A.D. 30(102)

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.”

Yes. We must go. To Yeshua.

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.





BETHSAIDA





“Truly I tell you, if anyone steadfastly believes in me, he will himself be able to do the things that I do; and he will do even greater things than these…”

Yeshua





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





WE WERE at the heart of the sea, halfway to the north shore, when the wind began to blow. But to say that it blew is like saying the wind had blown in the Nafud when the sands smothered us and swallowed my she-camel, Shunu.

With Saba’s encouragement Stephen had found Elias, the same fisherman who had delivered us to Capernaum nearly four months earlier. He remembered me clearly and, though he said nothing, he stared at my face, wary, before Stephen assured him I was not a leper.

Once again we offered him a fair sum. Once again he was delighted to show his great value, promising us swift passage to the north shore. Once again Elias demonstrated his great passion for talking, this time with a willing partner in Stephen.

When it became clear that Elias dismissed the tales of Yeshua and was interested only in his fair share of fishing coin, Stephen didn’t press his own passions. He spoke instead of fishing and the Romans and made small talk to pass the time.

The sky was cloudy when we left and turned dark soon after, but Elias assured us that there was nothing to fear.

“These clouds come often,” Elias said, waving his large, callused hand at the sky. “They mean nothing. Rarely do they produce more than a brief squall. You must trust Elias.”

“You see?” Stephen eagerly agreed “We can trust Elias. He’s the best fisherman in all of Galilee.”

“Everywhere, all fishermen know that what I say is the truth in matters of fish and sea,” Elias quickly added. “There can be no doubt.”

“There you are,” Stephen said. “There can be no doubt.”

Saba and Stephen sat opposite each other at the boat’s center. I huddled next to Sarah at the bow, as far from Elias as possible, as was customary, for we were women. If he’d known of her condition, he might not have taken us, but no one made mention of it.