by Naomi Ruppin
“Oh, hush,” I said, and pushed past him, pulling Moth along with me. The guard gaped after us, but I had no time to waste on him. We entered Moth’s room and I closed the door. Then I turned to him and shook his shoulders gently.
“Have you gone completely mad?”
“You were losing, Abigail. I can’t let you lose. I can’t let you marry that monster.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’d die first.”
“So would I. Now you have a confession. You’ve solved the case.”
“And if the king were such a fool as to believe you, you really would die.”
Moth shrugged and avoided my eyes.
“Why?” I asked.
Moth took a ragged breath and looked up at me.
“Abigail, you’ve been fighting so hard to prove to the king that you’re a man’s equal. With me you don’t have to fight. I’ve always known it, since the day you first corrected my spelling. I know you think of me as your brother, though we share no blood. So this may shock you, but I can’t help it. I love you.”
I looked at his dear, familiar face and I thought, of course.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Moth said. “I know you don’t feel the same.”
I took a step closer to him.
“I…I have been thinking about it. But I thought you liked Timna. And then you were so angry with me.”
“You were angry with me!”
“I’ve been confused. Ever since that night on the balcony.”
“You were completely addled that night. With the khat.”
“But I could also see things I’d never seen before.”
I put my arms around his neck and finally did again what I’d been longing to do since that night. I kissed him and pulled him tightly against me. His arms were around me too, and his hands were in my hair. His body was fire, melting mine and fusing it to his. For a moment there was nothing else in the world. But then I remembered that we would soon be due back at the Hall and I reluctantly pulled away. We were both breathing heavily. I took a few steps back from him, knowing that if I didn’t I would soon be back in his arms.
“But the king is not a fool,” I said. “Your ‘confession’ was the most unconvincing I’ve ever heard. And there’s no way that Amisi could have confused a beardless boy with a man the size of an ox.”
“Then at least I bought you some time. Use it!”
I sat on Moth’s bed, closed my eyes and rested my forehead against my palms.
“There are no other witnesses,” I said. “No more evidence. And Nathan is a consummate liar—we’ll get nothing out of him.”
I thought of Amisi’s delicate face and her lovely sorrowful eyes, and of the women outside the Hall, all those women I would be letting down if I lost. Especially those who had ever been abused or controlled.
I opened my eyes, looked at Moth and said, “Bathsheba is the key.”
§
As I sped down the corridor outside Moth’s room, I felt as though my innards were a churning cauldron, boiling up and searing my heart and mind. Moth loved me! Why, why had I wasted time on doubt, pride and jealousy, when I should have grabbed him and held him to me weeks ago. And now it might be too late. In spite of my confident reassurances to Moth, might the king not seize Moth’s confession as an opportunity to end the trial speedily, with a supposed traitor to execute and a convenient reason to believe Nathan’s lies? And how was it conceivable that I was betrothed to monstrous Nathan, when I’d just discovered that I loved Moth and he loved me?
I reached the women’s court and ran up the stairs to Bathsheba’s room. I paused a moment to catch my breath, then knocked on the door. Hannah opened it.
“I need to talk to her,” I said.
Hannah stood aside wordlessly and I advanced halfway into the room. Bathsheba was seated at a small table, eating her midday meal off a bronze tray. When she saw me she dropped her spoon into her stew with a clatter.
“I don’t wish to speak to you,” she said.
Hannah came to stand beside me and said firmly, “She is your granddaughter. You must.”
Hannah ushered me into a chair, then sat next to Bathsheba and patted her hand. Bathsheba wore the resentful and slightly fearful expression of a child who knows she’s about to be rebuked. I was glad of this. At least I knew that she was fully present. I hesitated for a moment, considering which honorific I should address her with. Finally I decided that a more intimate approach might work better.
“Grandmother,” I said. “I know you didn’t expect to be dragged into this inquiry. It’s unpleasant to be questioned in court. But I think perhaps you didn’t answer me truthfully.”
I waited for a reply but there was none, so I went on.
“Nathan is a powerful man, an intimidating man. But you are a queen. Ask yourself: has Nathan dealt fairly and kindly with you all these years? Has his direction brought you peace or happiness?”
“He loves me,” Bathsheba said softly. “And he speaks for God.”
“Would a man who loves you marry your granddaughter? And as for God, what if he’s just one more man telling us what to do?”
This provoked a smile from Hannah, but not from Bathsheba.
“I don’t claim to know about God,” I went on. “But I know we can also think and judge for ourselves. I think you know that Nathan has committed a crime, a sin. I think you understand better than most what Amisi is going through. If Nathan prevails, she’ll die and her child will grow up motherless.”
“She does not love my son. She loved another man.” Bathsheba finally leveled her gaze at me.
“That may be so, but can you blame her? A woman in this court is unseen, a grain of sand on the beach.”
Bathsheba took up a cup of water from her tray and drank before answering.
“This has happened before, when he was very young. His own brothers mocked him and betrayed him with his wives. He will not pardon her.”
“All the more reason why you must tell the truth.” I slammed both hands down on the bronze tray; the lunch dishes shuddered and Bathsheba recoiled. She had the look of a hunted animal. I had pushed too hard. I looked at Hannah and she gave a helpless little shrug. There was only one thing left to try.
“If you won’t do this for Amisi, do it for me. The king has agreed that if I find the truth about Amisi, he’ll release me from my betrothal. I can’t marry Nathan. I’d sooner die. Please, grandmother.”
I searched her black eyes urgently, but she had retreated into their hidden depths again.
When I left Bathsheba’s chambers and exited the palace, Moth was waiting for me in the main courtyard. He took my hand again and said urgently, “Well?”
“It’s no use,” I said. “Nathan’s talons are in her too deep.”
I wanted Moth to ignore all the people walking by, and take me in his arms and kiss me. I didn’t want to think about Nathan or what would happen when I failed at my mission; all I wanted to do was explore this new flood of feeling that was taking over me. But Amisi’s fate was still to be determined. And Moth’s. I felt a stab of fear and clutched Moth’s hand so hard that I heard him gasp with pain.
We walked down the path to the Hall of the Throne. The women had returned there after the midday meal, and as we walked among them they clasped my hand and patted my shoulders.
Nathan, Khepri and Amisi were already in the Hall, seated as before. Amisi no longer carried her baby; it was clear that not even his own child would soften Nathan’s heart. Moth and I sat beside her. The king entered with his guards, this time without Bathsheba and Hannah.
The king mounted his throne and said, “Get on with it, Abigail. I have other duties waiting, as does Nathan.”
“Isn’t the queen coming?” I said, after a hesitation.
“She hasn’t informed me. Does it matter?”
I doubted it but I said, “With your permission, I will wait for her a few moments more.”
On our bench we sat in tense silence. Acr
oss from us, Nathan actually closed his eyes and appeared to be napping. Khepri was whispering to Amisi in Egyptian, but she made no reply and only shook her head mutely. Just when I was about to give up and proceed, Hannah and Bathsheba entered the Hall. Nathan opened his eyes when they sat down beside him. I got to my feet.
“Is there anyone who’d like to add anything to what we’ve heard today?” I asked, looking pointedly at Bathsheba, willing her to speak. But she kept her gaze on the knotted hands in her lap. The silence in the Hall lengthened, and the only movement was of the dust motes floating lazily in the shafts of sunlight slanting through the shutters.
“I will speak!” To my amazement this came from Khepri, and when I turned I saw him on his feet.
“Khepri?” The king looked astonished. “Did you witness any of the pertinent events?”
“I have witnessed life in this palace for seventeen years.” Khepri was trembling and his fists were clenched. “I have placated your neglected wives for seventeen years. I have heard their stories, dried their tears, made them laugh and played with their children. It was no burden; I did it with love. And all this time I’ve marveled at you. No, not as the rest of the world does. I marveled at how you can be so quick and so keen, yet so blind to what goes on right before your face, so careless of everything you have, everything you could have if you chose. I know as surely as I know that the sun will rise tomorrow that Amisi speaks the truth. If you harm her, I shall…I shall never forgive you!”
The king was speechless and so was I. I knew Khepri had never in his life spoken so plainly to the king. Before I could collect my wits and decide how to proceed, Nathan’s powerful voice echoed through the Hall.
“Your majesty, these proceedings are getting entirely out of hand. A girl-child judging her elders, a heathen accusing God’s chosen prophet, and a slave chastising the king—what next? May I ask: what is the point of prolonging this absurdity when we’ve just heard a confession from the rapist?”
“That was not a true confession,” I said quickly. “Joel thought he was…helping me. Joel?” I prompted him. I hoped that his misguided heroism wouldn’t cause him to stray from what we’d agreed upon.
“I retract my confession,” Moth said. “It was a lie.”
“Amisi,” I said. “Is there any way that you could be mistaken about the identity of the rapist?”
“No,” Amisi said. “It was the prophet. I could see him in the torchlight. And his size is like four of Joel.”
Nathan’s face turned purple and he said to me, “Again you contrive tales to suit yourself, then change them at your whim and simply expect us to believe them! They’re both lying. The boy is probably one of her lovers.”
“Abigail,” the king broke in. “You may speak once more before I pronounce my sentence. Be quick about it.”
He was anxious to get on with his busy day, while Amisi’s life, and my fate and Moth’s, hung in the balance. Bathsheba was looking neither up nor down, but straight ahead again at the unseen horizon. Nathan had his usual intolerably self-satisfied smirk. I was filled with fury for all three of them. I took my time smoothing my skirt and clearing my throat. I addressed myself first to Bathsheba.
“Queen Mother, I accuse you too.” Bathsheba started and turned her head to look at me. I went on, “You’ve allowed yourself to be manipulated by an evil man. You’ve allowed a woman to suffer the very same abuse that you once did, and the criminal to go unpunished. You’ve committed a grievous sin: the treason of a woman against her sister.”
To my surprise, Bathsheba kept her fearful gaze on me as I spoke, and only looked away when I finished addressing her. I turned to face Nathan.
“Nathan, so-called prophet of God. Your greed knows no bounds. You’ve situated yourself in the palace to feed off the king’s crumbs. You’ve taken women by violence, at least three that I know of, including the king’s own wife. You tried to murder Amisi. And you sit there lying brazenly to me and to the king.”
Finally I turned to the king, my father, the man who was sacrificing me to a loathsome sinner. I realized that this was not just my trial, not just Amisi’s and Nathan’s trial, but the king’s as well. He’d had a chance to fight off the darkness creeping over him from without and within. I’d failed, but his failure was greater.
“Nathan is right about one thing,” I said to him. “You’ve heard the truth, but I can’t compel you to believe it. Solomon the Wise, Solomon the Just! May that false praise be a thorned cane on your back every time you hear it. And if you sentence Amisi to death, may that sin be upon you for the rest of your days. You treat women like the animals you keep for your use and pleasure, and you discard them at your will. Your complicity with Nathan will make you as evil as he is.” Tears were pricking my eyes and I strained to avoid blinking.
“I have nothing more to say,” I choked out. I sat down on the bench between Moth and Amisi. Khepri reached across Amisi to squeeze my hand, and gave me a firm nod of approval.
The king was leaning forward tensely, clutching the arms of his throne, gaping at me. Then he pressed his lips into a hard line. I had at least startled him out of his composure, or possibly it was the combined effect of Khepri’s speech and mine. But whether his expression meant that my words had hit their mark or simply that he couldn’t decide which to do first, marry me off to Nathan or have me whipped at the city gate, I couldn’t say. Bathsheba was looking down at her hands; her fingers were twisting about each other like a nest of worms. Nathan’s expression remained unchanged. The king rose from his throne and walked to the edge of the stage. My heart was pounding as I waited for him to speak.
“In spite of the inappropriate and emotional outbursts we have heard, I have seen no proof of the alleged rape by Nathan. On the contrary, the queen’s testimony disproves it. Amisi has confessed that she loved another man, and the fact remains that she carried a child who is not mine. Such a precedent cannot be allowed to stand.”
He turned to Amisi and said, “I sentence you to death.”
I felt Amisi cringe at my side but she made no sound.
“As for Joel’s confession and retraction,” the king continued, “I’ll have to consider it at a later time. We’re finished for today.”
I wanted to scream at him. Could he really think Moth’s confession true for one moment? Would this nightmare continue, this time with Moth’s life being threatened?
The king descended the steps from the stage and passed among us on the way to the door.
“Solomon,” Bathsheba said. “May I speak?”
The king stopped walking and turned back to her. The four of us on the bench gaped in astonishment. For the first time I saw a faint shadow of fear play across Nathan’s face.
“Yes, mother?” the king said.
“Bathsheba,” Nathan said sternly. “Recall your duty.”
Bathsheba hesitated, not turning her head to look at Nathan, staring at her hands knotted in her lap. Then she put her hand in a fold of her robe and drew out a right shoe, the twin of the beaded and tasseled one that Amisi had found. I caught my breath.
“I misspoke before,” Bathsheba said. “I did not leave the feast with Nathan. He appeared at my door some time after I returned to my room. He was deep in his cups and he was wearing only one shoe. He slept in my court and the next day I gave him a whole pair of shoes. I had put this one away, thinking that perhaps its pair would turn up.”
Nathan’s face was becoming as red as the shoe.
“He came to me a few days ago and told me to say that we’d left the feast together. He said he was being persecuted unjustly and that God had commanded me to help him.”
I would have given much to see the king’s face, but his back was towards me. I felt like the sun could have set and risen again in the time he remained silent. Finally he spoke to Nathan.
“So you lied about the shoe. You lied about the time you left the feast. And you ordered my mother to lie for you. Can there be any explanation for this other than t
he treason you’ve been accused of?”
I have never heard a more beautiful sound than the sound of Nathan saying nothing. The king mounted the stage again, but rather than sit on his throne, he began pacing as in one of his own court sessions.
“You have been treasonous and foolish, as you said yourself but falsely denied,” he said to Nathan. “You took my own wife by violence and were content to let her die for your sin. I have no choice but to sentence you to death.”
Now I could see the king’s expression, and it was one of profound disgust. But he really did sound reluctant.
It had been too much to hope that Nathan would remain silent. He stood, and his deep voice echoed off the Hall’s high ceiling and walls, seeming to come at us from all sides.
“Reconsider, Solomon, for your own good,” he said. “You are nothing without me. With one hand I control your rebellious people, while with the other I supplicate God to forgive your transgressions. I made you king.”
“I never asked to be king,” the king replied, and there was bitter hatred in his voice. “My verdict stands.”
“Will you overturn Amisi’s sentence now?” I interjected quickly.
“I will not,” he said. “She has confessed to carrying on a relationship with my army commander under my own roof.”
I leapt to my feet, quivering with outrage and frustration. Had I failed to save Amisi even now that the king acknowledged the truth? But then his last sentence echoed in my mind. The word ‘roof’ was the seed that drew upon all those past trials I’d attended and grew to fruition in the space of a moment. Now I knew what to say.
“I object to both sentences!”
“What?” The king’s expression made me wonder how far I could go before he had his guards throw me bodily out of the Hall. But I was committed now.
“My lord, prior to your visit to Amisi’s tent in the month of Peshet, when was the last time you were in seclusion with her?”
There would be no mistake this time. I knew the answer, for the king himself had told me. In my mind’s eye I could see the date on the scroll where I’d recorded the details of my interview with him.