The Nabataean

Chapter 17

I would like to say that my life returned to normal and my relationship with Tariq improved. But that would be a lie. For days on end we journeyed westward toward the Great Sea, careful to avoid travelers from Petra and the increasing number of brigands and soldiers from the northern lands.

Rumors of insurrection in Jerusalem and the Nabataean city of Damascus forced us to follow the ancient back roads toward Gaza. We went as far as the river and then veered south to avoid the pillaging of Roman patrols from the fort at Malatha.

Ben Tariq grew uglier and more distempered because the longer route required more camel stops, more fees for precious water and more time away from his benefactors.

I was not bothered by Tariq's moods and the excess travel. Fees for water were paid to Nabataeans; taxes for trade at seaports were paid to Nabataeans; and I was busy with life, collecting my share and savoring success with Thebaicum and lusty women at the caravanserai.

In Petra, Aretas had already conceded his throne to his son, my brother, and even in the safety of the city intrigue and jealousy created a constant state of distress.

When my father died, my brother lapsed into a melancholy that gripped his judgment. He changed his name to mimic a foreign god, forsook the completion of the temple designed by my mother and began unthinkable negotiations with Rome.

Some merchant friends of the former king sought to reconnect with Egypt; others considered outright emigration to the east to continue their craft among the Indians and Orientals. And within the family, my younger nephew Rabel was groomed for leadership.

But always there were dreams, metaphysical illusions and a growing list of ailments I chose to ignore.

One dream was pleasant, at first.

Babata was bathing in the pool and I was peering through the bushes to enjoy the sight. The sweet smell of a clean woman triggered a deep longing within me. Emboldened by it all, I emerged from my hiding place to stand in front of her, arms open to receive all she had to offer.

She, in return, gently brushed her hair to one side, smiled to accent a dimple in her cheek and reached for me just as a camel bray broke the reverie and a flock of sheep overran the scene, their sounds like voices emerging from some deep cavern.

Then a giant snake, covered with deadly poison-tipped spikes, hissed and squirmed toward us with mouth open and fangs that dripped blood. I turned to protect the woman, aware of my feeble and naked appearance and lack of weaponry.

From somewhere behind me came a swishing sound, the sound of air parted by a cudgel deftly swung.

Then there was only darkness.