“Then you must go—”
“I cannot leave now—the Thamud won’t stop at Dumah. There is only you!”
“How will Herod hear a woman?”
“Because you are my daughter. And because you have this.” He held the dagger with a trembling hand. “We don’t have time now. Saba will tell you everything, then you will know.”
I knew Saba to be his greatest warrior and his right hand, a tall black man who spoke with his sword better than with his tongue. All men stood in honor of Saba, sworn servant to my father.
Rami was drowning in the great dishonor heaped upon him. Without honor, there was no life.
But I could not see how I might restore that honor in the world of kings and armies. I was ignorant of the shrewdness required to influence kingdoms and their powers.
My father saw my fear and took my hand, pressing the weapon into my palm. He was reduced to pleading, speaking in a low, rushed voice.
“You must trust me, Maviah. The Romans bend to Aretas only because they have no ally in this desert to match him. We will sustain them in the deadly sands and fight by their side if required. We can give them the Dumah trade route and let Aretas keep the ones along the sea. Today we spit on Aretas.”
“Aretas won’t allow this…”
“Aretas won’t make war on Rome. They are too powerful. You must go to Herod. You must restore the honor of your father and of all the Kalb.”
He caught his breath and pressed on.
“You are the daughter of Rami bin Malik, honored of Varus. You are educated and speak the language of the Romans. I will protect your son, who is now my own. I have no other…”
He wrapped my fingers around the dagger.
“Take it. Go to the cave where the eagle perches, north. Saba and Judah have prepared and will take you to Palestine. You know this cave?”
“Yes.”
“I trust both men with my life. Saba knows no defeat, nor Judah, who is a Bedu Jew and knows their ways. They wait now with camels.”
I knew already that I had to do as he said, for I was his daughter and slave to his honor. But I could not leave my son, despite the honor Rami bestowed upon him.
“My son goes with me. I am his mother.”
He stared at me, then nodded. “Then take our son. But you must hurry!” He strode to retrieve the baby. “Take the horse tied at the back. You can get out under cover of darkness. Follow the ravine…”
A thunderous blow sounded at the door and we spun as one. Rami invoked the name of Wadd under his breath.
Then another blow, louder still, shaking the wood to the frame while terror overtook us and we became like stone. There was no escape but through that door, because the window was too high above the street.
On the third strike, the wooden slat snapped in two and the door flew open. There in its frame stood a bloodied warrior dressed in the black fringed thobe of the Thamud. But more than this, the dark scowl on the warrior’s face marked him as the enemy.
Another Thamud with two behind him stepped past the first, wearing a red-and-yellow headcloth bound by a black agal. By the kaffiyeh’s pattern and the boldness in his eyes, I knew that this man was Saman bin Shariqat, leader of the Thamud, conqueror of the Kalb in Dumah.
I glanced at my son, still asleep on the pillows. My son, who was now Rami’s only true son.
My father stepped in front of me with one hand pressing me back and the other stretched out as if to hold the Thamud away.
“There’s been enough blood,” Rami said, his tone now even.
Saman bin Shariqat’s brow rose. “There is no more Kalb blood to shed in Dumah. I would not take the life of a sheikh when I can use it for greater gain.”
“The blood of ten Thamud mingles with the blood of every Kalb you have slain today,” Rami said.
“And yet you are defeated. Payment for many years of robbery, here in the seat of your defiled fortress.”
“I’ve taken only what was mine to take.”
“And now I do the same,” Saman said, mouth twisted with amusement.
These were words of honor and retribution, expected among enemies. Yet it was absurd that Saman should count this massacre as blood money for Rami’s control of the trade routes.
“I will allow you to live so that all Bedu may know my mercy,” Saman said. “But I swear in the name of King Aretas, whose daughter now lies dead on your account, that Rami bin Malik shall never again utter a word of command.”
“My Kalb will rise up and crush you,” Rami said, trembling with rage.
“And yet your son, Maliku, assures me that the Kalb are already mine.”
Rami remained silent.
“I now take what I have won,” Saman said.
Rami slowly dipped his head, then spoke, voice calm. “As is your right. My life is in your hands. Spare only the woman and her child.”