The Child Madonna (Chapters 11-13)

Extract from ‘The Child Madonna’ - Encounter with a young prostitute and taking a message to Mari’s rebel father in the hills

Chapter 11 Rachel’s Story
A few days later Mari and the children were playing round the well. The boys had been frightening the younger children by pretending to carry out executions, until Mari had stopped them, then they had played at funerals. After a couple of mock ceremonies at which the boys had shrieked and wailed with such dramatic over-acting that they had finished doubled in laughter until they were powerless to continue, Mari had insisted that they play something more cheerful.

So they had moved on to the younger children’s favourite and had gone through a wedding ceremony, from the betrothal party right through to the pledges, the unveiling and the feast at the bridegroom’s house. They were now dancing with gusto, totally oblivious to their surroundings when Mari suddenly became aware of another presence.

Standing watching them, an empty water pot poised on her shoulder, was Rachel, the girl they met in Nain. She looked very different here, none of the flashy adornments she was wearing at the Fair, but the smile playing on her lips was the same. Mariam realised in this instant that the girl had come to the well at this time only because she was an outcast. At the normal hour of fetching water, the other village women would have shunned her and spat at her. Despite her mother’s warnings, Mari felt sorry for the girl and smiled at her, although she didn’t say anything.

Taking the smile, perhaps, as an invitation, the girl walked through the children’s cavortings and lowered the bucket into the well. As she hauled the water up, she called to the children over her shoulder:

“What are you all playing at?”

“Weddings,” chorused half a dozen little voices.

“What comes next?”

“We’ve nearly finished. We’ve had the wedding feast!”

“Oh….! From what I’ve watched, I think you’ve missed the best bit.”

“What do you mean?” asked James, puzzled.

“Well, you silly, what do the married pair do together after the wedding feast?”

“They live together in the same house.”

“Yes?”

“And they have children and cook and work and so on.”

“But what do they do on their wedding night?”

Mariam had become uneasy at the girl’s drift, and was trying to think of how to extricate the children without embarrassment. One of the boys smaned:

“They get in a huddle and try to make a baby.”

“Clever boy!” mocked the girl with heavy sarcasm, “And how do you think they do that ?”

No-one said anything.

“Come on, Mari, you’re in charge of this game, show them properly. You’re only half playing at it.”

“Ach, she’s no good,” Rachel confided to James. “I’d better be the bride, you be the bridegroom.”

And in the same moment, in front of a circle of open-mouthed and curious youngsters, she set down the bucket of water on the ground beside her empty water pot, lifted up her tunic in one movement and squatted on the smooth rock beside the well, baring her thighs.

“Come here, James,” she called to the somewhat bemused boy.

“No, James, leave her alone,” cried Mari in belated alarm, realising at last what Rachel intended. “Don’t do what she says, it’s wrong.”

But James had already half committed himself by stepping forward to the girl, and she had simultaneously spread-eagled herself on the rock, naked from the waist down and grabbed below James’ tunic, holding him by his loincloth. The boy wriggled in uncertainty, frightened by his cousin’s shouts, staring in fascination and horror at the dark thicket of pubic hair on display before him. The girl had managed to yank James’ undergarment to his knees, before Mariam intervened, seizing the girl’s wrist with sufficient firmness to allow James to recover his balance and stumble away, pulling up his loincloth in a frenzied movement.

Rachel grabbed Mari with her free hand and grinned wickedly right into her face, without the slightest hint of shame or any attempt to cover herself.

“Okay, okay, don’t get so rattled, I was only teasing. You know as well as I do that he couldn’t do anything!”

Mari, held in the girl’s vice-like grip, could only shout out to the children, as she was bent across Rachel’s body.

“James, get the others home. I’ll follow later.”

At first he and the others were reluctant to go. They hovered, curious, perturbed, waiting for one of them to move.

“Go on, all of you. Uncle Eli’ll tan the hide off all of us if he finds out. Go on,
now!”

This speech had more effect. They were all in fear of Eli’s rod, and their respect for Mariam overcame their natural instinct to obey the older girl. Only when the last child had sauntered, reluctantly, back towards the village, and was rounding the corner out of sight, did Rachel relax her grip and sit up, allowing her tunic to fall down over her hips.

“Poor Mari, you’ll get a shock when you get married.”

“I know what happens. It was wrong to tease the younger children like that.”

“Oh, Mari, you are so serious. Relax and have some fun.”

Mari did not know what to say for the moment.

“You shouldn’t have to look after all those children all the time. They’ll make an old woman of you. Old Eli’ll marry you off soon and then you’ll be a drudge for all your days. Have a fling, girl, laugh and dance and flirt with the boys like others of your age.” She tried to pull Mari down on top of her, but the younger girl struggled free and made as if to run away.

“Mari, Mari, don’t go, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Mari hesitated at the pleading in the voice and turned to look at Rachel.

“Please, Mari, no-one talks to me, it’s lonely here. Stay and chat.”

Mariam was torn once more between her family’s warnings and the obvious need of the girl. She thought a moment, and then, deliberately, sat on the well parapet. Rachel relaxed and sat up, clasping her knees to her chest.

“When will you be married to Althaeus, Rachel?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter because I’m already living with him.”

“Oh.” Mari paused, thinking. “Doesn’t that cause problems with your
neighbours?”

“So what? They already shun me anyway. At least Althaeus talks to me.”

“My family says I shouldn’t be with you because of what you used to be. What do they mean?”

“That’s a long story, kid. Do you really want to hear?”

Mari hesitated, conscience-stricken.

“Yes, I think I’d like to understand.”

“I was a temple virgin at Astarte’s Grove, near Sichem. Then an acolyte.”

Mari looked puzzled.

“A priestess. A prostitute. Now do you understand?”

A long pause.

“How?”

And then,

“Why?”

“We were always a poor family. Then my father died and we had nothing. Mother struggled for a few weeks, but there were six of us and we were all hungry. I was the youngest and prettiest girl, so one day Mother took me to the Chief Priestess of Astarte on the outskirts of the city and sold me to the temple. I was six years old.”

Mariam gestured towards Rachel, concern flickering across her face.

“How could your mother do that to you?”

“Necessity, Mariam, sheer necessity! What else could she do? None of my brothers were old enough to earn more than the odd coin from errands run. In any case I soon learned to survive. Of course, for a few days I was miserable, but they fed me well, and there were lots of other girls for company, so after a while I began to feel fortunate.”

Rachel lifted herself onto the rim of the wall beside Mariam and brushed her tunic down over her lap.

“At first I was given duties about the temple – cleaning, polishing lamps, lighting torches. But I was allowed to roam freely, mix with the older girls and see what they did. So I accepted the duties of the temple girls as quite normal. When one of the special festivals was celebrated, I was excited too, I saw all the rich strangers coming to us, giving us large sums of money for the Goddess, I saw the girls giggling and dancing and kissing and making love, and longed to be like them. The girls used to pet me and show me what the men did, and when I was eleven, the Chief Priestess took me in hand to instruct me in my duties for when I would be a full acolyte. It did not seem strange, after all, this is what I’d been seeing for over four years. I couldn’t wait to start.”

Rachel sighed loudly and readjusted her skirt.

“At the first big festival after I’d come of age, they sold my virginity to a rich merchant from Jerusalem. It was a big ceremony, I was garlanded and sat upon the Goddess’ lap and offerings were poured out on the ground in front of me. I was given a large goblet of wine to drink, then, my head spinning, I was led into the betassled tent, and before I knew what had happened, was stripped and impaled under the heavy stranger. Afterwards I was in shock, but I became used to it, and, of course, in time I knew no other way, could live only for that satisfaction. As I grew older, I was allowed to go outside the temple to bring back offerings to the Priestess, then, when I was fourteen I was replaced and told to leave the temple. For a while I frequented the markets with another girl from the temple, then I met Althaeus and he offered me a home here in Nazareth.”

Rachel dried up and sat fiddling with the hem of her tunic waiting for Mariam to say something. The afternoon sun seemed hotter than ever, the empty track to the village shimmered, gnats and mosquitoes hovered over the water.

“Uncle Eli has never said anything about a Goddess, nor has anyone at the synagogue.”

“Of course not, it’s a different religion. Lots of people in Samaria worship the Goddess. It’s the old way. All round here are pious Jews. They all curse and shun us in public, but you should see them flocking around at festival time, pretending to come from Jerusalem or Tiberius.”

“Are the festivals the same as ours?”

“Good grief, girl, no. They worship the Goddess to make the fields fertile. And their animals and wives! They know that only us women can create new life, that is why they plant their seed in us – at least, that is their excuse! We worship all new life, all things that die come round in a new cycle of life. Virgins become priestesses, the mothers. We hold the power, that is what the Priestess used to say to us.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe any more. I don’t think I care. I just want enough to eat, a bit of comfort and a man.”

“Now you live here in Nazareth, haven’t you heard about our God, how he cares for us and looks after us? Can’t you ask him for help?”

“Believe in your Jewish God? How could I, child? Look after me? That’s a joke! All I ever get from you Jews is abuse. Huh! Your average Jew couldn’t love his own wife let alone a Samaritan whore like me!”

“Rachel, that’s not fair! Lots of Jewish families love and care for each other. Perhaps they aren’t very good at caring for Gentiles.”

“There’s only one thing Jews want from Samaritan girls like me and that’s to get between my legs.”

“That’s not true, Rachel, really it isn’t.”

“Oh no? Let me tell you this, my girl, even that precious father of yours with his cronies are no better than the others. I know where to find them, and they don’t turn me away!”

Mariam turned white at the mention of her father and tensed, clenching her fist, and turning to look Rachel full in the face, said defiantly:

“Rachel, that can’t be true. He loves my mother and would not be unfaithful to her. What’s more, it’s against everything he’s fighting for.”

“You poor benighted fool! Don’t you know anything about a man’s needs? How often does he make love with your mother? Once, twice a year? Let me tell you this, Mari, I service him far more than she does!”

Mariam clasped her hands over her ears at the end of this outburst and, flushed, shouted out in a strangled voice:

“No, Rachel, no, no, no! You’re lying, you’re trying to hurt me, it can’t be true, please God, don’t let it be true!”

And Mari was running, as if in a panic, tears flowing, along the empty track, stumbling, banging her bare toes against the rocks, but she did not notice the pain, not that pain.

And half an hour later the tears were still flowing.

Mari was in the arms of her mother, blurting out what Rachel had told her, pleading to be told otherwise. And Anna, clutching her daughter to her bosom, nearly crushing her in her anguish, did not know what to say, how to console, repeating over and over:

“Do not believe her, Mari, the girl is evil, she is a liar, do not believe her.”

Meanwhile at the well Rachel too was crying. Lonely miserable tears. She had thrown it all away again. Why did she have to say that to Mariam just when the girl seemed friendly? And the girl sobbed, slumped across the well, knowing neither how to appeal to the Goddess nor to the Jewish God.

Chapter 12 The Volunteer
Three days later Mari’s grandmother, Salome, who had been unwell for some weeks, suddenly deteriorated and was dead within twenty four hours.

The shocked household made the traditional preparations and the body was quickly laid to rest. Mari, first and beloved granddaughter, was touched at first hand, for the first time, by death.

After the funeral, when the family had gathered together, Eli held counsel with his son and sons-in-law. How was Joachim to be informed of his mother’s death? Joshua undertook to discover his hiding place from sources in his home village. A messenger had to be found. Someone who would arouse no suspicions, slip unobtrusively through the rolling countryside.

Mariam overheard the conversation and became excited.

“I could go,” she interrupted their masculine deliberations. “I could go, really I could. No-one would notice me. I’m often walking in the hills. No-one would take any notice of me. Please let me go!”

Eli was cross and rebuked her for listening to their conversation. He was about to propel her from the room, when Clopas stayed him.

“Just a minute, father. Listen to what she is saying. I think it makes some sense. What she says is right.”

There was debate, then argument, raised voices. Mariam was banished but Anna joined in and pleaded for her daughter’s offer to be rejected. It was dangerous, there were wild animals, she was so vulnerable.

Mariam should go. She was old enough. The decision was final.

Mariam was fetched and told.

“I will go gladly,” she said.

For days, while news was awaited, Mari was impatient. Her mother’s worries were met by eager pleadings, foolhardy reassurances.

“God will be with me, mother, just you see!”

Then news filtered back; Joachim was on Arbel using the rock caves on the northern flank, below the summit and overlooking the lake of Genneseret. A messenger would be expected.

Chapter 13 The Messenger
Alone, but not alone. Child, but not a child. Mari had been walking for a couple of hours and was now resting beside the sheep track beyond the adolescent stream. In the warmth of the spring sun, she had flung her blue shawl across the grass and was sprawled there beside her basket. She bit into a bunch of figs and lifted the waterskin carefully to her lips, making sure that she spilt none of the precious liquid. She peered beneath the cloth that separated the food prepared for her journey from what she was taking to her father. The ingredients for the Passover meal, brought together faithfully by her mother, barely enough to taste for each of Joachim’s band but symbolic crucial tokens. Keep them covered, she had been told. On no account reveal their presence; if challenged, they form your sustenance.

She ate and drank and lay back on the rough hillside, her limbs spread-eagled; staring at the pale hazy blue sky overhead, drowsy. The rough walk and food should have made her doze. But her mind was too active, too excited, and after a while she pushed herself up by the elbows, drew up her knees and stared unseeing into the distant empty vista.

She had been painstakingly briefed. Clopas and Eli had taken her through the route, time and time again, until she knew exactly what to expect. Each track, each tree, each stream, each rolling hill was an anticipated friend. Mari was not nervous of the journey. Her steps were eager, confident, strong.

She had been coached in what to say if challenged. To fetch her master’s flocks; what nearby village to claim as home; whom she might meet and how to recognise potential danger; whom to greet and whom to flee.

She had been reminded how to fend for herself, to seek water when lost, to scare off scavenging beasts, what tracks to notice, what noises to be alert for.

Despite her outward languid movements, however, she was nervous and keyed up. Hers was not an easy mission. The first message weighed heavily on her, it was a burden to herself. For the death of her grandmother was as painful as it was unexpected. To Salome she was always special, those little intimacies, the extra squeeze or wink, the kind word whispered out of earshot of the others. Death was all around her in the village of course, but it had not touched Mari so closely before; she had cried. On her mother’s shoulder, mingling her own tears. On her own mattress in the corner when she thought no-one could catch her out. When talking to Rebecca, trying hard to be cheerful for her sake, then feeling the tears coming unwanted, blurring her vision. But now she had a grown-up task to undertake. She must break to a son the death of his mother. She hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but she had been practising to herself how she would break the news, and still she wasn’t sure. The problem nagged.

Was this what was whirling round her mind as she stared at the blue unfocused infinity? It was an undercurrent maybe, ready to surface if her churning emotions could be calmed. She was going to see her father again. For nearly a year she had yearned to be in his arms; for six months his unfulfilled promise had sapped her confidence, she had tried to excuse and rationalise, imagining him to be in hiding perhaps in the mountains way beyond Genneseret, not a night’s journey away in Arbel or Tabor. And she couldn’t keep Rachel’s taunts at bay, could she, dare she ask him? She longed to hear him laugh with her, at her, mocking her credulity. But she feared his anger at her insolence; or even worse, embarrassed tentative attempts at reassurance that in her mind would but confirm the worst. Her twitching feet wanted to be clambering up the valley of Arbel. The rest of her was unready, finding doubts in each desperate opening gambit. She was praying. Seeking to mask her vulnerability.

Don’t hide your eyes; the crunch is coming. We need to be sure that she can handle it. So watch; and long for her to survive. Indeed, if we stand up on the skyline masked by the blinding sunlight streaming from behind us, we can just spot the minuscule form of Mari picking her precarious way into the dry gorge of Arbel. Be careful; do not disturb a rock with your foot, you’ll send it tumbling down the hillside betraying your presence. That is a distinctly peculiar path for a young shepherd girl to take, it leads upwards above the cleft, across the scree and up to the labyrinth of tiny caves worn out of the sandstone just below the summit crags. Watch how carefully she treads, alert and dainty, checking her bearings, halting momentarily each time the narrow pathway forks or threatens to disappear in the rock-strewn barren hillside. We peer to see where she is going. No other soul disturbs the scene laid out before us, nor is there any beast, neither wild nor domestic. If she is expected, no-one has shown their hand.

It was breathless work scrambling up the hard uneven surface, baked by the relentless sun reflecting its hot rays in the dust. The winter winds had lost their power; only now at daybreak and in the evening did the powdered dirt stir in flurries. She was tired; her bare legs were aching, the hot stones burned her soles, stubbed against her toenails, breaking them. She sat on a lone rock, outpost of the next steep little climb, put her covered basket down beside her, and lifted her right foot onto her other thigh, massaging it ruefully. The last onset of nerves was now befalling her, she was putting off the final fateful moment when she would find them. And then, with a pang of dread, she wondered if it would be anticlimax, would no-one be here at all, the information false. What should she do then?

She stood perplexed among the strewn rocks before the pitted cliff face. The lake unfurled itself before her, she was astounded, she had never seen so much water before. The far horizon shimmered. Overhead great black birds circled, wheeling on warm currents, drift and hover. She began to feel frightened, terrified of this desolate spot, overpowered. It had no intimacy that she could share; it excluded her, she felt shut out, ignored.

But she had been noticed. In the deep shadows contrasting with the glare on the sandstone cliff, there was a subtle movement. The figure stepped from dark to light, and paused. Mari turned her head, catching a glimpse of hope, then in one flurry, dropped her basket and sprinted across the jagged stones, flinging herself into the arms of the man who was moving swiftly to meet her, shouting “Papa, Papa,” laughing and crying at the same time. They clung to each other for a long time, then the man disengaged the girl, kissed her on the forehead and sent her back to retrieve the basket she threw down so unceremoniously in her rush to greet him. When she picked it up, the man looked over her shoulder and nodded approvingly as she showed him the basket’s contents. Then, arms encircling each other, they picked their way over the larger rock debris that had fallen at the mouth of one of the cliff caves, into the darkness within, where flickering shadows revealed nightmarish huge silhouettes thrown against the cave wall.

“It’s Mariam,” the man called out to his friends within, “she’s made it on her own, and brought the Passover meal with her, bless her!”

Men stumbled from the back of the cave out into the brightness of the entrance arch, and squinted at the slender brown girl now standing shyly before them. They saw her bright dark eyes moist with tears, a dirty smudge up her high cheekbone, dark flowing shoulder length hair, held back from her forehead with a band of dingy cloth. They stared at her scratched and bruised thighs and calves, and the congealed blood around her toes. These stocky sun-hardened men, in various disarray of dress, caught unawares so to speak, were nonplussed how to cope with this slim wraith of womanhood before them; at least they were inhibited by the knowledge that she was their leader’s daughter.

Grunts and heavy clumsy pressure from calloused hands acknowledged the child, and Joachim said, as if on behalf of them all:

“You are very lucky to catch us, Mariam; it is only that we got word from Nain that a messenger was coming to us that caused us to postpone our intended plan to cross over into Gadara on the other side of the Jordan. We have to avoid Herod’s patrols which he sends out each year to screen the pilgrim caravans on their way to Jerusalem for the Festival, and they’re said to be in these hills at this very moment.”

Joachim sat on a ledge at the side of the cave and pulled Mari onto his lap.

“Show us what you’ve brought, Mari!”

And she uncovered the basket and placed the Passover food prepared by Anna on the rock beside her father.

“How was your journey? Did you have any problems?”

Mari shook her head. A voice from the group discordantly said loudly:

“Why did your family send an inexperienced girl like this? She could have led Herod’s men straight to us.”

“She’s here, and she hasn’t, so shut up, Jonas! The girl’s tired and probably hungry, so find her some of that rabbit you caught. Have you got any water left?”

Mari nodded and pulled the waterskin from her basket.

“Good girl. Water is our worst problem here. We daren’t go down to the lake. Tiberius is headquarters of the Romans here and they swarm regularly around the villages on the lakeside and to the city of Magdala also. We have to go many miles before we can find a safe spring. Thinking we were going to be away, we haven’t replenished supplies and are running very low. Take a good swig, girl, but leave some for your return journey.”

Then, suddenly, as if thinking of it for the first time, Joachim asked Mari urgently:

“How are all the family, your mother and the girls and especially young
Benjamin? And my mother and Eli’s family, of course?”

Mari hesitated.

“They are well, Father, especially the children.”

She was going to say something else, then she stumbled over her words. Joachim was immediately alerted, he picked up the signals that something was wrong.

She had hardly whispered to him “Can we have a talk away from the others?”, before she had been scooped up and led to the edge of the cave.

“What’s the matter, Mari, is someone ill?”

She looked at her father’s worried face and buried her head in his chest.

“It’s Grandma,“ she sobbed, “she’s died and we buried her last week.” She felt her father’s arms tighten around her narrow waist, almost roughly so that he seemed to be crushing her. He said nothing at first, then in a sort of choking voice, he forced from his lips:

“You mean my mother is dead, child? Salome, your grandmother?”

The girl nodded against his chest, crying out loud at his words.

“Oh Mariam, Mariam, my lovely daughter, why could I not be there? What sort of life is this for anyone?” And the man lets his tears fall, touched by the vulnerability and grief of his daughter, as much as by his own sense of loss which has hardly registered yet.

He rocked her gently on his knee for a long time, so long in fact that one of the other members of the gang came to see if everything was alright. The word was passed round. The boss was upset. Leave him alone. Another time they might have encouraged him to get his daughter to dance for them, have some fun, show off her lithe good looks and be recipient of bawdy banter. As night fell, and the chill penetrated their flimsy clothing, someone stirred the embers into life and found more debris to pile on. The flickering flames illuminated in the shadows the contorted bulk of Joachim, huddled with his eldest girl, arms tightly around each other for mutual comfort.

Even as she lay there in his arms, Mariam wanted to frame another question. She felt awkward, nervous, oddly dirty and soiled, and became restless as a substitute for what she really needed to ask.

“What is it, lamb?” whispered Joachim in the ear of the tossing girl. “There’s nothing more you have to tell me, is there?”

Mari lay there on the hard earth, in the crook of his arm, staring at the black ceiling of the cavern. She was summoning her nerve, screwing herself up to be able to express the words she would be unable to retract, once spoken.

“”No,” she muttered miserably, “I was just thinking about Granny. Dad, when are you going to be able to come home and live with us?”

“Don’t ask such hard questions, pet. You know that both Herod and the Romans have put a price on my head. Perhaps one day the political situation will change. Perhaps the Messiah will arise and rid us of these foreign usurpers.”

Mari lay tense in his arms. Joachim felt he had not yet said all she required of him.

“I’m going to have to rely on you, my lamb, for a good while yet. Look after the little ones for me, comfort your mother. And if you should come across a good candidate for Messiah, encourage him to act quickly before I get too old,” he added in a feeble attempt to cheer Mari up.

“You’re a brave girl, I know, your mother told me what you do to support her last time I was home. You’re of age now, child. I should be doing my duty, finding a grand husband for you instead of hiding away in this desolate place. You’ll have to rely on Eli, I’m afraid. He is your next nearest relative, he’s done much for you already, trust him and his judgement and you’ll be fine, just you see!”

“Father?”

“Yes, child?”

She felt his powerful arms tightening round her shivering form and nestled back seeking the comfort of his embrace.

“Nothing, Dad. I’d better try to sleep.”

“Yes, lamb. You’ve got a long walk home again tomorrow.” He kissed her on the forehead and held her while she snuggled against him, blotting out the sight and sound of the other Zealots moving noisily around the cave.

Mariam was awake early, even before the first signs of dawn, but was aware that there was already movement amongst the men. Her father was no longer next to her and she sat up in some alarm, seeking her bearings. Suddenly a dark shape bent over her.

“It’s alright, Mari, it’s only me. Don’t be alarmed.”

He bent low enough to whisper to her.

“I’ve put a bit more food in your basket for your journey. I’ve also brought this.” And he showed her something in his hands, which Mariam could not make out in the darkness. “Come over here to the fire. Look, girl, give this to your mother. Tell her to put it on one side in case anything ever happens to me.”

Mari caught sight of the glint of coins in the fire, gold and silver, lying on a cloth in her father’s hands.

“So much money, father? Where did all that come from?”

“Don’t you worry yourself about that, Mari. It won’t be missed, I assure you. Make sure you give it to your mother, and not Uncle Eli – he may be too particular about gentile gold! You’d better not put it in your basket or you’ll be robbed on your way home. I’ve got a cloth bag for it, let me have your loincloth a moment, I’ll stitch it inside so that it’ll be well hidden.”

Mari watched her father sewing clumsily in the light of the fire, while she squatted feeling the warmth of the flames on her bare thighs. Instinctively she put herself back against the wall of the cavern, with her father between herself and the other men. She felt very nervous of them, despite the fact that they were her father’s friends, and he risked his life with and for them. She was torn by the urge to be away from this eerie and dreadful cave and her reluctance to sever herself from her father. Something inside her was reminding her that their parting, as always, could be for the last time. Only before she never fully appreciated what that could mean.

As she pulled the laden loincloth back up her legs and adjusted the chord of her tunic to hold the hard little bag securely against her waist, she realised she was unable to say anything to her father about Rachel’s taunts. The time for that was last night in his arms; this morning was needed for practical things, she did not wish to risk his anger when she was bidding him farewell, perhaps for ever.

In the first light of dawn she was ready at the mouth of the cave. Five pairs of eyes were trained on her, Mari was very conscious of their gaze, they were making her feel very uncomfortable although she could not identify why. She was saved by her father who hugged her, almost crushing her in the intensity of his embrace.

“Be careful, Mari. Try to avoid meeting anyone until you get back to Nazareth. Don’t tell anyone where you’ve been – yes,” he said, acknowledging her attempt to say something, “yes, I know what Eli and the others have told you to say. I hope you don’t have to use it, but if you do, stick to that story, our lives could depend upon it. Farewell, my lamb, thank your mother for the Passover food, tell her that I will try to come to her when I can, but for the moment we are moving on, beyond the Jordan River.”

A last wave. The others were already scrutinizing her from the darkness of the cave. Only Joachim stood visible a moment longer, then he too turned and darted back into the blackness. She suddenly felt terribly alone and frightened.

In the half-light she stumbled over the rocks in her path, descending all the time, sometimes slipping as the loose gravel shifted under her feet. She went carefully, though, reining in her fear lest she bring attention to herself in this empty landscape. A red sun behind her was bathing the rocks in a ghostly glow, the outline of the hill was now silhouetted harshly against the pale blue sky, and she was still descending into the shadow of the valley.

Look down there! I could swear I saw movement.

We watch again, all seems grey down in the gorge where the rays of the sun fail to penetrate. But there is movement. There, on the narrow track descending the flanks of Arbel. Let us continue parallel on the brooding mountain, slightly behind, and heading steadily westwards. Who is out here at this hour of the morning amid the rocky wasteland?

There is no need to pin our quarry to earth immediately. We can observe and corner at our leisure. From this height, a frantic descent would be both hazardous and obvious, causing a tiresome search amidst the caves and boulders on the valley floor. As the gorge opens out into a wider valley, and the rays of the rising sun bathe everywhere in a brightening hue, we can see that the moving figure is a young girl, on her own, a shepherdess without her sheep, a defenceless lamb at the mercy of prowling wolves.

Mariam had just emerged from the shadows out into the sunshine and had loosened her shawl for the first time to feel the gentle warmth. She shuddered, as if tossing off the darkness behind her, and began to relax, no longer needing to watch every step she took. The path in front of her stretched, empty, to the horizon, the rolling hills on either side, although still barren, seemed friendlier, leading as she knew toward Kana village. She turned, to take a last glance at the more awesome view behind her and stood rooted to the spot in shock. For scarcely more than a couple of hundred yards away, advancing rapidly towards her, were eight horsemen, soldiers, on the same path as herself.

At first she told herself that perhaps they were merely using the same track and she stood aside on the rough grass, in the hope that they would pass. But they were calling to her now, she could only wait for them, she had nowhere to flee. Soon she was surrounded. They were dressed in the uniforms of Herod’s soldiers, but they were not Jews. She could see from their faces and hear from their conversation that they were Arabs, probably from Syria in the north. The girl stood stock still, petrified, as all but one man jumped to the ground and formed a circle around her. She tightened her grip on the basket and waited for someone to speak to her.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and seized the basket from her hands, giving it to another to examine, and roughly, in an accent she had difficulty in understanding, demanded of her:

“What is your name and where are you going?”

“Mariam, sir,” then she hesitated, “to Kana.” She would skirt Kana if she veered to the north, on her way to Nazareth. It was nearer and therefore more credible for her cover story than her home village.

“What are you doing on your own out here in the wilderness?”

“Looking for my uncle’s flocks, sir.”

“Do you think we are fools? We saw you coming down the track at the top of the gorge below Mount Arbel. Surely you didn’t expect to find your animals up in that barren spot?”

Mariam swallowed hard with nervousness and struggled to find an answer.

“I thought I might be able to see further up there,” came a hopeful tremulous reply.

“What’s in your basket?”

“Just food for my journey.”

The soldier looked over his shoulder to his colleague who took the girl’s basket. The latter nodded in confirmation. Mariam was relieved that she had not put Joachim’s money there.

“Search the girl to see if her story stands up!”

The leader of the band made as if to lay his hands on the girl, but she wriggled out of his clutches in alarm, only to be grabbed from behind by one of the other soldiers in the circle. For a moment he held the squirming girl, grinning at her pathetic useless efforts to free herself from his huge groping hands. Then he suddenly realised that he could feel something hard under the girl’s clothing near her waist and he called out to the patrol captain:

“The girl’s got something hidden under her clothing!”

“Then strip her!”

A second soldier stepped forward and grasped the struggling girl by her wrist, twisting it painfully behind her back. As she shouted in surprise, the captain threw off her shawl and snatched at the chord tied loosely round her waist, unravelling it and whipping it off in one movement.

Mariam shrank from the man, clasping her free hand to her skirt, holding it tightly pressed against her thigh, calling out:

“No, no, please sir, let me in peace, let me go home!”

Her pleading was ignored. Her other wrist was grabbed and yanked behind her, her tunic was seized by the hem and pulled up over her head despite her flailing imprisoned arms and thrown down at her feet. The two soldiers then tore her loincloth from her with the brutal sound of ripping cloth and she was pinioned stark naked, by her wrists, although she was pummelling her captors with her heels, having no effect whatsoever.

Mariam began to shriek in fright and was told to desist in obscene terms, then when she continued crying, was slapped hard about her childish breasts, followed by a resounding blow to the cheek which silenced her. As she watched helplessly, pink imprints of the blows forming upon her face and chest, the captain was ripping off the cloth purse from the torn undergarment and spilling out the contents into his open palm. He whistled in disbelief.

“Well, what treasure have we here, girlie? Don’t tell me you’ve been selling some of that precious flock of yours!” He paused and glared at the cowering girl.

“Who gave this to you?”

“Answer me quickly!”

Still she said nothing, trying to look as though she did not understand him.

“Tell me who gave you this money or I’ll give you to these dogs!”

She shook her head, weeping bitterly.

“Are you a virgin?”

Mari nodded her head.

“Well, you won’t be much longer unless you answer my question truthfully. For the last time, who gave you this money?”

Mariam tried again, vainly, to free herself from her captors, and pleaded with the captain not to harm her. But she did not meet his demand. The soldier lost patience with her, grabbed her by the shoulder and flung her to the ground, so that she fell spread-eagled on her back. He pinioned her with his foot and looked expectantly at his sweaty troops.

“Who’s going to be the first then?”

One of the grinning onlookers was just about to take up the challenge, when the remaining rider spurred his horse and cantered over to the group, towering over the squalid scene. The Roman soldier, garrisoned in Judea as one of Herod’s military advisors, snapped his whip on the ground.

“Enough of this sport. Raping the girl will achieve no useful end, and will only provide further just cause for the populace to hate you and heap further complaints on Herod.”

The Arab soldiers fell back a couple of paces, leaving Mariam lying vulnerable and scared in the dirt.

“Don’t be so dumb! It’s obvious what has occurred. The girl has paid a visit to bandits on Mount Arbel – we all watched her on its foothills. We already suspect that Zealots use caves near the summit. The money is part of the proceeds of their thieving and banditry.” He suddenly fixed the prone girl with a penetrating look from high above her. “Isn’t it?!”

The girl looked bemused at the silhouette above her peering down from his horse, but remained silent in confusion.

“See, she does not deny it! It is pointless to question her further, we know all we need to know. Go back quickly into Nain and pick up reinforcements, including scouts cognisant of the Arbel cave system, and root out the Zealot band before they can move on. Give me the purse!”

“What about your movements? When shall we meet up with you again?”

“I’ll take the girl to her home, before she gets raped or murdered by some other cut-throat mob like you. I might pick up some useful intelligence at the same time. And I’ll meet you in Nain to receive report of your successful operations. Now get moving before I decide to report you to the Jewish authorities.”

The soldiers, sullen and slouching, deprived of their fun, seething at the arrogance of the foreign officer, obeyed slowly and with reluctance. The Roman remained on horseback, fixing them with his unsmiling stare until they have galloped off, then he dismounted, dropping down to the ground beside the trembling naked girl. He stared at her from close quarters, as she covered herself with her hands as best she could, embarrassment replacing fear, made as if to touch her, then thought better of it and squatted next to her.

“You’d better get up, girl, and slip your tunic back on before I change my mind and rape you myself.” Although he said this smiling, Mariam did not trust him and scurried up, brushing the dirt and dust from her buttocks, and picked up her inside-out tunic, struggling to restore it to a wearable garment. At length, under the silent gaze of her rescuer, she succeeded and pulled it over her head with difficulty, retrieving her waist-chord and shawl from the pathway where they had been thrown. Her loincloth had been torn to shreds beyond repair, and after poking the remnants of the cloth hopelessly, she turned to look at the soldier.

“Thank you, sir. You saved my honour and perhaps my life. My family will be very grateful.”

“I’m not so sure about that, my girl. Let’s see, shall we? Put your foot into my spur here, that’s it, and climb up here with me. I’ll see you home safely.”

Mariam found herself hauled into the saddle in front of the soldier, and pinioned in position against his coarse uniform, between his solid arms. She was stretched wide across the broad saddle, experiencing the warm leather on her bare flesh and could now feel his strong hand clasping her tightly just below her breasts. Her clothing suddenly seemed very flimsy and she was disturbed by his proximity, his strength, his very breathing which was being transmitted tangibly to her own body. As they began to canter Mariam felt insecure and tried to shift her position to get a better grip. The man behind her, sensing her perilous hold, dropped a strong hand on her left thigh and pulled it down trying to get her to clasp the horse’s flanks with her knees. As she did so, her tunic rode up, pulled tight across her hips and she felt the breeze lifting her skirt. She felt helplessly and totally vulnerable.

She shut her eyes and, holding on for dear life, prayed under her breath with great urgency:

“Lord God, protect me,” again and again in rhythm with the bouncing horse. After a mile or so, the soldier said to the girl:

“Try to relax and lean back against me. You’ll find it a more secure position. You’re too tense at the moment, let go and trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

Mariam shut her eyes and tried to obey the Roman. Despite her exposed position, she began to let herself adjust to the movement of the horse and let her body go limp. She knew she had sought her God’s protection and consciously sought to make this leap of trust; she was struggling to let her mind control her body.

For a while she fastened her thoughts, behind her closed eyes, to the thudding beat of the cantering horse’s hooves, whilst she let herself be cocooned within the arms of her strange rescuer. Then she was aware that they would shortly be crossing the Magdala – Samaria highway before entering the village of Kana, and her tensions mounted again as she realised the dangers inherent in the lie she had told the soldiers. At first, realising the increasing probability of being observed, Mariam tried to retrieve her modesty by pulling vainly at the hem of her tunic, and the soldier behind her, realising the fear behind her precarious movements, said gently to her:

“We can slow down a bit now. We are nearly in your village. Lift your leg over here so that you are riding side-saddle, and put an arm around my waist, you’ll feel a bit more comfortable like that.”

Mariam gratefully clambered into his arms and wonders what she would do now. She ought, she felt, to say something soon before they were riding into the village itself, but she didn’t want to disturb her increasing trust in this Roman officer.

“Sir, I know you’re in a hurry to meet up with your soldiers again. Drop me here and I can walk home easily.”

“There is no need, girl. Another few minutes will make no difference to me, and I want to be assured by your parents that you have no complaint against us and to warn them not to let you undertake such dangerous lone journeys again.”

Mariam became a little panicky.

“Sir, I really wouldn’t bother. My parents will probably be in the fields and my home will be empty.”

“Well, I’ll deliver you to your neighbours then.”

She hesitated, and in desperation, whispered unconvincingly:

“They might not be at home either.”

The man halted the horse. He twisted the girl so that she was forced to look up into his face. He perceived her confusion, and for a moment, allowed no respite. Then, his hand under her chin, tilting her face to look into his own, he seemed to lose his temper with her:

“Little liar, you thought you’d trick the Roman army, did you?!” He yanked her head back so far that she was cowering away from him, nearly prostrate. “Now tell me where you do come from, before I do you some mischief! And if it’s the opposite direction to which we’ve come, I’ll flay your hide until you’ll wish I’d left you to the antics of those Syrian mercenaries.”

“Sir, please, you’re hurting my back. I’m falling.”

“No, you’re not, girl, I’m still holding you. And I want an answer first.”

“I wasn’t really lying, sir. Kana is on the way to my home. I live in Nazareth.”

“You’d better not be lying this time! Say it again!”

“I live in Nazareth, sir.”

The soldier, in angry silence, swung the maiden across the horse’s back, pushing her thighs apart and holding her roughly round her waist. Then he turned the horse onto the roadway towards the west, and set off at a gallop. Mariam, petrified, abandoned all thought of modesty, and just concentrated on staying on the horse. From time to time they passed little knots of pilgrims making their belated way towards Jerusalem for the Passover, but before they could turn and stare at the exotic sight of the Roman soldier at full speed, appearing to be abducting a near naked Jewish girl, they were gone, out of sight.

As they approached Nazareth, the Roman allowed the horse to slacken its pace, and Mariam plucked up courage to ask if she could ride side-saddle into her village. The man did not answer her. When she attempted to wriggle her way into that position, she felt his arm pinioning her thigh, preventing her. She felt his anger at being duped and whispered contritely:

“I’m sorry, sir, I was so frightened. I just said the first place that came into my head.”

The soldier still said nothing.

“And I’m very grateful, really I am, without you I would have been raped and disgraced in the eyes of my people.”

The soldier still said nothing, but acknowledged the thanks with a little squeeze of her waist. He did not let her change position though.

They were entering the village now, and the soldier had slowed his horse to a sedate walk. People stared at them, then ran back into their houses, and others emerge, pointing at Mariam and her guardian. The Roman seemed to be contriving maximum publicity to their entry. Mari was flushed and embarrassed at such public exposure, tried to hide back in his arms, but felt herself pushed forward, humiliated in the eyes of her neighbours and acquaintances.

“Where is your father’s house?” were the first words the Roman had addressed to Mariam since the Kana crossroads, and she guided him to Eli’s home, explaining that she, her mother and the other children live under his protection.

The courtyard gate was open. Miriam, Anna and the children were there, all come running to the gate when they heard the excitement, saw the horse coming up the narrow street. They stared at Mari, open-mouthed in shock, then Miriam recovered first and dashed into Eli’s house calling for him urgently. Anna attempted to gather her daughter in her arms, but was repulsed by the soldier brusquely, who demanded:

“I want the head of the household. I will only release this girl into his custody.”

Anna shrank back in dismay, asking plaintively:

“What has happened , Mari, what has happened to you?”

Mari sensed from her captor that she was to remain silent.

The little group waited in tension in the stifling oppressive courtyard, the only movements coming from the scavenging chickens, and the angry tossing of the horse’s head, irritated by the flies. The stillness was suddenly broken by Eli, sweeping into the arena from his doorway, still adjusting his white robes, whilst Miriam scurried behind him. Eli glared up at the mounted Roman officer, took in the sight of the exposed and frightened girl in his grasp and demanded indignantly:

“Let that girl down, sir! And what atrocity have you inflicted on her?”

The Roman waited for Eli’s pomp to be deflated, then calmly said:

“I have come to restore this young girl to her family. Are you Eli, head of this household?”

“Yes, I am.”

“My patrol found her wandering in the hills below Mount Arbel. Can you explain why she would be so far from home?”

“She was looking after my flocks there.”

“What, do you graze your sheep so far from home, and in the barren gorge of Arbel itself?”

“She should not have been there. What were you doing, girl? Had you lost one of my lambs, or had you a tryst with some lusting shepherd boy? If there’s any evidence of the latter, I’ll whip your hide until you scream for mercy.”

“I think neither, Jew. We took from her a purse with a considerable sum of money in it. It is my belief that you sent her to make contact with Zealots.”

“That is nonsense, officer. If that is what she told you, the girl has lied. She must have found the money or had some assignation of which we know nothing.”

“I find that difficult to believe. However, it doesn’t really matter. I have despatched my platoon to search the mountains and wipe out or capture any bandits or Zealots found hiding there. Their bodies will be returned to you, either on a bier or on the gallows. Any further sign of trouble, or support, from you and the whole village will be severely punished. Is that clear?”

Eli, blanching, nodded in acknowledgement and said nothing.

“Now I suggest you take this girl back into your home before anything worse befalls her. Despite all appearances she has not been harmed. On the contrary, my intervention prevented her multiple rape.” And he lifted Mariam by her waist with both arms and slid her down the flanks of the horse, rucking up her tunic as she dropped. Anna rushed forward to pull down her daughter’s shift and enveloped her in her arms, hurrying her unceremoniously into her own room. The Roman soldier, without a further word, swung his steed around and galloped out of the courtyard in a cloud of dust, causing one of the smaller children looking on to scream in fright. Miriam gathered the remaining children and shut them inside her own home, at least for a while, until Anna and Mari had recovered a little from their shock.

And Eli stood, isolated, amid his animals, abandoned.

At first he seemed bemused by the whole affair, then he took himself in hand and rapped sharply on Anna’s door. After a few moments, during which Eli drummed impatiently on the hard earth with his cane, the door opened ajar and Anna’s face peered at her cousin. She looked quizzically at him. She had obviously just been crying.

Taken a little aback at Anna’s tears, Eli hesitated for a moment, then remembering his purpose, ordered:

“As soon as you’ve calmed the child down sufficiently to get an intelligible account out of her, bring her over into my rooms. We must find out the damage done as fast as possible. And don’t let her be long. You mollycoddle the girl.”

Without waiting for Anna’s answer, he turned on his heels, assuming her compliance, and the door closed behind him with a loudness that might have been intentional, or might just have been due to Anna’s trembling lack of control.

Half an hour later, the same door creaked open and Anna, shielding her daughter under her cloak, walked her swiftly across the courtyard and tapped quietly on Eli’s door. They heard his voice bellowing at them from within, and slipped inside, out of view.

Eli was seated at a table on which he had several loose scrolls. He looked up and left both women standing. Ignoring Anna, he directed his gaze at the girl who was peering nervously at him from beneath her mother’s garment. For a long time he looked at her in total silence, until she thought he was waiting for her to say something. Mari was just about to clear her throat and make a first statement, when Eli cut across her:

“Well, Mariam, this is a fine mess you’ve got us all into!”

Mari looked at him very uncomfortably. She did not know if he is finished yet.

“Before we go any further, you’d better tell me, slowly, leaving nothing out, exactly what has happened since you left this house yesterday. Don’t hurry, don’t skip over anything; it may be important.”

Mariam, slowly, quietly at first, then with increasing confidence, told her story. Eli made her go over the explanation of the money that Joachim hid in her loincloth three times, and muttered under his breath at the folly of Anna’s husband. Mariam told of her detention and near rape and of the role the Roman soldier played.

She was too eloquent here in the soldier’s defence. Pushed by Eli, who was trying to get her to admit evidence that she was either technically raped, or at least indecently assaulted by the soldiers, now that he was no longer a threat to her, Mari described the Roman’s chivalrous treatment of her.

Eli became exasperated. He did not believe any virtue resided in a gentile, let alone one of the occupying army’s officers, and twisted all she said to demonstrate that she had been tricked into admitting damaging statements that would condemn not only her father and his group, but also Eli, his family and others in the village.

“The Romans are scoundrels, the lot of them, no morals, no respect. Look at the way they’ve treated our culture everywhere; in Sepphoris, in Jerusalem, in that abomination on the lakeside at Tiberius. Stadia, sports, gambling, nudity, immorality. Respect for you, indeed! Did he touch you?”

“Well, of course he did, uncle. He had to pick me up and hold me on his horse. If he hadn’t have touched me, I’d have fallen off.”

“And he saw you naked?”

“Yes, the soldiers stripped me. He helped me up and fetched my tunic so that I could put it back on.”

“And you rode right in front of him, with virtually nothing on, and he handled you all the time?”

“Uncle, it wasn’t like that. What else could he do?”

“Quiet, girl, it’s unseemly to argue so. To be handled in such ways by gentiles is contrary to all our practice. You are unclean, girl. When you get back to your own room you will take off and destroy all the clothes that those gentile soldiers contaminated, your mother will rip them to shreds and bury them, and you’ll be confined to your home for three days until you’ve been purified.”

Anna interjected, agitated:

“But Eli, those clothes are all the girl has. As it is, I have to find her a new loincloth, quickly. There is no way I can make her another tunic or shawl so soon, even if I had the cloth.”

“Then you’d better wash them thoroughly instead. Three times to make sure they’re undefiled. The girl will have to remain inside her room anyway, so it doesn’t matter that she’ll have nothing to wear.”

Mari and Anna thought he was going to dismiss them. But Eli hadn’t finished yet.

“Now about the more serious aspect of the affair. Those soldiers will be back. The whole village will be in jeopardy, just because of the foolishness of your husband and the incompetence and laxity of your daughter. I will not have so many innocent people put under such threats. If the soldiers do return, wreaking vengeance, you and Mariam will sacrifice yourselves, saying that you and you alone were in contact with and supporting your rebellious husband and that you sent your daughter to avoid other members of the family finding out. There are scriptural precedents for such voluntary surrender, to serve a higher law, notably Lot’s proffering of his daughters to protect his guests. And they were innocent of any provocation! If the troops find and kill your husband, perhaps the village will be spared. If they fail, they’ll take it out on all of us. If I were in your shoes, I don’t know for what my prayers would be.”

“Eli, there is really no need to scare the girl like this. Wait and see what happens; if my husband escapes, how can we help them further? We have no idea what their plans are.”

“I’m just warning you so it comes as no surprise to you, that’s all. And do not, girl, think that this is the end of the matter. Before deciding what further action to take concerning your failure and your behaviour with the soldiers, especially the Roman captain, I wish to await the outcome. When you are purified, we shall consider further what penance you need to pay. Now go, and don’t let me see you in public until the time I have stipulated!”

Back in her own home, Mari broke down in torrents of tears.

“It’s so unfair, mother, I couldn’t do anything about it, could I? What should I have done differently? And he’s accusing me of putting Father at risk; I’m scared of that. What will happen, mum, what will happen to all of us?”

“Shush, my love, I do not blame you, though we may suffer from this visit. I know Eli is harsh towards us, but despite his words, when it comes down to it, he has always supported us. And I think he’s angry because the Roman was kind to you. It would have fitted his prejudices better if they had all raped you; then he would have had pity and been shifting heaven and earth to avenge you, and see you decently married to stave off disgrace. Now, love, we’d better do what he said. Take this dirty old tunic off and I’ll do the first wash immediately. I’ll find you something to eat, then you can wrap yourself up in that old blanket and try to sleep on my mattress, while I get the children back from Miriam and give them their evening meal. And try not to tell them too much about your ordeal, Mari. They won’t understand, it’ll only upset them unnecessarily.”

“Of course not, mother. But after the meal they can come and cuddle me and tell me a story for a change.”

Mari was exhausted. Despite her request, despite the noise of cooking and housework; despite clamorous calls and the bustle of small children, Mari slept, burying herself deep beneath the dirty old blanket that Anna had thrown over the naked girl. The children were put to bed, disappointed that their sister was asleep, and they couldn’t share her adventure. Anna climbed in beside Mari, and threw a protective arm around her daughter. She stirred a little, then her breathing came easily once more. Only the lamps flickered on the wall, overshadowing a surface peacefulness.

In the middle of the night Mari suddenly sat up in terror, flinging the blanket from herself. She cried out, involuntarily, and the disturbed Anna sat up too, and shook the girl awake, saying:

“Mari, Mari, it’s alright, it’s only me, your mother. You’re at home, in bed. What were you dreaming of, girl?”

Mariam blinked hard at the older woman, seeming not to be aware yet of her surroundings, then said thickly:

“There was this angel, and when I went up to him, I thought he had no face; then I saw that it was black, but he had no eyes, only sockets. He took a sword from his side and dipped it in a pool of liquid, then made me lick the tip of the blade and it was horrible, bitter and foul, then I saw that the blade was red with blood, it was dripping from my mouth….”

“Mari, my child, it was only a dream, don’t disturb yourself so much, calm down, shush….”

“But mother, what does it mean? Why was it so awful?”

“You’ve had an unpleasant experience, Mari, it is still disturbing you when you are asleep. Don’t worry, it isn’t real. Go to sleep again.” And she lay the drowsy girl back on the mattress and watched her until she was breathing quietly and rhythmically, before she too relaxed.

Mari’s facial muscles began to twitch, her limbs became agitated once more. But her mother had gone back to sleep, and no mortal noticed. Mari was flying now, her robe replaced by flapping wings, she was looking down, way down; she could see a pool of still black water, now she was riding bareback on a charging horse, snorting fire, bucking and bouncing so hard that she had to fling herself round its neck, hanging on to its mane to save herself from falling. They entered the water throwing spray wildly in all directions, it splashed cold against her bare skin, then she saw it was not water but flecks of blood, she was riding a huge sword which was cutting her, the blood was flowing, she could not staunch it, she was fainting, she was going to swoon, she was becoming dizzy, she could hear someone calling to her far away, Mari, Mari…. She woke, her mother’s arms clamped tightly around her.

“Mari, Mari, my child, do not struggle so, I have got you. Do not be afraid!”