burned a hole on my tongue. “But doesn’t Antipas have a wife already?”
“Yes, the princess, Phasaelis. Antipas will divorce her and incarcerate her in secret somewhere. Most likely he’ll quietly do away with her and claim the cause of her death to be a fever.”
“You think Antipas would go so far?” Jesus asked.
“Matthias claims if she lives, she’ll incite her father to take revenge. As you know, Antipas’s own father executed his wife, Mariamme, and I doubt Antipas would hesitate to follow in his footsteps. You see, don’t you, why I wished to keep this news from Ana? Phasaelis was once Ana’s friend.”
Dazed, I laid my forehead against the rung. While I’d been holding on to the ladder, night had closed over us. A voluptuous moon dripped light everywhere. The smell of bread curled through the darkness. They went on conversing, their voices like bees whirring far off in a broom tree.
As I started down the ladder, my hands, slick with sweat, slipped momentarily from the wood, causing the ladder to jar against the house. Before I could descend farther, I heard Jesus say, “Ana, what are you doing there?” His shadowed face peered over the edge of the roof.
Then Judas’s face appeared beside his. “So you heard.”
“Your supper is ready,” I told them.
* * *
? ? ?
KNEELING BEFORE THE CHEST of cedar in my room, I removed the contents item by item—bowl, scrolls, pens, ink, the red thread in its tiny pouch. The hammered sheet of ivory that had gotten me in such grave trouble lay at the bottom, pearl white and shining. I didn’t know then, nor do I fully know now, why I’d never written on it or bartered it away. It had seemed like a relic that should be preserved—without it my marriage to Jesus would never have happened. Now it seemed I’d kept it for this moment. Besides, there was nothing else on which to write.
I lifted the last vial of ink to the flame on the clay lamp and shook the sluggish black liquid awake. The fearless girl had not left me entirely. I wrote quickly in Greek, not bothering to perfect my letters.
Phasaelis,
Be forewarned! Antipas and my father plot against you. Your husband conspires to marry Herodias, whose royal line may convince the emperor to crown the tetrarch king. With confidence I tell you that after Antipas departs for Rome, he will divorce you and make you his prisoner. Your life may be endangered as well. I’m reliably told Antipas will leave within the month. Flee, if you can. My heart yearns to see you safe.
Ana
I raised the hem of my tunic and fanned the ink dry, then tied the letter in a piece of undyed flax. When I entered the courtyard, Judas was already at the gate. “Brother, wait!” I ran toward him. “Would you sneak away without saying goodbye?”
He offered me a guilty look. “I couldn’t risk you doing what I believe you’re about to do this moment. What’s inside the cloth?”
“Did you think I would do nothing? It’s a letter of warning to Phasaelis.” I thrust it at him. “You must deliver it for me.”
He put up his hands, refusing to take it. “You heard me say I’m traveling to Tiberias, but I won’t venture into the city itself and certainly nowhere near the palace. We plan to intercept the caravan of grain and wine outside the city.”
“Her life is at stake. How can you not care?”
“I care about the lives of my men more.” He turned toward the gate. “I’m sorry.”
I grabbed his arm and shoved the package toward him once again. “I know you can find a way to avoid the soldiers in Tiberias. You bragged yourself that none of you have ever been caught.”
He was taller than either Jesus or I, and he gazed over the top of my head toward the olive tree, where Yaltha, Jesus, and the others sat eating, as if hoping one of them would come and rescue him. Glancing back, I saw Jesus gazing at us, letting me have this moment alone with my brother.