Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Taking a deep breath, Shoshannah obeyed, walking through the gate with her companions.

  Five

  SHOSHANNAH PRAYED she wouldn’t stumble as she entered the huge, crowded courtyard. Yelahlah walked beside her with little Rakal, but Mithqah was clutching Shoshannah’s arm, almost holding her back. Hissings and whispers came from the haughty men and women standing on either side of them.

  Shoshannah almost forgot her fear. She had never imagined that so much fine wool and linen and so many gold-and-jeweled ornaments existed in the whole earth. Not to mention face paints. Some of the women’s garishly painted eyes and lips reminded her of poor Khiysh—though Khiysh might actually surpass them for beauty.

  From behind her, Perek growled, “When our Queen of the Heavens appears with her son, you will kneel.”

  Queen of the Heavens? Shoshannah almost laughed aloud. What did the Most High think of such a title as He looked down upon her? To Mithqah she muttered, “No doubt she can tell the sun, moon, and stars to bow to her as well!”

  “Not to mention the wind,” Mithqah agreed. “Ozniy and Kal would have a few things to say about that.”

  If they’d been alone, Shoshannah knew they would have giggled. Their secret joke gave her courage. It also made her forget to kneel.

  She stared as a shockingly colorless woman with light curls, richly painted and bejeweled, entered the courtyard, followed by a handsome young man and fawning, tunic-clad servants. Instantly all those gathered, high and low, dropped to their knees. And all, except Yelahlah and Mithqah, touched their foreheads to the pavings. Shoshannah alone stood, incredulous.

  A whipping sound cut through the air behind her, and something struck the backs of her legs, felling her. She landed on the bricks, bruising her knees and catching herself with her hands, scraping her palms painfully. Infuriated, she sat up straight and turned, glaring at her attacker, Perek. He brandished his spear at her.

  You must truly hate my mother, Shoshannah thought, enraged. Facing forward, she saw that the pale, beautiful woman, now seated on a high, fleece-covered bench, was scowling at her. No doubt she was Sharah; the resemblance to Keren was striking but marred by the woman’s exceptional pallor and self-importance.

  “Bow, child,” Sharah commanded.

  “Only because you are the sister of my mother, and we are in your own household,” Shoshannah said. And, accompanied by Mithqah and the encumbered Yelahlah, she bowed. When she sat up again, she noticed that the handsome young man seated near Sharah was studying her warily, as if she were a deadly, peculiar thing. She raised an eyebrow at him, bemused. He must be Sharah’s son. But the Queen-of-the-Heavens Sharah was talking, her voice low and hard.

  “If you speak so rudely again, I will have you beaten. Do you understand, girl?”

  Perfectly. Shoshannah nodded stiffly. Mithqah edged closer to Shoshannah’s right, clearly reminding her to behave. To Shoshannah’s left, little Rakal was squirming and grunting, trying to escape Yelahlah’s grasp.

  When Rakal yowled in frustration, Sharah said, “You, woman holding the child, who are you?”

  Respectful, hushing Rakal by giving him her new bracelet, Yelahlah said, “I am Yelahlah, a daughter of your own brother Eliyshama. Our Shoshannah, here, has been my guest. Please, let us return to our families; we’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Oh, but you have,” Sharah said, her sarcasm making Yelahlah stiffen visibly. “You’ve inflicted yourselves upon us. Now we must decide what to do with you.”

  A commotion at the gate made everyone turn. A dark man, garbed in a leopard-skin mantle, showy gold ornaments, and a fine linen tunic, swept into the courtyard, his head held high. He was accompanied by a plain, dignified woman, who gazed at Shoshannah, her brown eyes watchful and calm.

  But the leopard-skin-draped man seethed. “I’ve heard the news. This is her daughter?”

  “She is, my lord,” Master Ra-Anan said politely, inclining his head. “We are discussing what should be done with her.”

  “Her mother should suffer for her, as I have suffered for my son,” the man said. His obsidian-black eyes glittered as he knelt near Sharah, next to Ra-Anan. Everything about this man alarmed Shoshannah; she sensed he had the power to fulfill whatever threats he might make—and he had less self-control than Ra-Anan.

  “That must be Father Kuwsh,” Yelahlah whispered to Shoshannah nervously, clasping Rakal in her lap.

  Shoshannah nodded and focused on the conversation, feeling ill.

  Master Ra-Anan was speaking again. “Do we keep her in the Great City then?”

  “Yes!” Kuwsh was vehement. The self-possessed woman beside him shook her head, but he paid her no heed. “She stays.”

  Seated in her high place, Sharah frowned. “Very well, if it pleases you, my lord. But I want her kept out of my sight. And she will have no lands or household of her own—nothing that might give her any power here.”

  “Of course,” Master Ra-Anan said politely. “But what about the death order? Should it apply to her as it did to her mother? I’m not willing to risk my men’s lives for her.”

  “Nor am I,” Shoshannah announced, catching a stern look from Ra-Anan. “That death order was a torment to my mother; she still grieves that it was ever—”

  “As you wish,” Sharah interrupted. “The death order no longer exists for you, or for your mother. No one will die for touching you.” She nodded at Perek, who was still kneeling behind Shoshannah. “Slap her.”

  Perek stood and bowed, then walked around to Shoshannah. She looked up at him, feeling all the blood ebb from her face. He smiled coolly—and then gave her a ferocious slap that sent her reeling against Mithqah. Her left ear stung and hummed with the force of his blow; the whole side of her face burned.

  “Shoshannah!” Mithqah’s voice trembled, edging toward hysteria, but she helped Shoshannah to sit up again.

  As she was trying to steady her spinning head, Shoshannah listened—through her right ear—to Sharah asking, “What about those two women and the child?”

  “Send them away,” Kuwsh said. “Let them return to their families and tell Keren what has happened to her.”

  He wants I’ma to come here so he can kill her! Horrified, Shoshannah begged the shocked Yelahlah, “Tell everyone to stay away from here, please! I’ll escape eventually, Yelahlah; tell them I will! Mithqah…” She looked at her friend, desperate, her voice rising. “Don’t let anyone come after me; I mean it! I don’t want anyone to die—”

  “Oh, heavens,” Sharah said loudly, cutting through Shoshannah’s panic. “She sounds too much like her mother. Perek, shut her mouth.”

  Shoshannah ducked, trying to ward off Perek. Instead of striking her, however, he tore her quiver of arrows off her shoulder and dropped it, then snatched her arm and twisted it into her back, forcing her to sit up. Streaks of fiery pain shot through her arm and shoulder, passing into numbness. Then Perek grabbed her chin, pulling her head back hard. Shoshannah winced, sweating, struggling to breathe.

  “Say one more word and I’ll go after your little friend again,” Perek muttered. “Perhaps both of them—and the child.”

  Shoshannah kept still. Even when servants took Yelahlah, Rakal, and the distraught Mithqah away, she didn’t utter a sound. But she couldn’t prevent her tears.

  When they were gone, Ra-Anan said, “Perhaps it would be best if my wife, Zeva’ah, took her into our household.”

  Sharah agreed with an indifferent wave of her hand.

  Now the quiet, dignified woman beside Kuwsh stood. After bowing to Kuwsh, she looked over at the two lovely, graceful women behind Ra-Anan. “I will accompany you.”

  “Perek, go with them,” Ra-Anan commanded. But the order seemed needless to Shoshannah; Perek was gripping her arm as if he would never release her again.

  Sharah’s son, Adoniyram, stared at the brown-furred quiver of arrows lying abandoned upon the courtyard pavings. The girl was completely uncivilized.

  Uncivilized? No, she
wouldn’t have cared about the lives of others if she were truly uncivilized. Perhaps half tamed was a better description. Or half wild?

  But most interesting to observe was the effect this young woman had upon Kuwsh, Master Ra-Anan, and his own mother. Kuwsh longed to destroy her for revenge. Ra-Anan clearly regarded her as a dangerous nuisance. And his mother detested her for trying to protect the lives of others—which was a decent trait in the girl and a loathsome reaction from his mother.

  If Shoshannah was exactly the same as her mother, then Adoniyram was forced to conclude that the Lady Keren was honorable. And if she was actually honorable…

  No. But… could my Great-King Father’s murder have been justified?

  Adoniyram recoiled inwardly. This new thought was contrary to everything he’d been told about the Lady Keren. If she was not a vile, deceitful, seducing traitor, then he had been lied to for his entire life. Which, knowing my family, is possible.

  He watched as his lovely, spoiled mother and Kuwsh and Ra-Anan discussed the new additions to the tower—which had been the main purpose of their meeting today. But now this half-wild girl had disrupted everything. Particularly Adoniyram’s ability to concentrate on ordinary matters such as the building of the tower.

  Focusing on the abandoned brown-furred quiver again, Adoniyram thought, I will learn the truth, Shoshannah. And if you are deceitful, then I will insist that you and your traitor-mother be punished. If not, then I will deal with your enemies for lying to me.

  Perek lowered Shoshannah’s arm, allowing her to walk properly and breathe more easily, but he gripped her wrist so cruelly that she couldn’t extend her fingers without pain. She longed to promise him that she would behave—for now—if only he would loosen his grip. He won’t believe me, she thought miserably. I’ma, what did you do to make this Perek hate you so?

  Humiliated, Shoshannah didn’t lift her head or look at the citizens on either side. She trudged through the streets after Ra-Anan’s wife, Zeva’ah; her graceful but aloof daughter; and the dignified, big-boned woman who was apparently Kuwsh’s wife.

  Their destination was a low, sprawling brick residence, enclosed by a high mud-washed wall. At first glance, the residence appeared to be modest. But as Shoshannah followed the other women inside—with Perek still twisting her arm—she was amazed by the beautiful mural-painted walls, the gleaming copper ornaments, fine baskets, exquisitely crafted wooden chests, various types of chairs, and the colorful accents of scattered fleeces, cushions, and gauzy hangings of rare cloth.

  “Perek, release her,” Zeva’ah said, as if speaking to a child, “but stay near. If she makes any trouble, we’ll call you.”

  Obedient, Perek went outside, giving Shoshannah a last threatening glance.

  When he was gone, Shoshannah turned toward the three women, who were all studying her quietly. Zeva’ah’s gaze was subtly critical, her daughter’s reserved. Kuwsh’s wife was stolid, her broad, polished-brown face unmoving.

  At last, Zeva’ah exhaled. “You smell like a horse.”

  “I’ve been traveling,” Shoshannah explained, feeling like a small child receiving a scolding.

  “Demamah,” Zeva’ah said to her watchful daughter, “tell the servants to bring water to the bathing room, and food and drink for the Lady Achlai. Follow me, child.” Zeva’ah said the word child crisply, unpleasant behind her courtesy.

  While Demamah hurried off to speak to the servants, Shoshannah followed Zeva’ah through a passage to a secluded brick and bitumen-sealed room. The Lady Achlai followed unobtrusively. Zeva’ah eyed the other woman, then gestured toward a short wooden bench, as if resigned to her presence.

  Why isn’t she more welcoming toward Kuwsh’s wife? Shoshannah wondered. Although Achlai didn’t seem to require much attention.

  To Shoshannah, Zeva’ah said, “If you’re going to stay here, you will keep yourself clean and well-groomed, beginning now. Get those clothes off.”

  Aware of Achlai’s impassive scrutiny, Shoshannah looked away, self-consciously unpinning her gray cloak. Zeva’ah took the cloak as if it were slimy and repulsive. When a flushed, sharp-faced maidservant crept into the bathing room carrying a clay water vessel, Zeva’ah said, “Put that down, Ormah. Then take this and burn it.”

  Startled, Shoshannah protested, “But that’s my cloak!”

  “It stinks as you do,” Zeva’ah said, unperturbed. “And it’s probably crawling with bugs.”

  “It isn’t,” Shoshannah argued in distress. “My I’ma combed and spun that wool, and I’ma-Naomi and I’ma-Annah and I’ma-Chaciydah helped her to weave it and to bind the edges—you can’t burn it, please!”

  Zeva’ah stared at Shoshannah, clearly willing her to submit.

  From her place on the small bench, Achlai said, “I will take the cloak, Zeva’ah. If it’s infested, I will have it burned. If not, I will be sure it is cleaned.”

  “Thank you,” Shoshannah sighed, grateful.

  Achlai nodded and set the cloak nearby but said nothing more. The flushed maidservant scurried away empty-handed.

  Other servants were entering and leaving the room now, bringing more water, herbs, garments, oils, coarse fibers, combs, and—to Shoshannah’s concern—face paints. Demamah also reappeared and sidled into a corner near Achlai, offering her a drink and some tiny wheat cakes. As soon as everything had been gathered, Zeva’ah pulled the thick curtains across the door. While Shoshannah undressed, Zeva’ah frowned at the soft leather leggings Shoshannah wore beneath her tunic. “I suppose those make sense if you ride horses everywhere. But I wonder at your mother’s judgment in apparel.”

  Don’t say anything, Shoshannah scolded herself, while the Lady Achlai silently gathered her clothes, and the hidden knife, as if she were a servant. Hush and be glad your clothes are safe!

  She was also glad for the scrubbing. Between the dousings of water, the astringent nose-wrinkling herbs, the coarse fibers, and the scented oil, she felt almost renewed. Though she could feel her welts, bruises, and sore muscles, all aching and burning from head to foot—reminders of that terrible Perek.

  During her last rinsing, Shoshannah watched, fascinated, as the water bubbled and gurgled down a clay pipe, which apparently drained beneath the brick floor. Then she realized that the women were staring at her. Zeva’ah looked scornful. Clearly she considered Shoshannah ignorant. Shoshannah longed to ask where the water had gone, but she didn’t want to confirm Zeva’ah’s low opinion of her.

  Wordless, Zeva’ah handed Shoshannah some linen undergarments, then a tawny, one-shouldered woolen robe. Shoshannah donned them, still feeling naked when she was fully clothed. Someone coughed outside the curtained doorway, and Zeva’ah called out, “Enter.”

  The flushed maidservant, Ormah, entered timidly. “The Lady Sharah has sent word that she will take the evening meal with your household tonight. And she will be accompanied by the Young Lord.”

  Zeva’ah pressed her lips together, then sighed. “Send someone to the market to buy more fruit and meat and bread. Tell the cook to season the meat with good oil, herbs, and salt. Also, be sure the water and drinks are cooling.”

  As Shoshannah combed her wet hair, Zeva’ah muttered, “I suppose she’s changed her mind as usual and wants to speak with you about something.”

  Shoshannah decided it would be wise to remain silent. She was uncomfortably aware of Achlai and Demamah both still watching her. In the Tribe of Ashkenaz, the women were always laughing, talking, and enjoying themselves when they gathered for bathing or for any sort of work. Here, however, there was no sense of companionship among the women—not even between Demamah and her mother. Shoshannah glanced at Demamah, almost pitying her.

  At a sign from Zeva’ah, Demamah held the face paints as Zeva’ah mixed them with an oily concoction. The older woman applied lampblack to Shoshannah’s eyes and red ochre to her lips with remarkably thin, delicate wands of wood. When another servant coughed just outside the doorway and announced that the Lord Kuwsh would ta
ke his evening meal with Master Ra-Anan’s household—in addition to fetching the Lady Achlai—Zeva’ah shut her eyes. Then she stared at Shoshannah, clearly blaming her for disrupting her life.

  “Forgive me,” Shoshannah murmured, unable to prevent the apology from escaping her lips, but Zeva’ah only frowned.

  Kal, Shoshannah thought suddenly, longing for him, dreading the ordeal of meeting that Queen-of-the-Heavens Sharah and Lord Kuwsh again tonight. How I wish you were here! And how glad I am that you’re not! I give you my word that I’m going to escape this place or die trying.

  Achlai watched the girl, Shoshannah, her emotions mixed. The lingering grief she felt for the death of Nimr-Rada, her Great-King son, now mingled with pity for this child with the vivid slap print on her cheek. Surely she must feel as if she had stumbled into a snake pit, with all the snakes agitated and flaring at her. And my own husband is one of those snakes.

  “Forgive me,” the girl had said to Zeva’ah.

  But do I forgive you? Achlai wondered silently. Certainly I must; it’s not your fault that my Nimr-Rada was killed. And it wasn’t your mother’s fault, though she longed for his death. Still, the pain is there if I consider it too much. Forgive me, Most High.

  In the merchant Tso’bebaw’s uncomfortably crowded home, Mithqah slumped down before the flickering hearth, refusing to touch her food. Tso’bebaw’s wife, Peletah, alternately fretted and wept, trying to console the grieving Mithqah. “I’m sure they won’t hurt her; she hasn’t committed a crime.”

  Mithqah lifted her head. “But how can I leave her here? She’d never leave me if I were in trouble.”

  “She begged us to warn our family not to come—and we must do so,” Yelahlah murmured, caressing the now-clean Rakal, asleep beside her. “I’m sure that if Shoshannah can escape, she will. Also, it will be easier for her to escape if she doesn’t have to worry that you’re here waiting for her.”