A.D. 30(83)

“It will eat at his gut,” Phasa said with triumph. “If he denies his love for Herodias, she will quickly spit him out. He’s crossed the threshold. He will have to divorce me.”

“Then it is to your benefit,” I said.

“It is! You have come as my savior!” She kissed me on the cheek. “My only regret is that you did not happen by ten years ago.”

Phasa was willing to face any danger in flight for the prospect of freedom in her father’s courts. I, on the other hand, was fleeing to my enemy’s stronghold, and whispers of impending doom refused to be silenced.

Our journey would take us six days if we traveled light, and it took considerable persuasion on Judah’s part to pare down Phasa’s mounds of jewelry to two saddlebags’ worth. Each saddlebag of gold would surely give any pursuer a half day’s gain on us, he insisted. Phasa could live with less treasure easily replaced in Petra or die with gold enough to fill her coffin.

She acquiesced, taking only the most expensive pieces.

We left in staggered fashion so as not to raise suspicion, then reunited outside the city—four Bedu on camelback, supplied for a week’s journey.

If not for Saba, who knew of ways far off the traveled paths, we might well have been intercepted by a dispatch on horseback. As it was, he led us south through little-known wadis toward the encampment of Nabataeans east of Machaerus. We slept in the heat of the day, far from any sign of human life, and traveled by night into morning at a trotting pace.

By the second day we knew that we had escaped the greatest danger of pursuit and slowed our pace to save the camels.

By the third day we knew that there was nothing now to stop us from reaching Petra, and Phasa’s spirits soared.

By the fourth day, with exhaustion now working into our bones, Saba’s words concerning Aretas began to overtake my mind like heavy boulders. But I said nothing. I rode with my shoulders square to the horizon, clinging to the words Yeshua had spoken to me.

Do not allow fear to bind you up, dear one. You will only lose what you already have.

And what did I have?

I had a love for Judah that I clung to with my every thought. I was a queen because of him and only with him. We spent many hours talking quietly to the rear of Saba and Phasa, and with each day our bond grew. Although it was true that our mission rested on my shoulders, I rested the strength of my heart on his. From the first day we entered the Nafud weeks earlier, he had been the rock upon which I had built my house.

I had the authority given me by Yeshua, though I hardly understood it.

I had the fate of the Kalb in my hands.

I had myself. Maviah, daughter of Rami, once honored sheikh of northern Arabia.

Could it be true that I too was the light of the world, as Yeshua had said to us all? Was it true that those who followed him would do greater works than even he? Was it true that a kingdom full of power and light resided inside me even as I rode atop my camel?

Or had he meant something else? For no one seemed certain of his meaning, only that he called all to follow.

Yet what did it mean to follow him?

Judah and I spoke often of Yeshua. In Judah’s mind the kingdom was at hand to deliver Israel from oppression from Rome. The way of Yeshua, he said, was to use the power of love and goodness to free all people from tyranny. Evildoers must be thrown into outer darkness for their treachery. Because the day of restoration would come any day now. Even now. And what was outer darkness but their own misery? They would reap what they had sown.

“We must love, of course!” he said. “And, yes, we must turn the other cheek, but only to our brother. This is what he meant when he said he had not come to bring peace, but a sword to divide, even brother from brother if they will not join him.”

“It doesn’t seem to fit with the man I saw and heard,” I said.

“Because you do not know the way of the warrior as I do. We must also protect the widows and the orphans and those who cannot protect themselves from those who refuse love. Let the Romans reap the same end they have sown. If a man comes to take your life, am I to allow it?”

No, I thought.

“If a warrior comes to slay the innocent among us, are we not to discourage him with the sword?”

I thought of my son.

“Yes.”

“There you have it,” he said. “Love first even the enemy, but if need be, love them finally with the blade!”

It made sense to me. So, then, perhaps we had heard the same. But it bothered me still.

I abandoned such difficult thinking and concerned myself instead with the Father Yeshua had spoken of so intimately. That Father who did not judge. The god of the kingdom of heaven now among us. Indeed, within me.

Was it possible to be the daughter of such a Father? I had never before heard of such a god. Isis certainly wasn’t so gracious.