Between the Wild Branches

by Connilyn Cossette

  “But what good does it do for you to stay here, Shoshana?” said Galit, calling me back to the dim wine cellar. “Nothing has changed, and nothing will. If you remain, you will serve Mariada in the house of the man you once thought you would marry. You won’t even be in the palace anymore.”

  “She’s the daughter of the king. If that’s all I have, then I will take it. I won’t go. I won’t leave my—”

  Galit slipped her hand into mine just as a firm knock rapped on the door four times and the lock clicked open to signal our time in the wine cellar was complete.

  “I know,” she whispered, true affection in her light brown eyes. “I know, my friend. I am sorry for pressuring you.”

  We parted after a swift embrace, and I slipped out of the room on soft feet, making my way through the dark palace, up two flights of stairs and into Mariada’s black room without notice. Then I forced myself to sleep, while holding the faces of my precious children in my mind and begging Yahweh to give them happy and healthy lives on the mountain where his holy Ark resided.

  Early the next morning, I found a gleaming spiral shell, its insides the same delicate pink as the sunrise, sitting on the windowsill. Blinking in confusion at the beautiful object in my palm, I tried to reconcile how he’d possibly gotten into Mariada’s room on the second floor of the king’s enormous and well-secured abode. But regardless of what Lukio had gone through to get it here, I’d already made up my mind that I would not meet him again. For as much as I had missed his friendship all these years, I was already risking enough by meeting with my friends in the wine cellar. I could not endanger them, our network, or my position by remaining in contact with the champion of Ashdod.

  I held the shell in my hand, wrapping my fingers around it for only a few moments of vague indecision and irrational longing. Then, before Mariada could awaken and question why I was hovering at the window, I dropped it over the sill and to the ground far below, hoping he would receive my answer to his message and leave me alone.

  Eleven

  Lukio

  It did not matter to me that a thousand voices were lifted in excitement all across the beach, their cheerful shouts proving that this day I’d been organizing for a month was a success. My gaze continually wandered away from the horizon, where the fleet of racing boats had disappeared a short time before, and toward the woman at the very back of the royal gathering. The canopy that shaded the king, his wives, and daughters kept Shoshana’s face in shadow, and although I kept my feet planted in the sand twenty paces away in order to oversee the race and the other activities I’d planned, I was almost desperate to stride over to her and beg her for an answer to the question that continued to hound me—Why didn’t you come to see me?

  I’d paid a servant well to leave that shell in the window, and for her silence, hoping the girl would attribute the gift to the king’s daughter and not her servant. Had she not done as I asked? Or had Shoshana not found it at all? Perhaps Mariada had seen it first and moved it? I had as many ideas about what had gone awry as fingers and toes, but there was nothing I could do to get an answer since I could not approach Shoshana in full sight of everyone on this beach.

  I’d waited half the night for her on that terrace, after attending a meeting with the king about this boat race. By the time the moon was on the descent, I’d had to restrain myself from clumping down the stairs to search out Mariada’s room and demand to know why Shoshana had ignored the summons I’d left for her.

  I forced my attention back to the blue expanse, imagining the twelve boats that had set out a while ago to race toward the vessel anchored a good ways out to sea. The ships would swing around that boat and head back toward the beach, where the crowds would cheer their favorite crew to victory. A number of smaller fishing boats bobbed in the water to be as close to the race as possible, and the waves were dotted with children and adults alike, who were taking the opportunity to cool themselves while they waited for the boats to return.

  Now that the weather had settled into longer periods of calm after a hectic season of storms, the men who were racing today would soon be rowing across the Great Sea, trading with the islands scattered all over the enormous body of water and the nations that ringed the blue expanse, far and near.

  Few were the ships that ventured outside of the Great Sea, past the perilous straits that led to an even greater body of water. When I was a young boy and had heard of the powerful currents that dashed many vessels into the rocky shoreline, I’d felt a surge of pride that my father had been courageous enough to brave such dangers to sail to his far-northern homeland, but as I grew older, I’d wondered just how desperate he had been to chance joining the many other ships on the bottom of the sea. He must have been determined indeed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the children he left behind without explanation.

  “Quite a good idea you had,” said one of the men who’d helped me organize this race—one who’d formerly been quite vocal about his loyalty for Oleku and his mistrust in me. His eyes were on the commotion about a hundred paces away, where a group of children were running back and forth between the edge of the water to a collection of baskets. “Keeping people entertained with organized games while the boats are out of sight was brilliant.”

  “I well remember the long stretch of boredom between the beginning of the race and the end,” I said. “My friends and I entertained ourselves with dice games, so I thought perhaps people might appreciate a few diversions to pass the time until the sailors return.”

  Not only had I organized a shell-collecting game for the children, inspired by the many hours Risi and I had spent digging about in the sand on this very beach, but there was also a competition between some of the fishermen to see who could gut the most fish as well as one between their wives over who could knot the largest nets. A number of men and women wandered about the beach with baskets of fresh bread, fruit on long skewers, and pots of various fresh delicacies to make this day enjoyable for everyone who’d gathered to take part.

  Finding alternative ways to entertain the people, while also directing the men and women who were used to answering to Oleku, had been a challenge, but one that I’d found to be enjoyable. And judging from the laughter and shouted exclamations of those gathered here today, I’d accomplished my goal. No one was complaining about the sun being too hot or the boats taking too long to return. Even the king of Ashdod had not stopped smiling all day long. Whenever I caught his eye as I paced back and forth, my attention divided between the activity on the beach and the slave-girl standing in the shadows, he grinned at me and lifted his cup in salutation. He was pleased, and that should make me far more thrilled than I was.

  Instead, my eyes were continually drawn to Shoshana, where she waited silently under the awning we’d had constructed for the king’s family. And just like on the night of the feast, she refused to look at me. It was as if those moments on the terrace had never happened and her ridiculous statement about us being strangers was actually true. Even so, I left the other man to oversee the children’s games and moved a few paces closer to the canopy, trying to think of a way to get her alone, if only for a moment.

  I had to talk with her again. Tell her that I would do anything in my power to help her once I married Mariada, a prospect that no longer held the same anticipation it once did.

  I’d already considered the obvious—that I’d be the one to take her back to Hebrew territory myself. But I’d burned away any chance of a return to Elazar’s house. Risi had already mourned me; she had a life with Ronen in Ramah and had children of her own to care for. I would leave her in peace.

  Seeing Shoshana had made me realize that I no longer held onto the bitterness I once had toward my sister, nor even for Ronen—especially knowing that he’d taken such good care of her after I left. But I could not go back. I’d caused too much damage.

  Tela’s baby squalled, interrupting a conversation between her and her mother. Amunet scowled at the child as if she were not
hing more than a yowling cat. Anticipating whatever the queen would say next, Tela handed the baby off to the nursemaid who was hovering nearby. The young woman folded herself down in the sand to nurse the child, but still the infant continued to fuss and buck against the maid’s gentle ministrations.

  A slight movement in the corner of my sight caught my attention, and I noticed that Shoshana was watching the babe squirm with a pained expression. At first, I thought perhaps she was upset over the child’s discomfort, but then a sickening realization took hold.

  Had Shoshana had children with Medad? And if so, had they been killed during the raid at Beth Shemesh? From what I knew, Philistines had little interest in keeping prisoners of war unless they were of some value, either for selling or enforced labor. Little ones were rarely allowed to live. If she’d been married within the year after I left Kiryat-Yearim, any child to whom she would have given birth could not have been more than seven years old, perhaps eight at the most. Had she watched her children die at the hands of my kinsmen?

  Every bit of joy I’d found in the success of this event leaked from my body. No wonder she’d been so guarded when I spoke to her. Whether or not we’d been childhood friends, I was her enemy. Her husband, and possibly even her children, had been killed by those of my blood. She must hate me.

  Why had it never even occurred to me that she might have been a mother? Even if the thought of Medad touching her caused jealousy to ooze through my veins, a child born of her body would have been infinitely precious to her. She’d adored her younger brothers, and they’d returned that adoration. She’d been willing to give me up to protect her connection to them, after all. I had no doubt that she would have fought for her own children with everything she had.

  Refusing to be comforted, Tela’s infant began to wail, and then, just as the nursemaid set her clothing to rights, the little one vomited all down the front of her white tunic. The poor woman stood, red-faced and flustered, while the baby whimpered.

  “Go on back and wash yourself,” commanded Tela without compassion. “And find something fresh to wear before you return.”

  The girl nodded and made an attempt to hand the child back to her mother. Tela recoiled, obviously afraid of a reoccurrence, and looked around for someone else to step in.

  “Shoshana can take her,” Mariada offered with a cheerful smile. “She’s not busy. I’m sure the baby would calm down if she walked her up and down the beach until her nursemaid returns.”

  Tela’s expression went stony. “No. That filthy Hebrew isn’t to put her hands on my child.”

  Even in the dim light beneath the awning, it was clear that all the blood had drained from Shoshana’s countenance. It took every thread of restraint in my body to not barrel over to the tent and demand that Tela apologize for such hateful words. Fortunately, I was prevented from destroying everything I’d been working toward for the last ten years by the sound of a horn being blown down by the shoreline.

  The boats had been spotted on the horizon. All activity on the beach paused as people turned to watch their approach, hands shading eyes and fathers lifting children onto their shoulders. Everyone stared across the blue expanse to catch sight of the bird-headed prows as they cut through the water, propelled by the collective might of as many as twenty rowers on each ship.

  The closer they came to the shore, the louder the crowd grew. I’d insisted that each ship fly a bright banner atop its rigging so that the spectators would have little difficulty discerning their favorites, even while far out to sea.

  Three of the ships outpaced the others. One with a saffron banner was in the lead, a ship with a green flag was close behind, and a dark brown cloth flapped in the wind atop the mast of the third, which was quickly gaining speed on the others.

  By the time the ships were within fifty paces of the beach, the crowd was nearly in a frenzy, all thoughts of the games they’d been playing and the delicious food they’d been enjoying lost in the excitement.

  One by one, the boats neared the shore, and a man from each vaulted off the side, a banner that matched their ship’s flag in one hand as they swam through the waves. In the past, the first boat to land ashore had been declared the winner, but I’d altered the rules to make the finish more exciting. Now, the winner of the race would be the boat whose crewmember put their banner in the hand of the king.

  A wide path had been cleared from the beach to the canopy beneath which Nicaro sat on a cedar throne, watching the spectacle with obvious delight.

  Since I’d encouraged the crews to do anything to keep their opponents from winning, thereby making the final leg of the race even more thrilling, the three men spent the last fifty paces throwing elbows, lashing out with kicks, and tripping one another as they raced across the hot sand. The crowd was wild, so intent on the struggle in front of them that the ships now making landfall were completely forgotten. The runner with the saffron banner was in the lead, the brown banner directly behind him. The green runner was limping along after a particularly harsh kick from one of the other men. In a final effort to keep his opponent from reaching the king first, the brown-bannered runner grabbed the sodden kilt of the man in the lead and yanked hard, meaning to throw him off-balance. But the man holding the saffron banner refused to be swayed from his course, determinedly plowing ahead even when the kilt was ripped from his body. Taking the last fifteen paces completely naked, the man landed in the sand, kneeling unashamedly in front of the king with his golden banner lifted high as the spectators roared behind him.

  Nicaro received the winning banner and offered the exhausted man congratulations in the form of a mug of beer and a command for someone to bring him a fresh kilt. Then, the king of Ashdod turned to catch my eye, the pride on his face unmistakable as he gestured for me to join him. This day had been a triumph. The story of this race would be gleefully told over and over again, making any recent military losses insignificant in comparison to the love of the people for a king who would provide such enthralling entertainment.

  “I knew you could do this,” said the king as I approached. “I knew I chose the right man for this job.”

  All I’d done was remember the things I’d enjoyed as a boy during celebrations, along with considering what made the crowd scream louder for me during fights. I’d known how to throw punches, how to place a kick to knock the wind from a man’s chest, and how to choke an opponent until he pleaded to end the match or fainted from the effort, but I’d also given them Demon Eyes and they’d screamed for it. Begged for it. Practically threw their silver at me for my performance. The only difference was this time I’d placed the king at the center of the spectacle, and they’d lapped it up like honey dripping from the comb.

  I grinned, victory surging through me with nearly the same fervor as it had after some of my very first wins on the fighting grounds. But when Mariada flounced over to congratulate me and her father, I remembered the girl in the shadows and the humiliation that had been painted across her face after Tela insulted her. The anguish in her eyes that spoke of a mother whose heart had been torn to shreds.

  Spying a pure white shell half buried in the sand near my right foot, I bent to pluck it from the ground. I brushed the sand from its surface and inspected the swirling pattern on its back. I’d have to find the servant I’d paid to sneak into Mariada’s room again, and then I’d find an excuse to hang about the palace late into the evening.

  Even if I had to put every shell on this beach on her mistress’s windowsill, I’d convince Shoshana to meet with me again, and I would get her out of this city and home to whatever remained of her family.

  Twelve

  Shoshana

  I turned the shell in my hands over and over, glaring at the opalescent surface.

  This had to stop.

  It had been a month since the shells had begun appearing in the sill every few days, and it was clear that Lukio was determined to continue until I gave in. But this was the last time. I’d come here for one purpose and one purp
ose only—to tell him to leave me alone for good.

  I did not know why he was being so persistent, but if I was to remain in my position—and I had to remain in my position, for many reasons—he must cease pursuing this matter.

  The fact that I’d stopped throwing the shells from the window and had started nesting them inside a jar atop a high shelf made this entire endeavor even more foolhardy. It must end. Tonight.

  Sitting cross-legged in the corner of the terrace, I leaned my back against the plastered parapet wall and closed my eyes. A hint of sea air tickled my nose, reminding me of the day of the boat race and the delight on Lukio’s face as the people of Ashdod thrilled over the event he’d organized. Mariada had boasted for days about his hand in the events, exclaiming over the successful changes he’d made to a competition that had become dull and routine after so many years. She’d also told everyone who would listen that her betrothed had grand and exciting plans for a new Festival of Games at the summer solstice, one that would far surpass any other celebration Ashdod had ever seen.

  Although a deep sense of unease lingered in me whenever my mistress spoke of him, I could not help but be glad that she esteemed him so highly. She would be a good wife to Lukio. Supportive and faithful. The kind of wife I’d once hoped to be to him. The kind of wife I’d attempted to be for Medad, even though he was none of those things for me.

  At least, unlike my father, Medad had never hit me or our children, and for that I was more than grateful. But the seven years I’d spent in his household had been cold and lonely ones, serving a man whose eye wandered to any loose woman he came across in Beth Shemesh and who callously cheated others so much that his reputation gradually drove away more customers than it attracted.