“Then it is also my privilege to refuse your husband,” I said.
“Herod?” She released my arm and smiled. “So you see that Herod is more in the line of kings like the ancient Solomon than his father. Have you read Solomon’s songs?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Scandalous. Sometimes I think my husband was born a thousand years too late. He was educated in Rome, you know, where men are known to die for women. They are called romantics by some.”
It was heard of, but not so common, I thought. Mark Antony and Cleopatra came to mind. Clearly, however, Herod and Phasa were not of typical stock either. I found their forthrightness unnerving.
“He would be a fool to force himself upon you. If he tries, scratch his eyes out. Or put a knife in his belly, that will teach him a lesson.”
She laughed, but I didn’t believe she could mean such words. Still, they gave me courage because I had no intention of allowing the king to touch me.
“Don’t you worry, my dear,” she said. “My husband is bound for Rome tomorrow on urgent business. I’m sure he’ll set your lover free before he leaves. And the beast for me, if he will have it. What is his name?”
“Rome? Tomorrow?”
“Yes. What did you say his name was?”
I knew then why Phasa seemed so overjoyed—she was soon to be free of her husband’s presence. I had to leave for Rome with Herod.
And, with me, Judah. A voyage to Rome and back would take many weeks. The thought of being parted from Judah for so long filled me with dread.
“His name is Saba,” I said. “He would likely tear your eyes out.”
Phasa laughed once more. “Then I must tame him.”
She led me to a drawn bath that might fit four, the tub of white marble, the water steaming and milky. I had taken a hot bath only three times before, and my memory of the experience drew me like a moth to a flame.
“You’re pleased?” Phasa said.
“It appears inviting.”
“Inviting? It is heaven on earth, my dear! I can see you have much to learn from me. I’ve heard that there is a mystic or a madman—no one seems to knows which—who tells the Jews that the kingdom of heaven is among us already, and I know he speaks the truth. I swim in it every day.”
“A mystic? By what name?”
Phasa regarded me with brightened eyes. “Yeshua. You’ve heard of him?”
I remembered my promise to Miriam.
“Yeshua? No.”
“Evidently he’s from Nazareth and follows in the way of the Baptizer. You’ve heard of the Baptizer?”
This time I didn’t need to lie. “No.”
She stared at the window, distracted by her thoughts. “The people flock to the Baptizer by the hundreds. He is a thorn in Herod’s side, but I rather like the idea of a sage speaking out against the Romans with so much boldness.”
“Herod knows of this Yeshua?”
“Of Yeshua? He worries only about threats to his kingdom, and Yeshua is no such thing. I am Nabataean and more disposed than my husband to ponder the claims of mystics. And yet”—she turned to me—“my heart also takes offense on behalf of these Jews oppressed by Rome.”
“Oppressed by Rome or by Herod?” I said, and then wondered if I had spoken too boldly.
“By both,” she said without so much as blinking. She turned to one of three Jewish chamber servants awaiting her direction. “Disrobe her, Esther. Let us show Maviah how to bathe as a queen.”
“Yes, mistress.” The girl smiled.
The slaves seemed as eager to serve me as Phasa was to have me served. And serve me they did, like mother hens. I did not lower myself into the bath—they eased me into it, one under each arm. When I reached for the cloth, they took it and spread the warm, soapy water over my shoulders. Then they gently scrubbed every inch of my skin, using a scented soap and a dried sponge from the sea.
Having served a mistress in Egypt, I was familiar with giving baths, but those had not been so lavishly conducted or involved as many ointments as what Phasa’s servants rubbed onto my skin.
I rose from the water smelling of lavender and stepped from the bathing room dressed in a blue silk robe.
Phasa treated me royally the whole day. She talked endlessly about all the appointments of her palace, and of clothing and jewelry, and feasts, and her spoiled husband.
And all the while, half of my mind was on Judah, my powerful Bedu protector from the desert, who was surely pacing in a hot cell, trusting in me.
I did not see Herod again until the evening came. We met in a private dining room off of his chambers. I was presented there in a turquoise silk gown. My long hair was cleaned, brushed, plaited, and glistening with ointments that made it appear even darker than it was naturally. I had relied on Phasa’s choice of jewelry, and after much deliberation she’d insisted on silver-and-black-onyx bracelets around my wrists and at my elbows, a silver necklace with a single onyx stone, and across my forehead a simple silver band polished so that it could be used for a mirror.