by John Peace
After several more days of waiting for the leaders of the caravan to agree on how much to pay the hired soldiers who would come along, and which route exactly they would take, and a dozen lesser details, they finally set out. In fact, no one told Hamdan and Samir, and when they awoke that morning they found the city strangely quiet, and they had to hurry after the caravan's great cloud of dust, already a mile from the city.
So they adjusted to the routines of caravan life. Because they only had one camel to lead, they moved much faster than most other merchants, some of whom owned fifty or a hundred camels, all fully laden. They found themselves near the front of the long, straggling, noisy column of beasts and people. The caravan travelled through barren mountain valleys and along the edge of the desert, where the wind whistled its lonely tune across the sand dunes.
Often they travelled at night, when there was moonlight, and rested at midday. They got to know Saleh Seyfani, a tall, wild-haired man with a long stride, who was one of the guides, and who often allowed them to go with him far ahead of the main caravan to negotiate with the tribes who kept the oases along the trade route. Saleh loved to tell stories - mainly about himself and his many adventures leading caravans. Samir and Hamdan had agreed to tell no one of their quest, except to tell Saleh that they sought the kingdom of which Solomon had once been king.
Weeks went by, and gradually the weather grew a little cooler. Saleh taught the boys to navigate at night, by recognising the stars and their circling journey through the skies.
When it was time to make camp, Hamdan and Samir would unload the camel, and Munira would sigh with relief and contentment. She wandered freely, pulling up any grasses she could find, and the thorns of the acacia bushes, then plod with tall gracefulness back to the camp.
They would sit with Saleh around the campfire after their simple dinner, often still hungry, but eager to listen to the men's conversations. Other men would come and talk to Saleh, but none would stay. The boys realised that he was a lonely man, used to travelling on his own.
Often Samir would sit and stare into the dwindling flames of the campfire, just before it was time to sleep, and imagine he was back home with his parents, or riding with Al-Thazir. But mostly he wrestled with angry thoughts about Ali, inventing conversations he'd have with him when they next met. At least I'm trying, he thought. At least I'm bringing the casket.
Then one afternoon a great wind sprang up from the east, stirring up the desert sand into a sandstorm. This time the wind's tune was furious. They had gone on in front of the caravan again, in a land made of low, rocky hills over which the wind blew without slowing. One moment, Saleh was yelling something to the boys - he had walked some way ahead - and the next, they could barely see him through the pummeling sand that flew at them sideways. "We have to reach the next oasis! It's not far!" shouted Hamdan over the roar of the wind. But after a few minutes they realised they couldn't go on. Munira was happy to sit down, with her back to the wind, and the boys did their best to shelter beside her.
The sandstorm blew for hours, as if it was determined to wipe every creature off the face of the world. When the wind finally dropped to a mere gale, Samir awoke and looked around, shielding his face with the edge of his cloak. He shook handfuls of sand from his blanket and clothes and from his hair. It was night, and he couldn't see anyone else except Hamdan and Munira.
The more they looked, the more they realised they had lost the caravan while trying to reach the oasis. The stony rises all around could have hidden ten armies of camels. Hamdan even climbed one of the nearby hills and looked, but saw nothing but rocky desert. If they didn't find the caravan, they would surely die.
Chapter Eight
A few months before, this would have terrified Samir, but now the two brothers just drank a little water and grabbed a handful of dates, and looked up at the stars to guide them as they led the camel on. "I haven't seen that star before," Hamdan said, pointing to a bright, twinkling speck a little to the west of where they were heading.
"Perhaps it's Amriel up there," murmured Samir, who was feeling sleepy. Without another word, they changed course to follow the twinkling star, and an hour later stopped for the night, more tired than ever before. In the morning, they raised their heads out of their blankets and saw a large circle of camels seated not far away. They had found the caravan. But they never saw that twinkling star again.
When the caravan entered the astounding city of Petra, sitting in its tall rocky valleys, Samir urged Hamdan not to stay, but to keep going to find the kingdom of Solomon. But Hamdan was weary from the constant travelling, and argued that they should rest a couple of nights. However, when he found how much a night at one of the hostels would cost them, he gladly led Munira with Samir out of the city and found a quiet place to camp half a mile away.
They had said goodbye to Saleh Seyfani, after he'd told them to walk north and ask for a city named Jerusalem. He had told them plenty of stories about Solomon and Bilqis along the way.
The nights were growing cold now, as they followed directions into the hill country of a land known as Judea. They had learned enough Greek to get by in this way. After a further week of travel, they were told that they were on the road to Jerusalem by an old man sitting at the door of a small, domed building. As they were turning to go, he squinted hard at them, scratching his grey beard that reached down to his knees. "And who might you be seeking in the Holy City?" he asked.
Samir frowned. They hadn't mentioned their real goal to anyone since leaving Al-Thazir's town. Now it seemed important to make sure they were doing the right thing. "We seek the great king, the son of Solomon, the king of the world," he said slowly, struggling with this foreign language.
His words could hardly have had a greater effect on the old man. He stood up and came after them a few steps. "Then - then do not seek him in Jerusalem!" he said. "The Messiach - the Christos - is not to be born there. No! It is written that he will be born in the town of David. Yes! The father of the same Solomon you speak of."
Hamdan halted their camel and both brothers stood before the old Jew. "Please - where is this town of David?" he asked as respectfully as he could.
A brilliant smile lit up the wrinkled face. "Just over that hill," he replied, pointing north. Then he screwed up his face and stared hard at them. "But why do you goyim think that you will find our Messiach? We have been waiting for him all these centuries of sorrow. And why do you seek him so fervently?"
The boys couldn't understand him this time, and shook their heads reluctantly. The man gave up and shook his head too, then pointed them up a thin trail that looked little wider than a piece of string. They thanked him again, and summoned enough strength to walk across one more hill.
That last climb almost finished off Samir. They had been walking for nearly two months, with very few days of rest. It was the middle of the last month of the year, when the days grew a little shorter and the wind blew a little colder. This wind blew a sad and tired song, but not an unfriendly one. On this day, the north wind blew over the crest of the hill, carrying a growing patter of chilly rain into their faces. Samir found it hard to put one foot in front of another. But he kept going, mainly by reminding himself that the casket had to reach the High King. Hamdan had twisted an ankle some days before, and was still limping. Munira led the way, several paces ahead of them both. Samir just followed her tail.
When he next looked around, they were walking between farm fields. The rain had slackened off. Ahead were buildings clumped together on a small hill. The outer houses formed a rough wall around the town, with an opening at the southern end of town where their narrow path led. Samir caught up with Munira and took her lead rope. "Is this it?" he asked Hamdan. "A king wouldn't be born in a little place like this, would he? Maybe we took a wrong turn." Hamdan just shrugged.
Then they'd walked inside the wall, and were surrounded by squat stone houses with two floors. It was early afternoon, and the women and children stared at them curiously.
But then they all turned and stared the other way. Quite a hubbub was coming from that direction, around a bend in the town's only street: many feet, voices, and the snorting and spitting of many camels. As Hamdan, Munira and Samir emerged into a central square they saw a large group of men and camels milling about, filling it to overflowing. Hamdan made Munira sit, and Samir sank down beside her, grateful to rest his legs at last and lean against her warm bulk.
Two riding camels were sitting at a nearby house's doorway, and their riders were nowhere to be seen until two men emerged from the low door of the house, arguing loudly.
Samir glanced at them, then stared hard. He caught his breath. It couldn't be! He jumped up and grabbed Hamdan's arm, pointing. His brother was staring already.
The two men were Al-Thazir and Adbul Malik, there was no doubt about it.
Chapter Nine
It took a little longer for the two Sages to notice Hamdan and Samir, since they were already in earnest conversation with each other. Abdul Malik was saying, "Al-Thazir, you fool! Moldy lamb bones! What were you thinking?"
"No!" was the reply. "It must have been one of those foolish servant boys."
Ali emerged from the house behind the two men. "Yes," he said, "it was Samir. I saw him do it."
All of a sudden they stopped and recognised the boys. Al-Thazir let out a shout of surprise. "It's him!" he cried.
Samir's feet felt like rocks: he couldn't move, and he couldn’t run away and hide. He opened his mouth to say something, but he found himself staring into Ali's eyes and a cloud of bitterness descended on him.
Hamdan came to his rescue. "We brought it!" he cried. "We brought the casket! Look!" And he began untying the bag in which they'd put the casket.
Ali had grown in the eight months since Samir had last seen him. He looked stronger, and a little more serious, as if he'd been through a sandstorm and almost been robbed too. "It's too late now," he said, still staring at Samir.
"No!" he said. He snatched the bag from Hamdan, opened it, and thrust the casket into Al-Thazir's hands. "Give it to the king. We brought it all this way."
Al-Thazir stared at the treasure in his hands, and began to laugh. "This has been a most extraordinary day," he said. Then he frowned at Samir. "But you should come in with me," he went on. "You and your brother. You've earned this." He gave the casket back to Samir.
Inside, on the ground floor, a girl was feeding half a dozen sheep that had been brought inside already. There was a large pile of straw. The smell of animal droppings was so strong that Samir almost turned back. Al-Thazir led them up a steep, narrow staircase to one side and they emerged on the next floor, saying, "The mother gave birth in another house, when the town was much busier, but now they're using these rooms until mother and child are strong enough for the homeward journey." Then he halted outside one of the small rooms, and turned to the boys. "You must pay utmost respect," he warned, "both to the child and to his parents. Perhaps I should do the talking." Then he ducked his head and entered the room.
Inside, a simple straw pallet bed lay along one wall, and a few bundles of clothing and possessions were piled in a corner, along with two baskets of incense whose fragrance filled the room. But what Samir noticed first of all was the young woman sitting on the edge of the pallet holding a baby. He realised that the mother was only a few years older than he was. Even though her face was drawn and tired, she was delighted in her little child, who kicked and waved in her lap. He was only about eight months old, big enough to crawl, but not to walk.
A bearded man wearing a labourer's robe and a grey headscarf turned from looking out of the window as they entered. He came to greet Al-Thazir with a question on his face: after all, the Sage had just left a minute before. There was no doubting that the father was a serious, hard-working man. Calluses on his hands showed for a moment as he clasped hands with Al-Thazir.
They talked in Greek briefly, and the father nodded, glancing at the brothers with a welcoming smile.
Samir whispered to Hamdan, "But we came to see a High King, not some poor child! We must all have made a mistake!" Hamdan shushed him sharply.
Al-Thazir had overheard Samir. "Do not doubt," he murmured. "When we arrived here, we met a certain keeper of sheep, a poor man, ignorant, but he told us that he had witnessed an amazing sight in the hills just above the town, a few months ago. His friends confirmed it. Messengers... bright, holy servants of the Most High God... Oh, how I wish I had seen even one of them! I will tell you more of it later, but the month when this happened was the very same time when Abdul Malik and I saw the king's birth in the stars. On that very night, this child was born." Samir's eyes were wide with wonder on hearing this. He nodded, slowly, with growing certainty.
Then Al-Thazir motioned to Samir, who still held the casket, carefully, as if it were a giant egg. Samir decided he would trust his master, and he found himself kneeling before the mother and child, holding the gleaming golden box out to them.
The mother smiled and nodded. She adjusted her white head covering with her free hand, but before she could take the casket from him, the baby reached up from her lap and grabbed it with both hands. He gave a happy gurgle, and almost dropped it - the casket and coins were much too heavy for him to hold. His mother came to the rescue just in time and took one end of it. Her eyebrows rose as she realised the value of the gift, and she murmured some words to her husband.
Samir looked back at Al-Thazir. "I want to say I'm sorry for the mistake," he said. Al-Thazir spoke a few words to the father, who reached a hand out to Samir's shoulder and nodded silently.
"Look," Al-Thazir said, "I think the child wants to be friends." The baby had let go of the casket and was waving both chubby hands at Samir. Ba-ba-ba! he babbled.
Samir felt a burden lift off his soul, like a camel that had reached its resting place. The gift had been accepted, so there was still a chance that the High King would remember to show kindness to Samir's homeland when he grew up.
Still, he wasn't totally at peace. As they bowed low to the parents and child and left the room, the one thorn that stuck in his heart was his bitterness towards Ali. He knew that harbouring this terrible grudge was not right, but how could he let it go? He truly wanted Ali to suffer for making him miss the expedition, for the broken leg, for his spitefulness; and after that, life could go on.
But then he realised, as he emerged from the house and saw Ali and everyone else, that there was no use in holding the grudge anymore. What use was revenge? If only I could let go! he thought. I've carried a treasure all this way to make peace with a little king... but I've carried this grudge too, and keeping it will steal that peace away from me.
He walked over to Ali, thinking that if he could just explain his anger to him - show Ali what he'd done that was so wrong - then things would sort themselves out. At least he would feel better. Ali looked up, startled, and tensed as if to defend himself.
But then he recalled the baby's innocent pleasure in accepting the gold, in making friends.
He swallowed, and said to Ali, "I want to say... about how you were mean to me... about my broken leg..."
Ali drew himself up, scowling, and opened his mouth to speak.
Samir finished quickly, "I want to say that it's alright now. I want to be friends. I forgive you."
"I didn't do anything! You-" said Ali, suddenly confused. He stared at Samir, then walked away.
Hamdan came up behind Samir and patted him on the shoulder. "He might need a while to come around," he said. "But you did the right thing, I think." Then he pointed at Al-Thazir and Abdul Malik. "There's one thing I don't understand," he said. "How did they take so long to get here?"
They went to ask the two older men, and heard their story. They'd set off, of course, in the late spring of that year, but had found themselves no further than Timna by the time the heat of summer descended. While they were debating whether to push onwards or not, Abdul Malik had fallen ill with a fever. By the time he was better, the summ
er was almost over. They'd set off, slowed by two injured camels, arriving in Jerusalem in early December. Then King Herod had insisted they stay for two weeks, questioning them carefully about the star they had seen and what it meant. "And to think that we must now visit Herod again," muttered Al-Thazir. "That man makes me very uneasy."
Chapter Ten
The journey home had been long and perhaps even harder than the outward trip. As Samir led Munira down the last hill and looked over the roofs of the town, such a flood of gladness welled up inside him that tears came to his eyes. Hamdan was walking ahead with Abdul Malik, and Al-Thazir was probably already greeting his wife in the courtyard.
He stopped to look at the fields of the farm nearest the town's edge. Even though it was still winter, the ground was still damp from recent rain - rain in winter? how could that be? - and the furrows of one field were full of tiny green shoots.
"It's you! It's the camel!" came a cry, and the farmer ran from his house to see him. The man wanted to hear all about their journey, so Samir sat on the rock wall and told him. When he related how the baby had seized the casket, the farmer howled with laughter. "I wish I had seen that!" he said. Then Samir told him about Al-Thazir's nightmare, which had shaken the Great Sage so severely that he was afraid to fall asleep for a week afterwards, and how they had immediately retraced the route Samir and Hamdan had taken, rather than take word to the King of Jerusalem. "Just as well," the farmer muttered. "His type are always up to no good."
Samir looked up at Munira's contented face. She had become an essential part of his life. He almost knew what she was thinking, and knew that she understood much of what he said to her. He sighed. "So you'll be wanting your camel back now," he said.
