A single arrow embedded itself in that warrior’s neck, and he toppled unceremoniously from the camel’s hump to land in a heap, grasping frantically at the wound. His body went still within moments. I could not deny the thrill of triumph that coursed through my veins at the sight.
And yet he was only one among far too many.
It was the first time I’d witnessed war. In Egypt I’d seen many fight hand to hand with blade or mace or hammer or net, though mostly in training, for my master traded in warriors who fought in an arena for Rome. A brutal business. Johnin, the father of my son, had been among the best, and he had shown me how to defend myself.
But that savagery could not compare to the butchery in Dumah.
Rami would retreat into the city, I thought. The Thamud would abandon their camels. The battle would be taken to the ground. And then to the palace Marid, where I stood.
I closed the shutter, rested my back against the wall, and slid to my seat, uttering a prayer to Isis, who had always failed to listen but might yet, even now. For my sake as much as my son’s, I pulled open my dress and allowed Rami to suckle.
Surely my father’s noble rule was about to end. Surely the Kalb would not prevail. Surely fate was landing its final, crushing blow.
Unless my father was more god than man.
I could hear the sounds of battle as they moved deeper into the city, closer to me. They ebbed and flowed and at times fell off entirely, and when they did, I would turn my head, listening for stretching silence, hoping against hope.
But then another cry would sound, and the roaring of more camels, and the wailing of another slain. Thamud, I prayed. May the Thamud all drown in their own blood.
Several times I considered fleeing, but I could not go. Even if I managed through miraculous means to make it to the desert, I would find no home in the sands, for I had no people but these in the palace Marid.
Night came before silence finally settled over the city. Even then I expected yet another cry. Instead a desperate pounding on the door shattered the stillness.
“Maviah!”
I immediately recognized my father’s voice. I quickly laid my sleeping son between two pillows and ran to the door.
“Maviah!”
“Father?”
“Hurry, Maviah, there’s no time!”
I lifted the board and drew the door wide. My father rushed past me, shoved the door closed, and dropped the timber back into its slot.
He’d discarded his aba and now wore only a bloody shirt and loose pants, shredded along one leg. His face too was red with blood, and his hands sticky with it. A long gash lay along his right arm.
“Father—”
“Listen to me, Maviah!” he interrupted, grasping my arm and pulling me from the door. “There’s no time, you have to listen to me very carefully.”
He pulled his dagger from its ornate sheath and held the blade out to show me an unmistakable seal etched into the metalwork near the hilt: a circle with a V and a Latin inscription, which I could plainly read. Publius Quinctilius Varus. And beneath it the image of an eagle.
“This dagger is from Rome and has great significance. It bears the seal of a once-powerful governor—Varus. It is very important that you do exactly what I say. You must swear it to me!”
“Yes! Yes, of course.”
“Swear it by your god!”
“Under Isis, I swear it.”
He took a deliberate breath. “You must take this seal from Varus to Herod Antipas, the Jewish king in Sepphoris. In Palestine.”
I was stunned by this command, unable to comprehend what he was suggesting.
“Take it to him and tell him we can give Rome direct control of the eastern trade route. The Kalb will be a friend to Rome. Tell him we can give Dumah to Rome!”
“Herod of the Jews?” I heard myself say, dumbfounded.
“Herod is the puppet of Rome.” He was speaking very quickly. “With this dagger, he will give you audience with Rome.”
Rome? The thought terrified me. Rami was beholden to King Aretas, not Rome.
“The king, Aretas—”
“Aretas has turned enemy.” He flung his arm wide and stabbed a finger at the window. “That is Aretas! He gave the Thamud his blessing should Nasha come to harm!”
I could not comprehend approaching this Herod on Rami’s behalf. It struck me as something ordered in a nightmare.
“Then you must send another!” My head was spinning. “I am a woman—”
“I must send my blood for there to be full trust, and Maliku has betrayed me.” I’d never seen Rami so crushed. “Shame has been heaped upon the Kalb. Five hundred have been slain; within our walls only the women and children live. We must call the clans to avenge ourselves and return honor to the name of all Kalb! We are thousands! We will rise!”