With flushed cheeks, Joseph motions for his nephews to carry in the massive cedar table that took him a year to complete. “And the best of my vineyards will grace this table for twelve seasons.”
Within the silence, Yeshua perceives the Tzadokim wryly wondering about their local magistrate who would give his precious daughter for such a pittance.
Joseph of Arimathaea stands. “Unless you have partaken of my friend’s wine you cannot appreciate how rare and precious it is.” Teoma’s uncle is wealthier than any ten of the wedding guests and favored by Caesar as minister of the emperor’s mines; only Herod’s sons are more powerful.
After the ketuba is signed by witnesses, Ananias laughs, “Syrus, if I would have known you had such refined taste, I would have offered my vineyards in Damascus.”
Yeshua had no idea the High Priest had designs on Mary as bride for his son. Holding the circle of lambskin she embroidered with the emblem of their union—a star within a rose—he prays she will be pleased with his gift.
***
A beautiful cedar trunk ornately carved, obviously the work of Yeshua’s father, is placed before me by two robust servants. Ima hurries them out as my aunts, cousins, and grandmother, even my aged wetnurse gather round. Miriam sits with her sister and Hava at the back of the room, while little Esther and Ruth stuff themselves with dates.
Wed to the son of a rich textile merchant from Sepphoris just last month, my sister pushes back her richly bejeweled headdress. Although anxious for the house in Magdala to be prepared for them, Martha stayed for my prenuptials or I may have never survived our mother’s sharp tongue. I reach for the protective pouch, but it lies no longer over my heat. Abba returned it to my guardian.
Martha displays Yeshua’s sacred family scrolls tracing his lineage back to David for all to view before extracting Egyptian utensils from the trunk. The finely crafted copper induces nods from my father’s sisters who have traveled from Tyre for my wedding.
Savta admires the Roman glass plates, “Mary, you shall serve fine meals in your new home.”
“Your granddaughter will not have a home of her own.” Ima bitterly tells her mother.
“What!” Dod Helena exclaims. “Eucharia, with the dowry my brother paid, my niece should have a palace!”
Afraid my aunt has embarrassed Miriam, I look over, but she seems fine. I pick a pale blue cloak from the trunk and thank her aloud for these sumptuous silks come from her own wardrobe.
Ima passes out the rest and I cringe to hear Dod Helena comment on how lightly each is dyed.
Laying the ketuba on my lap, Ima shakes her head in dismay, “This is what you are worth to them.” My aunts commiserate with her as Martha reads the sacred marriage contract aloud. It ensures the transfer of property and my rights to be provided for by my husband in food, clothing, shelter, and sexual needs.
Martha whispers in my ear. “Pay them no mind. They are bitter because their rich spouses do not satisfy them in all ways.” My cheeks flush hotly. Thankfully, Miriam stands to take curious eyes from my face.
“Martha, search the bottom of the trunk. There is a special gift my son brought from Britannia.” My sister does her bidding and extracts a simple wooden box. Carefully I open it to find silvery-white branches curving into five scallops tipped with pastel opals in the form of roses. Yeshua’s energy emanates from the necklace. Did he craft himself? Across the way Miriam smiles.
At my hesitancy, Martha deftly ties the necklace about my throat and my hayye shifts to encompass the rainbow of energy.
Dod Helena clucks her tongue, whispering to Savta, “Poor Mary. That will be the last piece of jewelry she will ever wear.”
***
“Remove your cloak, my son.” His mother’s concern pierces his awareness, but she shakes her head and leads him to the ornately decorated columns signifying the gates of paradise.
Brilliant sunshine breaks through the late morning haze, directing Yeshua’s attention to the steps from the rooftop. Adorned in an elegant silk gown dyed from the purple secretions of rare and precious mollusks off the coast of Tyre, his bride descends, rich dark curls cascading down her back.
Yeshua takes Mary’s hand and leads her under the wedding canopy as their ketuba is read by Saul. As if protected by the chupa, Mary focuses her energy and circles him seven times, wrapping him in her violet hayye. And seven times he encircles her in silver, their intimate exchange inflaming them both.
Syrus hands Yeshua a richly beaded headdress to veil his bride. Hesitating a long moment before looking deeply into Mary’s eyes, Yeshua says loud enough for all to hear, “You are my beloved partner, not my property. I will not veil your power,” and casts the purple silk outside the chupa.
Horrified murmurs cut the silence as thick as clotted cream. In brilliant contrast to her dark skin, Mary’s sea-green eyes express her gratitude. Relieved, Yeshua motions for the first cup of wine. His little sister Ruth sweetly holds the chalice for him to share with his bride. After they consume the ritual yayin, Belshazzar approaches with an alabaster box.
“You are the messeh queen, anoint the beloved prince.”
As Mary receives the sacred spikenard with trembling hands, Yeshua takes a seat on the gilded chair. Softly singing the sweet words of love and devotion, she anoints his bowed head. Energy pours through his crown. Voice husky with passion, she kneels before him and he catches his breath as her tears bathe his feet—the first initiation by water. In a sensual peak, she wipes away the excess oil with her unbound curls. Lifting her to her feet, the groom’s song floats upon the breeze before he kisses her mouth. She melts into his form, oblivious to the murmuring crowd.
Valiantly, he parts from her lips. Yeshua’s youngest sister holds the second cup of yayin. Afterwards Mary sways so dizzily that he refuses a servant’s offer to fill their cup with sweet shekar. When his grandparents request his presence, Yeshua asks Teoma to be sure Mary has nothing but water, but upon his return, her inebriation is heightened.
Placing her cup to his lips, he detects no wine. Kissing her mouth, he tastes none. He calls for the seudah to be served and takes his bride firmly about the waist to sit before their wedding plate overfilled with roasted lamb, sweet fennel bread, salted olives and honeyed dates. The meal does nothing to quell her.
At the conclusion of the feast, young Jacob sings a prayer of thanks and with a stomp, Yeshua breaks the plate upon which they dined. The crowds’ approval does not drown Eucharia’s bitterness as she ties off the linen and hands it back to him.
Although he tries to soothe Mary, he is most grateful when Martha takes her arm. In a sea of colorful headdresses, his bride’s luscious curls swing free as the women dance in celebration of this first day of spring. Yeshua joins Teoma and his brothers to dance with the men.
His spirit immeasurably lightened, he is surprised when Ima takes him aside. Leading him hurriedly past two Essenes who refuse to partake a meal with the Tzadokim, she asks, “How is Mary holding up?”
“Not well. Her mother’s disappointment is a bane to her. I must not leave her long.”
“I’m sorry, my son, but we did not bring enough wine.” Ima points to the empty urns. “The mystics taught you well. Please, the guests’ cups are empty.”
“Why do you ask this of me? What will Abba say?”
“He said let them drink water.”
Yeshua swallows thickly, acutely aware of his father’s admonitions. “My time has not come.” She looks pleadingly at Yeshua and as if called by her distress, Teoma appears to place an arm around her. Yeshua sighs. “Bring me our wedding chalice and fill it with whatever wine you can find.”
Teoma