I should have given this to you at the very beginning. When you read it, you will discover why I feared to surrender it. It changes everything. Another regret, that I couldn’t copy the whole volume.

Joanna looked up, stunned.

Sara was radiant. “She must have done it before she sent it off to Morosini. So? Are you going to read the thing?”

“No, you are. It has to be in your voice.”

Sara glanced through the pages, looking for where she had stopped reading the day before. “Ah, here it is, ‘the Angel of Death.’” She settled back against the cushioned seat. “All right. You liked me channeling a cross-dressing Venetian lesbian. Let’s see how well I do as a Judean runaway.”

...for I was the Angel of Death. Anon, the bronze doors opened and Herod's slave marched solemnly into the dining hall with the silver charger held out before him. Thereon lay the head of John the Baptist.

Straightway I repented and fled to my chamber. And yet, so little did you care, you did not even visit me that night, though I was undone. Had you come, or shown remorse, or tarried with me in any wise, you might have saved me.

On the morrow, while you wallowed in your bath and in your victory, I cast off my maiden's garments and clothed me as a boy, the more to travel unaccosted through the streets. Thus it was that I wandered through every quarter and sought them, the followers of the Baptist.

At last I found the one named Judas. Although I did not tell my crime, I besought him to take me into their fellowship and teach me about the Messiah. He first chided me for my dress, for offending the law that "the woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man." Yet he list as I told of the fervor of my interest, that I had heard the Baptist's message and desired at all costs to know more of it. Judas said, "My master befriends publicans and fallen women; wherefore should I not befriend a maid hidden behind a boy?" He invited me then into his house, and I feared not, and followed after him.

"Speak to me of your master," I entreated. A light came into his face and, with the selfsame fire in his glance as I had seen in John, he told me of the Nazarene named Jesus. Some said he was John the Baptist, risen from the dead, and that he was the Messiah. But his teachings, as Judas told them to me, were as cool water on my face. For he preached a new covenant that would bring peace to all nations, that the high would be made low and the poor man raised up. And so my eyes were opened.

For the rest of my fifteenth year I was by day your obedient daughter, and by night a rebellious boy. I escaped often, eluding Menassah, to worship in secret with Thomas and Judas and a woman named Mary Magdalene. I learned there were ten others who were the companions of Jesus.

In that time, Judas was as a brother and the Magdalena and I were like unto his sisters. Mary, for her part, had been much misused by men until she had met Jesus. He had raised her up from disgrace and welcomed her into the company of his followers. As the only woman at the gatherings, she lent a pleasant touch, serving wine and sometimes supper to the men.

Once, of an evening, when the three of us sat together, Judas revealed that Jesus, whom he loved beyond measure, foresaw his crucifixion, indeed its necessity, for it would reveal him as the Messiah. Truly, Jesus seemed set upon forcing the hand of the tyrant so that the prophecy of the Scriptures would be fulfilled.

Though I sorrowed to learn that the House of Herod - and you, whom I did love - must fall, Judas was certain of the coming of the Messiah and, truly, I could feel it in the air. I heard the stories of the Nazarene's miracles: walking on water on the Sea of Galilee, healing the sick at Capernaum, casting out devils, stilling the wind and waves. So enraptured was I that I almost wished to be lame so that he could heal me, and make a revelation of me.

Then it came to pass that the Nazarene entered into Jerusalem.

Mother, bethink you still the day the multitude gathered outside the walls to welcome him? From the roof of our palace, I could see him in the distance, on a donkey. And as he neared, the palm fronds the people waved were as grass blown by the wind, that brought their cries of hosannah to our ears.

Anon, we learned that he would preach on the Mount of Olives, and when the hour came, I made as if to take me to my sickbed. Once closeted, I changed my garment and fled the palace and Menassah's vigilance. How I ran with joy through the city past the temple and through the Sheep's Gate to the Mount where I saw the gathering multitude.

At first I tarried at the rear, but then, little by little, I crept through the rings of listeners. What wondrous words fell upon my ears as I drew close, things I had never heard from a rabbi or Pharisee. That God would give the world to men of peace, to the poor in spirit, the mourners, and the meek. Jesus blessed the ones who hungered for justice, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted. I could not but think of John, whose blood was on my hands, and I was sore ashamed.

When his sermon was ended, the multitude sat down to eat. A crowd surrounded him, but they suffered me to pass through them unto him. At last he turned his gaze on me and I knelt before him, mindful only then of my false garment.

"Forgive me, Lord, for my lawless clothing. I longed to see you, and a maid dare not go alone in the streets of Jerusalem." He smiled and said unto me, "Come to me as thou wouldst be, and let thy garment not accuse thee. I love thee in this guise too." I besought him for his blessing, which he spoke, then others fell down before him and supplanted me.

I departed, grateful for my moment, and made haste to return to the palace ere Menassah discovered my empty chamber. Even as I hastened through the streets of Jerusalem, the Nazarene's words that had echoed down from the Mount were burned into my heart. Blessed are the meek.

*

A tap on the glass of the compartment door drew their attention. The coffee cart had arrived, wheeled by a scarecrow of a man who would have done well to consume more of his own wares.

For all her fascination with Salome’s tale, the thought of food seized Joanna’s interest. Sara’s apparently as well, for she immediately set aside the stapled pages and opened the compartment door.

They purchased two coffees and the attendant pastries and consumed them hungrily. Joanna swallowed the last of the coffee and sighed with shallow contentment. “Amazing how good really bad coffee can taste when you’re starving.”

“Yeah, and we even ate that pastry in plastic, which I’m sure was made in a factory long ago and far away.” Sara wiped her mouth with a handkerchief that somehow had appeared from her jacket pocket. “So, what do you think about the confession so far?”

“I find it fascinating to get to know the real Salome. In the traditional view, she’s a ‘wanton woman,’ almost a cartoon, but here she’s complex and human, and serious. Not a spoiled teenager at all. But above all, I’m stunned—if the work is authentic—that we’re reading the words of someone who actually heard the Sermon on the Mount and spoke with Jesus, someone who was a witness to arguably the most important event in the history of the Western world.”

Sara took up the pages again. “I’m sure that’s why it’s so threatening. Whatever she has to say about any of those people—Herod, John the Baptist, Pilate, Jesus himself, and whatever she says about what happened—that trumps anything in the gospels, and in Paul’s letters, all of which are second- or even thirdhand reports. No wonder the Church was threatened.”

“Well, as far as we’ve read, there’s nothing really shocking. It still sort of unfolds the way we expect it to.” Joanna tried to recall the details of her own religious education. “I mean, the Sermon on the Mount sounds about the way I remember it.”

Sara chuckled. “Except for that ‘Let thy garment be thyself’ thing that Jesus said. Imagine, cross-dressing was okay with Jesus. Now there’s a Messiah I can relate to.”

“Leonora too, I bet. Just remember, as the book’s publisher, she must have read this too. Of course by the time she was cross-dressing, I suppose she’d long forgotten about the Sermon on the Mount. A shame.”

“I also feel a little sorry for old Herodias, though. Okay, so she did ask for the head, but anyone can commit a little social blunder like that. After all, John was a threat to the legitimacy of her marriage. She had to protect the tetrarch from slander, after all.”

Joanna crumpled up the plastic cups and pastry wrappers and crammed them into the miniscule trash container that was already full of the previous passenger’s trash. “Everyone had something to protect, I suppose. Herod, Pilate, even creepy Caiaphas. Those were brutal times, and failure could mean a nasty death. Anyhow, I’m dying to find out what happens next. Are up to reading some more?”

“Sure. As long as my voice holds out.” Sara folded back the pages to where they’d left off and began again.

The Nazarene drew the multitudes wheresoever he went, for each man or woman, having witnessed him, proclaimed him to others. The air was joyous with the message and with the promises of peace and, above all, of justice that was to come.

Yet even then there was strife around him. Though the Nazarene said he came not to overturn the Law but to fulfill it, the Pharisees list with sharp ears to his preaching and were offended. Caiaphas, before all others, was wroth.

You were there, Mother, when the high priest appeared before the tetrarch. I attended from the corridor, but you throned beside your husband while the old man ranted. The high priest's plaint, that the crowds around the Nazarene would surely bring down the iron hand of the Romans, seemed hysterical. But Herod was ever craven, and when Caiaphas conjured specters of Roman soldiers descending upon the Jews, Herod gave way to the doomsayer.

Caiaphas's foreboding might have gone unfulfilled were it not for the conflict at the Temple, when Jesus drove out the merchants and the money changers. The air of jubilation was gone, and they that hated Jesus at last had a charge to bring against him.

For Herod could not be seen to suffer an attack on the temple, so he did give command that Jesus be arrested. Straightway, Caiaphas and the other priests sent their men to apprehend him, but so inept were they, they could not locate him until Jesus himself sent Judas to lead them back to Gethsemane. And so it was done, and the high priest's men did seize him, and poured scorn on him, and delivered him unto Pilate.

Pilate heard the prophet but, to our wonderment, he found him innocent, declaring that Jesus's preaching gave no offense to Rome. But the Pharisees reasoned among themselves and, desiring his condemnation, prevailed upon Pilate to remand Jesus to the court of Herod.

You knew how flattered Herod was to be granted this authority, and how ardent he was to see a miracle. The Pharisees already waited like hyenas at the doorway, and Herod made a show of calling them all before him.

Did you not see my feverish eyes as we stood together nigh to Herod's throne? I could scarce control the trembling in my knees when I saw him face-to-face again, the prophet whom Judas had begun to call the Savior.

He was of modest proportions, slender and soft-spoken. As John had been virile and hirsute, so Jesus was smooth, his long hair hung silken and straight, and his bearing was mild to submission. The tetrarch stood up and towered over him asking, "Jesus of Nazareth, men call you the Messiah. What say you to this?"

We all waited for the prisoner's answer, but he gave none, only gazed softly upward and spoke, as were he himself not sure. "Is that how men see me? It is thou who hast said this."

Displeased, the tetrarch sought to flatter the Nazarene and ordered a robe of purple brought to lay across his shoulders. "It suits you, Jesus," he said. "You see, we are prepared to honor you. If you are the Son of God, pray, give us a sign. We beseech you, to set all our minds at rest, give us the smallest of miracles."

But Jesus turned his face away and spoke, "I've done with miracles."

His refusal was an affront to Herod, who saw there was no profit from the hearing. With growing agitation, Herod accused him of being "as those men raving in the market square." Then, raising his scepter as was his wont, Herod commanded his guards to lay their hands on Jesus and confine him in the cistern.

That night, while you slept, I slipped away to the courtyard. The guards had consigned him to the selfsame dismal pit where John the Baptist had been slain. I was beset with guilt and shame, knowing that John's blood was surely still on the floor. Herod had given no interdict so, on the pretense of taking him a pitcher of water, I took a lantern and descended the ladder into the darkness. My eyes were troubled first, but then I saw him by the lantern light.

"Lord," I whispered, and he replied, "Come unto me, my child."

Barefoot and in chains, he was even smaller than in the court, scarcely more in height than I, and with the same long hair. But for his sparse beard, he could have been a girl. Could a man so delicate be the Messiah?

Strangely, he knew me still from our meeting on the Mount and remarked that I was comely, both as boy and maid. He seemed pleased to talk to me, and list when I replied, and there was no dominance in his bearing. Unlike John, whose pronouncements rang like bronze, the Nazarene was as one perplexed. He said, most plaintively,"I brought God's simplest commandments, that men make peace, love the slave, abjure greed and anger. Wherefore do they demand miracles before they accept this?"

"Herod simply craved a sign, like Moses gave to Pharaoh. You could have done a little one."

"The Son of God does not do magic tricks."

"But Lord, you walked on water, raised the dead, changed water into wine."

The Nazarene's reply was wondrous strange. "Misunderstandings, things seen from afar. Stories among the people are exaggerated. Everywhere, they are like children, seeking holy signs."

"And when you caused the lame to walk and the blind to see?"

"Some men need only to believe they are healed, and it is so," he replied.

"Even if the Messiah does not heal, he is prophesied to bring men justice. Can you not make it so, that the wicked cease to prosper?"

Jesus seemed troubled by the question and was silent for a time. Then he said, to my wonderment, "Thou hast spoken true. He makes the sun to rise on the evil and the good and sends rain on the just and the unjust."

"But how shall we suffer that? Wherefore does God not smite the wicked as he did in ancient times, at Samaria and Hebron?"

Jesus seemed to look into his heart, then became solemn, as one who had a sudden bitter knowledge. "It seems...that justice comes not from God, but from thee. From thine own hand. Thou must raise up the poor, comfort the mournful, defend the persecuted and the reviled."

"But how shall we do that without the help of God?"

"If thou learnest nothing else from me, know that thou hast justice in thee, and mercy. Thou doest not need God's command to bring forth the good that dwells within thee." He looked aside, as if in sorrow. "But men are weak and they want miracles to reassure them. Verily, the world could change in a day if all men gave voice to their own virtue. There need only be a few to prepare the way, as John did."

The mention of John sparked remorse and shame in me."Had I but known, Lord, I would have been baptized by John," I lamented. "Yet, it was I who murdered him. Can I ever be forgiven?"

Jesus took my hand, and I felt his love suffuse me, like sunlight in that dark pit. "Thy repentance frees thee of this guilt," he said. "And if it will comfort thee, I will baptize thee now on John's behalf. Come here, daughter of Herod, and receive another name."

I knelt before him on the stone floor - perhaps on stains of John's innocent blood - while Jesus took the pitcher I had brought. "Raise thy face to me," he said, and poured water slowly on my forehead, saying that truly, I belonged to him and to the Father. Salome was drowned and her sins with her.

And I felt it, Mother. I felt my old self wash away with the water.

Then, calling me by my new name, he bade me rise again as Sarah.

"Lord, I will be with you until Judgment," I pledged, "for you are the Messiah."

"My dearest Sarah," he said. "The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. A Son is given to them and they will call him wondrous names, Counselor, Almighty God, and Prince of Peace." His words should have comforted me, but he recited the names indifferently, and I was scarcely reassured.

"And yet, the government shall be upon his shoulder," he murmured. I thought I saw sudden fear in his eyes, but it might have been the flickering light of the lantern.

"Government? You mean Herod? I will go before him and beg him to spare you. He has no charge against you."

"No, Sarah. Let the prophecy be fulfilled. Judas hath done his part and now thou must do thine. Like him, thou needst be strong for me."

He took my hand and raised it to his lips. His kiss on my fingers was the tenderest touch I ever knew. I laid my head upon his chest and he embraced me. And in his arms, I was as one transformed, my spirit swelled and yearned toward his and he welcomed me. It was joy and exaltation and humility, all at once. I understood his message of perfect love, the flowing together of our two lights into one. I would want no other man's love for the rest of my life and, as Sarah, would bear witness to his message, until my final breath.

On the morrow I went to Herod, and though he sat with Caiaphas and the other Pharisees, I threw myself before his feet. I besought him to spare Jesus, who had done no harm to anyone. He raised my chin and said however great my supplication, the matter had passed to Rome, and Pontius Pilate.

I fled the chamber, but Caiaphas followed after me and drew me to a quiet place and he upbraided me. The Nazarene, he said, was a danger to the Jews. It was malicious of me to interfere for I knew not the affairs of men.

Emboldened by the touch of Jesus - for it was Sarah now who spoke - I replied without fear. "And if he is the Chosen One, who is resurrected, after all? Will you not blush for shame? Then your name will be like a snake's hiss, when men tell the story."

Amazed and affronted, Caiaphas railed at me. I was a viper in my own house, a wanton who had danced naked and seduced my father for the head of John the Baptist. He would spread the tale and the world would ever after call me an abomination.

I fled him then, withdrawing to my quarters to await the Roman judgment.

Yet even Pilate would not play the tyrant, for like Herod, he feared an insurrection. In truth, it being Passover, he sought to soothe all factions in the quarrel by offering to free the prisoner. A clever move, to let the accusation stand, yet, out of mercy, to free the accused. Surely the Jews would be satisfied, for it was but a week before that they had gathered around Jesus on the Mount of Olives.

Yet, it was for naught. I watched from the palace wall while the prefect addressed the crowd bidding them choose between Jesus and the thief Barrabas. I could see Caiaphas and his men mingling amongst the people, crying out hither and yon, "Barrabas! Give us Barrabas!" Some of the people cried out for Jesus, but the priests called out with greater voice, and so sheeplike was the mob that they fell to chanting with Caiaphas.

Pilate seemed perplexed, but surely also relieved for he could now appear to fulfill the will of the Jews. With a gesture of contempt, he charged Barrabas to be freed forthwith and Jesus to be crucified.

Sore of heart, I descended into the city and sought out the disciples, but most had fled. I found only Judas in the crowd, and together we beheld the dreadful scourging. We wept together to see the gentle arms so cruelly cut by the whip, and cringed at every lash. Finally, unable to endure the horror, we betook us to a quiet place. Then, through his tears, Judas told his sorrowful tale.

Before the Passover supper, Jesus had called Judas aside and asked, "What wouldst thou do for me?" In his devotion, Judas had answered, "Anything, Lord."

Then Jesus said unto him, "Whosoever shall accuse me, whether it be Pharisees or Romans, you must deliver me unto them."

Judas was aghast. What a cruel demand to make of one who loved him so. And yet, Judas would serve the beloved at all costs, even unto death, even unto forced betrayal, though it would break his heart. His consolation would be the Resurrection.

But most ominous of all, Judas said, was that Jesus himself was testing God. Thus he had forced the hand both of his persecutors and of God himself, to see if he would fulfill the prophecy of Isaiah.

We fervently believed he would, and we wondered only what would happen then. Would men rush to be converted, seeing Jesus rise again? Would the Pharisees and Romans repent of killing him? Would the angel of God appear above the cross on Calvary and rend the sky with lightning, and smite the killers of God's prophet and Son? What was God's plan and what was our part in it? Save that we prayed for guidance, we were paralyzed with uncertainty.

When the hour came, we followed Jesus and two others as they bore their crossbeams along the streets of Jerusalem toward the Place of Skulls. The multitude, that only a week before had cried hosannah at Jesus, now jeered at him each time he faltered or fell. The condemned men labored most sorely on the rocky ground outside the city and up the slope of Mount Calvary. Finally, breathless and broken, they reached the top, and though they finally laid their burdens down, their greatest suffering had just begun.

The two Marys found us and we four stood together in the circle of the execution ground. We watched the Romans lay the condemned on the beams and heard the sickening sound of nails being pounded into their flesh, fixing them to the wood. The soldiers set up their ladders aside the poles imbedded in the hillside, and the crowd went still as they hoisted the crossbeams up upon them. The crucified men cried out as the full weight of their bodies tore open their wrists. It was awkward for the Romans to fit the crossbeams, and while they struggled on their ladders, the crucified men dangled, screaming in their pain. When anon, all three beams were in place, the condemned men cried out yet again as nails were driven through their feet. At the sight of it, Mary, Mother of Jesus suddenly bent forward and was sick.

We tarried by the cross, thinking to lighten Jesus's suffering by our presence, and waited, praying, hour after hour, wondering if God would intervene.

The enemies of Jesus had the selfsame thought, for one of the priests did mock him, saying, "Let Christ, the King of Israel, now descend from the cross that we may see and believe."

Yet he suffered as the others suffered, and groaned even as they did. More and more we doubted. More and more we felt we had been fools. And at the end, Jesus doubted too, for with failing breath he cried out asking why God had forsaken him.

The train compartment door suddenly slid open with a thud, and Joanna and Sara were jolted away from Calvary. Both gazed around, a bit confused, and saw the train had stopped. Vicenza, the sign in the station said, and lines of people were crowding into the train.

The first to invade their compartment was a large, fleshy man, in a not-too-clean army fatigue jacket and knit hat. He held the hand of a little girl, about three years old, who sucked her thumb under a runny nose. Directly behind him was a woman, bland and exhausted-looking, who held a boy of about two in one arm and an infant in the other.

Sara hurriedly shifted their baggage up onto the overhead shelves, and the family distributed itself over the newly empty seats.

Resigned to the end of their solitude, Joanna folded the photocopy back into its envelope and slid it into the inside pocket of her jacket. Obviously, reading out loud was now out of the question. She waited for things to settle down so she could read the remainder quietly to herself.