Forbidden

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  “I can’t.” I swallowed past my parched throat, clenching my hands together. “What if I were to tell you that I love another man?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “No. This should never be.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. I wished we could talk inside the walls of the tent, where our voices would be muffled. But Leila was asleep inside, and I didn’t want my sister to hear this conversation.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true, Father.”

  “Who is he? Who is this boy you think you love?” my father demanded.

  I was sure that any moment my heart would leap straight through my chest.

  “Speak, Daughter. Do I know him?”

  “Yes, Father,” I whispered. I took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect after I told him. “It’s Kadesh.”

  “KADESH?” He reared back as though struck, and then violently shook his head. “The stranger!”

  “He is not a stranger, Father. He saved your life! The Edomites, remember—”

  “Silence, child. No, this cannot be.” He held up his hand, though his eyes told the truth: he did remember, and he’d trusted and confided in Kadesh. “Has this stranger betrayed my trust?” he asked, his voice low and intense. “Has he violated you, made you say these things to have his way?”

  “Never! He’s a good, honorable man. You know that yourself!”

  “But he’s not part of our tribe. We know nothing about his family, or his ways, or his beliefs.”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but”—I clutched the folds of my shawl, very cold and very afraid—“Kadesh loves me and I love him in return.” My father shook his head again, not looking at me. “I didn’t seek to love a stranger,” I continued, “but I’ve felt it now for nearly three months. We had a connection between us from the first day we met, even though I tried to banish it. And so has he.”

  “These things do not just happen. Is there some reason he wants to claim you, some scheme?” My father stroked his face, confusion tugging at his brow. “And yet, the stranger has shown nothing but loyalty. He helped us across the desert, forsook his own wealth and business.”

  I touched his arm, hope rising. “Father, for weeks I’ve tried to fight my feelings, but they only grow stronger.”

  “Has he told you he loves you in return?”

  I nodded. “A month ago. The night he left.”

  My father studied my face. “That does not bode well for him. How can a man leave the woman he professes to love? He shouldn’t have made promises, and then left.”

  “But you know that Kadesh was traveling on family business when he was injured, and needs to return to his uncle. He’s coming back for me. He gave me his vow.”

  “Jayden,” he said, his eyes softening. “Don’t let your innocence get in the way of reality. Many men have promised the same thing, never to be seen again.”

  I fought to stop the sudden, desperate tears. I hated the doubts he was trying to plant in my heart. “He wouldn’t lie, Father. And he gave me this bracelet as a promise of his love for me.” I showed him the anklet around my foot, which glittered in the hearth fire.

  My father groaned when he saw it, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t be taken in by gifts and flattery. Horeb is the right husband for you, and he’s willing to give a generous bride price.” I couldn’t believe my ears, or my father’s greed; that camels were more important than my fear of Horeb, or my dead heart toward him. “Besides, you know I can’t take back my promise.”

  I shook my head, frantic. “Is saving your honor worth more than my feelings?”

  Stunned silence followed and I instantly regretted what I’d said.

  “Enough!” The hobbled camels near the tent shifted in their sleep, grumbling at the sudden noise. My father lowered his voice, but it was strained with tension. “This is my final word. The marriage to Horeb must be fulfilled.”

  “But, Father!” I begged.

  “No! My contract with Abimelech is my honor. Kadesh is a stranger from a land I know nothing about. You have no dowry, and Abimelech and Horeb are willing to forgo that. Kadesh might appear as though his family has money, but I can’t be certain. And he left without saying a word to me about wanting you to be his wife. Or making any promises.”

  “But I know he intends to. He wanted to—he told me.” The words drowned in my throat. Too late, I realized that I shouldn’t have stopped Kadesh from speaking with my father about his intentions toward me.

  My father reached out to stroke my hair, and his voice turned wistful. “Even if he does return, it might be without any bride price at all. I can’t afford to wait for a promise that is only a dream. I’m sorry, Jayden. Perhaps the marriage to Horeb should be sooner. Once you’re married, you’ll forget Kadesh and these girlish dreams.”

  The bag of frankincense bumped against my back where I’d tied it into my shawl. My father wasn’t convinced Kadesh could provide a good bride price, but the frankincense proved otherwise.

  Opening my mouth, I abruptly closed it again. The spice was a dangerous possession. I had to tread carefully. Kadesh had told me to use the frankincense if I was in danger or desperate, but he trusted me to use it wisely.

  My father watched me curiously. “What is it?”

  I took a step backward, sobs choking my throat. “Nothing, Father.”

  Horeb wasn’t a thief, but if he could he’d demand the frankincense as part of my dowry. It was time to spend a few of those precious yellow nuggets before they were taken from me.

  I turned away from my father’s eyes. His words were meant to soothe me, but to marry Horeb before the summer was over sickened me. I staggered around the fire hearth to return to the tent. Kadesh would never be able to make it back that fast. Two thousand miles was an entire world away.

  My stomach heaved at the fear that I may only have a few weeks left before I was married, an imprisonment I could only escape by death.

  “Jayden,” my father called softly. “Please understand my concerns for you. I don’t want you to spend months or years waiting for the stranger, only to never see him again. Your mother would be so pleased and happy for you and Horeb. With him as tribal king, it is an even greater honor than we dreamed when you were a babe.” His voice grew sadder, and I sobbed when he invoked her name. “If Rebekah were still here, she would eagerly be sewing your wedding clothes. Now go back to bed and let’s forget our angry words.”

  Tears flowed over my face, mixing with the drizzle of rain. I wiped my mouth and tasted dirt on my lips. My shawl was damp and my toes chilled in the grass and mud. I would have to marry Horeb now, but a seed of rebellion began to grow in my belly. And after the confrontation with Horeb, who’d threatened me, I was afraid of what he would do to me.

  There was only one thing left to do. I had to go into the city of Tadmur and purchase protection.

  16

  Days later, I seized my chance. The day was hot and airless. Leila was gone somewhere with Falail, Aunt Judith was taking an afternoon rest, still worn out after the wedding, and Hakak was busy setting up her household. I rarely talked with my other cousins or old neighbors. They were engrossed with small children and endless cooking and weaving to furnish their tents.

  And my father and Abimelech were spending the day in raiding plans and strategy.

  I made my way through the winding, narrow paths of the oasis, a long, rectangular area with tents spread as far as I could see, probably two or three hundred of them baking in the humid heat after another rain we’d had the night before.

  Date palms shaded my head at first, but when I left the fertile oasis and continued on the road to Tadmur, it turned dry and dusty for another hour’s journey.

  I fingered the frankincense nuggets I’d buried deep in my pockets, loving the woodsy, pungent scent they released. Frankincense was like owning a secret treasure. After my confrontation with Horeb the night Kadesh left, my fear toward him grew daily. My kitchen knife wasn’t enough anymore, and my father would never be abl
e to afford to buy me a long dagger or even a short sword.

  I didn’t know what treachery Horeb would plan to ruin my reputation or what favors he might demand to earn my silence.

  Once I got through the city gates, I went straight to the marketplace.

  The stalls were crowded with people, squawking loose chickens, and youngsters running in and out of their mother’s skirts. I held back, walking through the maze of shops, looking for the weaponry market where one could buy not only knives and swords, but spears of every size, slingshots, and bows with sheaves of sharp-tipped arrows.

  At last I found several knife-and-blade shops in a row, spending a few minutes at each one inspecting their wares from a distance, as though I were just a casual observer. Finally I saw a knife that intrigued me and I pushed my way through the shoppers.

  Holding my breath, I ran a finger along the edge of the weapon lying on a spread of blue cloth. The sharp blade of the dagger glittered even in the dim light of the market shop.

  “Girl!” a harsh voice rang out.

  I jerked my hand back, pinching my finger on the knife’s edge. A drop of blood oozed and I stuck my finger in my mouth.

  “Bah!” the shopkeeper scolded, his scruffy beard wagging. “Now you’ll warn everyone away, telling them that my shop is dangerous.”

  I shook my head. “It was my fault, but do you have a bit of rag to bind it?”

  He sighed, leaning down to pick up a ragged piece of scrap cloth from a basket and thrusting it at me. “Now go on. Girls have no business in a weapons shop.”

  I serenely tied the rag around my finger, not moving.

  It was strange to be so calm even as I contemplated the purchase of a personal weapon.

  I sensed the power of it in a way I never had before. Owning something of value, the frankincense, gave me freedom and choice. The pale yellow-and-white nuggets were like coins, only better, much more rare—even rarer than gold.

  The shopkeeper roared again, throwing up his hands. He raised a hairy eyebrow and jabbed a finger at me. “Girls don’t buy daggers. I’ll get out my kitchen knives for you to look at if you’re determined to dawdle here.”

  “I already own one of those. I’m in the market for a dagger.” I picked up the knife I’d been looking at, ignoring his mirth as he fell onto a wooden stool. The knife was cool and smooth in my hand. I closed my fingers around the hilt, welcoming the lightness of it, the rounded edges of the simple handle. It fit my palm perfectly. I thrust my arm forward and the knife sliced the air easily. I felt a sense of immense power wash over me.

  There were other daggers in the shop, laid out in rows on linen cloth, two tables’ worth. Some of them were more beautiful than this one, knives stamped with etchings or detailed handles, but I couldn’t afford elegant or expensive.

  The man placed his meaty hands on the table’s edge and grinned, showing off stained and rotting teeth that only filled half his mouth. “And do you have money?”

  I glanced about to make sure no one was watching, and then opened my palm. “Would one of these suit your tastes?” I said boldly, showing a frankincense nugget.

  He gave a low whistle. “Now where did you get that?”

  “All you need to know is that it’s real.”

  He didn’t refute the validity of the pungent spice as the smell wafted to his nose. “But my knives are worth more than one little nugget.”

  “How many do you want?”

  “Eight pieces.”

  “The dagger is ordinary and simple,” I pointed out. “And the smallest one on the table.”

  He stroked his face. “But this little dagger is my sharpest, thinnest blade. Five is the lowest I can go.”

  I shook my head. “You are a thief. The knife isn’t worth more than two at the most. My father warned me about shops like yours.”

  The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes. “Is that so? Where’s your father now?”

  “He’s ill, sir, and sends me in his place,” I lied. “But I suppose you have so many customers you don’t need my business,” I said as though it made no difference to me. “I’ll go elsewhere. Good day.”

  Without waiting for a response, I ducked under the tent overhang and took several steps away, shading my eyes as though searching for the next knife merchant.

  “Girl!” the man said sharply. “Wait. I’ll make you a deal.”

  I turned back slowly, making sure my expression was indifferent.

  “Four nuggets.”

  “Two,” I countered.

  “Three. And that’s my final price.”

  I nodded. “Deal.”

  I opened my palm, filled with the largest three of the ten yellow nuggets Kadesh had given me.

  “All right, then.” His grubby hand reached out to snatch them up, but I held back, making him wait, staring him down.

  One by one I dropped the frankincense pieces into his outstretched hand, picking up the knife with my other hand at the same time before he could change his mind. Placing the dagger inside the band of cloth tied to my waist, I closed the folds of my shawl around it.

  Before he could speak again, I moved away, disappearing into the crowd.

  As I passed through the crowded market, I wondered if anyone could tell from my face what I’d just purchased. I wanted to gaze at the blade again, revel in the peace of mind it gave me. Briefly, I closed my eyes, dreaming of plunging the sharp, dagger-thin blade into Horeb’s heart if he tried to hurt me.

  Shouting children played sticks, whacking one another on the shins as they darted down the streets. Somebody bumped into me, trying to pass, and I stepped aside, too nervous to stay in Tadmur any longer. I was growing tired of the noise and commotion and just wanted to get back home. Dusk was beginning to stretch its long fingers across the roofs of the city, and it would be an hour’s walk back.

  As I made my way to the city gates, I daydreamed that Kadesh was at my side, his voice in my ear, his hand on my back. I wanted to entwine my fingers with his warm, strong, slender ones. I shook my head, knowing I had to stop doing this. If I indulged in this sort of fantasy every day, I’d be insane by the time Kadesh returned. Briskly, I moved forward again, stopping where Tadmur’s main road intersected the maze of the marketplace.

  Two old men eyed me as they sat in the shade of a palm playing Twenty Squares.

  “Girl,” one of them called, jiggling dice in his palm. “You’ll get the fever wearing that heavy cloth. It’s so hot you could roast a slab of lamb on the bricks of my porch.”

  I tried to ignore them, not wanting to engage in conversation, but I realized how conspicuous I must be, wearing a wool shawl in the heat. I was dripping with sweat, but I wouldn’t remove the shawl until I had a chance to hide the knife under my dress.

  The man’s companion rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers to urge his friend to shoot the dice. “Bah. Just one of those dirty desert people.”

  The first man let the dice fly across the board. He picked up his tokens to reinsert them into new spaces, and laughed, his gaze shifting away from me.

  This was why I hated city life. Perhaps I was poor, but I wouldn’t trade my life for theirs, not for a hundred gold pieces. Villages were dirty, noisy, and overcrowded; garbage in the streets, the rank smell of outdoor latrines poisoning the air. It was so completely different from the cleanliness of the desert, the solitude of the sky and mountains, and the utter freedom to do and go wherever you wanted. It was a hard life, but I wouldn’t trade it for Tadmur or Damascus or Babylon.

  Sucking my water bag dry, I trudged toward the public wells. The marketplace crowds were thick and clogged, the place busy with last-minute shopping before the evening meal.

  My shawl was getting heavier, the late afternoon scorching and oppressive, but as I made my way through the throngs of people, I looked up and my skin prickled. The Temple of Ashtoreth stood before me, rising up on its mound, its circling walls and gold gates growing immense the closer I got. Astonishment at its beauty overtook my senses.
I could see immediately why Leila was so drawn to it.

  At the base of the temple, a series of tiered, glazed steps ran upward on three sides, coated with an indigo color as if a splash of the deepest ocean had been painted here. On top of the mound sat the square edifice itself, the sanctuary of the goddess.

  Even though I couldn’t read or write more than a few simple letters, I recognized the Akkadian word for the goddess’s name written across the top of the temple columns. Ashtoreth. Seeing it there in bold symbols gave me a sudden chill.

  The temple structure itself was a pure, glittering white. Four columns rose against a perfect, dusky-blue sky as the sun lowered. The temple’s beauty was in stark contrast to the one-story mud houses and shops in the rest of Tadmur. The road directly surrounding the Temple of Ashtoreth was smooth and hard packed; no swirling dust and beggars here.

  The vast temple compound with its high walls stretched down the main avenue as far as I could see, where it connected with the Temple of Ba’al.

  For a moment, I rested at the well, watching the flock of women bringing up their buckets, chattering in the late afternoon about supper and children and chores. Two of them were discussing the autumn festival scheduled soon at the Temple of Ashtoreth, and my ears perked up.

  “Good crops this year,” said a woman with long braids hanging down her back.

  “We had more rain than usual, but now it will dry out over the next month,” her friend added, wearing a red headscarf tight around her forehead. “My husband said I could take two bushels of melons and apricots to the temple to thank Ashtoreth for a good harvest.”

  “‘Then come right home,’ my husband told me,” the first woman said with a laugh, deepening her voice to mimic her husband.

  “And why would he be worried?” the second woman said, lifting her eyebrows to tease.

  The first woman lowered her voice, glancing about, her braids swinging. “Don’t you wish you could see the gold and silks of the priestesses?”

  “Your eyes would burn out of your sockets,” her friend laughed, shoulders shaking. “Those priestesses don’t wear anything underneath their silks when they dance for the men.”