but she does not look up. Is it too intimate? His face flushes hotly. Perhaps she perceives his connection to the young priestess who embroidered the golden ankhs along the edge of the silk. “Do you not like it?”
She draws a shuddering breath, “I’m sorry. It’s lovely. Thank you. I just…”
Wrapping the shawl about her shoulders, he lifts her silken curls free. “You’re missing him more than usual.” Still she stares at her clasped hands, for once struggling to express herself. “What is it?”
“Teoma, is it true that men cannot be expected to abstain?”
Her candor takes him by surprise. Embarrassed, he clears his throat. “Why would you ask such a question?”
She sighs miserably. “Because my mother informed me that while I am expected to be chaste during our separation, I cannot expect him to be.”
Certain of his friend’s fidelity, he asks, “And you believe that?”
“No, but I left them in the nursery and went to talk to Miriam.”
He nods. “Good, so what did she say?”
“That I need to learn to trust in myself and the Divine.”
“She is right, you must have faith.”
She looks up, her green gaze as imploring as in his dream. He swallows thickly. “I do not know if Yeshua is strong like you.”
His body stiffens, “What do you mean?”
“Why, Teoma, you are so handsome and desirable, but insist on serving Yeshua’s mission and foregoing, well, you know…marriage and…intimacy.”
How did he get himself into this? “I am committed to both of you, and while I do not foresee marriage,” he hesitates, clearing his throat, “I am not celibate.”
“Really, you have a mistress? Then why haven’t I met her?” She looks about as if he is hiding some strange woman amongst the pepper trees.
He shifts uncomfortably, remembering well what he learned in the temple of Astarte. “When Yeshua asked me to leave, Joseph advised that I make some contacts in Judaea.”
A flash of comprehension darkens her gaze. “He sent you to be with…women?”
He pauses to inhale deeply. “I truly believed you and I would be married, before I knew that you were betrothed, of course, and then in my fervor to serve Yeshua, I felt that I must be faithful to you both.” Her lovely mouth blossoms into a smile, which eases his heart somewhat. “Joseph arranged for me to be mentored by the priestesses.”
“I apologize for my naiveté. But how can you stay here with us and not be with your women friends in Judaea?”
He smiles. “Well, perhaps you are right. Once through the portal of sensuality, there is no return.” Her forehead creases with concern. “But do not worry, I will not leave you.”
“But if you have found it difficult, do you think Yeshua can be strong?” She presses her small hand against his chest in confirmation of his power.
“I think it might be harder for men than for women.” He searches for an explanation to cover his former insensitivity, “You have Sarah to occupy your time and, of course, Sheikan.”
Vehemently, she pulls away. “Do you think motherhood can satisfy that need?”
He is taken aback by the fire of her emotion.
“Women do not really understand their innate passion, so much so that they are not living the fullness of their femininity. And men perpetuate the fallacy of demurely chaste wives yet seek solace with other women!” Mary clasps his hands to her breast, “Who are these women who might express their passionate natures with men in the moment, but not for lifetime companionship?”
Teoma stares at her wondering how much to reveal, “Dear, except for the priestesses of Astarte, these women are not accepted by society openly, many are scorned and punished oftentimes in guise of the laws of Adonai.”
“How terrible! The Creator made both men and women to be passionate in their love for one another.”
He attempts to enlighten her. “Sex and love are not mutually inclusive.”
“What?” she asks beseechingly, “You make love to women and do not feel love for them?”
How to explain without burdening her even more? “One can be intimate without being in love, but…” his voice lowers, “I imagine that sex with your heart’s desire is the highest expression of love.”
Her eyes overflow, comprehending his sacrifice, “I am so sorry, Teoma.”
“Dearest, do not be sorry. This is my choice.” He hugs her tightly, praying she receives as much comfort from the contact as he does.
***
I retire to my room exhausted. Usually adoring the words of my beloved’s hand, tonight I do not open the codex. Buried beneath painful memories, his insights record more heartache than joy. Dried flowers marking the more pleasant passages bring me little solace for those are few compared to his soulful turmoil.
Pulling the silky linens over my naked flesh, soon seeped in images of our wedding union, I yearn for Yeshua. Always he perceives my nocturnal desire, but tonight he does not come.
The purple drop appears and I enter its center to follow the violet wave, raising my vibration a fraction more by deepening my breath and imagining Yeshua’s hayye. Yet I cannot perceive him, no connection. I refocus my efforts, clearing my mind but to no avail. Where is he?
If something was wrong, I would feel it, but nothing. Unless…?
If I have learned to selectively use kasa to pacify Teoma, certainly Yeshua can do the same. But why seek privacy from me? Ragged breath forces me to sit up. I command myself to desist, but my fevered mind runs away with the idea that my husband may be with another woman.
I cry myself into a fitful sleep. The Archangels appear in my dreams. Uriel takes my hand as I enter another dark place. Gavriel’s face is serene, but in Uriel’s eyes lies my sorrow. I awaken in a cold sweat.
Rising from my lonely bed, I dress to ride. A tunic split up the middle and sewed in half lengthwise, like the horsemen of the southern deserts, works to protect my inner thighs from chaffing and I tie a sash around my chest to secure my bosom.
Prancing across the pasture, Sheikan greets me with a nicker and I mount his bare back without bridle, sensuously free. He responds to my every wish so we head to the seashore. Nearly a half-day’s ride on any other mount, Sheikan covers the distance with long strides, never tiring, adjusting his pace to suit the terrain. I sit low and forward on his withers, centered with him—in unity, one with nature, borne on the wind.
The sea beckons so we plunge in to wash off the sweat and tears. Returning to the shore, Sheikan nuzzles my leg so I slip off his back to allow him to shake before rolling in the sand. I wring out my garments before laying them to dry under the late winter sky. The
