The Desert Princess (2 page)

The palace at Mahanaim looked old and broken. The clay between the limestone held cracks like spiderwebs, and weeds ran their long, viny fingers over the rocks in the courtyard. The king's wives and a few children stood near the vines, exchanging worried glances.

“Why do they just stand there?” I whispered in Inaya's ear. “Shouldn't they go inside the rooms and settle in?” Though by the look of the buildings, perhaps the mothers feared the bricks would tumble down around them.

“They are exhausted. They have walked all the way from Jerusalem.” Inaya moved to where our donkeys stood and started to untie a pack that hung from one of the animal's sides. “Come, child. Since you badgered your father into letting us come, let us see what we can do to help.”

She pulled two large sacks of almonds and an earthen jar of fresh dates from one of the packs and placed the jar in my outstretched arms. I followed her toward the inner courtyard but held back as she approached one of the women who held a young child in her arm and another young boy by the hand.

Inaya laid the sacks on the ground at the woman's feet and bowed at the waist. “I am Inaya, servant of Shobi, ambassador of Ammon,” she said. “This is Shobi's daughter, Princess Naamah. We have brought food and blankets and more for your household. Where would you like us to put the items?”

The woman's beautiful face held a look of relief, her dark eyes moist with unshed tears. She nodded to Inaya, then turned to her servant. “Tirzah, please show these kind women to the storage rooms.”

I lifted my chin just the slightest bit at being called a woman, but the feeling quickly faded as Tirzah held out her hands to take the jar from me. “Let me, Princess.” Woman or not, I was not a servant.

For a moment, I did not know what to do, but at Inaya's approving glance, I relinquished the heavy jar into the older woman's arms.

“We are grateful for your help, more than you know,” Tirzah said, leading Inaya away. Should I return to the donkeys and gather the blankets?

Before I could decide, the woman with the small children spoke. “So, you are Shobi's daughter.” Her voice, like music, reminded me at once of the songs my ima used to sing to me. “Shobi speaks highly of you.”

I bowed, then straightened, holding my head high as Abba had taught me to do. “Thank you.” I met her kind gaze and smiled.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Naamah. I am Bathsheba, wife of King David.” She nodded to the baby, a boy of about six months, and gestured to a boy of about three beside her. “These are two of our sons.”

“I am pleased to meet you as well, mistress, though I am sorry to come at such a time of hardship.” I touched the baby's soft dark curls. “What is his name?”

“This is Shammua,” she said, kissing the baby's forehead. “And this busy little boy”—she rubbed the top of his curly head—“is Shobab.”

The little boy stuck out his tongue at me. I laughed but did not return the gesture. He scowled for the briefest moment, then hit me on the arm.

The woman grabbed his hand and bent awkwardly, still holding the baby, to reach his eye level. “It is not polite to hit a girl, Shobab.” Her tone was stern. “Now tell Naamah you are sorry.”

A hint of rebellion crossed Shobab's mischievous face, reminding me of Padi. I felt instant sympathy for Shobab, and I almost blurted that I didn't mind boys and he didn't need to apologize. But I knew better than to correct a grown-up.

“Sorry.” Shobab kicked at a pebble in the courtyard and would not meet my gaze.

“No he's not.” The voice startled me, and I looked up into the face of a boy, a young man, who seemed to appear from nowhere with a younger brother in tow. He grabbed the scruff of Shobab's robe and pulled him to himself. “Shobab. If you are truly sorry, you will mean it when you say so.” He turned Shobab to face me. “Now. Say it again so you mean it this time.”

Shobab looked like he might scowl again, but at last he lowered his head in defeat and gave a big sigh. “I'm sorry.” He glanced up at his brother. “Can I go eat now?”

“Yes.” Bathsheba took Shobab's hand again and looked at me with an apologetic smile. “If you will excuse me.” She guided him toward some crumbling stone seats in the courtyard, where servants who had been scurrying around us had already set out some clay plates of bread and cheese.

I fully expected the older two boys to follow her, but the tall, handsome one stood looking at me. “I am Solomon,” he said with a courtly bow, bringing my previous foolish imaginings of him quickly to mind, along with an unexpected flutter to my middle. “And this is my brother Nathan.” He pointed to a boy that looked to be my age. “Please forgive Shobab. He is hungry from the long journey and our food supply is low.”

“I don't mind,” I hurried to say. “I have lots of boy cousins, so I am used to them.” I looked into Solomon's dark eyes.

“That's good.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to get hold of my suddenly racing heart. “It is good.” My voice sounded strange, like it didn't belong to me.

He tilted his head to the side and regarded me for a moment. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Naamah.” He bowed at the waist once more.

A giggle escaped my lips. He winked, and I liked him immediately.

“Would you join us, Naamah?” Solomon's mother called to us and motioned to the seats that circled what had once been a central fire. She turned to a maid who approached, carrying one of the sacks of almonds we had brought. “Divide them among the children first,” she told the maid. “No more than five or six to start.”

I stood in indecision, feeling like an intruder. The food was for the king's household.

“My mother's invitations are rarely refused,” Solomon said, his smile inviting. “Come, sit with me.”

His comment startled me. To eat with a prince—this was highly unusual, even for a princess. Men and women did not share the same table in Ammon. Of course, I was not yet a woman.

I followed him, feeling shy despite our crude surroundings, but his mother's smile put me immediately at ease. “You are a brave girl to come all this way with your father,” she said. The baby now sat on a blanket near her feet, and I noticed a maid hovering near Shobab.

“Inaya says that my father indulges me too much,” I said, deflecting her compliment. I could not tell her how I had begged my father to bring me with him.

“Inaya is your servant.” Bathsheba glanced toward our baggage where Inaya and several servants still worked to unload all that we had brought. I felt a pang of guilt that I had not continued to help her.

“She is my nurse.” I poked one toe against a large stone, avoiding Bathsheba's gaze. “She has cared for me since Ima . . . since my mother died.”

Bathsheba's touch on my arm warmed me, and when I looked into her large dark eyes, I felt a sudden kinship and a longing for all I had lost. “Dear child, I am so sorry for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking quickly away. I did not like to think about such things.

She squeezed my arm, and my eyes suddenly stung. But a moment later she released her hold and picked Shammua up from the blanket, excused herself, and left the group.

“I am sorry we are not better company,” Solomon said at my side. He took a handful of almonds from a clay bowl that sat between us. “But these are not normal circumstances.” He plopped the handful into his mouth and chewed in silence for several moments.

I did not know where to look or what to do. The king's wives and daughters, all much older than I, stood in little clusters talking, a few whispering, others barely covering their angry or fearful words. Soldiers and servants moved through the place, and another group of men leading heavily laden donkeys entered the city gates in the distance.

“I would stay with my father,” Solomon interrupted my musings, “if my mother did not need me so much. Sometimes it is a hard decision to know where I can be the best use.”

I looked at him then, and I suddenly did not see a boy of twelve but a young man on the brink of adulthood. His dark eyes held a serious glint, not at all like Jabbar, who, though he was nearly Solomon's age, still acted like a spoiled child even in sober times.

“It is kind of you to want to please them both,” I said, feeling drawn to him, wishing I could offer comfort.

He nodded briefly, his gaze distant. A moment later he stood and offered me his hand. “Do you want to come with me?”

I allowed him to help me up, then let go of his hand. “Where are we going?” I kept my voice even and tamped down the excitement that filled me. This was not a time for play, and yet I could not stop the feelings of curiosity and attraction for Solomon that rose within me.

“To see who it is that has come, and to check on my father.” He led me toward the city gates as he spoke. “Then perhaps I will be free to look around this place.”

I said nothing as we walked, though I did not miss noticing the big man who followed us. “Who is that?” I pointed to him as we stopped near the huge stone gates.

“I cannot go anywhere without protection.” Solomon nodded to the guard, who stood just out of earshot. “My brother is seeking my father's life, and if he succeeds, I, my mother, and probably my brothers will forfeit ours as well.”

I gasped, horrified. “Aren't you afraid?” He spoke so matter-of-factly, as though he were telling me the color of the sky.

He looked at me then, and I saw the briefest hint of vulnerability, even fear, in his gaze. But he quickly masked the fear, took my hand again, and walked us closer to the newest visitors. “There is no point in fearing what we cannot know,” he said in that same calm voice.

But I did not believe he was as brave as he appeared.

We did not stay long at the gate once we saw that another of the king's allies had brought even more provisions than we had carried, and that Solomon's father was too busy to even notice his son.

“Later,” Solomon said as we walked away from the commotion, “when things settle down, I will introduce you to my father.”

“What should we do now?” I glanced at the guard following us.

Solomon traced my gaze and sighed. “You are used to being guarded?”

I nodded. “My father has many men to protect us.”

“Then you will not mind exploring with an escort?”

“Not at all.” I offered him a gentle smile, though I suspected he sensed my eagerness.

His cares seemed lighter as we walked. “Years ago,” he said, his tone taking on that of a talebearer, “this palace belonged to another man who sought my father's life.”

As he continued to tell the tale of King Saul and Michal and Jonathan and Ishbosheth, I think I fell in love with him.

We returned to the central fire several hours later and found it empty of the women and children, the seats now filled with soldiers. Solomon led me to the inner courtyard of the royal family's rooms
and found shelter beneath the overhanging limbs of a large terebinth tree.

“I have done enough of the talking, Naamah. Now you must tell me about yourself. What does a princess of Ammon do with her time?” He sat and leaned against the tree trunk, his hands folded behind his head.

I picked up a twig and twirled it in my hands. “My cousins learn to spin and weave and work colorful patterns in tiles.”

“My mother enjoys those same things.” He looked at me. “But you do not?”

I shook my head. “Abba hired Labir, my tutor, to teach me to read and write like a scribe.” I straightened, proud of my accomplishment. “He says it is fitting for me to learn these things, as I am the daughter of Ammon's ambassador.” I drew several letters in the dirt to show him.

“What does it say?”

I gave him a curious look. Our languages were not so very different. Surely a prince would know that. “Boy and girl,” I said, my tone nearly mocking him.

He extended a hand. “May I?”

I gave him the stick, and he drew in the dirt beside my words. “This is how we say the same in our tongue.”