The women in particular were hated, for they, like me, had been born into shame and were the most unclean before their god.
Upon first entering Galilee at the sea that stretched north, Judah had been overwhelmed with joy. He was like a boy who’d finally returned home, and his exuberance was infectious.
“Have you seen such water, Maviah?” he cried, flinging his arm toward the sea. “The purest and cleanest in the world.”
It was magical to see this water after weeks in the sands. I wanted nothing more than to run to its bank and fling myself in.
“We must bathe!” Judah said.
“We will reach Sepphoris by day’s end,” Saba said, looking about. “We will bathe there.”
“Maviah must enter the city as a queen from the desert, dressed in linens and perfumed for a king.”
“You forget where we are,” Saba said. “A woman may not bathe in the same waters as men. If she is seen—”
“I know precisely where we are! And I also know that we might not find suitable public bathing for Maviah in Sepphoris precisely because she is a woman. If she is to go as a queen—”
“I would bathe here,” I interrupted, eager to be clean. For many days I had fixed my mind on approaching this king—thinking on what I would say and how I might represent my father. But I’d given little thought to how I might appear or even smell when first before him.
The men looked at me.
“I must! I can’t go on smelling like a camel.”
“You smell nothing like a camel,” Judah said. “And I have frankincense.”
“You’re saying that I do smell like a camel?”
He was flummoxed. “No. I only say that if you do—”
“I would bathe. Now.”
“As I said.” Judah looked to Saba and offered an apologetic smile.
But we did not bathe there, for Saba was right about the danger of being seen. Judah found a small cove down the road, and there we both bathed, separated by reeds and beyond the sight of any who might approach. Saba kept watch at first, but seeing no one, he too plunged beneath the waters and splashed about like a child.
I could see between the reeds. The sight of two such powerful men frolicking about, all care drowned in that water, made me laugh. This they heard, and then we were all laughing, until Saba scolded us for risking unwanted attention.
I dressed in the clothing Judah had obtained from the sheikh Fahak bin Haggag. A white linen dress and a scarlet cloak, simple and yet fine. I had combed my dark hair and tied it back to best show my high cheekbones, as favored by many men. The sash about my waist was the color of olive leaves, as was the mantle I wore over my head. Judah had also acquired strings of black stones to be worn about my forehead and neck, but I would not wear them here in the countryside. I wasn’t comfortable in such luxurious appointments.
Both Judah and Saba stared at me when I stepped beyond the reeds and approached the camel.
“Is it too much?” I asked after neither spoke.
Saba arched a brow. “Herod will be pleased,” he said.
This gave Judah a moment’s pause. Each day he’d become more comfortable and easy in his tone with me, and I with him. We had not spoken of our affection for each other, but to deny it would have been deceitful. And in the wake of my loss, I had decided to accept his affection in whatever form it took.
Judah smiled and dipped his head. “You are perhaps the most beautiful woman Palestine has yet seen.”
I felt a blush rise to my face. “Then I should take it off.”
“But why? You are a queen!”
“I have been a slave most of my life. Have I suddenly become what I never was? I don’t want to be noticed in this strange land.”
“You go to Herod,” Saba said. “He must notice you.”
Judah could not hide the pride in his eyes. “You are no longer a slave, Maviah, but a queen. And now it is plain.”
I cannot deny that I was flattered. And Saba was right—it was Herod who would first decide my fate and then take the plight of the Kalb to Rome. Herod’s decision now depended on me.
My thoughts returned to treachery of the Thamud. To the screams of the Kalb being slaughtered on the streets. To the face of Kahil bin Saman as he cut out my father’s tongue and then threw my son from the window as if he were a bone for the dogs. My people in Dumah were enslaved by butchers. Their hope rested in me. I did not feel up to the task.
And yet there I stood, a woman of wonder before Judah and Saba.
It might be said I was plunged beneath the waters of the Galilean sea a dirtied slave and emerged a queen fit for any king, at least by Judah’s reckoning. But that would only be true of appearances.