Mary gestured toward the doorway. “My daughter Elizabeth. Please come in. Elizabeth has prepared refreshments for us.”
“Thank you,” Mark replied as they walked to the house. “Felix prefers to wait outside to prevent interruption by unwanted visitors.”
Her grandsons had edged closer to Felix. He smiled at them and drew his sword from its scabbard and displayed it to them.
“Adam. Benjamin. That’s enough. Back to your father now!” Mary clapped her hands and they ran off, Benjamin almost tripping as he turned for a last look at Felix. The swordsman laughed and gave him a fierce look before he sheathed his sword.
Bread, cheese, and fruit were set on the long table. Elizabeth offered a bowl of water and a towel for the two men to wash their hands.
They sat on benches by the table and exchanged pleasantries for a period deemed long enough by Mary.
“We rarely have visitors nowadays,” she noted. “I am not clear as to why you have chosen to visit me.”
Mark began. “Holy Mother—”
“Please.” Mary held up a hand. “I have no use for such titles. I said as much to Paul when he visited years ago.” She snorted. “Strange little man. He was so sure of himself when he persecuted apostates. And then so sure of himself when he preached and taught the Way.”
“He was transformed by your son,” protested Barnabas. “And the change was sincere, as we can attest. We both have traveled with him.”
“Paul had his own time in the wilderness,” Mark added mildly, watching Mary. “Much longer than your son Jesus did.”
Mary raised her hand again. “Enough. Tell me why you wish to see me.”
Mark responded. “Mistress, we are returning to Antioch soon. We stay a short while in Ephesus. We simply wish to pay our respects.”
“Fine words. The Chief Elder in The Community here sent news of your coming. I sense there is more to this matter than paying respects.”
Mark and Barnabas exchanged glances.
“Oh, come, come,” Mary exclaimed. “I am near my eightieth year. If all we are to do is bandy words about, you may see me in my grave before all is done.” She turned to her daughter. “Elizabeth, fetch the wine and cups. Perhaps the drink will loosen their tongues.”
Mark chuckled as Elizabeth brought the ewer and poured from it into three cups.
“You have a reputation in The Community for frankness. I am glad to see it is true.”
“Too frank by far. That is why it was arranged for me to live here.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Daughter, it was before you came.” Mary turned back to the men. “Now, speak to me plainly.”
“Very well,” Mark replied. “You know of Peter’s death?”
“Ah, Peter. Simon by birth name. Strong as an ox from pulling the nets on the Sea of Galilee. Peter the rock, my son renamed him in Greek. He had a hearty laugh, as I remember. A man of strong passions but possessed neither of courage or a great mind.”
“Mistress, I must protest! His faith was firm to the end, crucified by soldiers on Nero’s order.”
Mary pursed her lips. Eyes narrowed, she peered at Mark.
“It was long ago but I have not forgotten the story of what happened. Peter and his comrades snoring in Gethsemane instead of keeping watch with my son as he prayed. And later Peter denied three times that he was a follower. Myself, I would have cursed Peter for his dereliction and rejection.”
“But the Master did not.”
“My son had a weakness in that way.”
“You cannot believe this!”
Mary leaned back. “There are things that are mine to believe.”
“I tell you truly,” Mark retorted, “that Peter himself spoke of the shame of that night. He also told me how the Master forgave him later, by the Galilean Sea.”
“So you say.”
Barnabas could contain himself no longer at the end of the table.
“Peter was a tremendous witness. In Antioch he brought many to faith in the Master. There and in Rome, in other cities as well, I have heard his witness. He spoke with passion in a fisherman’s rough tongue. Many people flocked to hear him.”
Mary nodded. “They were all direct in their discourse. Country folk. The sons of Zebedee, Mary of Magdala, the others. No hidden meanings to puzzle out. But now he’s gone.”
“Yes,” nodded Mark. “By Emperor’s order after the fire that killed so many of The Community in Rome.”
Mary snorted. “Ephesus is still groaning and paying the taxes that Nero levied to construct new quarters for the Senators and other men of wealth on the ruins of the old.”
“And the death of Paul? You have heard of that also?”
“Yes. No crucifixion for him, they tell me. A Roman citizen rather than a Galilean bumpkin.” Mary gave a sarcastic laugh. “Killed decently by hanging. Rome has strange ways.”
She thought for a moment and then continued.
“Paul came to see me when he was in the city below teaching the Way of my son at the School of Tyrannus. Oh, I could tell you a story about him, if that’s why you’ve come. Proud of his learning, Paul was. Studied under Gamaliel in Jerusalem.”
“As did I,” Barnabas murmured.
Her eyes grew angry. “Jerusalem!”
“Mistress,” Mark quietly continued, “Peter and Paul both faithfully followed the Way of your son.”
“Does that excuse Peter his denial? Or Paul—his persecution of others in the name of God?”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She turned to Mark and Barnabas. “Please. Those days long ago sometimes are like yesterday to her.” To her mother she said, “Calm, Mama. Calm, calm.”
“I’m perfectly calm!” Mary snapped.
There was quiet for a moment. Mark took a sip of wine. He spoke quietly.
“I am sorry if we have offended you. Peter and Paul—their story is done.”
“Enough! Tell me plainly why you are here.”
Mark and Mary stared evenly at each other before the man replied.
“I am writing an account of your son, our Master. It is compiled from many sources and is near completion. Most of it concerns the last week in Jerusalem.”
Mary nodded. “The week that began with high hopes and eager expectations but ended in horror.”
“And then joy on the morning after Sabbath,” added Barnabas.
“So some say.” Mary glanced at Mark. “Is your account a glorification of him, as the pagans do?”
Mark was silent as Barnabas responded, speaking bluntly. “No, not as the pagans do. It is not the history of an Alexander or an Augustus. It is the true tale of the Son of Man, who died a cruel death as the rejected Messiah. The Master was destined for death. He knew his teaching of a new Way, the Way of God the Father, would bring a confrontation with religious and political leaders who wanted no challenge to their power and status.”
“Enough!” Mark told his cousin firmly. He turned to Mary. “Please, I need your help.”
“My help! You who have traveled with Paul and listened to Peter? What help can a tired old woman give you?”
For