A.D. 30 Page 9

  Judah looked wounded by my accusation. “But it is!”

  I wanted to say that with him it was never just there unless just meant “very far,” but I didn’t have the energy to explain, so I remained silent.

  “It is just there, Maviah. You will see.”

  It wasn’t just there and so I did not see.

  Saba finally stopped us by a grouping of rocks. These he pulled from the sand to bare their undersides.

  “Lick the dew,” he instructed.

  “Don’t worry, Maviah,” Judah chimed in. “This dirt can’t harm you.”

  Though the dirty moisture we managed to lick off those sandy rocks might have filled only one nutshell, it was enough to stay despair.

  We remounted and struck south again.

  The sun rose over the horizon, promising to bake the flesh from our bones.

  “Close now,” Judah promised, smiling. “There over that one hill awaits our salvation.”

  And this time he was right. The moment we crested the dune, we saw the depression below, dug out over many years by men eager for the waters of life.

  “The stars do not lie,” Judah said.

  Farther north the Nabataeans were known for digging great cisterns and lining them with stone, then keeping these hidden from all but their own people. During the rains the cisterns would fill up, to be used when the less fortunate were dying of thirst. Indeed, these cisterns were rumored to be so large that many Nabataeans took to hiding in them when attacked, leaving the enemy at a loss, for their openings were very small and easily concealed.

  But this wasn’t a Nabataean cistern. It was a well that might be dry.

  Yet the camels knew, and already they were staggering down the slope, roaring.

  “It’s a good sign, Maviah!” Judah cried, bounding behind me. “They smell the water!”

  Saba scanned the horizon for any sign of Bedu. Ironically, there is no greater place of death in the desert than about a well, for all men war to control water. But today there were no Bedu nearby.

  With water so close at hand, my thirst became intolerable. The moment I slid to the sand, I stumbled after Judah, who had reached the well and was peering down.

  A single pole spanned two mounts over the stone lip of the Sidin well. A long rope dipped into the darkness below.

  I knelt beside Judah and looked down, nudged impatiently by both camels. The musky scent that filled my nostrils spoke of moisture. Every bit of my shriveled flesh longed for but one sip.

  Saba pulled up the rope and tied one of our empty skins to its end, then threw it over the pole and began to lower it. For a long time, the rope snaked downward.

  We all listened for the telltale splashing of the skin.

  Deeper. Even deeper. Still no one spoke.

  And then we heard it.

  “Praise be to God!” Judah cried.

  “May it be pure,” Saba muttered.

  He pulled the rope, hand over hand, hauling his draw to the surface. Then out and onto the ground, pushing aside his she-camel, who was nosing for the water.

  Saba dipped his hand into the skin and drew some water into the light. It was the color of red sand, but it was wet, and I wanted to shove my head into that skin.

  Bringing his hand to his lips, Saba took one sip, looked at me with his deep-brown eyes, held the water in his mouth for a moment, then spit it out.

  “It’s spoiled.”

  Unwilling to accept Saba’s conclusion, Judah thrust his hand into the skin and sampled a mouthful.

  He too spit the water out.

  “Bitter.”

  “What do you mean?” I demanded. “It will keep us alive!”

  I reached for the skin, but Judah pushed my hand away. “No, Maviah. This water is poison. You will surely die.”

  Saba turned and offered the water to Wabitu, but with one sniff the she-camel withdrew.

  “Even the camels will refuse this. What a camel refuses to drink, a man cannot.”

  I stared at them, aghast.

  “So, then, we have no water. And there are no other wells close enough to reach.”

  “Yes. This is true.”

  I looked between them.

  “Then we die here?”

  “No.” Judah looked at Saba’s she-camel. “Now our lives are in Wabitu’s udders. We will force her to drink this water. If it does not kill her, she may produce milk. If God wills it, her milk will save us.”

  I wanted to yell at him and demand he tell me the truth. There was no hope left for us, surely he knew this! I no longer wanted his courage, I wanted only water!

  But Saba was already heading toward his camel. So I joined them in deed, if not in hope.

  I had heard of forcing a camel to drink, but never had I witnessed nor been a party to it. Only my own desperation for life allowed me to help Saba and Judah hobble all four of Wabitu’s legs so that she could not rise. After much pulling and thrashing, they managed to pry her mouth open using sticks, so that I could pour the rancid water down her throat.

  In this way we forced Wabitu to drink three skins of water. The other camel stood a long way off, watching and moaning, anticipating similar treatment. But we didn’t need him to drink. We needed milk, which he could not provide.

  If Wabitu did not produce milk, we could slaughter the camels for their blood, but this was barbaric and would leave us on foot deep in the desert, which itself was death.

  We finally released her.

  “How long will we wait?” I asked, watching the she-camel happily run off. She wouldn’t go far because there was nowhere to go.

  “Until the sun is high,” Saba said, eyeing her. “By then she will either be sick or begin to make milk.”

  “Only half a day, Maviah,” Judah said, smiling. Like a child, he could seize hope in even the most desperate of situations. Perhaps only a man who has survived so many battles and so many improbable journeys may have such hope.

  “And how long before she makes enough milk for us?” I asked.

  “Another day,” Saba said.

  “And yet with milk being made, we will have the courage to survive,” Judah said.

  I could only swallow. That swallow mocked me, because my need for fluid cut as deeply as my need to breathe. I would perish beside this bitter well, I thought.

  I should have expected no other end than to die in the desert. Was this not the fate of all? If my father had failed to protect his kingdom with all his great power, what right did I, his illegitimate daughter, have to expect anything other than death?

  The fear that had relentlessly accused me of failure now laughed in my ears.

  “You will see, Maviah,” Judah said kindly. “God will provide a way. He will not allow you to die in the Nafud.”

  I turned away.

  Wabitu had stopped running and was staring back at us, confused and offended. She awkwardly settled to the ground, stretched out her neck, and moaned in pain as the water, like poison, churned in her stomach.

  I glanced at Saba, wondering if he felt as hopeless as I did. But his eyes were not on the camel. Nor Judah. Nor me. They were fixed on the dune behind me, and they were afire with wariness.

  I twisted my head in the direction of his gaze. There on the crest, staring down at us, stood a Bedu. An older boy, less than twenty years and yet a man, for all Bedu become men at a young age. He wore a white kaffiyeh with a red agal.

  “Thamud,” Saba said. His hand was on his dagger already.

  “So.” Judah stared up at the boy. “We have been found.”

  The Bedu spun and vanished from sight.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE APPEARANCE and departure of our enemy had been so sudden that for a moment both Saba and Judah appeared to be at a loss. But only for a moment.

  “He isn’t alone,” Saba said. “Our camels aren’t strong and there’s no cover. We must find high ground on foot.” He started toward the well, where he’d left his bow and sword.

  But Judah had other th
oughts. “No, Saba.” He looked at me, eyes bright. “They will have camels. Don’t you see? They are our means of salvation.”

  “They are Thamud!” Saba snapped, turning back.

  “And even Thamud carry water. I will speak to them.” To me, Judah made himself clear: “Remain here with Saba.” He strode toward the dune.

  “Judah!”

  “Trust me, Maviah!” he cried over his shoulder, then broke into a run. “God smiles on us today.”

  Saba mumbled something and retrieved his weapons.

  “Will he be safe?” I asked, watching Judah scramble up the dune.

  “He is Judah.”

  “What does that mean, he is Judah? Of course he’s Judah!”

  “I have fought by his side many times and would entrust my life to him with all confidence. He thinks more with his heart than his mind, but his sword is true. Judah is as safe as any man might be.”

  This offered me little comfort.

  The moment Judah’s form vanished over the dune, I felt lost and utterly alone in that great dust bowl with its bitter well. Abandoned even. I realized then how dependent I’d become on his presence. I turned to Saba, hoping for reassurance, and I found some. But Saba was not Judah.

  He still wore his cloak from the long night’s journey, and now he stripped it off so his movements might be unencumbered. There was no cover nearby and nothing to prepare, so he crossed to Wabitu and squatted by the camel’s head, stroking her neck, perhaps apologizing for our cruelty.

  His eyes remained fixed on the crest where Judah had vanished.

  “Sit,” Saba said without looking at me. “Breathe.”

  So I did.

  My thirst intensified in the hot silence. Judah was like water to my heart, I thought, and without him my thirst became unbearable. I was but dried bones and my tongue like dust.

  “Are you sure he’s safe?” I asked after too much time seemed to have passed.

  “He is Judah,” Saba said. His tone told me to be silent once again. But I wasn’t listening.

  “How many Thamud, do you think?”

  “I have not seen their tracks.”

  “What if they know about Dumah?”

  He turned, face flat, and for a moment stared at me. He said nothing with his tongue, but his eyes told me his mind. He had no patience for my questions. Not now.

  So I fell silent once again, praying to any god who might hear for Judah’s safe return.

  And then Judah reappeared at the dune’s crest, wearing his customary smile. I sprang to my feet, overcome by relief.

  He waved his arms. “It is good! We’ve found a friend! It is safe!”

  “How many?” Saba called, already on his feet.

  “They are only two. Come!”

  I was already running, stumbling up the slope, and was soon panting with Saba by Judah’s side.

  “How far?”

  “Just over the rise.” Judah led us as one who’d found a great prize. “They are a brother and his sister who came to the well in the night and found it bitter, so they made camp behind the sand.”

  Saba was not ecstatic. “You told them what?”

  “That we are Kalb, yet friend of Saman bin Shariqat, sheikh of all Thamud.”

  “They know nothing of Dumah?”

  “No, I don’t think so. They have water, Maviah. Did I not say we would be saved?”

  “Yes. Yes, you did.”

  “And now we are.”

  “Not yet,” Saba said. “Where there are two, there are more close by.”

  I saw the single small black tent as we crested the next dune. It was hardly a true tent, made of only one ragged cloth stretched over two poles hastily set in the sand. A goat was tied off to a post beside the shelter, and it bleated at us. Nearby two camels stood in the sun, watching us through long lashes.

  The moment the boy saw us, he motioned wildly with his hand. A girl stood in the tent behind him, younger than he, I guessed. The sister quickly adjusted her tattered tunic. They, like most Bedu in the deep sands, were very poor. But they had water, two skins at least, hanging from the tent posts. Nothing mattered to me as much as water.

  “He is Arim,” Judah said. “There will be no problem with them.”

  Indeed, both seemed overjoyed to welcome us into their humble camp. They could not know who we were or what had happened in Dumah, because they greeted us as all Bedu do honored guests and strangers.

  The boy, Arim, was thin with scraggly hair and only a few strands for a beard. He might have been sixteen, but his muscle was filling out and already showed strength.

  “Thank the gods for honoring us with your presence!” he cried, running up to us. He dipped his head. “You are our guests. No harm shall come to you in our tent.” His dark brown eyes, bright as the stars, lingered on me. “I am Arim bin Fasih, great warrior of the Nafud.”

  His sister was only a few paces behind his heels.

  “We are most honored to serve you,” he said.

  Arim turned and issued a stern rebuke to the sister, flinging his arm with bravado. “Masihna! Go prepare the goat for slaughter! Can’t you see we have guests?”

  She smiled at me, unaffected by his show. Then she turned and ran back.

  “Forgive her, my sister is not accustomed to guests.” He swept his arm toward their tent. “Please, you must feast with us.”

  “We will share your water, Arim,” I said. “But you must keep this goat for yourself.” I did not want to eat what was so precious to them, but the moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had overstepped, for I was a woman and I had undermined his honor as the master of this tent.

  For a moment he looked among Judah, Saba, and me, perhaps wondering why a woman was speaking for them. But I was from Egypt before Dumah and though a slave, had been allowed to speak to men in common.

  “Please forgive her, she forgets herself,” Saba said. “We would be most honored to receive food in your tent.”

  But I forgot myself further, so far was I from the constraints of my father’s house.

  “Do you travel alone with your sister?”

  This time the boy took my boldness in stride. “We are traveling to my father’s clan, not a half day’s journey from this well.”

  “And you take this goat for your father?”

  “We were sent to the south to take the goat from my cousin, who has offered it to my father.”

  Saba tried to stop me. “Please…”

  “How long have you traveled?” I asked.

  “We are gone one week.”

  “Then you must deliver this goat to your father, lest he be angry the Kalb have eaten his prize.”

  “It is my goat!” he cried. “I am master of this beast!”

  He was only seeking the greatest honor by serving his prized goat, as was the Bedu way, but I could not see depriving them of what was surely needed by the boy’s elders.

  The sister had already gathered the goat and was readying to cut its throat.

  “You are most honored to have offered this goat,” Judah said, dipping his head. “And we are honored to sit with you and share a meal. We will eat what you serve us, sure that God will smile upon you all of your days.”

  Judah eyed Arim gently and continued in a reassuring tone.

  “We only ask that you keep the goat, and give to us your camels instead. You may restore our health and make your way to your clan.”

  This request threw the boy into a conundrum, obvious now in his eyes. Judah’s tone was bold and the customs for trading complicated, depending on the situation. By offering to take a camel, Judah had given the boy a way to restore any honor lost by not slaughtering his goat, as was his prerogative in his own tent. But a camel was far more valuable.

  “We will pay, of course,” Judah said.

  “You will pay?”

  “Handsomely.”

  Arim stared at Judah as he considered his options.

  “I will not see a guest ride on these haggard beasts,”
he said, referring to his camels. “My clan has many camels close. You must take those.”

  No, I thought. We could not go into a Thamud camp. It was far too dangerous.

  “How many?” Judah asked.

  “Many. The strongest and the fastest in the Nafud.”

  This meant little, for Bedu men are prone to exaggeration.

  “Then take us to your clan and see us on our way with camels. Your father will be most generous to you for this.”

  A knowing smile lit the boy’s face once again. “You are wise among all men.” His eyes rested on me for a moment, surely curious as to my status as a woman who’d been allowed to speak so freely.

  “But we must first drink tea and exchange the news.”

  He turned and strode toward the tent, and seeing that his sister was already cutting the goat, he hurried forward, followed quickly by Judah.

  “No, Masihna! You must not slaughter the goat!”

  She whirled, eyes wide, blade on the goat’s throat. I couldn’t see if it was too late, but I saw clearly what happened next. In his hurry Arim rushed to his sister, grabbed the blade from her hand, and jerked it away. By then Judah was close behind, and as Arim scolded Masihna, his arm swept back and his blade nicked Judah’s arm.

  Startled, the goat bleated and jumped up.

  The boy spun around and, seeing blood seep from the small cut, dropped the knife. For a moment they stood stunned—Judah looking curiously at his arm, Arim aghast, and the shocked sister covering her mouth.

  Among the Bedu, the master of any tent is liable for the harm of any who enters it as a guest. Indeed, the blood price of a guest is twice that of any man killed in battle—twenty camels, among the Kalb.

  Arim threw himself to the ground, hands outstretched on the sand.

  “Before Shams I deliver myself as your servant. Tell me the price of this blood, I beg you!”

  “It is but a scratch,” Judah said.

  “My life is yours to command!” Arim cried. “Allow me to restore honor lest I die a thousand deaths and my bones be scattered in the desert!”

  Judah looked at me, now beside him, and I saw both compassion and delight in his eyes.

  “Then my only command is that you prize your sister as I prize the woman in my own protection,” he said, still looking at me.