A.D. 33 Page 8

  Judah, who would die for the boy he had unwittingly betrayed.

  Judah, whose hatred I now embraced, even as it blackened my sight.

  I had heard Yeshua’s teaching on enemies. I had seen the storm calmed as he opened my eyes. I had embraced his teaching in the arena at Petra without regard for my own fate. Not once since then had I lifted a blade against any man for any reason.

  And yet now Talya, not I, was in a storm, and it rose to crush his head even as my first son had been crushed.

  Talya, my innocent lamb. Talya, my only son.

  My horizon was dark. I could not see how any light or peace would come without a sword.

  Slowly, I turned to Saba, because I knew my mind was already lost. He had always guided me.

  But Saba did not guide me now. He stared at Judah across the wadi, jaw fixed, muscles taut, knuckles white on the camel’s lead rope. Talya was as much his son as mine. The father in him offered no words of wisdom. His refusal to return my stare emboldened me to do what only I could do.

  I looked down at Fahak, then Habib and Jashim and the other elders—all awaited my word. Judah lowered his sword and sat still, eyes on me.

  Tears seeped from my eyes and trailed down my cheeks. I could not contain the fury raging through my bones, for I had been betrayed and yet would now betray. But I could not contend with these abstractions. I was a mother, and my son was to be slaughtered like the lamb that he was.

  My voice and my intent were clear.

  “Today we will save our sons and our daughters,” I said in a voice that trembled but left no room for doubt.

  I let all restraint in my voice go and lifted my fist for all to see.

  “Today we will crush the serpent’s head with the sword!” I cried.

  My heart sought to tear itself free from my chest and I drew in air, breathless. Still they waited, wanting more.

  “Today we will kill Kahil, or we will die!”

  My last word echoed over their heads, chased by silence.

  Then ten thousand voices erupted as one, joining in a roar that shook the Garden of Peace.

  And Saba did not protest.

  Chapter Ten

  THE MOON was waning in the latest night hours and still we waited, because light wasn’t our friend. We had embraced darkness.

  Our army had quickly armed for speed and agility. Stirred by outrage, those women skilled with weapons had insisted on joining us until the sheikhs finally relented. They added one thousand to our number. A terrible need for justice had consumed us all, and I said nothing to discourage it.

  We struck north—six thousand toward Dumah and three thousand to the high point outside of the walled fortress.

  There would be no victory in a clash between armies, for the Thamud were four to our one. But in the desert, shrewdness was equal to might. Our shrewdness lay in the lethal speed of our counterattack in the face of our enemy’s assumptions.

  The assumption that I would not take up the sword.

  The assumption that we were worn thin by hunger.

  The assumption that we wouldn’t take such a risk for seven children.

  Our plan was simple: in the blackest of night three thousand of our strongest—all men save me—would hit the high point first, where the Thamud would be least fortified even if they did anticipate us.

  The other six thousand would cut off the high point from Dumah, separating Saman and Kahil from aid.

  We did not wear leathers nor carry heavy lances or axes. We wore only black tunics and belts that girded up our dress, and we carried only blades and bows, which were lethal in our hands and silent in the night. The six-hour journey took us ten, as so many of us were on foot.

  The Bedu did not speak. They did not eat. They only rode on a dark surge of bitterness and rage.

  And was I not the same?

  No…Had I not come to the desert as queen to save the children? Is this not what Yeshua himself had sent me to do? Had not Talya sung of Eden? Was the snake’s head not to be crushed under my foot, as Judah said?

  Of us all, only Saba seemed unresolved. His thoughts were surely torn by the teachings of Yeshua. I too felt their distant call, but here in the desert Yeshua’s words seemed to have abandoned me. I had forgotten what had once been so clear, and even knowing that I had forgotten, I couldn’t seem to retrieve it.

  Our course was set.

  Now Saba, Judah, and I sat abreast upon our camels, awaiting the scout who would return in the night with news. Arim sat on Saba’s far side, eager to be seen as one of my protectors.

  A cold wind was in our face, carrying our scent to the depression behind us where the three thousand waited, still mounted and ready. Once couched, a camel protested too loudly when prodded to rise. The roar of so many being mounted at once would travel too far in the still night air.

  Jashim and Habib led the six thousand who now waited east of the high point. A scout had already informed us that they made no contact with the Thamud. All was as we had expected.

  There was nothing to say now. Typically boisterous Bedu chatter always surrendered to perfect silence on the cusp of any raid or battle. Nothing could be allowed to distract intention or focus.

  Though Judah had explained himself to me as we drove north, I could not bring myself to engage him then. There was too much darkness in me. I could only listen.

  But now I felt compelled by compassion to speak. He had suffered more than I and suffered still, suffocated by betrayal.

  “Judah…” I said in a soft voice.

  He hesitated, then responded quietly. “Yes?”

  “Whatever happens now, know that I hold you in the highest esteem.”

  He said nothing, so I faced him.

  “I hold no blame in my heart. What you did…I know of no braver man who lives. I am proud to be by your side.”

  When he finally turned, I saw that his eyes were misted.

  “I would die for you, my queen.”

  “I know. But tonight there will be no dying. Surely God did not bring you this far in vain.”

  “He comes,” Saba said.

  The scout trotted his camel across the shifting sands.

  “A hundred warriors on guard,” he said, pulling his mount around. “Their fires are out.”

  Judah’s jaw flexed. “Then it is time. Tell the others. Remember, quietly until we are upon the camp, then like thunder as we have discussed. You’ve informed our brothers to the east?”

  “Yes.”

  Judah nodded, then studied me.

  “Maviah…We will be on camel. Your skills are on the ground. I beg you—”

  “I go, Judah. He’s my son.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring ahead into the night. Then Judah stood tall in his saddle, twisted back, and held up his fist. Without another word, he prodded his camel forward with Arim close behind.

  “Saba?”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Stay beside me.”

  “Like your shadow,” he said.

  “Do not worry, my queen,” Arim said, twisting in his saddle. “No harm will come to you. Judah is my brother! I will fight for his love.”

  Judah took the point, twenty paces ahead. We gauged our advance by his. He slowed at the crest of each rise, scanned the dunes, then pushed forward. Like a swarm of black locusts, our tightly formed army crept over the sands, encroaching on the unwitting Thamud.

  We made not a sound other than the soft plodding of camel’s feet in the sand and their occasional snort. They too sensed the urgency of their masters and knew to serve us. For half of the hour we proceeded in this way, drawing nearer to the towering pillars of rock.

  Saba grunted. I turned and saw that he was scanning the horizon. He looked at me, eyes white in his dark face.

  “I don’t like it. Stay with me.”

  Judah had crested the last dune and now shoved his fist into the air. Leaning forward and whipping his mount, he plunged over the peak.

&nb
sp; Like a wave the Bedu warriors swept past Saba and me, rushed up the hill, and vanished over the top.

  “Easy, Maviah,” Saba warned. “Let them deliver the first blows!”

  Judah was right. I wasn’t accustomed to combat from the back of any mount. I hesitated and the rest surged past us, but then I could hold back no longer.

  Talya was on the far side of this dune.

  We reached the crest and I was already over when Saba’s sharp warning stopped me.

  “Wait!”

  I pulled my roaring camel to a standstill and stared down the slope. “What is it?”

  Two rows of black Thamud tents hugged the towering boulders at the high point a hundred paces distant. Our warriors now streamed toward the encampment in a show of overwhelming force with swords in hand.

  Then I saw what Saba saw. Truly it was what we did not see.

  The camp appeared to be vacated other than a handful of warriors who were already mounting to flee.

  Judah had already reached the tents and was now on foot, racing into the largest. From the corner of my eye, I saw the retreating Thamud warriors dragged to the ground by a throng of Bedu in full battle cry.

  But my eyes were on Judah and that tent.

  “Hold…” Saba warned again, reaching for my lead rope.

  I could not breathe, for Talya was either in one of these tents or had already been dispatched to Dumah. If the latter, then all hope was surely lost. I begged Judah to emerge holding my son.

  “They come,” Saba grunted.

  They? Who? My eyes followed his to the north.

  At first, I thought I was seeing a black cloud rolling in from the night. But this black cloud was led by tall lances flying red-and-yellow flags. It was formed of both horses and camels, and it was sweeping in like a sandstorm.

  The Thamud army. Thousands. Many thousands.

  “They knew,” Saba said.

  Judah burst from the tent, confused, spinning. By now a cry had erupted from my people, for they too had seen the Thamud rushing toward them.

  “Maviah…”

  I twisted to see more Thamud rushing up the slope behind us. I knew then that the sand would soon be red with our blood. Fear swept through my bones.

  “Follow me!” Saba ordered. “Now!”

  He took his camel down the slope, looking back to see that I was with him.

  “With me, Maviah!” he demanded. “Only with me!” I had never heard such authority in his voice.

  We plunged down the hill into the thick of our warriors as the Thamud swarm swallowed them in brutal conflict.

  Judah had to know that he’d been led into a slaughter. I watched as he threw himself onto his camel and rushed toward us. Using only his knees and heels to maintain his seat on the beast’s back, he swung his sword with both arms and decapitated a Thamud camel with a single blow.

  The beast’s severed head dropped free and the camel stumbled, catapulting its rider toward Judah, who cut the man’s body in half with the back stroke of the same swing.

  “Judah!”

  He spun, already bloodied from head to foot, and I caught sight of his eyes, fired with life as he saw me. But only for a moment, because he sensed the enemy at his back and jerked to his right to avoid a thrusting lance.

  That warrior he took with his dagger. The thrown sidearm slammed into the man’s temple and sent him back over the rump of his mount.

  Without clear thought, I dropped to the earth, sword in hand, screaming. I stepped up under a Thamud camel and took the leg off a warrior bearing down on me.

  My mind was on Judah. I had to reach Judah. We had to find Talya!

  “Maviah!” Saba’s gruff cry came from behind and I heard his blade thudding into flesh.

  “Judah!”

  I ran, surrounded by beasts and blades and blood. Two more fell under my sword as I sliced through them. But I had lost sight of him.

  “Judah!”

  And then a hand grabbed the nape of my tunic and plucked me from the ground. I twisted, intent on bringing my blade to bear, but Saba caught my wrist.

  “Not now.”

  He swung me onto his mount’s rump, fended off a spear, and cut through the sea of carnage.

  “Judah—”

  “Judah is a warrior!” he roared. “He is no good without a queen. Stay close and low!”

  I clung to his strong body with both arms, pressing my head between his shoulder blades.

  I dared not look now, for the bloodshed was too much for me. My mind was lost on Talya, and yet the price being paid for him was more than I could bear. Saba took me from that battle. How, I can hardly imagine.

  Only when Saba pulled the beast up on a rise did I turn to see the battleground. Hundreds lay slain. Many more were crying out in pain, and those who could were scattering over the dunes into the night. Of the three thousand, at least half would not see the sun rise.

  “My queen!”

  I turned to see Arim rushing up to us on his camel.

  “We have been slain!” He pulled up hard. “The Thamud have—”

  “Have you seen Judah?” I demanded.

  “Judah…Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “They have taken him.” Arim’s eyes skittered to Saba, then back. “I tried to save him, surely I did, but the Thamud are like mad jinn this night. I swept in—”

  “Who took him? Where?” I was beside myself with fear.

  He pointed haphazardly. “Into the night.”

  “Where?” Saba demanded. “You point to the sky!”

  “There, to the north,” Arim said.

  Saba studied the night, then Arim. “Can you still serve your queen?”

  “But of course. Would I not die for—”

  “Then take her to the oasis. If you must, strike deep into the sands—”

  “No,” I said, dismounting from Saba’s beast. “I have need of your camel, Arim. Find another for yourself and go to the oasis alone.” He dismounted. “Tell Fahak to take the Bedu deep into the desert. To the Shangal valley. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  Saba started to protest but I cut him short.

  “You are to remain hidden at the Garden of Peace to send any who return from the battle. Yes?”

  I gave Arim my weapons and took his beast.

  “Yes. I will do as you say. Then I will return—”

  “After one day, you will go to the Shangal and wait for me.”

  “Where will you go?”

  I faced Dumah, less than an hour away.

  “I go to my son.”

  Chapter Eleven

  DUMAH. The ornament of the desert. All caravans from the east and south laden with frankincense and spices and treasured silks and wares of great value traveled through the city on their way to Petra, Palestine, and Rome—caravans of a thousand camels each, heavily taxed for passage.

  The sprawling oasis fed a fertile landscape rich with date palms and fruit-bearing trees. Here the nomadic Bedu had settled in lavish homes, violating tradition. True Bedu did not establish roots in a city, for a city could be made one’s prison if conquered.

  High atop the city stood the palace Marid, jewel of Dumah, where I had once lived in service to my father. And beneath the palace lurked the dungeons that had held Judah in darkness for two years.

  The very dungeons in which Talya was now imprisoned.

  Morning light cast a red hue over the white and gray homes as Saba and I approached. My frantic heart had given way to a plodding rhythm that matched my camel’s steps.

  I was drained of life. Devoid of hope. Cast into the sea and drowning. I had forgotten the Way of Yeshua, and now life had forgotten me. Not because I had lifted the sword against my enemy, but because I could not remember how to have faith in the midst of the storm.

  I intended to throw myself at Saman’s feet, seeking his mercy. He, rather than Yeshua, would become my savior, would he not? I was slave to Saman even as Judah was slave to the Law of
Moses. So then, we were all slaves to the systems of the world, rather than free in Yeshua’s realm of heaven on earth.

  The city was just rising as we drew near. Dogs barked, smoke drifted from chimneys, camels were still couched on the sands.

  “They know we come,” Saba said.

  “Then they know.”

  He withdrew the sword from his scabbard and dropped it on the sand. Then two daggers from his waist. Blades could not serve us now.

  “We come as guests,” Saba said.

  “Slaves,” I said. And it was true.

  “We are blind, Maviah. We have lost our way.”

  I let his statement stand for a moment. My failure was too great for me to bear. Indeed, seated there upon the camel, a small part of me hated the Way of Yeshua as I had understood it.

  Perhaps I had misunderstood him.

  “Then we must find it again, Saba,” I finally said.

  Two guards loitered by the front gate as we approached, neither taking much notice of our haggard forms. We had both replaced the white dress we typically wore for black tunics and pants. Our sandals were dusty from travel, and dirt had dried with the sweat on our faces. Saba wore no headdress to cover his bald head. I’d pulled a dark blue shawl over my hair.

  They saw only two common Bedu.

  But I was surely wrong. They had been watching us, knowing full well that Maviah, queen of the outcasts, and Saba, her tower of strength, came to beg for mercy.

  When they pulled the gate wide without challenging us, I was certain.

  Within the walls of Dumah, warriors stood on either side of a hard-packed path. Hundreds of them, spaced out by a sword’s length, stretching deep into the city, leaving no question as to where we must go.

  They were tall, dressed in black from head to foot, wearing well-worn leather armor, and headdresses tightly bound with red-and-yellow agals. All bore lances planted in the ground and polished daggers in their red sashes.

  I had entered Herod’s courts in shame, a hypocrite on a stage, playing my part as queen. I had marched into Petra’s arena with my head tall and there became a real queen. For two years I had gathered the orphans and the outcasts, promising great power through peace in the Way of Yeshua.