CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JUDAH. MY mind was possessed with images of Judah. He, the lion, reduced to a sagging lump of flesh, chained by the same monster who had thrown my infant son from the window.
Judah, who had rescued me from my misery and brought his stars into my eyes. Judah, who’d held me tenderly and kissed me with abandon. Who had cut down Brutus before the beast could lay a hand on me. Who could walk through the Nafud and weather any storm, who could surely lead a thousand men into war and remain standing, who could shrug off the wounds upon his back and laugh at his torment so long as I was safe.
Judah, who had obsessed after his Galilean mystic as a Bedu boy might obsess after his first victory in battle. Who had followed me to Petra rather than follow his own destiny at the feet of that mystic, Yeshua.
Judah, whom I had sentenced to death.
And more, I had sentenced myself to death. Which meant there was no hope for Judah or me or the Kalb. I knew as much three days after Kahil blinded me, because my eyesight was still fogged and showed no sign of improvement.
The Nabataean physicians had cast their spells over me in Petra, beckoning their gods to heal, and they’d applied their salves to my eyes, but their chanting only quickened my hatred for all gods, and their ointments only increased the sting.
Still, the greatest pain lived in my heart, for it was enslaved to bitterness and dread. I could not rid myself of these, no matter how firmly I set my intention. My failure to rise above darkness made the pain worse, for it made a mockery of this blind queen in rags who came from a pathetic tribe of dogs deep in the barren desert.
After three days in Petra, we set out for Palestine, and I wore my dread like a cloak. Try as I might, I could not find hope. Day by day my fear grew, like a monster that could not be chased into hiding.
It became too much. I stopped Saba on a tall hill overlooking Palestine, overcome with unrelenting fear. It was then that I told him we could not go to Herod.
He said nothing. I could not tell if he agreed with me or hated me.
Tears flooded my eyes and there upon the camel I wept like a child. I was blind. It was too much! I could not overcome my fear. I would be thrown out because of my fear—I knew this as I knew my breath. Hadn’t Yeshua said as much in his parable of the harsh taskmaster?
Wasn’t I destined to be crushed?
I faced Saba with unbending resolve, tears still streaming from my pale eyes.
“We must find Yeshua.”
“We go to Herod,” he said, unsure.
“No. We have to find Yeshua first.”
“We don’t have time to—”
“Then I will go to him alone.”
He considered my desperation for only a few moments before speaking.
There was no more discussion. We would find Yeshua, who had spoken to me of my fear. Then we would go to Herod.
But my fear did not abate. With each passing mile it seemed to press deeper into my bones. I was going back into the jackal’s lair, I thought. This time I would not emerge.
Six days after leaving Petra, my camel padded over the rocky ground two lengths behind Saba’s, close to Sepphoris. We were weary from so many days in the hot sun, pushed by Saba’s driven pace, for Saba was always of singular purpose. It was clear that he served not one, but three now: Rami as before, but also his queen, Maviah, and his brother, Judah.
The weight of the tallest mountain was upon my shoulders, but Saba bore it as well.
There was Rami, there was Judah, there was Saba, there was I. The fate of the desert awaited us four.
But there was more.
There was Yeshua.
The sun was slipping down the western sky to our left as we rode—night would be upon us in a few hours. Only at my hands and feet was my flesh exposed. Like a mummy resurrected from an Egyptian tomb, I was wrapped in a woolen cloak from shoulders to ankles. My head was hidden beneath a mantle and sheer scarf that covered my eyes.
Yet even without the veil, my vision was clouded so that the whole world seemed to be made of jinn and fog. I could see well enough by day to make out Saba’s blurry form, well enough to function with careful estimation, but hardly more.
Saba led me faithfully, surely aware of the depths of my misery, but he allowed me to abide without offering advice.
Nine days of torment, and now Sepphoris was near.
Entering a sandy wash, he slowed his pace until I was beside him. For a while we matched stride, and finally he spoke, voice soft.
“I would tell you a teaching I once heard in the East,” he said. “With your permission.”
“A teaching, Saba. This is unlike you.” We plodded on. “As you will.”
“There is a woman on a path, wandering aimlessly. But a beast leaps from the rocks and she runs for her life, terrified. Sure to die, she reaches a cliff and leaps off to snatch a vine. Now out of the beast’s reach she hangs, momentarily grateful. But looking down she sees at the bottom another beast waiting to devour her. Now she is trapped.”
He was talking of me, I thought. Naturally.
“And above her the woman sees two mice chewing on this vine, one white and one black. Clinging to this vine she trembles, fearing for her life, for soon the mice will eat through the vine. Is not her fate sealed?”
“So it seems.”
He took a deep breath.
“Only then does she close her eyes and calm her mind. And when she opens them, she sees strawberries on the cliff. Thus she picks one of the strawberries and eats it. And how sweet is that berry.”
He stopped, as if finished.
“This is your teaching?”
“Not mine. Only one I once heard at a fire. Whenever I am in battle this teaching speaks to me.”
I considered the tale and understood parts but not the whole.
“So, then, tell me what it means,” I said.
“The beasts are all that we believe threatens us. There is no way to stop troubles from coming in this life. The mice, one white, one black, are day and night, the passing of our days. Neither can this be stopped. And yet, if one can calm the mind, take her eyes off the beasts, and release her fear, she might see what is before her.”
“And how sweet they are.” He paused. “It is similar to the teaching of Yeshua and the harsh taskmaster, yes?”
Yeshua also had spoken of being able to see the light. But hearing Saba say it, I was seeing only darkness. There were no strawberries and there was no light. I was bound by fear of the beasts all about me.
“There is a beast in Dumah, far behind us,” Saba said. “And one in Herod, ahead. Only by releasing your fear can you partake of what good stands before you.”
“And if the woman on the vine is blind? What then, Saba?”
“Is blindness of the eyes or the heart?”
Anger welled up in my breast and I turned to him.
“Look at me, Saba,” I snapped.
His head turned and I lifted the veil from my eyes.
“Tell me, are my eyes clear? Are these the eyes that Herod once saw?”
“It is not—”
“Answer me! What do you see? Are my eyes clear?”
He didn’t speak, so I let the veil fall and faced the wash ahead of us.
“I cannot see, Saba.” A great weight smothered me and I struggled to maintain my composure. “I’ve done everything the world has asked of me and now I find myself blind to it.”
“This will pass,” he said.
“So you said nine days ago.” I was disgusted with myself for having so little strength. Was not the whole world faced with suffering? I had to shed my own self-pity before it swallowed me entirely, but I was powerless to do so.
Stinging tears came to my eyes.
“Forgive me.”
“It is a difficult thing asked of you, Maviah. I spoke too quickly with this teaching.”
“No.” I exhaled slowly and gathered myself. “No, I am grateful for you. Please… forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said.
Always the rock, I thought. Judah the lion, Saba the pillar.
“I’m afraid for Judah. Even if we succeed…” My emotions choked me.
“When we succeed, we will return to Dumah and crush the Thamud.”
Saba seemed to have adopted Judah’s optimism. But I could not believe in any such future.
“I’m afraid, Saba.”
He brought his camel to a halt and faced me.
“Then the mystic will give you courage,” he said.
Yeshua.
We’d decided that Saba would go into Sepphoris and find the woman named Joanna—the disciple of Yeshua who was married to Herod’s chief steward, Chuza. Nicodemus, who was pure in heart, had told me I could trust her, and so I would.
Joanna would know Herod’s state of affairs. Nearly four months had passed since I last saw the king, and much had changed. She would tell us how to make an entrance to his courts. More importantly, as a follower of the mystic, she could tell us where to find Yeshua, who traveled often.
“We will make camp here,” Saba said. “Sepphoris is only two miles.”
So, then… the time had arrived.
“It is still your wish that I go alone?” he asked.
“It’s the only way. Don’t worry about me. I can fend for myself for a day. We are far off the road, are we not?”
“Then I will be safe.”
“I will gather wood,” he said.
“No, Saba. Go while there’s still light. If you cannot find Joanna then find the other one, Stephen, son of Gamil. Trust no one else.”
“I understand.”
“If you find Joanna, I must know all she can tell you about this woman, Herodias. I need to know when she is with Herod and what influence she has in matters of state. I also need to know if Herod is bullheaded or cautious. I need to know what his court believes in regard to Phasa’s flight. I need to know—”
“Yes, Maviah. I remember all that we spoke about.”
But I was still anxious.
“Everything?”
“I know even what we have not discussed.”
I nodded. “You will try to return by morning?”
“No later than one day, even if I fail.”
“Don’t fail.”
“No.”
“Good.”
We sat for a few moments, he reluctant to leave his charge, I with nothing more to say.
“Then I go,” he finally said.
I nodded. “I’ll be here. Don’t lose your way.”
He didn’t bother responding, for it was an absurdity.
“Be safe, my queen.”
Queen. The word stung me.
He tapped his camel’s neck with his riding stick. The beast protested with a soft grunt but obediently plodded forward.
“And Saba?”
He twisted back in the saddle. “Yes, Maviah…?”
“Remember to keep your head covered, it’s far too distinguishable.”
My vision was too clouded to see if he smiled, but I heard mirth in his voice.
“You must not worry, Maviah. Walking among the enemy is like drinking milk for me.”
Who could instruct a Bedu warrior in matters of raiding?
“Milk is white,” I said. “You are the color of pitch. Please be careful.”
“Of course.” And then he left me alone in the wash.
I stared at the hill over which Saba had vanished, feeling strangely comforted by his assurance. Was there any other man as dependable as the black tower from the east? Only Judah, I thought. If anyone could succeed, it was Saba.
My only task now was to wait.
And so I did. First on my camel for a long while, then in gathering wood for a fire as the camel grazed on bushes nearby. I prepared a simple meal of figs and bread baked in the sand, as Judah had shown me, and I drank milk Saba had collected that morning, for I was too worn to pull at the she-camel’s udders.
Finally, when darkness hid the world and there was nothing more to be done, I lay on my bedroll near my camel and listened to her chewing her cud. Alone in the night, I began to cry.
I cried for Judah.
I cried for my son.
I cried for my shame.
And finally… I slept.
“THIS IS THE WOMAN?”
I heard the words in my dreams, thinking I was being accused.
“She looks like no queen from the desert…”
“As I said,” Saba’s voice responded. “She has seen great suffering.”
“Then we must help her.”
I was a woman in need of help, I thought. I was worthless now.
“Maviah.”
A hand shook my shoulder and in my dream I opened my eyes. Day had come and a figure knelt over me, its blurred form wrapped in white cloth. The notion that this was a ghoul crossed my mind before it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn’t dreaming.
I sat up and looked about, trying to blink the world into focus. Then I recalled all. I was partially blind. We had come to Sepphoris. Saba had gone to find Joanna.
“Saba?”
“It is Stephen!” the man said. “Son of Gamil. Joanna has asked me to come with Saba and so I have.”
He immediately reminded me of Judah, for his voice was full of courage.
I pushed myself to my feet and looked past him. Saba stood beside a camel that bore a woman. I realized then that I did not wear my veil and they could see my eyes. They were the first in Palestine to see me as I was, and I felt naked.
I glanced down to where my covering lay on the bedroll.
“There’s no need to cover yourself,” Stephen said. “Your eyes will soon see, it is certain.”
Was the clouding in my eyes so obvious?
“You’ve brought Joanna as well?” I asked Saba.
“No,” he said, stepping forward. “The woman’s name is Sarah.”
“I bring Sarah,” Stephen quickly announced. “She too must find Yeshua and so I take both of you. We will go to the sea and then north by boat to Capernaum. If he isn’t there now, he will be soon.”
He saw my hesitation, and continued.
“Do not worry, desert queen. You will see the world as it is soon enough, and then no king will stand in your way. The earth itself will bow before you; the stars will see one who believes and all the world will rejoice.”
“You know him?”
“The king?”
“Yeshua,” I said.
“As a brother!” he cried. Then, careful not to mislead: “Though I do not claim to be one of the twelve.” He lifted his finger. “But I surely follow the teacher to whatever end.”
“And you know Nicodemus?” I asked, for I wanted to be sure.
“But of course! It was I who told him to seek out Yeshua. Speak to him, Uncle, I said. Speak to him and all of your madness will fall away. You cannot reach God by washing your hands any more than you can see him by bathing your eyes. Yeshua gives new eyes and new hands. Those who follow him walk in a new power even now, where heaven has come to the earth. And now I, Stephen ben Gamil, will take you to him straightaway. With Sarah.”
My spirit was lifted by Stephen’s exuberance. There was nothing more I needed to know.
He headed toward his camel, walking past Saba. “You will see,” he said, mounting. “And you too, warrior. Today will be your day of glory. If not today then tomorrow. Or the next day. But you must hurry, there is no need to linger.”
This was how I first met Stephen, that young man of great faith. Indeed, he led us with his courage—even Saba.
I decided not to wear the veil now, for I was safe in this company. We had only just mounted when Stephen turned in his saddle and spoke to me.
“You must not fear Sarah. She is said to be unclean on account of her blood for twelve years, and she is understandably shy so prefers not to speak. I’ve told her that Yeshua does not see those who follow him as unclean. Still, she too will be made whole at his hand. She must only have faith.”
Having made his proclamation, he turned and led the way up the slope.
I was mortified for the woman who followed me, for even among the Bedu a woman’s cycle of blood brought her shame. As I understood it, those women who worshipped the god of the Jews suffered even greater shame.
So I slowed my mount until her camel drew abreast. I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I could feel her silent humiliation as if it were my own. And was it not?
“He means well,” I said.
She rode on, face fixed forward, and I wondered if I only added to her disgrace.
“I was born an outcast in the desert,” I said. “Not unlike the lepers in your country. So perhaps we are sisters.”
She offered no comment.
“You are safe with us,” I finally said. “Saba will allow no harm to come to you.”
I was about to prod my camel to move on when she finally spoke. Her voice sounded like a young girl’s, though I knew she had to be more than twenty if she’d suffered bleeding for twelve years.
“You’ve met him?” she asked.
I turned to her. She was surely speaking of Yeshua.
“Yes.”
“He is as Stephen says?”
“What does Stephen say?”
She hesitated before answering, voice still faint. “That he brings new life with a single word. That the blind see and the lame walk.”
I was struck by the desperation in her meager voice. The world was full of kingdoms vying for power and glory, and yet were not kingdoms gatherings of people like Sarah, who only wanted to escape their fear and pain? Did not each one seek peace and love?
For more than a week I had wallowed in a stupor, pining for my own deliverance, but surely every common man and woman suffered, each mastered by their own fear. Who was I, then, to waste away in my own predicament?
Because Yeshua’s kingdom was a kingdom of people, not of land or gold or anything that could be protected by armies.
Because Yeshua lived to restore Sarah.
“It is true,” I said. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Then why was I still afraid?
She fell silent again and I spoke no more, because I didn’t know what else to offer her. I moved up to Saba, who told me of his visit to Sepphoris.
It had taken him much of the night to find Joanna in her home at the north end of Sepphoris, but she had withheld nothing from him because she already knew who he was. Rumors of the tall black desert slave who had accompanied Phasa on her flight had spread through the palace like fire. Surely, Herod despised Saba as much as he despised Phasa.
Herod was no longer at the palace in Sepphoris. His new wife, Herodias, refused to live in a city built for a Nabataean queen. The palace in Tiberias would be her home, far from any memory of Phasaelis.
Saba also learned that John, called the Baptizer, had spoken out against Herod’s marriage to Herodias, for she had been married to Herod’s brother. Inflamed by Herodias, the king had arrested the Baptizer and imprisoned him in his fortress at Machaerus.
Since that time Yeshua had gathered large crowds and spoken with even greater boldness for all to hear. Wherever he went he left awe and wonder. The teachers of the Law had sent their emissaries, who found mounting offense in Yeshua’s teaching of the way of salvation—this way into the kingdom of heaven for all who would release what had once been written and follow him.
Yeshua had gathered twelve disciples to his side, but many others also followed, women as well as men, sinners and outcasts whom he forgave with a word.
“He brings great danger to himself,” Saba said quietly as we rode. “Many fear he will be silenced.”
As his mother, Miriam, feared. Stephen overheard and now turned on his mount.
“Yeshua finds no threat in this rumor!” he proclaimed, lifting a finger. “You will see, he holds no grievance. So, then, we too must hold none. Rome only does what Rome knows. Herod only does what Herod knows. But we must offer them no judgment. All grievance comes from fear of harm. To release grievance is to believe in God and the one he has sent. Do only this to be saved. This is the way, you will see.”
I found in Stephen an almost childlike acceptance that was at once endearing and naïve. But his words echoed what I’d heard from Yeshua.
How could I hold no grievance against Aretas and the Thamud? Surely Yeshua judged those who smothered the poor. And did he not also judge the teachers of the Law?
As if anticipating my objection, Stephen added to his sermon there upon his camel.
“Even the Pharisees are only whitewashed tombs,” he said, “vipers who have lost their way. Yeshua does not judge them, he only corrects their way of thinking so that they too may see, even as Nicodemus now begins to see.”
“And will they?” I asked.
“I think not,” he said, after a moment. “I think they are too busy worshiping in their temple. Yeshua’s way would empty their coffers, surely, and then who would pay for their beautiful robes and lavish homes?” He chuckled and I could not help but smile with him.
After the noon hour we reached the crest of a hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Though I could not see clearly, I remembered the vast expanse of water.
But it wasn’t the sea that captured my interest. It was the city that hugged that sea below us, like a behemoth in my murky view.
It was Tiberias.
There, behind the great outer walls, deep within its stone heart, waited Herod and his new queen, Herodias.
I sat upon my camel and stared, trying desperately to see more. Aretas had been clear. If I did not return to Petra with payment as agreed, he would allow the Thamud to execute both Judah and my father.
And yet how could I, now broken, stand before such a king and his jealous wife and demand one hundred talents of gold? If I had my sight, at least, I might present myself with wise words and boldness fitting of Aretas’s authority. But even if not blind, how could I expect Herod to believe me?
How could a woman such as me win the ear of a king?
The terrible fear descended upon me again, and a tremor came to my fingers. I wanted to run. And if I could not run, I would throw myself at Herod’s feet and beg for mercy, knowing he would offer me none.
Then my troubles would end, at the end of a sword.
“Maviah.”
I turned to Saba, who was watching me.
“We must go while there is still light.”
But in that moment, I forgot why we must go to Yeshua. My fear had washed all belief from my mind.
“You will see,” Stephen said, urging his camel down the slope. “You will see!”
It was then, hearing Stephen’s bold proclamation, that I knew he was wrong. I would not see. I don’t know why I was suddenly so certain of this fact, but I was. Perhaps the mystic had spoken to my heart from far away and told me that my eyes would not be opened.
Or perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I was only going mad.
I nudged my camel and followed the others down the hill toward the Sea of Galilee.