A Garden Locked

by Naomi Ruppin

  Behind me I could hear the faint buzz of the court audience. I couldn’t hear the king’s voice. Formerly I might have entered the Hall, but now that the king knew me and knew of my visits to the court, I would have felt foolish if he saw me among the spectators. Suddenly the muffled hum from inside the Hall swelled to a roar, with a few louder shouts rising above the general commotion. I heard the crash of pottery breaking and jumped up in alarm. What was happening? It sounded as if utter chaos had broken out. I’d witnessed many dramatic moments at court, including disputing parties’ cursing each other and even leaping up from their seats to bodily attack each other. But this sounded like the entire audience had suddenly turned on one another in battle. I ran around to the side of the Hall where there were open windows. The guards had thrown open the front doors and were quickly ushering the crowd outside and through the palace gates.

  One of the spectators, a middle-aged man whose face was red with anger and whose hair was streaked with gray, threw something towards the stage, which struck the throne and shattered to earthenware pieces. A second, younger man was hugging one of the blue and gold pillars in an attempt to resist a guard, who had locked his burly arms around the young man’s chest. The young man, while still struggling with the guard, turned his head toward the king and shouted, “Tyrant! Sinner! May the one true god smite you down!”

  By the stage, I saw the king pointing and speaking urgently to the head guard, his face dark with anger, and I caught the phrase: “…to the city gates!”. I flinched. This meant that the two men, and probably others, would be bound and stoned for their protest. The guard managed to detach the young man from the pillar, while another guard pinned the older man’s arms behind his back and dragged him out of the Hall. I watched in amazement until the guards had completely cleared the Hall and herded the visitors out of the palace compound. The king emerged from the front of the Hall and spoke to the head guard again, who gave an instruction to the two guards at the gate. They dragged at the leather pulls of the heavy wooden gate doors, which usually stood open during the day, until the doors met with a bang. The clamor of the crowd faded. The king turned back towards the palace and saw me.

  “Abigail. You have an annoying habit of springing from nowhere at the oddest moments.” He was breathing heavily.

  “I did set a meeting with you,” I reminded him.

  “Very well. Where shall we sit? The courtyard may not be private. On the other hand, the Hall is now at our disposal.”

  He walked back to the Hall’s front entrance and I followed. The Hall was in utter disarray; benches were skewed and toppled, the floor was soiled with mud tracked in by the crowd, and the clearing in front of the stage was strewn with shards of broken pottery. The king’s magnificent throne gleamed serenely above the debris.

  The king sat down on the edge of a bench on one side of the middle aisle, and gestured for me to sit on the other side. We were silent for a moment. Fear was hampering my tongue, and the recent violence and the king’s harsh response to it didn’t help. But I was also curious.

  “What happened here? Did the crowd object to the verdict?” I finally asked, expecting him to dismiss the questions abruptly and direct me back to the purpose of our meeting. But he surprised me.

  “I never reached a verdict. Some visitors abused my indulgence in allowing the public into my court, and decided to stage a protest. I will have to rethink my open court policy.”

  “What were they protesting?”

  “The temple I’m building in Ammon.”

  “But why…,” I began stupidly, then I understood. “Oh.”

  I didn’t know much about public affairs, partly because such issues rarely penetrated into the secluded aerie that was the women’s court, and partly because they were outside the sphere of my natural interests. But now I tried to piece together snatches of conversations I’d overheard and not given much thought.

  It had taken seven years to build the magnificent temple that stood beside the palace like a father guarding his son. Heavy taxes were collected from the people to pay for the hewn limestone walls, the cedar flooring, the gold-leaf ornamentation, the carved olive-wood pillars, the royal purple curtains cloaking the Ark of the Covenant. Further taxes were extracted in the form of conscripted service, for in addition to slave labor, every able-bodied man in the land was obliged to devote one month a year to the king’s building projects. These included anything from rebuilding a city destroyed by enemies, to erecting defensive walls, to enlarging the palace. It seemed there was always some construction work going on.

  But the temple in Ammon was different. It would no doubt be dedicated to a pagan god, probably Molech in accordance with the beliefs of the Ammonites. And it wasn’t the first heathen temple the king had built. I’d never troubled myself to wonder about his motivations.

  “I’ve heard,” I began cautiously, “that you build such temples in accordance with your foreign wives’ wishes.” I didn’t mention the rest of the rumor, which was that the king’s wives had swayed his own heart after their gods.

  “You disappoint me, Abigail,” he said. “Do I strike you as a man whose wives direct his actions? The reason I build these temples is so obvious that it irritates me to have to explain it. You claim to have a keen mind; think and tell me yourself. What should a ruler do, who has conquered such diverse lands as Ammon, Moab, Edom and Aram?”

  I felt abashed at his chiding, yet encouraged that he was speaking to me as an adult, and seemed to truly want me to understand. I thought.

  “Let the conquered peoples worship according to their beliefs?”

  “Of course! What does it cost me? The laborers come from among the locals. The temples are mostly pinewood; the materials are not costly. I keep the conquered people happy by making these small gestures, and they consider me benevolent and hopefully don’t rebel against my reign.”

  “I can see it makes sense. But…isn’t it sinful?”

  He sighed. “I don’t sacrifice ewe lambs to Ba’al with my own two hands. I consider it a necessary political measure. But unfortunately many agree that it’s a sin—there is always grumbling. Often provoked, I fear, by the ungrateful priests who serve in my temple, study singing in the school I built for them and are fed by my taxes. But today was a first. Rebellion has invaded the walls of my own court.”

  He stared moodily at the pottery shards on the floor, which upon closer inspection I realized were the broken pieces of small pagan idols.

  “But let us return to our own matter,” he said. “What did you want to ask me?”

  I recalled the list of questions I’d memorized.

  “Yes. Well.” I cleared my throat. “Firstly, is there any order or pattern to the way you visit your wives and concubines?” I willed myself not to blush but failed utterly.

  “Not really. At any given time there are perhaps five or six women who are in my particular favor. I visit them as fancy strikes me. And there are exceptions—I might suddenly visit someone outside that small group. Amisi was one such, at the time we’re discussing. There are also times when I’m busy or distracted and might spend nights alone in my own chambers for as long as two weeks.”

  “When did you last visit Amisi?”

  “The first week of the month of Peshet.”

  “We’re now in the last week of Esser. So nine and a half months ago.”

  “As I said.”

  “I must ask again—how can you be so sure of the time?”

  “As I told you, I have an unusual memory.”

  “Unusual how?”

  “It will be easiest to demonstrate. Listen and tell me if this sounds familiar. Sarai daughter of Amram, thirty-three years of age, born in Be’er Sheva, married eleven years, one boy aged nine, wife to the king, beauty score of two, horse body type. Zeida daughter of Mu’alam, twenty-five years of age, of Hamath, married seven years, no children, a concubine, beauty score of one, cow type. Tannit daughter of Marom…”

  “Is that my report?
”

  “Yes.”

  “All four-hundred odd women?”

  “Yes. I can go on until sundown. When I see something with a pattern to it, I can later call it to memory precisely, as if I saw it on a written page or drawing before me.”

  I was astonished. This did explain some of the king’s extraordinary abilities.

  “You remember dates as well?”

  “Sometimes. In this case what I remember is seeing a waxing quarter moon that night, so it would have been the first week of the month. It was Peshet, because I had just heard a report on the flax crop that morning.”

  “Could you not be mistaken?”

  He considered. “Perhaps in one out of five hundred instances.”

  I absorbed this. He seemed very sure of himself.

  “You believe Amisi has betrayed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she once love you?”

  “The question of love does not come into most marriages. Still less into mine. But then, who knows what goes on in a woman’s mind?”

  Perhaps someone who asks her, or sees her more often than once a year. This I thought but didn’t say, remembering with fear and a renewed surge of anger the king’s reaction the last time I’d dared to criticize him. For the first time it occurred to me that if Amisi had been unfaithful, perhaps she could hardly be blamed.

  Chapter Seven

  Suspicion

  Moth was walking on top of the palace wall while I walked on the ground below. The wall, which was about six cubits high, was on my right and the Hall of the Throne on my left.

  “I wish you’d get down from there,” I said. It was Sabbath, and the palace was relatively quiet. Much of the court had gone to the temple to worship, and many of the servants who had families were passing the Sabbath in their own homes. “You’ll fall and break a bone.”

  “Why should I fall? It’s at least two spans wide, no harder than walking on a bench.”

  “Yes, but it’s higher and the risk if you do fall is much greater.”

  “I’ve done this a hundred times and I’ve never fallen before.”

  I sighed. Only by Moth-reasoning did this prove that he never would fall. I tried another approach.

  “I’m tired of talking to your feet.”

  “I’ll walk to the tree at end of the Hall and then I’ll come down.”

  I accompanied him in silence so as not to distract him. When he reached the olive tree at the corner of the Hall, I winced as he jumped and caught one of its branches, then let go, but he landed without mishap.

  “Speaking of broken bones, did you talk to Shoshana?” Moth asked.

  “Not yet. I don’t want to disturb her on the Sabbath. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  Shoshana was one of five healers employed at the palace. She was a large, amiable woman, who was never so happy as when presented with mysterious rashes, oozing pustules or gushing wounds. It wasn’t that she enjoyed people’s suffering—on the contrary—but she loved a professional challenge, and the more baffling and dire the affliction the better. I’d had few occasions to consult her for trivial matters like cuts or stomachaches, but when Moth had been younger it was a rare month when he failed to call upon her with some fascinating dislocation, abrasion or breakage. She adored him. Among her other services, Shoshana was one of the two healers who were also midwives. I wanted her to accompany me to my interview with Amisi, to get her opinion about how advanced Amisi’s pregnancy was.

  So far my investigation had yielded one person who believed implicitly in Amisi’s innocence, and one just as convinced that she was guilty. I dreaded questioning Amisi herself, but I fervently hoped it would bring to light some evidence that would allow me to acquit her.

  The next morning I was part of a small procession passing through the gate to the encampment. Khepri was in the lead, I was next, and Shoshana lumbered in the rear. Khepri had again been the go-between who’d set the meeting with Amisi, and he’d asked to accompany me.

  “She’ll feel more at ease if I’m there,” he told me. “And she still sometimes has trouble with the language, so I may be of help as translator.”

  Amisi must have heard us coming, for when we reached her tent she came outside and wordlessly held back the tent flap for us. Her face was starkly white against the black of her hair, her green eyes were large. She didn’t smile.

  The tent was a tight fit for the four of us. Khepri took both of Amisi’s hands and spoke to her in Egyptian. His tones were soothing.

  “May we sit?” I asked Amisi, hoping that we’d seem less threatening in a more casual posture. She nodded and gestured to the red, green and black woolen cushions strewn about the tent floor. The tent had four slanted walls and a flat roof; each of us sat against a different wall. Shoshana dropped heavily to the ground, whereupon a loud howl was heard, followed by a hiss. Shoshana shrieked. Amisi’s cat Anubis crawled out from under Shoshana, clawed his way up the side of the tent and hung there, swaying and glaring at us with his jewel-like eyes. Considering Shoshana’s bulk, my sympathies were with Anubis, and under other circumstances I might have laughed. Amisi sat cross-legged, her arms folded across her belly, and regarded me unblinkingly. I thought I saw her chin tremble.

  “Amisi, thank you for receiving us,” I began. “I apologize for the intrusion. Khepri may have told you that there is perhaps some…confusion about the duration of your pregnancy. The king has asked me to sort it out, so I’ll ask you a few questions. Firstly, how many months have you been with child?”

  “Nine months.” Amisi’s voice was nearly a whisper.

  “Nine full months?”

  “I cannot say truly.”

  Khepri spoke to her quickly in Egyptian and she answered him.

  “Precisely,” Khepri said. “She can’t say precisely.”

  “When was your last monthly flow?”

  “In the month of Peshet.”

  Peshet. If this was true, it could be consistent with the king’s recollection, depending on the exact timing.

  “In the beginning of the month? Middle? End?”

  “I cannot say truly. Precisely.”

  Each question I’d had to ask made me feel increasingly uncomfortable, but what came next was worse.

  “Amisi, this is Shoshana. She’s a healer and midwife. I brought her with me because she has many years of experience in these things. May she examine you?”

  Amisi dipped her head and looked at the ground. Shoshana struggled to her feet again and stepped over to Amisi.

  “Will you stand, please?” Shoshana asked.

  Amisi got to her feet and Shoshana gently felt all around her middle—her round belly, the curve of her hips, the width between her back and the front of her belly.

  “I can’t be certain,” Shoshana said finally. “I would guess the first half of the ninth month. But every woman is different. Some carry small, some large. Eight and a half months back brings us to the Feast of Aviv. I’ve brought many such babies into the world. An excess of wine often facilitates these things!”

  Shoshana chuckled good-naturedly. I watched Amisi closely; her eyes grew even larger and her face paler than I would have thought possible.

  “Many thanks, Shoshana,” I said. “Please don’t let us keep you from your work any longer.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble. Things are always slow after the Sabbath. It usually takes a day or two for people to work up the vigor to injure themselves.”

  I stared at Shoshana fixedly and waited for her to understand the hint. I wanted no one to witness my next question who didn’t have to.

  “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it. I hope to see you soon, dear,” she said to Amisi. “Send me word when the pains start or your water breaks. May it be in an auspicious hour.”

  Shoshana nodded at me and waddled out of the tent. I turned back to Amisi. Khepri had come to stand beside her and his arm was around her shoulders. He dropped his arm and took a step away.

  “Amisi, I’m sorry
, but I must ask you this. Are you carrying the king’s child?”

  Amisi looked at Khepri, then bowed her head. Tears gathered in her great green eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  “Amisi?” I prodded gently.

  “I have never myself betrayed the king,” she said softly, but still did not meet my gaze.

  “Very well,” I said finally. “Thank you. I may return if I need to consult with you again.”

  Khepri took Amisi’s hand and spoke to her in Egyptian again. She only nodded. Khepri and I left Amisi’s tent and made our way through the haphazard paths winding among the tents.

  “What did she mean, ‘never myself’?” I wondered aloud.

  “Oh, she was translating from the Egyptian structure. She just means she’s innocent.”

  We walked on in silence. I felt heavy and sad. Sad for the threat hanging over Amisi and my part in it, and for another reason. Regardless of the king’s accusation, I liked Amisi, and when I first met her I’d thought that maybe we could be friends. After today, I knew we never could be.