A.D. 30(2)

To the south lay the forbidding Nafud desert, reserved for those Bedu who wished to tempt fate.

A day’s ride to the east lay Sakakah, the stronghold of the Thamud tribe, which had long been our bitter enemy. The Thamud vultures refrained from descending on Dumah only for fear of King Aretas, Nasha’s uncle, who was allied with my father and whose army was vast. Though both the Thamud and Kalb tribes were powerful, neither could hold this oasis without Aretas’s support.

But my father’s alliance with Aretas was sealed by Nasha’s life.

In turn, Nasha alone offered me mercy and life.

And Nasha was now close to death.

These thoughts so distracted me that I failed to notice that little Rami’s suckling had ceased. He breathed in sleep, oblivious to the concern whispering through me.

It was time. If I was discovered with Nasha, my father might become enraged and claim I had visited dishonor on his wife by entering her chamber. And yet I could not stay away from her any longer. I must go while Rami was still offering prayers at the shrine of the moon god, Wadd.

Holding my son close, I quickly descended three flights of steps and made my way, barefooted, to my room at the back of the palace, careful that none of the servants noticed my passing. The fortress was entombed in silence.

Leaving my son to sleep on the mat, I eased the door shut, grabbed my flowing gown with one hand so that I could move uninhibited, and ran through the lower passage. Up one flight of steps and down the hall leading to the palace’s southern side.

“Maviah?”

Catching my breath, I spun back to see Falak, Nasha’s well-fed servant, standing at the door that led into the cooking chamber.

“Where do you rush off to?” she asked with scorn, for even the servants were superior to me.

I recovered quickly. “Have you seen my father?”

She regarded me with suspicion. “Where he’s gone is none of your concern.”

“Do you know when he returns?”

“What do you care?” Her eyes glanced over my gown, a simple white cotton dress fitting of commoners, not the richly colored silk worn by those of high standing in the Marid. “Where is the child?”

“He sleeps.” I released my gown and settled, as if at a loss.

“Alone?” she demanded.

“I wish to ask my father if I might offer prayers for Nasha,” I said.

“And what good are your prayers in these matters? Do not insult him with this request.”

“I only thought—”

“The gods do not listen to whores!”

Her tone was cruel, which was not her normal way. She was only fearful of her own future should her mistress, Nasha, not recover.

“Even a whore may love Nashquya,” I said with care. “And even Nashquya may love a whore. But I am not a whore, Falak. I am the mother of my father’s grandson.”

“Then go to your son’s side where you belong.”

I could have said more, but I wanted no suspicion.

I dipped my head in respect. “When you next see Nashquya, will you tell her that the one whom she loves offers prayers for her?”

Falak hesitated, then spoke with more kindness. “She’s with the priest now. I will tell her. See to your child.”

Then she vanished back into the cooking chamber.

I immediately turned and hurried down the hall, around the corner, past the chamber of audience where my father accepted visitors from the clans, then down another flight of steps to the master chamber in which Nasha kept herself.

She was with a priest, Falak had said. So I slipped into the adjoining bathing room and parted the heavy curtain just wide enough to see into Nasha’s chamber.

I was unprepared for what greeted my eyes. Her bed was on a raised stone slab unlike those of the Bedu, who prefer rugs and skins on the floor. A mattress of woven date palms wrapped in fine purple linens covered the stone. This bedding was lined at the head and the far side with red and golden pillows fringed in black, for she was Nabataean and accustomed to luxury. Nasha was lying back against the pillows, face pale as though washed in ash, eyelids barely parted. She wore only a thin linen gown, which clung to her skin, wet with sweat.

One of the seers of the moon god Wadd, draped in a long white robe hemmed in blue fringe, faced her at the foot of the bed. He waved a large hand with long fingernails over a small iron bowl of burning incense as he muttered prayers in a bid to beg mercy from Dumah’s god. His eyes were not diverted from his task, so lost was he in his incantations.

Nasha’s eyes opened wide and I knew that she’d seen me. My breath caught in my throat, for if the priest also saw me, he would report to my father.

Nasha was within her wits enough to shift her eyes to the priest and feebly lift her arm.