Seated at the spinning wheel, the girl daydreamed listening to the tuneless melody of wooden spokes whirring about a too lightly greased axel. Pausing in her task, she removed a full bobbin of yarn teased from a basket of wool lying by her feet. This summer’s heat was especially oppressive even for the arid mountainous slopes of the Har Yehuda or “Hills of Judaea”. She ran the back of her hand across her forehead wiping away small beads of perspiration.
Before resuming her task, the girl glanced down the dusty road snaking its way through their small hamlet. She had hoped to glimpse a handsome young shepherd driving his family’s sheep and goats to or from pasture. The lad was a long time friend of her twin brother, the girl knew her mother had hopes for she and the boy when the right time finally arrived. Inside the family cottage, she heard her mother going about preparing the family’s noon meal.
Lifting her head, she spied movement in the distance. Holding a hand to her brow and shielding her eyes from the brilliant noonday sun, she squinted trying to make out more detail. Heat waves shimmered and danced above the sun-baked road creating a sparkling mirage that wrapped what approached in an obscure haze.
Moments later the girl cried out. “Mother come quickly!” the girl squealed. “It’s a caravan!”
The girl’s mother stepped through their home’s doorway. Standing beside her daughter, they watched a long procession of heavily burdened camels, steel rimmed Roman ox carts and ebony skinned litter- bearers carrying the weight of the wealthy and privileged upon their shoulders.
Her great grandfather had carefully chosen the location of the family home. Situated in the center of the small village, the road lay but steps from their front door. The equivalent of a first century interstate and known as the “Salt Route”, it regularly saw caravans transporting salt, sugar, asphalt and balsams gathered near the Dead Sea and enroute to markets within the bustling economic hub of Jerusalem.
Toward the rear, a small column of well-armed mercenaries led a newly acquired crop of slaves. For the most part, these unfortunates were political dissenters who had somehow found the misplaced courage to speak out against Rome. A retired Roman legionnaire led the way on horseback; his bronze helmet and chest armour or cuirass glinting in the sunlight. The others in his cohort, those who trailed behind on foot were little more than armed thugs – the dregs of the empire. The group was responsible for ensuring the caravan’s security.
Her mother placed a hand on the small of her daughter’s back. “Quickly girl, fetch your father and brothers.”
Moments later the girl walked to the entrance of an open-air carpentry shop. There her father and brothers were engaged in the sawing, boring and shaping of locally harvested woods; those of oak, sycamore, and the “baka”, a weeping mulberry tree.
“Father, it’s a caravan!” she cried out excitedly.
Setting down their work and tools, the boys looked to their father who quickly gave a short nod sending the entire family springing into action. Some grabbed handmade chairs, others tables and cots which they carried and arranged near the roadside.
Soon arriving in the village square, servants led the lead camels to a nearby well where they gratefully drank their fill. The girl and her family stood near the roadside watching as one by one, the caravan’s carts and litters arrived, its travellers setting down their burdens. Some rested upon nearby benches or simply stretched atop the heat browned grass, enjoying the cool shade cast beneath the village’s larger trees. Seeing a group of heavy ox carts stopping in the square, the father gave his boys leave to hawk their wares among the more “well-to-do” merchants travelling within the group.
Soon, a wealthy trader from Magdela, a village bordering the Sea of Galilee, followed the carpenter’s eldest son over to the roadside to where the family displayed their furniture. Conversing for some time, the father and merchant finally struck a bargain. Business concluded, the carpenter instructed his daughter to bring a flask of wine and several wooden cups. The girl returned in short order serving not only wine, but also a selection of dates, goat cheese and bread, offering them to the merchant and several other traders who happened by.
She stood behind her father’s chair listening in fascination to their conversation centring about business, their homelands, and their far-flung travels before growing bored when the subject inevitably returned to Judea’s political situation. She left the group walking over to where her brothers awaited their father’s direction that would see them begin loading the purchased furniture within the merchant’s wagon.
Suddenly clutching at his chest, the merchant’s face brightened to scarlet a moment before he collapsed to the ground. A commotion ensued, immediately drawing the merchant’s fellow travellers to his aid. Moments later, a well-dressed man clothed in Arabian attire knelt by the merchant’s side administering to the stricken man. Standing nearby with her brothers, the girl overheard a merchant say the foreigner was a learned physician of some renown.
Several minutes later, all appeared for naught. The physician rose to his feet, solemnly pronouncing the man dead. An elderly friend of the merchant asked if the father and his boys would help load his friend’s body onto his cart. Surprisingly, the father shook his head turning toward his daughter who nodded while stepping forward.
The girl spoke to all present. “Make room, for this man is not dead, but only sleeps.”
Pressing between members of the clearly astonished crowd, she knelt beside the merchant whose face lacked all colour or any sign of life. The Arab physician only frowned, shaking his head while slowly turning away. Several of the merchant’s fellow travelers openly scoffed while their slaves laughed and jeered. The raised hand of the elderly and well-respected merchant immediately silenced the lot.
Uttering not a word, the girl’s outstretched palm gently stroked the man’s brow and cheek before moving downward to pause atop the merchant’s chest. After several moments, the man’s eyelids fluttered and he began to moan softly. The Arab physician spun about to stand alongside with the others, all now silent in their amazement. The merchant’s head rose several inches above the earth. His face now an open mask of confusion, the man looked about from side to side. The girl gently smiled calling over her brother who moved in close. Each took a hand, carefully assisting the bewildered merchant to his feet.
A large crowd had quickly formed. The merchant, now somewhat recovered from his experience looked toward the father asking, “And who are these children?”
The father answered with pride. “This girl is my eldest daughter; Mary.”
The merchant took a step forward embracing the girl by her shoulders. “Thank you Mary. Those of my household will know you hereafter as my daughter; Mary of Magdala.” He paused, “No… Mary Magdalene!” The man softly kissed her cheek then faced the lad beside her.
“Today you and Mary have most certainly become my messiahs!” The merchant smiled gratefully while tousling the hair atop the boy’s head asking his name.
Placing a hand upon his son’s back, the Nazarene carpenter proudly replied. “Why, this is Mary’s twin brother; Jesus.”
“And it was thus, that the word spread far and wide; traveling forth unto every corner of the earth.”