by Naomi Ruppin
Some of the women spread out along the outskirts of the horse run, while others sat on the ground that sloped up towards the pavilion and the stables, their festive dresses dotting the grass like poppies and daffodils. I could see Khepri waving me over to the pavilion, which was set up with chairs, most already occupied by the king’s officials and a few wives currently in favor.
I walked over and sat in the chair Khepri had saved for me, in one of the back rows. The cushioned throne from the king’s sitting room was standing in the middle of the front row, still empty. To its left, Nathan and Bathsheba were sitting side by side.
“Khepri!” Nathan motioned to Khepri, who went over to fill their silver goblets with wine.
I scanned the triangle of boys on the field, looking for the beacon of Moth’s red hair, and found him near the front, two rows away from Harel. Finally Harel gave a blast on his ram’s-horn and all the boys saluted, right fists to their hearts. The crowd hushed. The king came down the path leading to the field, accompanied by Malachi, the commander of the entire army. The king sat on his throne, with Malachi to his right.
Seven of the boys, Moth among them, broke off from the tip of the spearhead and marched forward until they were standing about twenty paces from a small wooden wall that had been erected at the edge of the field. On it was a six-pointed star—a symbol of the kingdom—painted in red. Upon a shouted command from Harel, each of the boys picked up a spear from the ground, and they spread out so there were two paces between each two boys. Moth was in the middle, with three boys on either side. Harel gave another shout, and the boys lifted the spears to their shoulders in unison and hurled them forward. The spears flew through the air like birds in formation and crunched into the wooden board, one spear in every point of the star and one in its center. The audience gasped and applauded loudly.
Twenty other boys mounted the column of ten chariots, two boys riding and two horses pulling each chariot. At Harel’s signal, the first chariot pulled away, followed by the others in turn. They completed one lap around the field at a trot, each pair of horses stepping elegantly in perfect accord, their hooves pounding the ground in a steady beat. Then the horses picked up speed until they were galloping, their hoof-beats merging into one sustained roll of thunder. The horses’ manes streamed in the rush of their own wind and I could feel their hooves’ vibrations through the ground in the soles of my feet. In each chariot one boy handled the reins, and they drove with such skill that they managed to maintain identical distances between them. A small variation in speed or one false move could bring down the entire column. It was thrilling and beautiful to watch, and I found myself on my feet with the other women and cheering lustily. During their third lap around the field, the boys who weren’t driving raised bows and arrows, and as they passed the wooden wall that bristled with spears on one side, they shot arrows into the other side.
Caught up in the excitement of the boys’ exhibition, it took me some time to notice the soldiers marching down the path to the field. Though they were perhaps sixty men, the sound of their strides was no match for the thundering chariots and the roar of the crowd. The soldiers halted at the edge of the horse run. When I did notice them, I thought it was all part of the spectacle. Harel gave two short blasts on the rams’-horn, and the column of chariots slowed to a trot and then to a halt, with the rear chariots reining in first. The soldiers walked out onto the field, four abreast except for a lone man leading them, who I assumed was their commander. Harel walked over to meet him. The commander turned and gestured to the men directly behind him, who parted to show that they were carrying a stretcher upon which a man lay. Harel gave a loud cry and fell to his knees.
An uneasy murmur arose from the crowd, who until that point had probably thought as I did that the soldiers’ appearance was part of the show. The soldiers’ commander and the four men carrying the stretcher marched right up to the pavilion and stopped no more than three paces from the king. The commander was a young man with a pointed beard; his short tunic was streaked with sweat and dirt. He saluted Malachi but didn’t bow to the king. I felt my stomach tighten with fear, which turned to horror when I saw that the man on the stretcher was Gideon. One side of his head was crushed and covered with dried red-brown blood and he was lying perfectly still. Also on the stretcher was a jagged rock almost the size of Gideon’s head; it too was covered in blood. The commander addressed himself to the king.
“I am Ezra, Gideon’s second-in-command. Gideon is dead.”
He used no honorific. Those in the crowd who were close enough to hear him whispered to each other.
Malachi rose from his chair and said, “Ezra, you have not been given permission…”
But the king stood too and raised his hand to silence Malachi.
“You may speak,” he said to Ezra. “Tell me what happened in Benjamin.”
“The reports were true. The Benjamites say the taxes have squeezed them dry and they cannot now leave their wives and children to starve. The men refuse to serve their month of labor.”
“Still? You failed to complete your mission?”
“I followed my commander’s lead.” Ezra’s face and eyes were aflame. “Gideon directed us to use force only as a last resort. Despite your orders, he laid down his arms and walked up to the rioters, hoping to reason with them. One of them shouted: ‘Take this back to Solomon the unbeliever’. He threw a rock. It struck Gideon’s head and crushed his skull.”
Ezra gestured to the four men behind him, who laid the stretcher down gently on the ground.
“I too am a Benjamite,” Ezra went on, “and I have done as my tribesman said. Here is the weapon, and what it wrought. But if they have cast one stone it is only because you first buried them in an avalanche. Now they speak of gathering men from Gad and Reuben and marching on Ammon to burn down your heathen temple. I may be of a mind to join them. I will serve you no more.”
Ezra turned on his heel and walked away from the pavilion. His men followed him, all except the four who had carried Gideon’s slain body, who remained standing over him. The king spoke to Malachi in a voice too low for me to hear, pointing in the direction the soldiers had gone. I saw Khepri slip out of the pavilion, his face drawn with dread. Malachi went out onto the field and crouched beside Harel, who was still on his knees, weeping. I was surprised to see the king gesture to Nathan, who went over to him.
“Quench this fire,” I heard him say. Nathan nodded silently. The two of them and Bathsheba left the pavilion.
The boys in the field had stood in stunned silence throughout the king’s exchange with Ezra, some still onboard the chariots they had been driving. I saw Moth walk out from the knot in the middle of the field. He came up to where Gideon lay on the stretcher and saluted his fallen commander, hand to heart. Then with two fists he gripped the collar of his shirt, a festive embroidered garment worn for the spectacle, tore it halfway down his chest, and bowed down to the ground. The other boys followed his example.
§
I spent the rest of the day with Moth, all thoughts of my investigation for once driven from my mind. We sat silent and sorrowful under my lone olive tree behind the Hall of the Throne, looking out over the stables and the horse run. We watched as two weeping men, one older and one younger, probably Gideon’s father and brother, were led out to the practice field by one of the guards, then back out of the palace gates, accompanied by the soldiers carrying Gideon’s body.
I knew Moth was wholly occupied by Gideon’s death. I wasn’t sure whether he’d been near enough to hear Ezra’s furious diatribe, and I decided not to bring it up unless he did. But I couldn’t help thinking about the undercurrents of hatred and violence running through my land, of which I’d had only a vague but growing awareness, starting from the time I’d happened upon the riot in the Hall of the Throne. I’d thought of my rich and powerful nation and its king as being sources of pride to their subjects and envy to their neighbors, and perhaps that was true, but there was another side to it
. Clearly the king was resented, even hated by some. Ezra’s actions that morning had been nothing less than public rebellion, and his men had appeared to follow his lead.
I felt as if I’d been playing a game of Jang-Cheh only to discover that the board was larger and the pieces more numerous than I’d thought, and that I was ignorant of the rules of their movements. There were threats coming from unexpected directions. And then there was Nathan again. Quench this fire, the king had said. What did Nathan have to do with the whole situation, and what power did he have to influence it? Would he be acting alone, or mobilizing his web of collaborators?
“Do you know where I got this?” Moth startled me by speaking. He had drawn his dagger from its leather sheath, the little one he always carried with him to training sessions. It was made of iron, its blade no more than a span’s length, its hilt wound around with strips of leather for better gripping.
“Tell me.” I knew the story perfectly well, but Moth clearly needed to tell it again.
“When the boys my age had their manhood ceremony, all the king’s sons got silver rings.”
When they reached the age of thirteen, it was customary for boys to receive a gift from their father, usually a tool or a symbol of their trade. For a farmer’s son it might be a plow, for a camel-breeder’s son, a camel calf, and so on. The king’s sons received silver rings embossed with the six-pointed star.
“Since I’m not the king’s son and I have no father, I didn’t take part in the ceremony. All of the boys were wearing their rings at the training session the next day. Gideon noticed that I was…downhearted. He said nothing during the session, but called me to stay behind at the end of it. He said that he’d already begun to teach me his trade and he thought I was an apt apprentice. He took his own dagger from his belt and gave it to me.”
My eyes filled with tears, and from the way Moth was determinedly avoiding my gaze, I knew his had too. I took his other hand, the one not holding the dagger, and squeezed it hard.
§
In the early evening, before the meal had been served in the women’s court, I was stretched out on my bed in a state of half-sleep, half-wakefulness, when I heard Khepri calling me. I sat up with a start, then rose and went outside the tent. Khepri was standing there. His face was strained and the black lines painted above and below his eyes were smudged, giving his eyes a hollow look. I gaped at him with a sinking heart.
“Khepri! I…”
“Abigail, I’ve come to fetch you to the king.”
“Oh.” I swiped hastily at my hair and we walked back to the palace. I could hardly broach the subject of Khepri’s alleged betrayal in the short time it would take us to reach the king’s chambers, and I had no desire to. Witnessing the day’s tragedy and Moth’s grief had left me utterly drained.
“It’s terrible, what happened today,” I said. “Did you know Gideon?”
“Not well. Mostly by reputation.”
We walked for a while in silence.
“We met on the balcony the other night, didn’t we?” Khepri said.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Later it seemed like a dream. What was that you gave me to drink?”
“Infusion of khat. We drank it to stay awake.”
“I thought as much. Why were you there? At night?”
I hesitated before answering, “I thought I might learn something.”
“And did you?”
We had reached the king’s chambers and we stopped, facing each other. Khepri was looking at me with an intensity I had never seen on his perpetually bland, careless face. Before I could form a reply, the guard opened the door to the king’s sitting room and announced me. Khepri and I entered.
“Abigail. Sit.” The king was sitting in his carved chair and I sat to his left. I had been so anxious about being in Khepri’s company that I’d had no time to wonder what the king wanted, let alone prepare for it. As usual, Khepri melted silently into the background, attending to the urgent task of straightening the gold ornaments on their shelves.
Like Khepri, the king didn’t look as well-groomed as usual. The front of his robe was wine-stained and his eyes were bloodshot. He poured himself a cup of wine, thought better of it and poured the wine back into its gold carafe, spilling some on the table, then changed his mind again and filled his cup. To my surprise, he motioned for Khepri to bring another cup, which he also filled and pushed towards me.
“Drink, Abigail,” he said.
Vaguely alarmed at the invitation and at his appearance, I took a large gulp of wine to calm my nerves, then wrinkled my nose a bit. The wine was good, but I didn’t like the aftertaste imparted by the silver cup. I waited for him to speak, but all he did was sip at his wine rather noisily.
“You wanted to speak to me about something, my lord?” I finally prompted him.
“Yes. I wanted to speak with you.” He stared into his cup a long while and finally said, “Gideon was a good man. One of my best. I could not have known. But he should not have died.”
I was astounded that he would speak to me so freely.
“I know the boys loved him,” I said. “And I guess his men did too. I suppose many will be at the funeral.”
“I won’t.” He pressed his lips together.
“Shouldn’t you be?” I asked cautiously. “He was a commander in your army.”
“Perhaps I should. But I cannot. For one thing, my presence might spawn more violence. And for another, Gideon defied my orders.”
“You can’t possibly hold that against him!” I said. “He died for it, trying to prevent violence.”
“I know,” he said. “But his actions were badly timed. War is coming from the east. I must demand perfect discipline from my men, now more than ever. And show nothing less than perfect strength.”
“I know nothing about war,” I said slowly. “But to gain your people’s support, might a show of mercy not be better? Maybe you could make a concession to the Benjamites.”
“That is the worst thing I could possibly do! Rebellion must not be rewarded. Today they refuse to build, tomorrow they will refuse to fight!” He saw me flinch a little at the volume and harshness of his voice and said, “I’m sorry.”
Again I was surprised. He had never apologized to me, not even for betrothing me to Nathan; I was sure it was a rare occurrence. Why had he called me to his chambers? I’d never had such a strange conversation with him—would it not be more appropriate with a wife, or one of his advisors? He rose and paced once around the room, a little unsteady on his feet.
“My first act as king, and my first mistake as king, was to show mercy to my brother, who had tried to seize the throne. I later had to execute him for committing treason with one of my wives. Do you see why women should not judge? They are too inclined to mercy. Do you see?” He looked at me and his tone was strangely pleading. I could think of nothing to reply.
“And then there’s Ezra. What’s to be done with Ezra.” He groped behind him for the armrests of his chair, and Khepri moved silently forward to push the chair toward him. He sat down heavily and sighed. “But these are not your worries. You know that Amisi gave birth last night?”
“I do,” I said, startled at the sudden change of subject. His demeanor changed too, and he continued to speak in the crisp manner I’d come to expect from him.
“It is ten months and eight days after my last visit to her.”
“If you’re not mistaken.”
“I am not. I wish to dispense with this matter quickly. More important things demand my attention.”
My heart jolted in panic and I said, “But you gave me a month. I have one more week.”
“Have you discovered anything at all?”
I couldn’t prevent myself from looking toward Khepri; he was looking back at me unwaveringly. What was he thinking? Was he silently urging me not to expose him? Was he afraid for his life, and Amisi’s?
The king saw the direction of my gaze, and misinterpreting it said, “Oh, K
hepri knows all about it. I can keep no secrets from him. You may speak freely.”
“I’ve…made some progress.”
“Well? And what have you learned?”
“I’d rather not say until I’ve completed my investigation. I’ve no wish to make unfounded accusations.”
“Then there is someone you suspect?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Tell me this at least: are you convinced now that Amisi has betrayed me?”
“I’d rather not say.”
The king expelled his breath violently. Khepri was facing the shelves, but turned his head to give me a sidelong glance.
“You’re behaving more like an uncooperative witness than a judge. You do realize that your task was to bring me information, not to concoct a pretty tale and keep it to yourself?”
“I do, my lord.” I was trembling. “But I have one more week.”
The king narrowed his eyes, then waved me away with one hand, while taking up his cup of wine with the other. I left, thankful that Khepri didn’t accompany me outside.
The mood was subdued in the women’s court. All through the evening meal and after, the women remained knotted in small clusters, speaking in hushed, tense tones. No one brought out a backgammon board. Even the children played quietly. What had started out as a festive, exciting occasion had been severed by tragedy. Few had heard Ezra’s impassioned speech, and if any had understood the truth about what happened in Benjamin, it must have gotten lost in the tide of rumors. By the end of the evening I’d heard variously that Malachi had dismissed Ezra for incompetence, that Ezra had killed Gideon, and that the king’s army had slaughtered half the men of Benjamin. I could have tried to set the story straight but I had no wish to talk about it.
As I went back to my tent, I realized that the day was over and I had yet to confront Khepri about my suspicions. I thought about my disconcerting interview with the king. During the first half of it, incredible as it was, it had seemed as if he simply needed to unburden himself to someone and for some reason he’d chosen me. Or maybe he’d intended only to question me about my investigation but had been overcome by his distress, almost as if he were just a man like any other. But then he’d quickly reverted to his old self, the imperious king who had little patience for wasted words or time. Which was the true Solomon? I suddenly recalled two of the king’s proverbs that the boys had learned in school.