“I want out,” I told Darek. “Now.” I did not even have to feign the demand this time. I was determined to walk through the gates on my own two feet—of my own volition—as if doing so would ensure that I would walk out of Megiddo the same way.
I carefully scooted to the end of the wagon, trying not to jostle Yuval. Darek lifted me down to the ground. Then, before I could react, he leaned in, his fingers again lingering at my waist. “You can do this,” he said. “I will follow your lead. But do not let us get separated. No matter what.”
I dipped my chin in acknowledgment of his wisdom and then, unnerved by his proximity, pressed my finger into his shoulder with a scowl. “You are too close, slave. Walk behind me.” I flipped my long hair back over my shoulder and spun to walk alongside the wagon as it began to move forward.
“Of course, my lady,” Darek muttered, with a hint of playfulness in his voice, as if my pretense amused him.
I glared back at him, hoping no one else had heard his Hebrew accent, just as he tucked a small grin away and fixed a bored expression on his face—the epitome of a dutiful servant. But his defiant brown eyes told a different tale.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Two
Our caravan wound through the city, pushing toward the center of activity. With shouts for pedestrians to take heed of the hooves of his mules, Shuah led us to the marketplace. Crowds of people filled the roads, haggling over prices, hauling baskets of fruit and fresh baked bread, arguing, cursing, laughing—oblivious to the fact that sworn enemies walked among them.
I’d been thirteen the last time I’d walked through a marketplace like this one, my wrists tied together, my hair shorn like a boy, my short tunic dirty and ragged. This time, although dressed like a Canaanite and able to stroll freely, everything was dependent on my ability to procure help for Yuval and fool everyone into believing that I was beyond suspicion.
Once we stopped moving, Shuah jumped down from his wagon and came back to speak with me. “I’ll have Mehmet take you on to the temple. You’ll get through easier on your own.”
“Thank you.” I slipped off the last armlet and gave it to Shuah. “Please pass this on to Lilit and tell her I will return with extra payment for keeping Yuval alive. Will you all be leaving soon?” I hoped my question did not sound as desperate to him as it did to me, but the unexpected kindness of these traders gave me a tiny measure of safety in this sea of Canaanites.
“We’ll be here for a few days. We will set up stands in the market and trade goods before moving on north. Heading toward the coastlands next, on to Acco, then Tyre and Sidon before the weather turns cold and we turn back south toward Egypt.”
He stretched his arm toward the caravan behind us. “Our group will camp here, in the marketplace, for now. You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you need.”
I bowed my head to him. “Thank you, Shuah. Your hospitality does you great honor.”
“We are bound by covenant, Moriel. I would do no less for a brother. Or, sister, in this case.” He dropped a wink and my chest filled with gratitude for this stranger. And then in its place, guilt welled. If he only knew who we really were and how much danger we were putting the whole caravan in, he might not be so generous with his friendship.
With the snap of the reins against the backs of the mules, Mehmet ordered them forward. I followed, Darek silent behind me, heading toward the last place I’d ever hoped to go again. A Canaanite temple.
The Healing Chamber loomed in front of us, and the doors that stood nearly twice my height opened wide with blank-faced guards stationed on either side. Mehmet slipped off the wagon, conferred with the guards, and then walked inside.
A few moments later, two Egyptian men stepped into the sunlight, their white linen tunics gleaming and sashes of leopard skin crossing their chests. Clean-shaven brows, faces, and heads trumpeted their status as priests.
I stepped forward, willing my limbs not to shake and my tongue not to betray my desperate fear. “Peace to you,” I dipped my head in greeting. “I am searching for a physician.”
One of the priests approached me, his oddly naked brow lifted high and his lips pursed in disdain. “I am the head physician here. And you are?”
“I am a priestess from Yaffa. My men and I were traveling to Beit She’an when set upon by a lioness. My slave was gravely injured.”
The Egyptian moved to peer over the edge of the wagon at Yuval. “This man is nigh on death. Why bother bringing him to us?”
“He is valuable to me. I want him alive.”
The man shook his head. “We have others in need of our help today.” He waved his hand back toward the market. “Cut your loss here, he’s worthless now. Go purchase a new one.”
Although every part of me screamed to plead with the arrogant man, instead I strode up to him. Drawing on the fury his callous comment had caused inside me, I raised my chin and my voice. “Are you, or are you not, healers?”
He folded his arms across his body, a haughty expression slathered across his face and a flash of indignation in his kohl-darkened eyes. “We are.”
“And are you not skilled enough to save my servant?”
“Of course.”
“Good, then do so. I have plenty of gold to pay for your services.”
“I told you, we are busy today.” He flicked his long fingers at me and turned to walk back to his companion, shaking his head as if annoyed by our audacity to waste his time.
Searching around, I scrambled for something, anything, to convince him. My eyes alighted on the palace that lay on the other side of the temple complex, where the king of Megiddo kept a lion cub chained near his throne.
“I happen to know,” I called out, “that the king is desperate to kill all the lions on that mountain and that the one that eluded him is the very same that attacked my slave. Do you not think the king might reward someone who could direct him right to her?”
He halted and turned, his kohl-rimmed eyes narrowing. “And you would provide this information?”
“If you save my servant, I will have my man here,” I gestured to Darek, “draw a map that will lead you to the very cave she sleeps in. The one we foolishly stumbled upon during the storm last night. He is quite adept at such things.”
Had it only been last night when we’d huddled in that cave and Darek had revealed so much of his past to me?
The two men moved close together, discussing my proposition. Every one of their sideways glances toward us cinched the tension in my shoulders tighter and tighter. Please, Yahweh. You’ve brought us this far. . . .
The physician, apparently satisfied with the sway such information might give him with the king, turned to face us. “Bring him in. I’ll not guarantee he will live, but I will do my best. And either way, you will draw me that map.”
“Agreed.”
Darek and Mehmet carried Yuval inside the dark outer chamber of the temple and laid him on a stone table in the center of the room. Lamps flickered in niches in all four corners of the space, lending a sinister atmosphere to a place already thick with living shadows.
“No incantations to your gods,” I said. “Just stitch up his wounds. I will pray to my own and offer appropriate sacrifices for his healing.” I hoped that it would be assumed that it was to Ba’al and Ashtoreth I would direct my prayers, and not the One True God. I tilted my chin a bit, giving them a clear view of my brand.
“If you want to tempt the wrath of Thoth and Isis, then it will be on your head.” He shrugged and then moved around the room, gathering instruments, pots that I assumed were full of herbs, ointments, and medicines from the foul smells that permeated this chilly stone room.
The physician ordered the other man to pass the knife blade through the fire to exorcise the spirits of death. I’d never heard of such strange practices, but for Yuval’s sake I prayed these men would do more good than harm while tending his injury.
As he removed the linens Lilit had secured around Yuval’s shoulder, the bo
ld smell of calendula and thyme filled the room. She must have slathered the injury with another healing poultice after we’d left with Binaim. The woman may be half-mad with her ramblings to her silent idols, but at least she’d had enough knowledge to keep Yuval alive, and valued silver enough to do so.
Blood seeped from the wounds again, but not as much as before. The physician dug his fingers into the flesh, and even in his unconscious state Yuval moaned and flinched. It took every bit of restraint to not reach for Darek who leaned against the wall beside me, his pose deceitfully casual. From the corner of my eye I caught him glancing at me, time and time again, no doubt gauging my level of calm in that too-perceptive way of his.
Darek’s challenge, that I did not see myself for who I truly was, still cycled around and around in my head, like a kestrel searching out a roost. I could not deny that the way he’d spoken had affected me deeply—made me feel safe and protected and yet at the same time more flustered than I’d ever been before in the presence of a man. If only it had been him who came for me that misty morning, instead of Raviv . . .
Yuval cried out, and I surged forward from instinct, but Darek’s hands wrapped around my arms from behind. “It’s all right. They are stitching the wounds.” His calming tone did battle with the fear shooting through my limbs. “He will live, Moriyah. You have saved him.”
Oh, Yahweh . . . why had it not been him? The boys would never have come into my home. They would not have eaten that stew. And I would be betrothed to this man whose very presence assuaged my panic as I watched the physician sew Yuval’s skin like a tunic.
I expected Darek to let go, but he held tight, his thumbs making soothing circles on my skin. I valiantly resisted the temptation to lean back against his chest.
We stood together, silent, as the men finished working on Yuval with their backs to us, but as soon as the surgeon’s assistant turned, Darek released me. I felt the absence of his touch all the way down to my toes.
The assistant approached us. “The lioness did shred his flesh badly, but Masaharta is well known for his elegant stitches and was able to close the wounds and stop most of the bleeding. We must keep watch for signs of infection. If he survives, I doubt he will retain much use in that arm, as some of the muscles were heavily damaged.”
“Will he live?”
He shrugged, indifferent. “It’s in the hands of the gods now.”
Only one God’s hands.
“I’ll get you some papyrus and a quill,” he said and walked away.
I’d forgotten the map in my desperation for Yuval’s survival. I spun around to face Darek, struck by a disturbing thought. “You can draw a map there, correct? To that cave?”
“Of course.” He pointed at his temple, the grooves around his grin framing a tempting display. “I told you, I can see it here. Drawing it will be as simple as a finger in the dirt.”
“Do you remember everything you see?” I tilted my head to peer up at him, astounded by the idea.
He pursed his lips, shrugging in false humility. “Perhaps. I am able to call up images easily, to examine them later. Or just—” the corner of his mouth turned up, his changeable brown eyes hinting at secrets—“enjoy the moment, again and again.”
The assistant returned, a large scrap of papyrus in hand, along with a quill and a pot of ink. With a dip of his head, Darek accepted the tools, then squatted on the floor and drew a detailed map of where we had traveled today. The mountain, the cave, the trail leading to it, Dotan, the traders’ camp near the olive orchard, and the road to Megiddo. He even added the details of the city walls and the migdol towers that stood guard at the entrance.
With an appreciative nod, the man received the map from Darek’s hand and took it to Masaharta, who was not yet finished wrapping Yuval’s newly stitched wound in fresh linen.
The physician looked up from his occupation to scan the map and then back at Darek with a hint of wariness. “An impressive rendering. The king will be pleased with such a detailed drawing of where the lioness might be found.”
Darek stretched a tight smile across his lips, and I answered for him. “He was trained by an Egyptian mapmaker.”
“A slave trained by an accomplished mapmaker?” The arched question caused a ripple of panic in my gut. I’d not considered my words before speaking. With only a beat of pause, I conjured a story.
“Of course. I purchased him in Yaffa where that Egyptian had racked up such debt that his assets were being auctioned off.”
“Oh?”
I tipped my chin toward Darek. “I had little use of his mapmaking skills, but his use as a bodyguard has been invaluable.” Then, just to allay the continued suspicion in his eyes, I added, “among other things . . .” before offering Masaharta what I hoped was a suggestive smile.
With a little smirk, Masaharta’s gaze traveled down my body, the move causing nausea to surge up my throat. I swallowed hard against it and gripped the seams of my dress with sweat-slick palms. “Yes, well, your man will stay here tonight. He cannot be moved or it will destroy my beautiful stitches.”
“You want him to lay there on the table?” I frowned.
“We will tie him down to ensure he does not turn over in his sleep. Although whatever medicine you gave him appears to be keeping him well beyond awareness.”
“One of the traders gave him a tea made with a seed called poppy.”
He made a half-impressed noise in the back of his throat. “A good remedy, or he might not have survived until now. Return in the morning. Perhaps he will be awake.” He flipped his hand over, his lower lip pressed out. “Or perhaps not. My sutures will hold if he stays still, but I cannot promise that Osiris will not steal his breath before morning.”
I restrained a shudder at the image of gods of death surrounding Yuval throughout the night in this dark chamber. But as soon as the thought occurred to me, somehow my memory traveled back to my time in the wilderness following the Cloud and the swirling colors that blended into one brilliant bluish-white light from its very heart. I imagined that light enveloping Yuval here, guarding against the shadows that lurked in the corners of this room—and I knew, with perfect assurance, that he would be safe here.
The Egyptian unfurled a cupped palm. “I’ll take that gold you promised, as well.”
I handed over a handful of gold pieces from the bandit’s pouch, flushed with gratefulness that the fearful ordeal we’d undergone with the two thieves had provided a way for us to save Yuval.
I glanced over at my father’s steward on the stone slab, his body still, but the color in his face already a bit more natural. “Ensure he is safe and comfortable, and I will follow that gold with more.”
The physician raised his bare brows again as he clinked the gold pieces together in his palm. “You could have purchased twenty slaves with this.”
“He is worth much more.”
He fixed his gaze on me for a moment, the suspicion in his dark eyes making the flesh on my arms and neck tingle. But then he shook his head with a resigned shrug as he turned to walk away. “Yours to waste as you see fit. You’ll not hear me complain.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-Three
We pressed through the crowd streaming out of the marketplace. The sun perched low on the western horizon, and the last of the merchants seemed to be finishing up their transactions in anticipation of closing down for the evening.
“Do not turn around and do not stop,” Darek said in a low tone from close behind my right shoulder, where he’d been since we left the temple. “We are being followed.”
My back went stiff. “Who?”
“One of that physician’s guards,” he said. “I am positive he is nearby.”
“Do you think they know who we are?”
“Probably not, but he has his suspicions.”
My stomach quivered. “What can we do?”
“Nothing. Keep walking.” He paused, his voice stronger. “You did well in there.”
“Apparentl
y I did not do enough, or he would not have sent a spy.”
“You were extraordinary.” The whispered affirmation landed somewhere between my ribs, pressing itself deeper and deeper as he continued. “You convinced that Egyptian to help us and saved Yuval. No one else could have done more. My fellow spies could learn much from you, my lady.” The last two words were delivered with just a hint of tease, but also an undercurrent of pride that caused me to squelch a smile.
Knowing we were being followed made for a tense walk through the market. But although Darek went silent again, the undergirding of strength his presence had given me back at the temple remained, and I marveled that I felt entirely safe in the presence of the man who’d been sent by his brother to kill me.
In an attempt to assuage suspicion, I stopped at a few stalls, feigning interest in some baskets, commenting on a pair of fine leather sandals, and brushing a hand over impossibly smooth fabrics that made my skin sing with pleasure. I spent a few luscious moments inhaling the exotic scents of unfamiliar spices on one table, wishing more than anything I could purchase some to experiment with.
The thought brought my father, Ora, and Eitan to mind, reminding me how much satisfaction it gave me to see them discover some new dish I’d concocted, watching their faces as they sampled each bite, looking for signs that my offering was pleasing to those I loved. My chest tightened, as if strangled by an errant vine, and I brushed away the images of their beloved faces, focusing instead on the faces of the Canaanites around me and the work of keeping my wealthy-priestess mask firmly in place. Chin high. Shoulders lifted. Gaze bold.
To my surprise, very few of the people of Megiddo even bothered to take a second glance at me. Here a priestess or temple worker was not a rare sight, and from the multitude of other people who sported tattoos, battle scars, and slave brands, my own did not stand out.
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