CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHAT EVENTS had conspired to me pluck me from the heavens and thrust me into the deepest abyss? Perhaps I had been seen after all, and a report made to Brutus. Perhaps he had never left the palace, or had returned by chance. Perhaps my plotting with Phasa had been overheard.
Any explanation for how Brutus came to be standing in the dungeons would do nothing to remove him.
“Judah?” My voice came in a trembling whisper.
“Say nothing.”
No, for there was nothing to be said. Except by Brutus.
“So.” His low voice sent dread through my bones. “The whore from the desert seeks misery.”
Two guards approached from behind him, one of whom held a torch.
A nightmare unfolded before me, too quickly and too slowly at once. And as in a dream, I was powerless to alter events.
Even if I had been able to influence Brutus, he was beyond the place for words.
Calmly withdrawing a knife from his side, he walked up to me, grabbed my hair, and pulled me against him, blade at my neck.
Judah gripped the bars and his knuckles turned white. “She is under the protection of Herod!”
Brutus ignored the warning. “Restrain the slave.”
The guard with the torch set it in the wall and approached the cell, keys in hand.
“If you resist, I will cut her,” Brutus said.
With those words we both knew what Brutus intended. Judah looked into my eyes, offering me strength. But I knew then that it was he, not I, who would need it.
My vision blurred. “Judah…” The blade pressed against my neck.
“Do not resist him, Maviah,” Judah said. “He cannot hurt you.” The warrior in him hid any panic he might have felt. “Remember who I am.”
He was Judah. Judah who would now suffer on my behalf.
Brutus, breath heavy and thick with the scent of drink, said nothing as his men unlocked the cage and with swords drawn forced Judah to the far wall.
“Remember, Maviah!”
But I found no courage in the thought that Judah could withstand great suffering for his queen.
I guessed that Judah could have easily overpowered both guards, for he was a warrior unequaled and by appearance alone much stronger than either. Instead he turned willingly and lifted his hands to the posts jutting from the wall. With leather thongs they strapped one wrist to each post, then stepped back.
Torchlight danced over scars from old battles on Judah’s bare back.
“Make sure he bleeds,” Brutus said.
The guard closest to me took a whip from his belt, stood back, and laid the leather strap across Judah’s back, grunting with the exertion.
The crack of whip on muscled skin echoed through the chamber and I winced.
Judah did not. He might have been made of stone.
The guard drew his arm back and struck again, then again. The first two lashes drew welts. The third cut Judah’s flesh outright.
Still he showed no sign of pain.
I closed my eyes and stilled my breathing as Judah’s tormentor beat him without mercy. An eerie silence enveloped me but for the breath of Brutus in my ear, the grunting of the guard with each blow, and the crack of the whip.
I did not count them, but the guard laid the whip across his back at least twenty times before Brutus stopped him.
Perhaps if he’d taken less drink that night, the terror would have ended with the last blow. Perhaps if Judah had cried out, Brutus’s thirst for blood would have been satisfied. But neither was the case.
“Now the whore,” Brutus said.
I opened my eyes, not sure I’d heard correctly. Judah was sagging, his back a bloody mess. The guards were staring at Brutus, unsure.
“Tie her to the bars.”
“Sir—”
“Do you question me?” I flinched at the voice that thundered in my ear.
“No, sir.”
Judah slowly straightened, but he did not speak.
The guards feared Brutus as much as they feared the king, surely. Judah was restrained, and I was without the means to defend myself. Nothing could stop Herod’s beast.
“Strap her up and bare her back,” Brutus said.
Judah remained silent, but I could see his flesh trembling as he stood. Fear washed over me.
Brutus shoved me toward his men, who grabbed me by the arms, spun me around, and shoved me against the cell door. They lifted my arms and began to tie me to the iron bars as ordered by Brutus.
I could see Judah to my right, chest heaving, facing the wall. He knew that any objection would only gain both of us more suffering. He was powerless to save me.
I realized that to resist in any way, even in my heart, would only offer me more pain. In this way too, Judah and I would share our lives. We would both leave Galilee with scarred backs. This was now our fate to accept.
A strange calm settled over me.
“Judah…” I whispered.
His resolve broke then, as if my faint call had beckoned a jinn deep within him. One moment Judah stood still, strapped in silence to the wall inside the cell, and in the next he was twisting, baring all his strength, voicing his outrage with a thunderous roar.
The leather restraints did not pull free; they simply snapped. Both of them, as if made of thread. And then Judah was in the air, mouth stretched wide, eyes on fire with hatred.
It was his ferocity more than his boldness or strength that took my breath away. For in that moment, Judah was not the man I knew. He’d been transformed into a warrior the likes of which I had never seen, not even watching Johnin fight for his life as a gladiator in Egypt.
I was restrained already, with my back to Brutus and his guards, so I saw only the first blow of Judah’s fist as it slammed into the side of the guard’s face like a hammer. The unmistakable crack of breaking bone cut off the man’s surprised cry.
And then I saw nothing except the bars before me.
But I heard. I heard the raging grunts of men fighting off death. I heard the heavy landing of fist on bone and the distinctive sound of a blade piercing a body. The slapping of flesh on a stone floor.
And then I heard only the heavy breathing of one man.
I twisted to see Judah standing over three dead Roman guards, staring down at his handiwork, stunned. The blade in his right fist dripped with blood.
“Judah?”
He straightened and looked up at me, as if only now remembering where he was.
Judah rushed to me and sliced the blade through my restraints, freeing me in the space of two breaths. I would have thrown my arms around him but for the blood on his chest and the painful welts upon his back.
“I’ve killed Brutus,” he said, looking at the still body. A gash in the chief’s neck continued to bleed. I could summon no remorse for the beast.
“You have.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
Indeed. He had been acting only from his heart, I thought.
“What have I done?”
“You have saved your queen,” I said.
Judah hesitated, then dipped his head. “Then it was my honor.”
I knew then that I would always love Judah. He was the savior not only of my heart, but of my body. His eyes lingered on my face, and slowly his full senses returned. The brutal warrior in him retreated into the shadows as the more gentle part of him emerged.
“We must free Saba,” he finally said.
“And tell Phasa.”
“You are sure?”
“Perfectly.”
PHASA PACED before us, glancing first at Saba, then at Judah, with equal parts awe and interest. To say that she was worried would be to lie outright. Although she’d feigned great concern over what Herod might think of such a dramatic turn of events, she could not hide her awareness of her own good fortune.
Brutus, her enemy, was dead.
We’d quickly freed Saba from his cell beyond the door using the guard’s keys. Saba had stared at Judah’s carnage without asking for an explanation, having heard enough. It had taken us only a few minutes to make our way unseen back up to Herod’s court and, from there, to Phasa’s chambers.
She’d expressed shock at the appearance of both Saba and Judah, then insisted we clean Judah’s back and apply salve. Only when he was properly treated did she stand before us for a full accounting.
“Now tell me,” she said, crossing her arms. “Whom did you kill?”
I told her what had happened, precisely as it had. And when I finally explained that Brutus and two of his guards were now locked in the dungeons, robbed of life, a thin smile slowly replaced her initial shock.
“So, then… it appears that the gods have finally come out of hiding.”
“I see no gods,” Saba said. “Only trouble.”
Phasa walked up to him with a twinkle in her eye. “Sometimes even trouble can bring the most pleasant surprises, my stallion,” she said, tracing his bare chest with her finger.
I had not yet told her that Saba knew nothing of her message.
“Do you think you can trust me? Can you lay that wild man at my feet and give me charge?”
He glanced at me, taken off guard.
“I ask you, not your queen,” Phasa said. “If I bite, it is only for your own pleasure as well, I can assure you.”
This wasn’t the way of the Bedu, and though Saba was well traveled, I doubted he had experienced the sensuous ways of royal Nabataeans like Phasa.
“If I must,” he said.
“But do you want to? If I could promise you the world, would you let me bend your ear?”
His eyes flitted to Judah.
“Not him either,” she said. “It is I who speak.”
“Yes,” he finally said.
“Good. It’s a beginning.”
Phasa stepped away from him and faced us all.
“Maviah, I know, will trust me. What about you, Judah? Will you?”
I suspected that he too had been taken aback by Phasa’s brazen words, but he was quick to respond. “Yes.”
“Good. Then wait for me in my bedchamber.” She faced Saba. “Both of you.”
She turned her back and swept toward the outer door, gliding in her long gown as though on a cloud. “Your queen will remain here with me until I call for you. Make no sound.”
“Go,” I whispered to Saba, who in particular still appeared unsure.
They went without another word.
Phasa pushed wide the heavy door that sealed her outer chamber. “Esther, my dear, please fetch Malcheus. Tell him that I must see him immediately on a matter of life and death.”
“Yes, mistress.” I heard her feet pattering away in a hurry.
When Phasa turned she was smiling. “That will get him here quickly.”
And so it was that Malcheus, who was second only to Brutus among the palace guard, presented himself within minutes at Phasa’s door. He wore the dark armor of Jews in service to the Roman order.
He stared between us, curious. “You called, my queen.”
“I did. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
She took his arm and led him in, which made him appear awkward, for this wasn’t the way of a queen with her guard.
Phasa released him. “You know that I’ve always liked you, Malcheus.”
He said nothing.
“And you know that I have always seen the Jewish people as unfairly oppressed, even though I am the beneficiary of their oppression. Is this not true?”
Malcheus looked at me, even more confused now, for he was on quicksand, serving both Jews and Romans.
“Speak freely, Maviah is from Arabia and can be trusted.”
“I can’t say that I was aware of your thoughts on this matter.”
“No, of course not. I am merely the wife of Herod, whom you serve first. And yet, Herod knows my heart. And now you do as well, for your ears alone.”
He offered a curt nod.
“And you also know that there is no room for error in executing Herod’s orders.”
“I do.”
“None at all.”
“None,” he agreed.
“Good. Then you should know that Brutus has betrayed my husband’s orders and placed himself in the most dreadful condition.”
“Brutus?” His attention, though fully present before, was now acute.
“Yes, Brutus.” Phasa swept to her left, regal and bold. “That beast of a man has defiled his charge in the most egregious manner. Tell me, what was Herod’s charge regarding the queen Maviah?”
“That she be forbidden from leaving the palace.”
“Only this?”
“I would add only that in accepting her as queen from the desert, explicit in his order was that she be treated as a queen in his palace.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And what of her slaves?”
“That they be held in the dungeons.”
“Did Herod, on any occasion, forbid the queen from seeing her slaves?”
Malcheus answered with caution. “I believe this was an order from Brutus.”
“Brutus. The vilest of creatures who believes in nothing but his own self-importance and miserable existence, which he lords over all who cross his path.”
She let the bitter indictment settle.
“And what would you say if you were to learn that this vile creature defiled Herod’s will by ordering Maviah—my sister at heart, from the noble Kalb, who are like brothers to my father, King Aretas—to be whipped?”
Malcheus surely knew that he was being led but could see no way to shift Phasa from her course.
“I would say he has misjudged.”
“You put it with too much grace, but it will have to do. If you had been present, I have no doubt that you would have stopped Brutus from such a heinous act against his king. Not doing so would only implicate your own conspiracy with that monster. Surely.”
His nod was slow to come and only half-assured.
“No need to fear, dear Malcheus. Fortunately for you, another man stepped in to stop Brutus while his arm was still drawn with whip in hand. But Brutus’s aggression against Herod’s guest cannot be ignored.”
Again, Malcheus’s response was slow.
“The one who stopped Brutus must be kept safe until my husband’s return so that Herod can make the appropriate accounting.”
“Yes,” Malcheus said. Then his concern got the better of him. “But, as you know, this may present a challenge for Brutus. If I understand correctly, the queen wasn’t whipped. Is Brutus truly at fault?”
“This is for Herod to decide, not you,” Phasa snapped. “And yet we all know that Brutus is at fault. Why else would he now be dead?”
“Dead?” The second in command paled.
“Dead. Killed by Judah, Maviah’s slave, after Brutus whipped him and then turned that same whip on my sister. Dead in the dungeon as we speak. Don’t look so shocked.” Phasa stepped up to him. “On my word, this is the day of your own deliverance.”
“I must know what happened!”
Phasa quickly explained the order of occurrences, meticulously laying blame at the feet of Brutus. As she spoke, Malcheus relaxed, seeing his opportunity in Brutus’s death.
Aretas’s blood flowed in Phasa’s veins, I saw, for she was as shrewd as any king.
“So you see, Malcheus… Judah did only what one most loyal to Herod would have done. And he cannot be faulted for being a Jew even as you are a Jew. And now you, as ranking officer, must assume charge of the palace guard until Herod can express his will. Under my hand, naturally. Do you not agree?”
He offered no further hesitancy. “I see no other way.”
Phasa paced. “Good. Then you will also understand why Judah and the other slave, Saba, must be my guests and will remain under my protection. I will not suffer the retaliation of any Roman guard loyal to Brutus.”
“Yes, of course. I shall place two of my own men at their cells immediately. They will not be touched.”
“You mistake me, Malcheus. Your dungeons failed the king once. Saba and Judah will remain in my chambers, as I see fit.” She arched her brow, inviting him to challenge her. “Or would you rather I tell Herod that it was your gross misjudgment on the hour of your own watch that led to his favorite guard’s death?”
My heart leaped within my breast. I could have kissed Phasa’s feet.
“I see,” Malcheus said after a few moments.
“You will leave them in my charge, to be done with as I see fit. They are no longer your concern.”
“They must at least remain—”
“They will remain where I see fit. If I choose to walk naked through the streets with them, it is none of your concern. Do you understand?”
He finally wiped his hands, one against the other, disowning any further responsibility. “Then they are on your head.”
“Precisely.” Phasa walked up to him and brushed his bearded cheek with her thumb. “Don’t worry, my dear Malcheus. As I said, I like you. I’m sure you will do nothing to dampen my affections in such a dangerous time.”
She turned and called for Judah and Saba, who appeared from her chambers, eyes fixed upon Malcheus.
“I am happy to inform you that Malcheus has risen in station to chief of the palace guard. He has insisted that both of you should be placed under my charge, as I alone see fit, because his dungeons have failed to protect you.” She turned back to Malcheus. “One Jew to the other, swear that neither you, Malcheus, nor you, Judah, will undermine my will in this.”
They showed agreement by the dip of their heads.
“Swear it,” Phasa said.
Judah reaffirmed his agreement. “I swear by the God of our fathers that I will not undermine your will in this.”
“I swear the same.”
“Thank you, Malcheus. I will speak only the best of you to Herod. You may leave us now.”
He hesitated, then left us.
I could scarcely contain the joy in my heart. The moment his form vanished from our sight, I hurried to Phasa, lowered myself to one knee, and kissed her hand.
“Thank you.”
Then I threw my arms around her body and held her close.
“Thank you, thank you.”
She laughed, delighted, hand on my head. “Thank your slave, dear Maviah. It is he who has shown himself to be a lion. Go to your slave. I will go to mine.”
By this she surely meant Saba, but I knew that Saba would not be enslaved to her so easily. Even so, my mind wasn’t on Phasa’s plotting.
I rushed to Judah, already knowing how I would repay him. I kissed him on his cheek and then tenderly held his face in my hands.
“We will go to your king, Judah,” I whispered. “I swear it. I will find a way for you to see Yeshua.”