According to Mary Magdalene Read Online Free PDF Page B

her….”
    Euphrosyne answered evasively. “She's Leonidas' child,” she said.
    The women laughed. Leonidas, the lover of boys, couldn't have made a woman with child!
    “No, I think he found her in the mountains, escaping from the war.”
    After their meal, they all disappeared out into the garden, Mary holding Miriam's hand. Euphrosyne shut herself into her room to count the money and enter the night's takings into the accounts. As so often, she had worries of her own—one of the girls had been mistreated, and seeing her injuries, Euphrosyne, had sent the slave boy to fetch the doctor.
    When the doctor came, he might just as well examine the girl too, she thought, at heart wanting to be rid of her, for this was no place for a child, but at the same time, like the others in the house, she was greatly taken with her. There was something inexpressibly attractive about her, bright and secretive at the same time.
    Well, it's Leonidas' problem, she said to herself. If he wants her to stay here, he'll have to be prepared to pay quite a bit. Miriam would have to be assigned to look after her, teach her to speak properly and behave decently. A few table manners, among other things; my goodness, the way she ate!
    Euphrosyne spent some time reckoning out how much the loss of Miriam's services would cost her.
    The big garden on the slope down to the lake took Mary's breath away. Never could she have dreamed of anything like it: birds singing in green thickets, flowers of the most amazing kinds glowing, hedges as high as walls making spaces to hide in, and springs rippling glittering water over elaborate mosaics. Down by the lake was a tree she recognized, a large terebinth, heavy with age and its secrets.
    She reckoned it greeted her.
    Most beautiful of all were the roses, their heavy silken heads white, yellow, and shimmering pink, though most were a deep, mysterious crimson.
    She found the courage to ask.
    “What are those flowers called?”
    Miriam hesitated, for she knew no Aramaic word for roses, so it came about that rose was the first Greek word Mary learned.
    On the way up from the garden, they met Euphrosyne, who told Miriam she must speak Greek. For the time being, Mary could ask questions in Aramaic, but Miriam was to give all the answers in Greek. Miriam's first thought was to protest that that was impossible, but no one opposed Euphrosyne.
    “Go in now and show Mary around the house.”
    The two girls pattered cautiously into the big hall, where the feasts were held, as Miriam put it. Mary thought it all indescribably grand, flowery rugs on the floor, wide divans, and stools with gilded legs. The walls were covered with mirrors, which frightened and fascinated her. She had once borrowed her mother's sliver of mirror, but had also learned that it was an abomination to look upon your own image. She had done so only that once, the day her mother had said that Mary's eyes were as blue as the irises.
    Here she could not turn in any direction without seeing her own reflection, her whole body, perfectly clearly. And her face, her long nose, silly mouth, and horrid white skin. She gazed into her own eyes and found they were no bluer than Euphrosyne's.
    “Can't you see now how pretty you are?” whispered Miriam in Aramaic.
    But Mary could not; no, she shook her head, then gazed at Miriam's face in the mirror and at Miriam herself, amazed to find the two were exactly the same.
    Toward afternoon, an old man came and squeezed her all over and looked long into the whites of her eyes. He did not frighten her, for he spoke kindly in her own language, then announced she was perfectly healthy.
    A moment later Leonidas appeared, his arm now bandaged. He looked with delight at this fair child, now in a new pale blue tunic. He was suddenly inordinately pleased with his decision.
    Mary dimly recognized the man on the horse, but dared not open her mouth, afraid of releasing the tears welling up in her throat.
    “We'll be friends, you