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of Issa. John calls these men Zealots for the Law and hopes to contain them.”
    I wonder, but do not ask, who this John is. There are so many called John, myself among them. I find a small voice to ask only this, “Why do you call me Queen Bee?”
    “For the Voice within you. The ancients called such a one as you Pure Mother Bee, as they called all the queens who ruled in the age of the matriarchs.” I would that I had not asked, for I clearly see that Salome hurts not also to be called Queen Bee. Seth speaks on, “I say the Sicarii are fools and I fear them, for by their bloodletting they would destroy us all, Jews as well as Nazorean. Because of this, we of the inner Nazorean keep to ourselves as much as possible. As for what those who have broken with us call themselves, most are now the Poor. Or they are the men of Issa, Issa-ene or Essene. They await the Anointed One.”
    “But the Nazorean do not await a warrior king?”
    “The true Nazoreans look for the coming perfection of man, a transformation of being the like of which has never been seen on this earth.”
    I am dazzled by the thought of such a messiah. A perfection of man? I am suddenly struck by what the Loud Voice said, I shall make myself known to thee through the one who appears as a Shepherd among Lambs, through the one who stands forth as a Lion. Has a voice in me prophesied the Messiah of the Nazorean? Frantic that somehow I have something to do with such things, I signal Salome, but she does not see me. “This Issa,” she says, “I would hear of him.”
    Seth answers her, “I will tell you what is said of Issa, to show what men make of a man who confounds them. There are those who claim Issa was born of a virgin called Mari, that he was not human but divine, that he performed miracles and raised the dead, that he was crucified, taken up into heaven, and that he will come again as the Messiah.”
    Salome shouts with laughter. “But as you are true Israelites and not pagans, surely you cannot believe this?”
    “Issa was a son of man. As we all are. Is this not miracle enough?” Seth then turns his attention to Addai, saying, “It is not long before we must leave this place.”
    Later this night, as we prepare our meager blankets for sleep, and close the dusty flap to our small tent, I whisper to Salome, “It is not long before we too must leave this place.”
             
    A large caravan is in from the north. It is said this caravan will be among us for three days and three nights, and then will continue on to Gaza, the gateway to Egypt. Gaza is a Greek city, which means that though it is full of Jews, it is also full of everyone else. It is a cosmopolis, a universal city. In it live poets and philosophers and satirists. This is all we need to hear. When the caravan leaves, Salome and I mean to go with it.
    On the second evening of the caravan’s arrival, a strange cold makes the air seem solid, as if we could step off the cliffs over the Sea of Salt and walk away on cold alone. In the third hour of the night, Salome and I sneak as close as we dare to the fire of the camel drivers and the muleteers. These are camped outside the west wall and the hubbub they make is more than the entire wilderness at its noisiest. We shelter behind the bulk of a sleeping camel, huddle against its flank for warmth.
Yea Balaam,
but camels stink! We peek over its skinny curve of a neck. There is more than one fire, for this is a large caravan. There must be five or six fires. There are women and children around one, what seem fairly wealthy merchants around another, simple travelers around a farther two, and off near the cliffs there are three tents that stand by themselves. There are camels with
hoodahs
on their backs, the largest of which is shrouded all in black. We should certainly spy on these first, all three tents look finer than any Father has, and as for
hoodahs
—
Eloi! Eloi! Eloi!
What do I see! The daggerman who stabbed the Temple priest is