me.”
“I lifted you up and you fainted with terror. I wrapped you in the cloak. Then I rode to Euphrosyne's, the only woman I knew in Tiberias that I had any confidence in. When I left you there, I made plans, foolish and lovely plans. My contract with the Romans would run out in a few years and I would be free to return to Antioch with a small daughter. My whole family would be delighted that I had had a child.”
“You wanted children?”
“That would rehabilitate me, wouldn't it?”
Mary's eyes narrowed and her voice hardened. “That was why you went to the expense of educating me,” she said. “Finding a teacher for me and all that?”
He looked at her in surprise, for this was unlike her.
“No,” he said. “I simply wanted to give you everything I could. And it was already clear when you learned Greek that you had a great gift of understanding. And you were eager to learn, and inquisitive.”
“I'm sorry.”
“There were some worries. A house of pleasure was not a suitable place for a small girl. But I had no choice, and there were few prejudices at Euphrosyne's. I didn't think about there being any religious difficulties at first. It wasn't until Miriam took her own life that I realized what it meant for a Jewish child to live in a ‘house of sin.’”
Another long silence.
“Then I was uneasy about you not wanting to play, that you were such a serious child. I gave you a doll. Do you remember?”
She shook her head. No, she did not.
They sat in silence before Leonidas went on. “Someone once said that if you want to see eternal life manifesting itself, you should suffer little children and forbid them not, to come unto me.”
Mary's eyes darkened with grief and she heard a voice running through her head…“for such is the kingdom of God.”
They broke off for a simple meal in the kitchen. He was uneasy. Had he hurt her? She smiled and said self-knowledge was the whole purpose of her striving. Then she tried to explain that there had never been time for play in her childhood, that even small children had to work.
“At least, girls did,” she said. “My brothers played at warfare and practiced killing Romans from the ambush in the mountains.”
“You could hardly call that playing,” said Leonidas bitterly.
They went back to the library.
“At the same time that you began lessons with Erigones, my father died,” he went on. “I had a long letter from my mother, probably dictated by Livia. In heartrending terms, they appealed to me to come home. I did not grieve for my father. We had never been close. You know, the only son is to take over and be responsible for everything and everyone. From childhood on.
“As a boy, I escaped, disappearing into a world of daydreams of heroes and exploits. And playing at adventures and great deeds. I was an easy victim for the Roman officers looking for people among the Greeks in Antioch to join the legions. So I signed on. I was eighteen and of age. My father never forgave me.”
He sighed.
“I've never regretted it. I saw the world and it was much larger and crueler and more complicated and difficult to make out than I had imagined.”
“You had a letter from your mother?”
“Yes, it came at an opportune moment. I went to Titus, the tribune, who read it and said he understood. And that I had actually fulfilled my contract with the Roman army. So I started completing my reports and began negotiations for your adoption. That was more complicated than I had thought. After all, even a foundling has parents, as the lawyer said. At that stage, I had already found out your father's name, but it was on the lists of the Jewish rebels. So I couldn't use that.”
He fell silent, his eyes straying out over Mary's garden.
“Then that damned expedition against the Parthians put an end to all my plans. The cohort from Tiberias was taken out, the soldiers jubilant, as they were all tired of the Jews and their treacherous ambushes. The tribune
“I lifted you up and you fainted with terror. I wrapped you in the cloak. Then I rode to Euphrosyne's, the only woman I knew in Tiberias that I had any confidence in. When I left you there, I made plans, foolish and lovely plans. My contract with the Romans would run out in a few years and I would be free to return to Antioch with a small daughter. My whole family would be delighted that I had had a child.”
“You wanted children?”
“That would rehabilitate me, wouldn't it?”
Mary's eyes narrowed and her voice hardened. “That was why you went to the expense of educating me,” she said. “Finding a teacher for me and all that?”
He looked at her in surprise, for this was unlike her.
“No,” he said. “I simply wanted to give you everything I could. And it was already clear when you learned Greek that you had a great gift of understanding. And you were eager to learn, and inquisitive.”
“I'm sorry.”
“There were some worries. A house of pleasure was not a suitable place for a small girl. But I had no choice, and there were few prejudices at Euphrosyne's. I didn't think about there being any religious difficulties at first. It wasn't until Miriam took her own life that I realized what it meant for a Jewish child to live in a ‘house of sin.’”
Another long silence.
“Then I was uneasy about you not wanting to play, that you were such a serious child. I gave you a doll. Do you remember?”
She shook her head. No, she did not.
They sat in silence before Leonidas went on. “Someone once said that if you want to see eternal life manifesting itself, you should suffer little children and forbid them not, to come unto me.”
Mary's eyes darkened with grief and she heard a voice running through her head…“for such is the kingdom of God.”
They broke off for a simple meal in the kitchen. He was uneasy. Had he hurt her? She smiled and said self-knowledge was the whole purpose of her striving. Then she tried to explain that there had never been time for play in her childhood, that even small children had to work.
“At least, girls did,” she said. “My brothers played at warfare and practiced killing Romans from the ambush in the mountains.”
“You could hardly call that playing,” said Leonidas bitterly.
They went back to the library.
“At the same time that you began lessons with Erigones, my father died,” he went on. “I had a long letter from my mother, probably dictated by Livia. In heartrending terms, they appealed to me to come home. I did not grieve for my father. We had never been close. You know, the only son is to take over and be responsible for everything and everyone. From childhood on.
“As a boy, I escaped, disappearing into a world of daydreams of heroes and exploits. And playing at adventures and great deeds. I was an easy victim for the Roman officers looking for people among the Greeks in Antioch to join the legions. So I signed on. I was eighteen and of age. My father never forgave me.”
He sighed.
“I've never regretted it. I saw the world and it was much larger and crueler and more complicated and difficult to make out than I had imagined.”
“You had a letter from your mother?”
“Yes, it came at an opportune moment. I went to Titus, the tribune, who read it and said he understood. And that I had actually fulfilled my contract with the Roman army. So I started completing my reports and began negotiations for your adoption. That was more complicated than I had thought. After all, even a foundling has parents, as the lawyer said. At that stage, I had already found out your father's name, but it was on the lists of the Jewish rebels. So I couldn't use that.”
He fell silent, his eyes straying out over Mary's garden.
“Then that damned expedition against the Parthians put an end to all my plans. The cohort from Tiberias was taken out, the soldiers jubilant, as they were all tired of the Jews and their treacherous ambushes. The tribune
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