by Naomi Ruppin
“Ziv of the previous year.”
“So eleven months before. Does the law not state that if a husband fails to satisfy his wife’s conjugal needs for six months, she is entitled to a divorce from him?”
The king’s eyes narrowed. I was reminded of his challenging gaze across the Jang-Cheh board.
“Entitled, yes,” he answered. “But for the divorce to be valid, the woman must not have lived under her husband’s roof for another three months, after those six months.”
“Precisely. But Amisi has never lived under your roof. She lives in a tent next to the palace structure.”
The king’s beard twitched.
“Go on,” he said.
“I put it to you that Amisi has not been your wife by law for nearly two years now. Therefore she is not guilty of betrayal, and Nathan is guilty of rape but not of treason.”
The king swung around and walked away from me to the right. I held my breath waiting for him to speak but before he could, Nathan did.
“If that’s the case, then I’m no more guilty of rape than the king himself!”
The accursed man had given me pause. My thoughts raced.
“That depends on whether or not the king had Amisi’s consent.” I turned to Amisi. “Amisi, did the king have or not have your consent for relations in the month of Peshet last year?”
All eyes were nailed to Amisi. She looked at me helplessly, understandably stunned by the events of the last few moments. The king had only just sentenced her to death, and now she was being called upon to pass judgment on him. He completely deserved the most severe censure, but I prayed that she would allow him to end the matter with some grace, and hoped that my eyes were speaking what my lips could not. The Hall was as silent as a tomb as we all waited for Amisi to speak. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders and for the first time throughout the trial, met first the king’s gaze and then Nathan’s.
“The king had my consent.” Amisi said. “Nathan did not.”
I let out my bated breath in a rush and turned back to the king. I had to hear him say it.
“Your majesty?”
The king took a long look at Amisi. I hoped he was appreciating her unmerited generosity towards him. Then he looked at me.
“You have been creative with your interpretation of the law,” he said. “However, I accept your ruling. And I consider your duty acquitted.”
Then he turned to Amisi again and said, “And to you, Amisi, I grant your divorce. And your life.”
I couldn’t resist one last word. I walked up to Bathsheba, smiled at her and held out my hand for the second shoe. When she gave it to me I flung it down in front of Nathan and said, “I absolve you of your obligation to marry me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Spring
Khepri, Amisi, Moth and I stood by as a servant struck Amisi’s tent at Bathsheba’s order. Amisi held her baby and the rest of us carried the few bundles of her belongings: rugs, cushions, some clothes and ornaments. Hannah hovered by Bathsheba’s elbow. The look in Bathsheba’s eye had changed. She looked like an invalid in the process of recovery, but one who was fully engaged with the world before her. The servant rolled up the tent cloths, lashed them to its poles and carried the bundle away. Bathsheba stopped in front of Amisi and stroked the baby’s cheek with a finger.
“God punished me by taking my first son before he could walk,” she said. “Love your child as soon as you can, as well as you can.”
She and Hannah left, and the rest of us waited a discreet moment before following them out of the encampment. We were accompanying Amisi to her new room in the servants’ quarters. She was no longer the king’s wife; she was free to leave the palace if she chose and the king was obligated to provide for her living. But she knew nothing of life outside the palace and was loathe to leave Khepri. I also hoped that she now considered me a friend, after all. She’d asked to be taken on as a servant, to work in the stables and care for the king’s horses.
We had been walking in single file but Amisi hung back to walk beside me.
“I have given the baby her name,” she said, smiling at me.
“Oh, what is it?”
“Kepi.”
“Almost like ‘Khepri’!”
“A similar sound, but a different meaning,” Khepri said, glancing back at us and smiling.
“What does ‘Khepri’ mean?” I asked. “No, let me guess. ‘Stag’!”
“Not quite,” Khepri said. “It means ‘beetle’.”
“Beetle! That’s not very elegant.”
“But noble. Khepri is the scarab deity, god of creation.”
“Oh, well then. And what is ‘Kepi’?
Amisi held the baby out in front of us and the child stared back at us with solemn, unblinking eyes.
“Born of storm.”
§
Moth and I sat on a hillside outside the city walls, under an almond tree. Its buds were just beginning to star its branches with white. Moth leaned against the tree trunk and I leaned my back against his knees. He was playing with my hair. I had washed it that morning with jasmine water and every so often he gathered it up in his hands, held it to his face and breathed in its scent. This time I had brought us a mint infusion to warm us. In between sips I hummed a little, but not too loudly.
Strengthen me with wine
Refresh me with apples
For I am faint with love.
“Abigail?”
“Mm?”
“You didn’t put khat in the drink this time, did you?”
“Of course not! Why?”
“I feel as if you did. And besides, I’ve never known you to sing of your own free will.”
“I’m terrible, I know.”
“I’ve heard worse. But right now I can’t think when.”
I reached back and with my fist struck a soft blow to his shoulder.
“Do you remember that poem I wrote?” he asked, making himself a mustache out of a lock of my hair.
“You mean the one you wrote for our wager?”
“In a way. That only gave me the idea. I wrote you a love poem.”
“You did not! Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“You mean besides having smashed it into a thousand pieces? Maybe because you took that opportunity to scoff at love, marriage, men, poetry, and all combinations of the above.”
“Poor Moth! I’m so sorry. But you’ll write it out for me again.”
“I will not! It was even worse than your singing. And anyway, now I don’t need to, because you’re already mine.”
I turned around and kissed him by way of agreement. A fine spray of rain began to filter through the branches of the almond tree.
“Should we go back?” Moth asked.
“No, let’s stay. It’s such a beautiful day.”
“It’s raining!”
“It’s nothing. Look, almond blossoms. It’s spring. Find me a cyclamen—they must be out by now.”
Moth got up and leapt from rock to rock, peering under them in search of the shy flower. I watched him, smiling, not stirring a step myself and still singing under my breath. He’s not a moth anymore, I thought.
In the clefts of the rock
My beloved is like a gazelle.
Chapter Twenty
Rematch
Khepri and I were once again standing outside the king’s sitting room. It felt as if years had passed since I’d first stood there, waiting to give my census report. Khepri knocked and we entered. The king was sitting in his carved chair. A smaller carved chair had been placed at his right and he gestured to it.
“Please sit, Abigail.”
Khepri went to feed the birds.
“In case it wasn’t clear at our last meeting, I concede that you have won our wager,” the king said.
“Thank you.”
“Ultimately your defense was based on a legal nicety. However, in court that is sometimes part of the game.”
“If I had to resort to
a ‘nicety’, it’s only because our current laws are not firmly grounded in morality!” I retorted.
“Ah, yes, morality. Your youth didn’t prevent you from censuring your elders. Not one of us escaped.”
“Is that not a judge’s duty?”
“One of them.” He smiled. “And perhaps we may all benefit from the fresh gaze of youth.”
He poured us both cups of wine and gestured for me to drink.
“What’s to become of Nathan?” I asked, after a sip of wine.
“I’ve banished him to Egypt.”
I thought of Nathan trying to make his way among the heathens he hated, and deemed it a fitting punishment.
“Will that cause problems for you? With his followers, I mean?”
“That remains to be seen. Less so than a death sentence, in any case.” He looked at me penetratingly. “Had you taken that into consideration when you caused me to overturn my first verdict?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Still full of surprises.” He sipped his wine. “Abigail, I called you here to discuss your new duties.”
I felt a rush of excitement. I was actually going to be a judge!
“I’ve already given it some thought,” I said. “I think I should start with a thorough review of your tax plan. I realize it’s not a court case, but it’s your most burning issue and I think I could be of use.”
“I may consider that at a later time,” he said. “But first I need you to deal with another urgent matter. Following the precedent that you’ve created, several of my wives have asked to divorce me. You’ll need to verify their claims one by one and determine their rights to subsistence payments. I imagine that should keep you busy for quite a while.”
“Oh,” I said, deflated.
He smiled at me wryly.
“I can think of no more appropriate or more richly deserved reward for your efforts. Khepri, stop pretending to clean and come here.”
Khepri came to stand at the king’s left, still holding his rag, his head bowed in false humility.
“Khepri, I know you already have too many duties, but as my right hand, I must ask one more thing of you. You must work out a schedule for my visits to my wives, so that in the future none can claim to be deprived. Abigail will make a written plan according to your instructions, and you will make sure I follow it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Now, Abigail, since our last game was interrupted, what do you say to a Jang-Cheh rematch?”
I hesitated, surprised and faintly alarmed.
“Well?” he said.
“My lord, it’s my impression that you aren’t very fond of losing. I fear our last game ended badly for me.”
“Then perhaps I still have some things to learn. Do you accept the challenge?”
Khepri grinned at me and I nodded. Khepri set the board before us and we began. Within five moves on each side I was in a situation I’d never encountered before. It never ceases to amaze me how the same small set of moves can create infinite possibilities, when you’re sitting opposite a rival intelligence. Again I chafed at the irritating rule that states that the Mother’s movements are narrowly constrained by those of the Bull. Someday I’ll change the rules of this game.
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