by Naomi Ruppin
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Hannah studying me. Suddenly she spoke.
“Perhaps in the encampment? There’s always room for one more tent,” Hannah said. I smiled at her gratefully.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” the queen said.
“Yes!”
“Very well, then.”
“Thank you. Thank you!”
As I got up and went back to my chair I could see my sisters whispering frantically to each other. No doubt they were delighted with the new ammunition I’d given them. I’d willingly given up my place in the palace. Since that day I’d done exactly as I pleased, with no one to supervise my actions. I paid for my freedom with a certain amount of loneliness. Some days I felt as invisible as a clear drop of water, swallowed up by the ocean.
§
I became aware that the king was staring at me and that we’d been silent for quite some time, waiting for Bathsheba to arrive. Here was my opportunity to impress him with my wit and charm. But my tongue might have been a stone, it lay so heavily in my mouth. I looked about the room for some inspiration. On one of the shelves that lined the walls I spied a Jang-Cheh set, half the figures of dark wood and the other half of ivory.
Jang-Cheh was my favorite game. Moth had taught me and we played often. I didn’t know its origin, nor even the meaning of its name, which was full of sounds that weren’t to be found in my own language. I took a deep breath.
“Would you care for a game of Jang-Cheh, sir?”
I think he couldn’t have been more astonished if I’d proposed a chariot race. Again I thought I saw the glimmer of a smile behind his beard.
“You continue to surprise, Abigail. I’m not sure we have the time. But then, it will probably be a short game. Why not?”
I made to rise but he stopped me.
“I’ll get it. It’s heavy.”
When he set the game down on the table in front of us, I saw why. The board’s alternating squares were of beaten silver and gold. Instead of resuming his seat in the raised chair, he sat on the divan across from me. He had positioned the board such that the ivory pieces were on my side, so the first move was mine. I moved my middle Sheep forward two squares.
It didn’t surprise me that he was an excellent player. I laid several traps that would have tripped up Moth, but he evaded them elegantly. However, on his part I think that he was surprised at my ability. His posture changed from one of careless relaxation to one of tense concentration. I had to work harder than ever before.
About midway into the game, while pressing his Bull hard with my two Farmers, I nimbly killed his Dragon with my Goat. I do love the unexpected Goat, leaping forward and sideways like the real animal. I heard the king breathe in sharply and his eyes narrowed. Then the battle began in earnest. He pressed my Bull mercilessly with a pronged attack of Merman and Shepherd, while I defended with my Dragon and the sluggish Mother. Not for the first time she annoyed me with her limitations, constrained as she was to move always within two squares’ distance of the Bull. While directing this defensive dance, I also managed to attack and bring down the last of the king’s Sheep, thereby also killing off his Shepherd. The king’s expression was thunderous as he made his next move. Then I saw it—the winning move—it was as if its path lit up on the board like a stroke of lightning against the night sky. I put my hand on my one remaining Farmer and lifted it, smiling in triumph. I heard the king’s intake of breath—he had seen it too. Just then the guard knocked, opened the door and announced the arrival of Queen Bathsheba. Startled, I dropped the game piece.
Khepri entered and held the door for not one but two people. The first was Queen Bathsheba. The second was the Prophet Nathan. I had no idea why he was there and I was alarmed that he should happen upon us playing Jang-Cheh. Although to my mind the game was a harmless pastime, I knew that it was banned as an abomination by priests and prophets. This was because of the four middle icons in the back row, which were commonly known by the names of heathen gods: Ba’al the all-powerful, represented by the Bull, Astarte the Mother, the one female figure on the board, with bulging breasts and belly, Yamm the dragon and Hadad the merman.
It had been years since I’d been so close to Bathsheba and I studied her covertly. She had the same elongated build as the king, only more curved, and her figure was still trim despite her years. Her face was lined but it evoked echoes of past beauty. Her dark brown hair was threaded with silver, and one long silver swath of three-fingers’ width swept from above her left eye and down over her right temple. Her eyes were dark brown too, and had about them the look of an ember gone cold, which rekindled when they rested upon her son. The king rose, took both her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.
“Well, mother, you win,” he said. “I have considerably more than three hundred wives.”
“I told you.” Bathsheba smiled. “Maybe this will teach you not to make foolish wagers.”
“I doubt it.” The king smiled back, then his expression turned sour as he turned to the prophet. “What brings you here, Nathan?”
I knew little of the Prophet Nathan except that he had been a fixture at court since the time of my grandfather King David. I’d never seen him at close quarters before. Age had been far less kind to him than to Bathsheba. Over his rotund figure he wore a vast robe—the cloth could have comfortably provided a tent for one of the wives. The robe was linen, the ageing yellow of an old man’s teeth, tortuously embroidered with images of lions, which crouched and leapt across the mound of Nathan’s stomach. The hair on his head was mostly white with some remaining copper, sparse and fine as thistle down. The hairs of his beard were more wiry, but still provided a poor covering for his many chins. His eyes were slits between puffy lids and his face had the red-veined bloat of a man who likes his wine. His short, full lips gave the impression of being permanently pursed in disapproval. As he glanced at the Jang-Cheh board his eyebrows rose and his lips protruded even more.
“I happened to be in the queen’s company when she received your summons, my lord. I heard there was a tax matter involved and I thought Azariah might need to be apprised of it.”
“I hope Azariah is capable of managing his own affairs without his father’s intervention. However, let’s get on with it.”
The king motioned to Khepri to move the game aside so he could unfurl my scrolls again.
“Mother, according to Abigail’s estimate, we only need sixteen hundred talents of flour per year for the women’s court, yet we have collected three thousand.”
Bathsheba’s and Nathan’s heads swiveled toward me. If Bathsheba recognized me as the rude child who had demanded a room of her own, she gave no sign of it. Nathan’s lizard eyes traveled from my face down the length of my body and I felt as if two insects were crawling over me.
“I take it this charming maiden is Abigail?” Nathan said.
Sometimes a smile will transform the face of the homeliest person into an amiable sight. This was not one of those times. When Nathan bared his teeth at me from within the thicket of his beard, I wished he hadn’t.
“This is Abigail,” the king said. “It’s the same situation with fruits and livestock. What’s collected is about half-again what is needed. Mother, how did you arrive at the numbers?”
Bathsheba glanced at Nathan and said, “In recent years, I have been advised to add two tithes relative to the previous year.”
“Two tithes! That is an enormous increase, far outpacing the court’s growth. What were you thinking?”
“If I may interrupt,” Nathan interrupted, “that’s no way to speak to your mother. You also might think to offer her some wine. Come, my queen.”
Nathan took Bathsheba’s hand and led her over to one of the padded divans, where they both sat. Nathan motioned for Khepri to pour them some wine. The king watched them with narrowed eyes.
“Regarding the taxes, my lord,” Nathan continued, “The queen consulted me and my sons, not wanting to disturb you with mundane affairs,
and rightly so. She included an allotment for temple repairs, so Zabud was able to advise her on that. The curtains over the Ark needed replacing, and then there was the labor for scrubbing the moss from the walls.”
“Temple repairs!” the king exclaimed. “We’re discussing taxes allocated for the upkeep of the women’s court.”
“Your mother is the most generous and pious of women,” Nathan said. “Someone must have a care for our Lord’s House. Azariah assured us the amount is within the people’s means. In any case, I’m sure we’re making a drop of rain into a flood. Most likely the girl’s reckoning is faulty. Surely this is an unnatural undertaking for a woman.”
This red puffy man was rousing my wrath more with every word he uttered. I was sure there was something deceitful going on with him and his sons and the way they all had their hands in the taxes one way or another.
“It is accurate,” I was fiercely glad to hear the king say. “I’ve verified the calculations myself.”
“Well, I must say the interest you’re taking is refreshing. I haven’t known you to concern yourself with such details since the beginning of your reign.”
Nathan calmly laced his fingers over his enormous belly and squinted at the king. I couldn’t believe he would address the king this way, and indeed the king’s eyes were blazing.
“Perhaps we should discuss this in different company,” Bathsheba interjected quietly.
All eyes were on me again. I busied myself with rolling up my scrolls and retying them with the woolen string.
Finally the king said, “Perhaps we should. Thank you, Abigail. You may go.”
I got to my feet and moved towards the door.
“Abigail.” The king’s voice stopped me.
“Yes?” I turned.
“The report?”
I was still clutching the scrolls. I had no other copy but the original clay tablets. I laid the scrolls carefully on the table and took my leave.
Chapter Four
Killing Two Birds
I left the king’s chambers empty-handed—as if I’d never stroked a fine trail of ink onto a sheet of papyrus, or directed the abacus beads in their cheerful, rattling dance. I descended the stairs to the ground floor, exited the palace and walked down the avenue of palm trees that bisected the main courtyard, trying to sort out my varied impressions. While we were discussing my report, I’d felt a communion with my father, as if we were speaking in a language only we two could understand. Then the Jang-Cheh game, which had been thrilling up until the moment it was interrupted, just before I could make the decisive move. But the king had seemed more angry about this than pleased with my prowess. I thought of the two intruders on our meeting. I’d been amused to learn that the king and his mother had a wager riding on the results of my census, just as I had with Moth. I didn’t know what to make of Bathsheba. Though the king had summoned her, Nathan had done most of the talking. What was the relationship between the queen and the prophet? Nathan I found repellant. For a man of god, he seemed inordinately involved in material matters. And why did the king stand for his unbidden presence, let alone his insolence?
When I knocked softly on Moth’s shutters there was no answer. I opened them anyway and saw Moth stretched out on his bed on his stomach, shirtless, indulging in an afternoon nap. Turning my back to the outside wall and resting my palms on the windowsill, I hopped up to sit on it and swung my legs into the room. While I was debating whether to wake Moth, a murmur in my stomach reminded me that I’d missed lunch. I poked around the room until I found a squashed piece of bread, which no doubt had accompanied Moth to his training session and back, tucked into a fold of his cast-off tunic, and some dried figs. After I’d eaten these, I drew up a chair to the bedside. Out of habit, I fingered the pendant that hung from a leather thong around my neck. Moth had made it for me years before. It was clumsily carved out of olive wood in the shape of a small moth. I traced the moth’s little feelers and sniffed at its fragrant wood. I watched the slow rise and fall of Moth’s back and thought how very alone I would be if he hadn’t tumbled into my life five years before.
§
One morning, shortly after I’d moved from Na’ama’s room to the encampment, I was wandering about the palace grounds. It was lesson time, and I took care to be as far away from the music room as possible. Thinking enviously of the boys who were learning to read at that very moment, I decided to scout out the Hall of the Throne.
I crept up to the building and looked in through an open window. The Hall was the height of two palace stories, and it contained only one vast room with cedar floors and paneling. Wooden beams along the edges of the ceiling were carved with pomegranates, palm trees and flowers, and stained in brilliant greens and reds. In the four corners of the room and intermittently along the side walls, thick round columns were carved in a double spiral pattern, alternately stained in blue and plated with gold leaf, so that each column looked like two fat blue and gold snakes chasing each other up a tree. About fifty of the king’s sons, ranging in age from small children to youths, were sitting on the benches where the audience sat on court days. I knew most of the boys by name or face, especially those who were close to me in age.
The king’s throne was hidden by a wide screen erected in front of the stage. A large sheet of papyrus was fastened to this screen, with twenty-two black symbols painted in a row on the top, which I recognized as letters. Under the single letters were various groupings of the same letters. A priest was standing in front of the screen, pointing to the letters on top with a long stick and saying their names. He was frowning fiercely at the boys and looking as if he didn’t appreciate the task the king had set for him. The boys were repeating the names of the letters after him, pinching and poking each other, and looking no happier to be taught than the priest was to teach them.
I listened raptly to the names of the magic symbols. Kaf, Lamed, Mem, Nun. I had missed the first half of them. I had been lulled into a dreamlike state by the droning voices, when suddenly a face appeared opposite mine, looking out of the window where I was looking in. It was a boy with reddish hair and prominent ears. Although he was my size, I had never seen him before. His eyes widened when he saw me and he looked as if he were about to burst into giggles. Alarmed lest he give me away, I put my finger to my lips. He cocked his head, seeming to consider my unspoken request.
“Over there. By the window!” I jumped back in fright, but the priest was addressing the red-haired boy. “Tell me your name again.”
“Joel, son of Neva.” The boy grinned engagingly at the priest, and I found myself smiling too.
“What did I just say?” the priest demanded. Joel rattled off the names of the last letters mentioned, and the priest looked surprised. He bade Joel to sit with the other boys. The priest now pointed to the groupings of letters and sounded out a word for each group. He was reading! Joel repeated the words with the rest of the boys, often at a delay and rather more loudly than the others. At the same time he rocked in his seat and kicked the legs of the bench and of the boys next to him, who punched and hissed at him in retaliation. The priest addressed him again.
“Joel, son of Neva. Stop kicking your neighbors.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Joel looked penitent. It makes me laugh now to think how often I’ve heard those words from him over the years.
Joel folded his arms and wound one leg tightly around the other. He managed to hold this pose for a short while. Then, seeming to entirely forget where he was, he stood up, walked to the hindmost bench, climbed upon it and started walking its length. The priest stopped talking in mid-sentence and glared at Joel in astonishment and outrage. The stick he’d been using as a pointer twitched in his hand, and I was afraid that Joel might soon feel its weight on his back. At that point, the bench wobbled and tipped over, and Joel crashed to the ground.
“Joel, son of Neva,” the priest said through clenched teeth. “Leave the Hall. You may return when you have learned to sit still.”
Joel righted the bench and walked to the door, the very picture of dejection. I ran to the end of the hall, where the wall had no windows and where I could intercept him without being seen from inside. He came around the corner, running and skipping in fits and starts, in aimless curves and spirals, which reminded me of the path of a moth or butterfly. He also seemed as carefree as one of these creatures, having apparently forgotten his disgrace of a moment before. He stopped when he saw me.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Abigail. Who are you?”
“I’m Joel.”
“I know, I heard. I mean—who are you? I’ve never seen you in the palace.”
“I just came to live here with my mother. We don’t live inside the palace, we live in a tent.”
“Your mother’s a new wife?”
“A concubine.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Dead.”
“Oh. So is my mother.”
“Then we’re the same!”
Joel flashed his infectious grin and I returned it. It was the first time I’d felt that being a half-orphan was an attractive quality.
“Why were you listening outside the window?” Joel asked.
“I want to learn to read,” I said. Joel considered this and made no comment, so I continued. “Show me the first letters and tell me their names.”
“How?”
I looked around us, then ran to break a twig off one of the jasmine bushes that grew along the walls surrounding the palace complex. I drew a line on the ground, then gave the twig to Joel. He dragged it through the dirt, drawing the first ten letters without stopping. I wasn’t sure I could rely on him, considering what seemed like his limited powers of attention. Later I learned that he’s miraculously capable of absorbing information while seeming to attend to anything but its source. I took the twig back, copied out the letters he’d drawn and regarded them with satisfaction.
“The lessons aren’t for girls, you know,” Joel said.