A.D. 30

by Ted Dekker

  “Do we not both follow Yeshua now?”

  He stood slowly. “Yes.”

  “And I,” Sarah said.

  I looked at Saba.

  “And I,” he said, bowing his head.

  “Then we will part ways,” Stephen said. “And one day, by his grace, we will join again, followers of Yeshua’s way.”

  Though we had been strangers only days ago, there on the hill we stood as one.

  “He said something to me.” I looked in the direction of Tiberias spread out below us. “He said there is far more to be revealed in time. Only then will we be able to follow where he goes.”

  “And where does he go?” Sarah asked.

  “We don’t know. But what we have seen is only the half of it.”

  “The half of it!” Stephen said. “This is only the beginning. The world will not contain those who calm the seas. This is his way.”

  And it was, I thought. To calm the seas and walk on water—Yeshua could surely do both if he pleased.

  I looked at Stephen, remembering the rest. “And his way is easily forgotten. He said as much.”

  To this no one replied.

  “Take me to Herod, Saba,” I said.

  We parted ways then, but I was sure our paths would cross again, for it was no mistake we had come into such a knowing together.

  HOW TO GAIN entrance into the king’s courts was not a concern to me. I only knew that I would, and I rode into Tiberias without care of what fate might befall me. My course was set and Saba never questioned it.

  We entered the city on camelback through the front gate as two common Bedu wrapped in desert clothing, one with clouded eyes, for I did not cover my face.

  My sight was only for the palace, and I paid little attention to the city itself as Saba guided us through.

  When we reached the inner gates before the palace grounds, I felt no fear, only confidence, though the guard stood in my way.

  “What is this?” he demanded. “A woman with leprosy?”

  I looked at him and said only what I had come to say.

  “My name is Maviah, daughter of Rami bin Malik. Herod eagerly waits for the message I have come to deliver.”

  He stared back as if trying to think of how to contest me, but I offered him no resistance. He too was like the wind and the waves, ferocious until calmed with acceptance rather than fear.

  The guard then turned and ordered another to take word to Herod. What then was this power that I could stand like a pillar before men who would otherwise challenge me?

  We waited only a short while before they took us through the gate, then to the palace and into Herod’s courts. Much had changed since my first encounter with the tetrarch of Galilee in Sepphoris. I did not feel like that woman now.

  This time I could not see the display of Herod’s wealth, but I judged his court in Tiberias by size alone to be even more grand than the one in Sepphoris. My blindness forced me to see in a new way, and perhaps that was now my greatest gift.

  Herod was waiting in his new court. With a woman. This was his new queen, Herodias. She stood by the window across the room, arms folded, staring at me. Part of me wanted to see her face more clearly. I was curious about the woman who’d captured Herod’s heart. Who could be more beautiful than Phasa?

  “Leave us,” Herod ordered the guard.

  They closed the door, leaving Saba and me with the king and his new queen.

  “It is true then,” Herod said, approaching. “Maviah returns to the den of the lion.”

  “She is blind?” Herodias asked.

  Herod made no response, circling me.

  The queen lowered her arms and crossed the room. “And mute as well,” she said. “A mangy dog from the desert who limps back to be punished for her betrayal.”

  Fear whispered to me for the first time, accusing me of weakness. I shifted my focus to the calm seas inside, where nothing could threaten me.

  “Is it contagious?” she asked, then faced Saba. “Speak up.”

  “She was blinded in the court of Aretas,” Saba said. “She can see, but poorly with these eyes.”

  It was true—he was reminding me. I could see more clearly than any of them. But a part of me was beginning to doubt in the face of one so sharp as this woman. She reminded me of Shaquilath in Petra.

  Still I said nothing.

  “And why did Aretas have her blinded?” the queen asked.

  “It was the prince of the Thamud,” Saba said. “He felt threatened by her.”

  “Threatened? By this?”

  Silence settled over us. And then words came to me.

  “Do you not feel threatened, Herodias?” I asked, voice calm.

  “By whom?”

  “By the Baptizer,” I said, looking now at the king. “I understand you have imprisoned him, a sage who holds no sword.”

  I walked to the window, where the greater light allowed me to see to the horizon, however fogged. Herod made no attempt to stop me.

  “Aretas’s queen, Shaquilath, first felt threatened by me.” I turned to them. “All kings and queens struggle to protect what is theirs, do they not? The Baptizer, John, speaks out against your marriage, so you have put him in a dungeon. Perhaps you would prefer him dead.”

  “Perhaps we would prefer the same of you,” Herodias said.

  I knew then that Herodias would not rest until John the Baptizer was dead. And she was as capable of killing me.

  “Perhaps,” I said, approaching again, now crossing my arms. “We see ghouls where there are none but our own selves, haunting us in the darkness. It is your own fear, not the Baptizer, that chases you, Herodias.”

  She was silent.

  “As for me…” I faced Herod. “A blind woman presents no threat to the king of Galilee and Perea. I come only to help you protect yourself from the one who does.”

  “The Baptizer is a fool,” Herodias said. “What can you know of him?”

  “I speak of Aretas, not the Baptizer.”

  “Aretas is no less a fool.”

  I dipped my head and addressed only Herod now. “A fool with an army capable of crushing Tiberias. Did you think he would simply accept your divorce of his daughter?”

  “And do you think I am powerless?” Herod said, but there was some respect in his voice. “Or that I know nothing?”

  “No. You know that the king who kept me in his dungeon for three months is heartless. You know his fury is not easily quenched.”

  “And why does this ferocious king send a blind woman to us?” Herodias demanded.

  “Because I insisted,” I said. “Is it not the safest way for you? To give a payment in secret?”

  I knew that I had Herod’s undivided attention. Herodias’s also, but for a different reason. She was still too self-important to be reasonable, I thought.

  “Why would we pay Aretas?” she demanded.

  “Please, my queen.” Herod faced her. “Not now. When the time comes, you will have what you want. Today I will be king.”

  She considered his admonition, then submitted to him. “As you wish. Come to me soon.”

  “Of course. Can I ever deny you?”

  “No,” she said. “Remember that.”

  “Always,” he said.

  She was stronger than Phasa, I thought. This was what had attracted Herod. He longed for this kind of strength to satisfy his needs, having been raised under his father’s fist. So, then, perhaps they truly deserved each other in a way Herod and Phasa did not.

  Herodias turned and left, leaving me behind closed doors with her king.

  “What is it about you?” Herod said, coming closer now. “What has become of the queen who once trembled under my touch?”

  “She sees Herodias’s slave,” I said.

  “Then she sees far too much. And with wounded eyes.”

  Herod had once shown his fascination for me as a woman. I thought he might now as well, but his resolve had already been rattled.

  “You surprise me.�
� Herod turned away and paced. “So tell me, queen of the desert… what is his price?”

  “One hundred talents in gold.”

  He looked up. “Gold?” It was a massive sum of wealth.

  “To be taken by me tomorrow. If I do not return within the week, you will face a bloody war.”

  “I see. And if I agree to this price? What guarantee do I have?”

  I had come to deceive Herod. I had come to save my own life and retrieve the gold so that I might find mercy in Petra. Judah’s life depended on it.

  But now, deception seemed to be a mistake.

  “None,” I said.

  “None? Aretas sends me a demand for payment without offering any benefit for that payment?”

  “On the contrary, Aretas sends assurance that one hundred talents of gold will free you of any further obligation. But he intends to deceive you and wage war regardless.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “Then you betray him by telling me.”

  “Do I?”

  He paced.

  “Do you have his seal on this false assurance of his?”

  “Show him, Saba.”

  Saba withdrew the letter from Aretas and handed it to Herod, who broke the seal and read the contents. In it Aretas swore to wage no war if he received the price. The fabrication had been my idea.

  “And you say that this is a lie?” he said, lowering the scroll. “Why do you tell me?”

  “Because I serve neither you nor Aretas,” I said. “And because I know that you will still give me the gold as well as a guard of fifty men to see its safe passage to the border at Perea.”

  Herod seemed amused. “Now she reads minds as well?”

  “If you don’t, you heap salt in his wounds. Are you ready to wage war this month? Are the Romans ready to die in battle to defend you over a woman?”

  “The emperor gave his consent.”

  “But not his army.”

  He stared at me for a long moment before speaking in a soft voice.

  “So you think I will pay Aretas only to delay him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how long do you think one hundred talents will buy me?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s a patient man. A year? Two. Three, perhaps. Then Aretas will come. Or you can refuse payment now and immediately face a show of great force.”

  He absently pulled his fingers through his beard.

  “I see. And if I refuse, what of you?”

  I shrugged. “He will kill me. With Judah and Rami, both held by the Thamud for leverage.”

  Herod was silent, knowing well the full landscape now, for he understood the ways of kingdoms on earth. He finally turned and walked to the window to gaze out upon his own.

  “What a queen you would make, Maviah, daughter of Rami. What a queen indeed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an emissary speak the truth so plainly before. They all lie, you know. Politics is only a game of lies and treachery. You do realize that Aretas may now kill you for telling me the truth, even with my payment.”

  “That is my concern, not yours.”

  “Indeed.” He faced me and sighed. “I will give you his payment on the condition that you be as truthful with him. He must know that I expect his attack even now and am prepared.”

  I’d already decided I must.

  “Of course.”

  “Well then, my fate is in your hands as well.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He hesitated.

  “Spend the night,” he finally said. “Dine with us at my table. You can leave in the morning.”

  I considered his request briefly but felt no desire to spend more time in his wife’s company.

  “We will wait for your contingent beyond the gates, as the sun rises.”

  “A pity.” Again he sighed. “As you wish. Sunrise it is.”

  I offered him a shallow bow. “Thank you.” I turned to leave, then realized I wasn’t yet finished, so I faced him again.

  “There is one more thing.”

  “I hate to think—it’s a heavy payment already.”

  “It’s about the one who comes after the Baptizer.”

  He responded slowly. “What of him?”

  “He speaks of a new way for the heart—Jew, Roman, or Bedu, it doesn’t matter. Does this threaten you?”

  “The Baptizer denounces my marriage.”

  “Does Yeshua?”

  Herod hesitated and I spoke before he could respond.

  “You will find no fault in him when the time comes.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “He changed my life,” I said.

  And then I left Herod’s courts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  IT TOOK our caravan of twenty camels four days with a guard of fifty to reach the Nabataean border, and another three days with twenty of Aretas’s best warriors to reach Petra once again. How Aretas knew to have the warriors ready at the border didn’t matter so much to me. Nor did it matter why Petra was prepared for our arrival—not just the rulers, but the entire city, as if Herod himself were making a grand entry.

  My mind was preoccupied with other thoughts. Thoughts of Yeshua. Thoughts of Stephen and Nicodemus. Thoughts of what the master’s way truly was, so far from Palestine.

  And thoughts of why the clarity of my experience with him was so quickly fading, with each mile and each day, it seemed. So I clung to my thoughts, determined not to let his power slip away.

  I knew little of Yeshua’s full teaching, for I had spent only a few days with him. I had learned much from Stephen, but Stephen was still learning himself.

  And yet all that I had seen and heard was so very simple that even a child might understand it, I thought. So simple that it rattled the mind, for Yeshua’s way was wholly contrary to the ways of the world, in particular the laws of religion and the kingdoms on earth.

  Religion offered reward and punishment through laws of eating and drinking and daily activities. Failing these laws plunged one into shame and guilt. But Yeshua seemed to ignore such laws and spoke of love and of something far more offensive to the religious mind.

  Faith. A child’s faith. When the storm came, to trust in Yeshua who was one with the Father, even as a young child might trust a perfectly loving father. This was what it meant to believe.

  Did I trust, then? This was the question that haunted me those many hours upon the she-camel as it plodded over the terrain.

  Did I trust the Father who, according to Yeshua, would give to me more than any earthly father might give to his child?

  I heard his words still: If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, “Move from here to there,” and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.

  Did I trust?

  And more: If anyone steadfastly believes in me, he will himself be able to do the things that I do; and he will do even greater things than these.

  Did I trust? Did I have faith? Did I believe in this way?

  But I now had at my disposal a way to know if I trusted. By only listening to my own heart, I would know if it placed its faith in the storm or in Yeshua, who was the way.

  If I feared the storm, my faith was in its power.

  If I feared for my body, my faith was in that body, what I would eat or drink, how it might survive and be satisfied.

  If I feared for Judah’s life, I put my faith in death and in him.

  If I feared Aretas, I put my faith in his ability to hurt me, like any storm.

  If I feared my own misunderstanding, I put my faith in my own ability to know the mystery beyond me.

  This was the way of the world, protected by position and sword and gold and knowledge. Yeshua’s way was to protect nothing and let go of all grievance, as Stephen had said.

  His way was faith, dismissing the Gnostics’ expectation that knowledge would save. His way was to be the kingdom among those who suffered on earth.

  His way was to turn the other
cheek when the evil one came. His way was to forgive seventy times seven. His way was to let go of the belief that the storm threatened, and to offer it peace through a child’s faith.

  His way was to offer love rather than offense at every turn, for offense only empowered the storm.

  You of little faith.

  Was I one of little faith? What kind of power might be seen among those who truly followed Yeshua’s way and trusted him as that way? This was now my path, for nothing could compare to what I had seen.

  According to Nicodemus, letting go of belief in the world’s way was like being born once more with the simple trust of a new child. And now I understood why: the old heart could see only offense and fear when the sword was raised against it or when unfair treatment stormed the gates of one’s mind and body.

  But the newborn mind saw in spirit, having not yet learned offense. It then could return love instead of fear. Why would it fear a storm if it drew no offense from that storm?

  What then were my storms to fear?

  Aretas. Rami. The Thamud. The loss of Judah. My own failure, should I waver.

  You of little faith.

  “Father…” I whispered under my breath. “Give me Yeshua’s eyes to know you and follow his way. Give me your hand on this earth, to be your daughter and show your power.” Then I whispered that word again, lost in its wonder.

  “Father…”

  The word sounded foreign to me. And yet my fingers tingled with the raw power I felt in uttering such an intimate understanding of God, for he ruled the realm within me, as Yeshua had said so many times.

  As we approached Petra this is how I understood Yeshua’s way, knowing that I had only seen the half of it, as he himself had said. But the half he’d shown me was true.

  Our column of twenty camels, each heavily burdened with five talents of gold, was not the largest to enter Petra. A caravan of over three hundred camels came from the south that same hour, bearing spices. But so much gold had not been brought to Petra that year, nor the one before, I was told by the guard.

  Among the Nabataeans, wealth and power were displayed for all to see. Nothing mattered to Aretas as much as his reputation, for this kept his enemies far away.