by Ted Dekker
Phasa released him. “You know that I’ve always liked you, Malcheus.”
He said nothing.
“And you know that I have always seen the Jewish people as unfairly oppressed, even though I am the beneficiary of their oppression. Is this not true?”
Malcheus looked at me, even more confused now, for he was on quicksand, serving both Jews and Romans.
“Speak freely, Maviah is from Arabia and can be trusted.”
“I can’t say that I was aware of your thoughts on this matter.”
“No, of course not. I am merely the wife of Herod, whom you serve first. And yet, Herod knows my heart. And now you do as well, for your ears alone.”
He offered a curt nod.
“And you also know that there is no room for error in executing Herod’s orders.”
“I do.”
“None at all.”
“None,” he agreed.
“Good. Then you should know that Brutus has betrayed my husband’s orders and placed himself in the most dreadful condition.”
“Brutus?” His attention, though fully present before, was now acute.
“Yes, Brutus.” Phasa swept to her left, regal and bold. “That beast of a man has defiled his charge in the most egregious manner. Tell me, what was Herod’s charge regarding the queen Maviah?”
“That she be forbidden from leaving the palace.”
“Only this?”
“Yes.”
“I would add only that in accepting her as queen from the desert, explicit in his order was that she be treated as a queen in his palace.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And what of her slaves?”
“That they be held in the dungeons.”
“Did Herod, on any occasion, forbid the queen from seeing her slaves?”
Malcheus answered with caution. “I believe this was an order from Brutus.”
“Brutus. The vilest of creatures who believes in nothing but his own self-importance and miserable existence, which he lords over all who cross his path.”
She let the bitter indictment settle.
“And what would you say if you were to learn that this vile creature defiled Herod’s will by ordering Maviah—my sister at heart, from the noble Kalb, who are like brothers to my father, King Aretas—to be whipped?”
Malcheus surely knew that he was being led but could see no way to shift Phasa from her course.
“I would say he has misjudged.”
“You put it with too much grace, but it will have to do. If you had been present, I have no doubt that you would have stopped Brutus from such a heinous act against his king. Not doing so would only implicate your own conspiracy with that monster. Surely.”
His nod was slow to come and only half-assured.
“No need to fear, dear Malcheus. Fortunately for you, another man stepped in to stop Brutus while his arm was still drawn with whip in hand. But Brutus’s aggression against Herod’s guest cannot be ignored.”
Again, Malcheus’s response was slow.
“It cannot.”
“The one who stopped Brutus must be kept safe until my husband’s return so that Herod can make the appropriate accounting.”
“Yes,” Malcheus said. Then his concern got the better of him. “But, as you know, this may present a challenge for Brutus. If I understand correctly, the queen wasn’t whipped. Is Brutus truly at fault?”
“This is for Herod to decide, not you,” Phasa snapped. “And yet we all know that Brutus is at fault. Why else would he now be dead?”
“Dead?” The second in command paled.
“Dead. Killed by Judah, Maviah’s slave, after Brutus whipped him and then turned that same whip on my sister. Dead in the dungeon as we speak. Don’t look so shocked.” Phasa stepped up to him. “On my word, this is the day of your own deliverance.”
“I must know what happened!”
Phasa quickly explained the order of occurrences, meticulously laying blame at the feet of Brutus. As she spoke, Malcheus relaxed, seeing his opportunity in Brutus’s death.
Aretas’s blood flowed in Phasa’s veins, I saw, for she was as shrewd as any king.
“So you see, Malcheus… Judah did only what one most loyal to Herod would have done. And he cannot be faulted for being a Jew even as you are a Jew. And now you, as ranking officer, must assume charge of the palace guard until Herod can express his will. Under my hand, naturally. Do you not agree?”
He offered no further hesitancy. “I see no other way.”
Phasa paced. “Good. Then you will also understand why Judah and the other slave, Saba, must be my guests and will remain under my protection. I will not suffer the retaliation of any Roman guard loyal to Brutus.”
“Yes, of course. I shall place two of my own men at their cells immediately. They will not be touched.”
“You mistake me, Malcheus. Your dungeons failed the king once. Saba and Judah will remain in my chambers, as I see fit.” She arched her brow, inviting him to challenge her. “Or would you rather I tell Herod that it was your gross misjudgment on the hour of your own watch that led to his favorite guard’s death?”
My heart leaped within my breast. I could have kissed Phasa’s feet.
“I see,” Malcheus said after a few moments.
“You will leave them in my charge, to be done with as I see fit. They are no longer your concern.”
“They must at least remain—”
“They will remain where I see fit. If I choose to walk naked through the streets with them, it is none of your concern. Do you understand?”
He finally wiped his hands, one against the other, disowning any further responsibility. “Then they are on your head.”
“Precisely.” Phasa walked up to him and brushed his bearded cheek with her thumb. “Don’t worry, my dear Malcheus. As I said, I like you. I’m sure you will do nothing to dampen my affections in such a dangerous time.”
She turned and called for Judah and Saba, who appeared from her chambers, eyes fixed upon Malcheus.
“I am happy to inform you that Malcheus has risen in station to chief of the palace guard. He has insisted that both of you should be placed under my charge, as I alone see fit, because his dungeons have failed to protect you.” She turned back to Malcheus. “One Jew to the other, swear that neither you, Malcheus, nor you, Judah, will undermine my will in this.”
They showed agreement by the dip of their heads.
“Swear it,” Phasa said.
Judah reaffirmed his agreement. “I swear by the God of our fathers that I will not undermine your will in this.”
“And you, Malcheus.”
“I swear the same.”
“Thank you, Malcheus. I will speak only the best of you to Herod. You may leave us now.”
He hesitated, then left us.
I could scarcely contain the joy in my heart. The moment his form vanished from our sight, I hurried to Phasa, lowered myself to one knee, and kissed her hand.
“Thank you.”
Then I threw my arms around her body and held her close.
“Thank you, thank you.”
She laughed, delighted, hand on my head. “Thank your slave, dear Maviah. It is he who has shown himself to be a lion. Go to your slave. I will go to mine.”
By this she surely meant Saba, but I knew that Saba would not be enslaved to her so easily. Even so, my mind wasn’t on Phasa’s plotting.
I rushed to Judah, already knowing how I would repay him. I kissed him on his cheek and then tenderly held his face in my hands.
“We will go to your king, Judah,” I whispered. “I swear it. I will find a way for you to see Yeshua.”
CAPERNAUM
“The kingdom of God does not so come that you can watch for it.
Nor will they say, ‘See here,’ or ‘See there.’
For the kingdom of God is within you.”
Yeshua
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I WOULD prefer to claim that it wa
s I who persuaded Phasa to help Judah find Yeshua in Capernaum, but it was Saba. He, though slave in appearance, was not easily swayed by Phasa in any regard. He did not resist her playful advances, but neither did he yield to them, and this only seemed to delight Phasa more. She was not the kind to make demands in matters of men, clearly preferring the distraction of the game.
Though stiff and quiet for several days, during which he was ever by her side, Saba began to accept his role after I suggested in private that he consider himself her honored guard.
“Saba,” Phasa would say, “please bring me the grapes. Thank you, my stallion.”
“Saba, have some wine with me. It will soften your skin.”
“Will you walk with me, Saba? To the tower. The sun will do us good.”
At times I think he even found his role appealing.
When I first approached Phasa with the request that Judah and perhaps I take the journey east to Capernaum while we awaited Herod’s return, she was immediately agreeable.
“We will have to find a way, Maviah. Soon.”
“Then perhaps tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? No, no, that won’t do, my dear. You are under my care. It has to be planned. There are bandits out there!”
“They are no match for Judah.”
“Indeed. Still, it has to be planned. Soon.” And then she was off.
But soon was not so soon, and a week became nine days, and Judah began to grow impatient despite my assurances. It was only after I asked Saba to see if he might help Phasa hasten the journey that she approached me on the tenth day, lit like the sun.
“I have wonderful news, Maviah! We go to Capernaum tomorrow. Saba and I have made all the plans. We will travel by camel as Bedu six hours east to Tiberias, on the Sea of Galilee—it’s a wonderful city, you will see. From there we’ll take a boat north to Capernaum. We leave in the morning and will be in Capernaum before the sun sets.”
“You as well? It’s far too dangerous! You will be seen…”
“I go as Bedu with only my eyes uncovered. Saba will be by my side. No one will know. Not a soul.”
She appeared delighted. I suspected her shift in disposition resulted from the prospect of a daring adventure with Saba.
As for Malcheus, Phasa explained that we would be gone to the countryside for one night and return the following day. No one was to know that we had left the palace. After some convincing, he made the arrangements for the guard to be otherwise occupied for a brief period early the next morning, before the city awoke.
So it was that we found ourselves on the road to Tiberias when the sun rose the next day. We rode on camels, four common Bedu, yet our aspirations were anything but common and our spirits were high.
Judah’s, for he was to finally see this king his elders had spoken of for so many years.
Saba’s, for he was mounted as a warrior once again.
Phasa’s, for she was a new woman, free of the clutches of royalty, if only for a day.
And mine, for I was repaying Judah for saving me.
He was quiet, but his eyes were bright and his smile fixed. We had spent many hours together in the palace, always aware of each other’s presence, and yet I suspected that the larger part of Judah’s mind had remained on his greatest passion.
Saba positioned himself between Phasa and the edge of the road, watchful eyes always on the countryside, a fact that did not escape her attention.
“You are such a good slave to me, Saba,” she said with a smile. “With you I have nothing to worry about. You must consider staying when Maviah leaves us.”
He offered no response, nor was he expected to.
In the seventh hour we came to Tiberias, a glorious new city on the sea. Tiberias was Herod’s truest pride, Phasa insisted, built and named after the emperor of Rome. His walled palace within the acropolis there was even more grand than the one at Sepphoris. He remained mostly in Sepphoris only because of Phasa. If Tiberias was Herod’s, Sepphoris was hers.
But we avoided the city itself, making our way instead to the shore south of the wall, where fishing boats lolled in the blue waters after the morning’s catch. The vessels were small, no more than ten paces long. Surely a larger one would be fetched for us.
There, while Saba, Phasa, and I waited on a hill, Judah took coin to hire a boat to take us north to Capernaum. He returned soon, beaming.
“It’s arranged. Elias will take us, and his wife will see to the camels until we return.”
“How much?” Saba asked.
“Twenty days’ wage.”
“Twenty denari?” Phasa said. “It’s nothing. Tell him we will pay him a hundred when we return to find our camels in good stead.”
“You would inform him we carry so much?” Saba said.
“It’s not so much. Tell him, twenty denari now, eighty upon our return.”
Judah raised a finger. “And he assures me that this is the best boat on all of the Kinneret.” Galileans called their sea by this name. “Built to withstand the strongest winds.”
“Which boat?” Saba asked.
Judah pointed to one of five down in the water.
“These?” I asked. They all looked dilapidated.
For a moment none of us spoke. We were all from the desert—our seas were the sands and our ships the camels. But Judah seemed confident.
“It’s a strong boat. Elias speaks truth.”
So it was settled, despite my misgivings.
Elias was a stout man with thick, callused fingers, a large nose, and a beard that had surely never seen a blade. But Judah was right, his eyes were kind and he seemed confident, and when offered the prize of a hundred denari, he could not have been more exuberant had he found a chest full of gold.
“This way then!” Elias cried. “This way, watch the stones. I will lay down a plank so your feet stay dry. Samuel!” He glanced at his boy of perhaps fifteen years, who stood on the shore with our camels. “Tell Martha to feed the camels from our grain stock. If she questions you, tell her not to.”
He spun back to us. “This way. Just this way.”
“We need no plank,” Saba said, for he saw that the man intended to stretch one of considerable length from the shore to the boat, but traversing it would take some skill. “Bring the boat close.”
“But you will get your feet—”
“Bring it.”
“Of course.” Elias tugged on the boat’s lead rope until the shore stopped it firm.
Without waiting for instruction, Saba plucked Phasa from her feet, waded to the boat, and hefted her over the bow. Then he returned for me.
Elias watched. According to Herod, this man’s god would have rejected him and demanded repayment in blood or offerings for contact with a foreign woman.
“So, then,” he said. “We are off!” And he slung himself into the boat as easily as any Bedu might mount a camel. Judah and Saba, on the other hand, made a splashing mess but managed.
“Sit,” Elias instructed. “Sit here. Do not move. I will take care of you.”
Using oars, then a single small mainsail, he guided the boat out into a gentle breeze and turned it north. The sea was placid, and we moved at a crawl. I wondered if it might take us a full day to reach the distant northern shore.
After Miriam in Nazareth, Elias was only the second common Jew from Galilee I’d met. I’d passed many and exchanged a few words with merchants and children, but I had yet to know any.
“How far? There is no wind,” Judah said, gazing north. A tall mountain Saba had called Hermon rose on the distant horizon, in the direction of Syria.
It was the only invitation Elias needed to impress us with his knowledge of the sea from which he made his living.
“This is little wind. With little wind, as much as three hours to Capernaum. But do not worry, the wind comes. In the winter it may be like stone, and then the bitter winds sweep in from Mount Hermon to throw about waves twice the height of a man. Many foreigners gaze upon the Kinneret and claim i
t sleeps always, but what do they know? Great skill is required to fish this sea, I tell you. It’s like a bowl, you see, catching the wind in terrible circles that cast over many boats. For this reason they build the shore walls to protect Tiberias. Even so, the waves have swept the streets there as well. I have seen it with my own eyes. The sea is a terrible monster when it becomes angry.”
I stared at him, struck by horrifying visions of danger. Dusty sand I understood, but how wind could stir heavy water to deadly heights was beyond me, and I had no desire to investigate it further.
“Only in the winter,” Phasa said. “And not so often. Must you frighten us so?”
Elias saw his mistake.
“No, no, you must not be afraid. Mine is the strongest boat in this sea, they all know this. And there is no strong wind in the summer, as you say. The sea is very kind to me. It knows me by name, surely. I have taken many, many fish from her waters. Many. If not for the Romans I would be rich.”
His mention of the Romans shifted his disposition. He spit over the side.
“Rich, I tell you.”
His antics made me smile. If Judah, Miriam, and now Elias were any representation of Jews in general, then I would surely love them all.
As Elias guided the boat farther from shore the wind did pick up, though only enough to toy with the small square sail and push us along gently. All the way Elias talked, mostly with Judah, who was predisposed to hear the news, as were all Bedu. And like all Bedu, he soon steered the talk to matters of politics.
I cringed at Elias’s lengthy expressions of frustration in Phasa’s presence. Judah tried to temper the man’s outrage over the Roman occupation and Herod’s compliance with such subjugation, but Elias, thinking we were all Bedu who lived to be free, made his points with great passion.
“It’s an outrage, I tell you! They take half of my catch each day if I do not have the coin to pay the taxes, yet how am I to have coin if they take half of my catch? And these fish they sell to fill Herod’s coffers. Why? So that he can build yet another palace where he can languish in luxury? So that he can impress Rome while defiling God by building Tiberias on the graves of our ancestors? It is no wonder God himself now spits on the Jew.”