Sunrise on the Mediterranean (52 page)

A cooling breeze blew through the windows. One thing about Jebus, no matter how hot it became, about four or five o’clock
in the afternoon it would cool down. Avgay’el, who had been snoring softly at her loom, woke up and started weaving again.
From within the courtyard sounds of Dadua’s children floated in. The boys were fighting, but then they always were. Their
mothers didn’t help.

“G’vret,”
Dadua said, “you speak Egyptian, so you will be in charge of any needs this Egyptian might have. He travels with an army,
so he will not be invited to stay in my city. However, I will provide both a welcome feast and entertainment. That is how
it’s done,
nachon?”

His insecurity was endearing.
“Nachon,”
I said. “Thy will be done.”

The prophet and new seer sat down as I was dismissed. “Chavsha, kiss your bride, then return to keep a record of what we say,”
Dadua said. “
Ach
, Yoavi, tell them of the house.”

Yoav looked straight at me, his green gaze blank. “
HaMelekh
has gifted you with a house in the lower
giborim
district.” He turned to Cheftu. “Your belongings have already been moved.” His smile was conspiratorial. “It will be a dinner
meeting, so you have a few hours to collect your tools, scribe Chavsha.”

“Todah, adoni,”
Cheftu said, rising up.

“Serve well, Egyptian,” Dadua said.

“Thy will be done.”

I stood in the corridor, waiting impatiently for Cheftu to finish one last thing before he joined me. “We have a house!” I
squealed as soon as the door was closed behind him.

Zorak grinned. “Dadua takes care of his own,” he said.

“Tell Waqi I will see her at the well tomorrow,” I said gleefully.

Cheftu greeted Zorak and took my hand, silent as we left the temporary palace. Once outside we heard the sound of tools on
stone coming down from the Milo, the area where the Tsor were building. A fine coating of white limestone dust hung in the
air, covering everything.

My husband still hadn’t said a word as we walked through the streets, which were just now waking up for the remainder of the
day and night. The sun’s heat was strong yet, but the breeze had shifted so that it cooled and refreshed. I loved this city.

He took my hand, still silent as he wandered through the narrowing streets. The lower
giborim
quarter was not luxury, but it would be ours! “We belong!” I whispered.

“You are excited about your new home?” he asked.

“Well, duh,” I said in English, smiling. “One correction: Home is with you, anywhere. But I’d love to see our house.”

We went up and down, through narrow streets overhung with laundry, then up a flight of stairs.

He opened the door. “Welcome, beloved,” he said.

“This is our first home,” I said, a little giddy.

“Oui.”

I stared at him expectantly.

“Are you going to go in?” he asked.

“It is bad luck for the bride to step over the threshold; she is supposed to be carried.”

“
Ach!
A bride?”

I crossed my arms. “I am a newlywed still. If we added up the time we’ve spent together in the past three years, it probably
hasn’t even been a year!”

He picked me up, wincing. “If I had known this, last night I might have loved you a little less, uh …”

“Enthusiastically?”

He chuckled, then stepped over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him, shutting us into the darkness of our own
house. “Never without enthusiasm,
chérie.”

I kissed him, perched in his arms. Our first home. Not quite Coca-Cola, but still momentous.
I
certainly felt like crying. I wiggled free. “So let’s see this place!”

It was long, narrow, and dark. Resembled an overgrown coffin. We walked to the back, then I saw the prize of the place. “It’s
a room with a view!” I shouted. We were a section of the city wall. Our balcony was the parapet, with a view of the fields,
the valley, the mount opposite to our right, the Tsori construction upward to the left. “It’s wonderful!” I launched myself
at him, covered his face in kisses. “We have a home, beloved! We belong somewhere!”

“You,
G’vret
Klo-ee, belong with me,” he said.

That was when I noticed the heavy gold seal around his neck, flat on his smooth chest. “Scribe Chavsha?” I said, touching
it. “Your seal of office.”

“The same.”

“So what did they tell you that I had to stand in the corridor?” I asked.

Cheftu was watching me with a half smile. “Dadua reminded me that now we are participating members of the land. Therefore
we have certain duties.” He reached out a long arm, snaked it around my waist, and pulled me to him.

Our feet were touching, and I felt his knees through the fabric of my skirt. A cool breeze blew from the balcony into the
house. Our house. I was elated; we even got the breeze!

“Those are … ?” I asked a bit breathlessly, because he was staring at my mouth.

“We participate in the feasts and festivals. The New Year begins in a few weeks, then the Day of Atonement and the Sukkot.”

“Nachon,”
I said softly. “No yeast in the spring, for what, Pesach?”

He touched my nose with his finger. “You are growing spotted.”

Immediately I covered my nose.

“It’s cute,” he said.

“It’s from working outside.” We were talking, but the energy between us was getting stronger, narrowing onto each other. I
licked my lips, and he groaned. “Did Dadua say anything else?”

“
Ach, ken.
The most important task in the land.”

“Avayra goreret avayra?”

He kissed the tip of my finger, and that made me whimper. “
Lo
, the most vital task in the land is this.” He leaned closer to me, his breath warm on my skin. His lips hovered above my
ear. “Be fruitful and multiply.”

My laugh turned to a gasp. “Ooo, Chavsha, thy will be done.”

T
HE EGYPTIANS ARRIVED.

How my father would have been laughing to see his little girl as a liaison between the throne of Egypt and the stone-throwing
David. I’d been given my own kitchen to supervise for the Egyptians, and I’d inherited the mushroom to grind my grain. A few
Pelesti women and new brides among the Jebusi rounded out my diplomacy team.

The Egyptians didn’t actually come up into the city, but rather camped on the far side of the Kidron valley in a sprawl of
white tents, pennants, and soldiers. They lounged like cats in the shade but made no move toward the city. It would be up
to us to initiate contact.

I was with Avgay’el, brushing her hair, which was what ladies-in-waiting did, when Yoav entered. He greeted her, then me.
“There are two hundred Egyptians on the hillside,” he said, pacing, fretting with his side curls. “Another thousand camp in
the Hinon valley, still another thousand at the foot of Har Nebo.”

“Have they done anything?” I asked, still brushing.

“Lo.”

“What sources do they have for water?”

“They’re digging wells.”

So they intended to stay for a while, and they realized that Dadua would not be opening up the city to them. “What do the
pennants say?”

“Smenkhare, living in the Aten,” he said, “forever.” Someday I was going to ask him about his education. A tribesman who was
literate was impressive; one who spoke and read other languages was almost unheard-of. “The tribespeople are ostensibly gathering
the olives, but in reality watching the Egyptians,” Yoav said, chuckling. “It’s better than having spies. Instead I have grandmothers
who make up in observation what they lack in eyesight.”

It would be interesting: the Israelites with their brightly colored clothing, sashes, and fringe and long curling locks, next
to the Egyptians, who were sleek, clothed only in white and gold, with painted eyes and straight hair.

“Should we send a message asking Pharaoh if the view is good, and by the by, why is he so very far away from his flat land
and his many gods?” Yoav threw up his hands.

“How is the audience chamber coming?” I asked. “Will it be ready in the next few days?”

Yoav shrugged. “It could be. I will speak to Hiram.”

“Then we will send an invitation to Smenkhare inviting him to present himself in court to
haMelekh
Dadua and his court.” I looked at Avgay’el. “Can we do this in the middle of the harvest season?”

Dadua’s wife smiled. “Whatever he needs, give him.”

“Then excuse me,
adoni, g’vret,”
I said, and hustled out of there.

Fortunately
Shabat
was between the time that Smenkhare arrived and the time that … Hiram of Tsor arrived.
Shabat
afternoon’s peace was torn by a shout from the wall. Someone was approaching the valley gate. It was close enough to walk,
so Cheftu and I joined the throng that watched, bemused.

“He approaches! He approaches!” we heard shouted from below. Criers stood on the road, calling out, pointing.

Who was arriving?

“Hiram comes! Hiram Zakar Ba’al comes!”

I eyed the criers and put them down to a marketing ploy; they weren’t Jebusi or tribesmen. Obviously they were part of the
team to make Hiram—did the Tsori have any other names?—seem a big man.

“By the power of Shaday, what is that?” someone, a genuine citizen, shouted. We peered over the rocky wall to the mountain
road opposite us.

Hiram of Tsor, Zakar Ba’al, traveled in great comfort—not to mention style.

“Zut alors,”
Cheftu breathed. “What is that thing?”

“An … elephant,” I said. Granted, it was a dwarf elephant, or it wouldn’t have been able to get up the hills, but still, an
elephant? Riding guard was a band of … women? They were hard to discern, but they didn’t look like men. One shifted her shield,
and the crowd gasped.

Holy shit!

“Are those Amazons?” Cheftu asked me.

“In Israel?” I said in English. “I didn’t know elephants had ever even been in the Middle East,” I said. “Much less warrior
women.” Yet in the back of my head, in my mother’s softly proper British accent, I heard mention of pygmy elephants from Africa.
Was Israel Africa? My head was spinning, watching this group grow closer. On the back of the elephant was a little Quonset-style
hut, swaying to and fro with the motion.

Just seeing that made me feel a little seasick.

This colorful team was approaching the walls. “Smenkhare’s audience is tomorrow,” I said. “But Zakar Ba’al isn’t going to
give us much choice if he just shows up at the city gates.”

Cheftu looked at the sky. “It is a full watch before
Yom Rishon
begins,” he said. “It will take him some while to get across the hills on that creature, though,” he commented. The elevation
was nowhere as steep as the Kidron valley or Hinon valley side, but they were already encamped with Egyptians and not much
of a pathway. North of us, in the new, unenclosed section of town, the Tsori rested through this day, as did all the tribesmen.

“He’s out of luck,” I whispered in English. “He’ll just have to wait.”