Angels at the Gate

by T. K. Thorne

  But this cannot go on indefinitely. Someone who knows the slaves and what their duties are is sure to expose me. So … what am I doing? Can I return to the waiting room without attracting notice?

  At that moment, I stop, unable to believe what I am seeing and forgetting I am supposed to look submissively at the floor.

  I have slipped into a room where the floor is patterned with small stones and an elegantly clothed man sits in a high-backed chair of carved wood. No one needs to tell me this is the king of Babylon, Samsu-iluna, the son of Hammurabi. Dark, oiled curls of his beard churn down his chest, and a tight cap worked in gold threads sits atop his head. His feet rest on a small cedar chest carved with a crescent and five-pointed star—a chest I recognize!

  To one side stands the woman I met in the market, the Priestess Tabni, her position now clearly marked by a gold circlet. Before her and the king, a man kneels. He is dressed only in the simple skirt of the field slave. His broad back faces me, but I would know it anywhere because it belongs to the man I love—Raph!

  Unlike Mika, whose height is mostly in his long legs, Raph is imposing even on his knees. His back is straight, though he fights weariness in his shoulders. He keeps them pulled tightly, but I can see the tiny tremble of taut muscles.

  Samsu-iluna leans forward, addressing Raph. Everyone’s attention is on the scene at the king’s feet, and no one pays attention to a slave girl with her tray, even the soldiers at honorary attention on either side of the king’s chair.

  “You are a stubborn man,” Samsu-iluna tells him.

  “I have told you all I know,” Raph says. “It is my brother who can ascend, not I, and my brother is now somewhere in the far east. I do not know where.”

  His Akkadian is much better than when he was stolen from me, as good as Mika’s.

  Samsu-iluna leans back. “Then you will die digging irrigation canals.”

  Raph says nothing.

  “Are you certain you do not know where this ‘brother’ is?” Tabni asks.

  A chill snakes its way into my belly. What would the King of Babylon say if he knew Raph’s brother was within his gates? I do not know what Raph meant by “ascending.” Is it dangerous? Raph has not been killed, at least not yet. But despite my feelings for him, I would not give Mika into this king’s hands, even for Raph’s sake. There must be another way to save both.

  With a wave of disgust, Samsu-iluna says. “Take him away.”

  That is when the tray falls with a clatter from my hands.

  For a moment, every eye is upon me, and my heart jumps, lodging in my throat. I am not clumsy by nature, but the shock of seeing Raph numbed my fingers. To my surprise, his gaze slides across my face without recognition. His beautiful eyes are weary.

  I say nothing to him. My silence shields the fact that Mika is here. I step aside, and the guards escort Raph from the room at spear point. My gaze follows him. I hold myself rooted to my position to keep from running after him. Too much is at stake.

  When I turn back, I find Tabni’s gaze fixed on me. “Adir?” she says finally.

  I straighten, trying to draw my thoughts together. My mouth is dry, and I am unable to speak. Then, amazingly, I feel a firm pressure on my left shoulder, though no one is there. A wave of calmness sweeps through me. When my father would have me translate as a child, he would grasp my shoulder just so to encourage me. Our tribe does not worship the ancestors, but I must blink back sudden tears at the comfort of my father’s presence.

  I meet the priestess’s sharp gaze for a moment and then bow my head in respect. “Adira, actually, Lady. I traveled as a boy for safety’s sake.”

  “I see.” She looks over my shoulder. “And who escorted you into the king’s chambers?”

  “I—” I half turn, as though someone was just with me. “I do not remember his name.”

  Samsu-iluna shifts on his seat. “So who is this you speak with, Priestess?” He flips his hand at me, his voice tired and bored, dark eyes barely registering my existence.

  Tabni turns to him. “A young … woman I met by chance yesterday. She says she speaks the Egyptian tongue, and since the envoy’s translator died in the crossing, and we currently have no one fluent at court—”

  “Excellent!” Samsu-iluna cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “I will not have to try and figure out Bashaa’s ramblings, and perhaps we can avoid antagonizing the Egyptians and gaining yet another enemy hovering over us. Find her some decent clothing. What happened to her hair?”

  Tabni signals a woman who sweeps me out of the room before I have a chance to answer. Indeed, I do not think the question lingers on the king’s mind, for he has already turned to another and is deep in conversation.

  WHEN TABNI, FOLLOWED by a young man, appears in the room, I have been dressed in a similar style to the clothing I purchased, but of a much finer quality. She frowns at me. “I had meant to interview you and test your knowledge, not have you to burst in upon the royal court.”

  I lower my head, my hand to my chest. For a moment, I am distracted by the soft fall of the headdress around my face, a clever addition to my garments, meant no doubt to hide my shorn tresses. “Priestess, please forgive me.”

  There is no forgiveness in the stern lines of her face. She is obviously not accustomed to young boys becoming girls and appearing unannounced in the king’s receiving room. I think she is about to tell me these things, but instead, she waves the young man forward. “This is Bashaa. He speaks the Egyptian tongue.”

  “Only a little,” Bashaa says in Egyptian. “And my accent is rough.”

  He is a handsome man and looks at me in an odd way that causes my cheeks to flame. I shift my weight, uncertain where to put my hands. His gaze flickers down and then back to my face where it remains, and suddenly I realize he is attracted to me! An act of will keeps my hand from my nose.

  “Well,” Tabni says, her tongue a sharp blade. “Do you understand him or not?”

  My blush deepens. Where is my father’s hand now? I can imagine it would be knotted in the back of my clothing, pulling me back into the tent. With that vision, my throat unlocks, but I know better than to smile.

  “My apologies,” I say to Bashaa in Egyptian. “Please continue speaking.”

  “Where did you learn the language?” he asks.

  “My father is … was a merchant. We have traveled to Egypt many times, and I learned the high tongue from Sarai, the wife of Abram, who is the patriarch of my tribe.”

  He smiles. “Your accent is flawless. I wish I could speak so.”

  “And where did you learn?” I ask from politeness and not knowing what to say.

  “From the court translator who is now, with most unfortunate timing, with his ancestors.”

  “Was he your friend?”

  “No, he haughty, thinking Egyptians better. Not bother with Akkadian.”

  That does not surprise me. Even Hagar, a slave given as a handmaiden to Sarai, thought herself better than Sarai, a fact she never hid well from her mistress, though she was never arrogant with me, perhaps because I loved Ishmael as a brother. Now she has given Abram a son and been made second wife, so she even more carelessly shows off her status, often infuriating Sarai.

  “Unfortunate for the former translator,” I say, trailing my hand over the fine cloth of my skirt, “but fortunate for me.”

  Bashaa’s eyes narrow for an instant, and then his face resumes its congenial demeanor, but his next words, still in the language of the Black Land, do not reflect his expression. “Be careful, girl; game this not. Much at wager here. Walk narrow way. Many push aside, over edge, no thought.”

  His grammar is poor, but the meaning is clear.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Warm thyself before the fire of the wise, but beware of their embers, perchance thou mayest be singed.

  —R. Li’ezer, Sayings of the Fathers

  BASHAA CERTIFIES ME AS BEING more skilled in the Egyptian language than he, and Tabni leaves me in a s
maller room for most of the day where I fret, worrying about Mika and Raph. Despite the practice I am getting, I still do not wait well.

  Finally, the summons comes. This time I am in the king’s receiving room by right. It is a lovely place, decorated with elaborate objects of beaten bronze, gold, and silver that I assume were gifts to the king, or perhaps to his father, Hammurabi, the conqueror and lawmaker.

  Apart from Bashaa, who stands at my side—a precaution should my tongue thicken with nervousness, or should I make up outlandish tales from the mouth of the envoy—I am a stranger among strangers in the room. Tabni has gone.

  “Add nothing,” Bashaa reminds me, whispering in my ear. His cheek brushes mine, and I shiver. A man has never touched me like that. It is hardly the guard’s rough attention. I wonder what it would be like to lie with a man, to feel his hands on me, and his spear inside me. Somehow my imaginings of Raph never went beyond him holding me close.

  Tabni is the chief priestess of Ishtar, the goddess of love. She knows everything, should I care to ask her and should she care to answer. She would most probably laugh at my ignorance. I am past the normal age of marriage now or at least of betrothal, and I do not know the first thing about being a woman. What, I wonder, made me leave my clothing behind the vendor’s stacks today and emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon? A butterfly dressed with beautiful wings, but that still thinks like a caterpillar.

  The envoy’s entrance whips my attention back into the room. He is announced, and I must focus on what he is saying. My heart gallops. I have never been responsible for translating in such a situation. What if my mind wanders and I miss something important? I have gathered from the conversations I overheard earlier, in my brief state as a slave, that Samsu-iluna’s kingdom is at risk. People’s lives may depend on me.

  Pleasantries are exchanged. Tabni has reappeared and stands beside the king. Samsu-iluna offers his regret at the accident that killed the Egyptian envoy’s translator and hopes I will be sufficient. At this I draw up my shoulders and my fear vanishes. Sufficient?

  The envoy brings greetings from his country and king and offers gifts. I translate his words. Bearers enter with beautiful vessels, jewelry of gold, a bird with colors of a rainbow, and an image of a large cat carved of black ebony. Eventually, they turn to real negotiations. Babylonia, it seems, is in need of tin to make bronze. No one says it, but the need for weapons is obviously central. Their supply, which has traditionally come from the southeast, has been cut off by a revolution, and the Hurrians to the north are blocking that route. Tin is critical.

  The discussion lasts until mealtime. We all proceed into another room where soft music of flute, panpipe, and harp cajoles the ear. The king and guests sit on cushions before a feast. Tabni and several other dignitaries have joined them. I am expected to stand behind them, my empty stomach churning at the parade of courses—mutton roasted with cumin and leeks, pig stuffed with mint, fish of every kind, cheeses, fine-grained breads smothered with butter and sesame seeds. They all eat and drink beer until long past dark. I give up counting after twelve courses.

  Bashaa takes over long enough for me to find the place to make water. I worm my way to a room where lesser staff are eating and pluck a handful of figs and almonds and a boiled duck egg to eat on the way back to the dining area.

  When I return, tense silence reigns at the table, and Bashaa is pale.

  “What happened?” I whisper, my eyes traveling over the guests. Tabni’s hand is gripping her goblet and the king, his eyes reddened with drink, has a most sour expression on his face. The Egyptian envoy appears confused, his gaze darting from face to face.

  “Thank Ishtar and Marduk, you are back,” Bashaa says, taking me aside. “What does this mean? He recites a long phrase.”

  I shrug. “It is an Egyptian blessing calling on one of their most important goddesses.”

  Bashaa’s pallor gives way to a deep blush. “I believe I just told Samsu-iluna the envoy said he was the son of a pig.”

  A bubble of laughter rises from my belly, but at Bashaa’s stricken face, it lodges in my throat. I take a moment to settle myself into an appearance of seriousness and turn back to the table. Pigs are considered unclean animals in both Egypt and Babylonia.

  With a slight bow at the envoy to get his attention, I ask what has been said and then turn to Samsu-iluna. “Most gracious King of Babylonia, if my words caused offense, I offer apology. What I said was the king of Egypt sent you the blessings of our goddess, Bast, in her favored form, the cat statue, that you might be rich with children.”

  I put in the reference to the statue to add credibility to my interpretation, hoping the king would remember it among the gifts brought to him. Bashaa is in no position to correct or chastise me. There is much at stake here. Wrong words could mean hostilities between these great kingdoms. Canaan would be caught in the middle. It was not so long ago Egypt had held Canaan in her fist. And King Chedorlaomer had come from south of Babylon to claim it. Neither salt nor pitch made Canaan as valuable to the great powers as its location between Babylon and Egypt.

  At my interpretation of the envoy’s words, it seems the whole table holds its breath and every eye is upon Samsu-iluna.

  The sour expression on the king’s face melts into a smile, and I can actually hear the exhalations.

  I AM NOT allowed to leave the palace for the entire week the envoy remains as a guest. Anxiety has gnawed a hole in my belly. Mika and Chiram will think I am dead or enslaved. I must tell Mika about Raph, but I am most concerned about Nami. I told her to stay in the house. Would Mika take her out to make water and attend to her business? Would she listen to him or run off to find me? She is not that good at smells. She might get lost in the streets, which are far more crowded and vast than those of Sodom, or someone might recognize her value and take her. My worries spin in circles.

  Finally, the Egyptians are gone, and I am called into Ishtar’s temple and Tabni’s chamber. I force all the fears that are churning in my belly into submission and stand before her.

  She sits on a high stool of carved cedar. A patterned necklace of lapis lazuli and silver encircling her throat catches my trader’s eye. The rich color lies well against her skin, and the precious stones could not be mistaken for my blue glass beads. The tangy scent of myrrh lingers in the room, but my gaze falls upon a tiny vial. I know it. The hands of the priests at En Gedi sealed that vial. My nose had been correct. Did this mean the Priestess was behind Raph’s capture or had the king gifted her with the scent? Either way, I must tread carefully.

  “You have done well,” she says.

  I have done better than “well” and certainly better than “sufficient,” but I refrain from reminding her I saved them all from diplomatic disaster. “It was my honor,” I say instead.

  She slides two bracelets of silver onto my arm. “You have earned this,” she admits.

  I bow my head and remove the rings, handing them back to her. “You are most generous, Lady, but I do not want your silver.”

  Surprise flickers across her features, and she narrows her gaze, much as she did the first time she saw me. She is assessing me. “What do you want then? I have little I can give you other than silver or—” She tilts her head at me. “Perhaps a place in service to the Queen of Heaven?”

  My hand lifts toward my nose, but I stop it and instead touch the hollow of my throat. To serve the goddess as qadishtu, a holy woman, was primarily a matter of choice and going through the rituals, but to be offered a place here at the important temple in Babylon as an ishtaritu, a woman of Ishtar, was a great honor, one given only to the daughters of noble families. Tabni must feel she owes me greatly … or perhaps she wishes to keep me close for my interpretation skills.

  “No Priestess, I do not seek that honor.”

  “Then what do you seek?”

  I look at her. “A slave’s freedom.”

  One silver brow arches. “That might be possible. Whom do you wish to free?”

 
“The tall man with golden hair I saw in the king’s receiving room that first day.”

  Her face goes still. After a moment she says, “That is not possible.” She looks at me with eyes that I have learned miss little. I tread on a very narrow beam, but this is an opportunity I cannot ignore.

  “Why do you want him?”

  I shrug, careful with my expression. “He is different from anyone I have ever seen, and very handsome. I am attracted to him. He is just a slave, isn’t he?”

  Tabni stands. “No, actually, he is not.”

  I say nothing, hoping she will continue.

  “He is more a prisoner than a slave. Samsu-iluna is punishing him by having him work as a slave on the canals.”

  I frown as though piqued by the inconvenience of it. “What has he done to anger the king?”

  “It is not what he has done, but what he refuses to do.” Tabni rises and goes to the lion statue that sits regally on a small table. She strokes the great cat’s back. “It is interesting, is it not, how the goddess chooses the feline to represent her. In Babylonia her creature is the lion; in the northlands it is the panther; in the east, the tiger; and in Egypt, the cat. Why, do you suppose?”

  “I do not know, Priestess.” Frustration gnaws at me. I do not see how this is related to why Raph has been enslaved.

  “I do not know either,” Tabni says. “Perhaps it is the nature of the feline. Ishtar’s fierceness in battle has weakened the knees of strong men … as has her passion.” Tabni smiles.

  I have the feeling her words are those of someone whose power has been threatened. I think back to what my father told me long ago when we were here. At the time, it was an abstract lesson, but now I reconsider it. In more ancient times the goddess’s rule was absolute. Now, although the goddess “chooses” the king, she shares authority with the Babylonian god, Marduk, and perhaps more importantly, with his priests. I decide it is better to be ignorant. “I do not understand.”

  She smiles at me then. “No, I would not expect you to, being only attracted to a handsome stranger. Let me tell you then, and you can decide if you wish to pursue this man.”