The End of Things Ch. 07: Magdala

Many times in my life have I undertaken sea journeys; not one of them do I care to remember. My feet need dry land. Hell is not a fiery furnace for me, it is a rocking boat on a rough sea. It would be almost as wearisome to recount the travails of my travelling as it was to experience them, let it be sufficient to say that by the time we eventually reached the great port of Marseilles, I was just grateful to be on dry land.

Marseilles was, and remains, a wonder. The harbour is one of the greatest sights in the Empire. From the top of the steep hills above the port one can se, almost to the coast of Cyrenaica on a clear day - or so Merlin claims. Merlin makes a lot of claims; some of them are even true.

If sea-sickness was one reason to tarry in Marseilles, I had another and more important one. The lists of contacts I had from Berta and Fr Gregory seldom overlapped, but the first of the two occasions was at Marseilles. They both mentioned the same man, Fr Martin, who was priest of the church of St Mary. You could hardly miss it as it was atop the hill overlooking the harbour. Merlin declined to join Helen and myself in the climb up to the church. He did not, he said, "do" churches. We went on alone.

As we approached the church, a man, in his thirties, thin and ascetic-looking, hurried towards us. As we got closer he shouted:

"Welcome, welcome, pilgrims, I assume you are from Britannia? I have been expecting you these two days."

I never did find out how he knew we were coming, but at least it meant that there was a meal and a warm welcome prepared.

Over the meal we exchanged pleasantries, and we retired to the courtyard to doze in the warm sun of the afternoon. The climate in the Middle Sea is the most perfect I have ever known. Those tribes seeking to settle there are often called "barbarians" - it seems to me to make perfect sense to want to live in such a climate. I hope, still, that it might be my lot to end my days there.

I was interested that Fr Martin made no objection to my helping at prayer. The practice of having female deacons had, I was aware, been abandoned in many places, but here it seemed acceptable to him and his congregation. I was to find the reason for this afterwards over table fellowship.

As we ate, Fr Martin introduced me to a woman called Junia. She was in her early thirties, I judged, pretty, with darker skin, and what I would come to recognise as Semitic features. Her nose dominated her face, having about it, as Helen commented later, "something of the hawk". Her dark brown, almost black eyes were animated.

"Can we talk somewhere more private Deaconess?"

Intrigued by her casual use of a word which had dropped out of use, I signalled my assent, and, with a word of apology to Helen, Junia and I walked to the wall overlooking the great sea.

"It is good," she said, "to see the old ways still in use. They are here, and by here, I mean in Marseilles. It is not, sad to say, common to see women in positions of authority in the official church."

Knowing that was the truth, I was nonetheless intrigued by her use of the term "official"; was there, I wondered, an "unofficial" one?

"What was it you needed privacy for?" I asked her, cutting to the chase.

"You come, I think, with a recommendation from the sisterhood?"

I confirmed that was the case.

"If you want to know why that matters to me, can you join me early in the morning. I will meet you here at sunrise. You should be sure to bring your lover with you."

Junia was clearly perceptive and had picked up the relationship between Helen and myself from the way we had interacted.

"To see what you need to see demands a price, and you cannot pay it, Helen can."

We discussed it with Helen at bedtime, when I asked, bluntly, whether she wished to fuck Junia.

"Carwen, you know I love you. Why would I want another?"

She really was the most wonderful woman, as well as being a great and sensuous lover, and so I smiled:

"Because, my darling, you have an appetite for the flesh I don't."

"But Carwen my love, you could have any woman you wanted, or man if you were that way inclined. In any event, it is not like that. You don't understand, and I am not sure how to explain. Can we leave it to the morrow?"

As she accompanied that with a passionate kiss, no answer was needed.

Bless her. Helen did my self-esteem a power of good, but in her beautiful desire to emphasise our equality, she consistently played down two phenomena: the first was her own remarkable libido; the second was my own somewhat less remarkable libido. There is a common myth that women are less keen on sexual congress than men, well, quite apart from the fact that might have something to do with men's ability to satisfy women sexually, it isn't true. Properly stoked up, a woman's lust can burn like a furnace; Helen's was exceptional. Indeed, had it not been for her constant reassurance that she liked snuggling and cuddling as much as sex, I should have worried, because my lust burned at a lower temperature, and needed an admixture, a large one, of love to burn at all. So I was, as I reassured her, happy to be accorded the liberty she gave me, if she took it for herself. Of course, I wouldn't, but her sense of fairness and what was right, was satisfied.

We rose before the sun and washed. I prayed in the chapel and, just as the sun's first rays were hitting the sea and beginning to burn up the sea mist, Junia appeared. She had come in a wagon, and we boarded it to go back down the road into the port. I could see how she was looking at Helen, and vice-versa. Call me strange, and others have, but it pleased me. How could I say I loved Helen and then deny her anything?

The port stank of fish. There was an aroma of it blown in from the fish-market where the catches were already being landed. The hustle and bustle were not dissimilar to Garrianonum, but on an altogether grander scale.

The waggon proceeded along the quayside before turning right down a narrow lane. Junia signalled that this was where we should dismount, and helped me get down; like everything else in the world, the wagon was not designed for someone my height.

We proceeded down a winding maze of streets until, turning a corner, she came to a door. Junia knocked, and it was opened by an old woman who signalled us to come in.

It took my eyes time to adjust. After the sharp brightness of the early dawning, the gloom had about it a sepulchral quality. Lighting a candle, Junia held Helen's hand, and mine, and guided us to a narrow staircase which was cut into the rock. There were candles at intervals to help us, but I was glad of support.

Gingerly, we made our way downwards, the temperature falling as we did so. Helen looked at me as though to reassure me. Her Amazonian figure gave me a confidence I would not otherwise have possessed. At length, the stairs came to an end, and the flickering candles showed a mosaic floor. Suddenly the gloom was broken as the smoke from half a dozen candles being lit revealed what to me looked like the entrance to a special, even sacred space.

"Now," said Junia, "this is the antechamber to a place sacred to all women, and to pass through it you need to be an initiate. Carwen, though you are a deaconess, you are not an initiate. Helen, you are. You know our rule, I saw it in your eyes earlier. Do you consent?"

Helen flushed red, her shoulders, neck and pretty face suffused with blood.

"I do," she said, "as long as Carwen is content."

Junia smiled.

"Tell her."

"Carwen, this is what I could not explain last night."

Seeing that I looked puzzled she was more explicit.

"The oath of the Sisterhood is that before there is access to the innermost mysteries, sisters should seal their bond bodily."

I had been expecting this, somehow. It explained the earlier glances between Helen and Junia, as well as last night's strange conversation.

"I consent," I said, simply.

"Follow us through."

Behind the curtains was a couch, opposite which was a chair.

"Sit there and say nothing."

Junia's tone was firm. The air was thick with erotic tension.

Junia pulled Helen to her; they kissed. As their lips meshed, tongues playing, Junia slipped Helen's tunic from her shoulders. I watched as it slipped down, revealing her shapely back and arse cheeks. As it fell to pool around her ankles, Junia gripped her arse, digging her nails in and making Helen break the kiss.

"Fuck, oh fuck!"

Junia's mouth moved down, kissing first Helen's neck, then her shoulders, before moving to her full, firm tits. As Junia's fingers twisted and pulled Helen's thick, dark nipples, my lover whimpered.

"Yes, oh god yes, yes."

When Junia began to nibble Helen's nipples and one of her hands moved between her thighs, Helen moaned louder. That was the signal for Junia to guide her to the couch. As she helped my lover to lie, naked on it, she slipped off her own tunic, revealing her darker-hued skin, her bigger tits with their dark brown nipples revealing her arousal. As she straddled Helen's tummy and bent forward, I could see what I could also smell; her cunt was soaked.

Biting Helen's nipples and making her moan louder, Junia arranged it so that her thighs were either side of Helen's until they were in a position where their cunts could press together. Junia pressed feverishly, rolling her hips so that their clits rubbed. Helen was gone, lost in the moment and the lust. She gripped Junia's arse and pressed herself into her cunt. Kissing passionately, the two women pressed and rubbed, feverishly caught up in a devouring desire for consummation.

Watching them made me wet. Never had I wanted to rub my own cunt so much; it was as though every erotic nerve in my body was centring on my clit and nipples. Somehow I resisted.

Their passion was red hot, like the lust which drove them. Junia, having caught what it was Helen needed, bit both her nipples hard. Helen pushed and rubbed, gasping and babbling incoherently. Then, the storm broke, and orgasming together, they collapsed into each other.

They lay for a moment, a gasping, panting mess of sexual desire fulfilled. Hard though it was I left it and just watched, conscious that my own cunt was soaked.

After what seemed an age, Junia kissed Helen.

"That, my sister, was wonderful." Then, turning and looking at me she added, "and I hope you had fun watching?"

I nodded.

After calming down, they dressed. Helen smiled at me and winked. Later would, I was sure, be something to remember - as indeed it was.

"Now we have sealed our love", Junia said, "we can proceed to the inner sanctum."

Pulling aside the curtain revealed what seemed to be a tomb. Five candles burned in the niches in the wall, and there was a painting on the wall of a beautiful woman with reddish hair.

"Behold", said Mary, "the tomb of my ancestress, Mary of Magdala, the first witness of the Risen Christ!"

As she crossed herself, so did I.

There was, there still is (I was there but recently) an air of sanctity around the tomb of St Mary of Magdala. There are those, not least in Rome, who say she is no saint, but no-one who has stood in that place and knows its history could be in any doubt she is.

I learned later that Mary and her brother, Lazarus, along with her sister Martha had fled persecution and travelled to Corinth, only to be arrested and, in order to avoid arousing a mob, the magistrate had allowed them to move on, but had placed them on board a leaking tub of a boat which he was sure would sink. But the man knew nothing of the power of miracles, and Mary and her family had landed near Marseilles and had converted the locals. On her death they had placed her here to safety, within yards of where she and the family had landed all those years before.

As I knelt and prayed something happened to me. It was the first, but not the last time I saw a vision.

It was as though the visible world faded and I passed into something altogether more vibrant and light - a light that shut out all darkness. In that light I saw the face of the woman I had seen painted on the wall:

"Welcome to the shrine, daughter. Listen to me with care, for much depends on you, and things hang by a thread; one wrong step and all will be lost; not forever, for this Light is the Light by which the world will be lit one day, but for long enough for the age to pass so slowly men will lose hope."

I crossed myself again. Helen, talking to me later, said it was as though I was in some kind of trance. She had seen my lips moving, but heard no words. Mary confirmed Helen's account. I alone had seen what I had seen - whatever that was.

"The treasure you seek, daughter, has with it other treasures, and when you find them, you will be shown what they are and what to do with them. But take heed, be guided by your heart and not your head. When the time comes for choosing, listen to the heart, not what your brain will tell you, or what others will advise. If you do this aright, you will be the chosen one, and though your ways will be dark and dangerous, you will be a light to lighten the Gentiles. Take heed, and God speed you, daughter of the new Eve."

Whatever it was I wanted to ask, I got no chance to do it. As she finished speaking, the light faded and the darkness seemed, once more, sepulchral - as indeed it was.