A.D. 30(88)
I did not cry out. I did not resist, but beneath the dark cloth my eyes were wide with fear.
“Remember who you are, Maviah. Remember!”
They were the last words I heard from Judah before a blow sounded on his flesh. Phasa protested, but her father obeyed his wife.
Confused and terrified, I was led from the courts and away from the city bustle, then down a long flight of steps into damp air where keys rattled and gates were opened. They threw me into an earthen cell, moist but not muddy, that smelled of moldy straw.
Not a word was spoken to me.
After waiting for the sound of the guard’s feet to leave me, I pulled the hood from my head and stared into the darkness. The sound of a distant gate clanking shut reached me, and then I was swallowed by silence.
“Judah?”
My prison rang hollow. I could make out the bars of the cell, but barely, like faint shadows in the dark. There was no source of light, no matter which direction I looked.
I pushed myself to my feet and slowly approached the bars. Peering beyond, I could not make out the passage—it was too dark.
“Judah!”
The only reply was the pounding in my own chest.
So, then, I was alone until Phasa could convince Aretas and his queen to believe my claim. A day at the most, I told myself. Phasa had her father’s blood and would not remain silent. Had I not been like a sister to her? One day, perhaps two.
I felt my way along the stone walls, found the corner, and settled to the ground, hugging myself for comfort.
I had suffered much in my life, both as a daughter and as a slave, but I had never been imprisoned in the dark with only my thoughts to keep me company. And my thoughts, I soon learned, were my greatest enemy.
You see what you have done, Maviah? You see how hopeless is your life? You see how fear stalks you in the dark? You see that you are only a slave?
The thoughts were lies, of course, merely fear tempting me. I must face that fear and weather its storm. Had I not received this word so powerfully from Yeshua?
But his words now seemed to speak from another world, as far from me as the heavens themselves. I tried to keep my mind on his voice, and I managed for a while.
Without day or night, there was no way for me to keep track of time. Light came in the form of a torch, many hours later, but only long enough for a guard to shove a bowl of water and a lump of bread into my cell before retreating.
I clambered to my feet. “Wait! May I speak to Phasa?”
He offered no response.
“Please, call Phasa, I beg you!”
The outer gate slammed shut.
Then it was too dark to see and I mistakenly knocked over the bowl.
Be strong, Maviah. Only a day or two and Phasa will come for you. It is only a short time and you will stand before Aretas and he will hear your plea.
I’d rehearsed my request many times as we approached Petra.
The guard once again brought food and water many hours later. Once again he shoved it under the gate without looking at me. Once again I called out to him without receiving a response. But this time I grabbed the bowl in the diminishing light.
Just one more day, Maviah. They are discussing it this very moment. Soon Phasa will come.
Had it been only a day, I think I would have retained my full courage. Even two days. As best I could calculate, I was given food twice each day, and it was after the sixth time they brought food that I finally submitted to the truth of my predicament.
Phasa had failed to persuade her father to hear me. Aretas, influenced by his queen, would wait for the truth from Herod himself before considering his options.
How long would it take to secure word from Galilee? A week at best. Two weeks. And how quickly would Herod make his intentions known?
I might be in waiting for a long time, living like a rat in this dark cell.
The thoughts filled me with dread as three days became four. And then five.
The uncertainty of not knowing when or how I would be heard affected me more than any belief that I would not be heard. Aretas would surely give me audience when the time came.
Unless Nicodemus had been misinformed about Herod’s intentions to marry Herodias.
Unless Herod reversed his course.
Unless the Thamud—Kahil or his father, Saman—were now in Petra, conspiring to seal my fate.
Unless no one really cared what happened to me, for who was I but a slave? Unless this was my just reward for having courted the belief, however thin, that I was more than a woman deserving of her fate.
My mind began to ravage me.
I tried to hold on to my surreal encounter with Yeshua in Capernaum. But his power was not with me in my cell, and though I tried to follow his teaching to release fear, I could not find a way to shift my mind. With each passing day, my memory of him seemed to fade.
I spent many hours also thinking of Judah, my lion who had saved me more than once. Surely he would save me again. Surely I would find a way to save him. Surely he would not end his days in a Nabataean dungeon on my account. I would not be able to live with such terrible guilt.