The Judgment

by D. J. Niko

  Solomon ignored it and searched for her lips. He had made his choice.

  Nicaule pitied him for his weakness. But it was of no consequence to her. Even as she feigned passion, she plotted her return to her homeland—and to the only man she loved. She would leave at first light.

  Zadok lay awake that night, consumed by the imminent danger. Hadad and his band of malcontents were on the move. According to Judahite informants in the desert, they had left Edom and were moving north through the Wilderness of Zin. It was not inconceivable that they would be in Jerusalem by dawn.

  He had tried to warn Solomon, but his urgent pleas had gone unanswered. In all the years Zadok had served Solomon, he had never encountered such brazen disregard. What could be more important than the security of the state?

  He knew the answer, though he was loath to accept it. That the king put the love of a woman ahead of matters of defense—the safety of his own people—was unthinkable. Ire churned inside him. He closed his eyes and implored the Lord to grant him equanimity.

  The hard knock on the door shattered the peace of his meditation. The breath of his son Ahimaaz rose and fell at the other end of the one-room hovel Zadok called home. Quietly he rose and went to the door.

  He spoke through the slats. “State your purpose.”

  “It is I, Zadok. Let me inside.”

  The king? Coming in the middle of the night to the priest’s house? He flinched at the improbability of it. He opened the door. Solomon stood on the other side of his threshold, dressed in a simple gray tunic and covered with a pauper’s mantle. “My lord. This is highly unusual.”

  Solomon pushed his way inside. Zadok closed the door and felt for the oil lamp in the dark. It was almost empty but he lit it anyway, releasing a fragile light. He scrutinized his visitor. Despite his humble appearance, Solomon was alert, strong, confident—every bit a monarch.

  He lowered his threadbare hood onto his shoulders, revealing a tousled mass of black curls. It was unlike him to be so ungroomed. It was as if he was trying to disguise himself. “Do you know why I have come here, Zadok?”

  “Perhaps to explain why you ignored my calls earlier this night?” Zadok’s rebuke was harsher than he intended. “I had come to warn you. Hadad the Edomite is planning a strike against you.”

  “And you do not think I know this?”

  “How is it you know? We got word only while you were—” He held his tongue.

  “You surprise me, Zadok. You should have more faith in your king.”

  Zadok leaned on his cane and released a long stream of breath. “Forgive me.”

  “When word came that Hadad had returned from Egypt, I installed a mole in the Edomite palace at Sela. He reports on Hadad’s every move. I have known since yesterday Hadad’s men are in the desert of Zin making their way to Jerusalem.”

  “If you know all this, why have you not taken action?”

  “I have no intention of mobilizing an army, if that is what you are asking. My tactics are different.” Solomon glanced at the sleeping Ahimaaz, then lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I know what Hadad plans. He means to go through the old Jebusite water shaft and ambush the city. Perhaps he thinks it ironic to enter Jerusalem in the same way my father did so long ago. The only difference is, he will not succeed as my father did.”

  Zadok nodded. The king was a step ahead of him. He should have known. “Then you have fortified the water shaft.”

  “Benaiah and his mighty men are camped inside the shaft, lying in wait for the Edomites. When Hadad and his men arrive in the city, likely under cover of night, nothing will stir. They will believe we have no defenses and they have the advantage. They will not expect a counterattack. But that is what will await them, for I have instructed Benaiah to fall upon the Edomites and leave no one alive.”

  “But, my lord, if Benaiah is in the shaft, who will guard you?”

  “I have thought of this, too. I intend to leave Jerusalem.”

  Zadok started. “The city will be under attack and you will . . . flee?”

  “You have not heard me, old friend. This will be a swift blow. Hadad will not be given the chance to storm Jerusalem. He will come to death at Kidron, well outside of the city.”

  “Even so, why leave?”

  Solomon hesitated. “There is something I must tend to.”

  “Something more important than this?” He gestured toward the city.

  “The pharaoh is gravely ill; a lung ailment, according to the missives. Berechiah has the gift of healing, the power to restore Psusennes to health. I will take him with me to Tanis.”

  Zadok ran a hand through his coarse, silver-threaded hair. “My lord, this is folly. You would have to travel through Zin. With Hadad mounting an offensive through the wilderness, the route to Egypt is not safe.”

  “I am not taking the wilderness road. My caravan will travel the Way of the Sea. The men are saddling the camels now. We will leave before dawn.”

  Zadok stared at the king. It was obvious his decision had been made and no man, not even the one he trusted most, could hold sway over him. A sudden premonition needled his gut. Perhaps this wasn’t about Psusennes and his life-threatening lung ailment. “The queen . . . Is she going with you?”

  “She is going but not with me. She leaves at first light. Eldad is driving the caravan to Tanis.”

  His suspicion was correct. Either Solomon could not bear to be away from Nicaule’s side, or he did not trust her to go to Tanis alone. But why travel separately? “I don’t understand. Why not have a woman arrive with her husband?”

  “I needed to create a distraction. Nicaule’s caravan will go through Zin and likely encounter Hadad. That will slow him down and allow me to leave the city undetected.”

  Zadok’s eyes widened. “But you are sending your wife and your men to their deaths.”

  Solomon shook his head. “Hadad will not harm Nicaule. She is Egyptian. He has pledged loyalty to the pharaohs he served—one of whom is her father. He would violate that vow on pain of death.”

  “You are using her as a decoy.”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  “Even if you are not worried about what he might do to her, you should worry about what she might say to him. Search your heart: do you have enough faith in her to believe she would not betray you?”

  “The hour grows late.” Solomon raised the mantle over his head. “I must go. The men wait for me.”

  Zadok took hold of the king’s wrist as he was moving toward the door. Solomon looked at him, puzzled. “Tell me this, Solomon.” He dispensed with the honorifics. He wanted to ask this question man to man. “Does she know you are going to Tanis?”

  He pulled away from his grip but did not break eye contact. “No. She does not.”

  Zadok understood. Solomon’s trip to Tanis was not a healing mission at all. It was his way of ensuring Nicaule did not stray—or catching her if she did. Such was his obsession with her. He wanted to spew a litany of warnings but decided against it; Solomon would deny it anyway.

  As if reading Zadok’s thoughts, Solomon said, “It is for her safety that I do this. She cannot be forced to concede what she does not know.”

  “We can convince ourselves of anything. But the Lord knows what is in our hearts.”

  “My heart is pure before God, as is my love for her. Do not doubt this.” He nodded toward the bed. “Wake Ahimaaz and tell him to meet me at the gates. He will ride with us to Egypt.”

  Solomon placed a gentle hand on Zadok’s shoulder, as if to reassure him, and took his leave.

  At the sound of the door slamming shut, Ahimaaz bolted upright, sweeping a khopesh from under his pillow. Zadok’s youngest son had mastered the art of the blade. Solomon knew this and wanted him by his side.

  “That was the king,” Zadok said. “He has called for you to accompany him on a journey.”

  Wasting no words, Ahimaaz rose swiftly and gathered himself for his appointed task.

  Z
adok glanced beyond the window, watching Solomon as he walked toward the gates. His hooded figure grew smaller and smaller until it was consumed by the darkness.

  14

  On the fourth night of the journey out of Jerusalem, the caravan carrying Nicaule Tashere to Tanis reached the Wilderness of Zin. The camel jostled its passenger as it tried to gain footing on the rocky ground.

  Nicaule removed the long head veil that shielded her identity and gazed at the passing landscape. The caravan had entered a passage between two flat-topped mounds, and the camels were treading on a dried-up riverbed. Every ripple frozen into the crags over centuries of battering winds was magnified by the pewter glow of the waxing moon.

  The stones had stories to tell. It was through these lands that the Hebrews passed hundreds of years ago, searching for a new place to scratch out an existence after the exodus from Egypt. They wandered through here for forty years, it was said, walking in circles, unable to find their way. It served them right, she thought. How ungrateful they were for the eleemosynary asylum they had been granted by the Egyptians. When they were made to work, they cried slavery when in fact they were earning their keep. That was how it was with inferior peoples: they always wanted something for nothing.

  She sat back on the cedar saddle seat, made specially for her use by the carpenters of Solomon’s kingdom, and listened to the chorus of crackles as the dry limestone crumbled beneath the weight of laden camels. It was a day’s crossing, perhaps two if the beasts couldn’t find brush for sustenance, into the Wilderness of Shur: the Egyptian border.

  Her heartbeat quickened. She gazed at the indigo sky embroidered with stardust and considered the flawlessness of her plan. She would pose as the concerned daughter, there to nurse her father to health. She would tend to him day and night and wait until his army captain called for audience. When a pharaoh was ill, it was customary for his top officers to assemble by his bedside rather than the throne room. Sooner or later, Shoshenq would come—and she would surprise him.

  She imagined the look on his face when he’d encounter her after all those years. Though she’d had scores of perfumes made for her since becoming Solomon’s queen, she would wear her old, familiar scent, the one that made Shoshenq delirious with delight. She would wear his favorite dress, a one-shoulder, figure-hugging sheath of white linen woven with golden thread that shimmered like the stars. She had not worn it since she left Egypt but kept it hidden in a trunk, waiting for that moment.

  She smiled. This was a seduction she would savor.

  One of Solomon’s officers, Eldad, rode next to her. “My lady, it is my duty to inform you there are two routes up ahead. One will quicken the crossing into Egypt but may be more treacherous. It is said there are bandits in that part of the desert.”

  “And the other route?”

  “It is longer by a moon.”

  “Are your men armed?”

  “They are, my lady. But we do not number many. It is risky.”

  Nicaule scanned the retinue. They numbered a score, all able-bodied and alert men with khopeshes and double-edged bronze swords tied around their waists. None wore armor; in an attack, that would be a disadvantage.

  “My lady,” Eldad prodded. “What will you have us do?”

  She thought for a moment. She longed to reach Tanis as quickly as possible. But she also knew attacks by desert bandits could be deadly. To have come this far only to be robbed, hurt, or worse by outlaws was a risk she was not willing to take.

  The short route Eldad proposed was known as the badlands. Nicaule knew it well. Because of its hostile terrain, it had been used historically by Egyptian soldiers as a hideout when mounting an offensive into Canaan land. Boulders were strewn throughout, making it difficult to know where danger lurked.

  If bandits hid among the boulders, an attack was likely—and that would no doubt cripple the caravan. But such a confrontation had not happened in years. The strong relations between Solomon’s Jerusalem and her father’s Tanis had kept lawlessness at bay.

  She clutched the lapis lazuli amulet that hung between her breasts. It was carved in the shape of a heart for her great-grandmother, a member of the Theban elite, and passed down to the women of subsequent generations for magical protection. It was said to symbolize the source of earthly life and to grant the power to choose between good and evil. Nicaule always wore it during long journeys or when she needed the grace of the gods.

  The image of Shoshenq’s face floated into her mind’s eye. If all went well, taking the alternative route would give her one more day with her beloved. She looked to the sky for the Ba of her ancestors, whose souls were thought to take the shape of stars. She had hoped for a message, but the clouds, hanging motionlessly over the high heavens, obscured the full celestial panorama that so often held the answers.

  Heat radiated from the smooth surface of the talisman into her palm. She took it as an omen. She turned to Eldad. “We will go through the badlands.”

  The officer’s face tightened, but he said nothing. He rode to the assembly of men and uttered a string of clipped instructions before taking the lead. The caravan fell into place and followed the prescribed route.

  Nicaule leaned back on her saddle seat and exhaled slowly. She felt a pang of doubt but willed it away. She was convinced she had made the right choice.

  The distant howl of a jackal startled her out of deep slumber. Nicaule sat upright, unsure for a moment where she was. She rubbed her eyes, coaxing the world into focus. As the fog that had enveloped her mind lifted, she heard the howl again.

  The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. That was not the cry of a jackal.

  Eyes wide, she looked about her. Something was happening up ahead, but it was concealed behind a cloud of silver-hued dust.

  “Eldad,” she called out. When she received no answer, she took up the crop tied to the saddle and whipped her camel’s hind quarters. The burdened beast groaned and picked up the pace with Nicaule guiding it toward the dust cloud.

  As she rode closer to the skirmish, she heard the urgent cries of men and the clashing of swords. Warm blood rushed to the pit of her stomach. What Eldad had warned of had come to pass.

  A frightened camel without a rider raced out of the cloud, hurtling toward her. Before Nicaule had a chance to maneuver her camel out of the way, the two beasts collided and crashed to the ground. The impact forced the wind out of her lungs.

  Her field of vision was filled with the tawny hide of the animal whose neck was sprawled across her chest. She struggled to regain her breath. She felt hands reach under her armpits and drag her out of the trap. She rolled to her side, clutching her aching ribs and heaving.

  A man walked within view. She saw his legs first, great hairy stumps culminating in sandal-bound feet so dusty and hard-skinned it appeared he had been walking the desert for eons. She lifted her gaze and saw him: a stout, dark-faced stranger whose wiry black beard could not hide the scowl that had overtaken his countenance.

  Squinting, he studied her. “I know your face.”

  She wiped the dust from her mouth with the back of her hand. “I cannot say the same.”

  He offered a hand. She did not take it, using every vestige of strength to stand on her own. “Who are you?”

  “The name is Hadad.” He nodded toward the east. “I come from Edom.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And you are from the Egyptian court. I have seen you. You were younger then.”

  Nicaule suddenly remembered his face. Could it be? She looked about her. The Israelites had either fallen or were cowering beneath the Edomites’ swords. It appeared Hadad’s men were well trained in military tactics, which was consistent with her recollection. She turned to their leader. “When were you in Egypt, Hadad of Edom?”

  “I grew up an Egyptian. I was taken in by the pharaoh Siamun and raised in his court. I learned the ways of the sword and, upon Siamun’s death, fought for his successor.”

  Nicaule’s memory had not failed her. Th
e man she remembered was a brooding foreigner with a taste for blood and a master’s command of spear and sword. “Siamun’s successor,” she said, “is my father.”

  The whites of Hadad’s eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared. He looked like an animal in attack mode. He took a step toward her. “You are the one. The one who married David’s son.” At the utterance of David’s son, spittle escaped from his mouth and dribbled down his beard.

  The glint in his eyes terrified her. He obviously had a grudge for the Israelites—and perhaps those who associated with them. “I married Solomon at the behest of my father. It was a marriage of political convenience.”

  His face relaxed slightly. She took it as permission to continue. “My heart belongs in Egypt. I journey there this night. I pray you will let me go.”

  Hadad waved to one of his men. The Edomite approached, leading an Israelite prisoner by the hair. The battered Israelite stumbled and fell to his knees, but the Edomite pulled him upright and held a khopesh to his throat.

  Hadad spat at the prisoner’s feet. “Judahite scum.” He turned to Nicaule. “Let’s see where your allegiance really lies.”

  At his leader’s nod, the Edomite pulled his knife arm back and, with a primal scream, swung at the Israelite’s throat.

  Warm blood sprayed on Nicaule’s face and stained her dress. She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the shock of seeing a man executed. Before that moment, brutality was, to her, a foreign concept. She had heard the stories but could never fully grasp how cruel men could be. She stared at the Israelite’s severed head, eyes still open and blinking, his blood watering the arid soil of the wilderness. She bent at the waist and retched.

  “Kill the others,” she heard Hadad say. “You. Princess. Look at me.”

  She slowly looked up. He was leaning over her, his coarse black curls hanging around his plump face. As much as she loathed him, she knew she’d have to play his game to stay alive. “Why did you do it?”

  “Revenge.” He looked away, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “Long ago, David’s men came to my father’s village in the middle of the night. I still remember the stench of the smoke from their fires and their foul cries: ‘Kill the king!’ A Judahite who called himself Joab dragged my father and mother out of their palace and smashed their heads on the stones over and over. He beat them to death before my eyes.” He turned to Nicaule, wild-eyed. “I was a boy!”