by Ted Dekker
He was a part of the song in the garden. He was in the light. Everything else was real, but less real, and as long as he could see the garden, he was saved from the serpent called Kahil.
At least that was how Talya saw it in his mind.
But on the fifth day that changed.
On the fifth day he was dreaming of Eden, lost in the wonder of that realm, when suddenly, for no reason that he knew, the black serpent with beautiful colors came out of the brush, slowly slithering through the grass.
Talya jumped back, expecting it to vomit up another black-and-white fruit. If it did, he would only have to crush the snake again, as he had before.
But this time the serpent ignored him. This time it turned and streaked toward the lamb. Before Talya could move, it spread its jaws wide, sank its long fangs deep into the lamb’s flesh, unlatched itself, then sped away, hissing loudly.
Immediately the lamb’s song, so pure and beautiful, became a scream.
Talya dropped to his knees and grabbed his ears, terrified.
Horrified, he watched as the lamb bleated, faltered, then stumbled to the ground, where it closed its eyes and lay still. Dead.
The world sputtered once, then winked out, leaving him in utter darkness. But this wasn’t like the other kinds of darkness he’d experienced, because now that darkness was still screaming.
And when he jerked up from the floor fully awake, it was his own scream that filled the cell.
He knew then.
He knew that he too was going to die.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I COULD hardly sleep that night. Once the idea had taken root, not even Saba could rid me of it. We would go to Herod of our own accord, and there I would tell him everything. He, being the king from Galilee, would hear me. Yeshua must not be harmed.
Saba worried for my safety. There was no need to save Yeshua, who could not be hurt. I would be the one in danger, he insisted.
“Then we go for me, Saba,” I said. “This will be my act of faith, throwing myself into danger for his sake. I’ve stood before kings—this is what a queen does! I must go.”
Seeing my resolve, he offered no more argument.
I commanded Arim to remain in Bethany, despite all of his begging to come for my protection. But I insisted. In the event anything happened to us, he must take word to the tribes. All of the desert would depend upon him. This seemed to satisfy him.
I bathed with soap and drew my hair back with Mary’s help. Both she and Martha were eager to assist me, for my seeing Herod, whom they feared, filled them with wonder.
They washed my long white tunic and red shawl, which certainly appeared queenly to them, particularly matched with my blue mantle and the silk sash about my waist. I chose to wear this and the silver necklaces that Shaquilath had insisted I take, though I hadn’t yet worn them.
“You are a vision for any king!” Mary whispered as I mounted my camel.
“You’re being too kind.”
“Nonsense! Herod will be watching you like a hawk. Just be sure that you pay no mind to his eyes. He’s not to be trusted, that one. There was never a more poisonous viper.”
Mary did not know the more poisonous snakes, Saman and Kahil. She knew no other ruler, for that matter.
But this one, Herod, I had once both seduced and foiled. It was then, seated high upon my camel, that my standing returned to me. Was I not the queen who had bested two kings?
I turned to Stephen. “Take good care of Arim. He’s lost without you.”
Arim would have none of it. “Have no fear, my queen. It is I who will see to Stephen!”
With my role as queen of Arabia in mind, Saba and I once again struck out over the Mount of Olives for Jerusalem while the sun was still on the eastern horizon.
Mounted, our journey took far less than an hour, and we arrived at the gates of Jerusalem before the city had fully risen. Merchants were just beginning to set out their wares. Pilgrims from the far corners, dressed in all manner of headdresses and tunics signifying their status and position, loitered in doorways as they watched us clop down the deserted streets.
Saba had learned the location of Herod’s palace, which was on the western side of Jerusalem. No one could possibly miss such a lavish structure, so elegantly built by Herod’s father, also called Herod. The high walls were made of massive white marble blocks. Three towers rose on the north side, overlooking all of Jerusalem.
But we did not easily find entrance. Nor had we expected to, for the hour was early and we were not expected.
We approached the barred gate, which was under the watch of four guards—two Roman and two of Herod’s, distinguished by their black armor. The sun was only just growing hot.
Saba stopped his camel beside a tall palm thirty paces from the entrance. “Wait here.” He dropped to the ground, then bowed to me, showing himself to the guards as my servant. I watched my tower striding toward them, wearing his sword.
Saba, the most powerful warrior in all of Arabia, so tall and muscled, yet gentle as a dove.
Memories of the violence in Dumah flooded my mind. Saba had saved me then, even as the Thamud overpowered Judah. But I was the one who’d subjected Saba to choose such violence.
Saba, who would sever a hundred heads and then die to save me.
Saba, who loved me, despite his intention to hate me.
I had pushed him too far, I thought.
He talked to the guard and presented his sword in good faith. The queen of Arabia, known as Maviah, has come for an audience with Herod, he would be saying. And what would Herod say?
What was I to say?
You will know what to do, Yeshua had said. This is what I knew to do.
I turned to the east and looked beyond the city. Yeshua was there, somewhere. There was no account of him since he’d left Martha’s courtyard last night. Had he spent the night in the hills, then returned to Bethany? Or was he on the Mount of Olives still? Or perhaps somewhere in Jerusalem, even now?
Stephen had said Yeshua would surely share in the ritual Passover meal with his disciples later, as night fell. Today was the first day of unleavened bread, which held great significance for the Jews. They would slaughter a lamb and paint the doorposts with its blood, as had been done in Egypt to avoid the angel of death. This marked the start of their seven-day Passover festival.
Thin lines of dark clouds were forming on the distant horizon. A storm might build, I thought. Or the clouds might pass—they often promised rain to a dry and thirsty land, only to dash hope.
I’d stood before Herod and Aretas and Saman and Kahil, and always, I had stood tall. But here I suddenly felt alone.
Saba returned.
“What did they say?”
“That we must wait,” Saba said. “He sleeps.”
I grunted. Herod loved his wine.
We waited. Three hours at the least. Not until the sun was halfway up the eastern sky did a guard approach us with a servant close behind.
“Leave your camels, they will be taken care of. Come with me.”
Saba nodded at me. So then…Our time had come.
But I was wrong.
We followed the guard up sweeping steps into the courtyard and I was immediately taken aback. Herod’s father, who’d built the palace, had spared even less expense than his son had in Sepphoris, or Aretas in Petra.
The vast courtyard was made of stone floors that surrounded a garden, complete with grass and trees and two round pools. White doves fluttered about the branches; geese floated lazily on the water. Bronze fountains spewed precious water, which ran through canals to the pools.
On either side, covered walkways with hundreds of white pillars were richly furnished with cushioned seats and tables. Many of the lampstands and ornaments were made of silver and gold.
Many guests of great wealth, likely in Jerusalem for the Passover, lingered on benches and chairs, eating fruits and sipping wine from silver challises. Only a few looked our way.
Far
across the courtyard, steps rose to the inner chambers, but we were led to a wing to our right. It mirrored a second wing on the far side. There was enough space to house many chambers for hundreds of guests, I thought.
“Wait here,” the guard said, motioning to a cushioned seat.
And so again we waited. A young servant boy tended to us, offering us grapes and figs with water and wine. We waited in silence. There was little to say now.
Those distant storm clouds were making a slow approach, like an army marching toward Jerusalem. But when I mentioned them to Saba, he suggested they would be blown south by the wind.
The sun was already well past noon when we were finally approached by one of Herod’s chamber guards.
“The king will see you now.”
Saba caught my eye as he stood. “Only remember who you are first, my queen.”
And who was I first? Queen of the outcasts in Arabia, or daughter of the Father?
The moment I stepped into Herod’s court, I became queen first. Familiarity came back to me in a single breath. The lavish settings drenched in gold and silver, the slaves waiting to serve at a moment’s notice, the guards at the door, the stately thrones of power on a raised platform.
The seats were occupied by two men, one in white, whom I’d never seen, the other in red, whom I knew too well.
Herod.
His eyes were on me as I crossed the polished marble floor and stepped around a black table at its center. Saba stayed one step behind me. A thin smile cut Herod’s face beneath piercing eyes as he toyed with his graying beard. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or sneering.
The stately man, clearly Roman by his robe, stood as if to leave.
“Stay a moment, my friend,” Herod said, eyes still on me. “I would like to introduce you to Arabia’s queen of outcasts.”
The man regarded me without emotion. His clean-shaven face remained flat. He struck me as one who either didn’t appreciate his position in Herod’s courts or found himself enslaved by it.
“And so she returns with her slave once again,” Herod said, standing.
I offered him a slight bow. “My king.”
He returned the courtesy. “My queen.” Then to the Roman, sweeping his heavily ringed hand toward me in grand gesture. “Maviah from Dumah, queen of the disenfranchised Bedouin. By all accounts she’s become something of legend.”
The Roman ruler offered only a slight nod, unimpressed.
“This is Pontius Pilate,” Herod said. “Roman prefect, who governs at the mercy of Tiberius, my dear friend.”
I knew Herod to be favored by the Roman emperor, Tiberius. He was using our introduction as an opportunity to emphasize this point. For my benefit or Pilate’s? Were Herod and the prefect at odds?
I dipped my head. “It is my honor, Governor.”
“Honor?” Herod quipped. “And what do the Bedu know of honor?”
“Only that betrayal has no part in it,” I said, reminding him that it was he who had betrayed me.
He smiled and glanced at the Roman. “Never underestimate the Bedu, prefect. Nor a woman with such spirit.”
Pilate grunted. “Arabia is the curse of Rome. How many legions have we lost in those impossible sands?”
“Too many, I’m sure,” Herod said. “And yet Maviah rides through them like a ghost and gathers the tribes like a prophet.”
Pilate’s brow arched. “Then perhaps Rome would enjoy meeting such a queen.”
“Perhaps. But only with a king’s blessing.”
“Oh? I didn’t know that Herod had such far-reaching authority.”
Herod looked at the Roman prefect and chose his words carefully. “It seems that we have often been confused about who has authority where,” he said.
Pilate gave him a conciliatory bow. “Indeed. Now, I must return. As you can imagine, these festivals tax any man’s endurance.”
“Of course.” Herod dipped his head. “Prefect.”
Pilate glided down the steps in his long cloak and walked toward a table heavy with scrolls.
Without waiting for the Roman to exit, Herod continued his business with me. “So tell me, Queen, what have you come to steal from me this time?”
“If you mean the gold paid to Aretas, that was payment for your wife, Phasa, as you know. And I was only a messenger.”
“Of course.” He plucked a grape from a silver tray held by a servant beside him, and sat down again heavily. “And whose messenger are you this time?”
I hesitated, only because I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Yeshua’s,” I said. But there were many Yeshuas in Palestine, so I clarified. “Yeshua the Rabbi.”
Pilate was by now near the door, but when he heard me speak Yeshua’s name, the sound of his sandals on the marble floor stopped.
He turned back. “Yeshua the Rabbi, you say?”
“You know of him?”
Pilate approached, clearly intrigued.
“This is the one celebrated by the crowds as king?”
“Yes.” The air suddenly felt heavy.
Saba spoke for the first time, stepping to my side. “He’s a peaceful man who heals the sick.”
“And yet accepts the people’s praise,” Pilate said, eyeing Saba. “But it seems his trouble is more with his own religion than Rome. He’s a clever man.”
“He’s far more than clever.”
“Perhaps. All I know is that he has deflected Roman concerns.” He glanced at Herod. “Do you know this man?”
“The whole world knows of him.” Herod was eyeing me with deep curiosity. “Impossible to pin down. They say he has great power from beyond this world. I’ve always wanted to question him.”
“My wife, Claudia, dreamed of this prophet last night,” the governor said. “A serpent disturbed her sleep. It’s curious.”
A dream?
“What did she see?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t say. I’m sure it’s nothing. A woman’s dreams.” He paused, and I thought he might say more, but he let it go. “But duty calls,” he said, excusing himself again.
This time Herod waited until he was gone before speaking.
“You cannot imagine the trouble this governor has caused me. It’s difficult enough to keep the religious fanatics happy without having to trade conflicts with a governor who thinks only of his own self-interests.”
“And yet the whole world is infected with this—”
“Do you know what this fool did to me?” the king interrupted Saba, jabbing his thick finger at the door. “Only last Passover, he killed seven Galileans and mingled their blood with the sacrifices. You can imagine the outrage in Galilee. I can’t tell you why Tiberius has allowed such a fool, who knows nothing of the Jewish ways, to be seated here as governor. The Romans are daft.”
He stared at me, red-faced, as if expecting me to solve his problem. Then he sighed and sat back.
“But I’m tired, Queen. I never asked for all of this nonsense. Why can’t a king enjoy his wealth and power without playing nursemaid to the world?” I followed his gaze out the window, far to my right. Clouds were still dark on the horizon.
“So now I must pay respect where none is deserved, if only to keep the peace,” Herod said, facing me. “Now, back to this business at hand.”
One of his administrators approached with a scroll, but Herod waved him off.
To me: “You say you come on Yeshua’s behalf.”
“Yes.”
“To what end?”
“I request your favor and your trust. One day Dumah will be mine. And then I will use diplomacy to beg the mercy of Aretas on your behalf. Only then will he listen to me.”
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 wou
ld 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.
