The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene by Frank G. Slaughter

hesitated no longer. Everything was here that a young girl would like, including many viands she had heard of but had never tasted before. On one plate was the antecena or gustus, strips of salted and smoked fish, tender radishes on tiny center leaves of succulent lettuce, and other dainties to stir the appetite. While she ate, Gaius Flaccus poured into a slender crystal goblet a mixture of mild wine and honey called mulsum.
    Next was a large plate containing the cena, the main part of the meal. Tender slices of roasted and spiced beef were garnished with the rich and savory vegetables that grew on the fertile Plain of Gennesaret. Mary refused wine from a second flask, for her head was already light from the sweet mulsum. But she could not withstand the pastry studded with nuts making up the last part of the meal, the mensa secunda, as the Romans called it.
    While she ate, Gaius Flaccus sat on a cushion at her feet, lifting the covers from dishes as she sampled them, and pushing them aside when she was finished. Finally, when she could eat no more, Mary wiped her mouth and fingers upon a napkin of linen finer than any she had ever seen before and took a deep breath of sheer content. Perhaps it was the wine or the heady effect of his admiration that made her feel dizzy. It didn’t occur to her then that there might be another, a more dangerous cause.
    “Did you like your dinner?” Gaius Flaccus asked.
    “Oh yes. It was wonderful.”
    “And have I offended you at all?”
    She smiled. “Of course not, but I must go now. Demetrius will be wondering where I am.”
    He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. She was quite close to him, closer, she knew, than she should be. But a sense of exhilaration, a feeling of adventure, kept her from drawing away. As he smiled down at her, his broad chest touched her body and she felt the softness of her flesh give way against him. Her breath seemed to stop in her throat then, and she felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to press herself against him. “I—I must go,” she stammered, but she could not draw away.
    “Don’t I deserve at least a kiss as a reward?” He held her hands still in his. “After all, I did help you get to dance before the procurator. Both Pontius and Herod were enchanted with you, and their favor can mean much.”
    Deep inside she had known all along that Gaius Flaccus had persuaded Pilate to send for her to dance tonight. It was a part of the thrill of adventure, even of danger, that characterized the evening. Besides, the purse he had brought, plus the one she had tossed to Hadja, comprised more money than had been in the house of Demetrius for many years. And being generous by nature, Mary could not very well help feeling a warm glow of appreciation toward the handsome young man who had made these things possible. After all, she told herself to quiet her pounding heart, there could be no harm in giving him the kiss when, she was honest enough to admit to herself, she wanted him to kiss her.
    Gaius Flaccus saw that she was tempted to yield and drew her gently to him. But when she would have given him her soft cheek, he claimed her mouth roughly and his arms tightened about her. Mary had seen passion in the eyes of men when she danced, but she had never been so close to it as this. Startled by the shock of Gaius Flaccus’s mouth upon hers, his hands upon her body through the thin silk of her dress, she was paralyzed for a moment.
    It was a strange new feeling, this pounding of blood in her temples and throat, this constriction in her chest that came only partially from the powerful arm holding her so tightly, this sudden whirling of her senses that was more than the effect of wine. And without realizing what she was doing, her arms crept around his neck and tightened, while her mouth softened and grew lax beneath his.
    Gaius Flaccus had planned with cunning, but now the surge of desire set off by her momentary yielding swept away all his restraint. Mary,