A.D. 30(98)

Judah, who had obsessed after his Galilean mystic as a Bedu boy might obsess after his first victory in battle. Who had followed me to Petra rather than follow his own destiny at the feet of that mystic, Yeshua.

Judah, whom I had sentenced to death.

And more, I had sentenced myself to death. Which meant there was no hope for Judah or me or the Kalb. I knew as much three days after Kahil blinded me, because my eyesight was still fogged and showed no sign of improvement.

The Nabataean physicians had cast their spells over me in Petra, beckoning their gods to heal, and they’d applied their salves to my eyes, but their chanting only quickened my hatred for all gods, and their ointments only increased the sting.

Still, the greatest pain lived in my heart, for it was enslaved to bitterness and dread. I could not rid myself of these, no matter how firmly I set my intention. My failure to rise above darkness made the pain worse, for it made a mockery of this blind queen in rags who came from a pathetic tribe of dogs deep in the barren desert.

After three days in Petra, we set out for Palestine, and I wore my dread like a cloak. Try as I might, I could not find hope. Day by day my fear grew, like a monster that could not be chased into hiding.

It became too much. I stopped Saba on a tall hill overlooking Palestine, overcome with unrelenting fear. It was then that I told him we could not go to Herod.

He said nothing. I could not tell if he agreed with me or hated me.

Tears flooded my eyes and there upon the camel I wept like a child. I was blind. It was too much! I could not overcome my fear. I would be thrown out because of my fear—I knew this as I knew my breath. Hadn’t Yeshua said as much in his parable of the harsh taskmaster?

Wasn’t I destined to be crushed?

I faced Saba with unbending resolve, tears still streaming from my pale eyes.

“We must find Yeshua.”

“We go to Herod,” he said, unsure.

“No. We have to find Yeshua first.”

“We don’t have time to—”

“Then I will go to him alone.”

He considered my desperation for only a few moments before speaking.

“We will find Yeshua.”

There was no more discussion. We would find Yeshua, who had spoken to me of my fear. Then we would go to Herod.

But my fear did not abate. With each passing mile it seemed to press deeper into my bones. I was going back into the jackal’s lair, I thought. This time I would not emerge.

Six days after leaving Petra, my camel padded over the rocky ground two lengths behind Saba’s, close to Sepphoris. We were weary from so many days in the hot sun, pushed by Saba’s driven pace, for Saba was always of singular purpose. It was clear that he served not one, but three now: Rami as before, but also his queen, Maviah, and his brother, Judah.

The weight of the tallest mountain was upon my shoulders, but Saba bore it as well.

There was Rami, there was Judah, there was Saba, there was I. The fate of the desert awaited us four.

But there was more.

There was Yeshua.

The sun was slipping down the western sky to our left as we rode—night would be upon us in a few hours. Only at my hands and feet was my flesh exposed. Like a mummy resurrected from an Egyptian tomb, I was wrapped in a woolen cloak from shoulders to ankles. My head was hidden beneath a mantle and sheer scarf that covered my eyes.

Yet even without the veil, my vision was clouded so that the whole world seemed to be made of jinn and fog. I could see well enough by day to make out Saba’s blurry form, well enough to function with careful estimation, but hardly more.

Saba led me faithfully, surely aware of the depths of my misery, but he allowed me to abide without offering advice.

Nine days of torment, and now Sepphoris was near.

Entering a sandy wash, he slowed his pace until I was beside him. For a while we matched stride, and finally he spoke, voice soft.

“I would tell you a teaching I once heard in the East,” he said. “With your permission.”

“A teaching, Saba. This is unlike you.” We plodded on. “As you will.”

“There is a woman on a path, wandering aimlessly. But a beast leaps from the rocks and she runs for her life, terrified. Sure to die, she reaches a cliff and leaps off to snatch a vine. Now out of the beast’s reach she hangs, momentarily grateful. But looking down she sees at the bottom another beast waiting to devour her. Now she is trapped.”

He was talking of me, I thought. Naturally.

“And above her the woman sees two mice chewing on this vine, one white and one black. Clinging to this vine she trembles, fearing for her life, for soon the mice will eat through the vine. Is not her fate sealed?”

“So it seems.”

He took a deep breath.

“Only then does she close her eyes and calm her mind. And when she opens them, she sees strawberries on the cliff. Thus she picks one of the strawberries and eats it. And how sweet is that berry.”