Angels at the Gate (24 page)

He smiles. “Your accent is flawless. I wish I could speak so.”

“And where did you learn?” I ask from politeness and not knowing what to say.

“From the court translator who is now, with most unfortunate timing, with his ancestors.”

“Was he your friend?”

“No, he haughty, thinking Egyptians better. Not bother with Akkadian.”

That does not surprise me. Even Hagar, a slave given as a handmaiden to Sarai, thought herself better than Sarai, a fact she never hid well from her mistress, though she was never arrogant with me, perhaps because I loved Ishmael as a brother. Now she has given Abram a son and been made second wife, so she even more carelessly shows off her status, often infuriating Sarai.

“Unfortunate for the former translator,” I say, trailing my hand over the fine cloth of my skirt, “but fortunate for me.”

Bashaa's eyes narrow for an instant, and then his face resumes its congenial demeanor, but his next words, still in the language of the Black Land, do not reflect his expression. “Be careful, girl; game this not. Much at wager here. Walk narrow way. Many push aside, over edge, no thought.”

His grammar is poor, but the meaning is clear.

Warm thyself before the fire of the wise, but beware of their embers, perchance thou mayest be singed.

—R. Li'ezer,
Sayings of the Fathers

B
ASHAA CERTIFIES ME AS BEING
more skilled in the Egyptian language than he, and Tabni leaves me in a smaller room for most of the day where I fret, worrying about Mika and Raph. Despite the practice I am getting, I still do not wait well.

Finally, the summons comes. This time I am in the king's receiving room by right. It is a lovely place, decorated with elaborate objects of beaten bronze, gold, and silver that I assume were gifts to the king, or perhaps to his father, Hammurabi, the conqueror and lawmaker.

Apart from Bashaa, who stands at my side—a precaution should my tongue thicken with nervousness, or should I make up outlandish tales from the mouth of the envoy—I am a stranger among strangers in the room. Tabni has gone.

“Add nothing,” Bashaa reminds me, whispering in my ear. His cheek brushes mine, and I shiver. A man has never touched me like that. It is hardly the guard's rough attention. I wonder what it would be like to lie with a man, to feel his hands on me, and his spear inside me. Somehow my imaginings of Raph never went beyond him holding me close.

Tabni is the chief priestess of Ishtar, the goddess of love. She knows
everything, should I care to ask her and should she care to answer. She would most probably laugh at my ignorance. I am past the normal age of marriage now or at least of betrothal, and I do not know the first thing about being a woman. What, I wonder, made me leave my clothing behind the vendor's stacks today and emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon? A butterfly dressed with beautiful wings, but that still thinks like a caterpillar.

The envoy's entrance whips my attention back into the room. He is announced, and I must focus on what he is saying. My heart gallops. I have never been responsible for translating in such a situation. What if my mind wanders and I miss something important? I have gathered from the conversations I overheard earlier, in my brief state as a slave, that Samsu-iluna's kingdom is at risk. People's lives may depend on me.

Pleasantries are exchanged. Tabni has reappeared and stands beside the king. Samsu-iluna offers his regret at the accident that killed the Egyptian envoy's translator and hopes I will be sufficient. At this I draw up my shoulders and my fear vanishes.
Sufficient?

The envoy brings greetings from his country and king and offers gifts. I translate his words. Bearers enter with beautiful vessels, jewelry of gold, a bird with colors of a rainbow, and an image of a large cat carved of black ebony. Eventually, they turn to real negotiations. Babylonia, it seems, is in need of tin to make bronze. No one says it, but the need for weapons is obviously central. Their supply, which has traditionally come from the southeast, has been cut off by a revolution, and the Hurrians to the north are blocking that route. Tin is critical.

The discussion lasts until mealtime. We all proceed into another room where soft music of flute, panpipe, and harp cajoles the ear. The king and guests sit on cushions before a feast. Tabni and several other dignitaries have joined them. I am expected to stand behind them, my empty stomach churning at the parade of courses—mutton roasted with cumin and leeks, pig stuffed with mint, fish of every kind, cheeses, fine-grained breads smothered with butter and sesame seeds. They all eat and drink beer until long past dark. I give up counting after twelve courses.

Bashaa takes over long enough for me to find the place to make water. I worm my way to a room where lesser staff are eating and pluck a handful of figs and almonds and a boiled duck egg to eat on the way back to the dining area.

When I return, tense silence reigns at the table, and Bashaa is pale.

“What happened?” I whisper, my eyes traveling over the guests. Tabni's hand is gripping her goblet and the king, his eyes reddened with drink, has a most sour expression on his face. The Egyptian envoy appears confused, his gaze darting from face to face.

“Thank Ishtar and Marduk, you are back,” Bashaa says, taking me aside. “What does this mean? He recites a long phrase.”

I shrug. “It is an Egyptian blessing calling on one of their most important goddesses.”

Bashaa's pallor gives way to a deep blush. “I believe I just told Samsu-iluna the envoy said he was the son of a pig.”

A bubble of laughter rises from my belly, but at Bashaa's stricken face, it lodges in my throat. I take a moment to settle myself into an appearance of seriousness and turn back to the table. Pigs are considered unclean animals in both Egypt and Babylonia.

With a slight bow at the envoy to get his attention, I ask what has been said and then turn to Samsu-iluna. “Most gracious King of Babylonia, if my words caused offense, I offer apology. What I said was the king of Egypt sent you the blessings of our goddess, Bast, in her favored form, the cat statue, that you might be rich with children.”

I put in the reference to the statue to add credibility to my interpretation, hoping the king would remember it among the gifts brought to him. Bashaa is in no position to correct or chastise me. There is much at stake here. Wrong words could mean hostilities between these great kingdoms. Canaan would be caught in the middle. It was not so long ago Egypt had held Canaan in her fist. And King Chedorlaomer had come from south of Babylon to claim it. Neither salt nor pitch made Canaan as valuable to the great powers as its location between Babylon and Egypt.

At my interpretation of the envoy's words, it seems the whole table holds its breath and every eye is upon Samsu-iluna.

The sour expression on the king's face melts into a smile, and I can actually hear the exhalations.

I
AM NOT
allowed to leave the palace for the entire week the envoy remains as a guest. Anxiety has gnawed a hole in my belly. Mika and Chiram will think I am dead or enslaved. I must tell Mika about Raph, but
I am most concerned about Nami. I told her to stay in the house. Would Mika take her out to make water and attend to her business? Would she listen to him or run off to find me? She is not that good at smells. She might get lost in the streets, which are far more crowded and vast than those of Sodom, or someone might recognize her value and take her. My worries spin in circles.

Finally, the Egyptians are gone, and I am called into Ishtar's temple and Tabni's chamber. I force all the fears that are churning in my belly into submission and stand before her.

She sits on a high stool of carved cedar. A patterned necklace of lapis lazuli and silver encircling her throat catches my trader's eye. The rich color lies well against her skin, and the precious stones could not be mistaken for my blue glass beads. The tangy scent of myrrh lingers in the room, but my gaze falls upon a tiny vial. I know it. The hands of the priests at En Gedi sealed that vial. My nose had been correct. Did this mean the Priestess was behind Raph's capture or had the king gifted her with the scent? Either way, I must tread carefully.

“You have done well,” she says.

I have done better than “well” and certainly better than “sufficient,” but I refrain from reminding her I saved them all from diplomatic disaster. “It was my honor,” I say instead.

She slides two bracelets of silver onto my arm. “You have earned this,” she admits.

I bow my head and remove the rings, handing them back to her. “You are most generous, Lady, but I do not want your silver.”

Surprise flickers across her features, and she narrows her gaze, much as she did the first time she saw me. She is assessing me. “What do you want then? I have little I can give you other than silver or—” She tilts her head at me. “Perhaps a place in service to the Queen of Heaven?”

My hand lifts toward my nose, but I stop it and instead touch the hollow of my throat. To serve the goddess as
qadishtu
, a holy woman, was primarily a matter of choice and going through the rituals, but to be offered a place here at the important temple in Babylon as an
ishtaritu
, a woman of Ishtar, was a great honor, one given only to the daughters of noble families. Tabni must feel she owes me greatly … or perhaps she wishes to keep me close for my interpretation skills.

“No Priestess, I do not seek that honor.”

“Then what do you seek?”

I look at her. “A slave's freedom.”

One silver brow arches. “That might be possible. Whom do you wish to free?”

“The tall man with golden hair I saw in the king's receiving room that first day.”

Her face goes still. After a moment she says, “That is not possible.” She looks at me with eyes that I have learned miss little. I tread on a very narrow beam, but this is an opportunity I cannot ignore.

“Why do you want him?”

I shrug, careful with my expression. “He is different from anyone I have ever seen, and very handsome. I am attracted to him. He is just a slave, isn't he?”

Tabni stands. “No, actually, he is not.”

I say nothing, hoping she will continue.

“He is more a prisoner than a slave. Samsu-iluna is punishing him by having him work as a slave on the canals.”

I frown as though piqued by the inconvenience of it. “What has he done to anger the king?”

“It is not what he has done, but what he refuses to do.” Tabni rises and goes to the lion statue that sits regally on a small table. She strokes the great cat's back. “It is interesting, is it not, how the goddess chooses the feline to represent her. In Babylonia her creature is the lion; in the northlands it is the panther; in the east, the tiger; and in Egypt, the cat. Why, do you suppose?”

“I do not know, Priestess.” Frustration gnaws at me. I do not see how this is related to why Raph has been enslaved.

“I do not know either,” Tabni says. “Perhaps it is the nature of the feline. Ishtar's fierceness in battle has weakened the knees of strong men … as has her passion.” Tabni smiles.

I have the feeling her words are those of someone whose power has been threatened. I think back to what my father told me long ago when we were here. At the time, it was an abstract lesson, but now I reconsider it. In more ancient times the goddess's rule was absolute. Now, although the goddess “chooses” the king, she shares authority with the Babylonian god, Marduk, and perhaps more importantly, with his priests. I decide it is better to be ignorant. “I do not understand.”

She smiles at me then. “No, I would not expect you to, being only attracted to a handsome stranger. Let me tell you then, and you can decide if you wish to pursue this man.”

I nod. “My desire for him is strong.” I can say this with honesty in my voice.

She presses her lips into a line. “The love of youth is always strong. That is Ishtar's blessing … and her curse.” She seats herself again. “This man you desire is a shaman from a distant land.”

I twist my hand in my skirt. “He seems young to be so much.”

She smiles. “He and his brother are from an ancient line of shamans, priests of the heavens. This man, Raph-el, has refused to call on his power for Babylonia, and so the king has punished him.”

Raph-el. Raph of Heaven or Raph of El, the Creator
. So even here in this land, the messengers of El are known. “What about his brother?” I ask innocently. “Can he not help Babylonia? Then Samsu-iluna could release Raph-el.”

She sighs. “It is not that simple. In any case, the brother is not here, so all falls to this one.”

I bite my lower lip, relieved that Mika has not been discovered. “Then I ask you only to let me see him and speak to him.”

She looks at me for a long time. “I owe you much.”

I lower my gaze and say softly, “This is all I wish.”

She laughs softly and looks over at the lion statue. “Ishtar, my Lady, you will have your sport.”

Take in your hand large stones and hide them.…

—Book of Jeremiah 43:9

W
ITH TREPIDATION, I APPROACH THE
mud-and-reed hut that sits among many in this marshy area south of the city. My beloved is there. I can feel my heart a prisoner in my chest, perhaps in sympathy to his enslavement. No ready words are in my mind to say to him, but the chance has arisen to see him and I must seize it.

A guard bars my way, but I lift my arm for him to see the white cloth tied to it with the imprint of Ishtar's priestess on it. He examines it for a moment and then steps aside. None of the other huts, I note, have guards for the slaves who live within them.

It is dim inside, with only a reed mat for a bed, a clay bowl, and a pot in the corner. The smell is not too bad, and I presume working on the irrigation canals gives Raph opportunity to cleanse himself of sweat and do most of his elimination outside the hut.