The Magic Circle Katherine Neville (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📖

the like of which none had seen before in a private home: low marble tables, exotically inlaid with colored stones that glittered in the yellow light of Persian hanging lamps; thick carpets from the Ionian coast and multicolored tapestries redolent of the African north coast; huge samovars of tea and giant urns brimming with foamy wine, set everywhere around the room.

Although many of the twelve were successful professionals—tax collectors like Matthew, or well-to-do proprietors of fishing fleets, like Simon and Andrew and the Zebedees—still they were taken aback by this extravagant splendor, which seemed to approach a nearly Roman level of decadence. They stood awkwardly, gazing around Maryam Mark’s upper room at the Roman couches where three together could recline while dining, too awed to help themselves to any wine or to converse much until at last the Master arrived.

He seemed somehow preoccupied, and motioned for the others to be seated. He didn’t sit at once himself, but paced back and forth beside the door as if waiting for something to happen. The servants brought bowls of water and towels. When they’d departed and the door was shut behind them, the Master, without speaking, took up a bowl and towel and set them on a nearby table. Then removing all his clothes, he wrapped the towel around his waist, knelt on the floor before Judas, and began to wash his feet. The others were embarrassed and more than a little shocked. More so, when they saw he intended to do the same to each. One by one, he came before them to wash their feet, wiping them dry with the towel as they looked on uneasily. But when the Master reached Simon Peter, the disciple jumped to his feet in refusal, crying,

“Never, never! You shall not wash my feet! Not mine!”

“Then it seems we have nothing in common,” the Master told him quietly. He was not smiling. “If you all believe I’m your Master, you should follow my example. I hope you’ll do the same when I’m no longer here to show you what love is. It’s an arrogant servant, Peter, who can learn nothing and thinks himself greater than the one who sent him. When I’m gone, I hope my followers will be recognized by the fact that they serve one another and love mankind.”

“Then wash me, Master!” Peter cried enthusiastically, sitting again in haste. “Not just my feet—wash my hands, too, and my head—”

The Master burst out laughing. “Only what’s dirty,” he said. And glancing at Judas with an enigmatic smile, he added, “Most of what I see here is clean—but not all.” A comment that later was interpreted by many as a reference to the “dirty” money Judas had accepted, in exchange for betraying him.

When the Master put his linen robe on again, he reclined on the couch between Simon Peter and young Johan Zebedee, whom he’d affectionately dubbed parthenos, the virgin girl, for his childlike if often unruly innocence. The Master spoke throughout nearly the entire meal, with a flushed intensity, eating little save some sips of the ritual wine and a few tastes of the traditional symbolic foods.

As to what he was speaking about, it appeared his principal interest was to recite—as age-old tradition dictated—the history of the Passover and the exodus of our people from Egypt. But despite the Master’s keen interest in rabbinical law, it did seem to those present that he placed unusual emphasis on the food and drink connected with this ritual meal, and even more upon those things forbidden by God—especially the leaven. Here is what the Master said:

THE LEAVEN

These are the things wherewith a man fulfills his obligation on Passover: barley, wheat, spelt, rye, and oats

—

Pesachim 2; Mishnah 5

In ancient times the two holy days we call Pesach and Massot—the Passover and the feast of unleavened bread—were separate events, unlike today. The feast of unleavened bread was the more ancient tradition, dating to the time of Abraham and Noah, and was only later made a part of the Passover ritual that commemorates the escape of our people from bondage in Egypt.

The first Pesach meal was eaten in haste as our people prepared for flight. On their lintels were painted tau symbols in lamb’s blood, as instructed, so when the Lord passed over, Egyptian firstborn males would be struck down instead of our own. Also as instructed, during the period before the flight, no leaven was permitted.

The law pertains to five specific grains: barley, wheat, spelt, rye, and oats. The flower of each, if in contact with water for more than a brief time, becomes leaven. God told Moses and Aaron the people must not “eat leaven, touch leaven, profit by leaven, neither shall they keep leaven in their house,” during seven whole days, from the fourteenth of the month of Nisan through the night of the twenty-first when they left Egypt. Anyone who disobeyed, God promised to cut off from Israel, forever.

Why was this strange commandment so important? And since the feast of unleavened bread is older than Moses’ departure from Egypt, the ritual of searching for leaven is more ancient than the Hebrew people’s recognition of the one true God. What does it mean?

The number of grains we classify as leaven—five—was important to the Greeks, who called the number five the quintessence: the fifth essence, the highest level of reality, to which all others aspire. The five-pointed star—the pentacle, with a pentagon at its heart—was the symbol of Pythagoras, and also of King Solomon. It stands for wisdom, reflected in the apple, a natural form that conceals this symbol in its core. And within that symbol—the true Solomon’s seal—is the secret of the eternal flame.

The process of leavening raises something to a higher level and transforms it. We can see that during the first Passover, God forbade earthly leaven for Jews in favor of transformation to a higher state, making us able to attain that celestial bread which Pythagoras called the Eternal Leaven, a food we also