The camels dragged along, one plodding foot after the other. Their humps seemed to shrink, and their bones seemed more pronounced. Perhaps I was only imagining. In many flats I thought I could see water far ahead, but the shimmering waves of heat rising from the sand assured me that this was only a trick of the desert, a mirage promising hope where none waited.
When I complained one day about the oppressive conditions, Saba regarded me graciously. “A fish in the sea cannot help but get wet. As much, a man in the deep sands cannot help but suffer.”
Then Judah added, “It seems a woman as well. But this will pass, Maviah. We are almost across.”
And yet we were not almost across. I had to smile. Saba the man of the head; Judah the man of the heart.
The scorching sands and the hardship of survival each day put some distance between us and the tragedy at Dumah. I mourned my son’s death with each breath but was coming to accept that he was no longer in my life. Nothing would be the same as it had been before. I had to embrace my fate.
Saba guided us by day, keeping mostly to himself except when he engaged Judah, more for sport than for true argument, I thought. He frequently rode to a higher point and studied the sands, searching for the way ahead and for any sign of life on the horizon.
Twice he detected traveling Bedu, and these we avoided in detour. Cutting across the tracks of the second group, Saba and Judah confirmed that they were Thamud—a small group of seven, all men. The camels were from the west, three male and seven she-camels. All had taken water two days earlier. They were headed north, perhaps toward Petra.
Ordinarily such sightings would be welcome, for in the deepest sands even an enemy may offer food and news. Such is the Bedu way. But the Thamud and Kalb were now in open conflict, and even these distant Thamud might know of it. Our food and water, though quickly dwindling, were adequate, and the success of our mission could not be risked.
Judah did not seem to know any form of discouragement, and for this I was grateful. His soft song kept me and the camels and even Saba company during the longest days. Never once did I hear so much as a grunt of complaint or condescension from him.
He had called me a queen and, although he may have been given to overstatement, I believe a part of him truly thought of me as such. He often went out of his way to give me his attention, however small the measure. I was always the first he served. He constantly inquired as to my comfort both in camp and on the camel, offering his own blanket to give my seat more padding and my body more warmth at night.
I was familiar with the courting habits of men. Many in Egypt had shown me small kindnesses in hope of what I might offer them. And I believed Judah found me beautiful, even in my haggard condition. His eyes made his attraction plain.
But his kindness toward me seemed to be rooted in something far deeper than lust. Perhaps he thought helping my mission to succeed would earn him favors from Rami. Perhaps he saw me as his means to reach Palestine and the Romans, whom his new king would crush. Or perhaps he was truly taken with me, as one who could love him in a way that his god could not. Hadn’t he said as much?
As the days passed I found myself drawn to the warmth of his hopefulness and the smile that expressed it. When he left camp to scout, I noticed his absence more than I noticed Saba’s.
On the sixth day, as the sun set in the west, Saba decided that we should cross a shallow canyon rather than take the time to find another way. We traversed the steep, rocky slope, leading the camels on foot, then remounted and resumed our ride. Without warning Raza, Judah’s camel, snorted in pain and stumbled to her knees.
With a cry Judah was off and tugging at his mount’s leg, which had been caught in a hole between two boulders.
“Raza!” he cried. “Stupid, stupid Raza!”
Unable to free the leg, he slid around and tugged at one boulder. The stone rolled away but the camel only protested with greater pain, jerking away as her leg flopped beneath her. With a mighty crash, she collapsed.
We could all see the damage, for her leg had been snapped below the knee. The sight made me ill.
“She’s broken her leg!” Judah threw his legs under Raza’s neck and cradled his camel’s head in his lap, stroking her fur. “No, no, Raza. No! Forgive me! I beg you, forgive me!”
I watched as he clung to Raza as he might a child, rocking, distraught. It was the first time I’d seen Judah troubled. We all knew what this meant.
Saba watched, face flat, as Judah poured out his heart.
“Forgive me, Raza… you are the ornament of the sands. There is no camel as magnificent as you. The stars tell your story to the whole world. Forgive your careless master. Forgive me, Raza…”