A.D. 30 Read online

  And who was I to blame him? His obligations to Rome and Nabataea, and, indeed, to his own heritage, had imprisoned him. I knew something about such obligations. Herod might well be a monster, but one I then pitied.

  “Then starve yourself of love no longer. I would think Phasa is as much a prisoner to this marriage as you.”

  Herod settled, undone now by the baring of his true heart.

  “During my years in Rome, I learned to see a woman in ways most among my people do not,” he said. “Too many rabbis, indeed the whole of the Jew, now embrace the teachings of Ben Sirach. He claims that a woman, indeed a daughter, is nothing more than a constant source of shame.”

  He knew that Rami had sent me into slavery, so he knew that he was pulling at my heart. My mind returned to my conversation with Judah and Saba about how women were treated in Palestine.

  “ ‘Do not sit down with women,’ he writes. ‘A woman’s spite is preferable to a woman’s kindness, for women give rise to shame and reproach.’ ”

  Herod took a deep breath.

  “But there was once a king named Solomon whose heart I share.” He looked at me with cheerless eyes. “Phasa is a good woman, Maviah. I wish her no harm.”

  “No. No, of course you don’t.”

  “But I feel nothing for her.”

  Herod lay back on the cushions and rested the back of his hand over his eyes, reduced to sorrow. I thought of my father, a ruler without his tongue, and here Herod, a ruler without the woman he longed for.

  So, then, what good was it to be king if what you craved, either power or love, was out of reach?

  Still, Herod was slipping away and had not yet agreed to take me to Rome. So I rose and sat beside him, stroking his hair with my fingers. In that moment I felt like a mother to him. But one with her own mind.

  “Listen to me, my lord. You must not send me to Petra.”

  A tear slipped past his temple. I had not envisioned such an outpouring of emotion from such a powerful man.

  Unless, I thought, he was hiding something else.

  But I dismissed the notion. I leaned over him and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

  “You must not send me to my death,” I whispered. “It will only cause you more suffering.”

  He let out a long breath. “Yes. You’re right.”

  “Instead, you will take me to Rome with you.”

  Herod lay still.

  “You must, out of obligation to the emperor.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not possible.”

  Although I could not understand why it was impossible, his tone made any objection hopeless. So I let the request go.

  “Then take my offer to Rome for me,” I said.

  “Of course.” He relaxed further and lowered his hand, eyes still closed. “Yes, I will,” he breathed.

  Was there more to be said? I saw that I had few choices in the matter but to trust him. I had won at least this much through persuasion, hadn’t I?

  “Lie down with me, Maviah,” he said. “Comfort me.”

  Strangely, I did not find his request objectionable, for he was being gentle with me and was not forcing himself. But there wasn’t room on the couch, so I leaned over and lay my head on his heaving chest.

  There I heard Herod’s heart beating in all its terrible sorrow. His hand settled on my head and stroked my hair for a few minutes, but he encouraged nothing more.

  Finally his hand stilled and he began to snore softly.

  When I was sure that he was in deep sleep, I eased from his chest and, unsure of what to do, walked to the door.

  When I opened it, two posted guards faced me. One of them looked over my shoulder, saw Herod’s chest rising and falling on the couch, and motioned me back.

  “You will remain here.”

  “Phasa—”

  “Use his bed.”

  With that, he motioned me back again and closed the door. So I walked to the door that led into Herod’s chambers with its large bed dressed in silk and stuffed cushions. Just one oil lamp lit the room. Then, disrobing but for the simple white tunic, I lay down and closed my eyes.

  I had prevailed. Judah would be proud. My father, even.

  We would have to wait, yes, but tomorrow Herod would leave and I would once again be with Judah. It was enough.

  Heavy with wine, I fell asleep on Herod’s bed and dreamed of Judah.

  The sun was already bright when I woke, and for a moment I was surprised to find myself on a soft bed rather than on the sand, as I had slept for so many nights. Only then did the events of the day before return to me. I glanced about the room.

  The first thing I saw was the guard Brutus posted by the door, watching me with a satisfied glint in his eyes. I saw no sign of Herod. Or Phasa.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Where he is meant to be. To Rome.”

  I sat up, surprised he had not awakened me before leaving.

  “Where is Phasa?”

  “In her chambers,” he said. “Where she should be.”

  I threw the sheets from my body, intending to rush from the room.

  “Such an eager one.” He offered me a twisted grin.

  “I must go to Phasa,” I said, setting my feet on the marble floor and rising, holding my dress closed at my throat.

  “You’re mistaken. You will remain here.”

  “Here? For what purpose? For how long?”

  “Until the witch comes for you.”

  Here was the disdain Phasa had mentioned.

  “You call your queen a witch? I am her guest!”

  “Then let her fetch her guest. Until then you will remain.” He smiled. “You wish, instead, to contest me?”

  I saw that Brutus could not be bent, for he despised both Phasa and me.

  “Then bring Judah to me,” I said.

  “Judah?”

  “My slave. The Jew, Judah.”

  “Of course. Your slaves. They will remain in the cells until Herod’s return.”

  The blood drained from my face.

  “What can you mean? Don’t be absurd! I wish to see my slaves at once!”

  “Now the witch’s guest orders me to betray Herod’s orders? Are all queens from the desert so unwise?”

  “Why would he order this? Judah is my slave, not Herod’s!”

  “Because he knows you care for him.”

  Judah was being kept in the dungeon to ensure my loyalty.

  “You will not leave before Herod returns.”

  With that he turned his back to me, left the room, and shut the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FOR TWO WEEKS I lived in Herod’s castle, separated from Judah and Saba, lost in a sea of uncertainty, never able to dismiss the whispers of fear that chased my every thought. I was no less imprisoned than Judah. We were all at the mercy of Herod and his guards, and the thought of waiting so long for his return from Rome only increased my unease.

  The moment Phasa learned I was awake that morning of Herod’s departure, she had swept in to collect me, joyous as a bird on the banks of the Nile. Her husband was gone and she could fly. But her high spirits in the days that followed could not put the wind beneath my wings.

  I told myself that I was in Galilee only to avenge my son’s death and bring salvation to the Kalb, not to be with Judah. But I failed to convince my heart to join my mind in this matter.

  In much the same way that Herod seemed enslaved by his need for love, I was caged in that palace and my heart was captive to Judah more than to my greater purpose.

  Who was this man who’d swallowed my heart? I had known Judah only for a few weeks, and passion was not a sign of strength among women in the desert. Perhaps I had bonded with him only because I’d lost my child and needed comfort. Perhaps I sought in such a strong man a new father to replace the one who’d rejected me. But I thought neither of these possibilities pointed to the greater truth.

  For in great
er truth I was a woman so thirsty for companionship that she could no longer keep her mind fully fixed on the journey ahead.

  Was this not true of all? Of Herod and Phasa and me? Did not we all long for what we could not have? So, then… I pitied us all.

  It was Brutus who had ordered my separation from Judah in Herod’s absence. Phasa told me this. Herod had only insisted that I remain in the palace and that Judah and Saba be kept in their cells. There was no reason except spite that Brutus would prohibit either Phasa or me from visiting the dungeons. My bitterness toward Herod’s guard grew.

  The daughter of Aretas smothered me with kindness and lavish comforts, insisting that I sleep in her chambers and bathe in her bath, attended by her servants. I put on my bravest face, relishing her comfort as much as I could, for I would not allow my heavy heart to unseat her from her perch.

  So I spent my time listening to her speak of Petra, which she missed terribly, and of Galilee, which she tolerated, and of the Jews, whom we both agreed had always been an enslaved people—whether under the Egyptians or the Babylonians or Rome, always in the chains of a troubled god who demanded bloodshed in exchange for cleanliness. The Jews, it seemed to me, followed this god out of fear that he would smite his children with the rod of disease, death, and punishment.

  Truly, the whole world was enslaved by belief in troubled gods.

  Phasa, like me, had little use for religion.

  We spoke of the theater and her favorite hypocrites, whose antics sent her sprawling across her bed in fits of laughter as she mimicked them. And of her beautiful jewelry, any single piece of which was worth more than all of Nazareth might gather in a year. And of her servants, whom she loved, I thought. And of Sepphoris, which we both often gazed upon from the high tower.

  From our protected perch, the political troubles spoken of by Judah and Miriam were difficult to fathom. There were many slaves at work about the grounds, and poor begging on the distant streets, but the world was full of slaves and poor, was it not? And by Phasa’s own accounting, Herod was a decent king, unlike his father, who had butchered thousands of his own people to protect his throne.

  It was also clear to me that Phasa hated her husband no more than he hated her—she only felt enslaved by him and, indeed, by Aretas, who’d sent her to Galilee for his own gain. In this way, too, Phasa and I were like sisters.

  We ate more food than I had known to exist and took more baths than we possibly needed and applied more fragrances than I thought was healthy for the flesh.

  During all this, Judah and Saba were captive in dark dungeons beneath the ground. A Bedu might prefer death. I could not find peace.

  And so, on the fifteenth day, I conspired to take whatever risk necessary to see that they were alive and safe.

  “Phasa… may we speak alone?” I said, stepping into her chamber that late afternoon.

  She waved her hand at Esther. “Give us a moment, Esther.”

  “Yes, mistress.” The young servant who was like a shadow to Phasa dipped her head and left the room, easing the door shut.

  “What is it, dear?”

  “Only a question.”

  I had considered my approach all through the day.

  “Why does a queen have slaves?” I asked.

  “To serve her, of course.” She paused, studying me curiously. “You would like your own in my chambers? Surely you know that my slaves are yours.”

  “Is a queen not obligated to her slaves, so that they might serve her?”

  “But of course.”

  “She must see to it that they are well cared for.”

  “Even more,” she said, “to be sure they want for nothing. I have always said, Maviah, treat a slave like a queen and she will love you like one. Did I tell you about Esther’s mother?”

  She had and I didn’t wish to hear again the story of how the woman had died of illness, leaving Esther like a daughter to Phasa. So I ignored the question.

  “And if a queen wished to fulfill this obligation here, in this palace, knowing that her slaves were in the dungeon, how would she go about it?”

  Phasa stared at me. She knew what was on my mind, naturally, and that I aimed to protect her from crossing any line that might later be questioned by Herod.

  A knowing smile lit her face and she crossed her arms, pacing now.

  “It would be very dangerous, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Because here there is a dog named Brutus who hates the queen and has made it his business to keep her in misery.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the queen must find a way to her slave while Malcheus, who is a Jew of good heart, takes charge. A time when Brutus is gone from the palace, drowning his own misery and guilt in drink.”

  My heartbeat quickened, for Phasa hadn’t rejected the idea outright.

  “And when might this be?” I asked.

  “After the twelfth hour, naturally. When it is dark.” Phasa lifted a finger. “She would not go as queen, however.”

  “No?”

  “No. As a servant. In the event she is seen by the wrong party. She would enter the tunnels through Herod’s court and slip unseen to the dungeon on the east side.” Phasa eyed me with one brow arched. “But she could not enter the cell. This would require the theft of a key and constitute a breach of Herod’s will.”

  “No, of course not. She would only see that her slaves are well.”

  “Herod cannot be crossed,” she said.

  “No, never. It would be madness.”

  “Madness.”

  Truly, I could not jeopardize Herod’s trust in me by defying his will, any more than Phasa could.

  Matter settled, Phasa continued.

  “After the twelfth hour, if the queen were to be caught entering the dungeons dressed as a servant, she would be turned over to Malcheus, who serves me as well as Herod. I would find a way to protect her.”

  Phasa’s eyes sparkled and I decided then that I would do precisely this. So I asked her to tell me the way in the event the queen would see her slave. She only too willingly plotted with me.

  It was as much a game to her as it was a matter of life and death to me, but when the hour approached and she helped me dress in the simple white tunic and blue mantle worn by her servants, she grew somber.

  “You really mean to do this, Maviah.”

  “Would you not?”

  She took me by the arm.

  “I will call the servants to my chambers so none will see you going to Herod’s court. Remember, down the stairs and through the underground passage. I cannot tell you the danger if Brutus or any loyal to him were to find out.”

  “I understand.”

  “Danger for Judah,” she said. “Not only you.”

  The thought had not occurred to me.

  “The guards there don’t know you, and the way through Herod’s passage should be clear, but swear to me that if you see anyone, anyone at all, you will turn back.”

  “I will. I swear it.”

  She gave me her most earnest stare, then smiled.

  “It is a scandal, isn’t it? Sneaking right past the nose of that beast.”

  By now I was unnerved, thinking how Judah might be punished if I were caught.

  “This is no game, Phasa.”

  “No, which makes it that much more terrifying. Wait here a minute while I call the servants, then use the back passage to Herod’s court as we discussed.”

  She walked toward the door, but stopped and turned back.

  “Maviah?”

  “Yes?”

  “You will pass my good will to the black one?”

  “Saba?”

  “Yes, to Saba. Tell him that the queen finds him… I don’t know… how would you say it to such a man?”

  “You ask me?”

  “Tell him the queen finds him powerful.” She started to turn but thought better of it. “No, magnificent. Tell him the queen finds him exotic.”

  I was flummo
xed by this, for I wasn’t risking so much to indulge her fantasies. “Well, which is it? Magnificent or exotic?”

  “Like a stallion,” she said. “That’s it. Tell him the queen sees him as a stallion. Can you do that for me, my dear?”

  What was I to say? But Phasa was of the Nabataeans, who were extravagant in all matters.

  “If I can. Yes.”

  Phasa smiled and swept from the room with the grace of an eagle.

  I followed Phasa’s instructions with great caution. I went to the same room in which I’d first met Herod, then slipped through a side door that led me down a flight of stairs hewn into the rock. I used an oil lamp to guide my way, careful to keep it from going out, stepping lightly in bare feet.

  The passage beneath the palace led me directly to a large cavern. I could hear two guards talking out of sight to my right. But Phasa had told me to go left, so I hurried to that passage, holding my tunic close so that it caused no sound.

  It was here that I found the main tunnel lined with smaller cells and barred iron doors. At the end of the tunnel, another door. And in the last windowless cell before that door I found a man seated on the rough ground, leaning back against the rock wall. There were wooden stakes embedded in the surface above his head, made to strap up prisoners for punishment, I assumed.

  Even in the darkness, I recognized Judah immediately.

  His face was covered in dust and he was naked except for a dirty loincloth girded up around his thighs. He looked to have been starved, but his was a body bound in muscle and accustomed to harsh living, and he would not be easily weakened.

  He stared at me, momentarily at a loss.

  “Judah?”

  He blinked, unbelieving. My face was in the shadow, so I slid my mantle from my head.

  “It’s me. Maviah.”

  He came off the ground like a lion and rushed to the bars. His wide eyes skirted the cavern beyond me.

  “I came alone,” I said.

  He snatched a finger to his lips and peered down the passage again. “They know you are here?” he whispered.

  “Only Phasa.”

  “But not Brutus?”

  “No. I… I had to see you, Judah.” I was unsure whether to feel relief at the sight of him or rage that such a noble Bedu was caged like a dog.