by Ted Dekker
“Only desire, I’m sure, Phasa, but you must listen—”
“I should have known! How blind of me! While I play the fool in his palace, he lies by the sea in the arms of a whore.” She shook a finger in the air. “Don’t think the religious leaders won’t cry out over this one, not for a moment.”
“They will object?” I asked.
“She is his brother’s wife! Yes, this will cause an outrage! He’s so sick in his head as to heap this trouble on top of my father’s rage! He’s lost his mind, I tell you!”
“Phasa—”
“Let him divorce me! I despise this cursed land anyway! I have wasted my life languishing here as his pawn for far too long. I cannot—”
“Phasa!”
Cut short, she spun to me. “What?”
“You must listen to me carefully,” I said. “It only stands to reason that Herod has no intention of divorcing you. The danger to him would be far too great. Rome might withdraw its support.”
“I don’t understand. You said he would marry Herodias.”
“I told you what was said. He means to be rid of you.” I approached her, lowering my voice. “By what means, I don’t know, but if you were to fall ill and die, his trouble would be far less.”
I watched the blood drain from her face, for she knew her husband well.
“A man as obsessed as Herod will stop at nothing,” I said. “Does his blood not run with treachery?”
“You’re saying he intends to kill me—”
“Would you risk thinking otherwise? If you die then Herod, after a show of great sorrow, will be free to marry Herodias. And if she is the woman you say, would she not encourage such a plot?”
Phasa paced again, staring at the floor, hands clenched to fists.
“You’re right. You’re right!”
“You must be very careful,” Saba said. “These are words that make wars.”
“Yes,” Judah said. “If Aretas’s daughter were to die, God forbid such a thought, Rome would protect Herod from Aretas’s rage. But if Herod throws his daughter aside in divorce—for this Aretas would wage war, and Rome might not come to Herod’s defense. Maviah is right.”
“Even if I am wrong,” I said, “there is now only one course you might take, Phasa.”
She looked up at me, nearly frantic. “To flee.”
“To flee now, before Herod returns. Once safe with your father, you will force his hand. He will have no option but to divorce you if he wishes to marry Herodias. She will insist. This is what Yeshua spoke over you in Capernaum. You must flee, Phasa.”
She stared at the window as her predicament settled about her. “I must. And fleeing will not be so easy.”
“No. But with us, there is a way.”
I looked at Judah and continued with assurance.
“We will take you to Petra on the safest route. Judah and Saba cannot fail you.”
“Petra?” Judah had gone still. “To Aretas, enemy of the Kalb? Impossible!”
“Do we have any better choice?” I snapped, bothered by my own fear. I took a breath to settle myself. “Our mission with Herod is crushed. If he intends to kill Phasa, then he will likely put all of us to death. Tell me this isn’t so.”
“It is,” Phasa said. “You stand to betray him.”
Saba exchanged a glance with Judah. “And Aretas will favor us? He backs the Thamud, who crushed Rami. To go to Aretas is to invite more death. Better to go to Rome with the dagger ourselves.”
“Rome?” Phasa said. “Herod has Rome’s ear. They will crucify you before they would give you audience.”
“Rome is too great a risk without an advocate,” I said, watching Phasa. “But Aretas will hear me. Phasa will ensure our safety in exchange for her own.”
She did not hesitate. “Yes. Of course I will. You will take me to Herod’s fortress, Machaerus, in Perea, only a stone’s throw from the border with Nabataea. Once we cross, we will be safe. Take me away from this cursed palace and I will be your advocate.”
“And what will you tell Aretas?” Saba demanded. “You will beg for mercy?”
“Phasa and I will decide,” I said. “You will only deliver me to Petra as charged by Rami.”
“My charge was to bring you to Herod,” he said.
“And Herod would have our heads,” I snapped. “I say now, Petra.”
My strong tone gave him pause. I had to be strong or else capitulate to my own worry.
“She says Petra,” Judah said.
“Yes, Saba,” Phasa agreed. “She says Petra.”
But Saba was loyal to Rami.
“Herod will know that you have betrayed him,” he said. “Rami cannot afford to have an enemy in both Aretas and Herod, who speaks for Rome. It is treacherous ground you tread.”
I crossed my arms and walked to the window, then spoke, looking out at the night.
“True. Which is why we must be forced by Phasa, under her demands for our obedience.”
I turned back to them.
“Phasa, you will leave a letter for Malcheus, explaining that you have discovered Herod’s intention to marry Herodias.”
“Malcheus will never stand with me now!”
“It won’t matter. We will be too far gone by the time he sees the letter. I ask only that you claim to have taken me by force to ensure my slaves’ aid in your escape. Ten of your most loyal warriors are no match for Judah and Saba.”
They stared as one, uncertain.
“He will accept this. Don’t you see? Even Malcheus knows that neither Judah nor Saba would threaten the life of Aretas’s daughter. This you will explain in the letter.”
“This was your thinking?” Saba said.
“Tell me it is flawed.”
He could not.
“It is brilliant,” Phasa said, eyes now fierce. “To see the look on that oaf’s face when he learns…” She headed toward her inner chambers. “Saba, come! We must leave immediately.”
“Leave by way of your chambers?”
Phasa spun back and shoved a finger toward her door. “My entire life is in that chamber! That beast can have his palace but I will not leave without my jewelry.”
She turned back, cloak swirling, and marched into her chambers. “Come, Saba!”
Saba. The black stallion so accustomed to freedom and respect in the deepest sands, now caged by Phasa.
“Go with her, Saba,” I said.
With one last glance at Judah, he dutifully followed, then stopped and regarded me.
“Aretas is no fool. Herod is but a child next to him. You court a dangerous storm.”
“And you, Saba, will keep me safe!”
He hesitated, offered a shallow bow and walked into Phasa’s chamber, leaving me alone with Judah.
I had spoken with far more courage than I could feel, and the strength was gone from me. But what I had started, I had to see through.
For a moment neither of us spoke. And yet, by the forlorn frown upon his face, I already knew that Judah was courting remorse.
“Maviah…”
“It is well, Judah.”
He rushed up to me and fell to one knee, grasping my hand.
“Forgive me, my queen. My place is with you. I lost my mind in thinking that I would leave you for Yeshua.”
“No, Judah, there’s nothing to forgive. Please, don’t kneel before me.” If he only knew the depths of my worry.
“I long for what my elders have spoken of all my life. But I can’t possibly leave you. I will be your lion to Petra and beyond, I swear it by the sun and the moon.”
“There’s no need to swear.”
He rose to his feet, soft eyes swimming. “Forgive me, Maviah. Forgive this Jew who—”
I impulsively leaned forward and kissed him on his lips, cutting him short. I did it more for my comfort than his and I knew that he could feel the tremble in me as I pressed close to him.
I knew what a sacrifice he was making, abandoning his great obsession for an unknown fut
ure. But in truth, I could not bear the thought of continuing without him at my side.
I would be lost without Judah.
“It is I who thank you,” I said, pulling back. “Never leave me, Judah.”
“Never.”
“Stay with me always.”
“Always.”
“Swear it.”
“There is no need to—”
“Swear it!”
His eyes were bright. “I swear by the heavens and the stars and the moon and the sun… I will stay by you always.”
“Thank you, Judah.” I swallowed a knot that had formed in my throat. “Thank you. We will find Yeshua again when the time comes.”
“Together,” he said. “And soon.”
But Judah was no prophet.
PETRA
“The eye is the lamp of the body.
If your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light.
But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness.”
Yeshua
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LIKE A STORM in the desert, the events surrounding our departure from Sepphoris were full of flurry and motion.
In her letter, carefully crafted with my help, Phasa made her claims explicit. She had no choice but to find safety with her father, King Aretas of the Nabataeans, until all rumors of marriage to Herodias were settled, because she feared for her life. Distrusting any Roman or palace guard, she had forced Maviah, daughter of Rami bin Malik of Dumah, to accompany her. Upon reaching Petra safely, she would send the slaves back for Herod to deal with as he wished, for they were of no concern to her.
“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.
If it was possible that Yeshua’s Father god could also be mine, could his power come to my aid as I stood before Aretas?
As we drew near to Petra, my only consolation was that Phasa had sworn to be my most spirited advocate. Her father would listen, she said. As for Shaquilath, his hotheaded queen, she could offer no assurances.
We arrived at Petra on the sixth day. I had not adequately prepared myself for that great city of stone.
Upon our approach we encountered a caravan southeast of the city. At least a thousand camels plodded in line, heavily laden with spices from Hadhramaut in the deep south, we were told. For many months they had traveled the southern trade route parallel to the Red Sea. I was immediately taken back to Dumah, where I’d witnessed the arrival of many such caravans.
Once again I was surrounded by the roar of a thousand camels as they were couched outside the city while the traders made entry. The scents of their frankincense and myrrh, mixed with the odors of the beasts that carried it, offered me some solace. And the Bedu who smiled as they lazily guided the camels…
These were my people. Though raised in Egypt, I was Bedu. I could not help but ponder what role I would play in their lives and they in mine.
We parted ways with the caravan as we approached the grand entrance to Petra—four travelers unnoticed, for there many were coming and going from that great pillar of trade.
Towering red sandstone obscured my view of the city. Tall columns were built directly into the face of the mo
untain. These rose a hundred feet, hewn into the cliff wall.
“It is a temple?” I asked.
“A tomb,” Phasa said. “A facade only, to mark the burial of a royal. We are Nabataeans, Maviah, lords of the world, you will see. This is nothing, I will show you.”
And she was right. We passed many such monuments to the dead, as well as an expansive arena carved from the mountain, large enough to seat five thousand, she said. It was new, the pride of her father.
Yet none could compare to the magnificence of Petra’s heart. We entered the main stone colonnade, a perfectly ordered street bordered by towering columns that faced the Jebel mountain, from which more great monuments had been cut, glowing red in the sinking sun. Merchants everywhere traded their wares—sparkling treasures and spices and fabrics from the farthest reaches, some having undoubtedly passed through Dumah.
We were soon in a red canyon carved with many channels that collected and diverted water into massive cisterns. The big rains came only a few times each year, but Petra’s people had mastered the art of collecting and preserving water long before any other, Phasa told us.
Only in this way could such an impenetrable city survive in the desert. Many had come against Petra for her wealth. None had succeeded. Not the Romans, nor the Greeks before them. None ever would.
And none could enter Petra and not wonder at the power of her king. To build such structures had surely taken many lifetimes.
Everywhere I looked I saw majestic architecture, greater by far than any in Sepphoris, if only because it had all been carved into the rock itself. Phasa insisted on showing us the city’s greatest features before making entry into her father’s courts.
The walled city itself was not so large, for most homes were on the slopes above the city, and the thousands who came and went by camel couched in massive camps to the south. Not so large, but glorious.
And unique in another way. The women dressed casually, at times scandalously, baring more skin than I was accustomed to. Their fabrics were rich in color and they were free to laugh on the streets. This place was more Greek and Roman than of the desert. Everywhere I looked I saw wealth. Petra was drenched in it.