A.D. 33 (5 page)

“He has far fewer lies to unlearn than any grown man.”

“Perhaps too far for a little lamb. ‘A child will lead them'?”

He searched my eyes. “The meek will inherit the earth. Only as children can we follow or lead.”

Strange, to hear such words from the strongest and most skilled warrior in the desert. His entrance into any tent always commanded attention, for it was well known that he could take on twenty of the best in any camp and leave them all bloody on the sand if he chose.

I looked toward Dumah, six hours distant.

“The council has reached a decision,” Saba said.

“Yes.”

“And yet I see concern in your eyes.”

I glanced up at Talya, who balanced along the rock.

“We will march in three days' time,” I said, “with all the people and no weapons, to camp at Dumah's gates. If Saman refuses our request, I will offer myself in Judah's place. He will set Judah free and take me in his stead.”

So…there it was.

When no response came, I turned back. Saba stepped forward and took my arm, nearly frantic.

“No, my queen! I cannot allow this!”

I was taken aback by the force in his voice. Saba the peaceful sage had fled.

“Saman will put you to death!”

“He will not,” I said, breaking Saba's grip on my arm.

Surely Saba knew this. Saman held Judah hostage because of my love for him, but his life hung in a precarious balance because Judah's death would not inflame the rage of the desert.

Killing me, the one revered among so many Bedu, on the other hand, would make me a martyr whose legend would outlast Saman's, a fact that could not escape the Thamud leader.

Once I was in chains, word would spread through the desert and many thousands would come to join our peaceful revolution. In the end, Saman would reconsider, surely.

And if not…

I gently placed my hand on his chest. “Listen to me, Saba. You must not fear for me. You must only think of restoring Judah to his full strength. You must think of the orphans and the lost tribes who have entrusted themselves to us. You must keep Talya in perfect safety, no matter what happens. I will need you to lead, and only you. Tell me you will not waver from this duty.”

He spoke slowly, at a loss. “I will not waver.”

I stared down the slope at the sprawling sea of black tents dotting the white sands.

“I have seen death,” he said.

I looked at him.

“My death?”

“Many deaths, like locusts upon the sand. Who is among them, I cannot say.”

My mind spun with visions of battle and bloodshed, for this was the Thamud way. I pushed the images away.

“Are you saying that going to Dumah is a mistake?”

“No.”

My irritation flared.

“What's your intent in telling me this? If we die in peace, we die for generations to come.”

“Yes.”

That was all. Just yes.

“Then what is your point?”

He faced me, and I saw his eyes misty with emotion. Fear, that ancient familiar enemy I'd held so long at bay, approached me.

“If I am to be slain, or you,” he said, “then know that I would gladly give my life for yours. I have found my life because of you and would trade it for yours without a thought.”

I studied his eyes for a long moment, seeing there an honor he had never given me before. More than honor. Losing Saba would be as painful as losing Judah.

The thought surprised me. I couldn't deny how close we were—after so much time with him by my side, I depended on him for more than guidance.

But I loved Judah.

I removed my hand from his chest.

“Forgive me, Saba. Forgive me.”

PREPARATIONS WERE UNDERWAY for one last feast at my request, for I had decided that we would march with bellies full, confident of many more feasts to come. All of the children would be bathed, even if the same basin of water was used to wash many, spilling not a drop on the sand. I wanted them clean and smiling, for celebration was always a delight to them.

The morning after the council's decision was announced, Habib was placed in charge of securing all weapons, each delivered to a large cache prepared on the south side of our camp. After verbose discussion the men had come to peace with the notion of forsaking their “right arm,” as they called their swords and daggers. Had anything like it ever been seen in the desert? Never!

One by one, drawing courage from those who'd gone before them, they solemnly approached the great pit, kissed each of their blades, and carefully laid them in the sand as they might a treasure.

I had left this ceremony and was with Saba in Fahak's tent, discussing the best strategy for marching with so many young and elderly, and so few camels for them to ride, when Talya burst in, running.

“Mother!”

I glanced up. He was pointing to the north.

“Camels! Many!”

Saba leaped to his feet and I joined him, gripping his elbow. Together we raced to the top of the dune near my own tent where Talya had seen. My camel, Zahwah, was couched in the shade.

They stretched across the flat sands to the north, hundreds abreast, moving at an easy pace. It could only be army, for caravans traveled in a single column.

“Thamud,” Saba said.

I whirled to Zahwah and grabbed her lead. “Talya, to Saba! Summon the council members.”

I quickly gathered my dress and flung my leg over my camel, already clucking my tongue. “Up, up, Zahwah.” I tugged as she protested and rose to her feet.

“Maviah—”

“Tell only the elders—we must not spread panic! Bring them to me at the northern flat.”

TWENTY OF US arranged ourselves abreast on the sand, I in the middle, seated upon my white camel with my dark dress flowing in the breeze. My long, dark hair was loose as I faced a wind that portended this coming storm of Thamud. They approached at a steady trot, hundreds wide and three or four deep. Banners of the red-and-yellow crest flapped high above those who rode at the center.

My heart was in my throat as their faces came into clear view—Saman bin Shariqat and his son, Kahil. And there with them, my half brother, Maliku.

Had they come with a thirst for blood? Saba had seen many dead upon the sand.

“No one will speak but Maviah,” Saba said to my left. “Not a word.”

“This is business for men,” Fahak said.

“Not for men who hold no swords. Hold your tongue and let your queen gain us favor or you will deal with me.”

It was enough to bind the elder's pride, but Fahak didn't know how to remain silent for long any more than a lion knew how to leave its head buried in the sand.

Saba turned on his mount. “Remember Yeshua's words, my queen. This is only another storm on a forgotten wind. See with new eyes.”

Those words flooded my mind.
Why are you afraid, Daughter? See with my eyes. Calm the storm. Walk upon these waters.

Father…Open the eyes of my heart to see as you see.

I could see only the storm:

Saman, now slowing his camel to a walk, looming close.

The plodding hooves of a thousand camels bearing warriors dressed for war. Swords and daggers glinted in the sun at their sides.

Kahil, the one who'd killed my son and then blinded me, his dark eyes staring into my soul like a hawk eyeing its prey.

Maliku, my half brother, whose betrayal had led to the slaughter of so many.

Father…

Kahil lifted his right hand, and the sea of Thamud pulled up to a thudding halt.

My heart raced.

I fixed my eyes on Kahil, returning his glare with pointed disinterest. The knowledge that I had nothing to fear from him filled my mind. He was ruled by bitterness, I by acceptance. He, then, was the slave of this harsh taskmaster called earth, not I. For I was in the world but not of it.

And yet I still felt fear, because in that moment I did not
know
it as Saba spoke of knowing. Did he know? Was he at peace?

Saman stared at me, curious. A camel to my right roared, followed by a haunting calm. To a man, the Thamud stared at our small group clad in little more than rags.

“So…” Saman gave me a short nod. “This is the woman they would call queen of the sands.”

I sat still.

“And there is Fahak by her side,” he said, glancing at the elder to my right. “Thamud by blood and yet slave to a woman born in shame to a whore.”

Fahak spat to one side but held his tongue.

“My son says we should enter your Garden of Peace and assist the women with their bleeding.” His insult could not be mistaken, for it was believed throughout the world that all women were born lesser because they could not control their blood, which was the source of all life.

“You have only eight thousand men,” he continued. “All mangy dogs.”

“You underestimate pure Bedu blood,” I said.

He hesitated, for it was well known that even a common Bedu warrior could fell a hundred men. And perhaps he remembered that I had once cut him and brought down his horse with nothing more than a dagger.

“And still vastly outnumbered,” he said.

“Would a Bedu sheikh of such high standing as you slaughter so many?” I asked in a low voice. “Already your son has taken mothers and fathers from thousands of children. Or does he suggest you drink the blood of children as well?”

A wicked smile crept over Saman's face. “She can speak with clever words.”

“She speaks only on my behalf,” Fahak said, unable to restrain himself.

Saba cut their exchange short. “We have no desire for blood.”

“No,” Saman said. “Because in this desire you all would meet the gods by the setting of the sun. Even so, I hear your queen can also wield a sword.” He drilled me with a stare of curiosity. “Perhaps you would pit yourself against my son and settle all of this absurdity without subjecting your slaves to an early death.”

“I desire no blood,” I said. “Only the freedom of my father and Judah, and honorable repayment for the blood Kahil has spilled in the sands, unprovoked.”

Kahil spat to one side. “She should be sliced, like her father.”

A pool of emotion rose from deep within me at this news of Rami's death. I had longed to honor my father, however much he'd wounded me. I still desired him to see the daughter he'd thrown away seated in high standing among his own people.

The sound of pounding hooves on the flat behind me cut my thoughts short. All but Saba turned to see the brown camel racing toward us, whipped into a full gallop by its frenzied rider.

It was Arim, the young warrior who served me with an unabashed heart. Arim, with drawn sword waving in the air, headdress flowing in the wind.

“Back, you fool!” Fahak shouted, arms waving.

Jashim joined in. “Get back!”

Fahak's camel startled and stomped sideways to make room as Arim rushed in, reining his mount to an abrupt halt alongside me.

“You will not touch my queen!” he cried, sword extended at Saman. “You will not insult Maviah, for I am her slave and I will slaughter a thousand Thamud if they approach! Her god, Yeshua, will use my arm to cut any jackal who even threatens his chosen one!”

The intrusion was so sudden and bold that none could quickly respond. The sheikhs were surely outraged—none more than Fahak, because Arim found his courage in Fahak's own tent as part of the same clan.

The Thamud were surely amused, because all Bedu men respected such daring.

Saba only ignored the boy.

But Arim's fearlessness in the face of such an overwhelming enemy immediately reminded me that I was loved by a Father who saw no storm in this circumstance.

“Thank you for joining us, Arim,” I said.

He stared at me, then at the Thamud. Then at the elders.

“We have no problem here. You may throw your sword on the sand.”

He turned to me again, eyes wide, breathing hard.

“I heard there was to be trouble—”

“And yet there is none. Do as I say.”

Sitting tall and with a stern face, he took one last look at Saman, then tossed his sword into the sand.

Saman chuckled. “Some Thamud blood at last. Give me a hundred like this one and I will rule the world.”

“We do not lack heart, mighty sheikh,” I said. “We have more courage than all who stand before us with swords at their sides. Ours we leave behind.”

This gave him a moment's pause. His eyes shifted to the horizon behind me and he sighed.

“I too grow tired of war.” Eyes back on me. “So then…” He shoved his chin in Maliku's direction. “Make peace with her.”

Maliku prodded his camel forward three strides, then stopped, eyes on me. Clearly, he'd come to play this role.

He bowed his head and when he looked up at me again, I could see only fear in his eyes. I'd rendered him powerless once before, in Petra. He had no appetite to engage me again.

“It is true that you come in peace without any desire to retake Dumah?” he said in a soft voice.

“Where is Judah?” I asked.

“Judah is alive and well. But you must speak to me now. Speak from your heart so all can know the truth. You have no desire for Dumah?”

“When did they kill our father?”

He hesitated. “Surely you know that there can be only one ruler. Think of his death as proof that the sheikh too desires peace.”

In the Bedu way, it made sense.

“We have no desire for Dumah,” I said, calming my anger. “The desert is rich enough for all true Bedu.”

“Then demonstrate your sincerity by leaving this place, never to return, and you will be protected by Saman so long as no one raises a sword against him.”

“We require compensation!” Fahak croaked.

Saba grunted a warning.

I let Fahak's statement stand.

“This is impossible,” Maliku said. “But peace, you can have. This very day. I beg you, accept this offer from them for the sake of your children.”

Them? He spoke as one who did not want to be associated with the Thamud.

Seeing my reluctance, my brother motioned to the rear.

The warriors parted and a single camel plodded through their ranks. A body dressed in a muddy tunic was tied facedown on the camel's hindquarters. His head was bound by swaths of cloth.

My father's body?

“You cannot expect repayment,” Maliku said, “but Saman will offer you life.”

The warrior dismounted, untethered the body, and let it fall heavily to the ground.

Only then, as the tunic pulled free of his arm, did I recognize him. My heart seized in my chest.

“Judah!” Saba was already on the sand, rushing forward.

“Back!”

I don't know who barked the order, for my eyes were on Judah's body, which lay unmoving on the ground. I could not speak. I could not move. I could scarcely form a thought.

Saba pulled up at the command, breathing hard.

“Keep your distance,” Maliku said. “He is senseless but otherwise unharmed.”

“Judah?”

The voice was my own. I felt myself slipping from Zahwah's back. Landing on the sand. Hurrying forward.

The warrior who'd brought him stepped into my path, and without a thought I grabbed his arm, shoved my knee behind his left leg, and slammed him to the ground with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. And already I was at Judah's side.

Saba seized my elbow and pulled me back. “Not now, my queen.”

I was trembling. But Saba's voice, which had guided and comforted me through the desert, brought me to reality.

“Leave her,” Maliku snapped, motioning the stunned warrior back to his camel. “Or would you die today?”

The man scowled, then drew his camel away.

Kahil folded his hands. “So you see, Maviah…My word is also true. Judah is alive and well, and he is yours if you agree to Saman's terms. For the sake of all those you lead, take your lover and go back into the sands. I beg you.”

“You would send us away without food?” Fahak cried, unimpressed by Judah's deliverance. “You have taken all we have! We cannot enter the sands without food and camels!”

Maliku faced Saman, who considered the request and offered a curt nod.

“I will return with—”

“A
thousand
camels!” Fahak said.

“Don't be absurd.” Kahil sneered. “Food for scavengers is all you require.”

“A thousand camels or we butcher the lot of you where you stand!”

They said more, but my mind was on Judah, because I knew already that I was to be reunited with the man I loved.

“A hundred camels and two hundred goats,” Saman said, cutting the discourse short. “No more.”

“And wheat!” Arim said.

“Silence,” Fahak snapped.

But Arim went on. “And tea. And spices. And ten coins for each family so that we might trade for food on the long journey far away from you.”

Saman grunted, then conceded with a sigh. “Food and five hundred coins—no more. And let my mercy be known.”

Fahak spat once more, earning the respect due him, sheikh to sheikh.

Maliku spoke again, watching me closely.

“Maviah. Take what is offered and live in peace. As your brother, I offer my word. It's all I have left.”

I turned my head and stared at Kahil. His eyes were dark, and deep lines of bitterness and treachery were etched upon his face. I knew I would see him again, and the next time he would not be held back by a father weary of bloodshed.

“I would see Judah's eyes,” I said, facing Saman.