“Never, my lord.”
“Master.”
“Master.” Kaleb felt his punishment coming. “Do as you think best.” Wrong, he realized as soon as he said the words. Again, he had told Ra-Anan what to do.
His thin lips curling, Master Ra-Anan stared at Kaleb ominously, while speaking to the other guardsmen. “Ghid’ohn, Dibriy, Ye’uwsh, escort him to the tower grounds. Hand him over to the commanders there. Tell them that if he causes trouble, they can entomb him inside a wall.”
As they went out the courtyard gate, Kal told Ghid’ohn, “Don’t worry; I won’t fight you. You still have my horse.”
Ghid’ohn shook his dark head, disgusted. “As your brother always says, ‘Shut up!’ If you can behave, I’m sure you’ll be out of there in a few weeks.”
A few weeks more of no Shoshannah. Kaleb sighed.
Most High, not that I’m complaining—I lost my temper—but did I truly deserve this?
At nightfall, in the shadows of his own secluded courtyard, Adoniyram listened to his informant, the wiry, usually ineffective Dibriy. “He felled Perek, my lord! Right there in the street, as if he’s been felling men Perek’s size all his life.”
“Is he a good bowman?” Adoniyram asked, pretending disinterest. “If he isn’t, then I’ve no use for him.”
“He had bows and arrows when we captured him,” Dibriy said. “And he didn’t look starved, so I’d say he’s a good hunter.”
“I suppose that’s a start. Tell me about this man.”
Under the watch of a weapon-laden guard, Kaleb stepped onto a dipping, swaying reed boat and lifted a coated basket of a dark, resinous substance onto his shoulder. Bracing himself, he climbed the canal bank and hauled the basket over to his fellow laborers, who were waiting with a pair of oxen that bore a load of the resin-filled baskets.
The two leathery, disgruntled workers, Qasheh and Zeh-abe, scowled when they saw him. “We’re supposed to hurry, Kal,” Zeh-abe complained. “The overseer is waiting, and I don’t want to miss my evening ration.”
“If we miss the rations, then you can have mine,” Kal said mildly. To his amazement, Zeh-abe looked pleased. Kaleb decided not to enlighten him. He tied the basket onto the nearest ox, and Qasheh rapped the oxen forward with a staff as Zeh-abe led them from the canal bank.
“Forget missing the rations,” Qasheh warned. “The overseer will have us beaten if we’re too slow. Kaleb, now that I think of it, why don’t you thrash the overseer? If you knocked Perek over, you could manage him.”
Reaching up to steady the slime-laden baskets, Kal said, “I don’t need any more trouble. I want to be done here as soon as possible.”
“Do you think you’ll be pardoned before us? We’ve been here in the mud and slime for almost a year.”
Curious, Kaleb asked, “What did you do?”
“What everyone does,” Qasheh answered belligerently. “We got drunk and wandered into the wrong house. When the owner confronted us, we realized our mistake and left. He went to Master Ra-Anan and accused us of beating him and stealing a cloak.”
“And did you?” Kal doubted the surly man’s story.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Zeh-abe said, indignant. “I don’t even remember that night.”
“That must be maddening,” Kaleb soothed, adjusting his hold on the baskets, aware of their guard, who was drawing closer now, within earshot.
“It is maddening,” Zeh-abe said. “I’m not guilty, but here I am, suffering for it. And I was beaten half to death by Perek too.”
“Who hasn’t been?” Qasheh snorted. “I hope you gave him a lifelong injury, Kaleb.”
I hope I didn’t. Kal resolved to work with someone else tomorrow.
Coerced by the impatient guard, they led the oxen thudding over the timber bridge toward the tower. Kaleb looked upward as they passed through the tower gate, still amazed that humans were building this brick-and-slime mountain. More amazing to Kal was that ordinary citizens apparently came to work on this structure freely, side by side with the less fortunate men who slaved here against their will. The citizens were proud of their tower, openly declaring that it was their way to heaven—as if they could force their way into the presence of the Most High, whom they refused to acknowledge.
This pile of bricks wouldn’t help their lofty ambitions, Kaleb knew. Nor would the Most High. Aren’t You angry with them? Kal wondered, gazing upward at the clouding heavens. I fear I’d be less patient than You, O Most High.
“You!” An irritable, thick-bearded guard to Kaleb’s right prodded him fiercely with the butt of a spear. “Get up those steps; you’ve been ordered there. Move!”
“Atop the tower?” Kaleb asked, startled, trying to bide for time to reason through this new difficulty.
“Yes! Move!” the bearded guard snapped, his brown eyes small and glaring. “He’s been waiting long enough.”
He who? Unwillingly, Kaleb mounted the steps. The bearded guard followed him, exasperated, pushing him along. As he climbed, Kaleb heard Zeh-abe proclaiming loudly, “I get his ration! He gave it to me…”
Work would be interesting tomorrow on an empty belly, Kaleb decided. Praying to face this unexpected situation with dignity, he calmed himself and looked around. The higher he climbed, the more Kaleb appreciated the view from the tower. A light breeze skimmed his face. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was on a mountainside, free again. But he didn’t dare stop and close his eyes—the guard wouldn’t put up with it.
At the top of the unending stairs, a voice greeted them, amused but cool and watchful. “No doubt this is the one.”
To his left Kaleb saw a dark-curled, polished young man near his own age, clothed in a plain wool tunic, a broad crimson belt, and thickly-laced boots. If this young man had not been giving him such a critical, hard-eyed look, Kaleb would have dismissed him as a vain and spoiled city boy. He has power here, Kal decided, and bowed as he’d been taught.
The young man looked surprised, and he mocked Kal genially. “I was told, Kaleb, that you have no manners, and a stench to level the city—perhaps even this tower.”
“I’ve learned about baths here,” Kaleb answered, liking him, not bothering to suppress a grin. “But manners are a struggle.”
“All the better.” Leaning forward, the young man addressed the bearded guard politely. “Thank you for bringing this Kaleb to me. What’s your name?”
“Dawkar, my lord,” the guard said, bowing, ridiculously pleased.
“Dawkar,” the Young Lord repeated, as if memorizing the name. “Thank you again. If he doesn’t behave, I’ll return him to you.”
Bowing a second time at this courteous dismissal, the guard went down the tower steps, almost swaggering. Kaleb would have enjoyed the man’s delusion of triumph, except that this young “lord” was watching him, judging him coolly.
Smiling, the polished youth said, “I’m Adoniyram. I hear you toppled the dreaded Perek.”
“After Perek struck me too many times to count, my lord. I regret losing my temper.” Kaleb was uneasy, realizing that this Adoniyram was Sharah’s son. “Perek’s going to be after my blood now, I’m sure.”
“You might fare better with my men,” Adoniyram said. “You’re bigger than any of them; just don’t pound on them too much.”
“If they don’t attack me, I won’t touch them.” Kaleb remained agreeable, but he wanted to argue. He didn’t want to join this Adoniyram’s household, which was removed from Ra-Anan’s and, therefore, from Shoshannah. But the Young Lord was already walking down the tower steps, talking as if the decision was made.
“I’m told you can hunt; that’s good. My uncle, our Master Ra-Anan, has been promising to send me a bowman for some time. Since you’ve caused him enough trouble that he’s tossed you here, I’ll take you into my service. You’ll find I’m not quite as demanding as my uncle, but I do expect to be obeyed.” He paused, glancing back at Kal, hard and serious. “I also believe in punishing my
men if they push me too far.”
“I’ll remember, my lord,” Kaleb said, trying to remain hopeful.
“Have you eaten today?” Adoniyram asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.
“I gave my ration to someone else.”
“You’ll get another. You’ll also have to follow me to my residence on foot. And my guards will accompany you so you won’t ‘lose your way.’”
Reluctantly, temporarily accepting his fate, Kaleb followed the Young Lord down the stairs, wondering at the unknowable will of the Most High.
“I still haven’t forgiven Ra-Anan for letting her rule the women’s festival,” Sharah grumbled, settling into the most comfortable fleece-padded seat in Adoniyram’s residence and looking around. “Really, Adoniyram, you need better furnishings. And why don’t you have anything out here for me to drink?”
“Because I didn’t know you were coming today, Mother,” Adoniyram said, smiling, looking so much like his father that Sharah smiled in return.
She was so glad he was handsome—she would have detested an ugly son.
Lifting his eyebrows charmingly, Adoniyram added, “By the way, my uncle didn’t willingly allow Shoshannah to ‘rule’ the women’s festival; the women demanded that she attend. I’m sure he was furious.”
“Don’t even say her name in my presence!” Sharah snapped. “We’ve got to insist that Ra-Anan and Kuwsh get rid of her soon. My worst fear is that she’s going to steal the citizens’ affections, and yours too. She’s untrustworthy—a little liar who wants to divide this Great City. I want you to stay away from her; do you hear me?”
“I hear you, Mother, truly. Now, if you’ll forgive me the wait, I’ll find something for you to drink.” He went through a small doorway toward the kitchen.
Satisfied that drinks were forthcoming, Sharah smoothed her flowing curls and adjusted her linen robe. She toyed with her clever new serpentlike bracelet—pure gold with lovely little red-gemmed eyes, winding around her wrist marvelously. It made her arm look slimmer and finer, like ivory.
“Here,” Adoniyram said, bringing in a cup and a small clay pitcher. He poured something into the cup and offered it to her with a gracious half bow.
Sharah wrinkled her nose, offended by the simple clay cup and its contents. “This is plain barley beer. Don’t you have any wine?”
“I can’t often afford trading for wine, Mother, but this beer isn’t too bad. Now, what were you saying about Ra-Anan?”
“I was actually talking about the girl; you need to persuade Kuwsh and Ra-Anan to get rid of her. If her family merely believes that she’s here, it’s enough to draw them into the city. She doesn’t have to be alive for Kuwsh to get his revenge.”
Her son stared at her, shaking his head as if he were going to argue.
“Don’t be stupid!” Sharah cried. “You know what a danger she is—and if it’s a choice between letting her live or saving our places in this kingdom, then there’s really no choice at all, now is there?”
“Give me a little more time, Mother, please,” Adoniyram said, half kneeling beside her, affectingly softspoken. “The more we disagree with them, the more Ra-Anan and Kuwsh will refuse your request.”
More time? She had waited long enough already—the girl had to be dealt with. Sharah was almost ready to take matters into her own hands. But before she could say so, Adoniyram changed the subject.
“Have you heard about the guardsman who defeated Perek? I have him here in my residence.”
Diverted, Sharah took a sip of the beer, grimaced at its nasty taste, and put it down. “He actually defeated Perek?”
“Ask him for yourself.” Once more, Adoniyram left her alone.
Restless, she stood, looking around his main room. It looked like a miserable merchant’s home. Revolting. She was going to tell Adoniyram now that he must decorate his residence properly. Wasn’t he the Son of Heaven? Her only child?
Not your only child, a tiny thought nagged.
The only one worth anything, Sharah argued silently, exasperated, pushing the strange, troublesome thought away.
Adoniyram reentered the room, grinned, and bowed to her teasingly as he extended one hand toward the doorway. An impressively tall, muscular, attractive young man entered the room and bowed. He was slightly paler than her Adoniyram, with gleaming black-brown hair smoothed back into the beginnings of a guardsman’s plait. A truly good-looking young man.
She couldn’t resist speaking to him. “I see now that you could have beaten Perek. Didn’t he leave a bruise or scratch on you at all? Turn around, let me see you. Turn, turn!”
The young guardsman raised a surprised eyebrow, but he turned politely and then faced her again, studying her—admiring her, Sharah was certain.
“Well,” she said, pleased, “do you speak at all, or do you only stare?”
Wide-eyed, he said, “You look so much like that girl in Master Ra-Anan’s household; you could be her mother, though you’re pale as a chunk of fat.”
Sharah stared, trying to absorb this outlandish, unbelievable statement. Pale as a chunk of… “What?”
To her horror, he began to repeat blithely, “You look so much like that girl in our Master Ra-Anan’s household; you could be her moth—”
“Out!” Adoniyram commanded, charging between them, waving the stupid man from the room. “Go back to the kitchen! You need to learn some manners!”
While Sharah was trying to gather her stunned, scattered thoughts, Adoniyram followed the uncouth guardsman out, staring until he was apparently gone from sight. Then, passing a hand over his face, Adoniyram returned to the main room.
“Mother, I’m sorry—I would never have believed he could be so rude.”
“If he were in my household, I’d have him beaten!” Sharah cried, trying to recover from the shock of his ignorant comparison. As pale as… She couldn’t even finish the thought without cringing. The big fool had made her feel old and ugly! Unable to speak, she marched out of her son’s residence, ignoring his apologies.
“You said that on purpose, didn’t you?”
Kneeling before Adoniyram in the main room, Kaleb lowered his head, still horrified. That overpainted Sharah-woman was remarkably similar to I’ma-Keren and Shoshannah in height and features, but terrifyingly proud and… flirtatious. He had been so frantic to be rid of her attention that he had said the first coherent thought to cross his mind. And the truth had stopped her as he’d hoped. Now, Adoniyram would certainly return him to the mud pits.
Relentless, Adoniyram persisted. “Admit it; you said that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Please forgive me. I’ve never been so scared of anyone in my life.”
Unexpectedly, the Young Lord dropped into the fleece-draped seat and laughed, shaking his head. “You were scared? I’ve never seen anyone shock our Queen of the Heavens so badly—not even that girl you referred to. My Lady-Mother hates her enough to kill her. Remember that from now on, won’t you? Also…” Adoniyram’s voice hardened. “The girl you saw in Master Ra-Anan’s household is nothing like my mother. Never compare them again.”
Adoniyram passed a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away a grin. “I can’t believe you said such a thing to my mother. Just stay out of her way when she’s here, and you might live.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Kaleb sagged, relieved that he wasn’t going to be returned to the slime. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted to stay in Adoniyram’s household. He would have a little more freedom here. And from what the servants had said, he would probably accompany Adoniyram everywhere as soon as he was “presentable”—including visits to Master Ra-Anan’s household.
A blessing. Thank You, Most High! Just keep that Sharah away from me, I beg You.
While they finished their morning meal, Zeva’ah said, “Ormah is unwell.” Zeva’ah sounded as if she blamed the maidservant for being female and needing her monthly days of seclusion. “Demamah, you’ll have to go with Shoshannah to her
lessons today.”
“Yes, Mother,” Demamah replied dutifully. But while they were preparing to leave, Shoshannah heard her sigh, apparently dreading a morning in the presence of the unpredictable Rab-Mawg.
As they went out into the sunshine to their horses, Demamah tugged at Shoshannah’s arm. “That’s one of those awful brothers.”
Shoshannah looked, almost smiling when she saw Tiyrac, clean, mannerly, and looming beside Demamah’s horse. Before she could say anything, Demamah whispered, “Look at the red in his hair!”
“His coloring is different from the others, isn’t it?” Studying the fiery tinge in Tiyrac’s dark, sunlit hair, Shoshannah realized for the first time how odd he must appear to Demamah. Shoshannah had never considered his coloring or size to be unusual; all the men in the Tribe of Ashkenaz were tall, red brown, and burly. Unable to resist teasing her cousin, she asked, “Do you suppose he’s a brute like Perek?”
“I hope not,” Demamah whispered, alarmed. “I think he’s going to tend my horse today.”
“I’ll pray for you…”
Obviously scared, Demamah approached her horse and looked up at Tiyrac.
He hesitated, bowed, and linked his hands, offering her a foothold to mount her horse—as neat and careful as any other guardsman. But he seemed distressed when he turned away from Demamah. And he stole a quizzical look at Shoshannah.
She stifled a laugh.
“Daughter of Keren,” Perek growled at her, “quit staring at that one! Come here.”
Shoshannah obeyed meekly, not wanting Perek to become suspicious. And she was worried because Perek seemed to consider Tiyrac to be an enemy. Please don’t let him make trouble for Tiyrac, she prayed fervently. And let me see Kal soon.
No one had mentioned Kaleb since he struck down Perek and was taken to serve in Adoniyram’s household. But Ra-Anan was furious. And Shoshannah had been too upset over Kal’s punishment to rejoice over his victory against the guardsman. She was desperate to know that he was well. Tiyrac must also be concerned …
She watched Tiyrac furtively as he bounded onto his own dark horse, prepared to follow Demamah on their excursion to the tower. As they rode north on the market street, another procession of horses rode toward them, heading south: Adoniyram’s household, apparently returning from an early hunt.
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