by Naomi Ruppin
Over the next two days, I interviewed all the women who lived near Amisi. None of them knew her very well; Khepri had been right about her not making friends. Some thought her vain, which hadn’t been my impression, and I took this to mean that they envied her beauty. Some muttered darkly about Anubis’s presence in her tent and the heathen rites it must surely imply. Yet none had an evil word to say when I questioned them about Amisi’s conduct—not even a whisper of suspicion. In fact, my questions seemed to put them on their guard. It was as if impugning Amisi’s honor cast suspicion on them all, and they resented it. None admitted to knowing anything about illicit trysts going on in the encampment.
Next I spoke to the head guard. Besides the king himself, his wives and his children, the palace compound contained his prized horses and unimaginable riches, so it was heavily guarded. The surrounding wall was the height of two men combined, and eight watchtowers sprouted up from it at regular intervals. The towers were manned at all times, and fires burned in them at night. More guards constantly circled atop the wall—three in the daytime, six at night. All entry points to the women’s wing were guarded as well. All of this led me to believe that it would be very hard for an unescorted male to enter the women’s quarters undetected. Still, it wouldn’t be impossible for a woman to meet someone elsewhere within the palace compound. There were countless servants, merchants and officials coming and going on any given day. Only visitors to the Hall of the Throne were watched closely by the guards, who made sure that they all exited the palace gates when the court session was over.
Lastly, I questioned the servant women about whether they’d ever seen Amisi with a man besides the king. I did this reluctantly, because the servants gossiped even more than their mistresses, if such a thing can be imagined, and I had no wish to bring more shame upon Amisi. But I couldn’t afford to leave a stone unturned.
One of those I questioned was Timna the servant girl. One morning while she was clearing the breakfast dishes I asked to speak to her. She swelled visibly with self-importance.
“Certainly, lady. I’ll come right away.” She dropped the bowl of olive pits she was holding, as if to demonstrate her urgency.
“Finish your work first, Timna. I’ll wait for you in my tent.”
A short while later she called to me outside my tent and I bid her to enter. We sat across from each other on the two stools I’d arranged. But before I could begin to recite my usual list of questions, she looked around as if to make sure we were alone, leaned forward and said in a loud whisper, “I know what you’re going to ask me about Amisi. And I know the answer.”
My heart gave a jolt. I had certainly not expected to learn anything new from Timna, but maybe she’d seen or heard something that the others hadn’t.
“What is it?” I leaned towards her as well.
“She is Egyptian,” Timna said, nodding wisely as if that explained everything.
“And?”
“They have all sorts of magical gods, the Egyptians. And animals that they worship. And both together!”
“Both of what together?”
“Gods who are half man, half animal! With dogs’ heads, or birds’ wings, or bodies of river horses. And magical. Not all-powerful like our god, but each in his own way able to wreak some small havoc.”
“What are you trying to say?” I said impatiently, beginning to have my doubts about the usefulness of the interview.
“It was the cat!”
“What was the cat? Timna, kindly grant me the favor of speaking plainly and in complete sentences.”
“The cat in her tent. He’s male, you know. Look at him from behind and you can see his two furry round…manhood parts. I’ve seen him many times, sitting right on Amisi’s lap and making that noise—brrrrr, brrrrr! It’s unearthly. He has powers, I tell you. He’s planted something in her stomach, as sure as we’re sitting here. Who knows what will be born?”
I laid my forehead on my hands for a moment so Timna couldn’t see my face, then lifted my head and said, “Thank you, Timna. I certainly never would have thought of this myself. I’ll take it into consideration. Meanwhile, please keep it to yourself.”
“You can depend on me!” Timna nodded to me conspiratorially, then rose and took her leave.
It had been too much to hope for enlightenment from Timna. I would hesitate to match her wits with those of a goat. Still, I was grateful to her. It was the first time since I’d accepted my grim mission that someone had made me laugh.
§
Within ten days after starting my investigation, I’d finished interviewing everyone I could think of who might have some knowledge of Amisi’s case, but I had very little progress to show for my efforts. I spent the days going over and over the testimonies I’d written down. Every night I lay awake in my bed, turning over the facts I knew and trying to bring new insights to light. I concluded that fruitless exercise with a prayer that Amisi would give birth by morning so the king would be obliged to deem her innocent. Not wishing to torment Amisi with daily visits, every morning I asked Shoshana whether Amisi had summoned her in the night, only to be disappointed.
I spent the fourteenth day of my investigation prowling anxiously about the palace and its grounds, peering absurdly at people’s face, into dark corners, under the bushes and up at the treetops. Now the fact that, in spite of my distress, people could carry on sweeping floors and baking bread seemed to me not soothing but monstrous. As the day grew dark, I had to restrain myself from charging into Amisi’s tent, shaking her shoulders and shouting: “It must be tonight!”
The next morning Shoshana dashed my hopes once again. I was very close to despair. I considered going to the king again and begging to be released from this obligation and given another. But I thought of how contemptuous and unsurprised he would be if I gave up before my allotted time, and I couldn’t bring myself to give him that satisfaction. Also, now that Amisi’s grace period was over, her life truly depended only on me and the results of my investigation.
A few fruitless days later, I decided to talk things over with Moth once again, though really I’d learned nothing new since the last time we’d spoken. In the late morning I went down to the stables. From there I could see the royal sons marching around the training field in formation, five abreast. Gideon was barking commands at them that I couldn’t make out. Suddenly they halted and Gideon continued to shout, pacing angrily and slicing at the air with his hands. Then he gestured toward a pile of bulging leather sacks that lay in the middle of the field. Each boy went to get one sack and returned to formation. Gideon gave a short command and the boys set off again, at a staggering run this time. The sacks looked exceedingly heavy, as if filled with rocks. I remembered Moth saying that Gideon had been unusually bad-tempered lately, and was working the boys like donkeys. After picking out Moth in the column of boys and watching him for a while, I turned my attention to my horse friends. There was a new one I had never seen—a gleaming black mare with white feet and a white patch on her forehead. I let her nose my hands a while before I entered her stable to stroke her mane and back.
“Little flower! You’ve come.”
I turned, startled to hear someone speak. Gideon was standing on the path that led from the horse run. From overheard conversations among my sisters I knew that they considered him one of the handsomest men they had ever seen, and I too couldn’t help but admire his height, the triangle formed by his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and his pleasant sun-burned face, topped by a mass of brown curls. My cheeks warmed. But when he saw my face he looked unflatteringly dismayed.
“Abigail! Please excuse me. I thought you were someone else.”
“Who did you think I was?” I was pleased that at least he knew my name.
“If you’re waiting for one of the boys, you’ll be disappointed. They’ll be running until they learn to keep up a proper pace. Which, judging from their performance this morning, will take some while.”
“Oh. Very well. Perhaps I’ll
come back later.”
Gideon gave me a little smile and a military salute, fist to heart, then walked off to drink from the water basin. I left the stables and walked up the slope that led to the Hall of the Throne. I’d nearly reached the lone olive tree when the memory that had been tapping at my awareness gained entry. Amisi had said her name meant ‘flower’, the endearment that Gideon had used, thinking I was someone else. Now I knew why Amisi had seemed familiar to me when I first met her. I was almost sure I’d seen her before in the stables! Probably from afar, or I would have better remembered her exquisite face. She liked animals—she’d said so. And her father was a horse breeder. Surely she must love horses.
On my most vain day I couldn’t flatter myself that I looked anything like Amisi. But we were of a height, and we both had black, wavy hair. Seen from behind, with only my head visible above the stable door, could I not be mistaken for her? I stopped in my tracks as if struck by lightning, which was indeed how I felt. Was this the first real clue of my investigation? Or was I shearing the clouds and weaving a coat, as Na’ama used to say of my flights of imagination?
I sat down under my olive tree to think. Suppose that like me, Amisi was in the habit of visiting the horses. Perhaps they provided her with the peaceful, uncritical companionship that she couldn’t find with her human counterparts. Suppose she had met Gideon on his way to or from the training field. He couldn’t help but be struck by her beauty, as perhaps she was by his. Amisi was sweet and Gideon was kind. They grew closer; they fell in love. Perhaps they continued to meet at the stables. I tried to remember whether Moth had said that Gideon was married, but I couldn’t. Even if he was, though, that didn’t necessarily disprove the theory that he was Amisi’s secret lover.
I sat for a while thinking these thoughts, my blood tingling in my veins with the excitement of discovery, when from a distance I saw Khepri emerge from his sewing room and go over to the well. I ran up to him as he was hoisting up the bucket.
“Abigail!” Khepri looked up. “Some water?”
He filled the wooden dipper that was tied to the bucket and gave it to me. I drank, gave it back to him and pulled myself up to sit on the edge of the well. The chill of the stone wall crept through my skirt and a wet mossy smell rose from the well’s black depths.
“Khepri, does Amisi ever visit the stables?”
It took him a moment to answer. I couldn’t read his expression.
“She rarely strays far from her tent. Why do you ask?”
“It may be nothing. I don’t want to say anything before I have more evidence.”
“You’re wise to be cautious. Remember, Amisi’s life is at stake.”
“I know. But if I do find the truth, you know I’ll have to reveal it to the king.” I refrained from saying that in a lesser way, my life was at stake too.
“Truth isn’t always such a simple thing as you might imagine. And revealing it doesn’t always serve justice.”
“Well, I have to find it first before I can decide. And I’ve gotten nowhere. Oh, Khepri, I’ve been driving myself half mad worrying about it!” I gesticulated so emphatically that I nearly lost my balance and Khepri caught my arm to steady me.
“Why don’t you think about it on solid ground?” he said. “Unless you want to bathe in the well.”
Bathe in the well! Of course, how had I not thought of it sooner?
“Khepri, you’re brilliant!” I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. His face paint felt slightly gritty, like the more inferior types of clay. He looked astonished but rallied quickly.
“Well, thank you, my dear, I’ve always thought so myself, but I don’t see what’s inspired you to remark on it just now.”
“Never mind. There’s someone I need to talk to.”
I hopped down from the side of the well and strode off quickly, feeling as if small flames had been igniting in my mind ever since my visit to the stables. My thoughts were whirling as I entered the palace through the kitchen. Servants were hurrying out with well-laden trays, reminding me that lunch was being served in the women’s courtyard. I hurried over there, got myself a bowlful of mutton stew, and sat down to continue my ruminations while eagerly scooping up the stew with chunks of bread.
How had I not thought of the one observable act that might indicate whether or not a woman was pregnant? Khepri’s jest about bathing in the well had sparked the idea. All married women were required to purify themselves in the ritual bath after their monthly flow ended, even the king’s foreign-born wives who hadn’t been raised with this custom. My only excuse for not remembering this was that as an unmarried woman, I myself was so far exempt from the ritual. If I could determine when Amisi’s last visit to the ritual bath had been, I would know within a range of a few days when she had become pregnant. I could question the bath attendant.
My excitement lasted only a brief moment longer until I realized the problem. How could I expect the attendant to remember Amisi from among four hundred-odd women, let alone to pinpoint the time she had been there eight or nine months back? Not everyone had the king’s preternatural powers of recall. I was so disgusted that I stopped eating. It had seemed like such a promising direction. Still, I would talk to the attendant—I had nothing to lose. And I’d made another discovery that morning. Gideon had become my main suspect. So far this premise was little more than a guess. But I had convinced myself at least.
Then my self-congratulation evaporated. Was I really on the way to proving that Amisi had been unfaithful? And if this was the truth and I exposed it, would justice in fact be served?
§
That afternoon I was even more eager to find Moth than I had been in the morning. Now I truly had some news to impart. I set out for the main palace entrance, intending to circle around to Moth’s window and hoping to find him in his room. I was walking down the corridor that passed by the king’s offices and the guest salons, just about to turn left towards the entrance, when an alarming bulk loomed before me, blocking my way. It was Nathan. He was wearing a brown robe, over-burdened with red embroidered curlicues that were both ridiculous and unfortunate, as they accentuated every bulge of his body.
“Abigail. Well met. I was just about to send someone to find you.”
“Why is that?” I asked suspiciously, without returning his greeting. I knew I was being quite rude but I saw no reason to be pleasant. I refused to acknowledge even to myself that this could be my future husband standing before me.
He put his hand on my right arm and said, “I thought you could start fulfilling your new duties. I see no reason not to begin immediately.”
I could feel my lip curling and my nostrils flaring. How dare he lay his hand on me? And what under heaven was he suggesting?
“What do you mean?” I said icily.
He slid his hand down from my elbow to my hand and gave it a playful shake. I snatched my hand away.
“Time to see whether your writing skills live up to their fame. I have too long delayed recording the king’s conquest of Palmyra.”
“Oh.” I had been so caught up in my investigation that I’d forgotten I was also to serve as Nathan’s scribe. This wasn’t as bad as the dire imaginings his words had conjured, but I was impatient to see Moth and had no wish to spend an afternoon in close quarters with Nathan. “Must it be now?”
“Am I keeping you from something more important?”
He was smirking and I was sorely tempted to retort that I had urgent business of the king’s to attend to. But I’d promised the king not to speak of it to Nathan.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Excellent. May I invite you to my home? It’s not far—just inside the Sheep Gate. You’re soon to be its mistress, after all. I think you’ll be pleased. And there will be no one to disturb us there.”
No one to disturb me except Nathan himself. I thought not.
“That would not be proper.” I said severely. “Let us sit in the main courtyard.”
&nbs
p; “We’ll sit in the king’s meeting room,” Nathan countered, “where we can find scrolls and ink.”
I made no further objection. We would be within shouting distance of other people, and hopefully that would restrain Nathan from being overly friendly. I followed him a short distance back down the corridor I had come from and into a large room. I had never been inside it before, but I assumed that this was where the king met with his officials. A large rectangular table ran down the middle of the room, with two long benches on either side and a cushioned chair at its end.
Nathan gestured for me to sit on one of the benches, and from another small table that was placed against the wall he brought parchment scrolls, a writing brush, a dish of dried ink and a small jug of water. He watered the cake of ink and scrubbed it with the brush until the water blackened. I couldn’t help being a little interested. I had never written with a brush before, nor on parchment. Nathan took a small scroll from a fold in his robe and shook it out. It was full of cryptic markings.
“You will not be able to read this. I shall dictate and you will write.”
He cleared his throat and began to pace the length of the room, holding his scroll out before him.
“Herewith are the happenings of the battle of Palmyra, in the month of Geshem, in the twenty-ninth year of the reign of King Solomon.”
“Could you speak more slowly?” I fumbled with the unfamiliar brush.
He sighed. “If you cannot write more quickly.”
He repeated the sentence at exactly the same speed and I struggled to keep up. Writing on parchment was different from writing on papyrus. The material was rougher and the ink took longer to be absorbed, so that I had to be very careful of smudging. However, once it the ink had settled into the parchment, it did not spread as much and the lines were crisper. I thought I mastered it quite quickly and took satisfaction in the neat shapes forming under my fingers. This was the only part that was enjoyable, though. Nathan managed to make what might have been a thrilling battle story about as exciting as a list of necessities for market day.