A.D. 30

by Ted Dekker

“Which Zealot is this?”

  “They say that he is a great sage, obeyed by even disease. A wonder-worker who commands the jinn and ghouls. Some as far as Syria have taken their sick to him.”

  “But you say he speaks of a new kingdom?”

  “A kingdom, yes. From his Jewish god.”

  “What is this Zealot’s name?”

  “Yeshua. Of Nazareth, I believe.”

  Silence visited us until the sheikh dismissed the whole thing with a flip of his wrinkled hand.

  “There is no end to talk of the gods,” he said. “These matters do not concern the desert.” His eyes rested on me and he smiled. “It is far more rewarding to speak of what does. Tell me, Judah, what price would Nada’s father accept?”

  The request for my bride-price caught Judah off guard.

  When he didn’t respond, Bin Haggag pressed. “The price of thirty camels, perhaps?”

  Judah remained silent.

  “No, this is not enough for such a beautiful woman,” the sheikh said, eyeing me. He nodded. “Sixty then. It is settled… sixty camels and I will take her as my wife. I have only two others.”

  “Forgive me, honorable sheikh, but Nada is not for marriage. I fear she has caught the eye of another.”

  The old man, who might have passed as my grandfather, arched his brow. “Oh? By another Jew? I would hope not, for only here in the desert is the value of a good woman known. Not even the Kalb know how to be gentle with women. We, the whole world agrees, are the men whom women cherish with such passion as to die without.”

  To this the men made clamorous agreement. But I doubted that the Thamud were any more caring toward women than the Kalb.

  “She is to be mine,” Saba said.

  “Yours? You can afford such a price?”

  “When we have returned to Bin Shariqat in Dumah, she will become my wife.”

  The sheikh looked between Saba and me, as if undecided whether to believe this revelation. Then he lifted his cup and dipped his bearded head.

  “May you have many children, all of them but one boys. And may the one girl be your twin to shine as only a star can on the faces of all men.”

  He drank deep with the rest, and I caught Judah’s smile. In his smile I imagined the light of a star, for he was the gazer of stars and I the one he watched.

  “Now be gone with you women!” the sheikh said. “I would rob Judah of his money!”

  It took a full hour to negotiate the price of three camels and the supplies we required for the balance of our journey. In my estimation Judah was indeed robbed. But he also acquired fine clothing for me to wear—at no additional cost, he said—for the Thamud were known for their weaving and the Nafud had worn my cloak to a dirty rag.

  We slept until the moon was high, then mounted our new camels and slipped out of the camp, headed south under the pretense of taking our news of Dumah’s fall to other Thamud. When we were sure that no one followed, Judah turned us west and then north.

  Only then did we speak.

  “How far?” I asked Judah.

  His eyes were on the heavens. “Six days. Perhaps seven.”

  “So we will have no more trouble?”

  “There is always trouble in Palestine.”

  He seemed introspective and I wondered where his mind was. But then I knew.

  “You think of this mystic who speaks of a kingdom of the gods,” I said.

  He faced me, jaw firm. “He is the one,” he said.

  A mystic, one who spoke of the mysteries beyond earthly matters—matters of the heart and spirits and unseen forces at work. Yet Judah seemed more interested in the restoration of his people.

  “How can you possibly know he is the one merely from the talk of a servant who repeats rumors?”

  “The moment he said it, I knew. And if it is not, then I will know as well.”

  I could not trouble my mind to believe in a mystic who worked magic. Neither did I have any faith that Judah’s tribe of stargazers had ever seen a child-king, much less that this mystic was he.

  But I would not dash Judah’s faith in the matters of his people.

  “We go to Herod,” Saba said. “Nowhere else.”

  “Herod’s palace is in Sepphoris,” Judah said.

  “Sepphoris. Yes.”

  “There is a small village on the way to Sepphoris. It is called Nazareth.”

  Neither I nor Saba spoke.

  “We will go through Nazareth, and there I will inquire.”

  To this Saba said nothing.

  I straightened upon my camel and swayed with its plodding gait in the cool of the night.

  “Then you must, Judah,” I said.

  “I must, you understand.”

  “Inquire of your king.”

  “I must,” he said.

  Thoughts of kings and kingdoms shifting and destroyed at the whims of fate filled my mind, but I pushed back the fear rising in me and spoke with my shoulders squared to the horizon.

  “And then take me to Herod.”

  GALILEE

  “You have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants.

  Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children,

  you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

  Yeshua

  CHAPTER TEN

  PALESTINE. What might I say of such a contradiction to my way of thinking?

  I cannot say that I experienced the breadth and width of that legendary land, for our journey took us north, east of Perea, through Decapolis and into Galilee toward Nazareth from the east. We avoided many well-traveled roads and skirted cities for fear of being challenged by any authority. But I learned much from Judah, who was acquainted with the way of the Jews and had questioned several Jewish travelers on the journey.

  In the wealthy Roman house I served in Egypt, all was orderly and we remained clean in the sight of both man and the gods. In Dumah too, that rich oasis overflowing with water and date palms, the gods were satisfied with our cleanliness, if they indeed cared for such things. Except among the poorest, the nomadic way was noble and there was little concern about being unclean.

  But in Palestine, I saw that the people were enslaved by all that was unclean before their god. Man and woman alike were dishonored by the oppression of Rome and those wealthy Jews who’d joined with the Romans. The people were surely hated by both their Roman masters and their god, who lived in a temple in Jerusalem. This then was cause for terrible misery.

  The women in particular were hated, for they, like me, had been born into shame and were the most unclean before their god.

  Upon first entering Galilee at the sea that stretched north, Judah had been overwhelmed with joy. He was like a boy who’d finally returned home, and his exuberance was infectious.

  “Have you seen such water, Maviah?” he cried, flinging his arm toward the sea. “The purest and cleanest in the world.”

  It was magical to see this water after weeks in the sands. I wanted nothing more than to run to its bank and fling myself in.

  “We must bathe!” Judah said.

  “We will reach Sepphoris by day’s end,” Saba said, looking about. “We will bathe there.”

  “Maviah must enter the city as a queen from the desert, dressed in linens and perfumed for a king.”

  “You forget where we are,” Saba said. “A woman may not bathe in the same waters as men. If she is seen—”

  “I know precisely where we are! And I also know that we might not find suitable public bathing for Maviah in Sepphoris precisely because she is a woman. If she is to go as a queen—”

  “I would bathe here,” I interrupted, eager to be clean. For many days I had fixed my mind on approaching this king—thinking on what I would say and how I might represent my father. But I’d given little thought to how I might appear or even smell when first before him.

  The men looked at me.

  “I must! I can’t go on smelling like a camel.”
r />   “You smell nothing like a camel,” Judah said. “And I have frankincense.”

  “You’re saying that I do smell like a camel?”

  He was flummoxed. “No. I only say that if you do—”

  “I would bathe. Now.”

  “As I said.” Judah looked to Saba and offered an apologetic smile.

  But we did not bathe there, for Saba was right about the danger of being seen. Judah found a small cove down the road, and there we both bathed, separated by reeds and beyond the sight of any who might approach. Saba kept watch at first, but seeing no one, he too plunged beneath the waters and splashed about like a child.

  I could see between the reeds. The sight of two such powerful men frolicking about, all care drowned in that water, made me laugh. This they heard, and then we were all laughing, until Saba scolded us for risking unwanted attention.

  I dressed in the clothing Judah had obtained from the sheikh Fahak bin Haggag. A white linen dress and a scarlet cloak, simple and yet fine. I had combed my dark hair and tied it back to best show my high cheekbones, as favored by many men. The sash about my waist was the color of olive leaves, as was the mantle I wore over my head. Judah had also acquired strings of black stones to be worn about my forehead and neck, but I would not wear them here in the countryside. I wasn’t comfortable in such luxurious appointments.

  Both Judah and Saba stared at me when I stepped beyond the reeds and approached the camel.

  “Is it too much?” I asked after neither spoke.

  Saba arched a brow. “Herod will be pleased,” he said.

  This gave Judah a moment’s pause. Each day he’d become more comfortable and easy in his tone with me, and I with him. We had not spoken of our affection for each other, but to deny it would have been deceitful. And in the wake of my loss, I had decided to accept his affection in whatever form it took.

  Judah smiled and dipped his head. “You are perhaps the most beautiful woman Palestine has yet seen.”

  I felt a blush rise to my face. “Then I should take it off.”

  “But why? You are a queen!”

  “I have been a slave most of my life. Have I suddenly become what I never was? I don’t want to be noticed in this strange land.”

  “You go to Herod,” Saba said. “He must notice you.”

  Judah could not hide the pride in his eyes. “You are no longer a slave, Maviah, but a queen. And now it is plain.”

  I cannot deny that I was flattered. And Saba was right—it was Herod who would first decide my fate and then take the plight of the Kalb to Rome. Herod’s decision now depended on me.

  My thoughts returned to treachery of the Thamud. To the screams of the Kalb being slaughtered on the streets. To the face of Kahil bin Saman as he cut out my father’s tongue and then threw my son from the window as if he were a bone for the dogs. My people in Dumah were enslaved by butchers. Their hope rested in me. I did not feel up to the task.

  And yet there I stood, a woman of wonder before Judah and Saba.

  It might be said I was plunged beneath the waters of the Galilean sea a dirtied slave and emerged a queen fit for any king, at least by Judah’s reckoning. But that would only be true of appearances.

  Palestine offered us its own illusions.

  We put the sea behind us and passed through small villages along the road. At first I saw the many fields of grain and the vast groves of olives tended by farmers. Then villages made of stone-and-reed houses cobbled together with mud and dung. Everywhere I looked I could see abject poverty forced upon the people by the Roman taxes. As Judah explained with growing consternation, in the occupation of Palestine, Rome demanded a heavy tax to support its empire. Up to fifty percent, but paid in coin, not grain or produce. Many farmers had to sell their land to rich Jewish landowners in order to pay their tax. Most who had themselves once been landowners now worked in those same fields for new masters, to make the coin owed in taxes. Fishermen and tradesmen were robbed in the same fashion.

  The people walked about with heads bowed. Judah explained they suffered so because the Jews of Palestine were by nature exceedingly pious and clean. It seemed to me that the Jews were no more soiled than any person I’d seen in Egypt or among the Bedu. But they could not attain their standards of cleanliness amid the filth of poverty.

  And I could feel an even deeper oppression in the air. Something else seemed to have overshadowed this land that Judah called Israel.

  By late afternoon we came to Nazareth on a narrow path rarely traveled. My mind was consumed with Sepphoris, which lay only an hour’s walk north from this poor village. Had it been mine to decide, we would have bypassed Nazareth, for I was a foreigner and Judah had been clear that all foreigners were considered unclean.

  And yet Judah was thoroughly committed to finding this Yeshua, and he’d convinced himself that Nazareth would lead him to the man.

  “We must not remain long,” Saba said, staring at the dingy huts.

  “With only a few questions, they will know,” Judah replied. “Only a few hundred live here.”

  There were perhaps fifty houses by my reckoning, all of stone and mud, many sharing a common courtyard. I could not imagine any king living in such a state of poverty. I wasn’t eager to enter the town dressed as I was.

  “You should go, Judah. Saba and I will wait.”

  He looked over at me. “No, I would have you with me. You must see as well.”

  See what, I did not bother to ask.

  So as not to appear lofty in this place of squalor, I replaced the olive mantle over my head with the threadbare one from Dumah.

  Judah prodded his camel forward and we entered Nazareth on the single dusty road that passed through.

  It was true, only a few hundred could live here. Most were gone, presumably to the fields or to nearby Sepphoris. Three small children squatted on the roadside, dressed in what might pass as rags. The moment they saw us, the youngest boy, perhaps eight years of age, jumped to his feet and raced our way, yelping with delight. There was no mistaking his announcement for all to hear.

  “Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner!”

  It appeared he was too young to realize that this designation was meant to be shouted not with delight but with scorn, to warn others.

  Judah only chuckled. “You see, they love you, Maviah.”

  All three wide-eyed children had now reached the camels and were hopping about, slapping at the camels, tugging on their ropes, hands extended as they chattered and bickered.

  “Do you have denar?”

  “I will brush this camel!”

  “They are from the city.”

  “No, they are from the desert!”

  “From Jerusalem!”

  “What do you know?”

  “Do not touch her, it is forbidden!”

  “Do you have honey?”

  Judah slid from his mount, dug out a small jar of honey from the bags, and handed it to the first child, only to be descended upon by yet more children who’d heard the commotion and magically appeared from the houses—no fewer than a dozen.

  A woman emerged from the nearest door and cried out, shooing the children frantically. “Leave them! Have you no decency? Get back to your mothers!”

  They scattered, surprisingly obedient. An old man with a cane had appeared from behind one of the mud homes, and it was to this man that Judah went without giving the woman a second look, for among the Jews a woman could not be easily approached by a man.

  He quietly spoke with the man for a few minutes, likely explaining that he too was a Jew and was looking for this Yeshua. I kept my eyes on the children now peering at me from the sides of the road, several still holding their hands out for food or money, some daring to call out.

  “Do you need a guide?”

  “You must be careful of the robbers on this road!”

  “I can guide you!”

  “Can you give me honey?”

  The woman, now joined by another, offered even more pronounced sc
olding.

  I sat upon my camel next to Saba, and for a few minutes I felt a terrible pity for these young children.

  Except for the aged, there were no men that I could see. Others who saw us watched for only a few moments before ducking from sight.

  “Come!”

  I turned to see that Judah had returned and was eagerly tugging at his camel by its rope.

  “What is it?”

  “Did I not say it? He is from here! Yeshua ben Joseph. His father is now passed, but his mother, Miriam, lives at the end of the village near the spring. She will know.”

  Miriam. I knew the name, also called Mary among some. It meant “star of the sea.” I could only imagine what Judah, the stargazer, might make of this.

  “How can anyone of royalty come from this village?” Saba said. “This old man said that your Yeshua is a man of high standing?”

  “Not in such words.”

  “Then how?”

  Judah glanced back at the old man, who frowned at us. “He says Yeshua is a mystic who has left his family to be with his followers, because no one will pay him mind in Nazareth.”

  Saba’s brow arched. “And this brings you courage?”

  Judah dismissively flipped his hand. “What do they know? Don’t you see? My elders spoke of his mother. When I tell her this, she will remember. Then we will know this is the same child. You must trust, Saba!”

  Saba grunted but made no objection.

  Most of the houses adjoined others in walled courtyards and had thatched roofs. High windows prevented any from seeing inside the homes while still allowing for ventilation. I would have preferred the open tents of the Bedu.

  It took us only minutes to travel that dusty path to the western edge of the village, then a short way up another path to the far corner.

  When we came to the house of Miriam, mother of Yeshua, Judah told us to remain by the road while he inquired. He hurried to the wooden door and called out. A woman’s voice answered and when Judah explained that he was a Jew from the desert who’d come to find Yeshua, she was silent.

  “Miriam? It is I, Judah ben Malchus, who searches for the one who will liberate the Jews. I beg you hear me.”