and I approached. My frantic heart had given way to a plodding rhythm that matched my camel’s steps.
I was drained of life. Devoid of hope. Cast into the sea and drowning. I had forgotten the Way of Yeshua, and now life had forgotten me. Not because I had lifted the sword against my enemy, but because I could not remember how to have faith in the midst of the storm.
I intended to throw myself at Saman’s feet, seeking his mercy. He, rather than Yeshua, would become my savior, would he not? I was slave to Saman even as Judah was slave to the Law of Moses. So then, we were all slaves to the systems of the world, rather than free in Yeshua’s realm of heaven on earth.
The city was just rising as we drew near. Dogs barked, smoke drifted from chimneys, camels were still couched on the sands.
“They know we come,” Saba said.
“Then they know.”
He withdrew the sword from his scabbard and dropped it on the sand. Then two daggers from his waist. Blades could not serve us now.
“We come as guests,” Saba said.
“Slaves,” I said. And it was true.
“We are blind, Maviah. We have lost our way.”
I let his statement stand for a moment. My failure was too great for me to bear. Indeed, seated there upon the camel, a small part of me hated the Way of Yeshua as I had understood it.
Perhaps I had misunderstood him.
“Then we must find it again, Saba,” I finally said.
Two guards loitered by the front gate as we approached, neither taking much notice of our haggard forms. We had both replaced the white dress we typically wore for black tunics and pants. Our sandals were dusty from travel, and dirt had dried with the sweat on our faces. Saba wore no headdress to cover his bald head. I’d pulled a dark blue shawl over my hair.
They saw only two common Bedu.
But I was surely wrong. They had been watching us, knowing full well that Maviah, queen of the outcasts, and Saba, her tower of strength, came to beg for mercy.
When they pulled the gate wide without challenging us, I was certain.
Within the walls of Dumah, warriors stood on either side of a hard-packed path. Hundreds of them, spaced out by a sword’s length, stretching deep into the city, leaving no question as to where we must go.
They were tall, dressed in black from head to foot, wearing well-worn leather armor, and headdresses tightly bound with red-and-yellow agals. All bore lances planted in the ground and polished daggers in their red sashes.
I had entered Herod’s courts in shame, a hypocrite on a stage, playing my part as queen. I had marched into Petra’s arena with my head tall and there became a real queen. For two years I had gathered the orphans and the outcasts, promising great power through peace in the Way of Yeshua.
Now I entered Dumah as a slave once again.
Saba and I guided our camels down the narrow way, staring at the palace Marid high upon the hill. No orders were given; no word was spoken. The only noises were the gentle padding of our mounts and the distant sounds of a city stirring to life: a dog, a spoon in a pot, a child crying, the pounding of wheat into flour. The city was well ordered and swept clean, but few emerged from their homes to watch our procession.
At the end of the main street, the way to the palace was blocked. Here a lone warrior on horseback stepped out before us and led us toward the center of the oasis. Toward the gardens, where my father had planted many flowering trees and pruned the palms for beauty.
Why? Talya was in the palace, surely. My pulse surged and my breathing became shallow. I wished only to reach Talya and offer myself for him.
Today the garden was a dazzling array of white and red and yellow—fruits that would make any Bedu salivate and blossoms that would attract the wonder of any traveler from afar.
This was Saman’s own Garden of Eden, I thought. Watered with the blood of the fallen.
We broke through a stand of palms leading down to the main spring, and both Saba and I stopped
I was drained of life. Devoid of hope. Cast into the sea and drowning. I had forgotten the Way of Yeshua, and now life had forgotten me. Not because I had lifted the sword against my enemy, but because I could not remember how to have faith in the midst of the storm.
I intended to throw myself at Saman’s feet, seeking his mercy. He, rather than Yeshua, would become my savior, would he not? I was slave to Saman even as Judah was slave to the Law of Moses. So then, we were all slaves to the systems of the world, rather than free in Yeshua’s realm of heaven on earth.
The city was just rising as we drew near. Dogs barked, smoke drifted from chimneys, camels were still couched on the sands.
“They know we come,” Saba said.
“Then they know.”
He withdrew the sword from his scabbard and dropped it on the sand. Then two daggers from his waist. Blades could not serve us now.
“We come as guests,” Saba said.
“Slaves,” I said. And it was true.
“We are blind, Maviah. We have lost our way.”
I let his statement stand for a moment. My failure was too great for me to bear. Indeed, seated there upon the camel, a small part of me hated the Way of Yeshua as I had understood it.
Perhaps I had misunderstood him.
“Then we must find it again, Saba,” I finally said.
Two guards loitered by the front gate as we approached, neither taking much notice of our haggard forms. We had both replaced the white dress we typically wore for black tunics and pants. Our sandals were dusty from travel, and dirt had dried with the sweat on our faces. Saba wore no headdress to cover his bald head. I’d pulled a dark blue shawl over my hair.
They saw only two common Bedu.
But I was surely wrong. They had been watching us, knowing full well that Maviah, queen of the outcasts, and Saba, her tower of strength, came to beg for mercy.
When they pulled the gate wide without challenging us, I was certain.
Within the walls of Dumah, warriors stood on either side of a hard-packed path. Hundreds of them, spaced out by a sword’s length, stretching deep into the city, leaving no question as to where we must go.
They were tall, dressed in black from head to foot, wearing well-worn leather armor, and headdresses tightly bound with red-and-yellow agals. All bore lances planted in the ground and polished daggers in their red sashes.
I had entered Herod’s courts in shame, a hypocrite on a stage, playing my part as queen. I had marched into Petra’s arena with my head tall and there became a real queen. For two years I had gathered the orphans and the outcasts, promising great power through peace in the Way of Yeshua.
Now I entered Dumah as a slave once again.
Saba and I guided our camels down the narrow way, staring at the palace Marid high upon the hill. No orders were given; no word was spoken. The only noises were the gentle padding of our mounts and the distant sounds of a city stirring to life: a dog, a spoon in a pot, a child crying, the pounding of wheat into flour. The city was well ordered and swept clean, but few emerged from their homes to watch our procession.
At the end of the main street, the way to the palace was blocked. Here a lone warrior on horseback stepped out before us and led us toward the center of the oasis. Toward the gardens, where my father had planted many flowering trees and pruned the palms for beauty.
Why? Talya was in the palace, surely. My pulse surged and my breathing became shallow. I wished only to reach Talya and offer myself for him.
Today the garden was a dazzling array of white and red and yellow—fruits that would make any Bedu salivate and blossoms that would attract the wonder of any traveler from afar.
This was Saman’s own Garden of Eden, I thought. Watered with the blood of the fallen.
We broke through a stand of palms leading down to the main spring, and both Saba and I stopped
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