A.D. 30(119)

My smile was faint and forced. “I appreciate your worry, Saba, but you must now have faith.”

“I do not trust him.”

“Then trust me, if you must. Are we not here, with the gold?”

He was silent before offering me a nod. “Perhaps I speak too soon.”

“See the strawberries, Saba. Take your eyes off the beasts. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“As I said, I speak too soon.”

I nodded.

The guard parted as we reached the gates, making a clear path for Saba and me abreast, followed by the twenty camels burdened with Herod’s gold. We passed beneath arching stonework intricately carved to pay homage to the gods.

The moment we crossed into the arena, my breathing thickened. I could not see their faces, but the sheer number of those gathered pressed down on my heart. Many thousands filled the stone benches that rose from the circular arena floor to a height as tall as two temples.

A roar erupted as the throng stood. I could not miss the stage at the north end, graced by six in tall gilded chairs. Three of them I knew by their stature and dress: Aretas and Shaquilath, seated, and Phasa, standing.

I came to a stop and gazed at the people, for the moment taken aback. Saba said something, but his voice was lost in that cry. Why had Aretas gone to such lengths? Surely not simply to impress his people.

It was the way of kings to take full advantage of any opportunity to show their dominance. At times this was better demonstrated by taking gold than by shedding blood. And was this not Herod’s gold, delivered now to Aretas by great cunning?

I was only the messenger, I thought. The gold behind me was their victory, and I its honored caretaker.

I tapped my camel and nudged it toward the great platform, ignoring the crowd. Not until I had come to a halt ten paces from the stage did Aretas slowly rise and lift his hand.

The roar quieted quickly, leaving reverent silence in its wake.

Phasa hurried to the platform’s leading edge. “I knew you could do it! Isn’t this what I said, Father? I knew with Saba, you would best that old scoundrel!”

Aretas turned his head to her. “Phasa…”

“What did he say of me?”

“Sit!”

“Give me a moment to—”

“Now!”

“We will speak soon, Maviah,” she said, withdrawing. “And you, Saba.”

She hadn’t been heard by the crowd, I guessed, for she had not raised her voice.

Aretas walked to the steps and descended to the arena’s floor. He passed Saba and me without so much as a glance, focused on the camel immediately to our rear. The heavy leather bags sagged on either side of the beast to keep the weight low, and their straps were cinched tight by buckles. These Aretas quickly released before opening the flap of one bag.

The crowd waited as though without breath, eager for his verdict.

Aretas shoved his hand into the bag, then pulled it out, fingers wrapped around a fistful of gold coin. This he thrust into the air, turning about to show all gathered.

At once their roar shook the arena.

“No one defies me!” Aretas shouted. “No one!”

They raised their fists with him, taking refuge in their king’s unquestioned power.

“Is your king not the friend of his people?” he cried.

Their thundering agreement made words unnecessary.

Aretas lowered his hand and let the gold fall from his grasp as he stepped toward the chief guard, who stood beside my camel. A dozen coins plopped into the dust at his feet.

“Hold the camels at the wall.” He looked at me. “Set up the perimeter.”

The warrior barked formation orders, and fifty more warriors trotted into the arena armed with spears and swords. Under further commands, half took the camels’ ropes and led them to the wall, where they were placed in a long row for all to see.

The other half formed a quick half circle behind Saba and me, still seated upon our camels. I wasn’t sure if they were our guard or a new enemy. I could not see their expressions to judge their intentions.

Aretas had taken the stage again and now faced me, basking in the rhythmic chanting of his people.

“Aretas, Aretas, Aretas, Aretas…”

He lifted his hand again and the cries quickly faded.

“Today we have our victor.” He thrust his hand toward me. “I present to you Maviah, daughter of Rami bin Malik!”

Their praise crushed my ears. And Aretas let the cheer endure for a full minute before he finally motioned for their silence.

For a few moments nothing seemed to happen.

“He beckons you closer,” Saba said. I had missed his cue.

Rather than dismount, I approached the stage on camelback, so as to speak with him face-to-face.

“Welcome to my home, queen of the desert.” His soft words were not meant for his people. “It seems we may have underestimated you after all.”