CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
OUR SAIL south to Tiberias took only an hour, for the wind was blowing steadily. Elias was his boisterous self, bragging of his catch the night before and inquiring about our visit. But none of us was of the mood to offer the fisherman more than simple words with little meaning, and he soon quieted with the rest of us.
Phasa remained stoic though smothered by fear, I believe, for Yeshua’s knowledge of her identity, along with his warning, haunted her still.
Saba had used strong words in persuading Judah to leave Capernaum, mind ever fixed on our mission.
And Judah had surely left part of his heart on the Sea of Galilee’s north shore, with his new master, for he appeared like a water bladder deflated until we had reacquired our camels and set off once again for Sepphoris.
Only when we had covered half the distance to Sepphoris did Judah open his heart to me.
“Maviah…”
I looked over at him upon his camel.
“Now you see, yes? Now there can be no doubt. He is the Anointed One.”
I was not looking for a messiah as in the Jewish tradition, but my heart had been taken captive.
“I see that there is none like him.”
“And none ever to be.”
“His followers,” I said. “They will be like him. Even greater, he said. How is this possible?”
His eyes were bright. “Those who follow will know. My destiny is now set. I must return.”
As would I some day, I thought. “You heard what he spoke to me.”
“And to all of us,” he said, lips curled in wonder.
I lifted my voice. “And you, Saba. You heard. What do you make of it?”
Saba’s camel made several strides before the man responded in his thoughtful way.
“Fear is the devil, always, and throws one into darkness. To accept is the best way—this is the teaching of all the sages.” He paused, then offered his verdict. “He is the greatest man I have seen.” And then, after a breath, “Perhaps he is more than a man.”
High praise from the stoic black warrior who’d traveled farther than any other I knew.
“And this power he speaks of?” I asked, my mind on the wonder that had overcome me at his mere glance.
Saba stared ahead at the horizon.
“It is beyond this world.”
“How might one find it?”
“In following,” he said.
“Yes, but how does one follow?”
But Saba had no answer, for we all understood that this was yet the mystery.
“I must join him,” Judah said, swaying with his camel’s slow gait. “I cannot wait, you understand. Herod will be another month in Rome, perhaps two. I cannot waste away in the palace while Yeshua gathers his disciples. I must return immediately and then come back to you when Herod arrives.”
He was going to leave me? Though held safe in the embrace of courage, I felt stung.
He would leave me now? So soon? Then what was I to him?
I nearly said so much, but then the worlds of Yeshua came to me and I held my tongue. I was to accept my path. Did this not mean I must allow Judah to follow his path as well?
Saba, however, did not accept.
“Return now? This would be a fool’s turn.”
“How can you say?” Judah challenged. “Was it not Yeshua himself who said we must follow?”
“Your duty is first to Rami and the Kalb, to whom you gave your word. There is trouble yet—this he said as well.”
“Only while we wait, Saba. Did you not hear him speak to me? Seek first the kingdom and all else will be added. Am I a fool to seek that kingdom first? It was for this I was born, I tell you. I am from among the Bedu who followed the stars to find this king. I must do the same. And when he calls for it, I will offer my sword.”
“Your sword?” Saba said. “He speaks of peace.”
“I was also told by his own disciples that he claims he did not come to bring peace, but the sword, even to divide.”
“Then perhaps they misunderstand,” I said.
“There is nothing to misunderstand,” Judah said.
His way seemed set and it didn’t seem to include me. I had made it possible for Judah to see Yeshua as a means of returning the affection he’d shown me. And now he would leave me for his greater passion.
Once again I felt the fear of being abandoned, as I had been abandoned my whole life.
“You must not jeopardize our mission, Judah,” Saba said quietly. “If you think with your heart, then remember that Maviah also is in your heart.”
“I would never allow any harm to come to Maviah!” Judah cried. “Please, Maviah, you must hear me in this.”
“Are you not in my service first?” I challenged.
He hesitated. “Yes, of course.” Then he turned his gaze ahead. “I will return for you and together we will follow Yeshua. You will see.”
“No, Judah. I must return to Dumah. This is the task before me.”
He remained silent. My heart softened for him, because I knew that he could not abandon Yeshua any more than he could be separated from himself. Or from me. But had he not dreamed of Yeshua longer? I had only just become his charge.
“I will never abandon you, Maviah,” he said. “God forbid.”
“You are right, Judah. Go to Yeshua while you can. Seek the council of your brothers. Saba will keep me safe.”
I said it, but my heart ached with his rejection, and I think he knew it because he could not respond.
We rode in silence, strangely deflated after our powerful encounter with the master. I could only set my mind on what I knew to be my course. I was to put aside any fear of failing to restore honor to the Kalb and to myself. Fear was my greatest enemy.
I remembered the power that had passed up my arm upon Yeshua’s touch, and I released all my self-pity, setting my shoulders squarely to the west. Surely his lingering presence gave me the courage to be who I was.
And was I not a queen?
The sun was hugging the western sky when we finally approached Sepphoris and made our way to the palace. Phasa began to come into her own with the high walls in sight, and when we entered the gates to the acropolis she laughed with delight.
“What I will do for a hot bath tonight. It is good to be home, is it not, Maviah? You must admit, the ways of the countryside are harsh. Tonight we will dine and drink.”
“We will, Phasa.” I offered my best smile. She had been born into the house of the Nabataean king, Aretas, then traded in marriage to Herod. Did she not deserve her bath and wine?
Phasa cared not that the guard saw us returning. We were home safe, this was what mattered to her. And when she saw Malcheus waiting at the steps that led up to the palace, she hurried her camel to greet him.
“Well, Malcheus, what did I say to you? We have returned without harm. Call the servants to my quarters at once. We would bathe and dine.”
But Malcheus did not appear relieved.
“Of course, my lady. As you say. But you should know that the queen, Maviah, has a guest.”
“A guest?” Phasa slid from her camel, which Saba had couched. “So late? What kind of guest?”
“He will not give his name. I only know that he is from among the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem.”
“The Sanhedrin? What can those scoundrels want with us?”
“Only Maviah. Alone, he said. He waits in Herod’s court.”
“Impossible!” Judah said. “Maviah will take no guests.”
Phasa looked at me. “Whom do you know from Jerusalem?”
“No one. It must be a mistake.”
“Saba, what say you to this?”
But it was Judah who pushed forward to my side. “She has many enemies in the desert. I absolutely forbid this. It is not safe. I will go.”
“He’s from the Sanhedrin, not the desert,” Phasa said. To Malcheus: “He’s a Jew?”
“There can be no doubt. There is no danger in a teacher of Law.”
“And he specifically asked for Maviah?”
“Specifically.”
“Then play your part as queen, Maviah. See to your guest. I must have a bath drawn. Saba, you will join me in my chambers. Judah, call the servants for food.”
“She cannot go alone!” Judah insisted. “She is my charge.”
“No, Judah,” Phasa said. “Your charge is now this sage. Did I not hear correctly?”
I could see that her words cut him, but she spoke before he could protest.
“Malcheus, take Maviah.” Her tone left no room for argument.
“I will wait for you, Maviah,” Judah said. “I will wait—”
“Judah!” Phasa glared at him. “Now.”
He was not pleased, but he followed her command, for he was in her court.
Malcheus led me to the same court in which I’d first met Herod. There, staring out the window with his back to me, stood a religious leader in dress I had not yet seen. A long white robe and blue mantle with many tassels draped his form in priestly fashion.
Play the queen, Phasa had said.
“Who comes to meet the queen of Dumah at such an hour?”
He turned and I saw then that it was the teacher I already knew. This was Nicodemus, who had left Capernaum for Jerusalem only this very morning. He had come to Sepphoris first.
But why?
“I would speak to you alone,” Nicodemus said.
“As you say.” Malcheus left us and closed the doors.
“Forgive me,” Nicodemus said. “It was the best way to bring you the news I have. I cannot be accused of speaking to Herod’s wife.”
“You could not have told me in Capernaum?”
“I did not know of your connection to her until late. I think you will understand. Trust me, I come as a friend.”
I might have felt discomfort, alone with a religious teacher in his regalia. Instead I felt at ease, as if I had known him for a very long time. We shared Yeshua in common.
“Why do you not speak to Judah?”
“It must be this way.”
“Yeshua sent you?”
The teacher of the Law did not respond.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
Nicodemus came closer, glancing at the doors. “I know that you are from the desert. I know that you are close to Phasaelis, daughter of King Aretas of the Nabataeans, and that she will listen to you. I cannot speak directly to her—there are too many complications in these matters. Neither can Joanna, for her life would be in jeopardy from Herod.”
“Joanna?”
“The wife of Herod’s chief steward, Chuza. You did not know? Joanna is friend to Yeshua and provides for his needs. She can be trusted.”
Joanna—a friend to Yeshua who was married to a man in Herod’s courts. His steward no less!
“Are there others here whom I might trust?”
Nicodemus considered the matter. “Stephen, son of Gamil. My nephew. He too is from Sepphoris and follows Yeshua. I know no one else here who follows. But Stephen is wise beyond his years and is one to trust.”
“And what message do you have for Phasa?”
“For you,” he said. “I say this only to you. What you say is your concern, not mine, you understand.”
“Then what do you have to say to me?”
He glanced once more at the doors and spoke quickly.
“It has come to my attention that Herod intends to marry Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, tetrarch of the north.”
My discussion with the love-sick Herod flew through my mind. “Marry her?”
“Yes. He was with her in Rome six months past and is with her now, along the sea.”
“That’s impossible. Herod has gone to Rome.”
“No, I’m afraid not. He’s with his brother’s wife, Herodias. And he would return in three days’ time to make a way for his marriage to her. For this he must rid himself of Phasaelis, you understand? Herodias would never stand for a second wife.”
My mind spun with the revelation.
“You’re certain Herod isn’t in Rome? How can you know this?”
“I’m certain. We may be oppressed but we are not without our means.”
My heart rose into my throat. Herod had no intention of delivering my cause to Rome. He never had.
“This is all I can say, for anything more would be speculation,” he said. “But you surely know, as Herod does, that to divorce Phasaelis would be tantamount to declaring war on Aretas.”
The blood had left my head. I had been played for a fool. All was lost! Any semblance of courage I had fell away, and I felt a great fear swelling in my breast.
“So he will kill her?” I said. “This is less of an offense than divorce?”
“Where Rome is involved, yes, and Herod is Rome’s puppet. Arranging Phasa’s inconvenient death would earn Herod less trouble than casting Aretas’s daughter aside in divorce.”
Nicodemus must have seen the pallor of death on my face, for he softened his voice and spoke deliberately.
“But I’ve said too much already. Remember the words Yeshua spoke to you, Maviah. You will know what to do. Save Herod’s wife. Take your path. Do not hear the voices of fear that would push you into even deeper darkness. This is Yeshua’s way.”
And with that, Nicodemus, perhaps fearing that he had overstayed his time alone with a woman, stepped around me, walked to the doors, and left without another word.
I cannot fully express what consternation poured over me when the import of the Pharisee’s message fully set into my mind. Where I had been riding with such courage and purpose only an hour before, I felt crushed there in Herod’s courts.
But I could not run to Judah for comfort. Nor advice. Not yet. I had to consider why Nicodemus had come to me and not Judah or Saba. Yet who was I to restore honor to the Kalb and avenge my son’s death? Who was I to save Phasa or Judah or Saba or myself?
I hurried to the chest in which I’d seen Herod place the dagger of Varus upon our arrival. Not once had I thought to check to see if he’d taken it, assuming he had.
Dropping to one knee, I opened the chest. There it lay, among golden goblets and ornate bowls. Anger rushed through me. He’d never had any intention of taking it.
I quickly withdrew the dagger and stood. Herod had betrayed me. My mission had been no more than a fool’s errand. I paced, dagger tight in my fist, washed with indignation.
You are the light of the world.
The thought came unbidden and I blinked.
Do not be afraid.
I turned to the window and stared at the distant horizon, which ran with ribbons of red from the setting sun.
There between breaths a new thought entered my mind and instilled an even deeper fear.
It wasn’t true that the dagger had gained me nothing. It had led to my alliance with Phasa. And Herod would rid himself of Phasa, because to divorce her would unnecessarily inflame Aretas. Herod would surely have her overcome by an accident. He didn’t fear Aretas’s wrath the way Rami had when Nasha died, because Herod had Rome at his back. After Phasa’s death, he would marry Herodias. It was what Nicodemus had meant.
And if Herod intended to kill Phasa, I too was in grave danger, because I was allied with her and could voice my suspicions should any harm come to her.
So, then, Herod would kill us all.
Do not allow fear to bind you up, dear one. You will only lose what you already have.
Surely I now understood his teaching in a way that perfectly applied to me.
I thought about my son being dashed upon the rocks.
I thought about weeping on Miriam’s shoulder.
I thought about the trust my father had placed in me.
I thought about Yeshua, who had found me.
Fear gripped my heart, and yet slowly, like moonlight reaching across dark waters, a path came into view. And then I knew that I must follow this path no matter what fear threatened my way.
“THIS IS MADNESS!” Phasa hissed, pacing in her outer chamber, which was now lit by the flames of four lanterns. With only one hearing of what I knew, she agreed that I spoke the truth.
Indeed, she directed her initial rage at herself for not suspecting Herod’s devious plotting sooner. Had he not carried that distant look of desire in his eyes ever since his return from Rome six months earlier? Had he not made the thinnest excuse for such a hasty return to Rome? Had he not refused to touch her for the better part of a year?
When I told her the extent of my intention to solicit Rome’s help to overthrow the Thamud in Dumah, she seemed unconcerned, despite her father’s support of those same Thamud. These were matters of state.
Phasa was overcome instead by the betrayal of her heart.
I carried my head high, for I did not want her to see the depth of my fear, but even as I watched Phasa rage, my fingers trembled. Judah and Saba stood to the side, having expressed their outrage at Herod’s betrayal in short order.
“What that wench has to offer him that I don’t is impossible to imagine! Does he realize for a moment the kind of terror he brings upon his own head? My father will storm Sepphoris and crush him!”
“No, Phasa, you don’t hear—”
“Divorce me! For that witch? And what of her husband, Philip? But no… Philip is a coward and will quickly hand Herodias to him along with that contemptuous daughter of hers, Salome. What does Herod see in that woman?”
“Only desire, I’m sure, Phasa, but you must listen—”
“I should have known! How blind of me! While I play the fool in his palace, he lies by the sea in the arms of a whore.” She shook a finger in the air. “Don’t think the religious leaders won’t cry out over this one, not for a moment.”
“They will object?” I asked.
“She is his brother’s wife! Yes, this will cause an outrage! He’s so sick in his head as to heap this trouble on top of my father’s rage! He’s lost his mind, I tell you!”
“Phasa—”
“Let him divorce me! I despise this cursed land anyway! I have wasted my life languishing here as his pawn for far too long. I cannot—”
“Phasa!”
Cut short, she spun to me. “What?”
“You must listen to me carefully,” I said. “It only stands to reason that Herod has no intention of divorcing you. The danger to him would be far too great. Rome might withdraw its support.”
“I don’t understand. You said he would marry Herodias.”
“I told you what was said. He means to be rid of you.” I approached her, lowering my voice. “By what means, I don’t know, but if you were to fall ill and die, his trouble would be far less.”
I watched the blood drain from her face, for she knew her husband well.
“A man as obsessed as Herod will stop at nothing,” I said. “Does his blood not run with treachery?”
“You’re saying he intends to kill me—”
“Would you risk thinking otherwise? If you die then Herod, after a show of great sorrow, will be free to marry Herodias. And if she is the woman you say, would she not encourage such a plot?”
Phasa paced again, staring at the floor, hands clenched to fists.
“You’re right. You’re right!”
“You must be very careful,” Saba said. “These are words that make wars.”
“Yes,” Judah said. “If Aretas’s daughter were to die, God forbid such a thought, Rome would protect Herod from Aretas’s rage. But if Herod throws his daughter aside in divorce—for this Aretas would wage war, and Rome might not come to Herod’s defense. Maviah is right.”
“Even if I am wrong,” I said, “there is now only one course you might take, Phasa.”
She looked up at me, nearly frantic. “To flee.”
“To flee now, before Herod returns. Once safe with your father, you will force his hand. He will have no option but to divorce you if he wishes to marry Herodias. She will insist. This is what Yeshua spoke over you in Capernaum. You must flee, Phasa.”
She stared at the window as her predicament settled about her. “I must. And fleeing will not be so easy.”
“No. But with us, there is a way.”
I looked at Judah and continued with assurance.
“We will take you to Petra on the safest route. Judah and Saba cannot fail you.”
“Petra?” Judah had gone still. “To Aretas, enemy of the Kalb? Impossible!”
“Do we have any better choice?” I snapped, bothered by my own fear. I took a breath to settle myself. “Our mission with Herod is crushed. If he intends to kill Phasa, then he will likely put all of us to death. Tell me this isn’t so.”
“It is,” Phasa said. “You stand to betray him.”
Saba exchanged a glance with Judah. “And Aretas will favor us? He backs the Thamud, who crushed Rami. To go to Aretas is to invite more death. Better to go to Rome with the dagger ourselves.”
“Rome?” Phasa said. “Herod has Rome’s ear. They will crucify you before they would give you audience.”
“Rome is too great a risk without an advocate,” I said, watching Phasa. “But Aretas will hear me. Phasa will ensure our safety in exchange for her own.”
She did not hesitate. “Yes. Of course I will. You will take me to Herod’s fortress, Machaerus, in Perea, only a stone’s throw from the border with Nabataea. Once we cross, we will be safe. Take me away from this cursed palace and I will be your advocate.”
“And what will you tell Aretas?” Saba demanded. “You will beg for mercy?”
“Phasa and I will decide,” I said. “You will only deliver me to Petra as charged by Rami.”
“My charge was to bring you to Herod,” he said.
“And Herod would have our heads,” I snapped. “I say now, Petra.”
My strong tone gave him pause. I had to be strong or else capitulate to my own worry.
“She says Petra,” Judah said.
“Yes, Saba,” Phasa agreed. “She says Petra.”
But Saba was loyal to Rami.
“Herod will know that you have betrayed him,” he said. “Rami cannot afford to have an enemy in both Aretas and Herod, who speaks for Rome. It is treacherous ground you tread.”
I crossed my arms and walked to the window, then spoke, looking out at the night.
“True. Which is why we must be forced by Phasa, under her demands for our obedience.”
I turned back to them.
“Phasa, you will leave a letter for Malcheus, explaining that you have discovered Herod’s intention to marry Herodias.”
“Malcheus will never stand with me now!”
“It won’t matter. We will be too far gone by the time he sees the letter. I ask only that you claim to have taken me by force to ensure my slaves’ aid in your escape. Ten of your most loyal warriors are no match for Judah and Saba.”
They stared as one, uncertain.
“He will accept this. Don’t you see? Even Malcheus knows that neither Judah nor Saba would threaten the life of Aretas’s daughter. This you will explain in the letter.”
“This was your thinking?” Saba said.
“Tell me it is flawed.”
He could not.
“It is brilliant,” Phasa said, eyes now fierce. “To see the look on that oaf’s face when he learns…” She headed toward her inner chambers. “Saba, come! We must leave immediately.”
“Leave by way of your chambers?”
Phasa spun back and shoved a finger toward her door. “My entire life is in that chamber! That beast can have his palace but I will not leave without my jewelry.”
She turned back, cloak swirling, and marched into her chambers. “Come, Saba!”
Saba. The black stallion so accustomed to freedom and respect in the deepest sands, now caged by Phasa.
“Go with her, Saba,” I said.
With one last glance at Judah, he dutifully followed, then stopped and regarded me.
“Aretas is no fool. Herod is but a child next to him. You court a dangerous storm.”
“And you, Saba, will keep me safe!”
He hesitated, offered a shallow bow and walked into Phasa’s chamber, leaving me alone with Judah.
I had spoken with far more courage than I could feel, and the strength was gone from me. But what I had started, I had to see through.
For a moment neither of us spoke. And yet, by the forlorn frown upon his face, I already knew that Judah was courting remorse.
“Maviah…”
“It is well, Judah.”
He rushed up to me and fell to one knee, grasping my hand.
“Forgive me, my queen. My place is with you. I lost my mind in thinking that I would leave you for Yeshua.”
“No, Judah, there’s nothing to forgive. Please, don’t kneel before me.” If he only knew the depths of my worry.
“I long for what my elders have spoken of all my life. But I can’t possibly leave you. I will be your lion to Petra and beyond, I swear it by the sun and the moon.”
“There’s no need to swear.”
He rose to his feet, soft eyes swimming. “Forgive me, Maviah. Forgive this Jew who—”
I impulsively leaned forward and kissed him on his lips, cutting him short. I did it more for my comfort than his and I knew that he could feel the tremble in me as I pressed close to him.
I knew what a sacrifice he was making, abandoning his great obsession for an unknown future. But in truth, I could not bear the thought of continuing without him at my side.
I would be lost without Judah.
“It is I who thank you,” I said, pulling back. “Never leave me, Judah.”
“Never.”
“Stay with me always.”
“Always.”
“Swear it.”
“There is no need to—”
“Swear it!”
His eyes were bright. “I swear by the heavens and the stars and the moon and the sun… I will stay by you always.”
“Thank you, Judah.” I swallowed a knot that had formed in my throat. “Thank you. We will find Yeshua again when the time comes.”
“Together,” he said. “And soon.”
But Judah was no prophet.