A.D. 33 Page 10

  Yes.

  “So tonight, I offer you no judgment. Perhaps if you stopped judging yourself, you might find love for yourself, rather than condemnation.”

  My heart stilled, and in that moment I think I loved Saba more than I had ever loved any grown man or woman. Not as a lover, but as a human being.

  We came into Petra, the towering rock city without rival in all of the world, on the ninth day. Arim had never been to any city so grand, and he gawked as we passed a great marketplace bordered by majestic columns of red limestone.

  A thousand traders sold and bought wares and linens and spices and frankincense and myrrh. Coins and jewels were passed and agreements made with spit upon the hand.

  As we moved deeper into the city, headed for the court of Aretas, Saba attracted attention. None could mistake him for less than a warrior of great stature. But seeing Saba, some pointed also to me, whispering.

  “They see us and know how mighty we are,” Arim said.

  We reached Aretas’s court without incident. And this time, my name alone was enough to gain us entrance.

  KING ARETAS, surely the most powerful man in all of Arabia, could not hide his respect for me. Had I not bested his greatest challenge in the arena and filled his coffers with gold two years earlier?

  Because of Yeshua, I had won over Aretas.

  Because of Aretas, I had become queen of the outcasts.

  His elegant queen, Shaquilath, swept into the lavish dining hall where we had been presented, her face lit like the moon. We were not dressed for the opulence of that court with so much silver and gold and silk on display, but this, I believe, was a part of our appeal. She cast a disapproving glance at my pedestrian dress but quickly played to her higher self and embraced me as a queen.

  “So…” Shaquilath spoke with one brow cocked, wearing a guarded smile. “The great Maviah returns to Petra.”

  I bowed. “My queen.”

  She wore a long purple dress that clung to her body, dark hair braided with golden thread. Silver rings set with emeralds sparkled on her manicured hands, and she wore a heavily jeweled gold necklace, the value of which might have fed our entire tribe for a week.

  Shaquilath looked at Saba. “The dark warrior still by your side. Phasa would be jealous. If she hadn’t found a husband, she might seduce you still.”

  “Saba isn’t easily seduced,” I said. “As Phasa already knows.”

  “I see.” Her smile seemed to suggest she suspected how deeply I cared for him.

  “Maviah!” I turned to see Phasa rushing in, gown flowing behind her, ever a stunning vision. “I knew you would return!”

  Her pleasure in seeing me lifted my spirits.

  “Phasa…” We embraced like two sisters reunited. “It is good to see you again.”

  “But look at you!” she said, standing back. “I’ve heard so much of your exploits in the desert.” Her eyes went to Saba, brightened for a moment, then ran over his body, settling on his face. “Saba.”

  He dipped his head.

  She glanced between us. “So the stallion is now yours,” she said.

  “He serves me—”

  “Of course he does.” She gave me a knowing smile, then redirected, touching my scarf as if to test its quality. “You’ve journeyed far, we must eat! Do you care to bathe before? My servants could dress you.”

  “Thank you, but I have urgent matters and I prefer the dress of my people.”

  “Then a hot bath at least. The desert enters with you. Did they tell you I have found a husband? One who could give even Saba a match.”

  “Please, Phasa,” Shaquilath said. “There will be time.”

  “There’s a new bath salt you must try, Maviah. From Rome. It leaves the skin—”

  “Phasa!”

  “What?” Phasa snapped. “I haven’t seen my dear friend in two years. If not for her, Herod would have murdered me!”

  “Yes, and we are grateful. But now she comes with urgent business. Please, give us a moment.”

  Phasa turned to me. “This is your wish?”

  I took her hand. “I must speak with the queen. Then I will come. I promise.”

  “Very well. But you must bathe before we eat. I insist.”

  “Of course.”

  She left, humming.

  “Phasa has a free spirit, wouldn’t you say?” Shaquilath said with a smile.

  “As always.”

  “Petra wouldn’t be the same without her. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, urgent business.”

  Her eyes went to Arim, who stood stunned in the presence of such wealth and power. Draped in little more than rags, he was too much for her.

  “Please have your slave wait outside—this is not a stable.”

  “I can never leave my queen’s side!” Arim said. “There is no greater queen in all of the deep sands, and I am her greatest warrior. No man may lay a hand on her in my presence and live.”

  “Oh?”

  “Forgive me, my queen,” I said, “but I kindly request that Arim, the Thamud warrior who once saved my life in the Nafud, remain as my right hand.”

  Standing to Shaquilath’s side, Aretas was clearly intrigued.

  “You see what spirit these Thamud have,” he said, grinning. “It is no wonder Maviah finds so much trouble at Dumah.” He swept his hand toward a table heavy with food. “Maviah’s companions are welcome in my court.”

  And so we reclined at a table spread with grapes and melons and steaming venison, with tall vessels of red wine. Attended by three servants dressed in golden tunics, we guests of honor appeared to be the poorest in the room. Which we were.

  Aretas set his goblet down, ready to hear me. “Tell me, Queen of Outcasts: what is all this trouble in Dumah that I hear about? Tell me what I do not already know.”

  I quickly told him everything about my followers from among the forty tribes, my council of twelve, our camp in the Garden of Peace, Saman’s release of Judah, the ill-fated battle that ended in our defeat, and the captivity of our children.

  When I came to the last, my resolve to remain strong failed me and I had to turn away, overcome with emotion.

  “I see,” Shaquilath said after a long pause. “You are mother to your outcasts as well. And now your own son has been taken by the monster who rules Dumah.”

  I tried to swallow my sorrow. “The same one who took the life of my first son two years ago.”

  She nodded, sympathetic. But her words revealed her heart.

  “Don’t you know, Maviah, that the desert is full of monsters? Ruling them means becoming one yourself.”

  “You are too harsh,” Aretas chided, plucking a grape from the silver platter. “What she has accomplished in two years is more than any army could have.” He lifted the grape to me. “I salute you, Maviah.” Then he tossed it into his mouth.

  “I only speak the truth,” Shaquilath said. “You came into our arena blind and sure to be killed. And by whatever means, I do not know, you left the victor, seeing. But now you also see that you should have killed Maliku that day. By offering him mercy, you only freed a beast.”

  I turned to the one I could trust more than myself.

  “Saba…Speak for me.”

  He looked between us, then addressed Shaquilath with a gentle yet sure voice.

  “What Maviah means to say, my queen, is that in taking an eye for an eye, there are no eyes left to see. The whole world is blind. What she saw in your arena was the only path to truth and freedom and the greatest power as spoken of by Yeshua in Galilee. Only with his sight can faith, which calms any storm, be found.”

  “And you, dark sage,” Shaquilath said. “Can you see what none of us can see?”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes I am blind. Yeshua’s Way of sight and faith is easily forgotten.”

  “Can you see it now?”

  He hesitated.

  “What Saba means,” I said, “is that I have gone blind once again. The way once so plain to me has gone dark. I come to you for m
ercy in my time of deepest need.”

  Shaquilath sat back, thinking on this.

  “And what manner of mercy do you seek?” Aretas asked.

  “That in the kindness of your heart, you persuade Saman to return our sons to us. We want no more bloodshed, only peace.”

  For a long while no one spoke. How could a mother such as Shaquilath deny mercy to children?

  “I don’t think you grasp the simple truth, my dear,” the queen finally responded. “Are we not all children? You mention Yeshua, who speaks for the children of Israel. His children are captive to Rome as surely as your own are captive to Saman. Are we to rescue these children of Israel from their oppressors as well?”

  “They are a kingdom, not orphans,” I said. “I beg you. One word from you and Saman would return Talya to me.”

  “Would he? He was within his rights to take your children. Judah attacked him.”

  “Judah was only raising his sword against those who took him captive!”

  “So you see…an eye for an eye. And now Saman has taken one of yours. So then take one of his. But we cannot take his eye for you.”

  Aretas regarded me, sympathetic but one with his wife. “Our agreement with you wasn’t to offer you an army, only our blessing for you to raise your own,” he said. “Each ruler is responsible for her own children. At the right time I will exact a punishment from Herod for his offense against Phasa. That is my responsibility. Your son is not. He’s your own.”

  An eye for an eye. There was no end to judgment for offense. Saba was right. The whole world was already diseased by blindness and now I as well.

  “I am not asking you to take an eye for me,” I said. “Only to ask Saman for mercy on my behalf. Is this too much for a mother to do?”

  “He will see it as weakness,” Aretas said. “Much gold comes to me from Dumah’s trade. The only reason Saman pays our tax is because he knows that to refuse will bring my wrath upon him. He’s a dangerous man with a powerful army. Any sign of weakness and he might lose his head.”

  The balance of fear. This was the power wielded by the threat of an eye for an eye. It had offered a necessary balance for a thousand years.

  And yet Yeshua spoke of a new way.

  “If I may speak for my queen,” Arim said.

  He had eaten all of the food in his reach, surely overtaxing his belly. He was out of his league but too bold to know it. And so he continued without permission.

  “If you are so afraid of this viper called Saman and his vile son called Kahil, then you might be wise to crush their heads. Maviah will rule Dumah in peace. You will not fear her as you do Saman and there is no greater ruler in all of the sands than my queen.”

  Aretas grinned. But I couldn’t fault Arim’s point.

  Shaquilath, on the other hand, could.

  “We do not break our agreements or betray our allies. Without them, power is stripped from even the greatest king.” She turned to me, tapping her nails on the table. “But perhaps we could be persuaded that you are a greater ally than Saman.”

  Renewed hope flowed into my mind. “Anything,” I said. “I am at your mercy.”

  She smiled, daring. “I know how much you like challenges. Saba claims that Yeshua’s way of seeing is the path of greatest power. Saman has given you two months. Stay with me and show me this way of seeing. Convince me that Yeshua’s way is the only way to true power. If you succeed, we will have audience with Saman on your behalf.”

  Dread snuffed out my light.

  How could I show her what I had lost? And more, show her what I had failed to show the sheikhs in the desert? Again I turned to the one I could trust.

  “Saba?”

  His gentle gaze held me.

  “For this we must first go to Yeshua.”

  Yes, of course. What had escaped me only moments before suddenly seemed plain. I would find my sight with Yeshua once more, and this time I would learn to show the way to others. Was this not what it meant to follow him?

  I faced Shaquilath, having taken Saba’s confidence.

  Seeing my agreement, the queen made her final offer.

  “Then go to your sage, this Yeshua. Find your power once again. Return and show me how you defeated Maliku in our arena.”

  She studied me. The king offered no objection.

  “Bring us Yeshua’s power,” Shaquilath said. “If you can, we will save your children.”

  BETHANY

  “He who holds his life dear is destroying it;

  And he who makes his life of no account in this world

  Will keep it to the life of the ages.”

  Yeshua

  Chapter Fourteen

  FILLED WITH urgency and a renewed hope, we remained in Petra only one night, long enough to bathe and resupply for the journey. And to dine on rich foods with Phasa, who begged us to stay a few more days.

  Although neither Saba nor I took the lavish clothing she offered, she insisted we at least take some costly spices and perfumes as well as some silver to aid us if we ran into trouble.

  Arim was less modest. He made a plea for a new headdress and a white tunic brightened with a wide cotton belt the color of pine. He also persuaded Phasa’s servants to give him new leather sandals and a pair of sheepskin boots embellished with golden stones, the latter of which he delightfully stowed away in his saddlebag for special occasions.

  I had not anticipated how much Arim would lighten my heart, for he, like Judah, carried the stars in his eyes and the sun in his heart.

  Leaving Petra the next morning, I was desperate to find Yeshua. I would throw myself at his feet and beg for his salvation in the desert. I would beg him to heal my heart as he’d healed my sight once before. I would weep in submission and drink of the living water that only he could offer.

  And then I would return to Petra, filled with power, and save my son and all of the Bedu who were enslaved.

  We rode long days and far into each night, speaking often, eager to reach the northern shores of Galilee where we’d last encountered Yeshua. In conversing with Saba now, I felt as though I was speaking to Talya’s father as much as to my protector.

  Even more, I became aware of how deep was my friendship with him. For two years he had been my pillar, never yielding, always honoring me over all else, ever my faithful adviser in all matters. Truly, I knew Saba far better than I had known any man.

  Arim, who had never failed to show interest in me as a woman, now seemed to abdicate this role in Saba’s company. Surely he saw in Saba something far more than he could offer me.

  The journey to Capernaum was to be six days, but our journey was cut short near the north shore of the Dead Sea in Perea. There, on the caravan route, we met a Nabataean Jew named Elhizer returning from Jerusalem with his two sons. When Saba inquired of a teacher named Yeshua from Nazareth, the man became still.

  “Yeshua, you say?”

  “Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

  “The worker of wonders?”

  My pulse surged. “You know of him?”

  “It is said that he has raised the dead,” the man said, clearly unnerved. “That he is dangerous.”

  “Only death finds him dangerous,” Saba said. “Where is he?”

  Elhizer eyed him suspiciously. “They say he stays with the one he has resurrected. In the village where the outcasts and lepers tread.”

  “Where is this village?” Saba demanded.

  “Near Jerusalem.”

  “Where?”

  The man looked between us, as if unsure he should divulge this information.

  “Give us a name, man!” Arim interjected, making his presence known. “Are all in Palestine so unhelpful to a queen?”

  I glanced at him. “Please, Arim.”

  “Forgive me, my queen. I speak too quickly.”

  The man looked at me who’d been called queen.

  “Bethany,” he said. “The place of unripe figs and misery. Less than an hour east of Jerusalem, near the mountain of olives
.”

  BETHANY. On the fourth day of our journey we cut due west across the Jordan River and came upon the small village when the sun was still high.

  We drew our camels to a halt on a small rise, overlooking perhaps fifty ramshackle hovels made of mud and straw and nestled at the base of the mountain of olives—a large hill covered in olive groves. Beyond it must lie Jerusalem, sacred city to all Jews, crowned by their great temple.

  I had heard many tales of the majestic city, heavily fortified by Antipas’s father, Herod, who built the lavish palaces and a grand arena for games and gladiators. An hour’s walk from Bethany, Elhizer had said.

  I returned my gaze to what I presumed to be Bethany. From our vantage the town indeed appeared to live up to its namesake. It might have been Nazareth. A few children played on the jagged path through the village. So poor, so insignificant, and yet had not Yeshua always preferred the company of outcasts? Hadn’t he been raised by his mother, Miriam, in a village like this? So then he would be at home among the poorest of the poor. Among the diseased and destitute. Among women and the shamed.

  Among those his religion punished for being unclean.

  Still…If Yeshua was there, among the humble homes, surely crowds would be gathered as they had in Capernaum and Bethsaida. We had journeyed for thirteen days away from my son for an audience with the master. I could not bear the thought of one more.

  “What if Elhizer was wrong?”

  “There can be no doubt but that he deceived us,” Arim said, spitting to the side. “Not even the poorest Bedu could abide in such a place.”

  This was true. Even the poorest Bedu lived on windblown sands, however humble their tent. Only in villages and cities could such poverty appear so entrenched. Arim had likely never seen this kind of living.

  “Elhizer wasn’t wrong,” Saba said quietly.

  “How can you know this?” Arim asked. “A god cannot live in such squalor.”