet that Frederic Bartholdi placed in my left hand, in the Egyptian hair-tie ribbons and in the classical Greek robe and himation that he dressed me in. By setting a crown on my head, he announced my royal status and by placing a 'torchlight' in my right hand, he exposed my birth name, Selene. 'Elene' means 'torch' or 'light' in Greek. It forms part of my name Selene and part of the name I later adopted - 'Magdelene'. I was born in Alexandria, Egypt, on December 25th, 40 BC. I am the princess daughter of Mark Antony and Greek-Egyptian Queen Cleopatra VII. As a child, everyone told me how much I looked like my father but since he was a handsome, rugged looking Roman General, I didn't really take it as a compliment. It never occurred to me that one day, in the far distant future, my chiseled features and Roman nose would be magnified hundreds of times into a towering colossus. Historians assumed without evidence that I died in my early thirties when, in fact, I lived a long and eventful life.

My fondest childhood memory is the thrill of my very first kiss at the age of ten. It happened at the top of Alexandria's towering lighthouse that was almost as tall as the Great Pyramid of Giza. I

leaned over the rail on the observation deck tasting the sting of salt on my lips and breathing in the wondrous panorama of sky and sparkling sea. A sudden updraft billowed my yellow tunic up over my waist, exposing my undergarments. Ptolemy, my thirteen year old half-brother, snuck a peek and doubled over laughing. "Skata!" I cursed, as I pressed the folds of my tunic back down. It was a Greek word my mother often used. I couldn't help noticing how manly Ptolemy looked in his white chiton that exposed his muscular right arm and shoulder. I noticed something else. He was staring at me in a most peculiar way. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked. "It's your eyes. They're sparkling like green emeralds in the sunlight and your hair is glowing like red embers." I felt my cheeks flush and turned away from Ptolemy's penetrating stare. "One day I will be your Queen and all of Egypt will be ours." "And all of Rome," added Ptolemy. "Look!" I shouted, pointing at a familiar ship on the horizon. "It's the spiceman!" The spiceman was a bearded, Jewish merchant from Jerusalem with a barrel-shaped body and permanent smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Mother told me he was one of the richest men in the world and when I asked her how he got to be so rich, she said he traveled the world's sea lanes with his fleet of merchant ships selling tin, fragrant oils and spices. His real name was Joseph Ari Mathias but I called him 'the spiceman' because he smelled so good. Whenever he dropped anchor, he brought us exotic gifts and stayed at the palace as Mother's special house guest. The last time he came, he arrived on his birthday and Mother gave him a signed copy of her perfume and body oil recipe book that she called Cleopatra Gynaeciarum Libri. When no one was looking, I opened the cover and read the dedication inside. 'To Joseph, the keeper of my secret recipe'. I asked Mother what her secret recipe was and she scolded me for snooping. "What makes a secret a secret is that it's a secret," she said. Ptolemy wasn't looking at the ship. He was looking at me. "I'm going away, Selene." "Where?" I asked.

"India. Joseph is taking me." "You can't!" I protested. "Egypt is your Kingdom. You belong here." "It was Mother's decision, not mine." "I don't understand. Why is she sending you away?" "Rome has declared war on Egypt. She's joining her Egyptian fleet with Antony's fleet of war ships in a sea battle off the coast of Greece. If Octavian's armada wins the battle, Mother says my life will be in danger." "Why?" "Because I'm Julius Caesar's only son. That makes me a threat to Octavian's right to rule Rome." "We're going to defeat him and you're going to come back and rule the world just like Alexander the Great!" Ptolemy's eyes looked strangely luminous like he could not only see me but see through me and know what I was thinking. "You're doing it again," I said. "Doing what?" "Staring." "I'm sorry." Ptolemy leaned his elbows on the tower's viewing rail and looked out to sea. "When are you leaving?" "Today." "Today?!" I shrieked. Before I could say more, Ptolemy covered my lips with his. His mouth was warm and hungry against mine and I felt a tingling rush of excitement soar through my entire body. By family tradition, Ptolemy and I were betrothed to marry one day, so I made no move to stop him, not even when he lifted my tunic and reached inside my undergarments. I let him fondle me between my legs exploring the smooth, moist petals until he found the opening. Then I boldly reached under his garment, groping and squeezing his smooth hardness. I had seen my brothers' penises when we were bathing and I had seen the ones on horses and donkeys but I never touched one before. Now, standing on top of the world, we shamelessly explored each other's bodies in all the wondrous places.

My twin brother, Alexander, jumped out onto the observation platform and caught a glimpse of our naughtiness. "Selene? Ptolemy?" "Don't you dare tell," warned Ptolemy as we straightened our garments. "Maybe I will. Maybe I won't," teased Alexander with a devilish grin. We chased after him, almost tripping as our feet drummed the lighthouse stairwell. Alexander was the black sheep in the family. Since I was the only girl, everyone pampered and spoiled me. Ptolemy got to be King because he was the eldest and Philip got all the attention as the youngest. Alexander felt robbed. He fought with me over the birth order and claimed to be the eldest twin by one minute. To put a stop to our arguments, Mother insisted that we both came out at the same time. ***** The chocolate colored skin of two Nubian servants glistened with sweat as they hauled Ptolemy's trunk of belongings up the gangplank and loaded it onto Joseph's merchant ship. I stood with our family on the loading dock and rose up on my tiptoes to give my brother-King a goodbye kiss. "At night, whenever you feel homesick, look up at the moon and you'll see my glowing face looking back at you," I whispered. "What if it's raining?" joked Ptolemy, fighting back tears. "Promise me you'll come back." "I promise. Even if I have to swim." Ptolemy embraced Mother and little Philip, then he pulled Alexander and my father into a bear hug. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him like he's my own son," said Joseph, draping his arm around his royal passenger and leading him on board the ship. I waved to Ptolemy as he sailed out of port and continued waving until the ship faded into the distant blue haze. As hard as I tried, I couldn't bury the ominous feeling that I might never see him again. ~ See Authors Notes ~

3 SURVIVAL The timeline for Selene and Ptolemy matches the timeline of three key historical figures named in the Bible; King Herod the Great (73 BC - 4 AD), Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus (63 BC - 14 AD) and Tiberius (42 BC - 37 AD)

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On August 12, 30 BC, my childhood and everything that mattered were stolen from me. The distant thunder of hundreds of marching boots matched the pounding of my heart as Mother and her handmaiden, Iras, rushed me and my brothers, Alexander and Philip, inside the circular shaped mausoleum. Iras lifted the torch out of its rusty iron wall holder, lit it and held it high over her head while Mother pushed the heavy bronze door shut and sealed us off from the outside world. My eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, then widened at the sight of three elevated wood coffins laying above massive vaulted burial chambers. The yellow torchlight flickered from a rush of air as Mother raised the creaking lid on the coffin with the gold engraving of the Eye of Horus. I clamped my hand over my mouth to cover a gasp. Laying inside on the cushioned white lining were shiny gold nuggets from Beth-Ellaya, silver from Gazak, dazzling gemstones from India and agates from Beth-Kashan. Mother removed three leather pouches nestled amongst the glittering riches and handed one to each of us. "Each pouch contains a small portion of the royal treasury. Hide them inside your tunics." "Where's Father? He's been gone a long time," I asked, while inserting the pouch inside my white tunic above the gold sash. Mother ignored my question. She reached around and undid the clasp on her necklace, then fastened the coiled rope of gleaming pearls around my neck. Her voice broke as she spoke. "Promise me you'll wear this on your wedding day, Selene." "Why are you..." "As the eldest, you must take care of your brothers now and leave the mausoleum. Find a good hiding place like you did when we played hide-and-seek, remember?" My twin brother, Alexander, squeezed his eyebrows together in an angry v-shape. "She's not the eldest. I am!" he protested. "Don't argue with me, Alexander. Follow your sister." Mother wasn't joking this time about both of us being born at the same time. Today was different. Alexander folded his arms across his chest defiantly. "No. I won't leave you!" "You'll do as I say!" yelled Mother, slapping his face and stunning him into obedience. It was the first time she had ever raised a hand to

any of us and it scared me more than the invading Roman army outside. "All three of you will be strong," she commanded before pulling the mausoleum door open. My six year old brother Philip buried his head in the purple folds of Mother's royal robe and clung to her. I wanted to do the same but I resisted, knowing she wouldn't send us away without a plan. "Go!" insisted Mother, nudging us outside. I saw the color drain from Mother's face as she recoiled into the shadows. She pushed the door shut, slid the metal bolt into place and locked us out. I stood paralyzed, not knowing which way to run or where to hide. "Where are you taking us?" demanded Alexander. The marching boots beat louder and spurred me into action. "To find a good hiding place. Hurry!" With my brothers at my heels, I fled to the palatial gardens and raced past the fountain shrine of Isis, then ducked through a floral archway into the open courtyard. My gold silk scarf floated behind me as I ran towards the palace, never once looking back until I heard the shout of a Roman commander. I peered over my shoulder and saw that Philip had fallen to his knees. "Alexander! Help me!" I shouted. "Philip can't keep up." Alexander took Philip by one hand and I took his other hand, practically lifting him off his feet as we ran three in a row and entered the palace through the side entrance. We skidded down the marble corridor past painted urns and statues of our Greek Ptolemaic ancestors. When we reached the servants quarters, the rooms were as eerily empty as the rest of the palace. "Where did the servants go?" asked Alexander. "They're probably hiding and that's what we're going to do. Follow me," I said. Our sandals slapped the tiled hallway as we hurried in the direction of the open-roof kitchen. It was my favorite destination for our hide-and-seek games. "In here!" I said, steering my brothers inside. "Look! There they are!" exclaimed Alexander, pointing to a blur of Nubian servants fleeing past the kitchen window. "Let's follow them."

"Never mind them. We need to hide where the soldiers won't look for us." I peered inside the beehive-shaped wood-fire oven that the cooks used for baking bread. It smelled like smoke and burnt wood but getting dirty was the least of my worries as I crawled inside. "No one will think to look for us in here!" I said, poking my head out. "Hurry. We can all fit!" Philip grimaced. "In the oven?" "Over here, Philip!" shouted Alexander, coaxing him to share his hiding place behind the shelves of terracotta amphorae and spice bags. Shrieks from the servants and the boom of soldier's voices sent Philip clamoring inside the oven with me. "I'm scared," he whimpered. "Don't make a sound, Philip. Not even a sniffle." I clamped my hand over Philip's mouth and held my breath as the armored giants burst into the kitchen. I could hear the sound of shelves overturning and the clatter of terracotta amphorae smashing to the tiled floor. Alexander was in big trouble. "Here's one of them," said a soldier. "What's your name, boy?" "Alexander." "Where are the others?" "Gone." The grisly face of the other soldier appeared at the oven entrance. "Look what's for dinner!" he bellowed. His meaty hand reached inside and snatched Philip from the oven like he was picking a fig off a tree. Philip soiled himself. ***** Our captors half-carried, half-dragged us by our wrists to the loading dock at the Port of Alexandria where they held us under guard at the base of the gangplank. I craned my head and looked up at the Roman Commander standing at the helm of Mother's floating palace that she named 'The Thalemegos'. It was as big as a warship and lavishly decorated with precious wood paneling and furnishings inlaid with gold and ivory. It had promenades, polished wood flooring around both decks, banquet rooms and marble shrines to the gods. It even had a library on board, windowed cabins and clay pot toilets with limestone seats. The Thalemegos was our home-away-from-

home for family vacations on the Nile. Now it was a Roman warehouse for stolen bounty. Red plumes on helmets waved in the afternoon breeze as a long line of soldiers hauled chests, statues, ebony vases, and exotic rugs on board. All had been taken from our palace. The Roman thieves had even looted our dockside storehouses of grains, wine and weaponry. Worst of all, they raided the Royal Library of precious, hand-copied scrolls that included the scholarly works of Homer, Plato, Socrates and some of the world's greatest thinkers. My heart sank at the sight of six soldiers carrying a wood coffin up the gangplank. It was the one from the mausoleum filled with Mother's treasures, the one with the gold engraving of the Eye of Horus on the lid. I struggled to free myself from the vice-like grip of my captor. "Where's my mother? Where did you take her?" I hollered. Ignoring me, the Roman devils continued filling the ship to capacity before loading the last of their bounty on board. Us. We were taken up the gangplank and along the promenade deck to the ship's helm where we came face to face with Octavian, the vile monster who had robbed our family of everything. He wasn't what I expected the most powerful man in the world to look like. He was short and gaunt looking with a laurel wreath crowning his receding fair hairline. His steel-grey eyes wandered over us, standing before him in our soot-stained tunics. "Ah. My three little war trophies," crowed Octavian. Our resemblance to our parents was obvious. Philip had Mother's amber-colored eyes. I had her golden hair and feminine allure. Alexander looked more like Father with his curly dark hair, sharp jaw and broad shoulders. Without warning, Alexander threw a punch at Octavian but the guards swiftly intercepted it and twisted a yelp out of him. "Feisty little orphan," scolded Octavian as the guards wrestled Alexander into a stranglehold. "Definitely Cleopatra and Antony's kids," he said, while straightening his gold trimmed toga and tightening the tasseled rope that dangled from his waist. "They'll prove most useful to me, especially the girl." Octavian reached out and stroked my long hair with his spindly fingers. His touch made my skin crawl. I glared at him venomously,

then launched a spray of spit into his face. "Filth!" I shouted. Octavian raised his hand to strike me but stopped himself and wiped the spit from his face instead. "Lock them in the servants cabin and keep them out of my sight!" ***** Alexander looked around the small room equipped with a single bed, an armchair, a wash basin and a clay pot toilet. "This isn't a cabin. It's a jail. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill them all!" he pledged, throwing himself onto the bed and punching the stuffing out of the pillows. Through the cabin window, I looked out at the frothing waves exploding against the stone wall of the towering lighthouse. Below me, banks of glistening oars dipped and pulled us further and further away from my beautiful Alexandria, awash in golden sunlight like a shining beacon. What if I never see my home again? What if I never see my parents again? The flood of terrifying thoughts made my head spin and I ran to the cabin door and frantically banged on it. "Where are my parents? What have you done to them?!" "Stop it, Selene," said Alexander whose voice had become suddenly calm. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed in a snowfall of feathers looking as beaten as the pillows. "We know what happened to our parents." "Don't say it! Don't even think it!" I warned. "They're dead, Selene. The Romans killed them." "You don't know that!" I shouted, sickened by the thought. "They could have escaped." "Escaped? From Octavian's army of thousands? You heard what Octavian called me. He called me a feisty little orphan! You know what that means." I covered my ears with my hands. "Stop!" "They're taking us to Rome as prisoners. They're going to lock us up. Maybe even behead us. That's the god awful truth." "If they were going to kill us, they would have done it by now. Do you know what's worse than being trapped in this cabin? Being trapped in here with you!" Philip started crying and clung to me the same way he clung to Mother. "Now look what you've done!" I said, wiping away Philip's

tears with the sleeve of my tunic. Alexander stepped down off the bed and started pacing. "He needs to grow up and stop crying like a baby." "I'm not a baby," protested Philip, rubbing away the mucous from his runny nose with the palm of his hand. "Then stop crying like a baby!" hollered Alexander. Philip didn't cry another tear after that. Not a single tear. He seemed to retreat into himself and just stared into space with a blank expression. The only contact we had with our captors for the entire two month voyage was the daily emptying of our toilet bowl and the delivery of food and water to our cabin. At night, we laid on our sides squeezed together like blades of grass on the single bed. It wasn't just the cramped quarters and worry that kept me awake at night. It was the nausea from the howling storms, the endless weeks of confinement and my heart-wrenching home sickness. One sleepless night, while Philip and Alexander slept, I got up and sank into the large burgundy armchair at the foot of the bed. I buried my head in my hands and searched my brain for a comforting thought but none came to me. The future looked bleak, the present felt intolerable and thoughts about the past made my heart ache. I remembered something Mother always did whenever she felt upset. She caressed the precious pearls on her necklace. I asked her why she did it and she said, "Each pearl holds a special memory for me. The two pink ones came from a single oyster and they're extremely rare. They remind me of you and Alexander and the night I gave birth to you both. It was during a lunar eclipse and I named you Selene after the moon goddess. The largest pearl, the lavender one, reminds me of Ptolemy and the day I crowned him co-ruler." Since caressing the pearls comforted Mother, I wondered if it would work for me, too. I reached for the pearls on the necklace she gave me and caressed the rarest one, the black pearl. As I searched for a special memory to give it, I found myself lost in a daydream that took me back to Alexandria and the excitement I felt the first time I beat Mother at the Egyptian board game of Senet. The only reason I won was because I tricked her with distracting questions.

On the day of my victory, we were sitting on the palace terrace wearing colorful matching tunics with jeweled belts. Mother loved to dress me the same way she dressed herself. Even our jeweled sandals matched. "How did you meet father," I asked, while tossing the throw sticks and advancing one of my pawns into the lead on the game board. Mother inhaled the fresh air from a cool sea breeze, then exhaled a long sigh. "After Caesar's murder, his ambitious step-son, Octavian, ruled Rome's western provinces and Caesar's top General, Mark Antony, ruled the east. When the handsome General summoned me to Tarsus to answer questions about my loyalty to Rome, I did more than answer his questions." "It's your move, Mother." As I watched her move her pawn around an obstacle and overtake the lead, I quickly distracted her with another question. "What happened next?" "Like the spell-struck Julius Caesar, your enamored father followed me back to Alexandria. I remember his exact words the moment I snared him. He said, 'Finally, I found a woman with the same insatiable appetites who can drink and fornicate non-stop until she passes out.'" "What does fornicate mean?" "I meant to say frolic. We frolicked non-stop." "Frolicked?" Mother tried avoiding the answer but gave up when I persisted. "It's what animals do when they mate." "Oh," I said, blushing. "Weren't you insulted?" "An insult is only an insult when it's not true. There was one big problem though. During your father's absence from Rome, his popularity began to fade and Octavian won the favor of the Roman senate. To save his power base, he sailed back to Rome and married Octavian's sister, Octavia. I was pregnant with you and Alexander at the time." I found myself as distracted from the game as Mother was. "You must have hated him for leaving." "I knew your father couldn't live without me for long. You were three years old when he divorced Octavia and came back to Alexandria to stay."

While Mother continued reminiscing, I delivered my last surviving pawn to victory. "I won!" I squealed. "Skata! cursed Mother, examining the game board. "So you did!" "Can we play again?" "Let's play again tomorrow." Mother took my hand and led me over to the ornate marble bench with lion's paw legs and embroidered silk cushions. We sat side by side and I cuddled up close to her and rested my head on her bosom. It felt like a big comfortable down pillow and I wondered if my breasts would grow as mountainous as hers one day. "Selene! Wake up," said Alexander, shaking me by my shoulders and snapping me back into an unwelcome awareness of my cabin prison. "Look what I found," he said, holding two scrolls in his hands. "They were inside a box under the bed. It's too dark to read them." The morning sunlight finally angled through the cabin window. It washed over the Greek text on one of the scrolls that I held open by its wood roller. "Look! It lists the names, dates, and places of all the wars fought by our Macedonian ancestors over the past three hundred years. There's Mother's name. Queen Cleopatra VII," I said proudly. Alexander shrugged his shoulders. "It's outdated. There's a missing war. The last one. The Battle of Actium and the fall of our empire." "That's not the last war. Ptolemy is coming back and he's going to reclaim it." "You're a dreamer, Selene. Ptolemy can't reclaim anything. He would need an army bigger and stronger than the Roman army and that's impossible." I ignored Alexander's incurable pessimism and picked up the second scroll. "It's the Book of the Dead," I said, recognizing it immediately. "Our tutor, Rhodon, gave us a copy to read, remember?" "You mean the gargoyle with the squinty eyes and big ears?" "Why do you always say mean things about people?" "Only about people I don't trust. I'll bet it was Rhodon who sold us out to the Romans to save his own skin." As daylight flooded the room, I carried the Book of the Dead over to the burgundy armchair and sat down to read it for a second time.

"What's it about,'' asked Alexander, "besides the dead?" "It explains what happens after we die." "We won't have long to wait." Alexander resumed his habit of pacing the room, back and forth, back and forth like a captive animal. "A lifetime on Earth is like a moment in a dream but the realm of heaven is beyond time and the dead are really the living ones, always present and always close," I said, reading aloud. "If that's true, then this is just a bad dream and we're better off dead." "At the moment of death, the soul leaves the body," I continued. "When it reaches heaven, it glows like a glorious star, but it can return to Earth again if the body is mummified at death." "I don't want to be mummified," barked Alexander. "I'm never coming back. Never!" "What's mummified?" asked Philip, struggling to pronounce the word and snapping out of his expressionless withdrawal. "It means they take out your brain, your stomach, your heart and all of your other organs when you die and they wrap your body in strips of linen," answered Alexander. "Stop scaring him. Just because you're hurting doesn't give you the right to hurt others," I scolded. "Go ahead. Tell him what it means." Alexander and I barely spoke to one another after that. Whenever we spoke, we argued. I was certain the fighting started inside Mother's womb when Alexander found out he had company. He felt robbed right from the start and for the first time in my life, I hated being the first born twin. Mother expected me to be strong but all I wanted to do is cry and I knew if I got started, my tears would fill up the entire cabin and drown us all. I wondered what she would do if she were here right now. The answer came to me almost immediately. She would tell us to hold hands with her and pray. "Alexander? Philip? Come and sit next to me on the bed," I said. "Our captors won't give us our freedom but we can pray for it." "Where did our prayers get us when we prayed for Mother and Father's victory at Actium? Praying is just wishful thinking," said Alexander, still pacing the room. "Wishful thinking is better than hopeless thinking."

"Go ahead and pray. I'm not stopping you." Alexander did his best to mask his pain but I could read him as easily as reading the writing on the scrolls. I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him. His body felt as stiff as armor and since he made no move to hug me back, I retreated to the bed, sat down and prayed out loud. "Isis, Divine mother of the universe, please hear my words and give us your help and guidance." Philip eased his way over to me on the bed. He put his little hand in mine while I prayed for our freedom and for the lives of Mother, Father and Ptolemy to be spared. Praying gave me hope and I made it a daily habit.

~ See Authors Notes ~

4 ROME ___________________ The monotonous sound of oars dipping and pulling suddenly stopped. So did my breath. I hurried to the cabin window and saw land for the first time in two months. Row upon row of shuttered, wind-beaten houses hugged the vast stretches of rocky shoreline. The thought of stepping onto dry land thrilled me and frightened me at the same time. At the Port of Brundisium, our captors led us down the gangplank towards a long procession line of horse-drawn wagons and carriages. The sun's rays and a soft sea breeze caressed my skin reminding me of the simple pleasures I missed during my days of confinement. Relief turned to dread when I learned that our cabin prison would be swapped for a carriage prison and ten more days of suffocating confinement on the journey to Rome. I worried about Philip. For the entire trip, he was as unresponsive as an unblinking doll. Whenever I asked him, "Are you alright, Philip?", he just nodded with a blank stare. Alexander sat brooding in silence most of the way. When we finally reached Rome, he looked out the carriage window and said, "Welcome to hell." Our procession rattled over cobblestone streets passing faded brick houses crowded together like penned cattle. I coughed and gagged from the stench of stale urine on sun baked streets and black smoke belching from kilns. Beggars fought with starving dogs over garbage and merchants fought with customers over the cost of halfnaked child prostitutes sold like merchandise in noisy public markets. I could hear whistles and cat calls from the Roman soldiers in the wagons up ahead. A girl prostitute no older than me watched our carriage roll by while a male customer groped and fondled her. I turned my head away, sickened by the cruelty.

"We can't let them turn Egypt into another Roman province. We can't!" "I don't know what you're going to do, Selene, but I'm going to escape the first chance I get," pledged Alexander. "Escape where?" "I don't care. Anywhere is better than here." Alexander reached inside his tunic and removed the pouch Mother had given him. He poured the sparkling gemstones and shiny gold nuggets into the palm of his hand. "I'm going to buy my way out with these." "If they let you keep them." The view from my carriage window changed from decadence to civility as our procession turned down Rome's main street, the Via Sacra. I craned my head out the window and looked up at the luxury villas with terracotta tiled rooftops climbing the lush hillsides. Are these the seven hills of Rome that Mother talked about, I wondered. I recalled the day she confided in me about her scandalous affair with Julius Caesar at his villa on Janiculum Hill. I stood watching her as she sat in front of the large bronze mirror in her bed chamber lining her eyes with black kohl and painting her lids a deep blue with ground lapis lazuli. "Caesar divided his time between me and his wife, Calpurnia. Since he hadn't sired any male offspring, he desperately longed for a son and I gave him one. Your older brother, Ptolemy. We nicknamed him Caesarion, meaning little Caesar. The citizens of Rome blamed my meddling influence when Caesar changed the Roman calendar to the Julian calendar to mark the birth of our son. They called me the Egyptian Harlot and the Witch of the Nile. I was the most hated and vilified woman in Rome!" said Mother, looking pleased with herself. "Were you in love with Caesar?" I asked. "Caesar was balding, epileptic and old enough to be my grandfather. I loved his power and I loved the beautiful son he gave me but..." Mother paused and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. "Your father is the only man I ever really loved." Our procession rolled to a stop at Rome's military exercise field where workers were decorating floats with banners and colorful flowers. Exotic animals paced back and forth inside cages and costumed elephants stood in the field chained to ground stakes. The

circus-like atmosphere puzzled me and I made the mistake of asking Alexander why the soldiers were unloading Mother's stolen treasures from the wagons into an open field. "What's going on? Why are they stopping here?" "Isn't it obvious?" "If it was obvious, I wouldn't have asked." ***** Spectators lined the victory parade route that stretched from the military Field of Mars along the Tiber River and Via Sacra to the Roman Forum. Trumpets sounded to mark the start of the gala event with Roman soldiers marching at the helm carrying battle standards emblazoned with a golden eagle. Senators and Lictors followed next, then a long line of floats and carts piled high with enemy swords, shields, armor, and javelins from the conquered countries of Numidia, Syria and Phoenicia. The costumed elephants and exotic caged animals paraded by ahead of the featured Egyptian float that drew 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from spectators as they looked up at the giant robed effigy of my mother wearing the vulture crown. At her feet were chests of sparkling jewels, gold, and silver taken from her mausoleum. At the rear of the parade, the dramatic spectacle that everyone had been waiting for appeared. Pulled by a team of four spirited white horses, Octavian stood proudly on his golden chariot waving to the crowd and basking in the glory of his military victory over Egypt. Adoring spectators threw rose petals and scented flowers across his path and shouted Octavian's new title, "Hail Caesar Augustus!" at fever pitch. His pale and ghostly face shone brighter than his armored breastplate as he paraded past them with three captives chained to the back of his chariot. Me, Philip and Alexander. "Bastards of the Egyptian whore!" cursed the spectators as they pelted us with handfuls of stones. I clutched the long gold chain noosed around my neck and held tight to it, knowing that if I tripped and fell, the chain would drag me behind the chariot by my neck and strangle me. I yelled to Philip above the noise of the heckling crowd. "Hold tight to the chain, Philip! Walk as fast as you can and don't fall!" Alexander stared straight ahead in a frozen unblinking trance as though his soul had taken flight from his body. He never even noticed

when Philip dropped to his knees and got dragged through the dirt on his belly. "Hang on to the chain, Philip!" I rushed over and picked up my little brother, somehow finding the back-breaking strength to carry him through the triumphant arches and into the Roman forum. When the victory celebrations ended and the roars and jeers faded away with the crowd, we were taken under guard to Octavian's palace complex on Palatine Hill. It was a sprawling walled paradise with tranquil lily ponds and gardens shaded by sycamore and laurel trees. The guards escorted us along a flower-lined pathway that weaved past bronze cherubs spouting and splashing streams of water into magnificent sculpted fountains. The path ended at our new home, a vine-covered stone mansion by the eastern wall of the villa, far removed from the noise, foul odors, and debauchery of Rome's city slums. "Escape is not an option," warned one of the guards. "Any attempt to run away will be punished with the beheading of all three of you." We were placed in the care of Octavia, a homely, yet dignified looking woman. She wore no jewelry or face paint and pulled her hair back into a plain roll. Octavia was Octavian's sister and she was also my father's Roman wife until he abandoned her and moved to Alexandria to marry my mother. It surprised me to learn that Octavia held no grudges towards the children that my father sired with my mother. Instead, she treated us with the same kindness she gave her own children. Despite her kindness, Octavian's ominous words kept replaying in my head. "They will be most useful to me, especially the girl." The opulent interior of the mansion was as exquisite as the landscaped grounds with bronze doors, veined marble floors and columned rooms decorated with colorful frescoes and polished furnishings inlaid with ivory. Octavia settled Alexander and Philip into a shared room at the lower level of the house, then took me to a room on the upper level. "This is my daughter Antonia's room," said Octavia, with a welcoming smile."You can share it with her. I've added an extra bed for you."

The scent of Octavia's lavender perfume hung in the air as she opened the door to the balcony overlooking the Forum Romanum on one side and the Circus Maximus on the other. I stepped onto the balcony and folded my arms in front of me, stubbornly rejecting Octavia's efforts to make me feel at home. Through the tall pines and cypress trees, I could see over the orange tiled rooftops of central Rome to the distant, densely packed tenement slums, the tangle of noisy twisting lanes and dirty cobblestone streets that smelled of urine. I thought about the girl prostitute and the deadness in her eyes as customers groped and squeezed her small breasts. "Rome is nothing like Alexandria. I hate it here!" "If there's anything you need..." I whirled around and faced Octavia with an icy stare. "I need to know what happened to my parents!" "Yes, Selene. You have a right to know." Octavia sat down on the bed and patted it with her hand, gesturing for me to sit beside her. I hesitated, then stepped back inside the room and slumped down next to her bracing myself for the news. "Your parents wanted to spare themselves and their children the humiliation of their own defeat and imprisonment," said Octavia in a gentle tone of voice. "It took courage for them to do what they did. I'm sorry to tell you that they took their own lives but you and your brothers will be well taken care of. Your mother made certain of that." Octavia pulled me into her arms to comfort me but I struggled free from her embrace and slid to the floor onto my knees. Through a blur of tears, I looked up at her contemptuously and sobbed, "I want to die, too! You're not my mother and this is not my home. It will never be my home! Octavian is a monster!" Octavia got up and walked to the door. "There's roast of lamb and sweet breads for dinner. I hope you'll come and join us Selene," she said, before gently closing the door behind her. I reached for the only thing that comforted me. The pearl necklace that Mother gave me. I counted forty pearls and gave thirty-seven of them a special memory. To the remaining three, I gave promises. I promised to take care of my brothers, to find my beloved Ptolemy and to make my mother proud of me. Although the necklace gave me

comfort, it didn't take away the nagging home sickness and the stabbing ache in my heart that felt like it would last forever. Octavia's daughter, Antonia, was one year older than me. We were not only close in age, we looked alike with high cheek bones, full lips and long, curly hair. After all, we were half-sisters sired by the same father. Over time, Antonia became my best friend and confidante. Our beds were side by side and separated by a polished wood night stand with a clay figurine oil lamp on top. At night, after extinguishing the lamp, we often lay awake talking for hours. One night, I felt trusting enough to ask her a personal question about something that had been bothering me since my capture. "I know that both my parents took their own lives but I've been afraid to ask how they died. You must know how Father died. He was your father, too." I waited for a reply but the room fell silent and I wondered if Antonia had drifted off to sleep. Her voice startled me when she finally spoke. "There's no easy way to tell you, Selene." "If there's no easy way, then just say it." "My mother told me that he pressed the point of his sword into his chest and dropped his body weight onto it. I'm sorry, Selene. I didn't want to be the one to tell you." I shrieked, then buried my head in my pillow, sobbing uncontrollably over my father's violent death. "I loved him too," said Antonia. I wiped my face, wet with tears. "But he left you. He left you and he left your mother to be with mine." "He left us when I was four years old but he was my father and I loved him anyways." Antonia sat up in bed and lit the oil lamp. Her face was wet with tears. "How did he meet your mother? Tell me, Selene. I want to know." I sat up in bed, raising my knees to my chest and hugging my arms around them. "Mother used to brag that there has never been a man alive she couldn't seduce and Father was no exception. When she went to Tarsus to answer his questions about her loyalty to Rome, he fell hopelessly under her spell like Julius Caesar." "Did she really cast a spell on him?" "Father told me she did."

"I know why he came back to Rome and married my mother. He married her because she's Octavian's sister. That's what people do in Rome. They marry for political advantage, not love." The news we shared that night filled in so many missing pieces but not the biggest one. I sat in silence, working up the courage to ask Antonia about it. The moment the question fell from my lips, my gut wrenched and I regretted it immediately. "Do you know how my mother died?" "Princess Vipsania Agrippa told me what happened. She's a close friend of mine." "Agrippa? Is she related to Marcus Agrippa, the General who defeated my parents at Actium?" "Marcus Agrippa is her father. Are you sure you want to know?" asked Antonia, sensing my apprehension. "Yes. No. I'm not sure. Maybe not knowing tortures me more than knowing." Antonia sat on the edge of her bed in her white linen night clothes and I did the same, facing her. To comfort me, she reached out and held my hands as she spoke. "Vipsania told me that your mother barricaded herself inside her mausoleum, that she used her royal treasures to work out an agreement with Octavian." My grip tightened around Antonia's hands."An agreement? What kind of agreement?" "Your mother bargained for the lives of her children. She could have spared her own life but her dying wish was to deprive Octavian of the pleasure of being his victory trophy. Her handmaiden brought her a cobra coiled inside a hand basket and she pressed the venomous serpent to her breast. I'm so sorry, Selene." For some reason, I felt relieved. I suddenly understood why Mother chose to die the way she did. The cobra was the emblem she wore on her headdress. It protected her in life and freed her in death. ***** Octavian's stepson, Tiberius, lived in a room next to Alexander and Philip's room at the lower level of the mansion. He was two years older than me and it was hate-at-first-sight. I hated him because he was the stepson of my captor. He hated me because I was the

daughter of the Witch of the Nile. By the time we reached puberty, our hormones chased away our dislike for one another. Tiberius grew tall and muscular and his boyish sneer turned to a manly grin. Whenever he saw me, I felt his eyes sweep over me, devouring my womanly curves that had developed in all the right places. Somehow, I knew he was destined to be Rome's next Emperor and I fantasized about marrying him and becoming Empress of Rome one day. As Empress, I would use my influence to free my brothers and free Egypt. "I think he likes me," I said, confiding to Antonia about my amorous interest in Tiberius. "I'm afraid he's already spoken for, Selene. Tiberius is engaged to Princess Vipsania. It's a political arrangement if that's any consolation. I know he doesn't love her. Romans don't marry for love." "I'm going to win his heart anyways," I said, undeterred by the news. Mother had been an excellent role model. She taught me the art of bewitching the world's most powerful men and I was determined to follow her example and find a way to win his heart. ***** The Roman Amphitheater was Rome's most popular form of leisure entertainment, even outperforming the great chariot races at Circus Maximus. When I learned through Alexander that Tiberius would be filling in for Octavian as host of the fights, I asked Octavia if I could go. With Alexander and Antonia's help, we coaxed her into taking all three of us. The oval-shaped open air amphitheater was filled to capacity with ascending seating for spectators. An escort led our group to the Emperor's private box seats reserved for the families of Roman officials. I managed to slip into an empty seat next to Tiberius. "It's my first time," I said, breaking the ice. "See over there?" Tiberius pointed to a doorway at the south side of the arena. "That's where the gladiators come out. Gladiators fight for prize money. Prisoners and slaves fight for their freedom. They have to battle with trained gladiators and starving wild beasts to win their freedom." "What kind of beasts?" I asked, innocently. "Mostly big cats...lions, tigers, and leopards, but once in a while we bring in bears, elephants, and giraffes. The prisoners and animals

are held in cages in the underground passageways beneath the arena until show time." The trumpets blared and all eyes turned to a muscular gladiator costumed in leather and shining armor. Clutching a shield, he strutted into the center of the ring and saluted the roaring crowd with his gladius sword that gleamed in the mid-day sun. An unarmed African slave wearing only a loincloth entered the ring carrying nothing more than a weighted fish net to defend himself.

The gladiator swiftly charged after his human prey swinging and thrusting his sword back and forth in deadly, lunging swoops while the slave bobbed and weaved, ducked and side-stepped him. With nostrils flaring, the black man circled around his attacker waiting for an opportune moment, then hurled his fish net over the gladiator's head, yanking him off balance. Using all of his strength, the slave flung the weight from his net into his opponent's groin. The gladiator sank to his knees and, in a heartbeat, the black man disarmed him of his weapon. With only the shield for protection, the gladiator scrambled to his feet, deflecting several blows before the point of the

gladius tore into his thigh. He staggered backwards hitting the dirt with a thud. Blood squirted from his wound as he lay at the mercy of the slave. The fallen gladiator raised his index finger signaling a plea for mercy. The blood-lusting spectators rose to their feet. "Kill him! Kill him!" they shouted, while awaiting a decision from the Emperor's box. Tiberius stood up. He held not only the fate of the fallen warrior in his hands, but his popularity as Rome's next Emperor. Without hesitation, he pointed his thumb straight out like a sword and signaled no mercy. The slave clutched the handle of the gladius with both hands and lifted it high over his head. Pointing the tip straight down, he plunged the blade into the gladiator's face like he was spearing a head of cabbage. The gruesome spectacle sickened me, but to impress Tiberius, I pretended to be thick skinned. I watched the African man brace his foot against the dead man's chest and dislodge the sword from his skull. An official wearing the costume of an underworld demon hurried out into the arena and confirmed the death of the gladiator. Trumpets sounded again and the official grabbed the ankles of the human carcass and dragged it away leaving a blood-soaked trail of dirt in his wake. Spectators stood up and pointed to the south end of the arena where two starving lions bounded out through an open door. The emaciated animals crept towards the slave, drooling and circling him. He slashed at them frantically with his gladius but the beasts leapt and pounced, hungrily sinking their teeth into his flesh, tearing, chewing and silencing the slaves' tortured screams. I felt nauseous and covered my mouth with my hand to choke down the vomit as I ran from the amphitheater. Tiberius chased after me, catching hold of my arm at the exit. "That was savage!" I said, pulling away from his grip. "He was a thief. He deserved to die." "You lied to me. You told me that prisoners and slaves fight for their freedom. He won his freedom. Why did you let him die like that?" "What did you expect when you came here? An arm wrestle?" *****

Antonia was a light sleeper. A rustling sound and a faint knock at our door woke her up in the middle of the night. She lit the bedside lantern, got up to investigate and found a wax writing tablet that Tiberius had shoved under the door. "Selene! Wake up. There's a message from Tiberius." I sprang into a sitting position at the sound of Tiberius' name and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "What does it say?" "He wants you to meet him outside by the fountain." "Now?" "It doesn't say when. He must mean now. How bold of him!" exclaimed Octavia. I leapt out of bed and changed from my night clothes into a dark green wool tunic that clung to my curves and full breasts. "You're not going, are you?" "Please don't tell a soul," I begged as I splashed myself with rose water perfume. Antonia was my flesh and blood half-sister. I knew I could trust her when I stepped into the hallway and tiptoed barefoot through the darkened house and out into the night. Grape vines clung to the trellises, breaking up the moonlight and casting a mosaic of shadows along the walkway. My long golden hair streamed behind me as I hurried towards the bronze cherubs spouting streams of water into the fountain. Tiberius stood waiting in his white toga and fidgeting nervously. His disarming smile quickly faded when he saw the purplish bruise on my cheek. I winced as he caressed it with his finger. "What happened, Selene?" I sat on the ledge of the fountain wall and swished my hand in the water, stalling for time as I made up an answer. "Tell me," he demanded. "It's embarrassing," I said. "Tell me, anyways." "I bumped into a door. It was clumsy of me, I know." "I think about you all the time. Please say you don't hate me." Tiberius' eyes feasted on the outline of my hard nipples protruding from my wool tunic like short stems on two ripe melons. "I need a favor," I said, dampening the mood.

"Anything." "It's about my brother, Ptolemy. I need to know what happened to him... if he was captured and taken prisoner. Can you help me?" "I thought you knew." "Knew what?" "He's dead. I'm so sorry, Selene." "That's not what I heard. A very reliable source told me he was taken prisoner. Last night, I raised the hood on my black robe and hurried along the city streets towards the state prison. I passed starving people fighting with stray dogs over garbage and when I finally reached the prison, two night watchmen stood guard by the wall. When I asked them for information about my brother, they tore away my robe and struck me." "So that's how you got the bruise!" exclaimed Tiberius, raising his voice. "I'll have them arrested!" "Shhh," I whispered, earnestly while covering his mouth with my hand. "Someone will hear you. There are many different stories about my brother's fate. I need to know which one is true." "During the siege of Alexandria, our soldiers captured your brother's tutor..." "Rhodon?" "Yes. That was his name. My stepfather offered Rhodon his freedom and a large sum of money if he could find your brother and trick him into coming back. Rhodon tracked Ptolemy to Ethiopia on his way to India and promised him that Octavian would appoint him client King of Egypt if he came back with him. When your brother returned, our soldiers threw him in prison. My stepfather asked his advisor, Arius, what he should do with him and Arius advised him to kill him." I laughed out loud at the story. "Since when did Octavian need advice about what to do with his captives?" It was obvious to me that Arius and Octavian made up the story to avoid the embarrassment of admitting that Ptolemy had slipped through their fingers. "I'm just repeating what they told me." "Why would my brother trust a promise from Octavian to make him client King of Egypt after he robbed him of his kingdom and his inheritance as Caesar's only son? If Ptolemy had been so easily

tricked, he would have been very undeserving of our clever mother." After hearing Tiberius' story, I was more convinced than ever that Ptolemy was still alive. "Thank you," I said. "For what?" "For caring." I took Tiberius' hands in mine and lifted them to my breasts, moving them in circular motions and letting him grope and squeeze them. The scent of my perfume hung sweet in the air as he pressed his mouth against mine separating my lips with his hard tongue and penetrating my mouth deeply and possessively. I welcomed his hand under my tunic reaching between my legs and fingering the slippery moisture. His breathing quickened with my pleasurable moans and he reached around to the small of my back, pulling me tight to his groin. He groaned and whispered, "symbolon." It meant 'soul mate' and it became his pet name for me. My clandestine affair with Tiberius continued for months but rumors about our nocturnal love affair began circulating around the villa. Octavia got wind of the stories and confronted me in the kitchen while I was busy cutting up a pomegranate on the bread board and scooping the seeds into a bowl. "Tiberius is already spoken for. Any talk of marriage is strictly forbidden," she admonished. "Tiberius can make up his own mind," I said, continuing to spoon the pomegranate seeds into a bowl. "The walls in Rome have ears. Do you know what people are saying about you, what your nightly trysts are doing to your reputation? This can't go on, Selene. I forbid it." "Go ahead and tell me," I demanded. "Tell me what people are saying about me!" "They're calling you an Egyptian whore like your mother. Is that what you want?" Octavia's words stabbed into me like a twisting knife. "Say what you want about me but never ever speak about my mother that way!" I shouted. "Never!" As I picked up the bowl of red seeds and turned to leave, Octavia clutched my arm. The bowl tipped over, smashing into broken pieces

onto the tile floor and scattering the seeds like drops of splattered blood. "Do I need to remind you that Octavian is your official guardian? He is the only one with the authority to choose who you will or will not marry." "He can't force me to do anything I don't want to do!" I screamed, freeing myself from Octavia's grip. "He has already chosen the man you will marry." ~ See Authors Notes ~

5 WITHOUT A TRACE ______________________

I could taste the offensive tang of musty air as I navigated the rooms and hallways of a drafty, sinister looking palace perched on a high and barren plateau. Wet moss grew along the vaulted ceiling beams and the floors creaked from the force of powerful winds blowing in off the North African coast. I shivered from the crypt-like atmosphere of my new home, wishing I was dead. "It has potential," said Juba, examining the structural integrity of the weathered pillars. "With some hard work, we could make it livable." "I hate my life," I said, glaring at the twenty-eight year old King that Octavian had forced me to marry. He was twice my age and practically a stranger. To win my approval of the arranged marriage, Octavian tried to use friendly persuasion by including a sizeable dowry and appointing me Queen of the North African country of Mauretania. When that didn't work, he used more forceful methods. He threatened to kill my brothers, Philip and Alexander. "I didn't come here by choice, Selene. Rome was my home. It's where I grew up." "Then why did you bring me here?" I demanded, gazing around critically at the derelict interior of our home in Mauretania's dreary capitol city.

Juba leaned his hands on the window ledge and looked down below at the rocky coastline bordered by a towering wall of mountains. "You and your brothers weren't the only royal orphans Octavian rescued." "Rescued?!! Is that a new word for robbed, humiliated, violated and captured?!" I screamed. "Is it a new word for cruelty and malice?" Everything about my new husband was thoroughly Romanized from his traditional Roman toga to his patriotic allegiance to Rome but his gentle face and mild manner made it impossible for me to hate him no matter how hard I tried.

"My father was King of the neighboring land of Numidia until Julius Caesar invaded our homeland," said Juba, staring pensively out to sea. "I was a boy of seven when my father ended his life to avoid capture. They took me to Rome and marched me through the streets in chains for Caesar's victory parade. After Caesar's murder, Octavian raised and educated me like a son. I owe him my life, Selene. When he gave me your hand in marriage and appointed me Roman client King of Numidia and Mauretania, I had to accept." Juba

turned and looked at me almost apologetically. "We need to make the best of a situation we cannot change." Juba's story was my story too. It completely disarmed me and I felt my anger dissipate like rising morning fog. I thought about what the best of my situation might be and the answer came to me like an epiphany. "If I can't go back home to Alexandria, then the best situation is to bring my home here." "I don't understand," said Juba, puzzled by my comment. "Why not use the dowry money that Octavian gave us and build a palace like the one I grew up in?" Juba smiled at me and nodded. For the first time since our wedding, I smiled back at him. Sparing no expense, we imported construction materials and hired artists, architects, and workers to rebuild our deteriorating home into a lavishly designed, exquisitely landscaped palace like the one I grew up in. It took two years to complete the towering Greek columns, mosaic marble flooring and the magnificent ocean-view terrace. Hand woven rugs and frescoes graced the walls and winged sun disks crowned the front doorway where carved sculptures of lions stood guard. Juba even added a new wing to the palace. As the celebrated author of dozens of scholarly books on natural history and geography, he built his own private study so he could leave the country's administrative affairs up to me and dedicate himself to his writing projects. "Do you know what I'm going to do first as Queen of Mauretania?" "Declare war on Rome?" joked Juba, hoping to get a laugh out of me. When I didn't laugh, his expression turned to worry. "It was a joke, Selene." "I'm going to change the name of Mauretania's capitol city from Iol to Caesarea." "Caesarea? In honor of Caesar? " he asked, suspiciously. "In honor of my brother, Ptolemy XV Caesarian." ***** On the eve of our third wedding anniversary, Juba led me to a cushioned bench by our garden fountain of Isis. "I have a surprise for you," he said, withdrawing a scroll from inside his toga. As we sat

side by side, he untied the decorative red ribbon, unfurled the scroll and read the poem that he wrote for me. "Without rival, she is a moon goddess, perfect and bright, shining skin, seductive in her eyes when she glances, sweet in her lips when she speaks. Slender ivory neck, shining body, her hair is like fine gold, her fingers like lotus flowers, her thighs extend her beauty, shapely in stride. When she steps upon the earth, she turns the head of every man who sees her. Selene. I wish I were your mirror so you would always look at me. I wish I were your garment so you would always wear me. I wish I were the water that washes your body and the band around your breasts and the beads around your neck. Walk in peace with me to the edge of old age and I shall be with you each unhurried day, worshipping you always." Juba rolled up the scroll, tied the red ribbon around it again and handed it to me like he was handing me his heart. I saw longing in his eyes, the kind of longing when love is unrequited. I couldn't force myself to say the words he wanted to hear. "Thank you. It's beautiful," I said, casting my eyes down. My words sounded pathetically hollow and empty. "Tell me what I can do to make you happy, Selene." "Teach me to write like you." "I can teach you poetic forms and metrical beats. I can teach you the musical quality of poetry but I can't teach you to feel the words that breathe life into poetry." Juba kept his promise. He gave me an inkwell and rolls of papyrus to work with and a reed pen that he called my musical instrument. He taught me about stanzas, beats, and rhythm in the same way a music teacher teaches a student to read music. I learned everything I needed to know except how to compose. I loved Juba's generosity. I loved his intellect and I loved his talent but I couldn't make myself love him in any other way than as a friend. On starry nights, I often stood on the palace terrace listening to the hypnotic rhythm of the waves pounding against the rocky shoreline and looking up at the moon sitting companionless amongst the glittering stars. Was Ptolemy looking up at it too and thinking of me? On one occasion, I allowed myself to whisper on the wind the last words I spoke to him before he sailed away with the spiceman.

"At night, whenever you feel lonely, look up and you will see my glowing face looking back at you." "Who are you talking to?" asked Juba. Startled, I whirled around, unaware that Juba had come to the terrace door looking for me. "My brother, Ptolemy. I miss him terribly." Juba stepped towards me and pulled me into his arms to comfort me. "I'm so sorry about your loss." "Loss?" "Your brother. You must have heard, Selene." "I heard the lie," I snapped, pulling away from Juba's embrace. "What are you saying? That you think he's still alive?" "I don't think it. I know it." "Have you heard from him?" "When you love someone with all of your heart and soul, you just know these things. "You mean love him like a brother." "Like my brother, my lover, my everything." Juba shook his head, stunned by my confession. "You can't mean that, Selene. It's unnatural." "He's my half-brother." "It's still unnatural." "Unnatural for who? Ptolemy and I were betrothed to one another as children. Our family dynasty has a long tradition of marriage between family members. My mother married two of her brothers before she married my father. Her parents were brother and sister. It was our way of keeping the power and wealth in the family," I said. Juba ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair. "If it's power and wealth you want, you have that now, with me." "My love for Ptolemy has nothing to do with power and wealth." Juba and I never spoke another word about my confession after that. To keep the peace, he poured himself into his writing and research projects while I attended to the administrative affairs of Mauretania. I busied myself making plans to rebuild Mauretania's crumbling capital city into a footprint of Alexandria. I made it my passion and hired a team of talented artists, architects, and builders. Working closely with the artists, we designed the lighthouse, a triumphal arch, law courts, public baths, a library, and an open air

theater just as I remembered them. It took eight years to rebuild the derelict city of Io into a bustling, picturesque seaport like my native Alexandria. Greek columned buildings lined the city streets and led to a new Forum and to the crown jewel of my construction projects, the magnificent Isaeum Temple of Isis. While Octavian was busy stamping out the worship of Isis in Rome, I promoted her worship in North Africa and boldly advertised myself as the Queen of Egypt in exile. Like my mother, I wore the crown of Isis and a majestic purple robe. No one understood why Octavian put up with my open defiance, but the reason was obvious to me. He feared I would return to Rome and steal his stepson's heart and inheritance from him. Arguments between Juba and I were rare. Whenever we argued, it was always about the same thing. His acceptance of Roman culture and my need to rebel against it. After six years of marriage, I remained barren and my intimate life with Juba felt as uninspiring as stale flatbread. On one occasion, I fell asleep during sex and when he realized it, he awakened me. "Are you alright, Selene?" "Why did you wake me?" I asked, groggily, feeling his penis withdraw from me. "You were crying." I touched my face and felt wet tears. "Yes. I guess I was." "Was it a bad dream?" "I don't remember," I said before dozing off to sleep again. ***** Just when Juba had given up hope of ever producing an heir with me, I got pregnant. At the age of twenty-one, I gave birth to our son in the summer of 19 BC and named him Ptolemy. I was anxious to tell Alexander and Philip that they were now uncles. Octavian kept them on a tight leash as de facto hostages to insure my allegiance, but I managed to keep in touch with them by mail over the years even though our letters took four weeks or more to arrive. We wrote to each other on papyrus, closed it with a wax seal and bound it with a cord. In case they were ever intercepted, we used a secret Greek cipher code that rearranged the letters of the alphabet so that only my brothers and I could understand it. In one letter, Alexander wrote,

'Tiberius finally married Vipsania. It took six years for him to get over you.' In his last letter, Alexander wrote, 'I have been training as a gladiator at the Roman Amphitheater. With the prize money, Philip and I are planning to escape our Roman bondage.' That was the last I heard from either of my brothers and I worried about them constantly. ***** Living out my days in a passionless marriage as a servant client queen for Rome was a humiliating fate. Like my mother, I dreamed of greatness and my true ambitions were no less grandiose than hers. On a bright spring morning in 12 BC, the opportunity to fulfill my dreams came knocking. A bearded man who I didn't recognize peered in at me through the lattice of the palace window and startled me. He was carrying a black leather satchel and wore a white working class tunic and mantle that fell in sculpted folds around his sandaled feet. Juba was away in the eastern Mediterranean on a research expedition for his latest book with our seven year old son. Instead of calling for help from the servants quarters, I stepped closer to the window to confront the man. His eyes were warm and luminous like windows to infinity and there was something unearthly about him like he could not only see me but see right through me. A sudden shock of recognition sent me racing outside into his embrace. Without a word, he lifted me off my feet, swinging me around and around in dizzying turns while I smothered his face with kisses and showered him with my tears. When he set me down, I was afraid to blink for fear he would disappear and not be real. "Why did you wait so long to find me?" I asked. "I learned of your marriage. I thought it best to leave you be." "And now?" "I had to see you." Ptolemy pulled me back into his arms again with a crushing squeeze and buried his face in my hair. Then, he reached inside his satchel and presented me with an alabaster jar. "For you, my sister, my love. I brought it from India." I opened the jar and inhaled the intoxicating sweet fragrance of spikenard perfume that reminded me of my mother. She had imported large quantities of the expensive oil for her perfume and cosmetics factory at En Bouquet by the Dead Sea. "I don't know where to begin," I said. "There's so much to tell."

Years of bottled up emotions wrapped in words tumbled from my lips in broken sentences as I described the heartache, the dangers I faced on my desperate search for him, the Roman watchmen and keepers of the walls who tore away my cloak and forced themselves on me. Ptolemy gently covered my mouth with his hand, then led me over to the bench by the garden fountain of Isis. We sat reminiscing about our childhood and laughed about stealing a kiss and fondling each other when Mother wasn't looking. "I was a flat-chested virgin then but you were smitten with me anyways." Ptolemy stopped laughing. He caressed my hair, my face and my breasts that were now firm and plentiful. His tender touch sent a warm erotic rush racing through my entire body and I was powerless to stop it. That night, my beloved and I lay naked in my bed. Without shame, we indulged in the rapturous pleasures of heart and flesh, basking in the fiery passion that swept over us like a tidal wave. In the aftermath of our ecstasy, he laid his head between my breasts and I inhaled the scent of his hair and skin with its earthy sweetness of sun, salt and sea air. He spoke about the unspeakable, about our mother's suicide and Octavian's crushing victory at Actium. "That was the battle that broke Mother's spirit," said Ptolemy as I kissed away seventeen years of his unshed tears that streamed over me like warm summer rain. "In Rome, they told me Rhodon found you on route to India and tricked you into turning back by telling you that Octavian would appoint you client King of Egypt." "There was only one man Mother trusted enough to guarantee my safe passage to India. Joseph Ari Mathea. He's the Nobilis Decurio, the Minister of Mines for the Roman Government. He owns the largest merchant shipping fleet afloat." "Of course. The spiceman who smelled so good, like spikenard, cinnamon, frankincense, myrrh and all the chief spices. Mother called him Joseph Aroma-thea just to tease him." "Joseph has been a father to me all these years. He protected me with his life."

Cuddling in each other's arms, I drank in Ptolemy's words about arriving in India at the age of fourteen and traveling the trade routes by caravan from Egypt to the Indus River valley. "In Ladakh and Tibet, I studied the laws of the prophet Buddha. I learned Sanskrit and Pali and circulated with India's Aryas, the Jains, and Brahmin priests. They taught me to read and understand the Vedas and how to cure through faith and prayer. As I began teaching the holy scriptures in monasteries and market bazaars, I discovered that I could heal the sick with just the touch of my hand." "Mother would have been proud." "The day I learned of her suicide, I cursed the heavens." "And now?" "Every day I ask myself why our family deserved such a cruel fate." "Did you find an answer?" "There is no answer. Only one thought comforted me all these years. Reclaiming my lost Kingdom and my bride-to-be." The purpose of my beloved's visit was clear. He had come to claim me as his bride. I covered my face with my hands and wept. "What's wrong, Selene?" "I don't deserve your love. I left my brothers in Rome, I gave up my search for you and I married another man!" "Shhh!" Ptolemy pried my hands away from my face. "All is forgiven and all is well. Alexander and Philip escaped their Roman bondage." "Alexander and Philip? Alive? Where?" I asked, overwhelmed by the news. "They're waiting for us in Galilee. Come away with me, Selene. Let me teach you the lessons of the eastern mystics and the secrets of Divine wisdom. Together with our brothers, we will defeat the Romans and reclaim our inheritance. We will do it not through military might but by building a spiritual army that even a hundred Roman armies can't defeat." I wanted to leap for joy and yell, 'Yes! Yes! Take me with you!' but the knots in my gut forced me to hesitate, "I'll give you my answer by daybreak. Sleep now, my love."

The reunion with Ptolemy that I had longed for was bittersweet. It brought joy and sadness, celebration and heartbreak all at the same time. If I left, I would not only be leaving my loving husband and son behind, I would be giving up my life of luxury and the city I had turned into a glorious architectural footprint of Alexandria. If I stayed, I would be giving up my dreams and my beloved Ptolemy to spend the rest of my days in a passionless marriage that Octavian had forced on me. I would continue in my humiliating role as a servant client Queen of Rome. The decision I had to make tortured every fiber of my being. While Ptolemy slept, I sat at my desk by candlelight searching for an answer through poetry. Like a symphony, the words flowed from my heart into my pen and wrote themselves. By day, my beloved came to me unannounced. He looked inside the window showing himself through the lattice. At first I did not recognize him. 'Is this my brother who sucked the breasts of my mother, the one who I kissed when she was not looking and caused him to drink the juice of my pomegranate?' I asked. 'Who is she that is fair as the moon? She is our mother's favorite and only daughter,' he said. I ran to him, held him, and would not let him go. My beloved was mine and I was his until the day break and the shadows fled away. 'Open to me, my sister, my love for my head is filled with dew,' he said. Dripping with myrrh, my bowels rose up and opened to him. Until the day break and the shadows fled away, he came to my mountain of myrrh and my hill of frankincense. 'Your plants are an orchard of ripe fruits with spikenard and all the chief spices,' he said. 'You have ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse. How much better is your love than wine and the smell of your ointments than all spices! I have taken off my coat. How shall I put it on again? Rise up, my love, and come away. Our bed is green. The beams of our house are the cedar trees. Fairest among women, join the footsteps of the flock and feed our kids beside the shepherds' tents. Come, my beloved, let us go out into the fields and lodge in the villages. Let us go out early to the vineyards. There I will give you my love.' I named my poem Song Of Songs. I had no way of knowing that it would survive the ages and one day be included in the Old Testament of the Bible as one of the greatest love poems ever written. I also had

no way of knowing that it would be shamefully revised and renamed Song of Solomon. I went back to bed as the first rays of sunlight angled through the shutters caressing the sleeping face of the man I loved with every fiber of my being. I whispered in his ear, "I am yours, my brother King. Let us go forth and lodge in the fields and villages. Let us get up early by the vineyards and watch the vines flourish, the tender grapes appear, and the pomegranates bud forth. There I will give you my love." That morning, I left Juba, my son, and Mauretania behind. Carrying only a small travel bag, I left without a word, without a trace, without even a goodbye and convinced myself that I had a higher purpose to fulfill. It was a decision that would haunt me all the days of my life. ~ See Authors Notes ~

6 ALIAS ______________________ I began my new life travelling thousands of miles by land and sea to a small fishing village called Magdala on the Sea of Galilee. Ptolemy led me to a moonlit hilltop overlooking a slumbering tent community of shepherds and grazing flocks of sheep. Frolicking in my newfound freedom, I breathed in the sweet fragrance of the night air, kicked off my sandals and wriggled my toes in the grass. Ptolemy made a shrill whistling sound that was immediately answered by a similar whistle from down below where lamp-lit tents glowed an amber color from the burning oil lamps. Two shepherds came running up the hillside and when they reached the top and saw me, they called my name and embraced me. "Selene!" The last time I saw my twin brother Alexander, he was a gangly fourteen year old. Now, he was twenty-eight, tall and hulkish with long disheveled hair, a scraggly black beard and a broken nose that had been crushed by a blow during a gladiatorial fight in Rome. By contrast, my youngest brother Philip was lean and well groomed with long chestnut brown hair tied back by a leather string. His gentle voice reminded me of Juba and stirred unwelcome thoughts about how devastated Juba and my son must have been when they found me gone. "Look. There's Venus in the west shining like a beacon and Saturn to the left," said Ptolemy, pointing up at the twinkling heavens. He pulled me down in the grass and playfully rolled me over onto my back next to him. Alexander and Philip stretched out in the grass on either side of us. Laying all in a row, the four of us took turns pointing at the constellations just like we did as children in Alexandria. I clasped Ptolemy's outstretched arm and directed his pointing finger to the

graceful star-studded winged horse suspended in the black void. "There's Pegasus just waiting for us to climb aboard and ride him across the celestial sea."

"And there's Orion, the hunter, with his faithful dog Canis Major. We've had many heart to heart conversations together," said Alexander, laying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head. "See that hazy band of white light overhead? That's the Milky Way galaxy," said Ptolemy. "It's where Hercules' arrow flew aimlessly through the night sky and pierced Queen Cassiopeia's bosoms spewing her milk across the heavens." "How did you find each other?" I asked, abruptly changing the subject. "We were just kids when Mother sent Ptolemy away with Joseph," said Philip, "but we knew Joseph was from Jerusalem, so that's where we began our search for him." "Getting out of Rome couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't," said Alexander. "When Octavian gave me permission to train as a gladiator, he never expected me to win. During my debut at the amphitheater, he released two starving beasts into the ring and three slaves instead of one. When it was over, I stood in the blood of my human and animal prey and looked up at Octavian seated in the Emperor's box. As I raised my gladius and pointed it at him, the crowd cheered believing it was a victory salute but it was my way of saying, 'you're next'. Philip and I used my winnings to buy our way out of Rome." At the very least, Alexander's gladiator story was an exaggeration, if not his tallest of tales, but I dared not question him about it without turning the tranquil hilltop into a war zone. "When we got to Jerusalem," continued Philip, "we asked at the temple if anyone knew of a shipping merchant named Joseph. One of the priests gave us directions to Joseph's country estate in Capernaum. We wore out the soles on our sandals from three days of walking and when we finally got there, Joseph's wife, Mary, told us he was away in Britain on a merchant voyage. We asked her if she needed workers and she said her son, Simon, was looking for sheep herders to take their flock to market in Magdala." "She felt sorry for them," teased Ptolemy. "As fugitives from Rome, we never use our birth names anymore," said Alexander. "I call myself Judas Thomas Didymus now. Thomas is Greek for 'twin' and Didymus means 'twin' in Aramaic." "My new name is James Adelphos," said Philip. "I chose Adelphos because it's part of my birth name, Philadelphus." "You need a new name, too, Selene, not just for your own protection but for ours," insisted Alexander whose words sounded more like an order than a request. My brothers chose names that said something about their past yet hid their identity at the same time. I sat up, hugged my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them, trying to think of a name that would fit me like a comfortable garment. As I listened to Magdala's night sounds of chirping crickets and bleating sheep, I thought about combining Selene, with the name of the town, Magdala, that had become the birthplace of my new life. I blurted out, "Magdelene!"

Ptolemy sat up next to me and pondered my name choice. "Magdelene. It's perfect," he said, kissing me on the cheek. "And what perfect name did you choose for yourself?" I asked. Ptolemy's eyes glistened with starlight and a warm breeze tousled his hair. "After Joseph heard the news of Mother's suicide, he adopted me as his own son and named me Yeshua. We sailed across two seas to the land of Britain where he and his brother, Nicodemus, owned tin mines. Since the mines were close to Stonehenge, I hiked up into the clouded hills and touched the healing rocks. That's when I felt my Divine countenance for the first time. My spiritual journey took me to India, Tibet and the Himalayan Kingdom of Nepal. Through Buddhist and Hindu holy men, I learned eastern mysticism and discovered through faith and prayer that I could heal people and perform miracles." "What kind of miracles?" asked Philip. "I touched the blind and they could see again. I touched the lame and they could walk again. The people started calling me Isa Masih, their Messiah." "Can you perform a miracle and defeat the Romans?" asked Alexander. "All of Palestine would thank you for it." "All it would take is faith and the will of the people." Under a canopy of twinkling stars, the four of us made a pledge that night. We pledged that our royal past would cease to exist beyond our family circle and our names, Ptolemy, Selene, Alexander and Philip would never again pass from our lips. "From this day forward, I am none other than Judas Thomas," said Alexander. "And I am Magdelene." Philip got down on his knees and bowed his head before Ptolemy, "I am James Adelphos and you, my brother King, are Yeshua, our Savior and Messiah." Ptolemy and I fell asleep cocooned inside a blanket on a hilltop meadow with only the sky as our roof. As the dawning light chased away the stars, I awoke to the scent of wild flowers, the singing birds and a kiss on my forehead. "I have to pee," I said, with urgency. Ptolemy helped me to my feet and gestured to the meadowland sprinkled with red poppies, purple hyacinths and yellow marigolds in

full bloom. "Anywhere you like." I chose a spot behind an olive tree, raised my tunic and squatted down. My urine steamed in the morning air and pooled on the ground between my jeweled sandals. How easy it was for my brothers to just stand and point, I thought. Daylight flooded the eastern sky flushed pink by the rising sun. I could smell the wood smoke from the tent community's breakfast fires as I folded the blanket that served as a bed. Alexander and Philip led two shaggy-haired donkeys up the hill, one with a heavy pack of food and supplies strapped to its back and the other wearing a colorful striped saddle mat. "It's a full days journey to Capernaum. Climb on," urged Alexander, steering the saddled donkey in my direction. "I've never ridden a donkey before." Alexander flashed a wide grin exposing his broken and jagged front tooth. "Would you rather walk?" "Help me up," I said. Alexander threaded his fingers together and cupped his hands into the shape of a stirrup. "As I hoist you up, throw your leg over the saddle mat," he commanded. Following directions, I gathered my tunic together and put my left foot into Alexander's cupped hands, then threw my right leg over the donkey's back and sat up straight with a victory smile. As I reached forward and patted the donkey's neck, it twitched its tail, raising a cloud of gnats. "Go away!" I yelled, slapping and swatting at them as they swirled around my head. The startled donkey bucked and kicked up its hind legs, then streaked across the meadow bouncing me up and down on its back like a stuffed doll. The fabric of my yellow tunic trailed behind me and so did my brothers, chasing after the crazed animal. Alexander caught up to me first, grabbed the donkey's lead and slowed it to a halt. "You missed your calling," said Alexander, howling with laughter. "You should have been a chariot racer!" Unamused, I swung my leg over the saddle mat and slid to the ground. "I'm walking!"

***** Beneath a boundless blue sky, our sandals slapped the dusty road with a steady beat. The scent of tilled soil mixed with the musky odor of animal dung wafted in the breeze from the farms that dotted the terraced hillsides. As we walked through the small mountain hamlets, workers in the orchards and vineyards smiled and waved and I smiled and waved back. "This is the friendliest region in the entire country," said Ptolemy like a proud countryman. Galilee was his new home and I wanted to think of it as my home, too. By noon, the blazing sun reached its highest point in the sky and we stopped in a shaded spot under a sycamore tree to feast on figs,

grapes and bread. Open blisters had formed on my ankles where my sandal straps rubbed against my skin, now raw from the long hours of walking. Ptolemy noticed the blisters and kneeled down to remove my sandals. "Why didn't you say something?" I grimaced as he washed the dust from my burning sores with water from his wineskin and gently applied aloe ointment from his leather satchel. "I'm afraid you'll have to ride the donkey the rest of the way," he warned. "Don't worry. I'll hold tight to his lead this time," promised Alexander. "I'd rather have blisters," I said, putting my sandals back on and getting to my feet. Ptolemy scooped me up in his arms and started carrying me down the road. "If you won't ride the donkey, then we'll just have to take turns carrying you the rest of the way." "Put me down!" I demanded. With a promise from Ptolemy to hold tight to the donkey's lead, I worked up the courage to remount the skittish animal. Overhead, silver bellied clouds cast shadows on the roadway bringing intermittent relief from the unforgiving sun. By late afternoon, we began the long and winding descent to the seaside village of Capernaum. As we got closer, the smell of salty seaweed and fish pervaded the air. In the distance, I could see the shining Sea of Galilee rippling and trembling like strings on a harp. "Welcome home," announced Ptolemy, leading me aboard the donkey down the main street past a fish market, fruit stands and drystone basalt houses. "Capernaum intersects with an international trade route and connects travelers to Damascus, the silk routes and Palestine's port of Caesarea. It's going to make an ideal home for our new ministry." The sun made one last defiant flash behind a tall mast fishing boat with its loose canvas flapping idly in the breeze. ***** A blue-gray mist hovered over the acreage of Joseph's massive country estate populated with granaries, stables, pools, gardens, and two large mud-brick houses that bordered a communal courtyard. We followed a narrow foot path through the cherry orchard where a

gentle snowfall of pink and white flower petals danced all around us from a light breeze. The sweet fragrance mixed together with the aroma of fresh baked bread, vegetable soup and roasting lamb drifting from the courtyard. "Shalom," shouted Joseph, hurrying to greet us with open arms. I recognized Joseph right away as the spiceman, recalling the excitement I felt as a child whenever his ship sailed into Alexandria harbor. 'Mother, come quick. The spiceman is here!' I would yell. Joseph's beard looked a little whiter and he had gained a few inches around his belly but he hadn't changed much. His wife, Mary, looked half his age and couldn't have been much older than Ptolemy. When her eyes met mine, I immediately sensed her disapproval. "Father, Mother, I want you to meet my companion, Magdelene," said Ptolemy as I slid from the donkey's back into his arms. "Shalom," I said, politely. I could understand why Ptolemy introduced Joseph to me as his father but it surprised and even offended me when he introduced Mary as his mother. It felt like an insult to the memory of our real mother. Joseph pretended not to recognize me. He was sworn to secrecy about our family history knowing that as long as Octavian ruled Rome, Ptolemy was in grave danger of being recognized, captured and killed. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone about Ptolemy's royal past, not even to his own wife and children. Instead, he told them a half-truth. He told them that he hired the orphaned boy Yeshua in Alexandria to work on his ship and adopted him as his son. Joseph and Mary lived in the main house on the estate with their daughter, Ann, and with Mary's spinster sister, Martha. Both were busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. "Please, be seated," said Mary gesturing to a long table in the lantern-lit courtyard. Nearby, flames from the open fire pit hissed and leapt from the fat drippings of a roasting lamb. "I'm famished," said Alexander, rubbing his belly. Martha and Ann served steaming hot vegetable soup flavored with lemon, garlic and turmeric, then joined us at the table. During the table talk, I had to catch myself from uttering the only names I knew my brothers by. Ptolemy, Alexander and Philip. It was no easy task

remembering to call them by their new names, Yeshua, Judas, and James. The dinner conversation turned to a story about how Joseph and Mary first met. "I grew up in Cornwall. It's a small town in Britain where my father, Nicodemus, and my uncle Joseph owned tin mines," said Mary, tucking a stray curl under her blue head scarf. "Father operated the mines and uncle Joseph travelled the world's sea lanes marketing tin, spices and precious stones to distant ports with his fleet of merchant ships. Whenever he came to Cornwall for more supplies, Martha and I, and our brother Lazarus gathered around him as children and listened to his stories about his high seas adventures. On one occasion, he poured precious stones into the palm of his hand and told each of us to pick the one we wanted. "I picked the green stone and had it set into a gold necklace. I've been wearing it ever since," said Martha, showing off the emerald that lay glittering against her large bosom. Everything about Martha was large from her sandaled feet to her waistline to her big heart. By contrast, Mary was petite, slender and reserved. "Which one did you pick, Mary?" asked Philip. "I chose the pink pearl. Joseph said he got it in Alexandria during a visit with Queen Cleopatra. He told me she loved pearls so much, she braided them into her hair and even drank a pearl once." I sputtered on a spoonful of soup at the mention of Mother's name. "Is my soup too spicy?" asked Martha. "No. No. It just went down the wrong way, that's all. I'm fine." Looking around the table, I noticed that everyone was staring at the expensive pearl necklace that I wore around my neck but no one dared to ask me where I got it. Mary continued, "From the time I was a little girl, I would say, 'I'm going to marry my uncle Joseph when I grow up.'" Joseph's smile of amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I was certain she would meet a dashing young suitor one day and forget all about me." "The truth is, I married him for his jewels," teased Mary. "And I married her for her dowry."

It didn't take long to figure out that teasing and joking were as common a pastime for Joseph and Mary as eating and sleeping. Far from needing a dowry, Joseph was one of the wealthiest men in Jerusalem along with his brother, Nicodemus. Both were influential members of the Jewish Pharisee sect and both sat on the ruling Jewish Sanhedrin Council known as Jerusalem's Court of Justice. I soon learned that the two men lived in separate houses on the estate and divided their time between Capernaum and their Gethsemane estate near Jerusalem. Unlike the other women in Joseph's house, I wore my hair down and uncovered. My hands had never known labor and my skin was soft and unblemished. Since Mary knew nothing of my past, she must have assumed I was a woman of loose morals for travelling as Ptolemy's unmarried companion. After dinner, Mary's daughter, Ann, noticed my yawn even though I discreetly covered it with my hand. "You must be exhausted, Magdelene. Would you like me to show you to your guest room?" That was the first time anyone had called me by my new name, Magdelene. I had to learn to respond to it. "Yes. Thank you, Ann. It's been a long day." Ann lifted a hanging lantern off the hook on the courtyard's wood post and picked up my carrying bag that Ptolemy had unloaded from the pack donkey. She was an eager-to-please, modestly dressed young woman but there was something boyish about her, about the way she carried my bag up the flight of stone steps and walked with a long stride along the second storey walkway. The hinges creaked as she opened my guest room door. "During the hot season, we sometimes sleep on the flat upper roofs," said Ann, setting my bag down on the floor and placing the lantern on the bedside table. She swung open the shutters on the window overlooking the estate and invited a warm breeze to drift in. "Is there anything I can get you, Magdelene?" "No. Thank you. You've been very gracious." "Sleep well," said Ann, closing the door behind her. I sat down on the colorful hand-woven patch quilt that covered my bed and gazed around the room. It reminded me of the servant's quarters at the palace in Mauretania. Just the thought of Mauretania

triggered a flood of punishing thoughts. What kind of woman would abandon a loving husband and son, leaving without a word, without even a goodbye?

As I got up and strolled over to the wash basin, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bronze mirror hanging on the wall above the basin. I couldn't look at myself and turned away. What did Juba do when he found me gone? Was he still looking for me? How would my son manage without a mother? I picked up the earthenware pitcher of well water, poured it into the wash basin and splashed my face over and over again trying unsuccessfully to wash away the cascade of unwelcome thoughts. ~ See Authors Notes ~

7 THE WEDDING _________________________ Sobbing softly, I lay sleepless in my guest room bed with my eyes wide open. Whenever I closed them, I saw the faces of Juba and my son asking, "why did you leave us?" I craved the comfort of Ptolemy's arms, the tenderness of his touch and his reassurance that I made the right choice. I kept telling myself that my sin was holy in purpose, that I gave up my husband and son for a higher good. The pain in my heart told me otherwise. A gentle knock at my door startled me. I wiped away my tears and quickly got up to open it, hoping to find my beloved on the other side. Ann stood in the doorway with a tray of cheese curds. "I noticed the lantern was on in your room and I thought you might be hungry," said Ann with a friendly smile that exposed a dimple on her cheek. "Please, come in," I said, relieved that my nocturnal visitor might somehow distract me from my torturous thoughts. We sat cross-legged on the bed nibbling on cheese curds. "Are you the only girl in the family?" I asked. "The only girl among three brothers. Simon, Joses and young Matthew." Like Ann, I had to contend with the challenges of being the only girl among three brothers but I couldn't tell her that. "My parents planned to call me Andrew if I was a boy," she continued, "but they got a girl and named me Ann after my maternal grandmother. I like the name Andrew." "Do you want me to call you Andrew?" I asked. "Oh, heavens, no!" exclaimed Ann. "I don't know why I said that. "Tell me how you met Yeshua?" I hesitated and tried to think of the most honest answer I could give her. "I can't remember exactly but I feel like I've known him all

my life." Our conversation shifted to a holy man and a prophet named John the Baptist. Ann's dark brown eyes mirrored the flame from the lantern as she described the miracle of John's birth as his devoted follower. "He bathes people by the hundreds in the Holy Spirit and brings them messages from God," she explained. "His mother, Elizabeth, was beyond child bearing years and when she gave birth to him, an angel appeared to his father, Zacharias, saying 'he will be great in the sight of the Lord and he will be filled with the Holy Ghost, even from his mother's womb.'" "Where does he teach?" "By the River Jordan. He lives alone in a wilderness cave without any possessions except for a camel hair robe that he ties into a loin cloth and fastens with a sheep skin belt. He lets his hair and beard grow wild and walks barefoot. The soles of his feet are as tough as leather." "How does he feed himself?" "I've seen him eat live locusts and use his long fingernails to pick out the wild honey that the bees store in the rock crevices." "Can you take us there?" I asked, knowing that Ptolemy would like to meet this Holy man with such a large following. "Us?" "Ptol..." I quickly caught myself from blurting out the name I promised never to utter again. "Yeshua and I." "It would be an honor." Once the blisters healed on my feet and ankles, Ann loaned me a pair of sturdy leather sandals and took Ptolemy and I on the treacherous journey across rugged terrain to the wilderness hill country. Along the way, we stopped to cool off under the fine mist of a waterfall and drink from a meandering stream. When we reached the baptismal gathering place, hundreds of people were already milling about waiting for John the Baptist to appear. Cook fires burned along the sandy river bank where John's disciples shared dried bread, dates, nuts and salted fish with followers that included included hideously disfigured lepers, painted women and beggars in tattered home-spun tunics. "Where did all

these people come from?" asked Ptolemy, in awe of the large gathering. "Mostly from Jericho and Jerusalem but many come from towns and villages in Galilee and the Judean countryside," replied Ann. "They believe John has the divine power to forgive sin and heal them. Some even believe he's the Messiah of prophecy whose return was predicted centuries ago." We sat on the river bank and waited for hours with no sign of the Baptist. A warm breeze caressed my face and filled my nostrils with the fresh smell of sea water and reedy marshes. "Maybe he's not coming today," I said. "Be patient," insisted Ann. "He never misses a day. When he's not teaching and baptizing, he passes his time in the deep forest with his hands clasped together in prayer and..." BeforeAnn could finish her sentence, the Baptist emerged from the wilderness with matted hair, leathery skin, and blazing eyes. He looked half-man, half-beast. Like a thunderbolt, his husky voice echoed off the hilltops. "Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand," he hollered. "Tell us how to repent!" shouted a man in the crowd. "Whoever has two coats must share them with one who has none," answered John as he waded knee-deep into the swift-flowing current of the Jordan. Spellbound, I watched the people flock to John in great numbers, some in tunics, others wearing nothing more than their loincloths. They stood in line preparing to confess their sins and bathe in the Holy Spirit. One by one, John dipped their heads into the Jordan forgiving them not only of their sins but cleansing their entire being and preparing them for the coming judgment day. Without hesitation, Ptolemy stripped down to his loincloth, waded into the Jordan and stood in line with water lapping at his knees. When his turn finally came, John cradled his neck, leaned him backwards and submerged his head with a splash. In front of hundreds of witnesses, John raised him back up again and announced, "I saw the spirit descending from heaven like a dove and I saw it abode upon you. You are the lamb of God!"

"His name is Yeshua! Yeshua is the lamb of God!" shouted Ann, excitedly. Ptolemy appeared to be in a trance as he waded to shore and walked towards us dripping wet. "I must leave you now and journey alone into the wilderness," he said, pulling on his tunic. "The wilderness? Why?" I asked, concerned about his bizarre pronouncement. "I need to fast in solitude and test my faith." "But how will you survive?" asked Ann who seemed equally as concerned. "On faith alone." I wanted to say, "Please don't go" but I held my tongue, knowing that nothing I could say would change his mind. "How long will you be gone?" "Forty days and forty nights."

My heart sank as I watched Ptolemy follow a footpath, never once looking back before vanishing into the desert wasteland. Overhead,

the treetops sighed from a gust of wind and I sighed with them. ***** I wanted to sleep away the forty days and nights but Mary, Martha, and Ann had other plans for me. They taught me the domestic skills that servants always provided for me. As the days passed, my attention to my appearance and clothing became less of a concern. The grain had to be ground, bread had to be baked and the goats needed milking to make cheese. Ann taught me how to sheer the sheep, card the wool, and spin it into lengths of fabric on portable looms. Martha showed me how to make stew in a large pot and season it with salt, onions and garlic, or sweeten it with wild honey and syrup from dates. Whenever I found myself alone with Mary, I felt an awkward, uncomfortable silence. As hard as I tried to fit in, nothing I did changed the disapproval I felt from her. Was it jealousy over Ptolemy's affection for me? I didn't know. As the days crept by, I counted the minutes, the seconds, praying for my beloved's return. On the fortieth night of his departure, I sat by the window of my guest room, staring down at the moonlit path that led to the courtyard. Out of the dawning blue mist that blanketed the land, Ptolemy's silhouette finally emerged. My heart pounded wildly and I dashed out of my room and down the stone steps, two steps at a time, almost tripping in haste. I continued running until I reached Ptolemy's outstretched arms. "Yeshua is back!" shouted Ann who was already up feeding the livestock with her eldest brother, Simon. They dropped their chores and came to greet him with a warm embrace. "I am told by witnesses that you are the Lamb of the living God. Is it so?" asked Simon. "The prophet John said as much. When he baptized me, I felt the holy spirit enter and guide me into the Judean wilderness." "How did you survive without food?" asked Ann. "A tempter came to me and said, 'If you are the lamb of God, tell the stones to become bread'. I answered him and said, 'It is written that man shall not live on bread alone, but on the words of the Spirit.' Then he tempted me to prove my Divinity by throwing myself from the pinnacle of the temple and I said to him, 'It is written that one must never tempt the Spirit.' Lastly, he took me to a high mountain top and

showed me all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. 'All this I will give you if you will bow down and worship me,' he promised. It was then that I disavowed him and drove him away." "As you stand before me now, I see with my own eyes that you are filled with the holy spirit. How can I serve you?" asked Simon. Ptolemy pointed to a large rock in the field, a short distance away from Simon's house. "Do you see that rock over there? It will be called the 'petros' of Simon and your name will henceforth be Simon Peter. With your help, we will build our first church house there." After Ptolemy's long absence, I longed to spend time alone with him and anoint him with precious spikenard oil from my alabaster jar but Simon had already invited him to join him for a glass of wine in the courtyard. Holding my alabaster jar, I waited patiently at the kitchen entrance to the courtyard and overheard their conversation about building a church house. "It will be a place of worship, a meeting hall for followers of our ministry," said Ptolemy. "Through our church house and many more like it, we will build a movement, a spiritual army of followers that will greatly outnumber the Roman army." "Your plan is extraordinarily ambitious," said Simon. "To outnumber the Roman army, you would need to recruit thousands from every district." "Everything has a beginning. John the Baptist started a movement. It had a beginning and his followers now number in the hundreds. The Jordan River is big enough for more than one holy man. I will baptize by the Jordan and I will teach and heal in the villages. I invite you and our entire family to join me as disciples. Together, we will recruit thousands from every district." Ptolemy noticed me standing in the shadows by the kitchen doorway to the courtyard. "Magdelene! Come and join us," he said, reaching out his hand to me. Simon abruptly stood up. Repelled by my presence, his eyes bore into me with a menacing glare. He turned to Ptolemy and questioned his Divinity. "Can't you see that this woman is a sinner? If you are a true prophet filled with the Holy spirit, how can you let her touch you?" I made no attempt to defend myself. Simon was right. I was a sinner, an adulteress married to another man. I kneeled down at

Ptolemy's feet and washed them with my tears. Then I dried them with my hair, kissed his feet and anointed them with the precious spikenard oil from my jar. "I see only love in her heart," said Ptolemy. "It is the same love I have in my heart for her." ***** Ptolemy's reputation as a teacher and healer had earned him the title of Rabbi at the local synagogue. Beneath the pink pastels of the dawning sky, we walked hand in hand along a well beaten path to the synagogue and passed a shepherd sitting on a grassy slope. He was watching over his grazing sheep and playing a pan flute under the shade of an olive tree. The haunting melody drifted on the morning breeze and followed us inside the temple courts where people had already gathered on benches. As he stood before them, two Pharisee law keepers entered the temple and shoved an adulteress in front of him. The woman cowered and clutched at her torn tunic to cover her exposed breasts. "Rabbi, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. According to the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?" asked one of the Pharisees. Ptolemy chose his words carefully knowing that if he defended the woman, he would be defending adultery and the Pharisees would accuse him of a crime. "If anyone here is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." Those who heard his reply started to leave, the older ones first, then the others followed. Finally the two Pharisees walked out leaving Ptolemy and I alone with the accused woman. "Woman, has no one condemned you?" asked Ptolemy. "No one, sir." "Then neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more." I waited for the accused woman to leave the temple courts before confronting Ptolemy with a question of my own. "I am a married woman, too, and I am also an adulteress. My sins are no different from the woman who you just commanded to sin no more. Can you tell me to sin no more? Can you tell me never to kiss you, never to hold you, never to make love with you ever again?" "Has no one condemned you?" asked Ptolemy.

"Yes. I have condemned myself." "Adultery is not adultery when a man and woman are married," said Ptolemy, taking me in his arms. "Without an ounce of gold or shiny stones, I ask you now, will you be my wife and Queen?" ***** Covered by a sheer silk veil, my hair tumbled to my shoulders in golden waves. Above the neckline of my white wedding dress, I wore the string of gleaming pearls that Mother had given me for my wedding day. This was the day she meant it for. Ptolemy and I recited our wedding vows before family and friends at the town hall in Cana nestled in the highland region of Galilee. Only Joseph and my brothers understood the true significance of our dynastic marriage as Egypt's last surviving Pharaoh and princess. After the ceremony, Mary joined the well-wishers. Her embrace was stiff and formal and her words of congratulations felt forced and hollow. Ptolemy had hoped that our marriage would bring Mary and I closer together and that she would mother me just as she had done with him and our brothers, Philip and Alexander. As master of the wedding banquet, Joseph arranged a lavish ceremonial feast fit for royalty. Candelabra glowed with hundreds of twinkling flames on white linen-covered tables crowned with bowls of exotic sculptured fruits. An ensemble of musicians played lyres, lutes and harps as waiters carried silver trays and served each table with steaming hot Mediterranean delicacies nestled inside roasted piglets. After dinner, Alexander and Philip strolled onto the dance floor in front of our matrimonial table, locked arms and gestured to the other men to form a dance line. Ptolemy and Mary's brother Lazarus joined them and so did Joseph and his sons, Simon, Matthew, and Joses. Laughing heartily, the men hooked arms and stepped one foot over the other, swaying to the music. When the music mellowed, Joseph whisked me onto the dance floor. "You're as regal and ravishingly beautiful as your mother," he said, taking my right hand in his and pressing his other hand against the small of my back. "I wish she were here," I said, choking on my words. "Maybe she is. I can feel her watching us. Can't you?" said Joseph while guiding my steps with graceful ease.

Joseph had a special way of warming people's hearts which is probably why Mother was so fond of him. Despite his wealth, power and great influence, he was as comfortable to be with as a trusted best friend. "I remember how close you and your mother were, how she used to dress you the same way she dressed herself with matching gowns and jeweled sandals." "Mother and I shared everything together. Even our deepest secrets. I know of only one that she kept from me." "How do you know if she kept it from you?" "Remember the spice and perfume recipe book she gave you when you sailed into Alexandria on your birthday? I peeked at the dedication she wrote on it. It said, 'To Joseph, the keeper of my secret recipe.' When I asked her about it, she wouldn't tell me. I could never understand why she kept something as unimportant as a secret recipe from me." "The recipe had nothing to do with spices or perfumes..." Before Joseph could say more, Ptolemy cut in on our dance. "May the bridegroom have the pleasure?" Joseph bowed graciously and stepped aside while Ptolemy swept me into his arms, gliding and twirling me around and around on the dance floor. For a moment, I felt weightless like we were dancing on air in a world of our own. "There's no more wine!" complained Alexander who was standing at the wine table and holding his empty goblet upside down. Moments later, Mary tapped Ptolemy on the shoulder and interrupted our dance. "I'm afraid our guests have consumed all the wine. Can you work a miracle, my son, and replenish it for them?" How strange, I thought. Joseph was in charge of ordering the wine as master of the wedding banquet. It was so unlike him to make a mistake like that. Ptolemy motioned to the head waiter. "Go and fill six stone jars with water." The waiter left the room and when he returned, he announced, "I found six stone jars used for ceremonial washing but they weren't filled with water. They're filled to the brim with wine!" "Draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet," commanded Ptolemy.

The head waiter filled a goblet and brought it to Joseph. After tasting the wine, Joseph made a toast to the bridegroom. "Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink, but you have saved the best until now." ***** As newlyweds, we put an end to three long months of sexual abstinence and moved into the largest guest room in Joseph's house. Through the window, the pale moonlight washed over our bodies that glistened with sweat from a firestorm of unbridled love making. During a lull in our ecstasy, I asked Ptolemy a question that hinted at the surprise I was saving for him. "What will we name our first born child?" I asked. Ptolemy propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me inquisitively. Without a word, he pressed his head against my abdomen. "She will be an Egyptian princess, beautiful like her mother. I like the name Sarah. It's the Hebrew name for Princess." Our precious moment was stolen by the sound of a walking stick and footsteps shuffling up to our door, followed by a knock. "It's Joseph's brother, Nicodemus," I whispered, recognizing the limp from his crippling arthritis that forced him to walk with a cane. "Why would he visit us on our wedding night?" "It must be important," said Ptolemy. We slipped into our night clothes, invited him in and helped him into an armchair at the foot of our bed. By reputation, Nicodemus was pious, stingy and miserly but, oddly, his late night visit was about a personal matter concerning his children, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. "Please forgive my intrusion but I am a man of advanced years and deeply distressed," confessed Nicodemus. "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no man can do the miracles you do, unless God is with him." "Tell me what is distressing you." Nicodemus bowed his head. "My children no longer respect me." "To win your children's respect, you must be born again," urged Ptolemy. Nicodemus seemed puzzled by the teaching. "How can a man be born again when he is old? Can he enter into his mother's womb for a

second time?" "Those who are born of the flesh into this temporary earthly realm and become reborn of the Spirit will be received into the eternal heavenly realm. Your experience of being disrespected by your children is a test. It challenges you to grow in spirit." Still puzzled, Nicodemus threaded his gnarled fingers together and sat in silence, pondering Ptolemy's words. "Where is this heavenly realm that you talk about?" "It is not a physical place. It is the light of the Divine and it is within you and all around you. As you grow spiritually, you will come to know it, feel it, embrace it and be it. Only then will your children respect you." "Yes. I think I understand now." Like Joseph, Nicodemus entered our fold that night as a secret disciple. ***** The sun ducked behind the hills on the far side of the Jordan River leaving a welter of crimson in its wake. Philip, Ann, Ptolemy and I set up camp downstream from where John the Baptist performed his baptisms. While Ann and I collected firewood, Ptolemy and Philip erected a tent shelter and laid out ground blankets for us to sleep on. The next day, we rose at dawn, made a breakfast fire and sat on a blanket sharing boiled eggs, nuts, berries and flatbread that we brought in our backpacks. Ptolemy strolled down to the shoreline to refill our empty water jug with drinking water and noticed a young woman from John's camp straying in our direction. She stopped to talk to him at the river's edge. Ann leaned towards me by the fireside. "Her name is Salome. Beware of her. I saw her tempt the Baptist with her sexual advances." "Look at her clothing and jewelry. She must be a woman of means," remarked Philip, appraising her from a distance. Salome was wearing an embroidered, full skirted mauve dress with gold trim, sheer sleeves, and a glittering jeweled belt that showed off her small waist and shapely figure. She looked at least ten years younger than me with an attractive face and a stylish youthful allure that I once had before the thief of time stole it from me. I glanced down critically at my thick leather sandals, my plain, shapeless tunic and my hands and feet that were no longer soft like a

princess. Instead, they had become rough and calloused like the hands and feet of a servant. I never experienced jealousy before but when Salome touched Ptolemy's arm in a flirtatious way, I felt the urge to break up their conversation and introduce myself as Yeshua's pregnant wife. Before I could act on the urge, Salome sauntered back in the direction she came from and Ptolemy rejoined us by the campfire. "I know that woman you were talking to," said Ann. "Her name is Salome and she's the step-daughter and niece of King Herod Antipas." "She said she witnessed my baptism and John's declaration. She offered to help build my ministry." "Help how?" asked Ann, suspiciously. "She said that John is overwhelmed by the hundreds who come to him for baptism in a single day. She offered to steer the overflow to our camp." "I'll bet that's not all she offered," said Ann, under her breath. ***** Salome kept her word and by the end of the week, people were flocking to Ptolemy for baptism. From sunrise to sunset, he not only baptized them, he bathed them in the holy Spirit and spoke to them about salvation and the Kingdom of Heaven. At night, the temperature by the Jordan dipped from comfortably warm to damp and chilly. We covered ourselves under the tent canopy and bedded down for the night. "I wonder why so many people are straying to us from John's camp," I said, snuggling up to Ptolemy. "I counted close to fifty today." "I'm happy to receive them," said Ptolemy, before drifting off to sleep. A rustling sound awakened me in the middle of the night. I got up to investigate and found Ann sitting alone by the fading campfire. I squatted down and warmed my hands by the glowing embers. "Is something wrong, Ann?" "It's John. No one has seen him in three days. From the time I joined his ministry, he never missed a single day of baptisms. His disciples are worried about him. They're forming a search party. I think we should help them."

"That explains why so many people are flocking to us for baptisms." "I'm hearing unkind rumors," said Ann. "Unkind rumors?" "That Yeshua is stealing John's ministry." "Sharing isn't stealing. John teaches about sharing. We heard him say, 'Whoever has two coats must share them with one who has none.' John has publicly proclaimed Yeshua's Divine calling. They are both sharing the same message." Without another word, Ann got up and walked away. I watched her follow the river bank under the moon glow towards John's camp where fires were still burning in the distance like little red dots. ***** Ann returned to our camp at daybreak. "Wake up!" she yelled. "John's been arrested. He's in Machaerus prison." Sleepy-eyed, we sat up and emerged from our ground blankets. "Arrested for what?" asked Ptolemy. "For publicly condemning King Herod Antipas and his unlawful marriage to Herodias. "What was unlawful about it?" asked Philip. "When Herodias married the King, she was already married to the King's brother." "Did John condemn the marriage?" I asked. "Is it true?" "John has never condemned anyone for anything. He forgives sin." "If John didn't condemn the marriage, who made up the lie?" asked Ptolemy. "I think Salome did it. Herodias is Salome's mother." "But she's one of John's followers. Why would she make up such a lie?" I asked. "I don't know, " said Ann, looking bewildered. "No one has seen Salome since John's arrest." ~ See Authors Notes ~

8 RIVALRY ________________________ I stood on tiptoes in the orchard reaching for the ripest cherries and dropping them into a wicker basket hooked over my arm. I popped one in my mouth and enjoyed the succulent rush from the sweet juice. As I licked the crimson from my lips, I saw Ptolemy in a neighboring field, hammering shingles and straddling the rooftop of the new church house that he was building with Simon. He smiled and waved and I smiled and waved back before returning to my cherry picking. Ann came up behind me and startled me. "I visited John in prison," she said, solemnly. "How is he?" I asked, even though her pained expression said it all. "I had to pay the guards to let me in and when I saw him, I dropped to my knees and cried like a baby. It broke my heart to see the shackles, the bruises and the bald spots on his scalp where chunks of his hair had been ripped from his head. " I put down my cherry basket and embraced her. "I'm so sorry, Ann." "Two of John's disciples were already there when I arrived and I heard one of them say to him, 'Yeshua has been stealing the words from your mouth, Rabbi. He has plagiarized your message and robbed you of your ministry.' Then the other one said, 'He is no lamb of God. He is a thief, an imposter, a false Messiah.'" "What did John say?" "He began to doubt Yeshua's divinity. He bowed his head and told his disciples to go and ask Yeshua, 'Are you the One who is come, or shall we look for another?'" I looked squarely at Ann. "What do you believe, Ann?"

"I don't know what to believe, anymore." ***** The grand opening of our church house attracted hundreds from the community. It was just as Ptolemy had envisioned it. A large hall with a flat timber roof and rows of wood benches divided by a central aisle and facing a podium. Outside, Mary and Martha served fruit drinks and baked goods at long tables while I stood by the doorway welcoming new arrivals. The hall quickly overflowed with standing room only. Men, women and children squeezed next to me at the back of the church awaiting the first sermon. A hush fell over the crowd as Ptolemy stepped up onto the podium. His white himation fell in sculpted folds at his sandaled feet and he stood silently gazing around the room, looking at everyone individually as though he could not only see each face but see into their heart. "This church is God's house on Earth," he said in a calming voice. "Everyone is welcome here. Rich and poor, weak and strong, old and young, sinners and innocents. You can see this church with your own eyes and you can point to it with your finger but the realm of heaven you cannot see or point to or say it is here or it is there. It does not come with outward signs. The realm of heaven is within you and all around you." "How can it be within me and all around me when I feel suffering within and I see suffering without?" asked an elderly man seated in the front row. "Suffering is not your enemy. It is one of your greatest teachers. Over time, it humbles you and wears away at your self-centered needs and desires. It teaches you the meaninglessness of physical possessions and the meaningfulness of spiritual connections. The realm of heaven is a spiritual realm. It's Divine light lives in each of us. Seek it. Know it. Feel it. Embrace it in yourself. Embrace it in others. I am here today preaching the good news that the realm of heaven is reachable to all who seek it." At the end of the sermon, I watched the people file out with their faces aglow like they had just been touched by God. As Ptolemy and I were about to leave, a woman appeared at the door. She was wearing a black hooded robe like a widow in mourning. I peered

under her hood and recognized her immediately as the woman who Ann had warned me about. "Salome?" Salome nodded, then broke into tears. "Please help me!" she pleaded. "I need God's forgiveness!" "What do you need God's forgiveness for?" asked Ptolemy. "I killed John the Baptist," confessed Salome, dabbing at her tears with a silk handkerchief and hyperventilating. "But John is in prison," I exclaimed. "Not anymore. I killed him. I deserve to die, too!" wailed Salome. We led Salome to a bench and sat down on opposite sides of her. "Calm yourself and tell us what happened," said Ptolemy. "My mother held an all night birthday feast at Herod's palace for my stepfather, King Herod Antipas," sobbed Salome. "She hired musicians and jugglers and as a special surprise, she got me to dance solo for the King and his guests." Salome paused to mop away her tears with her handkerchief and blow her nose. "The King was so pleased with my performance, he made a pledge promising to reward me. 'Ask me for whatever you want,' he said, 'and I will give it to you'. My mother was sitting next to the King and I strolled over to her and whispered, 'What should I ask for, Mother?' and she said, 'The head of John the Baptist'. I did what she told me to do. I asked the King for John's head." "And he honored your request?" I asked, in disbelief. "He said, 'I am a man of my word', then he sent an executioner to the prison and by the end of the night, the executioner returned carrying John's severed head on a platter. He tried to hand me the platter but I screamed and shoved it away. John's head fell to the floor, bouncing and rolling like thunder until it came to rest in front of my mother and the King." Salome covered her face with her hands. "I saw John's eyes. They were like the eyes of a dead fish, glazed and bulging and staring up at them. I can't get it out of my head!" "You could have asked for gold and riches and half the kingdom. Why did you do it?" I asked. "John rejected me," wailed Salome, throwing her arms around Ptolemy and showering him with her tears. "Please tell God to forgive me. I know he'll listen to you."

"It is you who must do the asking," said Ptolemy, untangling Salome's arms from around his neck. He took her hands and pressed them together in prayer. Salome looked up towards the rafters. Tears trembled in her eyes. "I'm sorry, God. I'm sorry for what I did. If I could bring John back, I would. I'm really not a bad person. Please forgive me and I promise I will serve you all the days of my life." Ptolemy helped Salome to her feet and led her to the door. "Remember your promise." As I watched her leave, I couldn't find it in my heart to forgive her. Salome had killed a holy man as surely as if she had strangled him with her own two hands.

***** John's followers knew nothing of Salome's role in the grisly beheading. They blamed the King for ordering his execution and organized a memorial service on the shores of the Jordan River to mourn his passing. Ann warned Ptolemy to stay away from the gathering."There's growing resentment towards you amongst many of John's followers.

They feel you betrayed him and robbed him of his ministry." "When John called me the Lamb of God, it was his will for me to serve God as I am doing. I will join his followers and I will honor his memory without an apology and without fear." On the day of the memorial service, Ptolemy and I stood on the bank of the Jordan amongst John's followers and listened to their tearful testimonials and eulogies. A towering, heavy-set man with a massive beard arrived at the gathering. "Yeshua! Show yourself!" shouted the man. One of John's followers pointed to Ptolemy. "Over there!" The man pushed his way through the crowd, stormed up to Ptolemy and punctuated each sentence he spoke by poking his forefinger into Ptolemy's chest. "If you are the lamb of God, why didn't you visit John in prison? John cleansed you. He baptized you. He witnessed for you. Now you are here taking his place. If you are truly a miracle worker, why didn't you visit him in prison? Why didn't you perform a miracle and free him?" Standing in the man's shadow, Ptolemy paused to collect his thoughts but his accuser lost patience with him and so did the sea of judgmental faces that surrounded him. "Are you the lamb of God or are you an imposter and a charlatan?" demanded the man. This time, he poked Ptolemy's chest with enough force to push him backwards. "I am the way and the truth and the life," said Ptolemy, standing his ground. The blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached to them." I feared for my beloved's safety when three more of John's faithful disciples confronted him. "We went to Machaerus prison to claim John's headless body," said one of the disciples. "From your own lips, we heard you say that you can raise the dead. We beseech you now to follow us to John's resting place and raise him up again." "A beheaded man cannot be raised. If I could raise him up, I would," answered Ptolemy. "John is in God's hands now. Let us join together not only to remember his words but practice them and teach them. Repent for the Kingdom of heaven is near." *****

Despite Salome's murderous ways, Ptolemy welcomed her into our inner circle and invited her to a meeting of our family of disciples in the church house. It was a decision that upset me not only because I didn't trust her but because her very presence robbed me of my peace. When I confided my feelings to Ptolemy, he said, "No one can rob you of your peace. Only you can do that." Salome sat on the front bench next to Mary, Martha and their brother, Lazarus, whose skin looked as pale as white magnolias. I sat behind them with Philip, Ann and her her thirteen year old brother, Matthew. Joseph and Nicodemus were absent from the meeting. As secret disciples, they distanced themselves from our movement. They had to divide their time between Capernaum and their garden estate in Gethsemane near Jerusalem to fulfill their duties as members of Jerusalem's powerful Jewish Sanhedrin Council. Ptolemy was interrupted while addressing our small gathering from the podium. Alexander, Simon and Joses arrived late. I found it strange that they didn't offer an apology and remained standing by the door instead of seating themselves. "As you know, our Christian community has been growing in greater and greater numbers," said Ptolemy, continuing. "Those who have witnessed my healings and heard me speak are now calling me their Messiah. They want to know who my parents are, when and where I was born and how I spent my childhood." Ptolemy unfurled a scroll and began reading from it. "According to the Jewish prophets, Isaiah, Zechariah and Micah, the Messiah will fulfill the following prophecies. He will be born of a virgin in Bethlehem. He will be a royal descendant of King David of the Hebrew tribe of Judah. He will be a King and a teacher but he will not be believed. He will heal the sick and begin his first spiritual work in the district of Galilee." "Some of those prophecies you have already fulfilled, Master," remarked young Matthew. "I must fulfill all of them. To do so, I am going to need the help and devotion of each and every one of you. The Messiah will enter the Temple of Jerusalem with authority and, afterwards, he will be arrested and tried. In front of his accusers, he will be silent and they will beat him, mock him, and spit on him. They will crucify him with

criminals but his bones will not be broken, yet he will die a violent death and be buried with the rich." "God help you!" whimpered Mary, covering her face with her hands. "Be joyful, Mother. I will conquer death and be resurrected." "Tell us how we can help?" pleaded Martha. "You can help by choosing a leadership role." With my pregnancy nearing full term, I found it difficult to get up from a sitting position but I managed to stand and speak first. "I will teach and witness for you by recording your life, your words and your miracles in writing." "I will also record your life and words in writing," echoed Matthew whose pubescent voice broke in mid-sentence from a boyish alto to a manly baritone. Salome, Mary, Martha, Ann and Lazarus offered to recruit new followers through their testimonials about the miracles and healings they had witnessed. Philip stood up next. "I will serve you, Lord, as a Christian teacher and preach to the masses in Jerusalem." Ptolemy's eyes wandered to Simon, Joses and Alexander standing by the door in silence. "Does anyone else wish to speak?" "We visited the mountain region of Gamala," said Alexander. "Since anti-Roman sentiment runs deep there, it would make an ideal location for a rebel camp." "This is the first I have heard of such plans," remarked Ptolemy. "A spiritual army can't fight the swords of our Roman oppressors. They'll slaughter us like sacrificial lambs," argued Simon. "Even if we succeed in winning the hearts and minds of the people, eventually they'll have no choice. They'll have to take up arms and fight for their freedom." "As a trained gladiator, I can teach our followers to fight," said Alexander. "The message of the Christian movement is a message of love and peace. We will defeat the Roman enemy not through violence but through peaceful disobedience," declared Ptolemy. "Our rebel movement is a separate movement but we share the same goal," said Alexander. "That goal is to free the people. We will

do it with swords, not words." "A rebel movement is no match for the Roman army," declared Ptolemy. "It will be," said Alexander, speaking with a confidence bordering on arrogance. "We will recruit and train rebel followers, both Christian and Jew. Once we outnumber the Roman army, we will defeat them with our might, our weapons and our willpower." I knew my twin brother better than anyone. Maybe even better than he knew himself. It was his lust for power and his hatred of the Romans that motivated his decision to turn against Ptolemy. ***** I passed by the open door to Joseph's study and noticed young Matthew sitting at his father's desk writing by the light of an oil lamp. "Can I get you anything? Melon juice? Some dates?" I asked. "Oh, hello Magdelene. No thank you, but I'd like your opinion about something if you don't mind." "It would be an honor," I said, seating myself across the desk from him. Matthew stroked his chin where his peach fuzz had sprouted some whiskers. "I have been reading the ancient prophecies of Isaiah who said the Messiah would be born of a virgin and would come from the line of King David. My father is the 27th generation descended from David and since he adopted Yeshua as his son, Yeshua is the twenty-eighth generation." I felt a stabbing pain and grimaced. "Are you alright, Magdelene?" "The baby is a little restless today. That's all. Tell me how I can help." "The prophecies claim that the Messiah was the son of a virgin mother. My father adopted Yeshua as his son before he married my mother. She was a virgin when she became Yeshua's mother through marriage. I composed an immaculate conception story about Yeshua's birth. Would you like to hear it?" "Yes. With pleasure." Matthew cleared his throat and began reading. "This is how the birth of Yeshua came about. An angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, 'Do not be afraid to take the virgin Mary home as

your wife. She will be the mother of your son who you will name Yeshua because he will rescue his people. When Joseph awoke from his sleep, he did as the angel commanded and took Mary as his wife and called their son Yeshua.'" Matthew looked across the desk at me for a reaction. "Since you wrote the story as a dream, I wouldn't change a thing," I said, smiling at him approvingly. "Father told me that Yeshua was an orphan when he hired him to work on his ship. Yeshua never talks about his real birth mother. Do you know who she was, Magdelene?" "She was a Greek Egyptian." "What happened to her?" "She died from a snake bite." "I guess that's why he never talks about her." Suddenly and without warning, I felt my water break. "The baby...it's coming!" I tried to get up but my knees buckled from a powerful contraction and I fell back into the chair. "I'll get Yeshua!" Matthew leapt to his feet and raced out of the study. Within minutes, he returned with Ptolemy followed by Mary and Martha. "The baby's not due yet. Something's wrong," I said. "She's in a hurry to see us. That's all," said Ptolemy, picking me up in his arms. "She's going to be fine." ***** Sarah, the royal granddaughter of Queen Cleopatra VII of Egypt was born on the sixth day of June, 9 BC. She was a little underweight but beautiful and perfect just as I imagined she would be. In the beginning, I welcomed Martha's help until her mothering help turned to smothering help. She would say to me, "let me do that for you," and insisted on bathing Sarah, changing her, sewing clothes for her, singing to her and rocking her to sleep. She fussed and doted over her like she had given birth to her herself. The only thing she didn't do is breast feed her but I'm sure she would have done that, too, if she was able. I finally lost my patience with her during an incident in the courtyard. I was sitting at a table holding Sarah on my lap and teaching Ann how to play an Egyptian board game.

Martha approached our table with a tray of drinks and set it down. "How about a cup of cool melon juice?" she asked. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Aunt Martha," said Ann. "Sarah looks like she needs a nap. Let me take her," said Martha, reaching out. Hurtful words sprang from my lips almost involuntarily. "Sarah is my daughter, not yours," I snapped. Martha backed away. Her eyes welled up with tears and she fled into the house. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that..." "You don't have to explain, Magdelene. I understand," said Ann. "No. It was cruel. I must apologize to her." "There's something you need to know. There's a reason why Martha fusses over Sarah the way she does. I should have told you sooner." "Told me what?" "About twelve years ago, there was a man in Martha's life but the relationship ended badly. He ran off with another woman. After he left, Martha found out she was pregnant and suffered a miscarriage late in the pregnancy. It broke her heart when she lost the baby. She wanted so much to have something to love." "How awful," I said, feeling even worse for my cutting remark. "I think Sarah has become a substitute for the child Martha lost. That's why she pours all of her love and affection into mothering her." ***** By the time Sarah could walk and talk, I felt comfortable leaving her in Martha's care while I took a week-long missionary trip to Samaria with Ptolemy and Philip. Relying solely on the hospitality of the Samaritan people, we brought nothing but our staffs to navigate our way up steep hills, along dried-up river beds and through pastures of waving grass where lizards, buzzards and insects made their homes. Overhead, streaks of pink feathered clouds painted the dawning sky as we descended a hillside along a dusty footpath that led to a sleeping Samaritan fishing village. We stopped to quench our thirst at a public drinking well on the main street. Ptolemy lowered the roped wooden pail into the well water with a splash, filled it to the brim and hoisted it back up again.

"Look!" said Philip, pointing to a young boy waving to us and descending the same hillside footpath. He hurried towards us along the main street. "It's Aaron, Mary's foot messenger," said Philip. Breathless, the boy caught up with us and struggled to deliver his message. "Mary and Martha sent me to find you," panted Aaron. "They beg you to come home right away. It's their brother, Lazarus. He's deathly ill." "Would you like a drink of water, Aaron?" asked Ptolemy, showing no concern over the boy's message. Aaron scooped handfuls of water from the pail and repeated himself between gulps. "Lazarus is deathly ill." "Go back and tell Mary and Martha they have nothing to fear. Lazarus is going to be fine," said Ptolemy. ***** After an exhausting week of wandering from village to village, healing the sick and attracting new followers to our Christian movement, we left Samaria and returned home to Capernaum. A crowd of Jewish mourners were mingling in the courtyard upon our arrival and offering their condolences to Mary and Martha. "What happened, Mother?" asked Ptolemy. "Lazarus died while you were away! If you had come home to heal him, he'd still be with us!" she sobbed. "Show me where you laid him." The crowd of mourners followed behind as Mary and Martha led us down a garden path to the tomb adjacent to Joseph's tomb. "There!" cried Mary, pointing to a heavy circular-shaped stone that covered the entrance. "Take away the stone," said Ptolemy to the mourners. "But, Lord, he's been dead four days," protested Martha. "By now, he smells of death." "Are you a believer, Martha?" "Yes, Lord. I am a believer." "Take away the stone," repeated Ptolemy to the mourners. As two Jewish men stepped forward and rolled away the grave stone, Ptolemy cast his eyes to the heavens and prayed out loud. "Father, I thank you for hearing me. I know that you always hear me,

but I say this for the benefit of the people standing here now, so they can witness that you sent me." Ptolemy shouted, "Come out, Lazarus!"

All eyes stared into the tomb's black cavity, waiting for any sign of movement. Ever so slowly, Lazarus emerged out of the cavernous darkness into the light. His face was covered by a white cloth and his body was wrapped in strips of white linen. Wide-eyed, Mary and the mourners gasped and backed away. "Take off his grave clothes," commanded Ptolemy. Frozen in awe, the mourners continued staring at the walking dead man. "Don't be afraid," urged Ptolemy. "What you are witnessing is a miracle." The same two mourners who had rolled away the grave stone heeded Ptolemy's command. In cautious steps, they approached Lazarus and began unraveling his grave clothes.

"Do you take us for fools?" said an elderly Jewish skeptic pushing his way to the front of the crowd. "Look at his burial clothes! If this man had been properly wrapped and bound according to Jewish custom, he wouldn't be able to walk or even move! This is no miracle. It's a hoax!" "Can't you smell the decay?" exclaimed Martha. "Lazarus was dead for four days and now he lives! It's truly a miracle!" The skeptic bent down and picked up a discarded linen strip laying on the ground and sniffed it. "This burial cloth wasn't properly treated with spices and aloes. It was treated with the stench of a dead animal!" ~ See Authors Notes ~

9 ASSASSINS ___________________________ When he wasn't at sea, Joseph divided his time between his country estate at Capernaum and his garden estate near Jerusalem fulfilling his priestly duties as a council member for the Jewish Sanhedrin. I braced myself for trouble when he made a special trip to Capernaum for a private meeting with Ptolemy and I. Joseph's somber expression alarmed me the minute we entered his study. He was sitting at this desk with his hands clasped so tightly together on his desktop, his knuckles turned white. We sat across from him and to avoid eye contact, I glanced at his collection of artifacts that lined the wall shelves. One of them looked familiar to me. The gold armband shaped like a coiled asp looked exactly like the one Mother used to wear but I knew this was no time to ask him about it. "It's no longer safe for you to move about publicly among the Jews," said Joseph. "Your warning comes as no surprise to me, Father," remarked Ptolemy. "Many complaints have been lodged against you to our Council members." "Complaints?" "For preaching a revolutionary doctrine." "Is preaching about salvation a revolutionary doctrine?" I asked. "As council members, Nicodemus and I are obliged to attend the hearings and consider the witness testimony. It is our duty to listen and pass judgment." "May I ask what the witnesses had to say?" asked Ptolemy. "The first witness accused you of staging a hoax and pretending to raise the dead in order to draw the crowds to your ministry. Two

more witnesses identified themselves as past disciples of John the Baptist. They accused you of copying the prophet's words and baptisms and robbing him of his ministry. Then a scholarly man knowledgeable in philosophy and ancient religion appeared before us. He accused you of plagiarizing the sutras of the Buddha and the Dhammapada. He claimed that you borrowed Krishna's immaculate conception story and borrowed his name by changing it from Sanskrit to the Hebrew name 'Christ' like Chrish-na. He also accused you of plagiarism by calling yourself the 'Light of the World' like Krishna and using the same messages found in the Bhagavad Gita and Upanishads." "I have never denied the influence of the great mystics of the East upon my teachings, Father," defended Ptolemy. "What else have I been accused of?" "Sedition. That was the charge of deepest concern to the council." "Why does the council fear us?" I asked. "A doctrine of love and peace and good will towards men is not sedition!" "It's not you they fear. It's the Romans. If your Messianic movement attracts a large enough following, they fear it will threaten the authority of our council and put our nation state at risk. After hearing all of the evidence, the council members voted in favor of charging you with sedition for violating Mosaic Law, for preaching a revolutionary doctrine and for challenging the authority of the state." "How did you cast your vote, Father?" "I voted in favor of charging and arresting you for sedition." "I thank you for that. It is a prophecy that must be fulfilled... but all in good time." "The time is now. An order for your arrest has been issued with instructions for anyone knowing your whereabouts to report you." Joseph slumped back in his chair and exhaled a long sigh. A pained expression swept over his face. "Your life is in God's hands now." "Since I was a boy of thirteen, you protected me. You called me your son and I have called you Father. I have not known or loved any other earthly father but you. If my life is taken unexpectedly, I must not leave this world without an answer to a deeply personal question that only you can answer."

"No question from you has ever been personal and no answer from me has ever been less than honest." "I have often questioned Caesar's paternity as my real father. He was a man of mature age who took four wives, yet he sired only one daughter. Many times, your merchant ship dropped anchor in Alexandria harbor. On such occasions, you stayed at the palace as my mother's guest. Did you stay when her lover, Julius Caesar, was absent?" "Yes. Your mother and I were lovers." Joseph's confession took my breath away. This was the one secret Mother kept from me. Now I understood why. The dedication she wrote on her spice book, To Joseph, keeper of my secret recipe, was about Joseph being Ptolemy's real father. They must have kept the secret hidden to protect Mother's false claim that Ptolemy was Caesar's son and heir to the Roman empire. I reasoned that if Joseph was Ptolemy's real father, then Simon, Matthew, Joses and Ann were his half brothers and sister. ***** As a wanted fugitive, Ptolemy fled through Ephraim into the mountainous hill country and I fled with him. We left Sarah out of harms way at Capernaum with Martha and Mary and traveled to the remote village of Gamala. From a distance, the walled village seemed to hang precariously in mid-air on the summit of a steep mountain slope with alleyways and stone steps separating the ramshackle houses. Alexander greeted us at his rebel training camp dressed in a sleeveless, ankle-length tunic that showed off his massive, ox-like shoulders and rippling muscles. He wore a wide leather belt around his waist and a stolen diadem on his head that symbolized his power and authority as 'Judas', the Zealot King. By reputation, his fledgling rebel movement had grown into a cut-throat terrorist organization of revolutionaries and assassins who had killed so many men, they had lost count. "Welcome," said Alexander, pulling both of us into a crushing bear hug and lifting us off our feet. "What brings you to Gamala?" "The Council has issued an order for my arrest," said Ptolemy. "Arrest? For what?"

"Sedition." Alexander put one arm around Ptolemy's shoulder and the other arm around mine. "You've come to the right place. We specialize in sedition!" he chuckled. His wide grin exposed his broken and jagged front tooth. "Come and meet my wife and two sons." We stayed as guests at Alexander's house on the west plateau of the village with a view of a blossoming olive tree orchard and the valley below. His young Jewish wife, Rebecca, was at least ten years younger than Alexander and judging from the way she looked at him, she adored everything about him. Rebecca prepared a special dinner of marinated fowl that she served with wine and unleavened bread.

"To King Herod. May he rot in hell!" trumpeted Alexander, raising his cup of red wine, then downing the entire cupful in a single gulp. It dribbled onto his beard and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "They say he died with tumors sprouting from his feet like giant warts and gangrene eating away at his flesh. He knew the people would celebrate instead of mourning his death, so he dreamed up a devious scheme to attract mourners to his funeral." "By paying them to come?" I asked. "Herod was too cheap for that," laughed Alexander. "He filled Jericho's stadium with people and ordered his men to slaughter them at the moment of his death. He knew their families would mourn for them but he didn't care who they mourned for. He just wanted people to mourn at the time of his death."

While Alexander rambled on about Herod at the dinner table, Rebecca breast fed their one month old son who they had named after Simon. "Jewish male infants are customarily circumcised at eight days of age," commented Ptolemy, noticing that the boy was uncircumcised. "My sons were begat with foreskins and foreskins they shall keep. If baby boys were meant to be circumcised, God would beget them already circumcised from their mother," said Alexander. Rebecca ruffled Alexander's curly black hair. "Judas is a good father and he's a good husband, too, when he's not beating me," she joked. "He's also a good brother when he's not bullying me," I said, ramping up the teasing. Defenseless against his female assailants, the fearsome, selfcrowned Zealot terrorist leader, quickly retreated to his conversational comfort zone. "The death of Herod has changed the mood of the people. The land is ripe for rebellion!" "Octavian has taken a census of Herod's territory and divided the land between his three surviving sons," said Ptolemy. "He's using the census as a tool to identify and arrest those who refuse to pay taxes to Rome." "Gamala is a census-free-tax-free zone," laughed Alexander. "When freedom fighters join our movement, we ask them to place their right hand over their hearts and make a pledge." Alexander placed his hand over his heart to demonstrate. "I pledge to die rather than pay taxes and live under Roman occupation." "Where do you find recruits?" asked Ptolemy. "Half of my men are Herod's soldiers. They defected after his death and joined our fight against the King's troops. The other half are poor peasants from small towns where resentment runs high against Rome's wealthy Jewish puppets. Persuading them to join our movement is as easy as pissing in the wind. I simply tell them that evil only triumphs when good men do nothing. I lead four thousand trained rebels and Simon leads another six thousand with Joses and Matthew." I swallowed hard. "Matthew?" "All three of Joseph's sons have joined our rebel group."

"But Matthew is just a boy," I protested. "He's fifteen now. Alexander the Great was a General by the age of sixteen. Don't worry. Matthew hides his identity among the rebels. He calls himself Matthias, son of Margalus. If they knew he was the son of a wealthy Sanhedrin council member like Joseph, they'd never trust him. "What about Simon and Joses?" I asked. "They use code names. Simon is known amongst the rebels as Simon Zelote. At home in Capernaum, he uses the name, Simon the leper. 'Leper' is code for 'zealot'. Only zealots know the code." "And you, my brother, what is your code name?" asked Ptolemy. "Judas Iscariot. Iscariot means 'dagger-man'. The Roman sica dagger is our weapon of choice. It's curved like a half moon and very effective for slitting the throats of Roman soldiers and Jews who cooperate with the Romans." After dinner, we gathered on chairs around the stone fireplace in the great room. Alexander stoked the logs, kicking up a spray of orange sparks that threw dancing shadows across the mud-brick walls. "Remember the golden eagle that King Herod hung over the gateway of Solomon's Temple?" asked Alexander. "The imperial symbol of Rome. Who could forget?" recalled Ptolemy. "The eagle has flown," said Alexander, with an after-dinner belch. "Simon and I went to Jerusalem with forty young rebels. In broad daylight, we tore it down and smashed it into little pieces. Herod called it a sacrilege. On his deathbed, he ordered my capture and execution at the exact moment of his death but I denied him that pleasure. Capturing me is like trying to catch a firefly. It disappears as soon as you try to grab it," bragged Alexander who continued his rebel stories until the last embers of the fire fizzled out. The following day, we took a grand tour of the heavily fortified rebel camp beginning with the outdoor training area. "This is where new recruits learn hand-to-hand combat, tactical ambush and assassination maneuvers," said Alexander. "We teach our men to be fearless, fanatical, ruthless and deadly. They are trained to plunder and burn the houses of pro-Roman Jews, to slit their throats, cut off supply routes, ambush caravans and attack isolated Roman

garrisons. With the exception of a few guards, all of our rebels are away right now on a mission." Alexander led us past corralled horses, oxen and donkeys to an opening in a tall rock face. He nodded to the armed guard at the entrance, then picked up a lantern, lit it and guided us down a narrow passageway that led to a cavern where he stored a weapons cache of swords, sica daggers, shields, javelins, and helmets. All had been stolen from the bodies of assassinated Roman soldiers. "I call them souvenirs," crowed Alexander. He reached for a curved Roman sica from the top of the pile. "We hide daggers like this one inside our garments and mingle with the multitude at festivals and in urban crowds. There isn't a Roman soldier anywhere who doesn't watch his back and fear every shadow that moves." Alexander tossed the dagger back into the weapons pile and picked up a sword with studded agates, diamonds, and rubies imbedded in the handle. "This one's special," he said, running his fingers over the glittering jewels and eyeing it the way a drunk eyes a barrel of wine. "I got it during a raid on the palace near Sepphoris in Galilee. King Herod's son, Herod Archelaus, owned it. Now it's mine." Alexander's eyes had a strange, savage glow as he spoke ever so casually about all the lives he had taken. It was a look I had never seen before, hard and cold like polished metal. "People call you the learned outlaw, the fiery prophet from the hills of Galilee, the Zealot King, and Judas the Daggerman," I said, interrupting his boasting. "Bandit. Anarchist. Rebel," added Alexander with a smirk. "You are feared by all men for your cruelty and violence and you have crowned yourself King with a stolen diadem," I said. "Have you lost sight of who you are and where you came from, brother?" "The Romans use fear, cruelty and violence to impoverish and enslave the people. Are you suggesting that we defeat them with love and kindness, dear sister?" "Your burning desire for power and revenge is devouring you," warned Ptolemy. "In mad laughter you rejoice in the bounty of your slaughters and dwell in darkness and death. You are driven by your hatred of the enemy and your lust for power, not by your love of

freedom or your love of the people or your family. There is no force more powerful than love." "What you say is true. I am driven by my hatred of the enemy. Every Roman I kill is payback for the death of our mother and the death of my father." Alexander gripped Ptolemy's shoulders and spoke to him face to face. "I have not forgotten that you are our returned Messiah, our savior, our redeemer. You are my brother King and my love for you surpasses all." Tears welled up and spilled from Alexander's eyes. It was the first time I had seen him cry since the day Mother slapped him into obedience and pushed us outside the mausoleum. Alexander removed the diadem from his head and threw it into the weapons pile. "From this day forward, I pledge to fight for love, not hate." ***** The drum beat of horses hooves and the rumble of wagon wheels awakened me early the next morning. I looked out the guest room window. In a sun-streaked cloud of dust, Simon rode up on a spirited stallion with Joses, Matthew and a band of rebels following behind in a dozen horse-drawn wagons. Alexander greeted them and examined the stolen treasures and weapons piled high in the wagons. "We plundered and burned the royal palace at Jericho and the King's houses," reported Simon. "With no one to rule the multitude, families are torn between those who follow us and those who fear us." Darkness crept over the mist-covered rebel village as the sun fell below the horizon, scattering its fading rays. Simon, Joses and Matthew joined us to discuss the next course of action at Alexander's house that served as the rebel camp's headquarters. We gathered around the fireplace and Rebecca served us wine in jeweled goblets stolen during the palace raid. "The time is right to take our struggle to Jerusalem," said Ptolemy. "The Sanhedrin Council has issued an order for my arrest but they dare not arrest me during the Feast of the Passover. " "Are you prepared to wield a liberator's sword as we do?" asked Simon.

"Separately, the Zealot movement and the Messianic movement are but thorns in the side of the Roman tyrants," said Ptolemy, capitulating. By merging our two movements, we will be their nemesis. At the Feast, I will cleanse and purify the Temple as prophesied, then we will rally the crowd." "So be it!" trumpeted Alexander. "We will join our two movements and fight for our common cause, for our love of freedom, family, and the people." "So be it!" repeated Simon, withdrawing his sword from its sheath and raising it over his head in a victory pose. "Stop!" I said. "The Messiah of prophecy walks without a sword. To appear before the people as a Messiah warrior is to invite rejection from our followers." Like water tossed on a campfire, my words dampened the spirit of the moment. "Women are not worthy of life!" shouted Simon, pointing his sword at me menacingly. "Leave us!" "Sheath your sword!" commanded Ptolemy. "Have you forgotten that women give us life and make us worthy?" "Leave us!" repeated Simon, ignoring Ptolemy's command. A wave of fear shivered through me but instead of retreating, I reached out and pressed the back of my hand against the flat of Simon's sword blade and pushed it aside. "Do not mistake my words of concern as anything but caution. The decision to join our two movements has been made. I am one with it and one with us." My daring gesture seemed to appease Simon's wrath. He lowered his sword and, for the first time, I saw a new respect for me in his expression. ***** We loaded two donkey-drawn wagons with unleavened bread and embarked on the journey to Jerusalem for the Feast of the Passover. Along the way, we offered free bread to pilgrims and villagers, encouraging them to join our movement. When we reached the village of Bethphage, Ptolemy reminded us that the Messiah must enter Jerusalem riding on a donkey. "Go into the village and fetch a donkey and a colt," commanded Ptolemy. "Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone asks why you are taking them, tell them the Lord needs them."

Matthew and Joses searched the rural settlements of Bethphage and found a donkey and a colt tethered to a post outside a flat roof house. When they returned with the donkey and the colt, the owner came with them and joined our pilgrimage. Flanked by our disciples and caravan of followers, Ptolemy descended the winding two mile road through the olive groves riding on the back of the donkey. As the walled city of Jerusalem came into view, we chanted "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!" Philip, who had risen to prominence as leader of the church of Jerusalem, had prepared a grand reception. He brought hundreds from his congregation to carpet the path of our proclaimed Messiah with leafy palm branches and celebrate our arrival. In a thunderous roar, they chanted, "Hosanna! Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!" A Pharisee priest wearing a fringed prayer shawl, elbowed his way through the swelling crowd and approached Ptolemy. "Control your disciples!" he admonished. "If they are silenced, the stones will cry out," warned Ptolemy. The Pharisee priest waved his arms in an effort to attract the attention of the crowd. "Listen to me!" he yelled. "This man is pretending to be the returned Messiah. Don't believe him! He's a charlatan, a false prophet!" The priest's pronouncements were drowned out by our chants and revelry. ***** Thousands streamed through the massive gateway that penetrated the four mile stone wall that encircled the city of Jerusalem. Philip took the reins of the donkey-drawn wagon carrying unleavened bread and steered it towards the East gate. I sat next to him and looked up in awe at the white limestone temple. The stories I heard about its grandeur were all true. Kissed by sunlight, it shone like polished marble atop Mount Mariah with endless rows of cylindrical columns, magnificent porticos, soaring archways and blinding gold façades. "See that fortress on the rock precipice above the Temple mount," said Philip, pointing up at it. "That's the Antonia. It was named after

our father, Mark Antony. During festivals, a cohort of Roman troops are stationed at the four military towers. Their job is to peer down on Jerusalem and remind Jewish citizens of Rome's supremacy." I looked up at the hawkish soldiers scouting the crowd for our rebels who were milling about with their daggers concealed inside their robes and their faces shaded by their hoods. Serving as Ptolemy's bodyguards, Alexander, Simon, Mathew and Joses entered the Temple through the Royal Portico while Philip and I continued to the bronze east gate. It would be the safest ground for us when trouble started. ~ See Authors Notes ~

10 REBELLION "Do you speak Greek? Aren't you the Egyptian who started a revolt and led four thousand terrorists out into the wilderness some time ago?" Acts 21:38

__________________________ On the holiest day of the year, Jerusalem's temple of sacrificial worship was open for business. Philip navigated our donkey-drawn wagon along noisy streets past merchants arguing with buyers over the cost of sacrificial sheep, oxen and turtle doves. "Look! There's Ann," I said, pointing to her outside the Temple's east gate where we arranged to meet through a messenger. I climbed down from the wagon and greeted her with a warm embrace and a kiss on both cheeks. "How is Sarah? I miss her terribly. Is she eating well?" "Martha has been spoiling her like a princess, I'm afraid." Since this was my first Passover, I felt an irresistible urge to look inside the famous temple. While Ann and Philip busied themselves at the wagon offering free loaves of bread to the poor, I wandered through the gate. The dress code forbid women from wearing sleeveless, form fitting tunics. We had to wear loose, white, anklelength robes like the men. While the men and boys continued up a curved stairway and entered the temple through the bronze Nicanor Gate, the women remained confined to the outer Women's Court. In a sudden and daring move, I lifted the hood of my robe over my head. My heart pumped wildly as I climbed the stairway, hoping to be mistaken for a boy. The man in front of me was busy arguing with the gatekeeper about his white doves that had been disqualified as sacrifices. "Your doves must be docile to qualify. You didn't feed them the right seeds," said the Gatekeeper, waving the man away with a hand gesture. "Move along!"

"They were docile when I brought them here. Return them to me!" While the two men argued, I dashed through the Nicanor gate without considering the consequences of being caught and stoned to death. Keeping my head bowed and covered by my hood, I lost myself in the crowd and began exploring the interior of the temple and all of the places forbidden to the eyes of women. At the south end of the altar, I saw bellowing animals standing immobilized with their heads noosed inside rows of rings affixed to the ground. I clamped my hand over my mouth to silence a gasp as a priest plunged the blade of his knife into a lamb just below its jaw. The tortured creature writhed and convulsed spasmodically while the priest held it up by its hind legs and directed the gushing blood into a sacred cup. Another priest took the cup of blood and splashed it over the four corners of the altar. Standing on the blood-slick floor, the knife-wielding priest sliced open the lamb's belly and shouted praises to Yahweh as he yanked out the entrails and fed the forbidden fats into the leaping flames of the fire pit. My stomach heaved from the smell of burning flesh and incense mingling with the iron stench of the lamb's blood. I hurried away in search of fresh air and came to the Court of the Priests where I learned what happened to the disqualified white doves belonging to the man at the gate. The Priests were breaking the necks of disqualified birds and tossing their broken bodies into a pit of flapping wings. My mind raced faster than my heart and I asked myself, what kind of blood-thirsty God demands the torture, suffering and death of innocent creatures as gifts of worship? If there's a place called hell, this must be it. I desperately wanted to run and find my way back to the Nicanor gate but to avoid attracting attention, I forced myself to walk slowly and retrace my steps. Above the buzz of the crowd and moans of the tortured animals, I could faintly hear the voice of my beloved. I stood on tiptoes looking above the sea of white robes. Ptolemy was speaking to a large gathering of listeners. They seemed spellbound by his words and as I moved closer, a Pharisee Priest interrupted him. It was the same Priest who tried to silence us during our triumphant arrival outside the Temple. "Tell us what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar Augustus, or not?" asked the Priest.

"Show me the tax money," demanded Ptolemy. The Priest dropped a minted coin into Ptolemy's hand. He examined the coin and the engraved image of the man who had robbed him of his throne, his inheritance and our homeland. "Whose likeness and inscription is on this coin?" "If you had been lawfully paying your taxes, you would recognize him as Caesar Augustus." "I see the face of Octavian, Julius Caesar's adopted son and nephew." "You will address him by his official title and answer my question. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar Augustus, or not?" repeated the Priest. "Give to Caesar Augustus what belongs to Caesar Augustus and give to God what belongs to God," answered Ptolemy. "All things are God's things, are they not?" Alexander stepped forward and brushed the priest aside like a bothersome fly. "Tax is slavery!" he shouted. "The priesthood is robbing the poor. In God's name, they use the Temple for bribery, slaughter, fraud and vice. Only cowards support them! There is but one King of the Jews and it is this man standing before you right here, right now. Yeshua. Your Messiah!" Alexander dropped to his knees at Ptolemy's feet. Simon, Joses and Matthew did the same. At the risk of exposure, I emerged from the crowd of bystanders and bowed down next to Matthew. One by one, others bowed down, too, until hundreds were on their knees. I gave Matthew a nudge and winked at him from under my hood. Matthew's eyes widened. "How did you..." "Shhhhh," I whispered. The Pharisee priest returned with two Roman soldiers carrying swords. He pointed to Ptolemy standing before the bowed worshippers. "There he is! Arrest him!" As the soldiers made their move, Simon and Alexander swiftly came up behind them, withdrew their hidden daggers and slit their throats. "Free yourselves from the Roman oppressors and follow me," said Ptolemy to the crowd. "Together, we will evict the den of thieves and purify God's house!"

I found myself swept along with the multitude, following their Messiah to the temple courtyard where the money changers sat at tables exchanging currencies. Next to them, merchants sold caged animals and doves for slaughter. "This is a house of prayer but you vipers and thieves have turned it into a slaughterhouse awash in the blood of God's tortured creatures!" shouted Ptolemy. "You have robbed the poor with your unjust laws and forced them to buy sacrificial animals with loans at three hundred percent interest. You have forced them to exchange their money into Hebrew shekels for your temple tax." Ptolemy picked up a leather whip hanging on the gate of an animal pen and cracked it. "Get out! All of you!" As Ptolemy overturned the tables of the merchants and money changers, an avalanche of coins rained down from the tables, rolling and scattering in all directions.

The emboldened crowd broke open the pens of the sacrificial animals and the cages of the doves. To avoid being trampled, I

weaved my way through the sea of white robes and took refuge against the courtyard wall. I could hear the triumphant ringing of falling coins, the glorious flapping of doves' wings, the thunder of liberated hooves and the clatter of running sandals as the evicted money changers, merchants and God's tortured creatures fled from the temple. Ptolemy continued rallying the crowd. "We have purified and cleansed God's house. Now we must defend it!" he urged. "Daggers are no match against the swords of the Roman Legionnaires. Those of you without a sword, sell your garment and buy one!" "Lord, here is a sword," said an elderly man who had taken it from one of the two fallen soldiers whose throats had been slashed. In the midst of the rebellion, I made my way back to the Nicanor gate and fled down the steps into the Chamber of Women. I lowered the hood on my robe and saw Ann pushing against the tide of shrieking women and children hurrying into the street through the East gate. I called to her with my arm outstretched. Ann reached out through the maze of fleeing bodies and clasped my hand. "Thank God I found you! We've been worried sick," she said, steering me back to the wagon. "Where have you been?" demanded Philip. "Inside." "Inside the Temple?!" asked Philip in disbelief. "Yes," I nodded. "No woman has ever set foot inside the Temple!" exclaimed Ann. "How..." "Never mind me. It's the others I'm worried about." I climbed up onto the wagon for a bird's-eye view of the stampeding crowd chased by soldiers with clubs. I spotted Matthew, Ptolemy, Alexander and Simon running towards us. Behind them, a sword-wielding soldier on horseback dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and charged after them. I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, "Behind you!" Alexander spun around. With lightening speed, he threw his sicarii dagger at the rider, lodging the blade into his neck. The soldier tumbled from his horse, choking on the blood that gushed from his mouth and throat.

"Hurry! Get in!" hollered Philip, sliding into the driver's seat of the donkey-drawn wagon and slapping the reins. Our men clamored into the back as the wagon lurched forward in the direction of the Mount of Olives. We looked back at the carnage and rivers of blood flowing down the Temple steps. "Not a single stone will remain standing that won't be thrown down," said Ptolemy, prophetically. ***** Like his father, King Herod's son, Herod Archelaus, had a cruel streak. On the holiest day of the year, his army slaughtered three thousand of our followers. Many of the slain were just peaceful citizens, weak, unarmed, and butchered where they stood. In an official crackdown, Archelaus ordered the closure of the Passover and commanded the people to return to their hometowns but instead of returning home, thousands rebelled and fled into the hills to feast on the exalting words of their Messiah. They had long awaited a God in human form who could free them and bring peace, unity, and prosperity to the Holy land. Silhouetted by the golden rays of the setting sun, Ptolemy stood on a hilltop before the multitude. "Fifty days from now, the people will return to Jerusalem for the Feast of Weeks and celebrate the end of the grain harvest. At dawn on that very day, come to this hilltop and prepare yourselves to do God's will." "Praise our Lord and King!" shouted Alexander. In a thunderous roar, the crowd echoed Alexander's words. "Praise our Lord and King!" ***** The dimming skies gave birth to the twinkling stars as the chill of twilight drew near. Our disciples moved to a rebel camp near Jerusalem on the mist-covered slope of Mount Olives. We set up our tents under a canopy of gnarled olive trees, built a campfire, then gathered in a circle, warming our hands by the heat of the flames. To warm our bellies, a gourd of wine made the rounds from me to Simon, Matthew, Joses, Alexander, Philip, Ptolemy and Ann. "Herod Archelaus slaughtered over three thousand of our followers at the Feast. He won't stop until he crushes our movement and arrests our ringleaders," said Simon, pessimistically.

"We have strength in numbers," said Alexander. "And fifty days to work out a victory plan," added Ptolemy. While the others bedded down for the night, Ptolemy took my hand and led me away from the camp along a path that cut through the thick heather. Fingers of moonlight filtered through the web of olive tree branches guiding our footsteps. "Where are you taking me?" I asked. "Our rebel camp borders Joseph's Gethsemane estate. I want you to meet Nathaniel, his groundskeeper." We came to some barns and a fenced pasture where a small herd of donkeys and horses were grazing contentedly. Ptolemy pointed to a small house with a burning oil lamp aglow in the window. "That's where Nathaniel lives. He's not only the groundskeeper, he's Joseph's personal messenger." "Can he be trusted?" "Completely. Two years ago, the Sanhedrin Court of Justice imprisoned him for theft but when Joseph learned that the witness testimony was false, he arranged for Nathaniel's release and gave him a job. Nathaniel owes Joseph his freedom." Ptolemy made a shrill whistling sound and within seconds, the door of the house flew open and the face of a man with bushy eyebrows and a large hook nose peered out. "Come in! Come in!" he shouted as we emerged from the shadows. Ptolemy wasted no time getting to the point of his visit. "We'd like your permission to transform one of the barns into our headquarters. We're planning an insurrection during the Feast of Weeks. "I'll do more than that," said Nathaniel, giving Ptolemy an affectionate pat on the back. "I'll join you." ***** We rose at dawn and started work equipping one of the barns with makeshift tables, chairs, and hanging lanterns. I made use of my drawing skills that I learned while designing Mauretania's capitol city. I drew a detailed map of Jerusalem's temple, buildings, streets, porticoes, and gateways. Our group of eight spent every waking hour strategizing and pouring over the details of our rebel positions, our weaponry and our movements throughout Jerusalem. By the fortyseventh day, the battle plan for a massive rebellion was finalized but

our belief that it would lead us to victory was short-lived. Nathaniel came to our makeshift headquarters with an urgent message from Joseph. "There's an informant amongst your followers. The enemy is expecting you," said Nathaniel. "Caesar Augustus is sending a Roman legion of five thousand men to Jerusalem for the Feast of Weeks under the command of Sabinus. "Sabinus? The procurator?" asked Alexander. "He's been managing the Emperor's financial affairs and his military affairs as well," said Nathaniel while stepping over to the table map of Jerusalem that I drew. He pointed to the Phasel Tower landmark with his index finger. "They're going to take control of the tower here at the main entrance and use it as a lookout post. Sabinus plans to signal his troops and attack your rebels before they enter the city." "It's a setback," said Ptolemy, shaken by the news. "Our only option is to redraw the battle plan." "There's no time! The Feast is two days away," protested Simon. "There's no time to waste!" insisted Ptolemy. ***** The night before the Feast of Weeks, Ptolemy made one final change to our new plan. "There's going to be heavy losses throughout Jerusalem tomorrow. I propose that Ann and Magdelene remain here for their own safety." "You can stay as guests in my house. There's plenty to eat and drink," said Nathaniel. "I'm coming," I said, matter-of-factly. "So am I," said Ann. "As a group, we agreed to settle any disagreements with a vote," said Ptolemy. "Those in favor of Magdelene and Ann remaining here, raise your hands." ***** Outvoted by the men, Ann and I stayed as guests in Nathaniel's one room house and spent the entire day of the rebellion waiting and praying for a victory. By nightfall, Ann stretched out on the lambskin blanket that covered Nathaniel's bed and clasped her hands behind her head. "It's torture not knowing who's alive or dead."

"I don't know how long I can stand the waiting," I said, sitting at the table and drumming my fingers. "Let's talk about something pleasant. Tell me more about Sarah. How does she spend her time?" "She's learning to sing." "To sing?" I asked, surprised by the news. "Aunt Martha's been teaching her. She makes up the songs, teaches them to Sarah and they sing them together." "Can you sing one for me?" "Sarah's favorite song is The Magic Well. It goes like this. 'Come to the magic well by the tree. The more you drink, the more you see. One cup brings joy for all your good deeds and one cup brings love by planting the seeds.' There's more verses, but I can't remember them all." I bowed my head. "You must think I'm a terrible mother." "On the contrary. You're a wonderful mother. You are humanity's mother. When Sarah grows up, she'll see the good deeds that you do and the seeds of love that you plant. Just like the song. She'll know the sacrifices both her parents made by teaching and leading the people to freedom." "I wish I could believe that." Ann patted the bed. "Come to bed and cuddle with me, Magdelene." I blew out the flame on the table lantern and cuddled up to Ann on Nathaniel's bed. The sounds and images of the battle in Jerusalem played in my head and kept me awake. I tried focusing on the night sounds, the neighing horses, the hoot of an owl, the chirping crickets and the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. With the approaching dawn, I heard the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs. I nudged Ann awake. "Someone's out there. Listen." We got up, inched the door open a crack and saw Nathaniel's distinctive profile backlit by moonlight. We flung the door open and dashed outside. "Where are the rest of the men?" I asked, looking past Nathaniel into the emptiness of the dark forest and fearing the worst. "They asked me to bring you the news." said Nathaniel as we followed him inside the house and hung on every word as he recounted the clash between the rebels and the Roman army.

"In the beginning, everything went according to plan. Hundreds of our rebels climbed to the rooftop of the colonnade that surrounded the temple courts. They fought valiantly, hurling rocks down and besieging the Roman troops. To retaliate, Sabinus ordered his men to torch the porticoes. The blaze left our rebels trapped on the rooftop and I saw the colonnade's gold-plated timbers melt into puddles on the floor of the great plaza." Nathaniel paused despairingly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Men on fire leapt to their death and the ones that didn't jump burned alive. On the ground, at least four hundred rebels were slaughtered and another two hundred taken prisoner. The entire city was black with smoke." "What about our men?" I asked. "Are they..." "Some cuts and bruises, but they're fine," answered Nathaniel. "Thank God!" cried Ann. "Where are they now?" "Camped outside Herod's palace. Sabinus made the mistake of breaking into the Jewish sacred treasury and stealing four hundred talents for himself. When the citizens found out about it, they joined our rebels and so did many of the Jewish soldiers from the Herodian army. We're holding Sabinus and his troops captive inside Herod's palace." "That means we've taken Jerusalem!" said Ann, excitedly. "Not without a Roman surrender," cautioned Nathaniel." Sabinus sent a messenger to ask for back-up. Right now, Roman General Varus and an infantry of 14,000 men are on their way to Jerusalem to crush the rebellion." "How do you know?" I asked. "Joseph." ***** Before the arrival of the Roman infantry, Ptolemy returned to camp with our men and ordered them to pull down the tents and pack up the supplies. "It's no longer safe for us to camp here." "And go where?" asked Alexander. "Varus and his troops are crucifying the rebels all across Judea. They're butchering rebels in public squares while they scream for mercy and pee themselves. Everywhere, the air stinks of blood and urine." "We'll stay hidden during the day and travel to Capernaum under the cover of night."

My skin crawled from the horrors I saw on our week-long journey to Capernaum. Thousands of rotting moonlit corpses hung from crosses on the roadways. Some were nailed to a single upright timber stake. Others were stripped naked with their private parts impaled to trees at the entrance to towns and villages. Ravenous birds picked their eye sockets clean and mangy dogs finished off the scraps of flesh left behind by the birds. l covered my face with my sash to block the sight and smell of decomposing bodies swarmed by flies. Varus kept the rebel corpses on public display as a gruesome reminder of the consequences of dissent. His message was clear. 'This is the morbid price we will pay for challenging Rome's authority'.

We arrived in Capernaum with the smell of death in our nostrils. I was anxious to see Sarah and peeked inside the door to her sleeping room. Martha was sitting on the edge of her bed singing her to sleep. I sang along with them, "One cup brings joy for all your good deeds and one cup brings love by planting its seeds." "Mother!" cried Sarah, leaping from her bed and jumping into my open arms. Martha left Sarah and I alone together and quietly slipped out of the room. I wanted to apologize to Sarah for being gone so long like I had done so many times before. Instead, I kissed her over and over

and said, "I missed you soooooooo much." I laid down beside her, holding and caressing her until we drifted off to sleep. The following day, I organized a private coronation ceremony for Ptolemy in the church house. Our family of disciples gathered on benches and faced him as he sat in a chair on the podium. It wasn't a burnished coronation chair like the elegant one that Mother and our ancestral Kings sat on with gold and precious stone inlays. It was plain and simple like the ceremony. Holding my alabaster jar, I stood next to Ptolemy and performed the coronation in the same tradition as our Ptolemaic ancestors. "As the wife of our Savior, it is my unique privilege to anoint and inaugurate him as our Divine King," I announced while liberally pouring the anointing oil from my alabaster jar over Ptolemy's head. "Do you know the cost of the oil you are pouring out so freely?" asked Alexander, interrupting the ceremony from a front row bench. "At least 300 denari! That's a year's wages! Why haven't you sold it and given the money to the poor?" "She was saving it for the day of my burial," defended Ptolemy. "You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me." ****** Mary, Martha, Ann and I prepared a special supper that evening of roasted lamb with bitter herbs and freshly baked unleavened bread. We served it at the long table in the courtyard. "Since this may be our last supper together with Yeshua, let's savor it," said Simon, raising his wine goblet. Mary lowered Simon's arm. "Put your cup down!" she protested. "There's no excuse for that kind of talk. I won't hear of it. Yeshua is a man of peace. The Romans have no reason to arrest him." Martha placed a platter of roasted lamb in front of Ptolemy. "They do now, Mother," he said while carving up the lamb. "At the Passover, I commanded the multitude to arm themselves with swords. In front of hundreds of witnesses, I overturned the tables, evicted the money changers and released the sacrificial birds and animals. It's only a matter of time before they find me." "You're safe here in this house. No one suspects you are living under the same roof as two respected members of the ruling

Sanhedrin council." "The Romans know exactly who we are," said Alexander. "They rounded up the dissenters in Jerusalem and interrogated them. Many feared for the lives of their families and named us as the ringleaders." "Cowards! Traitors! Hypocrites!" yammered Simon, losing his temper. Mary covered her face with her hands. The table fell silent except for the sound of Mary's muffled sobs. Ptolemy broke the silence with a startling accusation. "There is someone amongst you who will turn me over to the authorities." I gazed around the table at the puzzled expressions, wondering who the unnamed betrayer might be. One face aroused my suspicion. Salome. It must be her, I thought. If she could betray a Holy man like John the Baptist and ask for his head, she could just as easily betray Ptolemy. Ptolemy's eyes wandered from disciple to disciple beginning with me on his right, then Simon, Ann, Matthew, Joses, Philip, Salome, Martha, Lazarus and Mary. Lastly, his eyes came to rest on our brother, Alexander, seated on his left. "Is it me?" Ptolemy nodded. It suddenly occurred to me why he chose Alexander as his betrayer. He knew he would commit the betrayal out of brotherly love so that Ptolemy could fulfill the prophecies that foretold of his death and resurrection. He knew Alexander could bargain for his own life by turning him over to the authorities. "Do it quickly," urged Ptolemy. "You know where to find me." Alexander swallowed hard. He got up from his chair and approached the small supper table where his wife Rebecca sat with the children. He kissed his wife and two sons goodbye, then hastily left the house. I remained at the table and prayed for Alexander after everyone had left. I felt a presence behind me and when I looked around, I saw Salome standing there. She no longer wore expensive jewelry and alluring clothing. Instead, she dressed plainly and simply like me. "When Yeshua said there was a betrayer amongst us, I know you thought it was me," said Salome. "May I sit with you for a moment, Magdelene?"

I gestured for her to sit down in the chair beside me. "The Baptist was a good man, a teacher and a healer," said Salome, "but he is no longer with us because of my betrayal. I know how difficult it must be for you to sit at the same table with a mortal sinner like me. I'm not here to ask for your forgiveness. I haven't even forgiven myself, but I know God has forgiven me and I made a promise to serve him as a member of this fold. I will keep that promise all the days of my life. Please believe me when I tell you how sorry I am that my presence is so difficult for you." Salome got up from her chair and as she turned to leave, I caught her arm. "I, too, have sins I haven't forgiven myself for. It's so much easier to forgive others," I said with a compassionate smile. ~ See Authors Notes ~

11 RISEN _____________________ Under the cover of night, we arrived at our rebel camp that bordered Joseph's Gethsemane estate. Overhead, slashes of light filtered through clouds that slowly drifted over the waning moon. "Stay here and keep watch. I need to pray in solitude," said Ptolemy, retreating into the shadows. Matthew and I kept watch while Simon collected an armload of fallen tree branches and built a campfire. "It's strangely quiet tonight," said Matthew. "Not even the chirp of a cricket. Do you think they're near?" I didn't answer him. I didn't want to think about the inevitable events that were about to unfold. Instead, I looked up into the twinkling heavens, recalling the joyous night I spent at Magdala, stargazing with my brothers and pointing to the different constellations. Within minutes, a detachment of soldiers carrying torches, weapons and swinging lanterns circled the camp and emerged from the forest with their commanding officer. Ptolemy returned from prayer and confronted them. "Who are you looking for?" "Yeshua. The rebel leader," answered the High Priest. Alexander stepped into the glow of the flaming torchlight and stood shoulder to shoulder with the commanding officer. "Greetings, Rabbi." "My friend, why have you come?" asked Ptolemy. Alexander turned to the commanding officer. His voice broke when he spoke. "Whoever I kiss is the one you want." My heart sank as I watched Alexander approach Ptolemy and kiss him on the cheek.

"Seize him!" shouted the High Priest. As the arresting officer apprehended Ptolemy, Simon withdrew his sword from its sheath. With a downward swoop, he sliced off the officer's right ear. "Sheathe your sword and let me speak!" commanded Ptolemy. "Let him speak," ordered the commanding Officer, holding back his men with his arms outstretched. "I'm the one you want," confessed Ptolemy. "Let the others go and I will give myself up peacefully for their freedom." Simon, Matthew and I slowly backed away. When the soldiers made no attempt to arrest us, we fled into the night. I stopped momentarily to look over my shoulder and through a blur of tears, I saw them beating and binding Ptolemy. I turned to run back but Matthew caught my arm and restrained me. "Let him fulfill the prophecies as they are written. If you go to him now, they'll arrest you, too." Matthew was right. I had to keep reminding myself that the prophecies must be fulfilled as I followed Matthew and Simon to Nathaniel's house at the back of the Gethsemane estate. With a shrill whistle, Simon signaled our presence. One by one, Nathaniel ushered us inside his house. "They arrested Yeshua," said Matthew. "Did anyone follow you?" "No one." ***** Jerusalem was a short walk from the house. Nathaniel left at dawn and by mid-afternoon, he returned with news from Joseph. "The Jewish Council brought Yeshua before Caiaphus, the High Priest," reported Nathaniel. "Was my father there?" asked Matthew. "He was there for the entire proceedings. Please forgive me if I don't recall his exact words. As Joseph's messenger, I can only repeat from memory what he told me." "Please go on," I said. "Caiaphus asked Yeshua, 'Are you the son of God?' and Yeshua answered, 'So you say'. When Caiaphus couldn't get a confession out

of him, he took him to the Hall of Judgment to appear before the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate." "What did they accuse him of?" asked Simon. "Sedition. Caiaphus called Yeshua a false Messiah and accused him of inciting an armed rebellion and challenging their authority. He said that he didn't have the authority to sentence the rebel leader to death under Jewish Law. He asked Pilate to do it." "Without a trial?" I asked. "Not exactly. Pilate questioned Yeshua and tried to get a confession out of him. 'Are you the King of the Jews?' he asked and Yeshua answered, 'My kingdom is not of this world.' Then Pilate asked him, 'You are a king, are you not?' and Yeshua answered, 'You say that I am a king.' Pilate warned Yeshua that he had the power to either crucify him or release him and Yeshua said, 'You have no power over me unless it is given to you from above.' That's when Caiaphus yelled, 'Crucify him! Whoever makes himself a king is a traitor. We have no king but Caesar Augustus.'" "Where is Yeshua now?" asked Simon. "With my own eyes, I saw the soldiers drag him outside the Hall of Judgment. They twisted a crown of thorns onto his head and draped a purple robe around him while the people shouted, 'Hail, King of the Jews! Hail 'Barabbas'." "Who is Barrabas?" asked Matthew. "I asked Joseph the same question. Barrabas means 'son of God the father'. It's the name the soldiers used to mock him." Nathaniel's words tore through me like a thrusting sword. "I must go to him!" "You can't. They've seen our faces. They know we're rebels. If they see us again, they'll crucify us, too," said Matthew. "They don't crucify women," I said. "No. They behead them or stone them to death," said Simon. "Which is worse?" "That's a chance I'm willing to take." ***** Outside Jerusalem's Hall of Judgment, I could see the death march in the distance, led by an armored Roman centurion on horseback and five soldiers. I hurried to catch up and battled my way

to the front of the jeering crowd that swarmed around Ptolemy and two other rebels. I saw my beloved carrying the heavy weight of the crossbeam that he would be nailed to. Blood streamed down his face from the crown of thorns that pierced his scalp. As he stumbled and fell onto one knee, a soldier lashed him with a whip. "Get up!" he shouted. I no longer cared about the consequences of my actions but before I could reach out to help, a strong hand helped Ptolemy to his feet. It was Simon's hand. At the risk of being recognized, Simon took away the burden of the crossbeam and carried it the rest of the way on his own shoulders. The death march ended at Golgotha, a desolate quarry hilltop shaped like a skull with three permanent wood posts driven into the ground with footrests at the base. One by one, the Roman soldiers lifted the crossbeams and set them into place on top of the posts in a T-shape. Ptolemy and the two rebels were forced to stand on footrests with their backs against the posts while the soldiers roped their arms to the crossbeams and drove nails through their wrists. I fell to my knees and wept. A drop of rain fell on my brow. When I wiped it away with my finger, I saw that it wasn't rain at all. It was a drop of blood. I sobbed out loud and looked up at Ptolemy's naked body, a body that I knew as intimately as my own body. I looked at his face that I had caressed and kissed all over, now streaming with blood and sweat. "Forgive them. They don't know what they're doing," said Ptolemy. "Remember the prophecies," said Matthew, placing his hand on my shoulder to comfort me. Like Simon, Matthew had come to Golgotha at the risk of being recognized as a rebel. "He has a footrest to stand on," I said. "It's not an act of mercy," said Matthew. "The footrest is there to support his body weight and prolong the agony of his death." A heckler in the crowd yelled, "He calls himself our Savior but he can't even save himself!" "You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross and show us your miracles," hollered another heckler.

The crucified rebel on Ptolemy's left joined the hecklers. "Remember me, Yeshua, when you come into your kingdom." "Today you will be with me in paradise," promised Ptolemy. "Paradise?" laughed one of the soldiers. "Is being thrown to the dogs paradise?" Martha, Mary and Salome made the long trek from Capernaum to Golgotha. They climbed the rock-strewn hillside to the crucifixion grounds and found me weeping at the base of the cross. Ptolemy cast his eyes down and saw Mary kneeling next to me. He said to her, "Behold, your daughter!" Then he looked at me and said, "Behold, your mother!" It was his dying wish that Mary and I adopt one another as mother and daughter. Despite his agonizing pain, he smiled at us as we pulled each other into a heartfelt embrace. "I'm thirsty now," he said. Mary reached inside her travel bag and removed a sponge and a jar filled with a mixture of sour wine, myrrh and gall. She soaked the sponge with the mixture and handed it to Matthew. "Our Savior is thirsty," said Mary. Matthew took the sponge, attached it to his staff and raised it to Ptolemy's mouth. He inhaled and sipped the liquid, then bowed his head and gave up his spirit. Overhead a black mass of thunder clouds drifted across the parched landscape, smothering the sun. "It's a sign!" exclaimed the Roman centurion. "He must truly be the Messiah!" "Murderer! You killed him," shouted a believer in the crowd. Beneath the darkened sky, a boy foot messenger climbed the hillside with an urgent message for the centurion. I overheard the boy's message. "Tomorrow is the Sabbath day of rest. Pilate wants you to speed up the deaths of the rebels and remove the crosses by midnight." "Tell Pilate that Yeshua is already dead. I'll take care of the other two." As the boy ran off, the centurion shouted orders to his soldiers to club the knees of the crucified rebels. Using iron bars, they clubbed the knee caps of the two rebels on either side of Ptolemy. The rebels slumped down, unable to support their body weight. Gasping for air, they choked spasmodically before drawing their last breath.

Overhead, lazy vultures circled and eyed the flesh of the dead men. I stayed behind after everyone had left and waited for the soldiers to remove the bodies from the crosses. The same boy foot messenger returned and ran up the hillside delivering a second message to the centurion. "Pilate wants you to confirm the death of Yeshua and report back to him. He says it takes days for crucified men to die on the cross, not one day." Following orders, the centurion raised his lance, preparing to pierce Ptolemy's body. "Wait!" I said. "Why would you pierce the body of the man you called the Messiah? You watched him die and you saw the Divine sign." "My orders are to confirm his death." "He wasn't a young a man like the others," I insisted. Ignoring my protests, the centurion pierced Ptolemy's side with the point of his lance. Blood and water trickled from the gash but Ptolemy didn't flinch. "Report to Pilate that this man is dead," said the centurion to the foot messenger. ***** The sun peeked through the low lying cloud cover before dipping below the horizon. I stood and watched the soldiers remove the three crucified bodies. "Go and fetch the wagon," commanded the centurion. "We need to move the corpses to the rebel burial grounds before midnight." I kneeled down in the dirt next to Ptolemy's body and gently removed the crown of thorns from his scalp. As I cradled his head in my lap, a surge of hope raced through me. Blood trickled from a scalp wound. I pressed my fingers against his inner wrist and felt a pulse. It was weak but it was a pulse and I knew he must still be alive. The rumbling of wheels from a donkey-drawn wagon kicked up dust along the hillside road. I turned to look and saw Joseph drive up with his brother, Nicodemus. He handed an official notice to the centurion. "This is written authorization from Pilate," said Joseph. "It gives me the right to bury my son, Yeshua." Although Joseph never admitted it, I knew he must have bribed his friend Pilate for the burial right with an offer he couldn't refuse.

Granting the right to bury a crucified rebel in a private tomb instead of the official burial place for criminals could have cost Pilate his job. With a nod from the centurion, Nicodemus and I helped Joseph lift Ptolemy's body into the back of the wagon. I covered his nakedness with a shroud and whispered to Joseph and Nicodemus. "He's alive. He has a pulse." Even though Joseph's Gethsemane estate was a short distance away, getting there felt like an eternity. I rode in the back of the wagon praying for a miracle. We pulled in front of the newly hewn rock tomb and Joseph picked up the lantern by the tomb's entrance, lit it and handed it to me. I held the lantern high while Nicodemus and Joseph carried Ptolemy's limp body inside the tomb's cavity. "Be careful," I said, as they laid him down on the raised stone bench. "He's not breathing," said Joseph, anxiously. I covered Ptolemy's mouth with mine. Over and over again, I tried to breathe life into his lungs. With the passing minutes, we began to see signs of life again. "The color is returning to his face and there's sweat on his brow," said Joseph. "He's breathing on his own, now!" I said, excitedly. Nicodemus removed an unguent mixture from his satchel and began cleansing and treating Ptolemy's wounds with it. "The aloes and myrrh will work well as a healing gel but he'll need at least three days to sleep and sweat out the fever." "We mustn't tell a soul about this," warned Joseph. "If news leaks out that he's still alive, they'll kill him and they'll make sure he stays dead this time." Nicodemus and Joseph bandaged and wrapped Ptolemy with linen strips. "We've done all we can do for now," said Joseph. I gently kissed my beloved before exiting the tomb into the purple haze of twilight. Filled with new hope, I breathed in the fresh night air and felt light enough to float. ***** From the guest room window of Joseph's house, I looked out at the bright and shining star of Sothis winking down at me. A sigh of

relief escaped my lips knowing that my beloved was alive and only footsteps away. By the third night of Ptolemy's entombment, my patience wore thin. Was he healed? Had he overcome the fever? Could he hear me if I spoke to him through the stone covered entrance? I got up before dawn, lit the candle on my bedside table and drew on my mantle. Clutching the candle holder, I tiptoed out of the house into the moonless night. With my hand cupped around the flame, I followed the twisting footpath to the garden tomb. My heart skipped a beat as I rounded the last bend and saw that the giant stone slab had been rolled away from the tomb's entrance. I knew Ptolemy couldn't have moved it alone. It took the strength of two men. Is he gone? Has he been taken? I squatted down at the entrance and thrust the candle holder into the dark cavity. "Are you there?" I asked. My eyes darted around the burial chamber. Ptolemy was gone. All that remained was the blood stained shroud draped over the stone bench and the discarded linen bandages. I turned and ran back down the trail towards the house. The rush of air extinguished the candle flame. With only the faint light of dawn to guide me, I tripped and fell, then struggled to my feet again, blindly stumbling along the winding foot path. When I reached the house, I climbed the stone steps to the second level and frantically banged on Simon and Ann's guest room doors. "Wake up! The tomb is empty!" I cried. Sleepy-eyed, Simon opened his door first. "Empty? How do you know?" he asked, doubting my words. "The stone has been rolled away! He's gone! He's been taken!" Ann poked her head out of her guest room door. "You mean stolen?" "Come and see for yourselves!" I said. Still dressed in their night clothes, Simon and Ann followed me outside into the dawning light and along the footpath to the empty tomb. "You see? The stone has been rolled away. He's gone," I said. Still in doubt, Simon ducked inside the tomb's entrance. Moments later, he emerged carrying Ptolemy's blood-stained shroud. "Grave

robbers!" he yelled. "Whoever did this is going to pay! This is a sacrilege!" While Simon and Ann rushed off to tell the others, I stayed behind and wept on the garden bench next to the tomb. Despite my pain, everything around me seemed cheerful. A chorus of birds welcomed the warm rays of the dawning sunlight. Violet crocuses burst forth from their sheaths next to beds of crimson and yellow roses. A voice intruded on my sorrow and startled me. "Why are you crying?" asked the stranger. I looked up and saw a beardless man with short cropped hair. He was dressed in a plain tunic and I assumed he was a foreigner since Jewish men are forbidden to shave. Joseph's gardener, perhaps. "Do you know where they took him?" I asked. "Who are you looking for?" "If you know where they took him, please tell me. I beg you." The man uttered my real name in a half whisper. "Selene." Only four people knew my real name. Joseph and my three brothers. I jumped up from the stone bench and embraced him. "Thank God!" I cried. I didn't recognize Ptolemy at first with his short hair and beardless face that looked as boyish as the face I fell in love with as a child. I caressed his jaw and neck no longer hidden by his thick, dark beard and I ran my fingertips over his forehead and ears, no longer covered by his long hair. "I'm afraid," I said. "Afraid of what?" "If the Romans and Jewish Council find you, they'll kill you and they'll make sure you stay dead this time," I said, repeating Joseph's warning. "If my own wife didn't recognize me, others won't recognize me either. I'd like you to do something for me." "Anything." "Spread the news that I have risen." "But no one will believe me." "Have faith. I must leave you now, my love. Meet me here in a fortnight." Ptolemy left before I could ask who helped him move the stone and cut his hair and beard. After pondering my questions for a

moment, I realized that I didn't need to ask. I knew the answer.

~ See Authors Notes ~

12 MAXIMIN "She turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus" John 20:14

____________________________ I proclaimed to anyone who would listen, "The Messiah has risen! He appeared to me!" I wasn't believed at first but talk of the empty tomb and rumors of the resurrection began to spread. I made a special trip to the Church of Jerusalem where my brother Philip had risen to prominence as a church leader. I was anxious to tell him the good news and share it with his congregation. The church was modest and diminutive standing on a side street in the shadows of the Temple Mount and the Antonia Fortress. When I arrived, I found Philip removing a notice that had been nailed to the front door. "Magdelene! Have you seen this circular?" "Our brother has risen!" I said, ignoring Philip's question and expecting a joyful reaction. "The Jewish Sanhedrin are calling it a hoax. They posted this on my door." Philip handed me the circular. I read the notice aloud. "A godless and lawless heresy has sprung up from Yeshua, a Galilean deceiver whom we crucified but his disciples stole him by night from the tomb where he was laid when taken down from the cross prematurely. Now he deceives men by asserting that he has risen from the dead and ascended to heaven." "There's a reward for his capture and when they find him, they'll kill him," said Philip. "Not if they don't recognize him. He changed his appearance. I didn't recognize him and no one else will either," I said. "Have you

heard from Alexander?" "Alexander blames himself for the crucifixion. He withdrew into the hill country near Olivet." "We have to find him and tell him the good news." ***** Philip and I hiked into the foothills north of Jerusalem to Olivet, a remote village nestled amongst thousands of olive trees. We described our brother to the villagers and asked if they had seen him. They directed us to a camp by the Kidron river where we found him fishing by the pebbled shore. When he caught sight of us, he turned away. I squatted down next to him. "We came to tell you the good news. Our brother has risen." Alexander ignored me as an unwelcome visitor. He stared straight ahead at the circular water ripples around his fishing line. "Why are you doubting my words? I've seen him. I've talked to him." "Impossible!" barked Alexander. "I hid myself at Golgotha. I watched the centurion pierce his side. He never even flinched! Leave me be!" "Did you see the blood from the wound when they pierced him?" I asked. "Of course, I saw the blood. Why are you torturing me? He's dead and I killed him for thirty pieces of silver." "He was bleeding because he was still alive." "If he's alive, where is he?" ***** Alexander took the two day journey with Philip and I to the mountain hideaway in Galilee where Ptolemy promised to appear to us. We left Olivet and the hill country under overcast skies. By midday, we pushed against monsoon winds that raced across open fields, bending the long grass and trees. On the second day, thunder rumbled overhead, then a sudden downpour whipped at my hair, molding it to my cheeks. We raised the hoods on our cloaks, battling our way across the gray landscape and hiking up rugged mountain terrain. When the mud-brick hideaway came into view, we ran for cover and ducked inside. Without even a hello, Alexander stood

before our family of disciples who were seated at a long table drinking wine. He removed his rain-drenched cloak, shook it and asked, "Where is he?" "He's coming. Sit down with us and be quiet," said Joseph, filling three more cups with wine and handing one to each of us. Alexander remained standing. "I'll believe it when I put my finger in the nail marks in his wrists." Everyone was present except Nicodemus who stayed behind at Capernaum with Sarah and Alexander's wife and two children. We waited in silence, sipping our wine and listening to the steady rhythm of rain bouncing on the rooftop. Minutes later, the door swung open. All eyes turned to the stranger with a beardless face and short cropped hair. He smiled warmly and looked around the table at each of us. No one recognized him until he spoke. "I waited to appear to you at a time when I knew you could all be present," he said, standing before us. "Peace be to all of you." "Show me the nail marks," demanded Alexander. Ptolemy extended his wrists to reveal the darkened scabs that had formed over his wounds. "It's time to stop doubting and start believing with a whole heart. You are all witnesses to my resurrection. You saw me dead and now you see me alive and you see that death has been vanquished." "I see that you died and I see that you came back to a world polluted with ignorance, pain, decay and death," remarked Alexander. "Tell me why you came back. Tell me why you are here, why all of us are here?" "The human soul is trapped in matter but there is a Divine spark within all of us. As long as people are out of touch with that spark, as long as they remain self-centered and attach themselves to transitory forms, they will return to the visible realm and remain trapped in the cycle of darkness. Why did I come back, you ask? To save souls and awaken them to the Divine within so they may become one with all that is and transcend this physical realm of ignorance, suffering, and death." "Herod Archelaus and the Jewish Priests have released a circular. They're calling your resurrection a hoax and they're calling you a false prophet," said Philip.

"They can't stop the spread of Christianity. Nothing they say or do can stop it." "How can we serve you?" asked Ann. "All of you are risking persecution if you remain in Palestine. Go and make disciples of people in other nations. Baptize them. Teach them and free their souls." Ptolemy raised the hood on his cloak and looked around the room at each of us before leaving the hideaway. "Wherever I go, remember I am always with you." Alexander's face seemed to glow with renewed hope. "Our Savior has asked us to carry his teachings to the nations of the world. As his faithful disciple and as a witness to his resurrection, I for one will do it through missionary work, baptisms, and gospel writing." "There are only twelve of us," exclaimed Ann. "How can twelve carry his message to millions?" Joseph stood up as the end of the table. "By dividing up the world and drawing lots. That way, we will know which part of the world God wants us to evangelize." We put Joseph's suggestion to a vote and with a nod from each of us, the decision to draw lots was unanimous. Philip drew Jerusalem. Alexander drew India. Mary, Joseph, Ann and Lazarus drew Britain. Simon drew Rome. Matthew drew Ethiopia and Joses drew Egypt. I drew Gaul and so did Salome and Martha. ***** When he first appeared to me, Ptolemy promised to meet me in a fortnight by the garden tomb. The serenity of the garden failed to calm my fears as I waited for him. Evening approached and the gruesome image of his head on a platter like John the Baptist flashed before me. Had he been recognized? Captured? I finally breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged from the evening mist looking as tranquil as the surroundings. "You seem distressed. Did you fear I wouldn't come?" asked Ptolemy. He reached down and picked a red rose from the garden and threaded it into my hair above my ear. "What happens to you happens to me," I said, taking his hands in mine and touching the deep scars in his wrists. "We must leave Judaea now."

"The disciples have drawn lots. Each of us have a location that we will travel to as Christian missionaries." "What location did you draw, my love?" "Gaul. We can start a new life there... but you'll need a new name, a new identity." "I suspect you thought of one already," said Ptolemy with an affectionate grin. "You know me well. I like Maximinus. It's a Latin name that befits you. It means 'the greatest'." "Maximinus?" Ptolemy pondered the name for a moment. "Maximinus is the name of the Roman General whose military campaign failed against Hannibal." "What about Maximin?" "Maximin... Yes. I could learn to like it." I felt elated by the thought of starting a new life in a new land, free from persecution. "Now that Sarah is old enough to travel, she can come with us." ***** When we arrived at Capernaum, Sarah ran to greet us in the courtyard with tears in her eyes but they weren't tears of joy. "They took grandfather," she cried. Ptolemy bend down and took Sarah's hands in his. "Tell me who took him, Sarah?" "The soldiers." Ptolemy picked Sarah up in his arms and carried her into the house. Mary stood in the kitchen with Martha and dabbed at her swollen eyes with a handkerchief. "Thank God, you're here. Joseph's been arrested." "What happened, Mother?" asked Ptolemy attempting to remain calm. "The soldiers burst into the house last night while we were sleeping and dragged him from our bed," sobbed Mary. "They called him a traitor." "Where did they take him?" asked Ptolemy. "The Antonia," said Mary. "I must go to him." "You can't. They don't allow visitors. Not even family!"

The news of Joseph's arrest was no surprise to me. He knew the risks of asking Pilate for the body of a revolutionary leader. He knew he would be risking a backlash from the Romans and Jewish elders. When he made the request, he was probably counting on his reputation as a respected member of the ruling Jewish Sanhedrin council and Rome's Minister of mines. Ptolemy left the house and began the long walk back to Jerusalem. I hurried to keep step with him along the narrow footpath through the cherry orchard. "Please don't go!" I begged. "Think of everything we fought for all these years. If they recognize you, everything we've done, everything Joseph has done will be in vain." "He'll die in there. I have no choice. I have to go." Using both my hands, I clutched onto Ptolemy's arm to restrain him. "Wait. Please, wait! I think I know of a way to free him." "How?" asked Ptolemy with a note of skepticism in his voice. "There is only one man I know with the power and authority to arrange for Joseph's release. For the past six years, he's been living in voluntary exile on the island of Rhodes off the coast of mainland Greece. If I go and talk to him, I know he'll help me." "Who do you know with that kind of power and authority?" "Tiberius." "Octavian's stepson? Why would Tiberius help you?" Answering his question meant revealing the one secret I had kept hidden from him, the secret of my intimate relationship with Tiberius. I recalled the last time Tiberius and I saw each other. It was at the wedding banquet that Octavian held for Juba and I. Tiberius took me aside and said, 'Symbolon, my soul mate. I have lost you.' I saw the pain and longing in his eyes and I wanted him to sweep me into his arms and run off with me. Ptolemy asked the same question over again. "Why would Tiberius help you or even listen to you?" "Tiberius and I were lovers," I confessed. "He was my first and I was his first. It broke his heart when Octavian arranged my marriage to Juba." "What about your heart?" "A heart that is already taken can't be broken," I said.

"It takes weeks to travel to Rhodes. The commercial ships are overcrowded with prisoners, passengers and rats. Only the hardiest of travelers can tolerate the storms and sea sickness." "I've tolerated worse than storms, rats, and sea sickness in my life," I answered. "You'll need company and protection." ***** Artificial breakwaters made of stones and concrete blocks extended outwards into the Mediterranean as a buffer against the wave swells. With our packs strapped to our backs, Ptolemy and I strolled along the promenade past vendors pushing wagons and bargaining with passengers over the cost of their fruits, vegetables, and dried fish. As passengers, we were required to bring our own food, water, bedding, and everything we needed for the three week sea voyage. We watched the commercial ship and crew pull into port with its three tall masts, large square sails, and row upon row of oars. "I hope you're prepared for this," warned Ptolemy. "It can't be as bad as being chained to the dungeon wall of the Antonia. I can handle it for Joseph's sake." The wealthy stayed in cabins in the stern while the rest of us pitched tents on the deck to protect ourselves from the rain, wind, and spray. During the first week at sea, the winds were favorable but the second week brought flickering lightning and storm clouds followed by an onslaught of gusting wind and rain. Our wave-battered vessel tilted and tossed and so did my stomach. Overwhelmed with motion sickness and the stench of rust and mold, I found it impossible to keep my food down. I stood by the gunnel rail vomiting overboard until there was nothing left but the dry heaves. Ptolemy applied pressure to both of my inner wrists with his thumbs. "Does that feel better?" "Much better," I said. "It's a healing technique I learned during my travels in India." Ptolemy retrieved two small round nuts from our food supply pack. Using strips of cloth, he wrapped my wrists so that each nut pressed against my inner wrists. The technique made the rest of the trip bearable.

Three and a half weeks after our departure, the Island of Rhodes appeared on the horizon. Shaped like a spearhead, it shimmered beneath a curtain of rising fog. We stood on the bow of the ship and watched the magnificent city of Rhodes come into view at the northern tip of the island. Ptolemy pointed to the harbor entrance. "That's where Chares of Lindros built his Colossus of Rhodes sculpture in honor of the Sun God. I remember reading about it as a boy at the library in Alexandria. The bronze giant stood thirty meters high and straddled the harbor entrance wearing a crown with seven spiked rays. Each ray symbolized the seven seas and continents that the Sun God ruled over." "What happened to it?" "A violent earthquake shook the giant off his feet and snapped his body at the knees, casting him down onto the land in a broken heap. It took twelve years for the sculptor to build his masterpiece and only minutes for it fall." ***** Ptolemy and I registered as Maximin and Magdelene at an Inn close to the harbor. After resting from the dizzying journey and freshening up, I asked the Inn keeper for directions to the palace where Tiberius lived. While Ptolemy visited the ruins of the Colossus of Rhodes, I went alone to meet Tiberius. Black iron bars circled the perimeter of the palace grounds like vertical spears. As I approached the front security gate, an armed guard looked me over and questioned me through bars. "State your purpose," he growled. Through the bars, I passed a folded note to him that I had written on parchment paper. "Please deliver this to Tiberius. He's expecting me." "Identify yourself!" "My name is Selene. He knows me well." The guard summoned a dark skinned boy servant and handed him my note. "Deliver this to your master." Within minutes, Tiberius came to the front gate draped in a white toga and carrying my note with the word 'symbolon' written on it.

Twenty-six years had passed since we last saw each other but I knew he would remember his pet name for me. "Selene?" Tiberius stared at me in disbelief. "My name is Magdelene now." "Open the gate! This calls for a celebration!" Tiberius escorted me along a stone walkway through the palace grounds past statues of athletes, bubbling fountains and tame exotic birds preening themselves on tree branches. He motioned to one of his boy servants as we entered the richly decorated ocean-view terrace. "Bring us my best red wine and a food platter." We sat in white marble chairs with saffron-dyed fleece cushions. Tiberius never once took his eyes off me but he wasn't looking at me with desire. He was looking at me like I was an illusion, a figment of his imagination. "When Juba reported you missing, I gave you up for dead." The boy servant placed a tray of seafood delicacies, fruits, and boiled eggs on the table in front of us, then poured wine into two jeweled silver goblets. Between sips of wine, I told Tiberius my story about reuniting with Ptolemy and joining his spiritual movement, about his healing powers, his miracles, and his fulfillment of Jewish prophecy as the returned Messiah. I sensed that Tiberius didn't believe a word I said. He broke eye contact with me and looked out to sea. "Where is your brother now?" "Pontius Pilate crucified him for sedition. Joseph Ari Mathia claimed his body and placed him in his own private tomb." "Joseph? The Nobilis Decurio?" "The same." "Why would Joseph give up his tomb for a convicted enemy of Rome?" "Joseph is Ptolemy's father." Tiberius regained eye contact with me and leaned forward. "Did I hear you correctly? Are you saying that your mother's claim of inheritance for her first born son was false? That Ptolemy wasn't sired by Julius Caesar?" "Alexandria was a key port on Joseph's trade route and Mother was his biggest customer. During his stopovers, he stayed as a

frequent guest at the palace. Ptolemy's resemblance to him is unmistakable." "Joseph is a valued asset to Rome. Indispensable, in fact." "Correction... was an indispensable asset. They arrested him for treason five weeks ago and imprisoned him at the Antonia." Tiberius shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Bringing me this and other startling news is surely not the purpose of your visit." "Joseph is an honorable man. He served his people and he served Rome well over the years. At this very moment, he is a prisoner unjustly chained to a dungeon wall like a common criminal, yet he is guilty of nothing more than burying his own son." "I can't help you, Selene. Permission for his release can only be granted by Pilate. As Roman Governor, ordering the release of a Jewish High Priest convicted of treason would be political suicide for him." "But an escape would be a different matter, would it not?" "There has never been a single escape since the Antonia was first built. Even if an escape did occur, Pilate would be blamed for it." "The escape of a Jewish High Priest convicted of treason would also be a scandalous blow to Octavian and his control over Judaea." I knew that persuading Tiberius to arrange for Joseph's escape would have more to do with his hatred of his stepfather than his love for me. For political advantage, Octavian had forced him into arranged marriages that brought Tiberius nothing but grief. Tiberius gulped down the remainder of his wine and paused to consider my proposal. "If an escape could be arranged, what kind of trouble would I inherit when I become Rome's next emperor? Arranging for an escape would have to come with conditions." "Name them." "Joseph would have to agree to live in exile." "It's a price I know he would be willing to pay." "I'll consider it, but no promises." "Agreed." Tiberius reached for the wine jug and refilled our goblets. "I'm sorry about your brother, Selene. I know how much he meant to you." "There's no need to be. Three days after his entombment, he appeared to me and to his followers. His resurrection was foretold in

prophecy." Tiberius shook his head. "Excuse me for being blunt but there are as many false prophets in Jerusalem as there are seeds in a pomegranate." He reached for a boiled egg on the food platter and placed it in the palm of my hand. "A man being resurrected from the dead is as likely as the shell on this egg turning red." I dropped the egg into my wine goblet and watched the wine turn the egg shell from white to red. I removed it, patted it dry with my table napkin and handed it back to Tiberius. "This red egg is a symbol of the holy bloodline I am placing in your hands." "I never make a decision on matters of importance, without consulting Thrasyllus, my astrologer. He has predicted my ascension as Rome's next emperor." While Tiberius left the terrace in search of Thrasyllus, I recalled the stories my father told me as a child about the Antonia Fortress that had been named after him. He said the fortress was built with a prison so secure that no one could escape from it. 'I'll bet you could escape, Father', I said to him. 'No Selene. Not even me.' Father told me that if a prisoner ever did escape, the guards would be executed which made them extra cautious about high risk prisoners who they chained to the dungeon wall with different chain lengths depending on the prisoner's security risk. A short chain held a prisoner continually upright and completely dependent. A longer one allowed them to take a step or two away from the dungeon wall so they could sit or lie down. I remember asking Father how long they kept the prisoners. 'Some never get out,' he said. "The rescue will require the expertise of a seasoned military man," said Tiberius after consulting with Thrasyllus. "I know of only one man with the skills to handle the job. His name is Saturnus and he'll need detailed drawings and maps of the fortress grounds and he'll need the location of Joseph's cell, the number of prison guards on duty and their work schedule." "How will you get that information?" I asked. "The question is not how I will get the information. It's how you will get the information." ~ See Authors Notes ~

13 CASTAWAYS "Seventy-two disciples were driven from Judea and exposed to the sea in an oarless boat; Maximin of Aix, Lazarus of Marseilles, Sidonius, Saturninus, Martial, Martha, Mary Magdelene and others." Otia Imperialia, by Gervais de Tilbury, Marshall, Kingdom of Arles France, 1212 "Lazarus, Maria Magdalene, Martha, her handmaiden, Maximin a disciple, Joseph the Decurion of Arimathea, against all of whom the Jewish people had special reasons of enmity, were exposed to the sea in a vessel without sails or oars. This vessel drifted finally to Marseilles, and they were saved." Ecclesiastical Annals, Vatican manuscript Cardinal Baronius (1538-1607)

_______________________________ The conditions for Joseph's rescue seemed insurmountable but we returned to Capernaum believing we could work a miracle. Since the Romans had confiscated Joseph's entire merchant fleet, Ptolemy took on the task of finding a seaworthy boat and oarsmen for the journey into exile. In the meantime, I travelled to Jerusalem to meet with Philip at the Church of Jerusalem which was just a stone's throw away from the Antonia Fortress. As I entered the modest little church house, I found Philip alone and kneeling in silent prayer before a large wood crucifix mounted on the wall behind the altar. I approached him in quiet steps and got down on my knees to join him in prayer. He turned to look at me as though awakening from a deep sleep. "My dear sister, what brings you to the house of the Lord?" "I came to ask for your help." "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." "Your congregation calls you Bishop James because of your good deeds, your tireless defense of the poor and your sermons about

salvation and redemption. Your reputation as a just and righteous man follows you everywhere. I need you to go to the Antonia and ask permission to visit Joseph. They have turned away all visitors including family members but as a respected church leader, the guards might make an exception for you, especially with a coin offering." "Your request has come a little late, I'm afraid." "What do you mean?" I asked, fearing the worst. "I already visited Joseph last week. I took a collection from my congregation and used the money to pay the guards to let me in. He's being held in a windowless underground dungeon with the criminally insane and treasonous enemies of the state. The guards let me bring him clothing, food, blankets, and water. I changed his straw bedding and cleaned up after him." I threw my arms around my brother and hugged him so tight we fell backwards onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. It was the first time I had seen him laugh since we were kids. As we helped each other to our feet, I noticed that his knees had become calloused like a camel's knees from kneeling in prayer. Philip's dedication to his work knew no limits. He never drank wine or alcohol, never ate meat, never shaved or bathed or even allowed himself to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh. I didn't know whether to admire him or pity him. "Tell me about Joseph. How is his health?" "They keep him chained to the wall in filth and darkness. Day and night have ceased to exist for him." Philip hung his head mournfully. "The only light he sees is from a torch carried by the guards when they descend a narrow flight of steps to deliver a bare minimum of food and water. His body is frail but his spirit burns brightly." "I met with Tiberius in Cyprus. We have a rescue plan." "A rescue plan?" Philip shook his head doubtfully. "There's a Roman garrison of six hundred soldiers with three rotations of guards stationed on an upper walkway at the four colonnades. They keep constant watch. On Temple holy days, they bring in more troops in case of trouble. There's only one way out of the Antonia. Pontius Pilate grants amnesty on Passover day. He has sole authority over

the fate of all the prisoners. I'm afraid Joseph is so weak and frail, he may not last until Passover day. I pray for him constantly." As impossible as the rescue plan seemed, Philip agreed to set aside his doubts. We got to work and spent the next week drawing detailed maps of the fortress grounds and recording all of the information that Tiberius asked for. By the time we finished, I composed a letter confirming our findings and forwarded it to Tiberius. ***** Saturnus, the military commander that Tiberius had recommended for the rescue mission arrived in Jerusalem during the fourth month of Joseph's incarceration. As arranged, he came to the Church of Jerusalem to meet with Philip and I. He didn't come alone. He brought along an unkempt mercenary soldier named Sidonius. The two men spoke few words to one another as they reviewed our maps and drawings of the prison layout and the guard schedule. Saturnus was a stone-faced, hulkish man who never said please or thank you and never apologized for anything. He pointed his index finger at the 'x' on our layout drawings. "Am I to assume the 'x' that you drew here is an exit door?" "Correct," said Philip. "After my visits with Joseph, the guards escorted me out through the side door exit. I marked it with an 'x'." "Tomorrow, at dusk, I will approach the front gate of the Antonia wearing the uniform of a Roman military commander. I will identify Sidonius as my prisoner and a high risk enemy of the state. You will wait outside by the exit door marked 'x' in a horse drawn wagon and bring blankets, bandages, water and food. Wait for us there. Understood?" Both of us nodded. "Understood." I felt like he wanted us to salute him and I almost did. ***** Starlight painted a silver tinge on the towering wall of the Antonia and the cobblestone side street. I sat next to Philip in the horsedrawn wagon that we parked by the exit door. An owl perched on the wall peered down like a sentry and blinked at us with shining amber eyes. The waiting felt endless and unnerving. Everything depended on the events that were now unfolding inside the fortress. My heart

pounded wildly at the sight of a foot soldier in the distance. He was carrying a swinging lantern and patrolling the perimeter of the fortress wall. "A foot soldier!" I whispered from under the hood of my robe. "Stay calm," said Philip. The soldier stopped to pee at the side of the road, then resumed walking towards us. He raised his lantern, illuminating our faces. "Is there a problem, Bishop?" he asked, recognizing Philip. "It's the back wheel hub. I think it needs more grease." Philip climbed down from the wagon seat, circled around and examined the hub on the left back wheel. "Just as I thought. It needs more grease." Philip reached inside the wagon for a jar of grease and began applying it liberally to the hub. "Have a good night," said the foot soldier, continuing on his way. A muted sigh of relief escaped from my lips as I watched the soldier turn the corner at the opposite end of the street and vanish from sight. Minutes later, the prison side door flew open. Saturnus exited first carrying Joseph in his arms followed by Sidonius who was limping and trailing blood. The two men lifted Joseph into the back of the wagon before climbing in. With everyone safely on board, Philip grabbed the reins and the wagon lurched forward, swallowed up by the blackness of night. "Joseph, can you hear me?" I asked, laying him down and covering him with a blanket. The joy I felt turned to pain at the sight of his emaciated body, his protruding cheekbones and long matted hair. His beard had turned snow white and there were sores on his skin from months of neglect and dehydration. "He's too weak to speak," said Saturnus. My attention turned to Sidonius whose leg was bleeding profusely. I reached for the water gourd and bandages. "What happened?" I asked while I washed and bandaged his wound. "One of the guards knifed me in the leg before I could disarm him. My wound will heal but I can't say the same for him or the other guards," bragged Sidonius. "We did the impossible. We destroyed the Antonia's reputation as a prison no man can escape from," said Saturnus, reveling in the victory.

***** I welcomed the cool sea breeze that fanned my face as we turned down a narrow dusty road and followed the Mediterranean coastline. It took two days for our wagon to reach the Port of Joppa northwest of Jerusalem. Simon had built a church next to the lighthouse and took refuge there after the Romans burned and gutted the Zealot stronghold at Gamala. The church and lighthouse came into view back-dropped by the blues and golds of sea, sky and sand. Sarah was standing on the front porch of the church shading her eyes with her hands against the setting sun and looking in our direction. "They're here!" she shouted. Philip pulled up on the reins as Sarah, Ptolemy and our family of disciples stampeded towards the wagon and surrounded it. Joseph's voice was barely audible above the jubilation as he threw aside his blanket. "Thank you, Lord. Thank you," he said, squinting into the fading light of day with sallow eyes. Mary sobbed at the sight of Joseph's cadaverous looking body and reached out her hand to him. "He can't see you," said Saturnus. "He's been living in near darkness for months. It's going to take time for his eyes to adjust to the light again. In the meantime, we need to keep his eyes covered. Saturnus covered Joseph's head again with the blanket and for the first time, I saw that there was a heart inside his tough military exterior. ***** It took more than a month for Joseph to regain his health and strength. To pass the time, Ptolemy, Sarah and I walked barefoot over the golden sand that stretched for miles along the Mediterranean coast. "See that merchant fishing boat over there?" said Ptolemy, pointing to a single mast boat roped to a pier behind the Andromeda chain of breakwater rocks. "It belongs to two fishermen. Cleon and his son Martial. They offered to take us to Gaul. They're both members of Simon's Christian church." "Is it big enough for all of us?" I asked. "Barely," said Ptolemy.

I started counting the passenger list on my fingers. "There's the three of us and Joseph and Mary. Then there's Martha, Lazarus, Simon, Ann, and Salome. If you add Saturnus, Sidonius, and the two fishermen Cleon and Martial, that makes fourteen of us!" "Thirteen and a half. I'm little," said Sarah tickling a laugh out of us. Sarah had grown into a petite ten year old with sun bleached golden hair like mine and a radiant smile. "How far is Gaul?" she asked. Ptolemy looked down at Sarah affectionately and stroked her golden hair. "If the weather cooperates, it's about four or five weeks away." "We can play Senet during the trip," I said. "It's an Egyptian board game I used to play with your grandmother. I can teach you." "Ann taught me how to play already. Sometimes, she lets me win." Ptolemy saw my disappointment over my failed mothering attempt and quickly changed the subject. "Simon won't be coming. He's going to finish building the Christian library at the back of the church." "Philip and Matthew aren't coming either. Philip insists on returning to his congregation in Jerusalem and Matthew and his new wife are staying at the Gethsemane estate to raise a family," I said. "With the rising tide of Roman persecution, I fear for Nicodemus and everyone staying behind." "They each have their own path to follow," said Ptolemy. "Look, Father! That cloud up there looks just like a butterfly," said Sarah, pointing overhead. "See its wings?" "Your father has a new name, Sarah. It's not Yeshua anymore." "I know. He told me. It's Maximin." Ptolemy took Sarah's finger and pointed it at another cloud shape. "That one looks like an eagle. The eagle is king of the skies and he's also a messenger. He has a message for you." "What is it?" "He wants you to flap your wings and fly." "But, I don't have wings." "You can have anything you want. All you have to do is imagine it." Sarah stretched out her arms like wings, flapped them up and down and ran ahead of us with her spirit soaring.

***** After we tucked Sarah into bed for the night, Ptolemy picked up a lantern and led me to the Christian library that Simon was building at the back of the church house. Dozens of papyri scrolls were laid out on wood tables. Gospels, poems, and dialogues. Some were written by me and some by Alexander, Matthew, Nicodemus, and Philip. "Simon is planning to tie the scrolls into bundles and take them to Qumran. The Essene scribes will make copies." I recognized the handwriting on an open letter that was laying amongst the scrolls. "That's Alexander's writing! I'd recognize it anywhere," I said excitedly. Ptolemy's expression turned solemn. "It arrived five days ago from India." "What's wrong?" I asked. "He wrote it from prison." I picked up the letter and hugged it to my chest, bracing myself for bad news. "Tell me what happened?" "Alexander travelled to India. He built churches there and spread the gospel. When King Gondaphares learned of his building skills, he gave him money and provisions to build a palace for him. Instead of building a palace, Alexander gave the money and supplies to the poor. He was arrested for theft and sorcery. His letter is really a hymn about his lost childhood, our lost parents and our lost Kingdom. He called it The Hymn Of The Pearl." Tears spilled down my cheeks like hot embers as I read the poem aloud, "When I was a little child, living in our kingdom, I was happy with the luxuries of our home in the East. My parents sent me away with wealth from our treasury; gold, silver, rubies, and agates. They took off my glittering robe and purple toga and they made a pact with me, and wrote it in my heart, 'If you go down into Egypt, and bring the pearl of wisdom, you will put on your glittering robe and toga again, and with your brother, who is next to us in authority, you will be heir in our kingdom.' My parents wove a plan for me, so I would not be left behind in Egypt. They wrote me a letter, and every noble signed his name to it: 'From your father, the king, and your mother, the mistress of the East, and from your brother, our second in authority, to you our son, who are in Egypt, greeting! You are a son of kings! See the

slavery, whom you serve! Remember the pearl and remember your splendid toga, which you will wear again and be adorned when your name has been read out in the list of the valiant, and your brother, our viceroy, will be in our kingdom, ruling on our behalf.'" ***** Joseph was the family patriarch, the unseen hand behind our Christian movement. He had decades of experience as a skilled mariner, navigating the sea routes of the world with only the stars as his guide. He would lead us to far away shores and to the fields and villages of Gaul, Britain and beyond. Through loving care and nourishment, our family of disciples rallied around Joseph and restored him to health. The day of our departure was blessed with moderate southerly winds. Cleon's nineteen year old son, Martial, raised the square rig sail on their wooden hull fishing boat. With Joseph as our "star path" navigator and Ptolemy at the helm we followed the coastline under friendly skies. Although much thinner now, Joseph seemed as strong and energetic as ever. He spent much of his day taking solar and wind measurements and recording them on a map. "What are you doing, Grandfather?" asked Sarah, watching Joseph squint towards the sun and hold his hand above the horizon line with his arm and thumb outstretched. "I use my thumb as an instrument to measure the angles and degrees between the horizon line and the sun. At night, the moon and planets are my navigators. They help me locate our position on the map." "Like this?" Sarah squinted and held her arm and thumb out in front of her. "There's only one thing you need to know about directions, Sarah. Look to the heavens and you'll find your way." Unlike big commercial ships, our boat had no cabins and no area for pitching tents. At night, Mary, Martha, Ann, and Salome crowded together with Sarah and I in the hull. We covered ourselves with a large canopy for protection against the wind and spray. By the fourth night of our voyage, Alexandria's Pharos lighthouse came into view with its leaping flames lighting up the sky. Thirty years had come and gone since I last saw it. I was Octavian's ten year old prisoner on

Mother's stolen Thalemegos at the time. I forced myself to think happier thoughts and joined Ptolemy at the helm. Under the fiery glow from the lighthouse, he pulled me close to him with one hand and held the rudder oar with the other hand. I looked way up at the viewing platform where we shared our first kiss. "Do you remember the day we climbed to the top?" "You said, one day I will be your queen and all of Egypt will be ours." "Now I'm your Queen and you are my King but Egypt still belongs to Rome." "The day will come when Rome calls me their King," said Ptolemy, prophetically, while steering us into port. Alexandria wasn't the same as I remembered it. The docks had deteriorated into a foul-smelling fish market filled with beggars and loud vendors shouting bargains and selling their wares. We stocked up on more food and supplies, dried fish, nuts, figs, water and blankets, then continued on to Cyrene and Carthage. As we sailed northward towards Sardinia, the headwinds suddenly abandoned us and the sea became perfectly flat. No waves. No wind. It was like an endless horizontal wall. "We're caught in a dead calm, I'm afraid," said Joseph. "It can last for days, sometimes weeks." "What's a dead calm?" asked Sarah. "The wind is a fickle friend never to be trusted, Sarah. It sometimes leaves you without even a goodbye." Our craft inched along on muscle power alone. Cleon and his son Martial took rowing shifts with Saturnus and Sidonius followed by Ptolemy and Lazarus. As days turned into weeks, we fanned ourselves and wore head clothes to protect ourselves from the sun and salt that ate away at everything on board including our blankets, our clothing, and even the ropes. At night, our boat barely rocked, drifting aimlessly along a shining path of moonbeams that danced over the sea's endless expanse. ~ See Authors Notes ~

14 VISIONS ____________________ "Can't you hear that, Mother?" "Hear what?" "That whistling sound... like a squeaky door?" I worried that Sarah was suffering from sun stroke but then a pod of playful dolphins appeared, leaping, chirping and soaring above the water's surface. Ptolemy made chirping sounds and imitated them. Sarah giggled and did the same thing. The rest of us joined in and, for a short time, we laughed and forgot about the torturous sun and our hungry bellies that had been rationed to one meal and one cup of water per day. I looked forward to the cooling temperatures at sunset when bright shades of red and orange splashed across the celestial canvas. Darkness brought a different light show with shooting stars darting and trailing over our heads in silent streaks of silver. After three weeks of calm with no sign of land, we shared our last morsel of food and our last drop of water. I ran my tongue over my cracked lips. My mouth had become dry and pasty and my throat felt coated with soot whenever I swallowed. Even moving my eyes was a chore. I closed them and allowed myself to dream about the lavish ceremonial wedding feast at Cana, the long tables, the white linen table cloths crowned with exotic fruits, the waiters carrying silver trays with a roasted piglet turned on its back and filled with steaming hot Mediterranean rice. When I opened my eyes again, nothing moved, not even the sea. I looked at my daughter, at Ptolemy and the others sitting motionless like statues. The rowers had stopped rowing. Their faces spoke of quiet desperation and I couldn't help wondering which one of us would die first or go completely mad. I wanted to go first. I couldn't bare the agony of watching my family die. My anxiety turned

to the same kind of dread I felt as a child when the Roman soldiers yanked me and my brothers from our hiding place at the palace and dragged us to the docks. When darkness approached, I fought the urge to slip overboard and keep swimming until I passed out and fed my body to the predators of the deep. I laid down on the floor of the boat next to Sarah and stared up into the starry void thinking about the tininess and temporariness of my life like a firefly appearing, flashing light and then disappearing. I don't want to disappear, I thought. Not without flashing more light. I closed my eyes and as I drifted off to sleep, I found myself trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't open my eyes. I saw the deceitful face of a Roman Emperor and a church council of elderly robed men. They were confiscating our Christian scriptures and gospels. I saw them torturing and killing people who were caught hiding copies of our writings. I watched the church council gather around a long table and rewrite four of our gospels. They portrayed Yeshua as a celibate, unmarried Messiah and they portrayed of me as a reformed demonpossessed woman of means, an unmarried travelling companion of twelve men suggesting that I was a prostitute. I told myself this is just a bad dream. It's not real. But it felt real and it got worse. By changing our teachings, they reinvented Christianity, gave themselves power over the people as God's representatives and warned the people to 'believe or else'. Those who refused were tortured with thumb screws, burning irons and dozens of other sadistic death tools. I tried to make myself cry, hoping that my tears would open my eyes and awaken me but the tears wouldn't come and I was forced to watch their most fiendish act of all. They replaced Julius Caesar's Julian calendar with their own Gregorian Christian calendar starting with a fictitious date for Yeshua's birth. By changing the calendar and dates, they made their reinvented Messiah forty-five years younger than Ptolemy and erased historical evidence of their shared identity. All of a sudden, my nightmare changed. It transported me into the distant future and showed me a painting. In vivid color, I saw Yeshua and his twelve disciples sitting side by side at a long table eating their last supper together. The painter painted me sitting next to Yeshua instead of the fictitious apostle John. The masterpiece was so detailed and real

looking, it gave me hope that my vision was real and the truth would survive the ages. At that moment, I felt a raindrop on my forehead and then another and another. The drops moistened my eyes and I was able to open them. "Wake up! It's raining!" I yelled. Every mouth on board opened wide to catch the falling water. Joseph and Ptolemy had warned us about the many moods of the sea, about how beautiful and dangerous it could be. Out of a dead calm, it could fly into a violent rage like a caged tiger that is calm and resting until you step into its cage. All of the signs were there. First, dark rain clouds crept over the blazing moon and the temperature dipped suddenly. Then rippling squalls raced across the water's surface turning it ink black. In the distance, grey sheets of rain hung down like a widow's veil. Sarah clung to me at clap of booming thunder accompanied a flash of lightening that zig-zagged across the sky turning our tiny vessel a ghostly white. Cleon and his son Martial struggled to lower the flapping sail but the whip of racing winds hit hard and shredded it. The drumming rain merged with the howling winds, splattering us at first, then pounding down like a gushing waterfall from towering heights and soaking us to the bone. Mary, Martha, Ann, Salome, and I huddled together around Sarah and pulled the canopy cover over our heads to protect ourselves against the ceaseless deluge of falling water. Joseph braced for battle and joined Ptolemy at the helm, blinking away gusts of swirling rain. White knuckled, they gripped the handle of the rudder arm and steered the boat up and down the peaks and valleys of foaming wave swells that hissed and roared. A monster of a wave slammed us broadside, snapping our oars like twigs. The boat keeled to one side, threatening to capsize. I held Sarah with one hand and clutched the gunnel rail with the other hand to keep us from falling but the strain from the tilting boat loosened my grip. Sarah and I slid across the rain drenched floor to the starboard side and into the arms of Saturnus who cushioned our fall. Cleon wasn't so lucky. An explosion of spray tossed him overboard into the churning sea. "Man overboard!" shouted Saturnus, but the howling winds and roar of the sea muted his voice. Everything around us seemed to be

screaming. The passengers, the sea, the wind, my heart. Ptolemy and Joseph pulled hard on the rudder arm. The boat sprang upright but the rudder oar snapped with a loud crack leaving us helpless with no steering device. Joseph cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "Our only defense is the weight of our bodies! Use your bodies to balance the boat and ride out the storm!" His command was barely audible. A flash of lightening knifed across the sky illuminating Cleon drifting further and further away from our boat and struggling to stay above water. Martial tried to climb overboard and rescue his father but Saturnus grabbed the boy by his ankles, pulling him back into the boat. Another flash of lightning spotlighted the drowning man, flailing and bobbing in the frothy spume before the sea towed him under.

Martial fought to free himself from Saturnus' grip. "No! Not my father!" he wailed. He shook his fist at the sky and screamed, "I hate

you, God!" Sarah shivered in my arms. "I feel sick, Mother." "Breathe deeply, Sarah. Do as I do," I said, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths to stop my stomach from churning. Joseph repeated his command, "Everyone! Use your body weight to balance the boat and ride out the storm!" We leaned and shifted our body weight from side to side in a desperate attempt to balance the rocking storm-battered boat. ***** Almost as quickly as it came, the storm passed over leaving us defenseless and adrift without oars, a rudder or a sail. Ankle deep in water, we stood on wobbly legs and hugged each other, happy to be alive. Martial remained crouched against the wall of the boat rocking himself with his arms wrapped around his legs and whimpering like an injured animal. His face had a look of vulnerability that reminded me of my son, Ptolemy, who would be nineteen years old now and the same age as Martial. I knew the despair of being orphaned, alone, abandoned and empty inside. I knew the agony of losing not one but both parents and feeling completely lost. I approached Martial and reached out to comfort him but he pulled away from me. Like a game of hide-and-seek, the moon peeked down at us darting mischievously in and out behind the drifting clouds. We collected plenty of fresh rain water from the storm to keep ourselves hydrated but it didn't satisfy our starving bellies. When the clouds finally cleared, Joseph closed one eye and lined up his thumb with the moon and Polaris. "We're east of Corsica about one hundred and fifty nautical miles off course," he announced. "Without a rudder, oars or a sail, all we can count on now are our prayers." ~ See Authors Notes ~

15 THE ROMA GYPSIES A Roma gypsy festival is held every May 23 to 25 in the French town of Saint-Maries-de-la-Mer to honor Saint Sarah, the Egyptian girl who arrived in a small boat with Mary Magdalen, Martha, and Lazarus during the first century. The Woman With The Alabastar Jar: Mary Magdalen and The Holy Grail by Margaret Starbird

________________________ As a new wave of calm moved in, I couldn't decide which was worse, the terror of the storm or the sun-baked boredom of staring at the endless, empty panorama of sparkling blue. To cope with the boredom and confinement, Lazarus rescued a piece of split wood from a broken oar that splintered during the storm. He began carving the wood with the blade of a sicarii dagger. Day after blistering day, he sat and whittled away shavings of wood, creating a crucifix no bigger than his own hand. "What are you carving?" asked Saturnus. "The figure of our Messiah nailed to the cross. It gives me hope," said Lazarus. "Hope for what?" "Salvation. Our Messiah was crucified. He died on the cross but he was resurrected and conquered death. His example and his teachings are our guide to salvation." "To my knowledge, no crucified man has ever escaped death." "And to your knowledge, no imprisoned man has ever escaped from the Antonia, but you proved them wrong," said Lazarus, as he cut a loose strand from some frayed rope and attached the crucifix to it. He looped and tied the strand of rope around his neck like a necklace with the crucifix laying against his chest. "Our Messiah was entombed after his crucifixion. Three days later, he was resurrected

and appeared to many witnesses. I am a witness and so is Mary, Martha, Joseph, Salome, and Magdelene." "Would anyone care to join me in a prayer circle?" asked Joseph, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the boat. Following Joseph's lead, we sat on the floor of the boat, joined hands and bowed our heads. During our group prayer, three passengers sat outside the circle. Young Martial who had given up his faith when his father was swept overboard during the storm and Joseph's rescuers, Saturnus and Sidonius. They rejected any belief in the existence of God. As we prayed, I felt a spark of Divine energy travel from hand to hand, empowering and nourishing our hope for survival. It helped us forget about our empty bellies and the empty horizon. When it was my turn to lead the prayer group, I looked directly at Ptolemy while the others kept their heads bowed and I abandoned all pretense of his adopted identity as Maximin. "Almighty Savior, we are thankful for this day, thankful for our eyes to see with, our ears to hear with, our voice to speak with and our hearts to love with on this day and every day. We accept all things including the temporariness of our physical bodies in this earthly realm. We accept the lives that have been given to us as well as the lives that have been taken from us and we celebrate their passing into the spiritual realm. We pray for a miracle and we pray for those who are lost and can't find their way, that they may enter your fold and experience God's infinite love and wisdom as we do..." Before I could finish my prayer, Martial squeezed into our prayer circle and sat down between Lazarus and I. Lazarus removed the wood crucifix from around his neck and handed it to Martial. "Please accept this gift," he said. Martial looped the necklace over his head and positioned the cross in the middle of his chest. "Thank you. I will wear it always." Saturnus approached our circle next and squeezed in between Ptolemy and Sarah. As he reached for Ptolemy's hand, he noticed the deep crucifixion scar on his wrist. By evening, a thick blanket of fog enveloped our boat. We welcomed its coolness and drifted off to sleep listening to the hypnotic rhythm of tiny waves gently lapping against the side of our boat. We slept soundly that night.

With the approaching dawn, Sarah's shrill voice awakened us. "Look! Over there! I see land!" Mary, Martha, and I got up and joined Sarah at the prow. She pointed to a faraway island that was barely visible to the naked eye. "See?" she said. A distant pebbled beach shimmered like a blanket of diamonds under the fading full moon. "Is it a mirage?" asked Martha, squinting, rubbing her eyes and blinking hard. With mouths agape, the others looked in the direction of Sarah's pointing finger. "That's no mirage," said Joseph, excitedly. As we drifted closer, the dawning light revealed an island and a vast, swampy delta to the east with pink flamingos feeding in the tall windswept marshland. "This must be where the Petit Rhône joins the Mediterranean," declared Joseph. "We made it! We're in the heart of the Camargue!" Lazarus looked up to the heavens and raised his arms. "Thank you, God!" Everyone on board broke down in tears and thanked God including Saturnus and Sidonius. As an onshore breeze carried us closer to the beach, we saw a bearded man riding a white stallion. Behind him, a long procession of people in colorful clothing carried a statue over their heads. The people in the procession turned their heads, lowered the statue and stared at our crippled boat drifting towards the shore. They seemed to be staring at Sarah standing at the prow with the sun's rays illuminating her long hair that flowed in the breeze like golden gossamer threads. "Astarte!" chanted the onlookers. "What are they chanting?" asked Mary. "Astarte," I replied, recognizing the symbol of the cow horn that crowned the head of their statue. "It's the Greek name for the goddess of love and fertility. In Egypt, she is worshipped as Isis." "They're gypsies. Roma gypsies," said Saturnus, joining us at the prow. "The man on the stallion must be their Priest." The gypsies waded towards out boat, unconcerned about getting their colorful sashes, scarves, and clothing wet. They towed us to

shore and dragged the bow of our boat up onto the pebbled beach. One by one, we climbed into the shallow water, splashing and staggering onto land for the first time in weeks that seemed like years. Dripping wet, the gypsies bowed down at Sarah's feet. "Astarte!" they chanted. Sarah backed away and clung to me, fearful of the strange behavior. "Stay calm, Sarah," I whispered. "They mistook you for their returned goddess. Don't be afraid." "What should I do, Mother?" "Just smile and be friendly." The Priest, wearing a black-rimmed hat and robe, dismounted the white stallion and led his horse over to Sarah. He dropped down onto one knee and spoke to her in Greek with a Roma accent. "We thank you, Astarte, for honoring us with your presence on this special day of your festival." I stood behind Sarah and placed my hands on her shoulders protectively. "Her name is Sarah. She is my daughter. A storm battered our boat and we survived many days at sea without food and very little water." The Priest stood up and studied our thin, weather-beaten group. Beneath the shadow of his wide brimmed hat, I saw compassion in his eyes."There's plenty of room, food, and water at the temple. Please come with us and be our guests." The docile stallion lowered its head. Sarah giggled as it nuzzled her arm. "He likes you," said the Priest. "Do you want to ride him back to the village? I'll hold his lead for you." "Can I?" asked Sarah, waiting for my nod of approval. Before I could answer, Ptolemy lifted Sarah up onto the stallion's back. Sarah sat regally on the back of the white stallion like she belonged there as our weary group joined the procession. ***** Mud brick houses and vendor shops lined the cobblestone streets that fanned out like spokes on a wheel from the large temple at the

center of the fortified Celtic town of Ratis. The Priest escorted us inside the temple where east-facing windows aligned with the sun's rays and illuminated the chalices, clay figures of humans, domesticated animals, and other ritual objects. A cache of sacred vessels sat on the rectangular-shaped altar honoring the sun god Amen Ra, the moon goddess Astarte, Mithras, and other deities. I could smell the sweet fragrances of jasmine and sandalwood incense drifting from the reception hall where musicians played soft music on lyres. The Priest guided us inside and gestured for us to join the line of local revelers who were filling their bowls with seafood and fruits at the food and wine table. They sat on cushions scattered around the perimeter of an enormous hand woven rug depicting copulating blue dragons. We filled our bowls and cups to the brim, then sat and indulged our starving bellies in food and drink. "Eat slowly," warned Joseph. "Our bodies need time to adapt." In an unexpected turn of events, a dozen young women with painted faces entered the hall wearing nothing but sheer silk skirts. Their lips were painted bright red like their nipples and their navels were set with precious stones. Their glossy long hair trailed behind them as they danced barefoot, gracefully bending and turning like reeds in the wind. "I never believed in a place called heaven," said Saturnus, "but I do now." "To heaven!" said Sidonius, raising his cup of wine. The dancers swayed seductively to the music of the lyres and the rattle of the sistrum, circling the hall, undulating their hips and bellies, twirling their skirts and enticing their male admirers. Martha shielded Sarah's eyes with her hands. "This is not a performance meant for the eyes of children," she protested. "Or the rest of us," added Mary, aware of the undivided attention Joseph and our men were giving to the half-naked dancers. "We're leaving," she said. I removed Martha's hands that covered Sarah's eyes. "The human body is beautiful and so is the dancing. I want Sarah to appreciate it." "We are guests in the temple. As guests, we would deeply offend our hosts if we left during the performance," advised Joseph.

"I'm staying," said Salome, who had a special appreciation for the dancing. "So am I," said Ann. The Priest noticed the discord within our group and came to join us. "Is the food and drink satisfactory?" "Yes. Most satisfactory," replied Ptolemy, smiling warmly. One of the dancers, no more than thirteen years old, reached out to Saturnus. She took his hand and coaxed him to follow her. Spellbound, Saturnus got to his feet and followed the young seductress out of the hall. "Where is she taking him?" asked Mary of the Priest. "To the seduction room. She will disrobe him, bathe him, massage him with oil and make love with him. It is a great honor. She has chosen him over all the other men as worthy of her love-making. All of our young, unmarried virgins from the village must fulfill their religious vows just as their mothers have done before them. Rich or poor, they are required to perform a sexual ritual with a stranger to win the favor of Astarte and receive the blessing of fertility." ***** Two weeks of food, water, and rest gave our family of disciples the strength they needed to begin exploring the island. Domestic dogs, sheep, goats, and donkeys roamed freely, each with a small bell hanging from their necks. The ringing created a musical chorus while the animals walked and grazed. "Why are the animals wearing bells, Grandfather?" asked Sarah. "Their owners believe that the ringing drives away evil spirits," said Joseph. "What's an evil spirit?" "It's just superstition, Sarah. There are no evil spirits," I said. A flock of honking cranes passed overhead as we wandered along a sandy plain and came to a natural bubbling spring. The locals called it Oppidum Priscum Ra. Joseph picked up a handful of wet sand and examined its coarseness. "This is the perfect spot to build our first church house," he announced. ***** Building our first church house took three months of devoted hard labor with the women carrying the straw and water and the men

carrying earth, sand, and clay that they blended into mud bricks. When our work was done, we gathered outside the front door and marveled at our masterpiece, complete with comfortable living quarters. "It's a magnificent labor of love," declared Mary with a sigh. "We'll build more church houses in towns and villages throughout Gaul and spread the word of God," said Saturnus, beaming with admiration. Martial coughed and grimaced like he had just inhaled a foul odor. "The word of God? What would you know about the word of God when you pass your time consorting with temple prostitutes?" "The women you call temple prostitutes are sacred. Through sexual union, I experienced spiritual transcendence and felt one with God for the first time in my life." "I experienced it, too," confessed Sidonius who had also indulged. "You mean one with Astarte, a fertility goddess." Martial turned to me for validation. "You were the Lord's closest disciple, Magdelene. You knew him better than anyone. Would he approve of such things?" "He approved of making love as an expression of love." "How can sex with a stranger be an expression of love?" "God is love and love lives in all of us. Making love unites bodies and souls. Making lust for sexual gratification separates them." "I choose to resist the temptations of the flesh," said Martial. "My journey is to know God beyond matter, to raise myself above the spiritual deadness of the material realm." Joseph draped his arm around Martial's shoulder. "We are not here to debate our differences but to admire the new church house and the fruits of our labor." "Joseph is right," said Ptolemy, gazing up at the mud brick structure. "I think it needs something more. Something to make it look more like a church than a house." Joseph stroked his long white beard. "I agree. What do you think, Martial?" Before Martial could answer, Sarah and a group of local children bumped past us, laughing and holding a long string attached to a colorful kite. It trailed behind them as they ran, dancing and zigzagging higher and higher. A sudden updraft from a sea breeze

sent the kite into a spiraling tailspin. It nosedived into the roof of our church house and lodged itself in the front peak. "It's a sign!" exclaimed Joseph. "See how the frame of the kite forms a cross? That's what our church needs! A cross on the front peak!" Fearing they'd get in trouble, the children scattered in different directions leaving Sarah alone and holding the string of the disabled kite. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. I hurried over and squatted down next to Sarah. "There's nothing to be sorry for. It's a beautiful kite and we'll get it down for you. I promise" Joseph lifted the ladder laying on the ground, leaned it against the church house roof and prepared to climb up. "Please, Joseph. Let one of the younger men fetch the kite," said Mary, steering him away from the ladder. "I'll fetch it," I said, lifting my ankle-length tunic up to my knees. I placed my right foot on the first rung and started climbing. When I reached the top, I looked down and saw dozens of worried eyes staring up at me. "Look out below!" I shouted, as I dislodged the kite's nose from a roof shingle and tossed it down. Sarah picked up the twisted kite and frowned. "It's broken." "Let me see that, princess," said Joseph. "Can you fix it, Grandfather?" "I can do better than that. I'll build you a new one. Where did you get this one?" "Aunt Martha. She helped us build it out of sticks, cord, and her favorite silk scarf." Joseph grinned. "Of course. Your aunt Martha." Once again, I became painfully aware that Martha was more of a mother to Sarah than I was. She taught her songs and rhymes and took her on picnics and berry picking while I was busy travelling to small communities and building our Christian movement. I could no longer justify my excuses for failing her as a mother. Joseph and the men postponed the opening of our church house until after they had built a steeple and placed a cross on top. To announce the grand opening, Joseph stood outside the open

doorway and rang a string of small bells that the Roma people had given him, the kind they used to drive away evil spirits. A small group of villagers came to the opening out of curiosity. They seemed surprised by the simplicity of the church interior. It had no ritual objects, no sacred vessels and no idols or statue's to worship, just rows of benches facing an altar. Their worship of Sarah as their returned goddess continued, but as the weeks passed, they began attending our sermons and learning more about our Christian teachings. ***** Our group met privately in the church hall to discuss plans to take our missionary work to the rest of Gaul and beyond. Martha and Salome volunteered to stay in Ratis and evangelize the Camargue region. "We like it here," said Salome. "The people need us. We want to make it our permanent home." "Sarah likes it here, too," added Martha. "She has friends her own age to play with and a stable home." "Sarah is coming with us," I snapped. "For Sarah's sake, isn't she better off here?" asked Martha, almost pleading. "What Sarah needs is her own mother and father." I abruptly left the hall. Ptolemy caught up to me along the path that led to the pebbled beach where our battered boat had washed ashore. "Is Martha right?" I asked. "Is Sarah better off here in Ratis with a stable home and children her own age to play with?" "That's a question we need to ask Sarah." ***** The following day, Ptolemy and I filled a wicker basket with fruits and nuts and took our daughter to Oppidum Priscum Ra for a family picnic by the bubbling spring water pool. As we crouched down to fill our cups with water, Ptolemy started a water fight. Laughing, chasing and splashing each other, Sarah finally gave up. Her laughter faded and so did the sparkle in her amber colored eyes that reminded me so much of Mother. I couldn't tell if the droplets streaming down her

face were water droplets or tears. "I think I know why you brought me here. You're leaving again, aren't you?" "You can come with us this time," I said. "Why can't we stay here?" "Because we're teachers," answered Ptolemy. "We want to share our message with others. One day, you might decide to become a teacher, too." "But I like it here. Will you be gone long?" "We want you to come with us, Sarah, but it has to be your decision," I said. "If you decide to stay, we'll miss you terribly." Sarah bowed her head. She had already made up her mind. "I'll miss you terribly, too." ***** A smattering of raindrops spotted my cloak as all of us gathered in front of the church house and shared hugs and goodbyes with Sarah, Martha, and Salome. I looked up and saw billowing silver-bellied rain clouds drifting across the sky like sails on a ship. "It's starting to rain," I said. "Maybe we should wait another day." Ptolemy smiled at me and raised the hood on my cloak. ~ See Authors Notes ~

16 THE GROTTO "Mary Magdalene is said to have personally converted the pagan Prince of Marseilles which is why Aix-en-Province easily converted to Christianity." Origins Of The Magdalene Laundries, by Rebecca Lea McCarthy "After spending years of active teaching in the Marseilles area, legends maintain that in her advancing years, Mary Magdalene voluntarily decided to go into retirement to the hilltop cave at Sainte-Baume....The grotto of Mary Magdalene has been the place of pilgrimage of Popes and royals, among them Philippe IV of France" Medieval Mysteries: A Guide To History, Lore, Places and Symbolism by Karen Ralls

________________________________ At the end of our week long journey to Massilia, we faced more painful goodbyes. Once again, I had to remind myself that our goodbyes were about serving a higher purpose. Joseph, Mary, Ann, and Lazarus left for Avalon to spread the gospel in Britain. Joseph's rescuers, Saturnus and Sidonius, travelled to northeastern Gaul to expand our ministry there. Young Martial who lost his father at sea went southeast. Ptolemy and I remained in Massilia and rented a modest room at the Merchants Inn. I stood by the window gazing at the ornate Temple of Artemis with its thirty-six aligned stone columns perched on the citadel high above the meandering Lacydon River. "Tiberius asked me to contact the Prince of Massilia if our journey succeeded" Ptolemy stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist. "Did he say why?" "He thought the Prince would be helpful in some way." ***** The Inn Keeper informed us that the Prince prayed every day at the temple. We made it our first stop. Street vendors sold religious memorabilia, souvenirs, and small goddess statues from their stalls

stationed between the Temple's stone columns. We entered through the bronze doors etched with carved reliefs of Mount Olympus, Zeus, and the colossus of the Sun. Inside, hundreds of burning candles illuminated the towering marble statue of Artemis standing on a raised platform. Her multiple breasts symbolized her fertility. Dozens of praying worshippers kneeled at her feet on tasseled floor cushions including the Prince. Although I had never met him before, he was easy to spot amongst the worshippers with his decorative purple robe belted at the waist and pinned at the shoulder as an obvious sign of royalty. When he got up to leave, I could tell by his posture and forlorn expression that something was deeply troubling him. We approached him at the Temple door and introduced ourselves. "Hello. I'm Magdelene, a good friend of Tiberius and this is my husband, Maximin," I said, gesturing to Ptolemy. The Prince eyed us suspiciously. "Tiberius? May I ask how you know him?" "I met him through the Emperor's sister, Octavia. I shared a room with her daughter, Antonia Major. Tiberius told me you became good friends when he served as the Roman Governor in Massilia. He asked me to say hello when I arrived." Our common bond with Tiberius seemed to lift his spirits. "A friend of Tiberius is a friend of mine," said the Prince, letting down his guard. "Please do me the honor of joining my wife and I for dinner tomorrow evening, if it's convenient, of course." "With pleasure," said Ptolemy. ***** The Prince lived on an estate by the sea connected to the mainland by a narrow isthmus in the quiet surroundings of Massilia's countryside. Servants escorted us through the stone mansion to a spacious grand living area. A large gold framed portrait of the middleaged Prince and his elegantly dressed young wife hung above the fireplace. "Maximin. Magdelene. May I present my wife, Julia," said the Prince, greeting each of us with a kiss on both cheeks. "Welcome to our home," said Julia, whose wheat colored hair tumbled down in ringlets over her diamond studded hair band. Her floor-length purple gown hugged her womanly curves and trailed

behind her as she guided us into the dining area and gestured for us to be seated on the large horseshoe-shaped couch. Julia's beauty and wealth would be the envy of any woman who never knew privilege but I had transcended such shallow emotion. At least, that's what I told myself as I sat next to her in my plain and shapeless white tunic. We indulged in small talk while the servants brought wine and decorative plates of eggs and shellfish appetizers, placing them in front of us on a candle-lit table inlaid with ivory. An entree of steaming cooked vegetables and flamingo followed. By the time the fruit and pastry were served, the small talk fell by the wayside. "What brought you to Massilia?" asked Julia, feigning cheerfulness. "We came to spread the word of God as teachers and healers," said Ptolemy. "By healers, do you mean miracle workers?" asked the Prince. "Only God can do that," replied Ptolemy. "Are you in need of a miracle?" I asked. "The miracle of birth," confessed the Prince. "For three years, my wife has been barren despite our generous offerings to Artemis." "If I may comment, offerings will not make one fertile," I said. "Would you care to explain?" asked the Prince. "Being physically barren may be a sign that one is also spiritually barren," I replied. The Prince abruptly rose to his feet and looked down at me with a scorching glare. "How bold of you as a guest in our home to call my wife and I spiritually barren!" Ptolemy pressed the palms of his hands together as if to pray. "You have both been gracious hosts. Our intention is not to offend but to enlighten. Your kindness and your grief have touched us deeply. If we have offended you, please accept our deepest apology." Despite our efforts to appease the Prince's anger, we left his home on less than friendly terms. To our amazement, he sent a messenger to the Merchants Inn three days later inviting us back again. Once again, we were met by the Prince's servants and escorted to the same horseshoe-shaped couch in the dining area.

This time, the servants served wine and a colorful assortment of pomegranates, melons, and berries. The Prince wasted no time getting to the point of our return visit. "Julia and I had a distressingly vivid dream on the night of your last visit. When we awoke the next morning, we discovered that we dreamt exactly the same dream. It has been haunting us ever since." "Do you think we may be responsible in some way?" I asked. "We thought you might have some insight, some understanding of what it meant since you both appeared in our dream," said the Prince. "We are messengers of God. Interpreting dreams is the domain of astrologers, magicians, and sorcerers," explained Ptolemy. "Will you at least hear it?" asked Julia. "Tell us your dream. If God chooses to reveal its meaning through us, so be it," said Ptolemy. The Prince reached for Julia's hand and held it as he spoke. "My wife and I were wandering along a dry mud-cracked river bed. It was littered with the bleached skeletons of dead animals. The blistering sun refused to set and we found no shade from the barren fruit trees that were stripped of leaves and fruit. We wandered for miles over the wasteland dying ever so slowly of thirst." Beads of sweat formed on the Prince's forehead. He paused, reached for his wine goblet and downed the contents in three long gulps. "We staggered and fell and in the distance," said Julia, "a fountain of water appeared to us with two ghostly-looking figures standing next to it. As we crawled closer on our hands and knees, we recognized the two figures." "Were we the two figures?" I asked. Julia nodded and blinked at us like we had just stepped out of her dream. "What happened next?" "The fountain of water burst into flames. We begged you for help but all you gave us were handfuls of sand." "That's where the dream ended," said the Prince, looking bewildered. "Can your God tell us what it means?" asked Julia. "Water is life-giving and so is God," answered Ptolemy. "The fountain of water is a symbol of God, the giver of life. The fountain of

fire destroys life. It is the enemy." "And the barren wasteland?" asked the Prince.

"The barren wasteland and the trees that bore no leaves or fruit are symbols of your infertility, your inability to bear fruit, to bear a child," I said. "Yes. I understand now, but what about the sand? Why did you give us sand when we asked for your help?" "Sand puts out fire. The fountain of fire is a symbol of materialism. It separates us from God," said Ptolemy. "I see. By making offerings to Artemis, I have been using my material wealth to buy my wife's fertility. I was feeding the fire!" "The dream you shared is showing you the path to knowing God," I answered. "If God grants me a son, I will build a Christian church more magnificent than the Temple of Artemis or Delphinian Apollo!" promised the Prince.

***** Over the fall and winter months, Ptolemy and I continued our missionary work at the marketplace promenade in the heart of Massilia. The people gathered in larger and larger numbers, listening to my testimony as a witness to the crucifixion and to Ptolemy's teachings as a disciple named Maximin. He spoke to the hushed masses and healed the sick with just the touch of his hand. The Prince no longer frequented the temple or made offerings to Artemis. By mid-summer, he came to our room at the Merchants Inn. "I wanted you to be the first to know. Julia has given birth," he said, with moistened eyes and a beaming smile. As we embraced and congratulated the Prince, he reminded us of his promise that if our God granted him a son, he would build a magnificent Christian church in his honor." The Prince stepped over to the window of our room and pointed up at the citadel. "Right there, overlooking the Lacydon River. That's where I'll build the new church, but since I don't know what a Christian church should look like, I'll need your help." "Simplicity," said Ptolemy. "A simple design with an altar, a podium for delivering sermons and plenty of seating. No symbols of wealth and no idols to worship." "And a cross," I said. The prince looked puzzled. "A cross?" "The kind the Romans used to crucify our savior. The cross is a symbol of his triumph over death. It's a symbol of human salvation." "An altar, a podium and a cross. Anything else?" "Yes. One more thing," said Ptolemy. "When we built our first church in the Camargue, we rang a string of bells to announce the start of our sermons to the community. For a city the size of Massilia, we'll need a different way." "A large bell, perhaps?" suggested the Prince. "A bell that could be heard from a distance." "How would we ring it?" I asked. The Prince paused and thought for a moment. "We could mount it on a tower. Attach a rope to it." "That might work," said Ptolemy.

"I'll talk to my architect about it." The Prince seemed like a changed man. He was full of energy and vitality and it wasn't just the birth of his son that changed him. It was his newfound faith and his passion for building Massilia's first Christian church. After the Prince left, Ptolemy stood by the window looking up at the citadel. He stroked his beard that had grown back again. "I think the Prince expects me to lead the new church and deliver the sermons." "Is that what you want?" "We came to expand our ministry throughout Gaul. We can't do both." During construction of the church, Ptolemy and I composed a letter and sent it to Lazarus in Avalon. We invited him to return and serve as the leader of Massilia's first Christian church. Two months later, his reply arrived at the Merchants Inn. 'It will please you to know that by British Royal Charter, King Arviragus has granted our family twelve hides of land as Judean refugees. Leaving Avalon is a difficult decision for me but I must go where I am most needed. Please be assured that I will arrive in time for the completion of the church. I am humbled and honored by your invitation." ***** Ptolemy and I travelled north to the city of Aix, then westward through towns and villages. Between the Alps and the sea, we came to Villa Latta, a peaceful town awash in sunlight. Flat topped homes were sprinkled along both sides of a narrow river that rushed over rocks and pebbles, weaving its way under small foot bridges where women were washing their clothes and beating them against the rocks. We crossed the main foot bridge and came to a line of covered stalls where vendors sold fruits, vegetables, and wares. Ptolemy spoke about the glory of God and caught the attention of some villagers who were bargaining with the vendors. A buxom woman vendor wearing a fruit-stained apron interrupted him."A priest comes here once a week preaching the same message as you," she said. "I asked him to ask God to heal my husband who has been blind since childhood. He helps me sell fruit by touch and smell but, as you can see, he is not healed."

The blind man, wearing a frayed robe and sandals, stood behind the fruit table. His cloudy eyes stared vacantly into space. "Is God in your life?" asked Ptolemy, touching the blind man's hand. "Your God is no help to him," said the woman vendor on behalf of her husband. "Is he blind and mute too?" asked Ptolemy. "God cannot heal me," answered the blind man. "What is your name?" "Bartimaeus." "God can heal you, Bartimaeus, but it is you who must do the asking." "I don't know how." "Talk to God in the same way you would talk to a friend." "I have never seen my wife, Ruth, and I have never seen the village where I live or the beautiful fruits that I eat every day. Please, God. Heal me so I can see all of these wonderful things that I love so dearly." Ptolemy removed a small jar of aromatic healing balm from inside the leather pouch of his satchel. The villagers gathered around out of curiosity and watched him dab the balm into the palm of his hand and mix it with his spittle, then spread the mixture over Bartimaeus' eyes. "Go and wash your husband's eyes in the mountain stream, Ruth," commanded Ptolemy. Ruth led Bartimaeus to the stream's edge. She bent down, scooped up handfuls of water and washed her husband's eyes. He stood blinking and squinting for several minutes, then looked directly at his wife for the first time. "I see a shape!" exclaimed Bartimaeus. Ruth took her husband's hands and pressed them to her cheeks. "It's me. Ruth. Can you see me?" Bartimaeus rubbed his eyes. "Yes. I see you now! I see your face!" he said, kissing Ruth's mouth, her cheeks, and her forehead over and over again. Then he turned and feasted his eyes on the beauty of his surroundings. "I see colors. Beautiful colors. The sky, the trees, the water!"

The villagers swarmed around Bartimaeus and Ruth. "It's a miracle!" they cried. "Where is the man who healed me?" asked Bartimaeus. "I need to thank him." Ptolemy and I approached the joyful couple. "You don't need to thank me," said Ptolemy. "It is God you should thank. I am simply God's messenger." "Then, we thank you as God's messenger," said Bartimaeus. "Tell us your name. Tell us how we can repay you." "My name is Maximin and this is my wife, Magdelene. Seeing you healed is payment enough." "There is one thing you can do for us," I said. "You mentioned a priest who comes here and teaches the same message as we do. Do you know his name?" "Martial," said Ruth. "Martial? We know him well! Where can we find him?" I asked, excitedly. "He lives high in the hills and brings his donkey to town once a week to pick up food and supplies. I've seen him come and go along the hillside footpath," said Ruth, pointing to it. "Wait!" said Bartimaeus, running to fetch an armload of fresh fruit from the fruit stand. "For your journey!" ***** Above us, a towering wall of limestone cliffs kissed a cloudless blue sky. About an hour into our climb, I stopped and inhaled the perfumed scent of wild thyme, rosemary, and lavender. The sound of splashing water drew me off the path. I waded through ferns and underbrush and came to a bubbling spring that cascaded into a crystal clear pool of water. "Where are you?" asked Ptolemy, calling to me from up ahead on the footpath. "Over here!" I shouted. "I think I found paradise!" Ptolemy caught up to me drinking from a crystal clear pool of spring water. He seemed as entranced as I was by the enchanting wonderland of tall lush ferns, colorful mushrooms and the jeweled garden of wild flowers that surrounded the pool.

I continued exploring the area and poked my head inside the gaping mouth of a large grotto. "Look! It's nature's very own church!" I stepped cautiously into the giant chamber and examined the walls that had been hewn smooth by eons of wind and water. The walls talked back to me. "It feels other worldly... worldly... worldly," they said, echoing my words. "Be careful," warned Ptolemy. "Some hungry residents may be napping inside." "If you're trying to scare me, it's not working." "Hello?" said a familiar voice. "Martial? Is that you?" I asked, as I exited the cave. "Magdelene? Maximin?" Martial ran towards us through the thick brush, almost tripping over himself. "I heard voices and... how did you ... what are you..." "...doing here?" I said. "We came to ask you the same question." Martial wrapped his arms around each of us with a welcoming hug. "When I first arrived at Villa Latta, I followed this trail and stopped at a clearing up ahead for my donkey to graze. I was so enthralled by the scenery, I decided to stay awhile. Once a week, I preach in the village. The rest of the time, I live in a tent house that I built and tend to my garden. Every day I talk to God and write down our conversations." I sat on a rock next to the spring, envisioning the grotto as a heaven-on-earth home. Quite spontaneously, I blurted out, "I want to retire from my missionary work and make this our home." "You mean retreat," said Ptolemy, correcting me. "I mean home... if Martial has no objection." "Objection? I'd be overjoyed!" "It feels sacred here. It's where heaven meets the earth. This is where I want to live and dedicate myself to contemplation and writing. I knew it the minute we arrived." Bewildered by the suddenness of my announcement, Ptolemy pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. I knew what that gesture meant. It meant he had just heard me say something unreasonable. "What you're proposing is that we move into a cave on an isolated mountainside without even the most basic comforts."

"That's what I'm doing and I've never been happier," volunteered Martial. "What about our missionary work?" asked Ptolemy. "The people listen to my testimony as a witness to the crucifixion and resurrection but they won't listen to a woman teaching God's words. We could live here and you could still continue your missionary travels and healings. We need to spread our message not just through the spoken word but written words. I want to write down our Christian teachings and testaments for future generations. This is the perfect place to do it. It completely fills me with inspiration." "You'll need a scriptorium," said Martial. "I can help you build one. Before my father and I became fishermen, I worked as his apprentice at the scriptorium in Qumran." Ptolemy was at a loss for words. He knew that once I made up my mind to do something, nothing could change it. "What about here?" he said, standing next to the grotto beneath a tall tree.

~ See Authors Notes ~

17 TEMPTATION "St. Mary of Egypt retired as a hermit to a desert cave" Legend of St Mary of Egypt, 639 A.D. Sophronios, Patriarch of Jerusalem --Legends about Mary of Egypt recount that a priest in the area coaxed her out of her grotto (cave) and spoke to her about her life. Mary of Egypt admitted to him that she was Mary, the friend of Jesus, and added that after preaching for many years in the Marseilles area, she retired to the grotto. Medieval Mysteries: A Guide To History, Lore, Places and Symbolism by Karen Ralls, Phd

__________________________ Martial's long-eared donkey had a shaggy, sandy colored coat, a tufted tail and a dark stripe down the length of her back. Although she transported and bore the heavy weight of our food, supplies, and building tools, Martial treated her more like a companion and a friend than a working donkey. "Where did you get her?" I asked. "From one of the vendors in town," replied Martial. "I named her Hosanna because of the story you told me at sea about the Lord riding into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey with the people cheering 'Hosanna!' I thought it would be a good name for her." While Ptolemy built the cistern, the food storage area and a fire pit for cooking, I strung a rope between two sunlit trees and hung up our washed clothing to dry. As promised, Martial built and equipped the scriptorium with tables, benches and shelves that we lined with reed pens, metal inkwells, and writing tools. The natural honeycomb recesses in the grotto wall served as storage holes for our rolls of papyrus.

It took two months to build the scriptorium and furnish the grotto with oil lamps, candles, hand woven rugs, and a comfortable bed. I marveled at our new home. It was a natural paradise more beautiful than any of the royal palaces I had ever lived in. The Mediterranean climate brought a short spring and autumn, hot sunny summers, and mild winters. I rose at sunrise and started my day with a bowl of fresh fruit, followed by a meditation. As a daily routine, I sat at my work table with reed pen in hand and wrote until dusk. Ptolemy divided his time between helping me document his teachings and his missionary travels to neighboring villages. During one of his absences, I experienced a profound awakening that transported me beyond my physical senses. As I sat alone listening to the spring water trickle into the cistern, I tried to imagine a joyful world, free of pain and suffering. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't imagine it. I asked myself, how could joy be experienced as joy without knowing pain and suffering to compare it to? How could there be an up without a down? Could beauty be beauty without knowing ugliness? Could light be light without ever seeing darkness? The answer came to me in an instant and I felt myself transcend the limits of duality and become part of the whole. All duality, subject and object, darkness and light, positive and negative, writer and reader merged into one. For the first time in my life, I could feel the radiance of the Divine Oneness in all things. Through the union of opposites, I became the knower and I saw the bigger picture. Reality is an illusion, a magic show made real by my sense perceptions. I wrote a poem on papyrus leaves about my transcendent awakening and named it, 'The Thunder Perfect Mind'. Using paradoxical phrases, I wanted the reader to find me and find themselves within its lines. I was sent forth from the power Do not be ignorant of me I am the utterance of my name. I am lust in appearance I am control and the uncontrollable. I am sinless, and the root of sin derives from me. I am the wisdom of the Greeks

I am the one whose image is great in Egypt I am the whore and the holy one. I am the wife and the virgin. I am the sister of my husband and my power is from him. I am the staff of his power in his youth and he is the rod of my old age and whatever he wills happens to me. I am the one who is disgraced and the great one. Give heed to my poverty and my wealth. You will find me in the kingdoms. I am godless, and I am the one whose God is great. I am peace, and war has come because of me. I am a foreigner and a citizen. I am she whose festivals are many. I am the speech that cannot be grasped. The spirits of every man exist with me and of women who dwell within me. On the day when I am close to you, you are far away from me, and on the day when I am far away from you, I am close to you. And what you see outside of you, you see inside of you; it is visible and it is your garment. I am the name of the sound and the sound of the name to the one who created me. And I will speak that name Look then at the words and all the writings which have been completed. Give heed then, you hearers and you spirits who have arisen from the dead. For I am the one who alone exists, and I have no one who will judge me. For many are the pleasant forms which exist in numerous sins, and disgraceful passions, and fleeting pleasures, which you embrace until you become sober and go up to your resting place. And you will find me there, and you will live, and you will not die again. *****

Martial and I respected one another's need for solitude. Once a week, he came by the grotto and brought me food and supplies from the village. On one occasion, I invited him to join me by the fire pit and share some tea made with wild herbs that I picked in the forest. "I have some exciting news, Magdelene," said Martial. "The villagers who witnessed Maximin's miracle have renamed their village after him. They changed it from Villa Lata to 'Saint Maximin Saint Balm'." "Saint Maximin Saint Balm? Do they believe the balm healed Bartimaeus of his blindness?" "They keep asking me about the balm he used for the healing." "It wasn't the balm that healed Bartimaeus. It was his faith." "My words exactly... but they keep asking." ***** As I immersed myself in my writing projects, the days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months and, almost without notice, entire years came and went. Ptolemy and I spent more time apart than together. He built a church house and a small school in the city of Aix where he trained students who wanted to serve as Christian priests. The school became as much of a passion for him as my writing was for me. On December 25, 7AD, Ptolemy came to the grotto to celebrate my forty-seventh birthday with me. As we sat by the fire pit eating a simple dinner of fish and lentils, I noticed streaks of gray in Ptolemy's hair and beard. Was my hair also streaked with gray? How shallow of me to be concerned, I thought. "I have a surprise for you," said Ptolemy, reaching inside his leather satchel and presenting me with a letter. "It's from Sarah." I hurried to break the seal and read Sarah's words aloud. "Happy birthday, Mother. You are in my thoughts today and always. How lucky I am to be the daughter of such wonderful parents who brought me to a place where I belong. I love the Roma people. I think of them all as my brothers and sisters. Just as Christians have been scorned and persecuted for their beliefs, the Roma have been scorned and persecuted as gypsies. I spend much my time travelling, doing charity work for them, and begging for alms. I teach them the Christian values that you taught me and I offer them guidance when they need

it. I have tried to discourage them from calling me their goddess and their patron saint but every year, they hold a festival in my honor on May 23rd, the day our boat drifted to their shores. Martha, Salome, and my Roma brothers and sisters join me in sending you their best wishes for your birthday. Love, Sarah." "She is a goddess and a saint... like her mother," said Ptolemy. He put Sarah's letter aside and began massaging my hands with the sweet smelling aromatic balm that he brought as a birthday gift. It helped ease the stiffness in my finger joints from the early stages of arthritis which made it increasingly difficult for me to write. I leaned my head against Ptolemy's shoulder and felt a mild sense of euphoria. "Your touch is as nourishing as the nectar of ripened fruit and as soothing as a summer breeze in winter," I said, still marveling at the beauty of the moonlit wonderland that surrounded us like I was seeing it for the first time. "Nectar and a summer breeze can be yours every day of the year. Come back to the church house at Aix with me," urged Ptolemy. "The grotto is my church house. It's my palace and my work place. I've been working on a story about the challenges of the soul on its ascent to its final resting place. I call it, Pistis Sophia." "Pistis Sophia... spirit wisdom. Hmmm. Is Sophia your wise protagonist?" "She is both my protagonist and antagonist, both wise and foolish." Ptolemy took a drink from the wineskin and passed it to me. "Tell me more." I took a gulp of the mellowing red liquid. "I began my story with your death experience on the cross and the entities you encountered in the lower planes between earth and heaven. When you find Sophia, she is descending from her Divine place of origin and she is feeling alone without her brothers. The self-centered earthly realm drags her further and further down and takes away her light. She is unaware that the prison she becomes trapped in is a prison of her own creation and that she is the cause of all her sorrow, grief, torment, and suffering." "Ah. The vain and self-centered 'me'. It's the strongest force driving people away from God. Please continue."

"What takes away Sophia's light is her emotions, her passions, fantasies, attachments, pride, and ambition. She demands to be the center of attention and indulges in the gratification of her senses. She does not realize that the evil and dark powers are not outer demons but inner ones. They are inner aspects of herself." "I see. Sophia symbolizes the split between our higher and lower nature," pondered Ptolemy. He picked up a broken tree branch and stoked the fire with it as I continued. "Exactly. I wanted her story to point to the cause of our feelings of being lost and separate. She is that part of the soul that incarnates and her mission is to develop wisdom on both the physical and astral planes." "What happens next in your story?" "Sophia works her way out of chaos through her Savior. They are two sides of the same coin. He is a Divine emissary, a light being who comes from the Light to reveal the truth about the material plane and shatter the prison of self-centered separateness." "How does her story end?' "When Sophia renounces her last remaining attachment to her false self, she completes her soul's pilgrimage to the material world and ascends into the Oneness of the Divine Light. Her descent into chaos is really about entering the cycle of incarnation until the soul becomes the master of Wisdom." ***** The warm days of spring brought blossoms every year to the canopy of towering oak and hickory trees outside the grotto. Sitting under the shady overhang, I ran out of ink while finishing the final chapter of Pistis Sophia. Martial had never missed a single delivery of food and supplies from his weekly trips to the village until now. I waited until dusk, then picked up my lantern and climbed the footpath to the forest clearing where Martial made his home. An amber band of light emanated along the base of a linen flap that served as the door to Martial's tent house that he built with animal hides sewn together by local villagers. He made the frame out of interlocking tree branches held up by poles and ropes with wood pegs driven into the ground.

Hosanna, Martial's long eared donkey, warned of an intruder. From inside her corral, she tossed her head, pawed the ground and bayed at me like a watch dog.

I gently nudged the tent's door flap open and peeked inside. "Hello?" Martial was sitting at a table staring into the flame of a burning candle that dripped wax down its sides. He was praying and clasping the small wood cross in his hands that Lazarus had given him at sea. He looked up at me teary-eyed. "Do you know what day it is today, Magdelene? It's the anniversary of our Savior's crucifixion." "It's not a day of mourning. It's a day of celebration and triumph. Yeshua said, 'Go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing and teaching them. Remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age'." Martial placed another chair at the table. "Did you know the Savior well?" he asked while gesturing for me to sit down next to him. "Better than I know myself." Martial opened a papyrus scroll laying on his table top, reached for his reed pen and dipped it in an ink jar, preparing to write. "Can you tell me another of his sayings so I can write it down?"

"When his disciples asked him, 'who is the one who seeks and who is the one who reveals?', he answered, 'the one who seeks is the one who reveals. That for which you are seeking is within you'." I marveled at Martial's impeccable writing skills as he wrote down each letter of every word I spoke. "You write in Greek with the care and skill of a seasoned scribe." "Many of the works we transcribed at Qumran were written in Hebrew but some were written in Greek and Aramaic. The scriptures that Simon brought us were written in Greek." "Why did you leave Qumran?" "After the death of King Herod, there were robberies, assassinations and uprisings everywhere. Simon invited my father and I to join his rebel camp at Gamala and learn hand-to-hand combat, tactical ambush and assassination maneuvers. He asked us to make the Zealot pledge to die rather than serve the Romans under occupation. It was a pledge we were willing to make." Martial looped the cross necklace over his head and straightened it so that the cross hung next to his heart. "Are you hungry, Magdelene?" "Starving," I said. Martial served pheasants eggs blended with an assortment of wild mushrooms that he had hand-picked in the forest. We sat scooping the mixture into our mouths with pieces of flatbread. As hard as a tried, I couldn't picture Martial as a cutthroat rebel. His fawn-like eyes spoke of his peaceful, gentle nature. "By reputation, the Essenes are a non-violent community, are they not?" I asked. "Evil only triumphs when good men do nothing. I remember the first time I killed a Roman soldier. We had just ambushed a supply wagon and when I reached for a sword from the weapons pile, the driver jumped down and lunged at me. I swung the sword at him like an axe and chopped off his hand at the wrist. He staggered backwards, screaming and clutching his stump. I stood frozen, watching the blood squirt from his wrist like a fountain. I'm sorry, Magdelene. You don't want to hear such a gruesome story while you're eating." "On the contrary. I witnessed the Roman soldiers crucify our Savior and slaughter our rebels. I smelled the rotting bodies of the

men they impaled to trees and posts along the roadways. Your story isn't ruining my dinner at all. It's my dessert." "He begged me to kill him," said Martial, clutching his crucifix. "Did you?" "I slashed his throat as an act of mercy. I can still hear the gurgling sounds. Sometimes I hear it in my sleep and it wakes me up at night." "Where is your mother? What happened to her?" "I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me. My father was the only parent I ever knew. To escape the Roman manhunt for Zealots, we followed Simon to the Port of Joppa and worked there as fishermen. Eventually, we saved up enough money to buy a merchant fishing boat." "You must miss your father terribly." "At first, I blamed God and the sea for taking him from me. He was my earthly father but now I know he is with the heavenly Father and I'm at peace with his passing." I reached for Martial's hand and squeezed it. "I'm happy for you, Martial." "That's enough talk about me. Tell me about you, about how you learned to read and write? Except for royalty and nobility, most women are completely illiterate." I didn't want to tell a lie but if I answered Martial's question, I knew it would lead to more questions about my past, who my parents were, where I grew up. Although I trusted him, I couldn't break the trust I had with my brothers to keep our identities a secret. If Rome ever got wind of our whereabouts, it would prove disastrous for all of us. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and remained silent. "I'm sorry, Magdelene. I shouldn't have asked." "Please don't apologize. It's not fair for me to ask you about your personal life and then refuse to answer questions about mine. For reasons I can't explain, I made a pledge to my family never to discuss our past. It's a pledge I cannot break. I'm sorry for sounding so mysterious." "I'll stop apologizing for asking questions if you'll stop apologizing for not answering them." "Agreed," I said.

Martial and I talked most of the night, then I thanked him for dinner, picked up my lantern and made my way back down the footpath to the grotto. As I glanced up at the twinkling heavens, I noticed the waxing moon sliding down the sky. Then I saw a falling star and another and another. I sat down at my work bench to watch the light show of raining stars and found myself transported into another realm. All of my senses were suddenly enhanced and I could see in vivid color and clarity the step-by-step plan for the future of the world. Images appeared right out of Hebrew scripture, leaping in front of me and speaking to me in metaphors about the unspeakable end times. A voice that sounded like a trumpet said to me, "Come up and I will show you the future." Then a door into heaven opened and I went up and saw the One sitting on a throne surrounded by twenty-four elders clothed in white and wearing gold crowns on their heads. Lightning, thunder, and voices came from the throne. In front of it, seven lamps of fire burned in a sea of crystal-like glass. I saw four beasts full of eyes and the first beast was like a lion, the second like an ox, the third had the face of a man and the fourth beast was like a flying eagle. Each of them had six wings and gave infinite glory to the One who sat on the throne. They chanted "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty." To the right of the throne, I saw a scroll with seven seals on it. The Lamb broke the seals and out galloped four horsemen of the apocalypse riding pale, red, black, and green horses. Each were given the power to conquer and rob the world of peace and food and to kill with sword, famine, plagues, and violent earthquakes. "Wake up! Wake up!" I said to myself but the stars kept falling from the sky. The Sun turned black and the Moon turned blood red, signaling the great day of vengeance against Rome for her evil deeds. Then seven angels in heaven appeared to me with seven Trumpets and when the first Trumpet blew, hail and fire mixed with blood scorched one third of the land and vegetation. The second Trumpet cast a flaming mountain down into the sea killing one third of the sea creatures and destroying one third of the ships. It turned one third of the sea into blood. As the third Trumpet blew, a giant burning star crashed to Earth and polluted one third of the rivers and springs. It killed all who drank the water. When the fourth Trumpet blew, the

sun, moon, and stars plunged daylight into darkness and a third of the light was lost. The fifth Trumpet cast a star from the sky and opened an abyss where smoke poured out with a spray of locusts wearing gold crowns. The locusts had men's faces, women's hair, lions teeth, chests like iron breast plates, and stingers like scorpions filled with venom. Their flapping wings sounded like the roar of chariots and horses charging into battle. They tortured all those without the seal of God on their foreheads and their victims begged for death but they couldn't die. Then the sixth angel sounded his Trumpet and released four more angels killing one third of mankind with twice ten thousand times ten thousand troops. Their horses and riders wore breastplates of fiery red, dark blue, and sulfur yellow. The horses had heads like lions and out of their mouths came fire, smoke and sulfur killing one third of mankind for refusing to repent. Another mighty angel came down from heaven, clothed in a cloud and a rainbow. The angel's face was like the sun, his feet like pillars of fire and he carried a little open book in his hand. "Go and take the book which is open in the hand of the angel who stands on the sea and on the earth," said the One. I did as I was told. I said to the angel, "Give me the book," and the angel gave it to me. "Take the book and eat it up. It will make your belly bitter, but it will be sweet as honey in your mouth," said the One. "You must prophesy about many peoples, nations, tongues, and kings." Again, I did as I was told. I ate the little book. Before me, I saw a scarlet Beast come up out of the sea with ten horns wearing crowns on its seven heads. It looked like a leopard but it had the paws of a bear and the mouth of a lion. One of its heads had been mortally wounded but I saw the wound miraculously heal itself. Then the Great City of Babylon appeared as a harlot riding on the back of the scarlet Beast. She was costumed in purple and scarlet colors and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls. In her hand, she carried a golden cup full of abominations and the filthiness of her fornication. I saw the name, 'Mystery, Babylon The Great, The Mother Of Harlots and Abominations Of The Earth' written on her forehead. The dragon granted the Beast power, a throne and authority over all people, nations and races and the whole world worshipped and

followed the Beast. All of the people, rich and poor, were forced to accept a stamped image on their right hand so that no one could buy or sell without the mark of the Beast, numbered six hundred sixty six. One of the seven angels holding seven vials filled with seven plagues said to me, "I will show you the judgment of the great whore that stands holding her golden cup over many waters. She is that great city that reigns over the Kings of the earth and over all peoples, multitudes, nations, and tongues. The ten horns of the Beast are ten kings. They are of one mind and will give their power and strength to the Beast and make war with the Son of man who is King of kings." I recognized the Son of man. He appeared to me with a sickle harvesting the grapes of wrath and he said to me, "I know the blasphemy of those who say they are Jews, and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan." His hair was white as snow, his eyes like flames and he was holding seven stars. Out of his mouth came a twoedged sword and under his blazing wrath, his armies battled with the Beast causing a devastating earthquake that split the Great City into three parts. Giant hailstones rained down, islands and mountains disappeared and cities fell. When the Son of man captured the Beast, an angel chained the Beast up and threw him into an abyss for a thousand years. A thousand years passed in the blink of an eye and when the Beast was released, he seduced the nations of the world into the final battle of Armageddon. The armies of the Beast were devoured by fire from heaven and the Beast was thrown into a pool of eternal burning sulfur. It was then that I witnessed the birth of a new Heaven and a new Earth. "Write down what you have seen," said the One sitting on the throne. The stars dissolved into the dawn and I heard the sound of birds singing. I could smell the sweet fragrance of pine needles and the earth damp with dew. Somehow time had stood still. I sat at my desk and asked myself, Did God really speak to me? Did I really see the future of humanity unfolding or did I dream it? ***** Steam rose from Hosanna's coat as Martial unloaded the heavy packs strapped to her back. "I need a younger donkey for the job," he

said, stroking her head affectionately. "She's getting too old and tired to carry the weight of the supplies uphill, I'm afraid." "She barked at me last night when I came by your tent. I think you should keep her as a watch dog." Martial inhaled the alluring aroma of gingerroot and honey from the pot of water perched on the platform of rocks by the fire pit. "Would you like to join me for gingerroot tea?" "Yes. I'd like that," he said, with a pleasurable sigh. As I poured and served the tea, I told Martial the details of my entire vision and revelations including the abominable devastations that poured upon the earth and the final battle between good and evil. "I saw everything as clearly as I see you sitting here right now." "Whenever I eat wild mushrooms like the ones we had for dinner, I have strange dreams afterwards, too," remarked Martial. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you about it. Last night, I dreamt that a giant sea turtle rescued my father from drowning and towed him to shore on its back." "I didn't dream it. I heard God speak to me out loud like you're speaking to me now." Martial paused and sipped his tea thoughtfully."What did the voice sound like?" "It wasn't male or female and I didn't recognize the language but I understood it not just through words but images. I know from Hebrew scriptures that the prophet Daniel had a vision similar to mine. He saw four beasts symbolizing four kings that will rise from the earth. Like Daniel's vision, my vision revealed the end days when the ungodly powers of the most terrifying beast will be taken away and our returned Lord will sit on the throne of an everlasting kingdom." "Forgive me, Magdelene, but the God in your vision is not my God. What you describe is a punishing, cruel and vengeful God who unleashes hell on mother Earth. My God is a creator, not a destroyer. My God is not violent or punishing or wrathful. I suspect your vision was really an expression of your rage towards Rome. It's robbing you of your peace." Was Martial right? Were my visions expressing my murderous rage towards Rome that had been festering in me since childhood?

"Remember when you told me that what we see outside of us, we also see inside of us and we wear it like a garment?" asked Martial. "Yes. It's one of the lines from my poem, The Thunder Perfect Mind. The poem wrote itself. All I did was hold the pen and the universe wrote it through me." "I think the hell that you saw outside of you is also inside of you. To find peace, you need to let go of the anger from your past." "How can I let go of what's burned in my memory?" "Write down your vision. By writing it down, you can release your anger. That's how I made peace with my father's passing. I wrote down my anger and released it." At that moment, a pink flamingo with an enormous wing span swooped down and landed at the cistern. It took a drink and made a warbling sound. Then it ran a few steps, flapped its giant wings and lifted skyward. We watched it soar higher and higher until it disappeared over the mist-covered hilltops. "Pink flamingos live in the Camargue by the sea. I've never seen one in this area before. I think it's a sign, Magdelene. It's a sign for you to write down what you saw." "It could take months to write everything down." "If you need help..." "Are you offering?" The following day, I began writing down the details of my revelations exactly as I remembered them. "At first, a door opened in heaven and I heard the voice of a Trumpet say, 'Come up and I will show you the future.'" Martial stopped by the grotto in the early afternoon. He brought tools to build an extra work table and a bench for himself beside mine. "Since we're going to be consuming ink like wine, I think we should make our own." I looked up from my writing. "Wine?" I asked. "No. Ink!" laughed Martial. "In Qumran, we mixed soot lampblack and ground charcoal together with gum. By adding just enough water, we got the right consistency so the ink wouldn't penetrate the papyrus when we wrote on it. It turns a rusty brown color when it dries." Martial came to the grotto every day and worked endless hours from dawn to dusk as my scribe and copyist. Whenever we made a

mistake, we erased it with a wet sponge and whenever the points of our reed pens got dull, we sharpened them with a knife. We wrote every word, every letter with dedication and care. As the months passed, the number of scrolls that we filled with our writing piled up so high, it became almost unmanageable. "We have a storage problem," I said. "I know. When I awoke this morning, an idea came to me. I looked up at the ceiling of my tent and the stitching that holds the animal hides together. Why don't we fold our rolls of papyrus into sheets, cut them and stitch them together? It would save space and make reading our work much easier." "Your idea is called a 'book'. It's already been done using animals skins which makes it very expensive. Papyrus is too fragile to use for books. It would crack and break." "But the papyrus we're using is the highest quality. I think we should try it." Martial and I began experimenting with the idea of turning our scrolls into books. We cut up sheets of papyrus from the long rolls, stacked the sheets, then carefully folded the stacks in half. To make a cover and a book spine, we cut up tanned animal hides that we got from the village and stitched the papyrus to the leather along the fold. After several attempts, our experiment worked. With Martial working as my copyist and book binder, I completed the twenty-two chapters of my Book of Revelation in six months even though my aching wrists and hands forced me to take long breaks. Since we could only write on one side of each papyrus sheet, we needed to write a series of books just to make one complete copy. Martial and I rarely spoke to one another while we worked. I wrote and he made copies. On one occasion, I interrupted him as he sat at his work bench, meticulously sewing and binding leather covers. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you." "It sounds ominous. Should I brace myself?" asked Martial without looking up. "All these years, you have been faithfully copying my work, binding it into books and travelling back and forth to the village for food and supplies. You never once complained about it."

Martial looked over at me with a vulnerable sidelong glance. "I can think of nothing else I'd rather be doing than delivering God's message to the world through the written word. While I'm copying your words, I'm learning at the same time. You are my teacher and you are..." Martial stopped himself in mid-sentence. The moisture in his eyes sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sunlight. "What's wrong?" I asked. "You are... like the mother I never knew," he said. I saw pain, loneliness and longing in his expression. It stirred memories of my son, Ptolemy. He was seven years old when I left him to grow up motherless. I got up and walked over to Martial sitting at his work bench. As I hugged him to my chest, it was like hugging my own son. I could feel the tremble of his body as he clung to me and buried his head in my breasts. That special moment of intense tenderness changed when he stood up. His lips brushed against mine and aroused a rush of desire in me. I fought the urge to give in to the temptation, to caress him, to kiss his mouth and his face, wet with tears. I hadn't felt such an intense urge since the day Ptolemy and I first kissed on the observation deck of Alexandria's Pharos lighthouse. I allowed Martial's warm and tender kiss to linger. "Wait," I said. "Stop." Martial withdrew from our embrace. We stood facing each other like two people who had just sobered up after drinking too much wine. "We are like mother and son. I don't want that to change." "I don't want it to change either," he said. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you. Something I want you to do for me." "Anything," said Martial. "I want you to write your own book." Startled by my suggestion, Martial looked at me wide-eyed. "I'm not a witness to the Savior's words and miracles. What could I possibly write about? I'm just a scribe." "You have had many conversations with me and with Simon. We are both witnesses. You could write about what you learned from us and create a collection of stories about the Savior's miracles and parables."

A boyish shyness crept over Martial's face. "I can't do it without your help." "And I can't do what I do without your help. Not only will I help you, I will work as your copyist." "You? My copyist?" Martial swallowed hard. "You're joking, of course." "You'll need a name for your work." As the idea took hold, Martial could barely contain his excitement. He looked as jittery as a bridegroom before a wedding. "A name? Yes. Of course. Every book needs a name. Yes! I'll do it. I'll write about everything I've learned from you and Simon. You were eyewitnesses to Yeshua's ministry, to his baptism, his crucifixion and resurrection. I will write about him as human, as a carpenter. I will write about his parents, Joseph and Mary, and his sister, Ann, and his brothers, Simon, Joses, Matthew, James, and Judas," said Martial. A flood of new thoughts and ideas sprang from his lips. "I could end my book with the discovery of the empty tomb, with Yeshua meeting his disciples in Galilee and instructing them to spread the news of his resurrection. Yes. I can do it and I will do it! But, what will I call my book?" "Until you think of a name, you could call it the Gospel of Martial." "From the time I could walk and talk, my father used to say to me, 'One day you will make your mark in life.' That day is now. I'm going to call my book the Gospel of Mark." ~ See Authors Notes ~

18 LOOKING BACK "Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages. Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give you my love." Song Of Songs 7:11-12

____________________ The autumn was unusually cold and wet and I ached from head to toe from the dampness nipping at my bones. The smell of soggy, decaying leaves filled my nostrils as I worked next to Martial under the tent canopy that he built for us. By mid-morning, we took a break and it was my turn to make the gingerroot tea. I got up from my work bench to fill the cook pot with fresh spring water and as I crouched down by the stone cistern, an elderly woman looked back at me with graying hair, tired eyes, and deeply lined skin. It had been four decades since I last looked at my own reflection. I was twenty-eight years old at the time with soft, smooth skin, bright eyes and a mane of wavy golden hair that cascaded down over my shoulders. I remembered the wood-framed copper mirror that hung on the wall of the guest room at Capernaum. While I stood in front of it brushing my hair in long strokes, Ptolemy snuck up behind me, kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, "I see a goddess draped in white wearing a halo of holy light. How glorious is your beauty!" Now, as I stared at the reflection mirrored back to me in the spring water, a voice in my head said, "Gone is the face that Ptolemy once loved." I recognized the voice in my head as the vain self-centered self that I wrote about in my book, Pistis Sophia. I quickly plunged the pot into the water and swished it around to erase the old woman's face from my gaze. As the image rippled and distorted, I asked myself, "Who am I to write about renouncing attachment to the false self when I can't even silence it in my own head?" I filled the pot to the brim with water and when I stood up, I felt light headed and dropped the pot to the ground with a splash.

Martial looked up from his work. "Magdelene? Are you alright?" "A little dizzy, that's all. I'm fine," I said, steadying myself against the rock wall by the cistern and wiping away the beads of sweat on my forehead with the sleeve of my tunic. When I bent down to pick up the pot, my knees buckled. Martial rushed over, picked me up in his arms and carried me inside the grotto. He laid me down on my bed and pressed his hand against my forehead. "You're burning up," he exclaimed. "I must have caught a cold. It's nothing to worry about." Over the next three days, Martial cooked fish and vegetable soup over the fire pit and doted over me like a mother hen. Despite his pampering, my condition worsened and I saw his expression change from worry to alarm. "I'm taking you to Maximin at the church house in Aix," said Martial, matter-of-factly. I resisted the idea of leaving the tranquility of my beloved sanctuary. "I just need a few days of rest. That's all." Martial ignored my protests. I dozed off while he climbed the footpath to his tent house to fetch supplies for the journey. His baying donkey outside the grotto awakened me. "We're leaving now," said Martial, hurrying to my bedside. "Don't I have a say in the matter?" I asked, wheezing as I spoke. "It's going to be a long ride," said Martial as he sat me up, wrapped a wool blanket around my shoulders and carried me outside. "Hang on tight to the mane," he warned while lifting me up onto the donkey's saddle mat. This was Martial's second donkey. It broke his heart when Hosanna became limp with age and he had to put her down. Martial held the rope lead and we began a slow downhill descent on what seemed like an endless ride. My bones felt like jelly and it took all of my strength to remain upright as I clutched the donkey's coarse mane. Rays of afternoon sunlight snuck through the branches of the oak and cypress trees painting bright streaks of green across the ferncovered forest floor. I could hear the nearby mountain stream bubbling over rocks and hurrying to merge with the narrow river that flowed through the town of Saint Maximin Saint Balm.

The village looked much bigger than I remembered it. It had a main street now and a central marketplace with shops and signs. We crossed the main footbridge and continued to a modest flat-roofed stone hut. Spirals of white smoke curled from the chimney and smelled of burning cedar. Martial lifted me down from the saddle mat and carried me to the front door. "Hello!" he shouted. A couple came to the door and I recognized them immediately. It was Ruth and her husband Bartimaeus who Ptolemy had healed of his blindness. "Magdelene is sick. I need to borrow a donkey cart. Can you help us?" pleaded Martial. "I'm taking her to see Maximin." "Yes. Of course," said Bartimaeus. "You can take the one in the back shed." "It's a three day journey to Aix. I don't know when I can return with it." "There's no hurry," said Ruth. "We use it to transport fruit to the marketplace but it's the off season right now. Keep it as long as you need it." While Bartimaeus and Martial hitched the donkey to the cart, Ruth fetched plenty of food and water for our trip. "Maximin will heal you and you'll be back in no time," said Ruth as she made a comfortable bed for me on the floor of the cart. ***** I remember very little about the journey to Aix, conscious only of the steady clip-clopping of hooves and the rumble of groaning wheels on the dirt road. With the fading light of day, the rumbling stopped. Martial picked me up and carried me inside the empty hall of the dimly lit church house. He shouted with a tremble in his voice. "Maximin?" Ptolemy stepped into the hall through the door of his sleeping chamber. His hair and beard were as white as his night tunic. "It's Magdelene. She's burning up with fever," said Martial. Ptolemy took me in his arms and cradled me like a newborn. "Can you hear me, my beloved?" he asked, searching my eyes for a response.

I looked up at him through a dense fog. I was too weak to speak and answered with a blink. He carried me to his bed chamber, laid me down and lit the oil lamp on his bedside table. "We need to cool the fever," he said, fetching a cloth and soaking it in a basin of water. As he draped it over my forehead, the coolness cleared my head and my mind began to race. I must be dying, I thought. They say when you're dying, you see your entire life pass before you. At amazing speed, I relived my entire life from a child princess to Mauretania's queen to a Christian rebel, a wife, a mother, a missionary, a hermit and a writer. I heard the tweet of songbirds celebrating a new day and I knew I must still be alive. I opened my eyes and saw Ptolemy heating a pot of water over a flame on his cook stove. "I'm still here," I said, in a voice so weak it was barely audible. Ptolemy smiled and poured the steaming water into a cup. He squeezed in some lemon juice and scooped honey from a jar for flavoring. He came to my bedside, lifted my head and tilted the cup forward while I sipped the hot drink. Martial tapped on the open door to the sleeping chamber. "How is she?" he asked. "Better," I answered. "Please come in," said Ptolemy, cheerfully. "Can I pour you a cup of lemon water and honey?" "If you don't mind me asking, could I have a few words with Magdelene alone?" "Yes, of course. Take all the time you need," replied Ptolemy, honoring the request and stepping out of the room. Martial's lips grazed my forehead as he bent down and gently kissed me. "I was afraid I'd lost you. I spent the entire night praying for you at the altar by candlelight." "I miss the scent of papyrus," I said, forcing a half-smile. "As soon as you're well again, I'm taking you home." "Promise me something." "You know I would do anything for you." "Promise you'll finish your book and promise you'll hide copies of our work." I hadn't told anyone, not even Martial or Ptolemy about my visions of the future while we were at sea, about my visions of the

church council reinventing Christianity and robbing us of our most valuable scriptures. "You must hide copies of our work," I insisted. "Hide them?" Martial looked puzzled by my request. "Why?" he asked. "For future generations to find. Promise me." "I promise." Martial's vulnerable face hid nothing. He knew what the promise meant. It meant I wouldn't be returning to the grotto with him. Tears trembled in the corners of his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He reached for my hand, pressed it to his heart and held it there for a long moment. "I love you more than you know." Before I could speak again, Martial let go of my hand and left the room. I felt a burning ache in my heart that told me I would never see him again. When Ptolemy returned to my bedside, he laid down next to me and reminisced about our childhood years in Alexandria. His tender words breathed life into the memories and made them so real, I felt like we were really there again. "The sea in the harbor is dancing with sunbeams and we can hear the lazy waves lapping the shoreline," whispered Ptolemy. "Two gulls are swooping and diving along the breakers and we can taste the sting of salt on our lips. Look! There's Mother smiling in a lounging chair on the palace terrace next to Antony. They're drinking wine spiced with pomegranate. Mother's holding her wine goblet in one hand and with her other hand, she's making a sunshade across her forehead to shield her eyes as she watches the boats sparkling like baubles in the harbor..." "What about us? What are we doing?" I asked, devouring the fantasy like a delicious fruit cake. "We're in the palace garden near the bubbling fountain. We're crouching down and hiding behind the birds of paradise in full bloom." "Why are we hiding?" "To steal a kiss...like this one." Ptolemy leaned over and kissed me on my lips. "Have you no fear of catching my illness?" "I have no fear of illness or death. When I die, I want us to die together."

I had no fear of death either. I welcomed it and looked forward to being free of my physical form, free of the crippling arthritis and the congestion and fever. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I was somehow able to look back at myself. I saw my sunken cheeks and the dark circles around my eyes. My lips had become dry and cracked and bloodless and my face was a web of wrinkles. Ptolemy stroked my gray hair, damp with sweat and when I looked back at myself through his eyes, I saw that I was beautiful. ✙

AUTHOR'S NOTES

______________________________ In December of 1945, a boy searching for soil fertilizer in Nag Hammadi, Egypt accidentally dug up an old red earthenware jar. Hoping to find hidden treasure inside, the boy smashed the jar open and discovered fifty-two ancient, leather-bound texts that monks from a nearby monastery hid there 1600 years earlier to protect them from the Church heresy hunters. The forbidden Christian texts were restored, authenticated and translated into the Gnostic Gospels. They include The Thunder Perfect Mind, The Gospel of Philip, The Gospel of Thomas (the twin) and The Hymn Of The Pearl. Among the other gospels that survived the purge are The Gospel of Mary (Magdalene), The Secret Gospel of Mark, The Gospel of Judas and the Gospel of Nicodemus. These ancient texts are one of history's greatest archeological finds. The Gnostic Gospels were widely accepted in early Christianity until Emperor Constantine ordered them destroyed, says Dan Brown, author of the Da Vinci Code. In Holy Blood, Holy Grail, the authors claim that, "The Bible is not only a product of a more or less arbitrary selective process, it has also been subjected to some fairly drastic editing, censorship and revision." Elaine Pagels, best selling author of The Gnostic Gospels reveals that, "the Nag Hammadi texts present a Jesus at extreme odds with the one found in the New Testament Gospels." The importance of the surviving Gnostic Gospels cannot be overstated in solving the Bible's biggest mysteries. Embedded within these ancient scrolls is a trail of documented evidence about the true identities and beliefs of Magdalene, Jesus and their family of disciples. THE TIMELINE On November 21, 2012, Pope Benedict XVI made a Christmaskilling confession in the third installment of his trilogy, Jesus of Nazareth:The Infancy Narratives. The Pope openly admitted to the

world that Jesus was born earlier than commonly believed and that the entire Christian calendar is based on a false premise. He added that Jesus was not born in a barn and there were no animals present. Not even a donkey. The timeline for Selene (born in 40 BC) and Ptolemy XV (born in 45 BC) matches the timeline of three key historical figures named in the Bible; King Herod the Great (73 BC - 4 AD), Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus/Octavian (63 BC - 14 AD) and Tiberius (42 BC - 37 AD). In fact, Emperor Tiberius was two years older than Selene. There is only one significant testimony about Jesus historical existence. Testimonium Flavianum. It was allegedly written by historian Flavius Josephus who was world-famous for his voluminous works on Jewish history. Why did Josephus ration his testimony about Jesus to only six sentences and fail to mention the Apostles or describe the Christian movement? How could this first century historian know nothing about Jesus' massive Christian following, his riot in the temple and his rebellious challenge to Roman authority? How could he have missed knowing about Jesus' brutal crucifixion, his wondrous resurrection and his many miracles ranging from healing the sick to raising the dead? Today, the general scholarly consensus is that Testimonium Flavianum is a forgery. Josephus gave Jesus little more than an historical mention, if any, yet he found plenty of time to pen two detailed accounts in Jewish War and Jewish Antiquities about a nameless first century Egyptian Prophet who also claimed to be the Messiah. The nameless Egyptian attracted "the multitude of the common people" and "got together 30,000 men", says Josephus. Like the Biblical Jesus, the historical Egyptian Prophet led a rebellion against the Romans on the Mount of Olives and promised his followers that "the walls of Jerusalem would fall down at his command." Like Jesus, the Egyptian Prophet attracted "the multitude of the common people". Could the Biblical Jesus and the historical Egyptian Prophet have been one and the same Messiah? As a compromised historian and Roman propagandist, Josephus could have easily shifted the historical timeline of the Egyptian prophet with one stroke of his pen. Why would he do it? To satisfy his Roman handlers who needed to save face by covering up the true identity of

the Egyptian Prophet as the Egyptian King Ptolemy XV who escaped Roman capture and returned to defeat them for robbing him of his Kingdom. FATE OF CLEOPATRA'S CHILDREN Historians have speculated that all four of Cleopatra's children died at an early age despite the fact that there is no conclusive evidence of their deaths or cause of death and no remains have been found. Cleopatra's orphaned 10-year old daughter, Selene, was taken captive in 30 BC and forced into marriage as the child bride of King Juba II at age 14. Historians assumed that she died around 7 BC before her husband met and married another woman named Princess Glaphyra. Historians have made unsubstantiated claims that Selene and Juba were buried in the Royal Mausoleum of Mauretania in modern day Cherchell, Algeria. This raises the question - why would King Juba II have been buried next to Selene after marrying another woman? The bodies of Juba and Selene have not been found nor has the tomb been knowingly excavated. With no remains and no historical evidence of Selene's death or cause of death, there is no reason to conclude that she died at a young age. A more likely explanation is that she abandoned her arranged marriage. What became of Selene's twin brother, Alexander, and her younger brother Philadelphus? Like Selene, the orphaned boys were captured and taken to Rome in 30 BC. As de facto hostages of Octavian (Emperor Caesar Augustus), Alexander and Philadelphus were raised and educated by Octavian's sister, Octavia. The historian Cassius Dio states that when Selene married King Juba II, Emperor Caesar Augustus spared the lives of Selene's brothers as a favor to her. The fate of Selene's brothers is undocumented and unknown yet historians reasoned that if the brothers survived into adulthood, their fate would have been documented. Historians therefore assumed that the brothers died at a young age just as they 'assumed' Selene died at a young age despite the absence of any documented proof. What do the historical records say about the fate of Ptolemy XV Caesarian? Prior to Cleopatra's tragic death and the fall of Egypt in 30 BC, the historian Plutarch confirmed that Cleopatra's 13-year old co-ruling son, Ptolemy XV Caesarian, "was sent by his mother, with

much treasure, into India, by way of Ethiopia." There is no clear historical documentation of his fate. No remains have been found for any of Cleopatra's four orphaned children. There is no record of their date of death, cause of death or place of death. Claims about their early deaths are purely speculative and their stories have never been told... until now. RIDDLE OF THE TWIN How did Selene, Alexander and Philadelphus disappear from the historical record without a trace? Did Selene abandon her arranged marriage? Did her brothers escape their Roman bondage and change their names and identities as fugitives from Rome? What proof is there that Ptolemy reunited with his half-sister Selene and his halfbrothers, Alexander and Philadelphus? The proof lies in the textual evidence of their survival and reunion found in the Gnostic Gospels and the new names they chose for themselves. Alexander chose a name with a built-in textual clue of his true identity. As Selene's fraternal twin brother, Alexander chose the name Judas Thomas Didymus. 'Didymus' means twin in Greek and 'Thomas' means twin in Aramaic. There are three Biblical references in the Gospel of John to "Thomas called Didymus". The Gnostic Gospel of Thomas opens with, "These are the words that the living Jesus spoke and the twin, Judas Thomas Didymus wrote down." In the Gnostic gospel Thomas The Contender, Jesus says, "Brother Thomas... since it has been said that you are my twin and true companion, examine yourself, and learn who you are." Experts remain baffled to this day by these passages which identify Judas Thomas Didymus as Jesus' brother and as a twin. JUDAS ALIAS ALEXANDER The Gnostic Acts of Judas Thomas and Hymn Of The Pearl provide fossil evidence of Alexander's double identity as the historical son of Cleopatra and the biblical disciple Judas Thomas Didymus. The gospel describes his evangelical mission to India where he preached to Indian followers and was eventually imprisoned for it. While in prison, he wrote the Hymn Of The Pearl about his historical identity as royalty and as the Egyptian son of the 'Mistress Queen of

the East'. He describes his painful childhood separation from his parents and the loss of his royal stature. "When, quite a little child, I was dwelling in the House of my Father's Kingdom (Mark Antony). In the wealth and the glories of my Up-bringers, I was delighting. From the East (Egypt), our Home, my Parents forth-sent me with journeyprovision. Indeed from the wealth of our Treasure, they bound up for me a load And with your Brother, Our Second, shall you be Heir in our Kingdom. And for me they wrote out a Letter; And to it each Noble his Name set: 'From Us – King of Kings (Ptolemy XV), your Father (Mark Antony), And your Mother, Queen of the Dawn-land And from Our Second, your Brother (Philadelphus) – To you, Son, down in Egypt, Our Greeting!'" JAMES ALIAS PHILADELPHUS Like Alexander, Philadephus also chose the name Philip and James Adelphus (or Adelphos) with built-in textual clues to his real name. Adelphus means 'brother' in Greek. The name 'James' means 'to supplant' (the Roman enemy). In the gospels of the New Testament, James (Philadelphus) is called the brother of Jesus. In Acts 1:13, he is also called the brother of Judas (Alexander). The Acts of Philip identifies Mary Magdalene (Mariamne) as the sister of the Apostle Philip (Philadelphus). For Gnostics, Mariamne is recognized as Mary Magdelene. MAGDELENE ALIAS SELENE Selene provides a built-in textual clue to her true identity by choosing the name Magd-elene. The names Magd-elene and S-elene incorporate the same name 'Elene'. Since vowels were interchangeable in the ancient Hebrew language, Magdalene could be spelled as 'Magdelene' and 'Magdalena'. The female author of the Gnostic poem The Thunder Perfect Mind teases the reader into solving the riddle of her identity by hiding clues within the poem's paradoxical lines. She writes, "I am the knowledge of my name... I am the sister of my husband... I am the wisdom of the Greeks... I am the one whose image is great in Egypt... I am she whose festivals are many... I am the whore and the holy one... Give heed to my poverty and my wealth... you will find me in the kingdoms..." This Gnostic poem appears to have been written by

Cleopatra's daughter Selene whose double identity as the biblical Mary Magdelene is imbedded in the verses. Her poem uses the voice of a feminine divine power or goddess that unites all opposites and sees the beauty of the divine in all life. Like Selene who was betrothed to her brother-King, the poet describes herself as the sister of her husband. Like Selene who was a wealthy Greek-Egyptian princess until the fall of Egypt, the poet says she has a great image in Egypt and she is the wisdom of the Greeks. This poem is a female first-person narrative style of writing which was extremely rare in ancient texts but not uncommon in Ptolemaic Alexandria. Bentley Layton, Professor of religious studies and ancient Christianity points to the use of paradox and antithesis which is characteristic of the Greek riddle. The poem can be read as a complex identity riddle to be solved by the knowing or 'Gnostic' reader who is teased into solving the mystery of the speaker's identity. The Gospel of Mary was discovered in 1896 in Cairo, Egypt and two other copies were found in Northern Egypt in later years, but the copies were incomplete. The female author describes her vision of the world passing away, not towards a new creation or a new world order, but towards freedom from the world of illusion and from bondage, suffering and death. It teaches that each soul can discover its own true spiritual nature rooted in the good and return to the place of eternal rest beyond the bounds of time, matter, and false morality. Who wrote the Gospel of Mary? Who else? The only women of means who were capable of reading and writing during Jesus lifetime came from royal or aristocratic families. Magdelene alias Selene would have received the best tutored education the ancient world had to offer at the Royal Library of Alexandria. Following her capture by the Romans at age ten, Selene continued her education under the guardianship of the Emperor's sister Octavia until the age of fourteen when she was forced to marry King Juba II. During their marriage, Juba, who was a celebrated author, may have helped Selene advance her writing skills. From its earliest beginnings, the patriarchal Roman Catholic Church marginalized the importance of women through gospel editing, gender swapping and name changes. They excluded women

from roles that involved teaching and authority over men. "Let a woman learn in silence with all submissiveness. I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over men; she is to keep silent," says 1 Timothy 2:11-12. Tertullian, a second century church leader and prolific author of Early Christianity said of woman: "You are the devil's gateway." By the third century the early church father Origen wrote: "What is seen with the eyes of the creator is masculine, and not feminine, for God does not stoop to look upon what is feminine and of the flesh." Bishop Epiphanius in the fourth century said: "The devil seeks to vomit out his disorder through women." Over the centuries, these misogynist influences shaped the cultural bias that women are inferior to men both by nature and by law. In the words of St. Thomas Aquinas, "As regards the individual nature, woman is defective and misbegotten, for the active power of the male seed tends to the production of a perfect likeness in the masculine sex; while the production of a woman comes from defect in the active power." The genocidal holy terror of the church against the 'enemies of god' spanned three centuries and transformed matriarchal paganism into patriarchal Christianity. PROSTITUTE TURNED SAINT? The Bible is strangely silent about Mary Magdalene's past and offers no information about who her family was or where she came from. By contrast, she is a central figure in Gnostic Christianity. Dialogue of the Savior, the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Philip and the Gospel of Mary all portray Magdalene as Jesus' closest disciple and the one who truly understood his teachings. The authors of the Bible's New Testament gospels felt she was important enough to be the first person that Jesus appeared to at the tomb after his crucifixion. In all likelihood, if Magdalene was capable of writing, she would have written down his teachings. Mary Magdelene continues to be the victim of wild speculation about a salacious past. The Bible implies but never explicitly states that she was a prostitute. The author of the Gospel of Luke doesn't name her in his narrative about the "penitent whore" who washes the feet of Jesus with her hair. He implies it by identifying her as "the woman with the alabaster jar" which Mary Magdelene is known to have carried.

Since the gospels offer no explanation about how this unmarried, first century 'woman of means' was able to support and keep company with twelve men, prostitution is implied. Painters brush stroked her in medieval Christian art as a 'femme fatale' with long, untamed red hair worn down over her shoulders as a sign of her sexual impropriety. By contrast, other women in the New Testament were generally portrayed with dark hair tucked beneath a scarf. By the 19th century, Mary Magdelene was repackaged by the church as 'the patron saint of reformed prostitutes and sexual temptation', 'the repentant whore' and 'the holy harlot'. Her trollop-turned-saint reputation has survived the ages despite the absence of any evidence to support it. The legend of Saint Mary of Egypt contributed to Mary Magdelene's reputation as a prostitute-turned-saint. Since people of the first century were predominantly illiterate, ancient history began as oral history. Knowledge was passed down without a writing system through word of mouth testimony. Like most surviving legends, the accuracy of this two thousand year old story about Saint Mary of Egypt suffered from the telling and retelling of it over the centuries. Despite the twists and distortions, the legend has embraced important nuggets of truth. The legend of Saint Mary of Egypt (Maria Aegyptiaca) was first recorded by St. Sophronius, Patriarch of Jerusalem, in the 7th century. Born in Egypt, Mary ran away from her parents to the city of Alexandria at the age of twelve. After seventeen years living as a prostitute, she traveled to Jerusalem for the great Feasts, repented her sins and received absolution from the spirit of Saint John the Baptist on the banks of the Jordan River. Mary then retired to the desert and lived the rest of her life as a hermit surviving on what she could find in the wilderness. Legends about the death of Saint Mary of Egypt recount that a priest in the area coaxed her out of her grotto (cave) and spoke to her about her life. Mary of Egypt admitted to him that she was Mary, the companion of Jesus, and added that after preaching for many years in the area of Massilia (now Marseilles), she retired to the grotto. The Priest ran and told Saint Maximin who is said to have received Mary at the church. Shortly afterwards, she died peacefully at an advanced

age. Maximin embalmed her body and issued an order that after his own death, he was to be buried next to her. The most telling features of the surviving legend of Saint Mary of Egypt is that she was born in Egypt, lived in Alexandria and was separated from her parents at the age of 12. Seventeen years later at the age of 29, she travelled to Jerusalem for the Feasts. This corresponds to Jesus 'so called' missing years from age 12 to 30. After retiring to a grotto as a hermit, she tells a priest that she is Mary, the companion of Jesus and that she preached in Marseilles, France known then as Massilia in Gaul. Portraits and sculptures of Saint Mary of Egypt often show her holding a book. A sculpture of her wearing a crown of thorns and holding a book is on display at St. Anne altarpiece, Chapel of the High Constable Burgos Cathedral in Spain. New York's Statue of Liberty also wears a crown and holds a book in her hand. Frederick Bartholdi, the sculptor of the Statue of Liberty, never revealed the identity of Lady Liberty. JESUS ALIAS PTOLEMY The name 'Jesus' didn't come into existence until the 4th Century. The original name of Jesus was written in Greek as 'Iesous'. Copyists and scribes of the ancient New Testament used "IE" as an abbreviation of "Iesous". It appears in the Codex Sinaticus considered to be the earliest complete book (codex) of the Christian Bible. First century writers including Polycarp, Clement, Ignatius of Antioch and Justin Martyr wrote in Koine Greek and referred to the Savior as 'Iesous' which is pronounced 'yay-soos'. It is not a Hebrew word and has no meaning in Hebrew, nor does the word 'Jesus'. In all of the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet, there is not now, nor has there ever been an equivalent letter "J". The letter "J" is also absent from the Greek alphabet. "In the entire first century, Jesus is not mentioned by a single Greek or Roman historian, religious scholar, politician, philosopher or poet. His name never occurs in a single inscription, and it is never found in a single piece of private correspondence," says Bart D. Erhman, American New Testament scholar and author of Misquoting Jesus. The 1611 King James version of the Bible did not spell Jesus with a "J". It referred to him as "Iesus" with an "I". The name 'Jesus' is a

corrupted version of the Latin and Greek IESOUS. Since the letter "J", it's shape and sound is only about 500 years old, 'Jesus' was NOT the name he used during his lifetime' and Christ' was NOT his surname. Christ is a title and it comes from the Greek word Christós. In classical Greek usage, it means 'covered in oil', or 'anointed one'. The New Testament was written in Koine Greek, the Greek of daily conversation which is conclusively demonstrated by the citations from the Old Testament." Daniel Fleming, author of The Biblical Tradition of Anointing Priests, observes that all four gospels in the New Testament describe an anointing ceremony in which Jesus (Iesous) is lavishly oiled with a very expensive perfume called spikenard (nard) by a woman assumed to have been Mary Magdelene. In Egypt, a Pharaoh was anointed with scented spikenard oil during the coronation ceremony. According to the Pyramid Texts, the anointing was usually performed by the Pharaoh's wife. Following Egyptian custom and family tradition, Ptolemy XV would have been anointed with spikenard oil by his wife. By family tradition, his wife would have been his only sister, Selene. The Egyptian Pharaoh was believed to be the son of God. As co-ruling Pharaoh of Egypt with his mother, Ptolemy XV believed he was the son of God. CRUCIFICTION - CROSS, STAKE OR TREE The cross and crucifix are the most cherished symbols in all of Christianity. They dangle from rosaries, hang from the necks of the faithful, sparkle on Christian jewelry and grace the walls of Christian homes, churches, cathedrals and Catholic schools. The crucifix is a gruesome art piece, symbol and a reminder of a brutal murder and torturous death. According to the Swoon Hypothesis, Christ did not die on the cross and ascend into Heaven with two angels as described in the New Testament. Biblical scholar Karl Friedrich Bahrdt established the Swoon Hypothesis in 1790, when he claimed that Jesus (Iesous) potentially faked his own death. Since then, medical experts have begun theorizing that Jesus (Iesous) collapsed on the cross due to fatigue and was later revived. The Romans weren't choosy about how they crucified their rebel captives. Most were bound to a stake or a tree. A cross was more

costly and labor intensive than a stake because it required a heavy wooden crossbeam and expensive iron nails. Nails weren't enough to attach the condemned to a cross since the bones in the hands or wrists couldn't support the weight of the body. The Romans had to tie the victims' wrists to the crossbeam or drape their arms over it and secure them with ropes.

One of the great humiliations of a crucifixion was crucifying a man naked. In Mosaic Law, scourging could not exceed forty lashes, but the number of lashes often depended on the cruelty of the executioners. The condemned could live as long as three days to a week if the executioners allowed it. The big question that people neglect to ask is, "How did the Romans attach a heavy horizontal crossbeam to a vertical beam to make them fit together into a cross?" There were no lumber mills, electric saws or chain saws to cut the timber into boards or beams and the crossbeam was far too thick and heavy to be securely roped or even nailed to the vertical beam. The Romans needed to cut grooves into both the vertical beam and the cross beam to fit them together and secure them. This would be extremely time consuming and labor intensive without today's tools. As a practical alternative, the crossbeam could be balanced on top of the vertical beam in a "T" shape and secured with ropes. The Jehovah's Witnesses are adamant that Jesus (Iesous) died on a

"torture stake" instead of a cross. The cross did not even become associated with nominal Christianity until Constantine ruled the empire which was centuries after the crucifixion of Christ. In the Gospel of John 20:25, the disciple Judas Thomas Didymus (the twin) says, "Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails." The problem with this biblical passage is that the nails were driven through the wrists, NOT the hands. This is an example of a mistranslation. The Greek word "χείρ", was translated to mean "wrist" when it really refers to the entire portion of the arm below the elbow, not the hand specifically. Nails driven through the wrists severed the nerves and inflicted maximum pain. Due to the expense of iron nails, the nails were removed from the dead men and reused over and over again. Vertical stakes would have been permanently installed at Golgotha if it was the primary site for crucifying criminals. Permanent stakes were far more efficient than digging a hole and inserting the vertical beam every time a criminal was crucified. An entire cross weighed well over 300 lb (135 kg) but the crossbeam was less burdensome, weighing around 100 lb (45 kg). It was far easier to tie and nail the naked criminal to the cross piece and set it onto the stake than to lift the heavy weight of the entire cross with a prisoner already attached to it. During the death march to Golgotha, Jesus (Iesous) and two other rebels convicted of sedition would NOT have carried an entire cross (weighing 300 lb) as depicted in the Bible and Hollywood movies. They would have carried the 100 lb (45 kg) crossbeam on their shoulders. What is unclear is how the crossbeam was set into place and attached to the vertical stake. On average, Judean men in the first century were about 5.4 feet or 164.5 centimeters tall, so the vertical beam or stake would be no taller than 6 feet or 182.88 centimeters. The vertical beam or stake was only high enough so that Jesus' (Iesous) feet didn't touch the ground. The question of whether Jesus (Iesous) was crucified on 'a tree' which was the cheapest method or 'a cross' which was the most expensive labor-intensive method is answered in four Bible scriptures. These scriptures clearly state that Jesus (Iesous) was hung on a 'tree'. Acts 5:30 says, "The God of our fathers raised up

Jesus, whom ye slew and hanged on a tree." Acts 10:39 says, "And we are witnesses of all things which he did both in the land of the Jews, and in Jerusalem; whom they slew and hanged on a tree:" Acts 13:29 says, " And when they had fulfilled all that was written of him, they took him down from the tree, and laid him in a sepulchre." 1 Peter 2:24 says, "Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed." The tree was by far the cheapest and easiest method of crucifixion involving tying the victim to the tree with his arms and hands overhead, then nailing his wrists and ankles to the tree. Despite the evidence that Jesus (Iesous) was crucified on a tree, the traditions of nominal Christianity have memorialized the pagan cross as the means of death of their Messiah. Today, millions of Christians not only venerate the cross, they have turned it into a good-luck charm. CRUCIFIXION OR CRUCI-FICTION Suspected fraudulence associated with the crucifixion is not only based on the Biblical fact that the public was kept at a distance from Jesus (Iesous). He was taken down from the cross in less than one day by family members who ministered to him at a nearby, newly hewn garden tomb owned by Joseph of Arimathea. The Gnostic Gospel of Simon Peter, discovered in a valley of the upper Nile in 1886, adds credibility to the theory of a fraudulent crucifixion. It confirms that Jesus (Iesous) was buried in a place called 'the garden tomb' and that Joseph, a secret disciple of Jesus (Iesous), was a close friend of Pontius Pilate. All four canonical gospels identify Joseph as a secret disciple of Jesus (Iesous). Crucified men did not die quickly, especially if they had a foot rest. Crucifixion was a slow, painful and morbid death that would take two to three days, possibly a week. Jesus (Iesous) reportedly died within three to six hours, according to biblical scripture. Hugh J. Schonfield, author of The Passover Plot, states that a mixture of sour wine, gall and myrrh can induce a sedated comatose state replicating the effects of death. Basilides, an Alexandrian scholar writing between 120 and 130 AD claimed that the crucifixion was a fraud, that Jesus (Iesous) didn't

die on the cross and that a substitute named Simon took his place instead. In The Second Treatise of The Great Seth, Jesus (Iesous) says, "It was another... who drank the gall and the vinegar (on the cross); it was not I... it was another, Simon, who bore the cross on his shoulder. It was another upon whom they placed the crown of thorns. But I was rejoicing in the height (the hills) over... their error. And I was laughing at their ignorance." The Apocalypse of Peter was found amongst the texts unearthed in Nag Hammadi, Egypt. It depicts Jesus (Iesous) as laughing and warning against people who cleave to the name of a dead man, thinking they shall become pure. Like some of the rarer Gnostic writings, it also doubts the established crucifixion story which places Jesus (Iesous) on the cross. According to this text, Jesus (Iesous) was substituted. It says, "He whom you saw on the tree, glad and laughing, this is the living Jesus (Iesous). But this one into whose hands and feet they drive the nails is his fleshly part, which is the substitute being put to shame, the one who came into being in his likeness. But look at him and me." The Koran mentions Jesus (Iesous) thirty-five times and maintains that the crucifixion was a fraud. In the Koran, Jesus (Iesous) is called 'Messenger of God' and 'Messiah' but he is considered a mortal prophet who did not die on the cross. "They did not kill him, nor did they crucify him but they thought they did." A man named Simon is said to have carried the cross for Jesus (Iesous), suffered the events leading up to the crucifixion, and by mistaken identity, died on the cross instead of Jesus (Iesous). The gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke confirm that a man named Simon carried the cross for Jesus (Iesous). Author John Dart has discerned that the Gnostic stories of Jesus (Iesous) mocking his executioners reverse the accounts in Matthew, Mark, and Luke who describe the soldiers and chief priests mocking Jesus (Iesous) at the crucifixion site. According to the Koran, Sura Chapter 4:156, the angel Gabriel who brought Mary the good news tells the Prophet Muhammad that in fact Jesus (Iesous) was not crucified and that an impostor took his place. THE SWOON HYPOTHESIS Acts 1:9-12 says that people watched as Jesus (Iesous) was taken up into the clouds towards heaven. "He was taken up, and a

cloud received Him out of their sight. And while they looked steadfastly toward heaven as He went up, behold, two men stood by them in white apparel, who also said, 'Men of Galilee, why do you stand gazing up into heaven? This same Jesus (Iesous), who was taken up from you into heaven, will so come in like manner as you saw Him go into heaven'." The Swoon Hypothesis suggests that Christ did not die on the cross and ascend into Heaven with two angels as described in the New Testament. Biblical scholar Karl Friedrich Bahrdt established the theory in 1790, when he claimed that Jesus (Iesous) potentially faked his own death. Since then, medical experts have begun theorizing that Jesus (Iesous) collapsed on the cross due to fatigue and was later revived. Dr. Muhammad Masudul Hasan Nuri, the Chief Executive and Chief Cardiologist of Tahir Heart Institute in Rabwah, Pakistan, claims that Jesus (Iesous) did not die on the cross. The average length of survival on the crucifix was three days. However, Jesus (Iesous), lasted only six hours. With knowledge of both anatomy and ancient crucifixion practices, it is not difficult to reconstruct the probable medical aspects of crucifixion from a cardiologist's perspective, says Nuri. It is extremely likely that Jesus (Iesous) sustained an injury to the pericardium (the membrane enclosing the heart) during the process of scourging. The sharp pieces of sheep bones in the whip caused deep cuts in the pericardium. This resulted in accumulation of blood in the pericardial cavity. While on the cross, the process of blood accumulation continued. This resulted in cardiac tamponade with hemodynamic disturbance, a condition that caused the heart to struggle, as it was unable to pump blood against free blood in the coverings of the heart, leading to low blood pressure and pulse. In such a predicament, the cardiac output dropped and the brain was deprived of oxygen. It was most likely at this critical stage of hemodynamic disturbance, i.e. low blood pressure and heart rate that Jesus (Iesous) cried out in a loud voice, bowed his head and became unconscious. The piercing of the spear in the chest aimed at the heart created a rent in the outer layer of the pericardium. This resulted in decompression of the heart 'as blood and water gushed out.' The increase in cardiac output as the heart was decompressed

resulted in improvement of oxygen to the brain. The arrival of Joseph of Arimathia and Nicodemus, an experienced physician, further lend support that Jesus (Iesous) survived the ordeal of crucifixion. The application of strong spices and salves at this stage was essential to prevent the wounds from infection and relief of pain. They probably employed artificial respiration when they 'blew into him their own breath' after Jesus (Iesous) was brought down from the cross. Also, the wound of the spear was left open to drain, as 'Nicodemus believed that it was best not to close up the wound in Jesus' (Iesous) side because he considered that flow of blood and water was helpful to respiration in the renewing of life.' This practice is well known amongst cardiologists to prevent re-accumulation of blood in the pericardial cavity. Clearly, the weight of historical and medical evidence indicates that Jesus (Iesous) Christ did not die on the Cross but was delivered alive and then treated. BURIAL AND REVIVAL In Judea, if there was an approaching feast day, the bodies of crucified men were taken down and given to relatives. Joseph must have been a relative to receive permission to take Jesus' (Iesous) body to a vacant tomb near the place of crucifixion which was either on or beside his property. "Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus (Iesous), but secretly because he feared the Jewish leaders. With Pilate's permission, he came and took the body away. He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus (Iesous) at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. Taking Jesus' (Iesous) body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs," says John 19:38-42. From Mark and Luke, we learn that Jesus (Iesous) was placed in a nearby newly hewn tomb. Matthew says the tomb was owned by the wealthy and influential Joseph of Arimathea. The Gospel of John identifies a garden around the tomb and says that Jesus (Iesous) was quickly taken down from the cross and put in this new tomb where there was a small room that served as a sepulcher. The Gnostic

Gospel of Peter states that the garden was called the Garden of Joseph. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus visited the tomb during the night and brought with them a very large amount of spices: myrrh and aloes, says the Gospel of John. Known for its medicinal use, myrrh and aloes serve as a disinfectant while the aloes serve as a healing gel. Neither myrrh nor aloes were used in the embalming of dead bodies. Mary Magdelene and mother Mary brought spices and ointments with them when they came to the tomb after the Sabbath had ended, according to the Gospels of Mark and Luke. Besides the evidence provided by Dr. Muhammad Masudul Hasan Nuri, a number of other scholarly works claim that Jesus (Iesous) survived the crucifixion. In his book, Jesus Lived in India: His Unknown Life Before and After the Crucifixion, Holger Kersten states that Jesus (Iesous) would have learned the art of deep meditation and healing in India and may have had 'out of body' experiences with the ability to transcend the physical. While crucified, he was given a foot rest to stand on, sedated with sour wine vinegar and gall, taken down from the cross after only a few hours and treated with healing oils. For these reasons, he could have survived the wounds of his crucifixion, says Kersten. Following the crucifixion, the Sanhedrin issued a circular stating that the resurrection was a hoax. In Dialogue With Trypho, Justin Martyr (c.100-165 AD) wrote, "One Jesus (Iesous), a Galilean deceiver, whom we crucified; but his disciples stole him by night from the tomb, where he was lain when unfastened from the cross, and now deceives men by asserting that he has risen from the dead and ascended to heaven." If the crucifixion was staged and the resurrection was a hoax, then the crucial questions are; "How could such a hoax have been possible right under the noses of the Roman authorities? How could Christ have been removed from the cross while still alive?" The Gospel of (Simon) Peter reveals that Joseph of Arimathea was a friend of Pontius Pilate. If the wealthy and influential Joseph of Arimathea was Christ's biological father, it seems highly unlikely that his son died on the cross a short distance from Joseph's newly hewn garden tomb that awaited him.

The traditional Jewish belief is that the Messiah has not yet come. Jesus (Iesous) is viewed by followers of Judaism as the most influential and, consequently, the most damaging of all false Messiahs. Judaism has never accepted any of the claimed fulfillments of prophecy that Christianity attributes to Jesus (Iesous). Christians believe that through Jesus' (Iesous) crucifixion and resurrection, humans can be reconciled to God and thereby offered salvation and the promise of eternal life. MIRACLES VERSUS MAGIC Anti-Christian propaganda denied a Divine source to Jesus' powers including the Sanhedrin 107b of the Jewish Talmud which stated, "The Teacher said: 'Yeshu practiced sorcery and corrupted and misled Israel.'" Jesus (Iesous) was called a magician, a sorcerer and a false Messiah. Tertullian, a prolific early Christian author claimed that the Jews called Jesus a 'magus' from the Greek word 'magos' meaning 'learned magician'. Justin Martyr who wrote Dialogue with Trypho in 160 AD said that Jewish witnesses to Jesus' miracles considered him to be a sorcerer: "For they dared to call Him a magician (μάγος) and a deceiver (πλάνος) of the people." Unlike other healers, Jesus didn't charge a fee for his healings and miracles... but were they really miracles? Was it an act of God or magic when Jesus turned water into an alcoholic beverage for the wedding party in Cana? Did he really walk on water or was it an illusion caused by the changing tides? Did he exorcise demons from people or were they, in reality, epileptic? The alleged miracle of raising the decomposing body of Lazarus back to life after four days draws the most skepticism. A NEW NAME, A NEW LIFE As a convicted seditionist who survived the crucifixion, Ptolemy needed to do more than change his appearance. He needed to change his name, his identity and flee the Holy land. After the crucifixion, a man calling himself Maximin (meaning 'the greatest') suddenly appeared out of nowhere as one of Jesus' (Iesous) disciples. He was clearly important enough to be included on the limited passenger list of disciples who escaped Roman persecution in Judea and travelled to Gaul (France) by boat. According to the The

Golden Legend, the disciple Maximin with no known past was the steward or caretaker of the passengers that included Mary Magdelene, Joseph, his wife Mary, Mary's sister Martha, Mary's brother Lazarus, Salome, and young Sarah who was mistaken for a handmaid. Changing his name to Maximin wouldn't have been the first time Ptolemy changed his name to avoid being captured and killed. When Cleopatra sent him to India for his own protection before the fall of Egypt, he needed to change his name and hide his identity as Egypt's co-ruling King. According to author-researchers, Nikolas Notovitch and Kersten Holger, ancient writings from both Persia and India acknowledge that Jesus (Iesous) was revered in India as Issa Masih meaning 'Iesous the Messiah' for his teachings and miraculous healings. There is reason to believe that eighteen years later, he left India, reunited with his orphaned siblings and founded a revolutionary spiritual movement as Iesous Christos (Greek for 'Issa the Messiah'). After surviving his crucifixion by the Romans for sedition, he needed to disguise himself and change his name for a second time to avoid being recaptured and killed. To continue expanding his ministry as a healer and teacher, Ptolemy had to adopt a new identity and his likely choice would be to disguise himself as one of his own disciples. According to the The Golden Legend, the new disciple named Maximin with no known past set sail in a Phoenician boat with the family of disciples and fled from persecution. Guided only by the stars and their prayers, they battled storms at sea and their crippled craft eventually drifted ashore in Gaul (now France) without sails or oars. Maximin (also known as Maximinus) came ashore at Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer and travelled with Magdelene preaching the gospel in Marseilles (Massilia) and Sainte Baume. Together, they evangelized Aix-en Province. Maximin is credited with building the first church on the site of the present Aix Cathedral. He is said to be one of the seventy-two disciples of Jesus (Iesous) and was granted sainthood in honor of the miracles he wrought. The town of Saint Maximin was named after him and became the centre of early Christianity in France. It is the same town where Mary Magdelene eventually withdrew to the solitude of a

mountain grotto (cave) which was a short distance away from where Maximin served as the first Archbishop of Aix. The grotto later became the site of Christian pilgrimages by Popes and Kings. FROM SAVIOR TO BISHOP How did Maximin, a new disciple with no identified past, become important enough to be acknowledged as a 'saint', a 'miracle worker', a 'Bishop', and the 'unmarried' traveling companion of Mary Magdelene? Dr. Karen Ralls, a medieval historian and author of Medieval Mysteries: A Guide to History, Lore, Places and Symbolism wrote, "Legends about Mary Magdelene's death at Saint-Baume recount that a priest in the area coaxed her out of the cave" and that "she admitted that yes, she was Mary, the friend of Jesus (Iesous). She added that after preaching for years in the Marseilles area, she chose to withdraw and retire at the Grotto. When he heard this, the Priest ran and told Saint Maximin who is said to have met her at his church" and "shortly after the epic meeting, her time had come and she died peacefully in the church. Saint Maximin embalmed her body with precious oils and after delivering the last rites, he placed her body in an oratory that he 'carpentered' himself at Villa Lata which was later renamed St. Maximin. Saint Maximin, the miracle worker, issued orders that after his own death, he was to be buried next to her. The reader is assured that her tomb and relics were located at the Church of Saint Maximin, close to her nearby Saint-Baume hilltop cave." Susan Haskins, in her book, Mary Magdelene The Essential History, confirms that: "Mary Magdelene had predeceased her companion who buried her and was then himself buried near her. A special altar at the Church of St. Sauveur at Aix was dedicated to Maximinus (Maximin) and Mary Magdelene as first founders of the city which also claimed the honor of having been first evangelized in the first century." According to legend, Magdelene was given into the care of Maximin before her death by a neighbor-priest living near her grotto. Why did Maximin insist on being buried next to Magdalene and why was the town of Saint-Maximin-la-Saint-Baume named after Maximin and not after her? Was it because of the miracles he performed and his teachings after surviving his crucifixion and adopting a new identity?

THE SMOKING GUN Dr. Ralls states that on the day of Magdalene's death, "St. Maximin embalmed her body with precious oils, gave her an honorable burial and issued orders that after his own death, he was to be buried next to her." Here lies the smoking gun evidence of Maximin and Magdelene's racial identities as Egyptians, not Hebrews. Hebrew burial customs did not include embalming the dead. According to the Encyclopedia Judaica, "the Israelites did not embalm the dead." It was an Egyptian practice and Maximin had the embalming skills to preserve the body of his beloved Magdelene. If Magdelene was a Hebrew woman, he would have honored the Hebrew burial customs and refrained from embalming her. The fact that Magdelene was embalmed by Maximin suggests that both Maximin and Magdelene were Egyptian, not Hebrew. Maximin placed Magdelene's body in a crypt at St. Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume, previously known as Villa Latta. He had a Basilica built over it to honor and protect it and he insisted on being buried next to her upon his own death. In art, Maximinus (Maximin) is generally depicted as a bishop administering the last sacraments to Saint Mary Magdelene. Today, he is venerated in the town of Saint Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume. By the 13th century, Mary Magdelene's tomb and that of St Maximin were discovered by King Charles d'Anjou who had a basilica built on the site. Her sarcophagus is now housed at the Basilica of St. Mary Magdelene at Saint Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume in France. FEAST DAY OF MARY MAGDALENE Today, tourists flock to the Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalen that stands majestically on a fruitful plain of vineyards and olive gardens in the French town of Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume. The Basilica was built on the site of an ancient Merovingian church which had formerly housed the relics of Saint Mary Madgalene. Tour guides escort visitors down a stairway to the crypt where they behold a golden statue with a darkish skull encased in a glass dome. It is said to be the skull of Mary Magdelene but some ask, "Is this really the skull of Mary Magdalene? Where's the proof?" In 1974, carbon-dating of the skull revealed that it belonged to a woman who died in the 1st century at approximately 60 years of age.

In 1978, anthropomorphic studies confirmed that she was 1.47m (4.8 feet tall) and of Mediterranean origin. If someone faked the bones of Mary Magdelene at St Maximin, it's unlikely they would get it so right.

The tour guide explains to tourists that, according to the surviving legend, Mary Magdelene was persecuted and cast off from the Holy land in a boat with Maximin, Sarah and other disciples. After surviving a perilous storm, they landed safely in Gaul where they evangelized Marseilles, Aix and Sainte Baume. Mary Magdelene eventually retired to a hilltop grotto twenty-seven miles from where Saint Maximin served as the first Archbishop of Aix. When she died, Maximin embalmed her body, delivered the last rites, then placed her body in an oratory that he "carpentered" himself at Villa Lata (renamed St. Maximin). His dying wish was to be buried next to her and his wish was granted. On December 10, 1279, the Count of Provence, Charles d'Anjou opened the tomb. The remains of Mary Magdelene were found inside a sarcophagus but her jawbone was missing from her skull. Her

jawbone had been removed and sent to Rome prior to the Sarahcen invasion of 710. However, in 1279, Pope Boniface VIII returned it to France. From 1295 onwards, Charles II of Anjou, King of Naples, Count of Provence, and nephew of St. Louis (King of France) gave his entire fortune to build a Gothic Basilica honoring Mary Magdalene. On April 6, 1296, Mary Magdalene's jawbone was officially reconnected with her skull and later given to the archbishop and enclosed in a golden reliquary. By 1300, the French town of St. Maximim became a required stop for all converted Cathars who were convinced that Mary Magdelene had been married to Jesus (Iesous) Christ. St Maximin road called the 'Road Of Kings' was built to take Kings up to the grotto on horseback. Tourists follow the worn and ancient Road of Kings through a sacred forest on a forty-five minute hike that leads to Mary Magdelene's mountain grotto where she allegedly spent the last thirty years of her life in prayer and meditation. Today, the pilgrimage site is aglow with hundreds of candles and features an altar with a large sculpture of Mary Magdelene. Beneath it, her relics are encased in a very elaborate reliquary. Resident Dominican monks hold special masses and processions for visitors to the sanctuary. Margaret Starbird, author of Mary Magdelene: Bride In Exile and The Woman With The Alabaster Jar exposed a published report that the Vatican had sent an Apostolic Nuncio with six bishops and several priests to honor the 700-year Jubilee of the discovery of Mary Magdelene's grave in Provence. They were sent to celebrate the mass held for her at the Basilica in 1950. Starbird wanted to know what the Catholic Church knew about Mary Magdelene to induce them to participate in this event. Starbird asks, "How long had the Church Fathers known whatever it was that they seemed to know? And, since they were willing to lend support to the Jubilee, why were they at the same time continuing to discount the stories that placed Mary Magdelene in Provence both during her lifetime and after her death?" Mary Magdelene's feast day is held every July 22nd. To announce the event, costumed worshippers parade though the French town accompanied by flute players and drummers while others carry rifles and ride horses from the Camargue. Following the annual mass held

in Magdalene's honor, there is a special reading of the Biblical love poem Song of Songs. This reading raises the question, "Why does this feast day celebration schedule a reading from a poem about a brother and sister's incestuous love affair? Do the leaders of the Catholic Church who schedule the mass know that Magdalene is the sister featured in the poem's brother-sister love affair?" ESCAPE TO FRANCE In Southern France, the global legend about the movements of the Holy Family and how they left their legacy and bones behind persists to this day. Though most academics and the church itself pass it off as myth, the surviving physical evidence and two thousand years of oral history can't be dismissed. Embellishments and exaggerations may have been added over time, but at the very heart of these legends are precious nuggets of truth. Given a choice between official written history and the surviving oral history passed down by millions of people over thousands of years, the word of the masses can't be ignored. The thesis of the best-selling book Holy Blood, Holy Grail is that Jesus (Iesous) was married to Mary Magdelene and that after the crucifixion, his wife and offspring, and perhaps Jesus (Iesous) himself, were smuggled by ship out of the Holy Land, traveled to Marseilles, found refuge in southern France and there preserved the Savior's bloodline, which was the foundation of the Merovingian kings of France and has survived to the present. In the 12th and 13th centuries, the flourishing Cathar Christian-Gnostic community in the Languedoc area of Southern France claimed that Mary Magdelene was in reality the wife of Christ. There is a wealth of information from extra-biblical sources confirming that a group of Jesus' (Iesous) disciples traveled to France after the crucifixion. According to surviving local traditions, Lazarus settled in Marseilles. Mary Magdelene and Maximin, the mysterious new disciple with no known past, went to Aix-en-Provence. Martha moved to Tarascon. The church of St. Martha that stands today in Tarascon bears witness of the long-standing belief that Martha (mother Mary's sister) had a ministry there.

Jacobus de Voragine, the Archbishop of Genoa, compiled the Golden Legend (Legenda Aurea), documenting Mary Magdelene's wealth, her noble heritage, her anointing practices and her fate. Frederic Mistral, a nineteenth century French Provencal poet (18301914), also described what became of Mary Magdelene and the disciples in his work called Mireio published in 1859. He describes how Joseph and his companions were thrust into a boat without oars by the Jews, who were glad to be finally rid of them. This occurred, according to Mistral, on the coast of Palestine. On board with Joseph were Lazarus, Trophimus, Maximin, Cleon, Sidonius, Martial, Saturninus, Mary, Salome, Mary Magdelene, Martha, and a young handmaid of the latter two. After drifting in the Mediterranean for some time, the boat came ashore along the coast of Provence in Gaul (France) and, following the River Rhone, arrived at Arles which was eventually converted to Christianity. Mistral drew his material from the Provencal traditions as they live today in the scattered homesteads of the Camargue, and in the minds and hearts of all the people in the adjacent countryside. Further confirmation of Mary Magdelene's escape to France is found in the Ecclesiastical Annals of Vatican librarian, Cardinal Caesar Baronius (1538-1609 AD). Baronius, the church historian who was appointed librarian of the Vatican in 1596, wrote in his magnum opus, Annales Ecclesiastici about discovering a document of great antiquity in the Vatican archives. To his fascination, the manuscript revealed that Joseph of Arimathea and a group of companions that included Lazarus, Mary Magdelene, Martha and a number of others escaped persecution and arrived at Marseilles in a boat without oars or a sail, whence they spread out over southern France where many churches record them as their founders. From Marseilles, Joseph and his company passed into Britain and after preaching the Gospel there, died. Some Arthurian legends hold that as a boy, Jesus (Iesous) travelled to Britain with Joseph, lived at Priddy in the Mendips, and built the first wattle cabin at Glastonbury. The information provided by Cardinal Baronius describing the enforced voyage to Marseilles of Joseph and his companions seems the most likely and logical account of Joseph's movements, says Ivor C. Fletcher, author of The Incredible History of God's True Church.

The Cardinal's Annals quote the Acts of Magdalen and the spreading of the gospel in the south part of Gaul. The dangerous voyage of the disciples in the oarless boat is also described by Rabanus Maurus (780-856 AD), a Frankish Benedictine monk and theologian. "Leaving the shores of Asia and favored by an east wind, they went round about, down the Tyrrhenian Sea, between Europe and Africa, leaving the city of Rome and all the land of Italy to the right. Then happily turning their course to the right, they came near to the city of Marseilles, in the Viennoise province of the Gauls, where the River Rhone is received by the sea. There, they parted ways; each going to the province where the Holy Spirit had directed them and preaching everywhere." Otia Imperialia, a book written in 1212 by Gervais de Tilbury, Marshall of the Kingdom of Arles (France) details the voyage of Joseph and his companions. Dedicating the book to Otho IV, Tilbury wrote about the old church of Les Saintes Maries in the Camargue: "There, on the seacoast, one sees the first of Continental churches which was founded in honor of the most blessed mother of our Lord, and consecrated by many of the seventy-two disciples who were driven from Judea and exposed to the sea in an oarless boat: Maximin of Aix, Lazarus, the brother of Martha and Mary, Saturninus of Toulouse, Martial of Limoges, in the presence of Martha, Mary Magdelene, and many others. The voyage of the Holy family is confirmed in the Breviary book of prayers, hymns, psalms, and readings used by Roman Catholic priests at the annual St. Mary's Day celebrations. Other sources include Greek and Roman authorities recounting the story of Joseph and the oarless boat. The Jewish Encyclopedia, under the title Arles mentions that the first Jews in Arles arrived by boat without captain, sails or oars. Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea and Church historian wrote: "The Apostles passed beyond the ocean to the isles called the Britannic Isles." According to The Traditions of Glastonbury by archaeologist, E. Raymond Capt, Joseph traveled aboard a Phoenician boat relying entirely on star path navigation. "Without sails and oars, they drifted with the wind and the currents arriving unharmed at Cyrene, in northern Africa. After obtaining sails and oars, the little party of

refugees followed the trade route of the Phoenician merchant ships as far west as Marseilles, France." On board were Mary, Mary's sister Martha, Mary's brother Lazarus, Maximin, Mary Magdelene, and Sarah, from the Holy Land. After landing at Massilia (Marseilles) in the Vienoise province of the Gauls (France), Joseph and his wife Mary and their daughter, Ann, went on to England to establish seminaries and to send out missionaries. MAGDALENE'S DAUGHTER SARAH If Mary Magdelene gave birth to a daughter fathered by Jesus (Iesous), what became of her? The answer is found at Saint Sarah's annual Feast day celebrations held at the small French fishing village of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Thousands of Roma gypsies from France, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and around the world flock to the town in the south of France to pay homage to Saint Sarah between May 23 and May 25 when the town's population swells to over forty times its normal size. According to French legend, Sarah was the young daughter of Egyptian parents. She was present on the boat without sails or oars with Maximin and several other disciples including the three Mary's Mary Magdelene, Mary Jacobi (Martha) and Mary Salomé. 'Mary' was used as a term of endearment like 'dearest'. It means 'beloved'. The Roma legend claims there was a child named Sarah on board the crippled boat that drifted to their shores. The festival of SaintesMaries-de-la-Mer celebrates her arrival with disciples of Jesus' (Iesous). They came to France after the crucifixion seeking a safehaven from the tumult of the Holy Land. The Legenda Aurea (the Golden Legend) states that their battered boat drifted ashore near the village of Ratis where the castaways took refuge in "the vestibule of the heathens' temple." The town of Ratis was renamed SaintesMaries-de-la-Mer meaning 'Saint Mary's of the sea'. In 1521, The Legend of the Saintes-Maries written by Vincent Philippon states that Sarah travelled through the Camargue and provided for the needs of a small Christian community by begging for alms. This gave early writers a reason to make Sarah into the patron goddess of the gypsies. As a minority group, the gypsies or Roma were commonly avoided, scorned, chased away, persecuted, killed,

or spoken ill of. To this day, they are still viewed as a mysterious people and have largely held on to a nomadic lifestyle.

During the "Pelerinage des Gitans" or the Pilgrimage of the Gypsies, Saint Sarah's statue is dressed in seven layers of beautiful gowns created by tribes of Gypsy women. Two rows of men on white stallions, wearing black hats and bearing lances, carry Sarah's statue to the seashore and ride into the Mediterranean waters celebrating and reenacting her arrival in France. Surrounding the horsemen are thousands of people cheering and chanting "Vive Sainte Sara!" The statue is then returned to the crypt where tourists light candles, pray and place scribbled prayer notes next to the statue asking Saint Sarah for her blessing. Outside the crypt, wild carnival music and dancing in the streets continue into the night. The statue of Saint Sarah appears in Tony Gatlif's's 1993 film Latcho Drom (Safe Journey) where it is carried to the sea, and her landing is re-enacted. In Korkoro, also a Tony Gatlif film, the Romas often pray to St. Sarah with intense fervor. Sarah is called Sara la Kali, the "Black Queen." Since Sarah was known to be Egyptian, it was assumed that she had dark-skin and that she must have been a child servant of the Holy family, since no other reasonable

explanation could account for her presence in the crippled boat when it drifted ashore two thousand years earlier. In December of 1448, René d'Anjou gave the order to excavate the village oratory where two Marys (Martha and Salome) were allegedly buried. The excavations unearthed several human heads arranged in the form of a cross and the bodies of two women assumed to be two of the Marys that arrived in the boat carrying the disciples. Local legend claims that the church was built on the site where the two Mary's had lived and were buried. An altar of compacted earth was also found as well as a smooth marble stone that was later called 'the Saints' pillow'. It is the pillow upon which the saints' heads were said to be found and it is currently on display inside the church. At a ceremony held in the presence of King René and Queen Isabelle, the relics were piously placed in the two reliquaries and stored in the upper chapel of the church. Though the reliquaries themselves were destroyed at the time of the French Revolution, the local priesthood had the foresight to secure the relics. After the Revolution, two new reliquaries were made and the bones reinserted in them. If Christianity was not brought to Europe by the "First Family" of Christianity through Provence in France, then historians need to explain how it came about! The French landscape is teaming with relics and legends of Mary Magdelene's presence there. This raises the question - who do you believe? The accepted dogma of the Church or the scientific evidence and the treasured oral history spread by millions of people throughout two millennia. The Catholic Church de-canonized Sarah. They claim there is a lack of evidence for her historicity even though her existence has been well documented in two thousand years of oral teachings, traditions and celebrations that continue to the present day. Proof of the existence of Jesus (Iesous) and Magdalene's daughter was suppressed by the Roman Church because it threatened the church's doctrine of Apostolic Succession. Sarah was the unknown, unacknowledged queen. The Church needed to deny her bloodline and deny the true historical identities of Jesus (Iesous) and Magdelene in order to maintain their own doctrines of the divinity and celibacy of Jesus.

THE HIJACKING The knowledge that Jesus (Iesous) had married his own halfsister and bore a child with her posed a cataclysmic threat to the very existence of the church. The secret needed to be covered-up along with the knowledge that Jesus (Iesous) was human, royal and bornout-of-wedlock to Greek-Egyptian Queen Cleopatra VII. The best hiding place was to wedge a substantial age gap between the Biblical Jesus (Iesous) and the historical Ptolemy XV (the Egyptian prophet) by shamelessly re-inventing Christianity and re-inventing the calendar by papal decree. GNOSTIC VERSUS VATICAN CHRISTIANITY The recovered Nag Hammadi texts portray a Gnostic Jesus as at extreme odds with the Biblical Jesus of the New Testament. For the Gnostic Jesus, there is a distinction between the ultimate God 'within' and the Old Testament God 'without'. Christian Gnostics referred to the Biblical God as the Demiurge, Yaldabaoth, Lord Archon, Yahweh, Satan and the Devil. The Gnostic view of how the world came about is explained in the Gospel of Philip. A substandard deity (Demiurge) created the universe polluted with ignorance, pain, decay and death. This deity demanded worship and even proclaimed himself to be the one true God. By mistake, the inept creator-god infused into humanity a spark of the highest form of spiritual reality. The goal of the Gnostic is to merge and unite with the Ultimate God. "We shall find the fruits of the truth within us. If we are joined to it, it will bring our fulfillment." Richard Dawkins, author of The God Delusion, wrote a scathing and referenced profile of the Biblical God in the Old Testament: "The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully." Such words are echoed by Charles Templeton in Farewell to God: "The God of the Old Testament is utterly unlike the God believed in by most practicing Christians... His justice is, by modern standards, outrageous... He is biased, querulous, vindictive, and jealous..."

In Genesis 3 and Romans 3, the Bible blames the problems of this world on humans who have sinned against a good Creator God through disobedience. The Bible teaches that the spiritual realm consists of both good (God and his angels) and evil (the devil and his demons) and that demons are fallen angels who rebelled against God and were thrown out of heaven. By contrast, the Gnostics believe that the inherent problems of this world stem from the misuse of power by an inferior creator and the resulting entrapment of our souls in matter. JESUS (IESOUS) AND THE BUDDHA Strangely, the Bible is silent about all but the last three years of Jesus' (Iesous) life with the exception of his birth and a singular account of him as a twelve-year old boy in Jerusalem. Not a single gospel, text or fragment of a text written by Jesus (Iesous) has turned up anywhere. Was Jesus (Iesous) illiterate? How could such a wise, articulate and captivating public speaker and spiritual leader be incapable of writing? The answer lies in his whereabouts from the age of 12 to 30 which is entirely missing from the Bible. There is substantial evidence that he lived in India and Tibet during his eighteen missing years where he would have learned Pali and Sanskrit. With no opportunity to practice his writing skills that he learned as a boy, he would have lost some or most of those skills. There are hundreds, even thousands of accounts written by Jesus' (Iesous) disciples and followers in the form of prayers, sermons, letters, songs, poems and what became disparaged as worthless "apocrypha." By the second century AD, the early Church leaders were rabidly destroying every fragment of evidence they could find about Jesus' (Iesous) life that didn't support their doctrine. The purge continued into the twentieth century when a book by Nicholas Notovitch called The Unknown Life of Jesus Christ documented Jesus' (Iesous) travels through India and shocked the world. The account of Notovich was quickly discredited by the church. All evidence that didn't support their doctrine that Jesus (Iesous) was a Jew, the Messiah and the Son of God was either condemned, burned or rewritten. Jesus' (Iesous) travels and exposure to Buddhist ideas could not be acknowledged even by Jesus (Iesous) himself, nor could the records of Buddhist influence over his teachings be exposed. Hence the cover-up of his missing years.

When Jesus (Iesous) returned to Judea after an eighteen year absence, he reinvented himself as the Jewish Messiah and began his new ministry with teachings based on what he had learned from the great eastern mystics. The similarities between Jesus (Iesous) and the Buddha are striking. Both were said to be born from an incarnate God and a virgin mother in the presence of singing angels and wise men bearing gifts. As children, they astounded teachers with their knowledge. As adults, they fasted in the wilderness for forty days and were tempted by the devil. Both began their ministry at thirty years of age, teaching mostly through the use of parables. They attracted a large following and travelled with disciples, changed the names of disciples and sent them to preach in other places. Both Jesus (Iesous) and Buddha performed miracles, renounced worldly riches, advocated universal love and issued moral commandments prohibiting killing, stealing, adultery, false witness, and coveting. Their moral themes were peace, not war, helping the poor, abolishing slavery, abandoning selfcenteredness (ego) and loving one's neighbor, even one's enemy. When nineteenth-century missionaries translated and read ancient Sanskrit and Pali documents in India, they began calling Buddhism 'the Christianity of the East'. Acclaimed historians Jerry H. Bentley and Elaine Pagels agree that Buddhism may have influenced the early development of Christianity. During the first watch on the Buddha's night of enlightenment, the Buddha developed retro-cognitive knowledge which enabled him to read his past lives. "I recalled," declares Buddha, "my varied lot in former existences as follows: first one life, then two lives, then three, four, five, ten, then a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand and so forth." During the second watch, the Buddha, with clairvoyant vision perceived beings disappearing from one state of existence and reappearing in another. He beheld the "base and the noble, the beautiful and the ugly, the happy and the miserable, passing according to their deeds." These are the very first utterances of the Buddha regarding the question of rebirth; "Through many a birth wandered I, seeking the builder of this house. Sorrowful indeed is birth again and again." In the Dhammacakka Sutta, the Buddha

concluded his disclosures with, "This is my last birth. Now there is no more rebirth." Since Jesus (Iesous) called himself the Jewish Messiah, he couldn't reveal himself as a Buddhist even though he taught Buddhist teachings. The evidence is both historical and textual. Textual analyses reveals stunning similarities between what was said by Jesus (Iesous) and what was said by the Buddha. In Jesus' (Iesous) time, Buddhism was already five hundred years old and had spread from India eastward to southeast Asia, north to central Asia, and west to the Middle East. Philo noted the presence of Buddhists in Alexandria, Egypt. F. Max Muller, a great German scholar and Oxford professor, is quoted as saying, "That remarkable missionary movement, beginning in 300 BC, sent forth a succession of devoted men who spent their lives spreading the faith of the Buddha over all parts of Asia." Historical non-biblical accounts place Jesus (Iesous) outside of Judea. Ancient Muslim records cited by Hazrat Mirza Ghulam Ahmad refer to Jesus (Iesous) as the 'traveling prophet' and as the 'chief of travelers'. When Jesus (Iesous) suddenly appeared in Judea after his lost years and received baptism from John the Baptist, the people were amazed to hear him speak. "The Sabbath came and he (Jesus) began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were amazed. 'Where did this man get these things?' They asked, 'What's this wisdom that has been given him? What are these remarkable miracles he is performing? How did he come by all this?'" (Gospel of Mark 6:2-3). This clearly indicates that the people were amazed by Jesus' (Iesous) wisdom (teachings) and didn't know how he could speak that way. "The most ancient of the Buddhistic records contain statements about the life and the doctrines of Gautama Buddha which correspond in a remarkable manner, and impossibly by mere chance, with the traditions recorded in the Gospels about the life and doctrines of Jesus (Iesous) Christ," says Ernest De Bunsen who wrote, The Angel Messiah of Buddhists, Essenes and Christians in 1880. Another book, Bible Myths and Their Parallels in Other Religion by Thomas William Doane, states; "The history of Jesus of Nazareth,

as related in the books of the New Testament, is simply a copy of that of Buddha, with a mixture of mythology borrowed from other nations." Aside from the historical evidence that Jesus (Iesous) taught Buddhist teachings, the textual evidence alone is convincing enough. Much of what Jesus (Iesous) said, not only in the Gnostic gospels but in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, was also said five hundred years earlier by Buddha. For Jesus (Iesous) to speak and act like a Buddhist, he had to be schooled as a Buddhist. The Buddha spoke Pali but most Buddhist documents were written in Sanskrit. These are the languages Jesus (Iesous) would have learned in India during his "missing years" and used in his daily life in India. Prior to the many translations and the writing and rewriting of Jesus' (Iesous) words from Greek to Coptic to Hebrew, Latin and finally to the English King James version in 1611, Jesus' (Iesous) original spoken words could have been lost in translation and may have been identical to the Buddha's recorded words. Despite the inevitable differences in the many translations of Jesus' (Iesous) words, he unquestionably learned what he taught from Buddhist and Veda priests and texts. According to the Zen Buddhism Virtual Library, the parallel quotations of Jesus (Iesous) and the Buddha are too close to be coincidental. Marcus Borg, editor of Jesus and Buddha: The Parallel Sayings lists some of the parallel sayings: Jesus (Iesous): "Do to others as you would have them do to you." Luke 6:31 Buddha: "Consider others as yourself." Dhammapada 10:1 Jesus (Iesous): "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also." Luke 6:29 Buddha: "If anyone should give you a blow with his hand, with a stick, or with a knife, you should abandon any desires and utter no evil words." Majjhima Nikaya 21:6 Jesus (Iesous): "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." Matthew 25:45 Buddha: "If you do not tend to one another, then who is there to tend you? Whoever would tend me, he should tend the sick." Vinaya, Mahavagga 8:26.3

Jesus (Iesous): "Put your sword back into its place; for all those who take the sword will perish by the sword." Matthew 26:52 Buddha: "Abandoning the taking of life, the ascetic Gautama dwells refraining from taking life, without stick or sword." Digha Nikaya 1:1.8 Jesus (Iesous): "Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it." Mark 8:35 Buddha: "With the relinquishing of all thought and egotism, the enlightened one is liberated through not clinging." Majjhima Nikaya 72:15 Jesus (Iesous): "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you." Matthew 28:19-20 Buddha: "Teach the dharma which is lovely at the beginning, lovely in the middle, lovely at the end. Explain with the spirit and the letter in the fashion of Brahma. In this way you will be completely fulfilled and wholly pure." Vinaya Mahavagga 1:11.1 CHRIST-NA AND KRISHNA To formulate the new religion called Christianity that Jesus (Iesous) brought to Judea, he appears to have borrowed the teachings of another great spiritual master named Krishna. The word 'Christ' comes from the Greek word 'Christos', meaning 'the anointed one'. Christos is the Greek version of the word Krishna (Christ-na). On the subject of reincarnation, Lord Krishna said; "The learned neither laments for the dead or the living. Certainly never at any time did I not exist, nor you, nor all these kings and certainly never shall we cease to exist in the future. Just as in the physical body of the embodied being is the process of childhood, youth and old age; similarly by the transmigration from one body to another the wise are never deluded." Krishna continues, "But know that by whom this entire body is pervaded, is indestructible. No one is able to cause the destruction of the imperishable soul. The embodied soul is eternal in existence, indestructible and infinite, only the material body is factually perishable... The soul never takes birth and never dies at any time nor does it come into being again when the body is created.

The soul is birthless, eternal, imperishable and timeless and is never destroyed when the body is destroyed. Just as a man giving up old worn out garments accepts other new apparel, in the same way the embodied soul giving up old and worn out bodies verily accepts new bodies." He also said, "The soul is eternal, all-pervading, unmodifiable, immovable and primordial." Jesus' (Iesous) second coming to abolish evil corresponds with the legend of Krishna who will allegedly return and save the world from evil and the destructive acts of Shiva (the destroyer of the world.) According to Serrano, author of The Serpent of Paradise, "Three hundred years before the birth of Christ, the story of Krishna had already been compiled in India, and had begun to influence the Essenes in the Middle East." Serrano outlines the parallel Krishna/Messiah legends: "Christ may have evolved from Krishna, the Hindu God-Avatar of Vishnu. Like Krishna, Christ was born of a virgin, and the idea of Mary's virginity may have been adopted from the Oriental legend. Both Krishna and Christ were born under the tyrants Herod and Kansa who ordered the killing of all the children. Other similarities include common character traits and both being born at midnight. And when they died the heavens were full of signs of their passing." Jesus (Iesous) Christ and Krishna, two of the most admired religious icons, spoke alike about the righteous way of life in the Bhagavad Gita and in the Bible: Krishna: "Whenever, O Arjuna, righteousness declines, and unrighteousness prevails, my body assumes human form and lives as a human being..." and "In order to protect the righteousness and also to punish the wicked, I incarnate myself on this earth from time to time." Bhagavad Gita Christ: "If God were your Father, ye would love me; for I proceeded forth and came from God; neither came I of Myself but He sent me." John 8:42 Krishna: "I am the way, come to Me... Neither the multitude of gods nor great sages knows my origin, for I am the source of all the gods and great sages." Bhagavad Gita Christ: "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you

would know my Father as well..." John 14:6 Krishna: "That man attains peace who lives devoid of longing, free from all desires and without the feeling of 'I' and 'mine'. This is the Brahman state..." Bhagavad Gita Christ: "Him that overcometh 'I' will make a pillar in the temple of my God and he shall go no more out." Revelation 3:12 Krishna: "I am the origin of everything, and everything arises out of Me..." Bhagavad Gita Christ: "I am the bread of life; he that cometh to me shall never hunger and he that believeth in me shall never thirst." John 6:35 THE MATRIX Reading the Gnostic text called the Second Treatise of the Great Seth is like reading the plot line for The Matrix movie. The gospel states that those who mistake the Demiurge for the true God have little or no awareness of the spiritual world beyond mind and matter. When we experience the world through our senses, we mistakenly believe it is real and outside of ourselves. Like the Second Treatise of the Great Seth, the Matrix movie mirrors the 2,000-year-old spiritual tradition of Gnosticism and is based on the notion that reality is a dream world. The Keanu Reeves' character Neo falls asleep in front of his computer. A mysterious message appears on the screen: "Wake up, Neo." This succinct phrase encapsulates the plot of the film as Neo struggles with the problem of being imprisoned in a 'material' world that is actually a computer simulation program created by Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) to enslave humanity in an illusory dream world called 'the matrix'. Drawing heavily on a blend of Gnostic Christianity and Buddhism, the film delivers the message that the fundamental problem facing humanity is ignorance and the solution is knowledge or awakening. The language of Gnosticism and the language in the film are similar; dreaming versus waking, blindness versus seeing, light versus darkness. In Gnosticism, the Christ-like redeemer brings the world knowledge about humanity's true identity and the true structure of reality, thereby setting free anyone capable of understanding his message.

Albert Einstein was quoted as saying, "Reality is merely an illusion, although a very persistent one." What quantum physicists have discovered about the nature of reality is that everything is energy and reality isn't real. Early in the 20th century the unquestioned assumption that the physical universe is actually 'physical' led to a scientific search for the elementary 'point particle' upon which all life is built, which would prove that reality was not an illusion. But as soon as scientists began smashing electrons and other particles in enormous accelerators, they quickly realized the foundations of the physical world weren't physical at all - that everything is energy. The Buddhist concept of 'samsara' teaches that the world in which we live our daily lives is constructed only from the sensory projections formulated from our personal desires. Beneath the persistent noisy mental chatter in our heads is a deep, abiding peace or 'stillness'. Reality based upon desire and what we feel, smell, taste, touch and see keeps humans locked in illusion and in a mistaken sense of self. For Theravada Buddhists, "man's emancipation depends on his own realization of the Truth, and not on the benevolent grace of a god or any external power as a reward for his obedient good behavior." The Dhammapada urges those seeking enlightenment to free themselves from the past that no longer exists and from a future that only exists in the imagination. If and when the future arrives, it is the everpresent present. The Gnostic text called Treatise on the Resurrection also states that this world is an illusion. The message in Gnosticism, Buddhism, and the Matrix movie is to wake up - but wake up to what? For Gnostics, it is 'stillness' within the Divine plane of spiritual, nonmaterial existence called the pleroma. For Buddhists, it is nirvana, a state that cannot be described through language. In the Matrix movie, we wake up to levels of metaphysical reality beyond what we can ordinarily perceive with our five senses. One of the most important and well preserved of the rescued Gnostic scriptures is the Gospel of Thomas which lists more than one hundred of Jesus' (Iesous) sayings. It begins with, "These are the hidden words that the living Jesus (Iesous) spoke, and that the twin, Didymos Judas Thomas wrote down." The Gospel of Thomas teaches that eternal life does not come through the death, burial and

resurrection of Jesus (Iesous), but through the attainment of a special knowledge (gnosis) from Jesus' (Iesous) secret sayings. "Whoever finds the interpretation of these sayings will not experience death." Unlike the Bible's canonical gospels, the Gospel of Thomas does not narrate Jesus' (Iesous) crucifixion and resurrection. None of the one hundred and fourteen sayings by Jesus (Iesous) that are contained within it refer directly to these events. In the Gospel of Thomas - 3, Jesus (Iesous) says, "The Kingdom is inside of you, and it is outside of you. When you come to know yourself, then you will become known, and you will realize that it is you who are the children of the living God. But if you will not know yourselves, you dwell in poverty and it is you who are that poverty." The Gnostic Jesus (Iesous) is described as the giver of wisdom, not the crucified and resurrected Lord. He awakens those who are trapped in ignorance by helping them discover the Ultimate within themselves. In Luke 17:20, Jesus (Iesous) says the Kingdom (dimension) of heaven has no observable signs. It cannot be perceived outwardly. REINCARNATION Before the 6th century, reincarnation was a pillar of Christian belief. People reasoned that a benevolent and loving God would not give one person a life of leisure and privilege and leave another to starve and suffer if they had only one life to live on Earth. Jesus (Iesous) affirms his teachings about reincarnation to his disciples in the Gospel of Thomas - 51 and 84. "When you see your likeness, you are happy. But when you see your images that came into being before and that neither die nor become visible, how much you will bear!" Jesus (Iesous) followers asked him, "When will the rest for the dead take place, and when will the new world come?" Jesus (Iesous) answered, "What you look for has come, but you do not know it." This quote explains that we are already living in the Kingdom unaware that it exists within us. For the Gnostic, knowledge and wisdom lead to eternal life, while ignorance is bondage to death and the cycle of reincarnation. Jesus' (Iesous) belief in reincarnation is clearly stated in The Book of Thomas, The Contender 9:5. He tells the disciple Thomas that after death those who were once believers but have remained

attached to things of 'transitory beauty' will be consumed 'in their concern about life' and will be 'brought back to the visible realm'. KARMA The Bible's book of Galatians 6:8 refers to the concept of karma by saying, "for whatsoever a man sows, he also reaps." Karma is a Sanskrit word meaning 'act', 'action', or 'word'. The law of karma teaches that all of our thoughts, words, and actions begin a chain of cause and effect, and that we will personally experience the effects of everything we cause. In Hinduism and Buddhism, karma is the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences. The Gnostic text, Pistis Sophia, outlines an elaborate system of reward and punishment. It reveals that reincarnation is based on the effects of past-life actions or karma. The Secret Book of John (Mary), states that all people have drunk the water of forgetfulness and exist in a state of ignorance. Some are able to overcome ignorance through the Spirit of life that descends upon them and their souls escape the round of rebirth. SPIRITUAL RESURRECTION AND REBIRTH A man named Nicodemus came to Jesus (Iesous) at night and said, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the signs you are doing if God were not with him." Jesus (Iesous) replied, "No one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again." Nicodemus was puzzled by the response and asked, "How can someone be born when they are old? Surely they can't enter into their mother's womb a second time and be born!" Jesus (Iesous) answered, "No one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised when I say, 'you must be born again'. The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." (John 3:1-9) For Gnostic Christians, resurrection is a spiritual event that means the awakening of the soul. Greek words in the New Testament were translated as 'resurrection' but they may also mean to 'rise' or

'awaken' as a present-life event. Gnostics believe that those who experience spiritual resurrection can experience eternal life or union with God while on Earth and escape rebirth after death. Those who do not, will reincarnate. In the Gospel of Philip, Jesus (Iesous) says, "People who say they will first die and then arise are mistaken. If they do not first receive resurrection while they are alive, once they have died they will receive nothing." Early Church elders and theologians like Origen, Basilides and Saint Gregory taught reincarnation of the soul as a matter of course. Origen (185-254 AD) wrote, "Every soul comes into this world strengthened by the victories or weakened by the defeats of its previous life." By the 6th century, the Church became divided over the issue of reincarnation. Western bishops in Rome believed in pre-existence of the soul, of previous lifetimes or incarnations, while Eastern bishops were opposed to it. Byzantine Emperor Justinian who controlled the Eastern Church from 527-565 AD was against the doctrine of reincarnation and excommunicated the Church Father Origen who openly supported the idea of reincarnation. The Roman Catholic Church rounded up and killed Gnostic Christians as heretics and destroyed their writings. Today, talk of reincarnation is considered blasphemous by most Christians. DEAD SEA SCROLLS Flavius Josephus records that the Essenes of the Dead Sea Scrolls lived "the same kind of life" as the followers of Greek philosopher Pythagoras (6th century BC) who taught reincarnation. According to Josephus, the Essenes believed that the soul is both immortal and preexistent which is necessary for belief in reincarnation. One scroll entitled The Last Jubilee mentions reincarnation. The Dead Sea Scrolls indicate that the Jewish mystical tradition of union with God went back to the third century before Christ. Fragments of 1 Enoch were found with the Dead Sea Scrolls and is the oldest evidence of Jewish mysticism. Since Jewish mysticism existed before Christ, it would have been present in firstcentury Judaism. Divine union and reincarnation found in early Christianity are at the very heart of Jesus' (Iesous) message.

GUILT, ORIGINAL SIN AND SALVATION Gnosticism was the earliest form of Christianity. The ancient Gnostic belief system teaches that our souls are of divine origin and existed in a divine state before they 'fell' to earth. The idea that our souls are intrinsically divine is in sharp contrast to orthodox Christian dogmas, which stressed Jesus' (Iesous) exclusive divinity. As orthodoxy evolved in the first five centuries after Jesus (Iesous) death, St. Augustine's severe, unmerciful doctrine of original sin was adopted by official Christendom. The doctrine of original sin teaches that, because Adam and Eve partook of forbidden knowledge (fruit) in the Garden of Eden, we are all intrinsically sinners, not intrinsically Divine. This counterfeit Christianity teaches that our only access to salvation is through the teachings of the Church which has systematically stamped out the belief in our divine origin. In the Apocryphon of John, Jesus (Iesous) encourages Adam and Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, thus putting Jesus (Iesous) diametrically at odds with the meaning of the Genesis 3 account where this action is seen as the essence of sin. According to Valentinus, a second century Gnostic teacher, there is no need for guilt or for repentance from sin, and there is no need for a blind belief that salvation comes through the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus (Iesous). Christ revealed that the discovery of self is the discovery of the Divine spark within. Therefore, the issue for the Gnostic is freedom from ignorance, sometimes called 'sleep', 'blindness', or 'darkness', not freedom from sin. The first step to salvation for Gnostics is becoming conscious of one's own Divinity, not one's sinfulness. The same theme is found in the Book of Thomas the Contender in which Jesus (Iesous) says, "he who has not known himself has known nothing, but he who has known himself has at the same time already achieved knowledge of the depth of the all. By knowing the Divine within, the spiritual resurrection and the Kingdom are already here and you will become one with all that is."

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'Blind faith' is the greatest threat to world peace. It occurs when people fanatically defend their beliefs against all evidence to the contrary. Grace Powers ___________________________

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Markschies, Christoph, Gnosis: An Introducion (T & T Clark, trans. John Bowden, 2000) Meyer, Marvin, The Gospels of Mary (Harperone, February 23, 2006) Meyer, Marvin, The Gnostic Discoveries: The Impact of the Nag Hammadi Library, (HarperOne; Reprint edition, December 12, 2006) Moran, Michelle, Cleopatra's Daughter (Broadway Books; Reprint edition, 2010) Notovitch, Nicola, The Unknown Life of Saint Issa (Indo-American Book Company, 1894) Notovitch, Nikolas, The Unknown Life Of Jesus Christ (Createspace, November 10, 2014) Pagels, Elaine, The Gnostic Gospels and Beyond Belief: the Secret Gospel of Thomas (Vintage; Reprint edition, May 4, 2004) Prophet, Elizabeth Clare, The Lost Years Of Jesus (Summit University Press, 1984) Parales, Heidi, Hidden Voices: Biblical Women and Our Christian Heritage (Smyth & Helwys Publishing, Inc., 1998) Plutarch, Life of Antony (Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics Cambridge University Press, May 27, 1988) Rameijer, Jaap, Mary Magdalene in France (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 2nd edition, July 30, 2013) Ralls, Karen, Medieval Mysteries: A Guide to History, Lore, Places and Symbolism (Ibis Press, March 1, 2014) 1Robins, Gay, Women in Ancient Egypt (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1993) Robins, Gay, Women in Ancient Egypt (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1993) Robinson, James M., The Nag Hammadi Library in English (Harper & Row; Revised edition, San Francisco, CA, 1988) Roller, Duane W., Cleopatra: A Biography Women in Antiquity (Oxford University Press; Reprint edition, November 1, 2011) Roller, D. W., The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene (Routledge, September 10, 2003) Schonfied, Hugh, The Passover Plot (Disinformation Books; 1st edition, April 1, 2004) Starbird, Margaret, The Woman With The Alabaster Jar (NM: Bear & Co., 1993) Starbird, Margaret, Mary Magdalene: Bride In Exile (Bear & Company; Pap/Com edition, August 16, 2005) Suetonius, Lives Of The Caesars (Oxford Paperbacks; Reissue edition June 15, 2009) Swidler, Leonard, Jesus Was A Feminist (Sheed & Ward, October 17, 2007) Thiering, Barbara, Jesus and the Riddle of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Harper San Francisco, 1987) Wells, G.A., The Jesus Myth (Open Court, December 30, 1998) Wright, William, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles 1871 (Facsimile Publisher, 2015)