by Ann Burton
“I cannot argue that fact. Here, now, that is Dhiban’s inn.” He pointed to a narrow building with a smoke-darkened fleece hanging from a rod atop the entry way. “Your Hebrew friend will be inside?”
“I do not know. He may.” I gnawed at my lower lip and looked for Ybyon’s wagon, but did not see it or Hlagor. “If my master’s steward sees me, and seizes me, will you find Jeth, and tell him what I have said?”
“No one will seize you if we better your costume.” Parah removed his headdress, gave it a distinctly resigned look, and then placed it over my muddy head. “There. It covers some of the smell, too, for which my nose has much gratitude. Walk behind me and hold your tongue. I will question the innkeeper.”
He had not exposed me, he had escorted me here, and now he had ruined his fine head covering. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
Parah tugged up his sleeve and displayed what appeared to be a scar from a terrible burn on his forearm. “Do you know how to remove a slave brand?”
“Only by cutting away the flesh—” I stopped, and my eyes moved from his arm to his face. “You mean you were—?”
“It takes many weeks to heal, but if you keep the wound clean and dry, it will.” He dropped his sleeve and strode into the entry.
Feeling unnerved and somewhat dazed by his revelation, I followed.
The dim, smoky air within Dhiban’s made it hard to see at first, and then my eyes grew accustomed to the murky interior. Parah and I had entered a common room where several men were eating and drinking at a long table fashioned of loose planks laid across flat-topped, crudely carved stone pillars. Torches on all sides of the room generated the greasy smoke, some of which escaped through three small open windows. The smoke could not quite cover the smell of sweat, burnt meat, and sour beer.
“Innkeeper,” Parah called out, clapping his hands together sharply.
I stayed behind the scribe, keeping my eyes downcast and trying not to attract any attention.
A large man wearing a stained ezor tied around his hips with a length of frayed cord limped up to stand before Parah, whom he gave an insolent look.
“You come to the wrong place.” The innkeeper perched the heavy wine jug in his hands on one broad hip. “I do not let rooms for the hour.”
“I come here looking for a merchant who buys sheep,” the scribe said. “A tall, spotless fellow from the south country. He has dark hair and good robes. I must arrange delivery of the purchase tablets he hired me to write for him.”
Dhiban scanned the room. “He is not here. Try again tomorrow.”
“Did you see this man leave the inn with anyone?” Parah persisted. “It may be that he went to a tavern with a mutual friend.”
“Perhaps he did. I have no time to watch who comes and goes.” Dhiban’s gaze moved to me, and his expression turned to disgust. “You brought that boy for him?”
“No, this is my apprentice,” Parah lied. “I brought him to see how the final sale is done. He has much to learn.”
“With you as his master?” Dhiban shook his head. “Gods help you, boy.” He went to the table and began refilling the men’s cups with wine.
Parah looked at the stairway that led up to the second floor, where the inn’s rooms were located. “We should go and see if he is in his rooms, and if not, then we will start searching the local taverns.” He grimaced. “There are only three or four dozen.”
“You are looking for Jeth?” a coy female voice asked.
We both turned to see a woman who looked like a younger, female version of Dhiban. She wore no veil, and her middo and striped kesut proclaimed her an unmarried daughter, but her girth was nearly equal to that of the innkeeper’s.
“Yes, keli,” Parah said. “Do you know where he has gone?”
“Nowhere yet this night.” She giggled at the scribe’s address—doubtless the first time anyone had ever called her a jewel—and waved toward what had to be the kitchen. “He wished to eat alone, so I served him his dinner at the family’s table.”
I wanted to run in, but Parah gave me a warning glance. “Thank you, keli. I will praise your kindness to the Gods this night.”
The innkeeper’s daughter blushed and giggled this time before going to help her father serve the men in the front room.
“Slowly, child,” the scribe murmured to me. “If you dash in there, it may look suspicious to someone watching.”
Was Hlagor among the innkeeper’s guests? I glanced back at the men at the table, but did not see the steward’s face.
Parah heaved a sigh. “Fearful looks are also rather betraying.” He cupped my elbow and led me into the kitchen.
Dhiban’s kitchen was not as large or as clean as my master’s, and there was only a single cooking pit that was shallow and blackened from many old fires. Jeth was there, as the innkeeper’s daughter had said, sitting at a smaller version of the common room’s table and finishing a meal of soup, lehem, and dried fruit. When he saw us, he stood up politely and bowed.
“I am nearly done here,” he said, and then recognition made his expression change. “Scribe Parah, I did not expect to see you here until the morning. Was there some difficulty with recording the purchase?”
“Yes.” The scribe went to the kitchen door and closed it. “The purchase will not take place tomorrow. The man from whom you bought sheep does not plan to deliver the animals. He intends to have you robbed and murdered tonight.”
Jeth appeared shocked into silence. Finally he made a conciliatory gesture. “I think you must be confused about this, to make such a scandalous accusation. Ybyon came very highly recommended to me.”
“Whoever sent you to him must have wished you harm,” Parah told him, “for that is all that will come of your dealings with this man.”
“He speaks the truth, Adon,” I said, taking off Parah’s head covering. “If you wish to live, you must flee Hazor tonight.”
“You are the girl from the barn—Deborah.” His eyes widened as he took in my appearance. “Jehovah preserve us, what have you done to yourself?”
“She has run away from her master and put her life in great danger to give you this warning,” Parah snapped. “I suggest you heed it.”
Jeth came over to me. “Why would you say such a thing about Ybyon? Who told you this story?”
“No one. I heard it myself,” I assured him. “I was there when my master gave his steward orders to rob and kill you.”
“What do you here, girl?” His expression changed, and he turned to Parah. “Slaves sometimes lie to create mischief and avenge themselves on their masters.”
“But Hebrews do not,” I reminded him. “Falsehood is a grievous sin in the eyes of God, as Moses taught our people, and as the Hebrew slaves who raised me taught me.”
“How happy am I that He is not my god, then,” Parah said.
“He is the One and True God. There is no other.” The distraction made me exasperated. “Adon Lappidoth, you must hear me. My master, Ybyon, has sent his steward, Hlagor, to find you. Hlagor will be friendly and ask you to drink with him—only when you cannot see, he will put herbs in your cup that will make you addle-headed and unable to defend yourself. Then Hlagor intends to steal your silver, take you down to the river, and slay you there.”
“But why kill me? I have not cheated Ybyon,” Jeth protested. “Nor have I committed any offense against him or his kin. What have I done to deserve such brutal treatment?”
Before I could tell him of how my master’s family had been lost during the fall of Jericho, the very thing I most feared happened: Hlagor came in.
“Adon Lappidoth, here you are,” he said, smiling broadly. “My master, Ybyon, bade me come to speak with you.”
I turned my back toward the steward before he could see my face, and I gave Parah a beseeching look.
“I am speaking business with Lappidoth now, slave,” the scribe said, folding his arms. “You can wait outside until we are through.”
“What business is this?�
� Hlagor demanded.
“A matter of some urgency,” Jeth said. “If you would go out and have the innkeeper pour some wine for us, I will join you shortly.”
I could feel the steward’s suspicious gaze moving over my back, and held my breath.
“As you say, Adon,” Hlagor muttered. “I will wait.”
As soon as the door closed, I whirled around. “Why did you tell him to get wine for you? Did you not hear what I said? Do you wish to die?”
“It was only to make him leave. I will not drink any wine tonight, Deborah. I rarely do even when men are not plotting my death.” Jeth stroked his short beard with one hand as he thought. “I can deal with this steward, but what of your master? He already has half my payment for the sheep he promised to deliver to me tomorrow night. I cannot return to Ephraim empty-handed; some of the silver I carry belongs to neighbors who could not make the journey. These animals are desperately needed by our tribe.”
“As long as you are still breathing come tomorrow, and have in your possession the remainder of the payment,” Parah said, “Ybyon must bring the sheep to you or risk losing the animals and the payment under forfeiture law. Until it is time for the delivery, you will come and stay at my home. My staff is well-trained and will guard you closely, and in the morn, I will be your witness and assure the deal is closed fairly.”
I saw Jeth was still caught up in disbelief, and I put my hand on his sleeve. “Adon, please. It is the truth. I swear it.”
“I had better go and entertain that steward, else he come back here looking for you,” Parah said. “You know where my home is, Hebrew. I will meet you there.” To me, the scribe said, “Remember what I showed you, child, and take care—your life is in as much danger as his.”
I held out his head covering, but Parah only laughed, shook his head, and left the kitchen.
“First ice from the sky, and now murder from the shadows,” Jeth murmured. “Calamity seems to follow you, Deborah.”
“More oft I am trying to run from it.” I sighed. “I am sorry to bring tidings of such terrible things, but I could not stand by and do nothing.”
“I can see that.” A rueful smile curled Jeth’s mouth. “How many women would dye their hair and run away from a master to warn a stranger? You know nothing of me. I might have turned you over to the king’s guard.”
“No,” I said quietly, thinking of the many dreams I had had of this man. “I know you.”
He looked puzzled. “How so? We have never met.”
I could not tell him about the dreams; he would think me mad. “If you meant me ill, you would not have treated me with such kindness during the hailstorm.” I felt my cheeks grow hot and felt as ridiculous as the innkeeper’s giggling daughter. “There is more that I should tell you about Ybyon. His family was almost wiped out during the fall of Jericho. The few relations who survived taught him from boyhood to hate Hebrews. That is why he buys so many of us as slaves, and why he wants you dead.”
His eyes narrowed with anger. “And why you are so thin, and so fearful. He has been abusing you and the others, has he not?”
“A slave’s life is never one of luxury and idleness.” I did not want to make Jeth angry, not with Hlagor waiting in the next room. “You should go now.”
He did not move an inch. “I must settle the debt between us first.”
“There is no debt—”
“Surely my life is not worthless,” he chided. “Given Ybyon’s hatred of our people, I doubt he would sell you to me, but perhaps I could give Parah the funds to buy you and set you free.” He frowned. “Why do you shake your head so? Do you not wish for freedom?”
“You would repay me by making my life worthless.” Bitterness filled me with a cold and terrible despair. “I have no family, and no place else to live. Your gift of freedom would make me into a beggar, and I would be driven from Hazor. I would end up starving like the other gerum at the town gates.” Convinced that Hlagor would barge in at any moment, I gestured toward the door. “I tell you that there is no debt. Forget about me and leave this place.”
“I can do one, but not the other.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Come with me. I will conceal you, and I will take you from this place. I will care for you.” His thumb glided down the side of my neck. “I think you will come to care for me.”
How I wanted to say yes. My skin prickled where he touched me, and a peculiar ache lodged under my breastbone. Never had I felt more open to another—as if he had unlocked something inside me, something I had never recognized as part of myself. My mouth went dry, and my legs trembled.
Meji’s narrow, bitter face came into my thoughts, and once again I heard him speak of my dead mother’s prophecy to him. She knew as well as I that you would leave here with another.
If I escaped Ybyon and Hazor with Jeth, Meji and the other slaves would be punished, perhaps killed in my place. Preventing that was more important than indulging in a forbidden desire for this stranger.
“I cannot go with you, Adon Lappidoth,” I said with great difficulty. “I thank you for offering.”
“I will not leave you a beggar,” he assured me. “You would stay with me. I will take you to Ephraim, and provide for you.”
Before he could make more ridiculous promises, I said, “My master provides for me. Not very much, but enough to live on. If I left with you, others would suffer in my place, and that I cannot permit.” I moved past him, but I did not wish us to part on my ungrateful refusal. I paused and added, “Jehovah watch over you, Adon.”
Then I ran from the inn and into the alley, where I found Hlagor’s empty wagon waiting.
I could not believe my luck—here was my way to return to the farm; all I needed was to climb into the back and keep low; in the darkness the steward would never see me. I could jump off as soon as we left the road and run across the fields to the barn.
I felt anxious but relieved, and absently tucked Parah’s head covering over my sticky, dirty hair. I would have such tales to tell the others when I returned. Meji would enjoy hearing about the scribe—he had always wished to learn to read and write—
The weight of a hand settled on my right shoulder, and I heaved an exasperated sigh as I turned. “Adon Lappidoth, what must I do to—?” I looked into calm, familiar eyes, and the remaining words died in my throat.
“I think you have done enough,” Ybyon said softly, picking up my braid from where it had escaped my kesut again. “Deborah.”
CHAPTER
8
I was going to die, of that I had no doubt. My master had shoved a rag into my mouth to keep me from calling out, and had tied my wrists and ankles together with a thick rope to keep me from running away. I could only lie in the back of the wagon where he had tossed me and listen for the sound of voices, and hope none of them were Jeth’s.
“I do not know how she escaped the farm,” Hlagor’s voice suddenly came from behind me. “I checked the wagon before I left the stable. There was nothing in the back.”
“She must have hidden herself under the sacks on the grain wagon,” my master said, his voice moving around me. “I thought it looked too low to the ground. The driver was careless and did not watch while the men were unloading.”
I closed my eyes. The driver was not a slave, but he might be held responsible for my actions. Jehovah, grant him Your protection.
“What of the Hebrew merchant?” my master was asking Hlagor.
“He vanished from the kitchen while that scribe was distracting me. I know not where—” There was the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and a heavy weight crashed into the side of the wagon. Hlagor grunted and spat. “Do not put this on my head. I did as you told me. The little witch got to him before I could.”
“If you had done as I told you, that cursed Hebrew would be dead, and my pockets filled with his silver.” There was the sound of another blow. “I should kill you here and leave you in the gutter for the rats.”
“Then who will do your killing for you?�
�� Hlagor gasped out the words. “You have lost your taste for it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard the ugly sounds of a vicious beating.
“Wait.” The steward wheezed, and the wagon rocked. “It is not my doing. She must possess the same witchery as her mother, else she would not know to come to warn him.”
“Has she?” There were no more thuds of flesh against flesh, but Ybyon’s voice changed and became thoughtful. “Her mother told me not.”
The steward made a contemptuous sound. “Dasah deceived you to protect her brat. She always did pamper the girl.”
“She told me the girl did nothing but dream.” My master fell silent. “Get her up from there, that I may speak to her.”
Hands grabbed my kesut and dragged me up on my knees. Hlagor’s mouth was dripping blood, and there was murder on his battered face as he clamped one of his big hands around my neck.
“Tell him,” the steward ordered, and shook me hard. “Tell our master what spell you cast to see into our thoughts.”
“Wait.” Ybyon took the rag from my mouth. “Now her tongue might work.”
I swallowed against a tight, dry throat. “Adon, I do not understand. I am not a witch. I do not know how to cast spells.” It was not a lie. My gift had nothing to do with evil or magic.
Incredibly, he nodded. “But you see things, though, do you not? Things that you know will happen, as your mother did. Can you do so as she could, whenever you wish?”
I would not say yes, so I said nothing.
“You need not fear me, girl,” my master said, in the gentle way he had of speaking when he was most enraged. “Tell me where the Hebrew will be tonight.”
I kept my silence, only gasping as the steward’s hand became a vise and cut off my air. I writhed, trying to free myself, but my bonds prevented it. The night began to press against my eyes, and there was a strange rushing sound in my ears.