by Naomi Ruppin
“Will you stop talking like an idiot! You’re no murderer. And if you were, the king would have you killed.”
“Not if I kill him first!”
I gasped. “Moth! What’s come over you?”
“Grow up, Abigail! I know he’s your father, but try to see him clearly. He’s a selfish tyrant! You should have heard the talk at the funeral. They said the king lives in a palace and steals from those living in huts, his own people. He may as well have killed Gideon himself. And he promised you to Nathan. He’s no better than Nathan, don’t you see?”
“I don’t know! I can’t think about that now. All I know is you have to stop speaking of treason. And of killing Nathan. For one thing, if he were dead I wouldn’t be able to prove that Amisi’s innocent, and she could die too.”
Moth stopped walking, turned to me and bellowed, “I don’t care about Amisi!”
“Hush! Lower your voice.”
“The one thing the king was right about is that she was unfaithful,” Moth hissed. “If she dies, she deserves to!”
“Did Gideon deserve to die?” I hissed back. “If Amisi does, then so did he.”
Moth glared at me, then turned and walked away. As I watched him go, shoulders stiff and fists clenched, I suddenly remembered something.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered to his receding back.
Chapter Thirteen
Nathan’s Dream
After Moth left me, I continued to walk in circles around the Hall of the Throne. I was angry, confused and ashamed of myself. It had been a terrible thing for me to say—that Gideon deserved to die—mere hours after his funeral, but Moth had infuriated me with his witless, masculine talk of killing as the solution to every problem, and his utter lack of concern over Amisi’s fate. The only good thing about our fight was that now I felt much more likely to slap him than kiss him. My temporary madness had been quickly cured.
I’d spoken the truth to Moth; I had enough to worry about, and the last thing I wanted to do was to think about his accusations towards the king. But now I couldn’t help it. Was my father nothing but a cruel tyrant? Much of what Moth had said was hard to refute. But what about the other Solomon, the one I’d glimpsed the night before? The one who for a moment seemed to doubt himself, who felt remorse over Gideon’s death. Was there anything else to say in his defense? There was the way he’d saved Khepri, and what seemed like his genuine fondness for Bathsheba. There was the chance he’d given me to prove myself, although it was offset by the fact that he’d promised me to Nathan in the first place. And there was the fleeting kinship I’d felt with him. Was I straining to see a flickering flame in the dark mostly because I wanted to? And if it was there, would the shadows encroaching on all sides prevail and snuff it out?
I thought fleetingly of Khepri’s revelation. Like Amisi and Gideon, all Khepri had done was to love someone he shouldn’t have. But thankfully, it wasn’t my task to judge him for it; I had neither the time nor the inclination.
As I walked beside the Hall, I heard the hum of children reciting their lessons inside. It struck me again how strange it was that everyday life went on for most of the palace’s inhabitants, undisturbed by turbulent events outside and even inside its walls. It occurred to me that I’d been just as naively unaware of such events as the school children only a few short weeks before.
Reluctantly I dragged my thoughts back to the investigation. Nathan had raped Amisi and I had five days in which to prove it. I needed to learn more about him. But I had to be discreet; I didn’t want him to know I was aware of his guilt. Who knew what he might be capable of if he felt threatened? At the very least he would be actively covering any tracks he might have left. Would he guess that Amisi might be prompted to tell me about him, following Gideon’s death? Maybe not, since by doing so she implicated herself as well. A man like Nathan wouldn’t expect anyone to abandon all care for self-preservation.
I wondered again what benefit Nathan brought to the king. Might Khepri know? Khepri was a valuable resource when it came to internal palace gossip, but I wasn’t sure how much he knew about power struggles that played out beyond its walls.
Inside the Hall, the children’s uniform droning stopped and a louder chatter took its place, together with the sound of footsteps and benches scraping the floor. A troop of small boys burst out of the Hall, running, laughing and punching at each other. As I stood watching them, smiling a little as I remembered the days of my clandestine schooling, their teacher emerged from the Hall. It was the old priest Seraiah, the same man who had taught Moth’s peers, now even grayer and more wrinkled than I remembered him. He stopped and looked at me.
“Well, well,” he said. “Look who’s here. It’s been quite a while since you spied on my classroom.”
“What? How did you…” I was astonished. I’d been so sure of my clever stealth.
“Come, child. I would have to be a blind fool not to notice you.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Most days you were the only one who had any interest in what I was saying. You gave me hope for your benighted generation.”
I laughed in delighted surprise. I could count on one hand the occasions when flashes of humor could be detected beneath Seraiah’s sour demeanor.
“I’m not sure your father would have been best pleased had he known. But I kept your secret all these years. So. I’ll be getting back now.”
Seraiah had started walking toward the gate when I had a sudden thought.
“Seraiah!” I hurried after him.
“Well?” He kept walking.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Can’t stop. I need to light the lamps in the temple.”
It was late afternoon and the wind was chilling in the growing shadows cast by the palace ramparts.
“Maybe…maybe I can walk with you. Let me just get my cloak. Wait for me!”
Quickly, before he could refuse, I turned and ran to my tent, snatched up my brown woolen cloak and ran back to the palace gate, fully expecting Seraiah to be gone. But he was still there. When we approached the gate, one of the guards stopped us.
“Where are you going, lady?”
In my eagerness I’d forgotten about this obstacle.
“I…I’m going…”
“I’m accompanying her to the temple,” Seraiah said.
The guard looked at us doubtfully, but let us pass.
“Thank you!” I said to Seraiah after we’d walked through the gate.
“I’m not sure this is wise,” he said. “I can’t walk you back to the palace.”
“I’ll be fine.”
We turned right and began skirting the outer palace walls. The temple loomed darkly above us in the distance.
“Might I have your name?” Seraiah asked.
“Oh. I thought you knew it. I’m Abigail.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Abigail, daughter of Solomon.”
“Likewise. Seraiah, I thought you might be able to tell me a bit about the Prophet Nathan.”
“Nathan? Why me?”
“Well, for one thing, you’re both men of god.”
“Hmm!”
“I have to admit I’ve never been completely sure what the difference is between a priest and a prophet.”
Seraiah looked utterly disgusted and said, “Priesthood is a sacred calling passed on from father to son. Priests tend to the holy temple, prepare the sacrifices and usher the people’s prayers up to God.”
“And prophets?”
“Prophets! Well, they’ll tell you that they’re called by God himself. And that they bring the word of God to the people.”
“And don’t they? Aren’t they?”
“Perhaps some are—I can’t say. The problem is there’s no way to tell false prophets from true prophets, if such there be, since both kinds are self-professed.”
“And which one is Nathan? In your opinion?”
“Well, he’s been around sinc
e the time of King David and is still revered by the people. So he’s managed not to make any major missteps. As for my personal opinion…Nathan has been the favorite of two kings, and I’d rather not pronounce judgment. However, if you like you may see for yourself. Nathan is speaking by the Horse Gate this evening. He always pulls a crowd.”
After Seraiah had given me instructions on how to get to the Horse Gate, I parted from him at the temple. I couldn’t help but stand and marvel at it for a moment. Surely there could be no other such structure in all the world. The walls surrounding the temple were twenty cubits high, yet the temple still rose forty cubits above them. The temple walls, of the pinkish-yellow limestone carved out of the surrounding hills, were now pale gray in the twilight. As Seraiah passed through the gate to the temple, I caught a glimpse of the pillars that flanked the portico, covered in gold leaf, with blooming lilies of gold at their top. The olivewood doors, half the temple’s width and a quarter of its height, were carved with palm trees, birds and flowers. The narrow windows high up in the walls were still dark.
As I hurried on, I silently recited Seraiah’s instructions over and over. Turn right at the first alley. Right again at the dead tree. Cross the clearing with the well. Take the widest street on the other side, the one farthest to the left. Then the second left. Then all the way down to the gate. It was all as he’d said, and as I got to the end of the last street the many piles of droppings I had to dodge informed me that I’d reached the Horse Gate. Sure enough, I could hear the noise of a crowd outside the gate, so I walked through it. People returning from their fields, flocks or other business were pooling at the gate like grain at the bottom of a bowl. Next to the gate was a farmer’s cart, untethered from its donkey and with four torches burning, one at each corner. Nathan was standing in the middle of the cart’s platform. He was wearing a black robe shot through with strands of some material that gleamed red in the firelight. I took care to keep several passersby between me and Nathan, and circled behind to stand at the outskirts of the gathering. The people were mostly men, but a few were women, probably field workers.
“My brothers!”
Nathan’s words rang out over the crowd. His deep, resonant voice both matched his heft and leant itself well to public speaking.
“I bid you to turn your hearts and ears to me now.”
The crowd continued to gather, but hushed its talk.
“Yesterday I spoke to our brothers in Benjamin and I was ashamed and fearful for them. They were nearly on the verge of rebellion against God’s chosen king.”
“He’s bleeding them dry!” a man in the crowd called out angrily.
“All of us! A man tills his field only to pay the king’s taxes,” another shouted.
“King Solomon serves God as you serve King Solomon.” Nathan boomed. “Behold the mighty temple behind me.”
Half of the temple’s windows were now glowing with flames, and as we looked, another window opened a red eye. I thought of Seraiah going from window to window, lighting the torches.
“Be assured your sacrifice is not for naught. What can be more important than building and keeping the House of God? And your king serves not only God but you, his people. Did he not rebuild the ruined cities of Hamath? Do his city walls not keep your homes and your children safe at night? Did he not send his army, only last week, to protect our eastern villages from attack by the devil Hadad of Edom?”
I had not known this. No wonder the king had seemed preoccupied at our last meeting. Clearly this was not a good time for rebellion among the ranks of his army.
“And what need have we of his heathen temples? Are those also commanded by God?”
This came from a man standing beside me, and I pulled my hood down low as Nathan turned in my direction.
“They are. God wants your love, not the love of the heathen peoples. Let them stay in their own temples and not set foot on our holy ground.”
There was a rustling in the crowd but for the moment there were no more outbursts.
“You know me,” Nathan continued. “I am but a humble messenger bringing you God’s word. He who obeys me obeys God. Last night he sent me a dream, whose message if you will hear it will save you much pain. Shall I tell it to you?”
The crowd murmured their assent.
“In my dream I saw a shepherd, a prosperous man with a large flock. The shepherd was wise and beneficent. He worked hard from dawn till night. But still he found time to worship God.
“One day, some of the sheep became discontented. A ram came to the shepherd and spoke to him. The ram said: ‘Why should I give you the wool of my body? It is mine, and I will keep it.’ A ewe followed his example and spoke to the shepherd: ‘Why should I give you the milk of my body? I will keep it for my lambs.’ The shepherd replied: ‘What I take is a trifle for you. Do I not feed you and water you? Go back to your green fields.’ The wise ones among sheep heard his counsel and returned to their fields. They were blessed with many lambs, and the shepherd kept them safe from wolves. But a few sheep remained contrary. And so, since those sheep refused to serve their natural purpose, the shepherd had no choice but to find another use for them. He sacrificed them to God, ram and ewe.”
The crowd stirred uneasily and an angry muttering rose again.
“You have nothing to fear if you love God and obey his commands and his messengers, as every one of our people must, including your king. Only thus can we ensure that the House of God and the Children of David will last for eternity!”
“In order to serve, we must have enough bread to eat!” Another call came.
As Nathan’s voice continued to resound, exhorting, chastising and subtly threatening, I stumbled through the throng, heading back through the Horse Gate, keeping my head down and hugging my arms to my body. Images arose in my mind of Gideon’s stoning and death at the hands of the men of Benjamin the day before. The darkly angry crowd surged around me like a brew simmering to the boiling point. I wondered how these people might vent their fury if they knew that the king’s daughter walked among them. I hastened my strides. This was only my second venture outside the palace walls on my own, and I’d never been out alone after dark. When I reached a crossway, I hesitated. Was it left or right now? I had to reverse the order and directions of my previous path and I wasn’t sure I remembered it. I could see the temple rising above the city, so I turned right, heading toward it.
Now I could surmise what Seraiah had been unwilling to say explicitly. If Nathan was a true prophet, then God’s wishes were remarkably in tune with the king’s. Perhaps this was the service Nathan rendered my father—putting the stamp of holy sanction on his less popular practices and soothing or intimidating his resentful subjects. This function might be so necessary that the king was willing to put aside the personal animosity he clearly felt toward Nathan, and look the other way when confronted with his corruption. And he was willing to sacrifice his own daughter to placate Nathan. But then, most likely the connection I’d felt with him was all in my mind, and in reality I meant nothing to him. It occurred to me to wonder what the king would do if I did succeed in proving that Nathan was the traitor who’d raped Amisi. Would he keep his promise to me and release me from my betrothal? Would he have Nathan executed, the obligatory sentence for treachery? And if the people believed Nathan was a powerful prophet, how would they react if the king put him to death?
I passed a small enclosure of goats between two houses. I had not seen it on the way to the Horse Gate. Should I have turned left before? No, I’d follow the temple’s light. I hurried down a narrow alley and the stone on both sides of me seemed to exude the winter cold.
I childishly wished myself back two months before, to a time when my biggest worry was how best to pass a tedious morning. This was too much for me; I had poured myself more wine than I could swallow. The case I’d taken upon myself was no stolen loaf of bread; it involved the intertwined misdeeds of too many people, powerful people, including the king himself. And my own fate hung
in the balance, as well as Amisi’s and Nathan’s.
At the end of the alley there were walls of houses on all sides. I could see the temple, but I couldn’t get to it. I ran back the way I’d come. I turned a corner and slammed into a man coming towards me. He grabbed my shoulders to steady me. When he grinned at me, I saw he was missing some teeth, and the ones that he did have were brown.
“Well, what have we here? Can I help you?” He was still holding on to my shoulders.
“No. No!” I shook him off and kept running. I changed directions haphazardly and didn’t stop running until I was sure the man wasn’t following me.
I leaned against a cold stone wall, trying to calm my breathing. I could see the temple rising above the city like a watchtower on the palace walls. How could it be so impossible to reach? A woman came out of one of the houses, carrying a baby.
“Please!” I said, putting out my hand so she would stop.
“Yes?”
“Please, can you tell me the way to the temple?”
She propped her baby on one shoulder and with the other hand, pointed to the temple.
“It’s right there.”
“I know, but…I keep getting lost.”
She looked at me with a bemused expression, then said, “Come with me.”
She led me through three short turns to where we could see the temple’s gate in the distance.
“Thank you,” I said. “Peace be upon you and your house.”
I walked quickly but without panic now, keeping the temple’s gate in my sights until I reached it, then turning and hugging the temple’s surrounding wall. I knew my way now and I’d be home soon. My thoughts turned inward again. I remembered Moth’s first reaction to the news of my betrothal, his entreating me to run away with him. At that moment it seemed like a blissful idea—to start afresh some place where I wasn’t known, to become whatever I could on my own merit with neither the advantages nor the burdens of being a king’s daughter. And Moth and I would be together as—what? Brother and sister? Something else? Would Moth still want this, given the bitterness of our last conversation? I felt wicked to be thinking these thoughts, knowing full well that Amisi and Khepri were counting on me. But what if I did as Moth had urged me and thought first of myself?