Chapter 1

The journey home was swift, and for the most part silent. At dusk on the evening of the fourth day of hard travel they separated gloomily.

Arnon was anxiously waiting at the entrance to the encampment. Aretas dismounted slowly, heavily; a haggard old man.

‘Father!’ exclaimed Arnon. ‘What has happened to distress you so? Are you hurt?’

Aretas took her by the hand, as if she were a little child, and silently led her into the tent. When they were seated together on a divan, Arnon summoned a servant and ordered supper to be brought for her father, but Aretas shook his head. Drawing her close, he gazed sadly into her wide, frightened eyes and blurted out the story. Arabia had made an alliance with the Jews. It was the only way of escaping a Roman invasion that would utterly destroy both countries.

‘But—if you have made the alliance and have saved our country,’ said Arnon hopefully, ‘why are you so downhearted?’

‘Because—the alliance provides for a royal marriage of Arabia and Judaea.’

Arnon gave a little gasp and her face paled.

‘Does that mean—me?’ she asked weakly.

‘Can you do this, my child, for Arabia?’

Closing her eyes, Arnon drew a long, shuddering breath, and slowly relaxed into her father’s arms. After an agonizing moment, she straightened and looked up bravely into his deep-lined face.

‘For Arabia—yes—my father,’ she said, barely above a whisper.

They sat in silence for a little while. Arnon patted him tenderly on the cheek. Swallowing convulsively in a dry throat, she murmured, ‘May I go now, father?’

Aretas released her and she walked toward the door of her room with the short groping steps of the blind. He watched her with brooding sorrow. He would gladly have given his life to save her this painful martyrdom.

* * * * *