A.D. 33 (18 page)

Herod stood. “Aretas? What has he to do with Yeshua?”

“When Aretas marches, as is still his intent, his army will crush yours. But I might speak for you.”

Herod's face was ruddy again, but he didn't argue. Two years ago I had warned him of Aretas's unquenchable anger, though the king of Petra would bide his time. Even if Herod thought he could defeat Aretas, he wasn't the kind of ruler interested in battle. Wine and women were his vices.

Herod scoffed and turned away, incredulous.

“This is all nonsense! How will you take Dumah if you don't believe in the use of force? And even if you succeed, how can you be sure Aretas will yield to your diplomacy on my behalf? And
again
, what has the troublemaker Yeshua to do with any of it?”

I looked at Saba, who had not moved, and I kept my eyes on him as I answered, drawing his strength.

“I will do all of this with a power that comes through Yeshua. And so I ask you to protect him.”

Herod faced me, caught flat-footed by what surely sounded even more absurd than my offer to beg Aretas for mercy.

A smile slowly formed on Herod's face.

“So you too have been taken in by all this talk of his magic.”

“Magic? He casts no spells and uses no incantations. He speaks only for God, from whom his power comes.”

“Give me one soldier,” Herod said, lifting his finger. “Only one to put up against this so-called prophet of yours, and he would be dead with a single blow.”

“No.” Saba's voice rumbled with unmistakable authority as he stepped forward. “Forgive me.” He dipped his head in respect. “But you are wrong. And I speak as a warrior who could crush twenty men of your choosing pitted against me in this very chamber.”

We were both taken aback by his boldness, but Saba wasn't finished.

“What good is your sword against the one who raises the dead? Which eye can you pluck out that Yeshua cannot heal? What storm can you conjure that he cannot still with a single word?”

His nostrils flared and his stare was sword enough against Herod, who stood rooted to the floor.

“This is the man you have heard of, but even what you've heard means nothing. I, Saba, greatest warrior among all Bedu, have come face-to-face with Yeshua, and in his presence, my knees are weak.”

His words seemed to push the air from the room.

“Then maybe
I
should fear him,” Herod said.

“What is there to fear of love?” I said. “Only the religious leaders who dread the loss of their own power fear Yeshua. Would you take their word over ours, who have nothing to gain or lose in your country?”

He looked between me and Saba, then settled.

“Well then, what is your word?”

I clasped my hands behind my back and stared out to those distant storm clouds couched on the horizon, like a massive army in wait. Strange that they didn't appear to have moved.

“I once saw him calm a storm on the Sea of Galilee. It was as if his words, spoken from the boat, carried a power to which all of nature was forced to bow. Only three words—
peace, be still
—and the clouds rolled back like a scroll before my very eyes.”

I faced Herod, who listened intently, however skeptical.

“But I first met him with Phasa in Capernaum, on the northern shore, where I watched him heal the hearts of all who came seeking peace,” I said.

“Phasa?” he said, surprised to hear this of his former wife.

“Yes. She made a way for us to go while you were on your way to Rome.” We both knew that he'd gone instead to his lover, Herodias, and conspired to have Phasa killed so that he could take Herodias as his wife. But I wasn't there to accuse.

“Go on.”

I went on, telling Herod all that I'd seen of Yeshua's love and power, including the regaining of my full sight. Saba joined me, fueling my recollections with his own. We spoke quickly and with each account, our courage grew. So did Herod's interest. Finally we came to the sound of the Father's voice in thunder.

“Thunder?” Herod said. “There was no storm on that day.”

“I cannot say it was thunder, only that it sounded like thunder to those gathered.”

“You must understand.” Saba stepped closer. “All that we have said is true. Did not your own prophet, Elijah, hear out of thunder? And did the kings listen to him? So then, you must realize that what happens here in Jerusalem will forever change all of history. You must not stand in the way of that history. It will only destroy you.”

Herod stared at him, at a loss. But he had heard. More, he hadn't scoffed.

“I see.” He shifted his eyes past me, still lost. “What can a man say?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Herod sighed, climbed the steps to his seat, and lowered himself into the chair. Elbows on the golden throne, he slowly tapped his fingers together.

“Now I really must talk to him.”

And join him, I thought. Perhaps this was what Yeshua had intended.

“You must realize that if he is taken by his enemies—if this rebellion of his looks to fail—even those closest to him will surely abandon him. This land has seen no end to prophets who have been killed, and their followers soon after.”

I blinked. How could he say such a thing after all we had told him?

“Never,” Saba said. “Not after what they have seen.”

“What they've seen will have value only if they also see him take authority where influence matters. On earth, not merely in heaven.”

We had to be careful, I thought. Though Saba and I both knew the extent of Yeshua's authority on earth as well, it wasn't our place to put fear into Herod.

“I can see that Yeshua's power isn't lost on you.”

“No. No, I suppose not.” He sighed. “So then, tell me, what can I do for you?”

“Only follow your heart. Allow him to do what he is destined to do without interference. Let his Way be heard in all of Jerusalem without any fear of harm.”

“And in exchange for this, you will be my advocate for peace when you come into power—if such a day ever comes?”

His doubt was obvious.

“Did you ever think that I, daughter of Rami, who first came to you in Sepphoris, would one day steal your wife back to Aretas, relieve you of so much gold, and prevail in the arena at Petra to be made queen?”

Herod's face softened.

“No,” I said. “And yet here I stand. Throw away your doubt. If I'm right, you have everything to gain. If I'm wrong, you lose nothing.”

He finally nodded.

“Stay as my guests,” he said to us. “I will give you an answer when the sun rises.”

The thought of remaining the night unnerved me somewhat, but this was now my duty as queen.

We had won Herod's ear, and maybe more. I had trusted Yeshua before and he had given me sight when I'd fully surrendered to that trust.

I must do so now as well.

It was afternoon. Yeshua would celebrate their Passover in a few hours. Lambs were prepared for the slaughter.

I offered Herod a shallow bow.

“Then may the sun rise to offer me your grace, my king.”

PASSOVER.

On the Jewish calendar, every new day began at sunset, and in this case that new day was the beginning of Passover celebration. Saba and I ate alone late in the lavish chambers Herod ushered us into, remembering Judah, the mighty Jewish lion.

Judah, whom I still loved.

As I thought of him, sorrow filled my heart. And yet, here in Jerusalem, a new day was dawning and with it, new hope. After five days in Palestine, my hope in Yeshua's power to deliver Talya only continued to grow.

We had stepped out of the boat and were walking on water, as Stephen would put it. It was one thing to contemplate wonders in heaven; it was another to walk the earth, full of heaven's wonder. This took faith.

There was a large bed in the chamber, this to our right, covered in red and white silk sheets. Three oil lamps, all silver, lit the lavishly appointed room. Kings and princes had slept here, Herod said.

“It is because of Judah that we are here,” Saba pointed out, watching me across the low, Roman-styled table beside the couch. “Maybe this too was by God's design.”

I could hardly reconcile Judah's death and Talya's imprisonment with anything good.

“No, we are here because I forgot my way.”

“Perhaps that too.” Saba stood from the couch and walked to the window, hands on his hips. The night was already late and darkness hid the clouds that had been encroaching on the city. “Or perhaps we've never truly found the way,” he said. “Yeshua calms the storm with a spoken word. We struggle to rise above even the simplest fear.”

Yeshua's words, spoken so long ago, returned to me:
What you will see now is only the half
, he'd said.
There is far more to be revealed in time. Only then will you be able to follow where I will go.

“Only the half,” I said. “But we are finding the other half, don't you think?”

He stared into the darkness with his back to me. “Yes.”

It struck me that Saba was like a little boy. Like Talya. There in the dim light he was a black stallion, so majestic and powerful in this world's eyes, but inside he only wanted to trust.

I pushed myself up and approached him from behind. I could still smell the scented soap he'd used earlier. He had shaved, as was his way, and his skin glistened in the light of the flame.

“I often think the stormy sky is like our minds,” he said. “Darkened by clouds.”

“And yet the light always comes in the morning.” I put my hand in the crook of his elbow and stepped up beside him. My head reached his shoulders if I stood on my toes. But tonight I preferred to rest it on his arm, not for my sake but his.

“We follow a mighty Way, Saba,” I said. “His path is enough to make the head spin.”

“It shatters all common sense.”

“It defies the most destructive storm.”

Saba put his hand on mine, there in his elbow.

“Soon, my queen. I can feel a great illumination rising in the darkness. It is the end of all suffering. In the same way that he has overcome the anguish of this world, so will we, as we surrender.”

Talya's song of Eden was the promise of Yeshua—to live in glory even now while the world slogged through pain and death.

“I think it must be beautiful, Saba.”

He hesitated. “Surrender?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think in surrendering as Yeshua has surrendered through his own suffering, we will find only peace.”

“More than we can imagine.”

“Snakes cannot hurt us. Death will be far away.”

“Love alone will rule our hearts,” he said.

A beat.

“Saba?”

“Yes?”

“I know you are meant to hate me…But do you love me?”

Several breaths passed before he answered, barely above a whisper. “More than you can imagine, Maviah.”

His words flowed through me like honey.

I smiled in the dim light, staring out at the dark sky.

“Then let's swim in this love that he brings us.” I pushed back and twirled away. “Let's open our eyes to see the light and vanquish all darkness because he's come to bring sight to the blind!”

He was grinning when I faced him again.

“Dance with me, Saba!”

“Dance? I don't know how to dance, my queen.”

“Nonsense! Dance, Saba, dance!”

He began to clap slowly, his way of dancing. But it was enough for me. So I twirled to the table, plucked a grape, threw it into my mouth, and turned back to him.

“Then drink with me, Saba,” I said picking up my goblet. “Let us drink in remembrance of the light that has come to us in our darkest hour. We, who were blind, are beginning to see!”

“This,” he said, marching forward with one finger in the air, “I can do.”

From that moment, accepting such a powerful alignment between us, all darkness was vanquished from our minds.

We ate more food than we could possibly need—dates and cheeses and pomegranates and oranges, spitting out the seeds into a silver bowl. And we laughed. Not only a chuckle but true laughter and at the silliest things, like the juice running down Saba's chin and my spilling of wine as I filled his goblet.

I learned something that night: Saba truly was a child at heart. His many hours in silence before the Father had transformed him. It was no wonder Talya adored him so. They were both children.

I finally collapsed on the bed, exhausted yet brimming with life.

“We must sleep, Saba. A new day, full of the sun, dawns tomorrow.”

He was on the couch, smiling. “Do you want to know what I think, Maviah?”

His calling me Maviah rather than Queen pleased me.

“Tell me.”

“I think Yeshua will send us back to the desert soon. Perhaps tomorrow.”

I sat up. “You think so?”

“He said he would join us there, in spirit. You've done what he's asked of you here, now he will send us back to Petra with power. This is what I think.”

“I hope you're right.”

“If not tomorrow, then soon. Very soon.” He climbed to his feet, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it onto a large sheepskin across the room. “So you're right…We must rest.”

I watched as he blew out two of the lamps, then crossed to the third, which he picked up.

“Sleep well, my queen,” he said, gazing over the flame.

“Good night, my tower.”

He blew the lamp out and went to the sheepskin, which he preferred to the couch.

“Saba?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Talya is in suffering?”

He answered me in a tone that left no doubt. “Talya is full of Eden, Maviah. He is like Yeshua—they do not suffer as we do. As Yeshua himself says, do not worry about Talya. Only become like a child.”

It was the kindest thing he had said to me.

“Are you sure?”

“Without question.”

“Thank you.”

“Now sleep.”

Within minutes, I could hear his breathing deepen, and I knew that he had fallen asleep.

I pulled the silk sheets over me and settled into the deepest peace I had known in weeks.

I DREAMED. I dreamed of many things, but then I dreamed I was in the desert and thundering storm clouds promised torrential rains. A hundred thousand Bedu were dancing as rain pelted the dry earth. And Talya was there, watched by all, smiling like the sun. Green sprouts began to spring from the sand. Life had come!

Suddenly I was on a boat in the thundering storm once again. The sky above me was pounding. And Yeshua was there on the bow, fist raised to the dark skies above.

“I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven!” he cried, lowering his fiery eyes to me. These were the very words he'd spoken to those he'd sent out in his name a year ago, Stephen had said. “I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy. Nothing will harm you!”

Serpents! I was filled with courage. Who could touch me? Who had overcome me? Not that viper Kahil.

Who could know true authority? Not Herod.

“But rejoice that your names are written in heaven!” Yeshua cried.

My identity is the Father's daughter in his realm even now, I thought, even as his disciples' names were written in heaven long ago. And there we could not be harmed.

The sky pounded.

“Yes?”

Saba…

I was jerked from my sleep by the sound of his soft voice and I sat up to see him at the door. A servant stood beyond the threshold, holding a lamp. He'd been pounding on the door and woken Saba.

The sky was still dark outside.

“What is it?” I asked.

Saba turned. “Get dressed, my queen. Herod calls for us.”

“Herod? At this hour? It's—”

“He calls.” Saba gathered his sandals. “Hurry.”

I flew out of bed and grabbed my shawl and sash, at a loss as to why the king would call us to his chamber before the sun had risen.

We followed the servant down a hall, then turned to a massive door. My own sandals were still in my hands, and I thought to put them on, but then the door was opened and the servant was ushering us into Herod's chamber.

I stepped up behind Saba and blinked in the lamplight. Herod was standing by a table, dressed only in a nightshirt and a waist robe. His hair was tangled and he held a goblet in hand.

He turned to us looking put out. “This is why I hate Jerusalem,” he said. “They know no respect.”

I didn't know what to say.

“Well then…You have your answer. Courtesy of the Pharisees. You see who they think they are to demand an audience with me in the middle of the night. It never ends.”

This wasn't what I'd expected. “They came to you? Who?”

Herod set down his cup.

“One named Nicodemus. He insisted on my waking and begs for my intervention on the behalf of this prophet.”

Nicodemus! Stephen's uncle, and friend of Yeshua.

“Which prophet?” I asked. But I already knew. “Intervene how?”

“Your Yeshua, have you forgotten? The Pharisee claims he will be betrayed to the religious authorities before the sun rises.”

My heart was in my throat. Arim's words on death crashed through my mind but then were gone, because I refused to believe them. Stephen was right…In the end, Yeshua would show his power. And my visit to Herod was part of that.

“Didn't I warn you about these religious fanatics?” Herod was saying.

I couldn't think straight. “Will you?”

“Intervene? Even if I could, why should I? You say he cannot be stopped—so then let us see. If he is who you say, he will show himself as such and I will bow to him myself. There is your answer.”

His words sucked the air from the room.

“Where?” Saba demanded.

“Where will I bow?”

“Where is he to be betrayed?” The force in his voice stilled even Herod.

“In a garden,” the king said. “One he frequents.”

A chill swept through the room.

Saba grabbed my arm. “We must go.”

I was already turning, my mind on one thought alone: Gethsemane.

“Return to me with proof, Queen,” Herod said. “Convince me!”

But I, like Saba, cared about only one thing now.

We had to get to the garden just outside of Jerusalem. Yeshua must be warned. This, I saw now, was why my heart had been nudged to visit Herod.

Reaching the expansive courtyard, Saba began to run, then turned back and grabbed my hand.

“Hurry!”

“Hold on…” I leaped to a couch and quickly pulled on my sandals as he faced the eastern horizon. The Mount of Olives. Now with full view of the sky, I saw that the ominous storm clouds rose like a wall beyond that peak. The sight filled me with dread.

I sprinted after him, through the courtyard, down the sweeping steps of the palace, to the gate.

“Our camels—”

“There's no time to secure them,” he snapped. “Stay close.”

The streets of Jerusalem were deserted, and we ran through them as if for our very lives. The temple was a lifeless white monument against the dark sky.

We returned by the same route we had taken only yesterday. Past a hundred homes and shops. Past the guards at the city gate who watched us curiously as we ran. Up the path that led through the Kidron Valley to the Mount of Olives.

We did not speak—doing so would have only wasted our breath, which kept cadence with the slapping of our feet. Saba loped two steps ahead; I was at a full run, trying to keep up.

There was no sign of violence or threat, and this calmed me somewhat, but I could not shake the weight of those massive clouds towering on the horizon. I had once faced a storm in Galilee. But Yeshua spoke calm to the storm. Now a new storm was gathering against him.

I didn't know if we would find Yeshua in the garden so late. Nor whether he'd already been betrayed. Nor who might have conspired against him. Nor why Nicodemus had been prompted to wake Herod.

I only knew that I had to run, because I had information that few could possibly have guessed.

But more, I ran to be by Yeshua's side. To remain in him. To be with him always, for my sake, but perhaps now for his sake as well.

A hundred questions spun through my mind, and still I ran.

ONLY WHEN we reached the section of road where we'd heard the voice of the Father in the thunder did Saba veer from the path and slow to a walk.

“He's there?” I whispered, staring at the garden ahead of us.

Saba surged ahead, offering no response.

Slowly, my breathing settled. Large olive trees rose about us and Saba led me through them, picking his way easily, eyes ahead…always ahead.

“Saba.”

He lifted his hand and absently shook his finger to silence me, leaning into the darkness. Then he pulled up short, listening.

I heard nothing but the sound of crickets. But Saba had ears to hear a ghost in the night.