Our water supply slowly began to dwindle, but we dared not venture into an oasis for fear of being stopped and questioned. I searched the wadi for the jointed glasswort. No flowers brightened the stem in the winter season and so I had to search carefully to find the jointed plants which tended to blend into the desert background. 

My vision seemed to be heightened, allowing me to spot the plants. Still, I made a game of finding them. Jesus and I competed to see who could find them first. He was closer to the ground and would point and crow, "Wolt." He had shortened glasswort to wort, but he had trouble with 'r's so it came out as wolt.

I dug up those we found and instructed the family to chew the segments and then spit them out. The stems were succulent and provided moisture to keep our tongues and lips from drying out. It did not replace water, but it helped to stretch our supply.

As the glasswort thinned, I resorted to gathering the fat moist fingers of the carrion plant. The putrid smell of the plant was mostly dormant because it was winter. I remembered Bahie comparing the stems of the plant to fingers, and I tried to banish the unwanted vision of chewing extracted appendages as I broke off the plants and a faint whiff of its summer bouquet momentarily reached my nostrils.

Jesus was watching me the first time I harvested a carrion plant. He laughed and pointed at my face.

"You funny, Subi." He had long ago shortened my name to something he could manage. He wrinkle his nose. "You make bunny nose."

I wafted the plant under his nose. "This plant smells really bad in the summer. When I picked it, I got a whiff of the smell so I screwed up my nose."

"Why pick if smells bad?"

"No more wort. We need something to chew. This will keep us from getting too thirsty."

He took the plant and bit off a piece, chewing and then spitting. "Adonai make. I chew," he said simply.

"Out of the mouth of a babe," I said.

Mary walked up just then. "What did you say?"

I held up the carrion plant. "This odious plant will have to provide moisture for now. It's called a carrion plant because its blooms smell like rotting flesh. Luckily it is winter, and the smell is faint. When I wrinkled my nose at the thought of chewing carrion fingers, Jesus chewed one and said, 'Adonai make. I chew.' I said, 'Out of the mouth of a babe."

She took a finger from my hand, chewed and spit. "Adonai provided."

We were laughing when Joseph walked up. "What's so funny?"

Mary handed him a finger and recounted our conversation. As he chewed, he looked at me thoughtfully. "What happened to the doom and gloom? You seem relaxed and at peace."

I looked down and rubbed my foot back a forth in the dirt. What would he think if I told him the truth. He said nothing, just waited patiently. Finally I looked up.

"I asked Adonai to be my god." I shrugged and gave Joseph a half smile. "He didn't change our circumstances; he just gave me peace. I'm not responsible for you two or Jesus. He is. My job is to utilize the desert lore I learned from Bahie."

A smile split Joseph's face. "Praise be to Adonai."

The next day, we set the donkey loose to wander in search of an oasis. We could not spare water for the animal. Before we released him, Joseph and I dug in the soil near a spread of knotweed. Bahie said the purple plants grew only in areas where rain water collected underground, so digging where knotweed was abundant sometimes provided needed water. We thought to allow the donkey to drink whatever muddied moisture we found, but although the ground was damp, the wetness was insufficient for our needs.

We had been following the stars, traveling through dried wadis for seven moons. While I had committed much to memory, I was beginning to wonder if my store of information would be sufficient to bring us to Memphis. The ravines we traversed were beginning to blur together. Our water was almost gone. The pita was diminished. We did not have sufficient saliva to chew the dried fruits and nuts. Our lips were beginning to crack, despite chewing carrion plants. Our energy was low. Even Jesus was subdued.

We stopped in the heat of the eighth day. We rested under an overhang that provided some shade. While the family slept, I hung several water skins around my neck and climbed to the top edge of the wadi. I thought perhaps I could find an oasis and fill the water skins without betraying the whereabouts of Jesus.

When I pulled myself over the rim, I was grabbed by a grinning Bedouin. He tied my hands in front of me and dragged me via a length of rope to a nearby camp. Children stopped their play to stare. Women paused in their work to point and gossip. Tying my tether to a shrub, my captor disappeared into a tent. Shortly, he emerged with another man. I sucked in my breath as my eyes widened in recognition. This was the warrior who had sold Bahie to Amenhote; I was sure of it.

With the wave of a hand, he dismissed the lookout who had secured me. As he strode to where I was tied, I stood tall, trying for regal bearing. I knew this man had shown respect for Amira Bahie and her proud spirit. I did not look down as he let his eyes rake over my form. I remained silent, though, knowing that the diplomatic option was to allow him to speak first.

"You are trespassing in the region of the Bedouin," he stated. "Why should I stop my men from having their way with you and then leaving you as carrion for scavengers?"

"Because I befriended Amira Bahie in her time of great need," I responded, my eyes holding his gaze.

I saw the brief flicker of disbelief and pain.

"Explain!" he barked.

"The princess was sold to keep your people from succumbing to famine. She was tied to me for the journey to the court of Herod, where I was sold as a maid and she joined the King's harem. We were forced into close communion for the journey. She and I were united in our hatred for the trader Amenhote. We encouraged one another. She told me that though she cursed you, she understood that you acted only to save your starving people. She said she was to marry your son. She believed you would attempt to recapture her before she reached Herod's court."

"I, too, expected to rescue her," he said sadly. "It was not meant to be. When I returned to camp, a sickness had overtaken my people. By the time the plague ended and I was free to go in search of Amira Bahie, it was too late."

For some reason, I trusted this fierce desert nomad. I sensed that he was a man of honor.

"You can repay your debt to Amira Bahie by helping me," I answered boldly.

I told the Bedouin briefly of my reason for going to the Court of Herod. I explained how, up to this point, Bahie's desert lore had sustained me and the family I led away from Herod's wrath. I did not tell the nomad that the young king was divine, but only that Magi singled him out for homage and Herod perceived him as a threat and sought to kill him.

Gesturing at the water skins around my neck, I requested, "Fill these skins and return me to the wadi where I was captured."

"I will consider your request, if you provide me with information about Herod's compound so I can rescue Amira Bahie from under the evil tyrant's nose," he bargained.

I was tempted to comply with the request without divulging that Bahie no longer resided in Herod's harem. My honor did not permit the deception. While I could escape slavery with no qualms, I did not feel the god Adonai would respect such a dishonest ploy. If Mary's god could deliver me to the one desert nomad to whom I could make a reasonable appeal and expect him to listen, I could not insult the god's character by resorting to subterfuge.

"I would gladly give you the information you desire," I responded quietly, "but it would do you no good. Amira Bahie now resides with the gods."

"Explain!" he demanded yet again, his eyes filled with pain.

"We were separated when we arrived in Jerusalem. I saw her from time to time during the first year, but we were never allowed to converse. I could tell that the strain of being part of a harem where women were treated with disrespect, as the mere property of an evil king, was slowly depleting her proud spirit. I was told she took her own life rather than service Herod."

I knew the truth might jeopardize any chance I had of escape from my precarious situation, but I owed Bahie the truth. This man needed to know what he had wrought.

Surprisingly, his eyes filled with tears. He did not try to disguise his grief, but bowed his head in anguish. Finally, he squared his shoulders and said, "This is no fault of yours. At least she had a friend for the grueling journey. The fault is mine. I made a difficult choice; leaders often must put the interest of the many ahead of the benefit of the individual. She made a brave decision in choosing to go to the gods rather than live in disgrace."

He reached out and took the water skins from me. "I will provide you with water, but I will do more. Since you befriended Amira Bahie, I will provide a guide for you and your friends. Tonight we will bring you near Memphis. I will send men to escort the family you are with to our camp. You will be fed and allowed to rest."

And so the fierce Bedouin, a people often at enmity with the Hebrews, served as protector and guide to bring the infant god-king safely to Memphis. I could not help but marvel at the inclusiveness of this god, Adonai. He used the daughter of a seer dedicated to Thoth, Zorastrians who worshipped Ahura Mazda, and a Bedouin warrior to bring his son safely away from a king who received religious counsel from advisers reputed to be followers of Adonai.