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 greater 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.”
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 flummoxed 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.
“Are you well?” I asked.
He hesitated, then made himself plain.
“I am Judah,” he said.
I can’t say why those words struck me to the core as they did, but I could not stop the tears that flooded my eyes.
He was Judah—a towering rock who could hardly think of his own safety, much less fear for it.
He was Judah—eternally bright like the venerated stars in his sky.
But more, he was Judah, who, though a man, saw beyond my shame.
I impulsively reached through the bars, seized his arm, and pulled him as close as possible, my cheek pressed against the iron.
“I was so afraid for you,” I whispered.
I felt his hand grip my tunic. Though the bars separated our flesh, our hearts were one, I thought, and we held each other for a long moment before looking into each other’s eyes.
“I am.”
“Then tell me… what has been decided? You bring me good news?”
“You know that Herod has gone to Rome?”
“Rome? They’ve told me nothing.”
“Nothing?” I said.
“They’ve refused the many requests of a slave to see his queen, no matter how persuasive my words.”
I could imagine him bending their ears with his winsome speeches.
“And Saba?” I glanced down the passage.
“Past the door. They’ve prevented our speaking, but he’s unharmed.”
Phasa’s request seemed as preposterous now as when she’d made it, but I had given my word.
“When you can, tell him I have a message from Phasa.”
“For him?”
“Yes. She wants him to know that he is a stallion in her eyes.”
Judah stared at me, then smiled. “It will be a great gift to him.”
“To Saba?”
“Don’t be fooled by his mask of stone. He is only a child behind it. Now tell me the news of Herod. He’s gone to Rome on your behalf?”
I told him everything, speaking in soft tones that could not reach far. I told about my night with Herod and about my time with Phasa and how we had become like sisters from the desert. In whatever delighted me, Judah would reflect that same joy. Then he offered me a warning, reminding me of the dangers of Aretas and Herod and even Phasa, for he did not know her the way I did.
Each moment I lingered increased the risk of my discovery, but I relished this encounter.
He agreed that Herod’s departure must be taken as a good sign, even if kings were known for their betrayal. There was no better option for us than to wait as Herod’s guests, in strict accordance with his wishes.
“It will be many weeks,” I said. “I cannot possibly go so long without seeing you.”
“Nor I. But you must understand, Maviah… this too will pass. It is what happens after Herod’s return that concerns us most. I would have you safe with Phasa, beyond any threat from the guard. Brutus is a vile man.”
“How can you remain here, caged like an animal?”
“Me? I’ve spent many months in the Nafud until only my bones were left under the scorching sun. I have waged battle with a thousand arrows and blades, many cutting into my flesh. I’ve seen the worst and now the best that this world has to offer.” He opened his palm and indicated the cell. “Do you think a few nights here will harm me? It’s cooled by the earth and my bed is smooth. Herod’s dungeon is my place of peace and rest. He only makes his guest stronger.”
Then he reminded me who he was once again.
“I am Judah.”
“Yes. You are Judah.”
“Son of Israel.”
“Son of Israel.”
Satisfied, he turned from me and stroked his beard, pacing.
“I have only one request of you, Maviah.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“You say that Phasa has an eye for Saba?”
“Clearly.”
“Then perhaps you might convince her to do what you cannot.”
“To do what? Comfort Saba?”
He took one of the bars in his hand and spoke in a very soft voice.
“No. To go to Capernaum. To see Yeshua.”
Yeshua. I had put the mystic from my mind, worried only for Judah.
He continued, speaking quickly in a whisper. “Miriam told me that her son travels sometimes to Judea. He was by the sea in Capernaum when we saw Miriam, but he’s not likely to remain long.”
“You fear that he will leave before Herod returns,” I said.
“Yes.”
I felt oddly irritated in that moment. Surely Judah could find his mystic after we were out of danger.
“You want Phasa to find a way for me to find—”
“Never! Herod has forbidden you to leave. But Phasa might go. On account of Saba.”
“For Saba? Hers is but a passing fantasy! She would never go on his account.”
“You could speak to Phasa. She might be swayed.”
It was absurd. Judah was grasping for his stars. Perhaps I was bothered by the awareness that his obsession with finding his sage consumed him more than our present danger. His fixation on Yeshua seemed to have deepened here in the dungeon.
“Speak to Phasa on this,” he said. “A way might be made, you understand. Perhaps Phasa would want to see Yeshua for herself. Do only this and I would find great comfort here in my cell.”
I had promised Miriam that I would say nothing to Herod’s court of Yeshua. Judah had made the same promise. Still, his imploring eyes drew me.
“And if she agreed, what would Phasa say to this sage?” I asked.
He blinked. “She would tell him about me and my elders who came to him. She would ask him if I could be of any assistance.”
“To join with him in overthrowing Rome? She is Herod’s wife. You ask the impossible.”
“Then she might only see him and report for me. You say she is a friend to Jews and to you… ask her. Or perhaps she knows of another who will go on my behalf.”
It was madness.
Then again, Judah was Bedu. It is said that the greatest Bedu feed on madness, for it makes one strong enough to defeat the greatest enemy in the desert. Or perhaps his time alone in the dungeon had pushed him beyond reason.
“I only ask that you speak to her about—”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Yes, I will speak to Phasa.”
“You will, then?”
“For you, I will find a way.”
I was so taken with Judah’s passion for his king, and he was so engrossed in the prospect of gaining news of him, that neither of us heard the sound from the passage until it was upon us. Only the scrape of a sandal on the floor, but unmistakable.
We turned as one, breath caught.
At first I could not make sense of what my eyes saw. A guard, yes, but not just any guard. My heart crashed into my throat.
For it was Brutus who stood in the passage, face like a stone.