A.D. 33 (11 page)

Dread snuffed out my light.

How could I show her what I had lost? And more, show her what I had failed to show the sheikhs in the desert? Again I turned to the one I could trust.

“Saba?”

His gentle gaze held me.

“For this we must first go to Yeshua.”

Yes, of course. What had escaped me only moments before suddenly seemed plain. I would find my sight with Yeshua once more, and this time I would learn to show the way to others. Was this not what it meant to follow him?

I faced Shaquilath, having taken Saba's confidence.

Seeing my agreement, the queen made her final offer.

“Then go to your sage, this Yeshua. Find your power once again. Return and show me how you defeated Maliku in our arena.”

She studied me. The king offered no objection.

“Bring us Yeshua's power,” Shaquilath said. “If you can, we will save your children.”

FILLED WITH urgency and a renewed hope, we remained in Petra only one night, long enough to bathe and resupply for the journey. And to dine on rich foods with Phasa, who begged us to stay a few more days.

Although neither Saba nor I took the lavish clothing she offered, she insisted we at least take some costly spices and perfumes as well as some silver to aid us if we ran into trouble.

Arim was less modest. He made a plea for a new headdress and a white tunic brightened with a wide cotton belt the color of pine. He also persuaded Phasa's servants to give him new leather sandals and a pair of sheepskin boots embellished with golden stones, the latter of which he delightfully stowed away in his saddlebag for special occasions.

I had not anticipated how much Arim would lighten my heart, for he, like Judah, carried the stars in his eyes and the sun in his heart.

Leaving Petra the next morning, I was desperate to find Yeshua. I would throw myself at his feet and beg for his salvation in the desert. I would beg him to heal my heart as he'd healed my sight once before. I would weep in submission and drink of the living water that only he could offer.

And then I would return to Petra, filled with power, and save my son and all of the Bedu who were enslaved.

We rode long days and far into each night, speaking often, eager to reach the northern shores of Galilee where we'd last encountered Yeshua. In conversing with Saba now, I felt as though I was speaking to Talya's father as much as to my protector.

Even more, I became aware of how deep was my friendship with him. For two years he had been my pillar, never yielding, always honoring me over all else, ever my faithful adviser in all matters. Truly, I knew Saba far better than I had known any man.

Arim, who had never failed to show interest in me as a woman, now seemed to abdicate this role in Saba's company. Surely he saw in Saba something far more than he could offer me.

The journey to Capernaum was to be six days, but our journey was cut short near the north shore of the Dead Sea in Perea. There, on the caravan route, we met a Nabataean Jew named Elhizer returning from Jerusalem with his two sons. When Saba inquired of a teacher named Yeshua from Nazareth, the man became still.

“Yeshua, you say?”

“Yes. You've heard of him?”

“The worker of wonders?”

My pulse surged. “You know of him?”

“It is said that he has raised the dead,” the man said, clearly unnerved. “That he is dangerous.”

“Only death finds him dangerous,” Saba said. “Where is he?”

Elhizer eyed him suspiciously. “They say he stays with the one he has resurrected. In the village where the outcasts and lepers tread.”

“Where is this village?” Saba demanded.

“Near Jerusalem.”

“Where?”

The man looked between us, as if unsure he should divulge this information.

“Give us a name, man!” Arim interjected, making his presence known. “Are all in Palestine so unhelpful to a queen?”

I glanced at him. “Please, Arim.”

“Forgive me, my queen. I speak too quickly.”

The man looked at me who'd been called queen.

“Bethany,” he said. “The place of unripe figs and misery. Less than an hour east of Jerusalem, near the mountain of olives.”

BETHANY. On the fourth day of our journey we cut due west across the Jordan River and came upon the small village when the sun was still high.

We drew our camels to a halt on a small rise, overlooking perhaps fifty ramshackle hovels made of mud and straw and nestled at the base of the mountain of olives—a large hill covered in olive groves. Beyond it must lie Jerusalem, sacred city to all Jews, crowned by their great temple.

I had heard many tales of the majestic city, heavily fortified by Antipas's father, Herod, who built the lavish palaces and a grand arena for games and gladiators. An hour's walk from Bethany, Elhizer had said.

I returned my gaze to what I presumed to be Bethany. From our vantage the town indeed appeared to live up to its namesake. It might have been Nazareth. A few children played on the jagged path through the village. So poor, so insignificant, and yet had not Yeshua always preferred the company of outcasts? Hadn't he been raised by his mother, Miriam, in a village like this? So then he would be at home among the poorest of the poor. Among the diseased and destitute. Among women and the shamed.

Among those his religion punished for being unclean.

Still…If Yeshua was there, among the humble homes, surely crowds would be gathered as they had in Capernaum and Bethsaida. We had journeyed for thirteen days away from my son for an audience with the master. I could not bear the thought of one more.

“What if Elhizer was wrong?”

“There can be no doubt but that he deceived us,” Arim said, spitting to the side. “Not even the poorest Bedu could abide in such a place.”

This was true. Even the poorest Bedu lived on windblown sands, however humble their tent. Only in villages and cities could such poverty appear so entrenched. Arim had likely never seen this kind of living.

“Elhizer wasn't wrong,” Saba said quietly.

“How can you know this?” Arim asked. “A god cannot live in such squalor.”

“You do not know this god.” Saba stared ahead, resolved. “I can feel him.”

The afternoon became perfectly quiet. A light breeze cooled my neck. The skin on my arms prickled, as if by an unseen power. Saba was right, I thought.

“His realm is not of this world,” I said, and I nudged my camel, who snorted once and plodded on.

We rode three abreast into Bethany. When we'd arrived in Nazareth two years earlier, the children had run out to beg, but here we were barely noticed. Perhaps because, unlike Nazareth, Bethany was so close to a large city and accustomed to travelers.

But where might we find him? Arim was the one to ask.

“You there,” he said to a boy dressed in rags, hurrying past. “Is the prophet god called Yeshua near?”

The boy stopped, hesitated a moment, then pointed to a house at the edge of the village, back the way we had come. “You have gone too far,” he said. “Lazarus, there.”

Arim drew his camel about. “Lazarus, you say?”

But the boy was already running off.

“Arim?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Do not call him god aloud in this land. They would stone him.”

“Forgive me, Maviah. I will call him prophet only, though you call him a god.”

Arim could not yet understand. And could I?

“It is mystery,” I said. “The mind cannot fully understand.”

The house of Lazarus sat by itself, a modest yet relatively clean hovel attached by a courtyard to another home behind it. Two goats chewed on stubborn tufts of grass along the wall. A large shade tree rose from a garden beyond the house, spreading its branches over the courtyard.

Soft voices reached us from within.

Without waiting for me, Saba dropped from his camel and strode for the gate. But before he could reach it, the door was flung wide and a man dressed in a simple tunic and sandals stepped out, head down, intent on his passage.

He took two steps and pulled up sharply, seeing us and our five camels. His eyes went from Saba to me. I recognized him immediately.

“Stephen?”

“What is this?” he cried, rushing up to Saba as I slid from my saddle. “Saba, my old friend!” Stephen clasped his arms and kissed his cheeks. “What joy has visited me this day!” Then he kissed Saba again.

“It is good to see you, my friend.” Saba dipped his head, grinning.

“Maviah!” Stephen stepped around Saba, pressed his hands together, and offered me a bow. “The queen of the desert has returned as bright as the morning star.” He spread his arms wide. “Welcome, my dear friends, to the land of splendor!”

I hurried up to him and clasped his arms, overcome by gratitude, because Stephen was like a brother to me. He was also the certain way to an audience with Yeshua.

“Thank you, Stephen! Thank you.” Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden.

He stared at me, quieted by my outburst, then glanced at Arim, who had dismounted and stood holding the camels' lead ropes.

Stephen looked into my eyes. “You've come with a heavy heart, dear Maviah.”

Was it so obvious? But to Stephen, it would be.

“I must find Yeshua,” I said. “My son…” There was too much to say.

“You have a son? With Judah?”

“No. I've taken an orphan as my own.”

“Then you must not fear. The kingdom of the sons is upon us. There is much to speak about! Everything is changing, my friends. Everything!” He motioned me toward the house. “Come, all of you. You must meet the others. Leave the camels. No one will steal here in Bethany.”

He grabbed Saba's arm and was halfway to the house before turning back to Arim. “Forgive me. And what is your name?”

“I am Arim, protector of my queen, Maviah of Dumah.”

“And I am Stephen ben Gamil, slave of Yeshua, who is king of the world. Come!”

Even as I approached the gate I became certain that when I stepped into the courtyard, I would find Yeshua. If his presence was like a warm breeze laced with spice, it was in the air already.

But there was no breeze in the courtyard. Nor any scent but that of baking bread. And there was no sign of the master.

Instead, I saw two women seated on a mat, quietly weaving, and two men at an old table, eating dates. One of the men was thin, with a graying beard and no more than rags on his bones. The other man was younger and well groomed. He wore a dark beard and a threadbare brown cloak.

Both paused their quiet conversation and turned to us. The eyes of the younger man were amber like honey, and I found myself bound to them for a moment before remembering myself and looking away.

“May I present Saba, mightiest warrior in all of Arabia; Maviah, queen of Dumah; and her protector, Arim,” Stephen said, stepping to one side. “They are dear friends to us all, disciples of the master.”

The two women had stopped their weaving and looked up. Both wore head coverings, as was the Jewish way for all women, and plain dresses. Sisters, I thought—their faces mirrored each other.

There was mystery in all of their eyes, I thought. Something wonderful and inviting. They, like Stephen, were close to Yeshua.

None spoke, but their hearts pulled me in. After so long on the dry sands, Saba and I had finally returned to those rare companions who understood what the Bedu could not.

Stephen introduced each in turn.

“This is Lazarus,” he said, indicating the younger man, and our dear friend Simon the leper, though as you can see, his skin is now like a child's.”

The old man flashed a sheepish, nearly toothless smile. I was immediately taken by him.

“This is Martha and her sister Mary. They are both sisters to Lazarus.”

The woman called Martha was the first to stand and hurry toward us. Then Mary, though she held back, watching me tenderly.

“Welcome to our home,” Martha said, offering me a kiss. Then they all approached with customary greetings, Mary the last. There was a quality about Lazarus that I could not fathom. Perhaps the secret lay in his eyes.

“They call you the leper?” Arim asked, staring at the old man who'd hobbled over. “I see no disease.”

Simon had worn his grin since Stephen's introduction. “I am called the leper because I was always called Simon the leper. I do not wish my brothers to see me differently.”

“You were a leper, then? How is this disease gone?”

“Yeshua,” the old man said. “The healer.”

“This is not the half of it, Arim,” Stephen said. “Come, you must be hungry. Martha, give them water. Sit, sit…We have much to discuss. Yeshua comes for a feast at Simon's house tonight!”

“Tonight?” I said.

“Tonight! But first, sit. Maviah, tell us your troubles.”

At Stephen's coaxing, I told them my story with help from Saba, who came alive among them. He told his story as well. And Arim, his, though this took only a few minutes.

There were chairs for only six. Martha busied herself in preparing dough for flatbread, interjecting questions freely, offering gasps when surprised and clucks of the tongue when sympathetic. Mary sat on the mat, weaving quietly, hardly speaking a word.

They were silent for a moment when we finished.

“Do not worry, Maviah,” Stephen said. “Yeshua will know. You will see. He comes this very night and you will know what you must do. And you, Saba, who have become wise beyond most. And you, Arim—Yeshua vanquishes death for all.”

Mary pushed herself to her feet and approached the table. She took my hand. “Will you walk with me?”

I glanced at Stephen.

“Go,” he said. “We men will talk among ourselves. Go with Mary.”

“And me?” Martha asked. “Am I man to remain?”

“No, Martha. You will prepare, will you not?” He smiled at me. “At times I think Yeshua comes to Bethany mainly to eat Martha's bread. This is her gift to us all.”

Martha arched her brow, but she was pleased by Stephen's praise. “He comes for mine, and the rest of the world comes for his bread.” Her eyes fell on Lazarus. “For life itself.”

“Come,” Mary said.

She led me by my hand through a gate into a field with scattered olive trees. Ahead, a path cut back and forth up the large hill that they called the Mount of Olives.

We walked together hand in hand, like two sisters, Mary at peace. I couldn't begin to guess her intentions. How wonderfully unique were these poor in Bethany.

Just beyond the homes, we crested a knoll and came to a grove. Mary smoothed her dress and sat on a patch of grass beneath a sprawling olive tree, patting the ground.

“Sit with me, Maviah.”

I lowered myself to the grass beside her.