Sunrise on the Mediterranean

by Suzanne Frank

  Sweat ran down Waqi’s body like shower water. Strangely enough, my revulsion had faded as I watched this teenager talk to her baby, staring into the eyes of a stranger who was going to make it all happen. It was humbling.

  Then suddenly she screamed and screamed again, almost fighting against us. “Put her down,” Zorak said, so we lowered her into a squat. The other slaves moved closer, giving as much light as they could. Zorak spoke to her, smoothing her stomach, Uru spoke to her, even I did, telling her she was doing a great job, that it was going to be b’seder, just to keep breathing.

  Her body trembled, we almost dropped her because she was so slippery with sweat, and then … this sphere of blood slid into Zorak’s hands. It was gross; it was incredible!

  It was a moment before the baby wailed. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I realized what had just happened. A child was born before me.

  We cleaned up everything. Zorak removed the afterbirth, wrapping it and handing it to a slave, who left the room. Then he handed the iron blade to Waqi, who said a prayer as she cut the umbilical cord. Uru and Zorak rubbed the child down with salt, while the slaves changed the linens everywhere. The other slave and I washed Waqi, then rubbed oils on her thighs and belly and breasts. It should have felt strange, touching another woman, but instead it felt protective, unified. What her body had done, mine could do, and that was a bond.

  The child was a boy. Zorak handed him to her. “He is beautiful,” he said. “Just like his mother.” He kissed her forehead and stepped away. Waqi was oblivious of us all. She touched the baby’s face, kissed every inch of him that wasn’t swaddled, then set him against her nipple.

  He was, of course, a fast learner, because he was also the most beautiful baby in the world and would be the smartest, I had no doubt. Within minutes he was suckling away. Waqi leaned back, her expression utter bliss. I glanced over at Zorak, who was still bloodstained, and saw that he was crying. Uru touched my arm. “Isha, let us give her some time.”

  We all slipped out, leaving mother and child enraptured with each other.

  THE DESERT

  CAREFULLY ARMED, the hundred men walked through the Arava valley. Cheftu’s gaze was on the gravel plain when all of a sudden he saw a reflection on the dirt, a moment’s flash. Only training kept him from stumbling, betraying what he’d seen—the glint of sunlight off metal. He continued walking but now focused intently on his surroundings, listening to every sound. Behind him, carefully packed beneath foodstuffs, clothing, and a dead goat, was the wealth of Hatshepsut’s Egypt.

  It was a desert, but unlike Midian, there was no undulating sand, no herds of camels running wild. It was a brutal, rocky environment where only acacia trees and wild grass lived. Caves honeycombed the hills on both sides. Periodically they saw a goat or a wildcat. Hyenas cackled in the distance, and gazelle herds left their tracks, moving back and forth across the salt flats.

  Sweat broke out on his body at the same rate that it evaporated, since it was so dry. Given the urgency of their return, they were walking throughout the day, an uncommon practice. An insane action this late in summer. Ahkenatan should try this, Cheftu thought. More of his “Aten” than even Pharaoh could endure.

  Walking in the sun, covered in cloth, monotonously placing one foot before the other, made his mind a blank. Which was why he hadn’t noticed they were being tracked.

  N’tan stumbled up beside him. “Do you sense it?” Cheftu asked in an undertone.

  “We’re being watched.”

  Cheftu casually scanned the hills, the acacia trees, the rocks, as he had been doing. “I cannot see them.”

  “Nor can I.”

  “Should we keep walking?”

  “Do you think animals or men?” N’tan asked.

  Cheftu resisted the urge to laugh. Animals would flee this great a caravan. Only the human animal would try to attack this many people. “Definitely men.”

  “Ach!” N’tan said. “We are close to the edge of the Salt Sea.”

  “How close?” Cheftu asked.

  “By dawn, if we kept moving.”

  Which would be better? To keep moving and hope to outrun, or outfinesse, whoever was following? Or to camp as they had been doing, and prepare for a battle with the dawn? “The men have what weapons?”

  “Bronze swords. A few have Pelesti blades.”

  “We’ll divide up, into three divisions again. Split their attention.”

  “What of … the treasure?” N’tan whispered.

  “Tonight, under cover of darkness, we will bury some. The bulk of it.”

  “Leave it?” N’tan said, shocked.

  Cheftu resisted the urge to lick his dry lips; that would just dry them further. He fumbled in his side pouch for a small rock, his sucking rock. He’d learned that a pebble beneath the tongue kept moisture in the mouth and throat. In moments he had enough saliva to swallow, ease his speech. “We will send one division ahead, with some gold and the men with bronze blades. They will take the path through Midian, then into Yerico around Jebus to Mamre.”

  “The other two?”

  “One will stay to fight, ostensibly those who are buried will account for the disrupted soil.”

  “We will kill them? Then bury the gold with them?”

  “Lo. Whoever is stalking us will kill them. We will bury the gold with them, cover it with stones in the fashion of desert burials, then return for it later.”

  “Do you think that will prevent the brigands from digging up the bodies and the gold?”

  Cheftu’s gaze perused the far wall of caves; were they in there? How many? From which people? “If they are Egyptian, they will not disturb the bodies.” I hope, he thought. “Our other choice is to hide the gold in those caves—somehow.”

  “According to your suggestion, what of the third group?” N’tan asked.

  “They will go straight to Mamre, bring reinforcements.”

  “We do this under cover of night?”

  “Ken. Tonight.”

  N’tan squinted into the sky. “We shall be stopping in about another watch, then. I will tell the others,” he said, falling out of step.

  Cheftu walked on, his eye on the ridges. One gleam would tell him what he needed to know. If it were Pharaoh, there would be armor. If it were other tribes, he would hear them calling to each other, using the sounds of the desert.

  Another watch would betray them, whoever they were. Regardless, they would get the gold to Dadua. David would have his gold. Cheftu would regain his freedom.

  Cheftu walked on.

  I UNDERSTOOD HOW the French Resistance must have felt. On the outside everything appeared to be the same, but I knew differently. The women moving through the streets of Jebus were no longer strangers, they were my fellow spies; the men who smiled and behaved so kindly were the same men who demanded their children burn to protect their hides. They had become the enemy. Yet to an observer, nothing had changed.

  Behaving as though this were any other day, I walked to the well. “Coming early today, are you? A new jar?” the first guard commented.

  I shrugged. “G’vret Waqi wishes a bath this morning.”

  “Ach, the wealthy!” Chuckling, they passed me on. A few women passed me on the stairwell. Everything was going according to plan.

  The same guard I’d seen every day was on duty. “That cough sounds worse,” he said as I doubled over with the force of what was in my chest. Blearily I nodded. I wasn’t faking the cough; I had a cold, which I’d gotten somehow. Instead of being in bed with Marie Claire, my remote control, and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s—always good for what ailed me—I was going to lead the invasion and betrayal of Jebus.

  Adrenaline would have to carry me through.

  Between my hacking and coughing, it was taking forever to fill my extra-large jug. I looked over at the guard. “Is there any way to open this aperture bigger? I’ll”—I sneezed—“be here all day if I don’t.”

  “Who told you?” he asked suspiciously.

>   I sneezed. “Waqi. She wants water, a lot of it.”

  “Bathing? In the middle of the week?”

  I shrugged. “The babe is due.”

  He hopped off his throne and went to the wall. There, tied to a hook, were ropes. With a few tugs he had levered up the entire wood platform, disclosing the natural opening, which was about twelve feet wide. My excitement welled up with another sneeze.

  “Hurry along,” he said, watching me. Though I had gotten stronger, I still couldn’t lift a full normal-size jar after filling it. Which made this huge one impossible, especially since I kept sneezing. Exasperated, he carried the full jug for me, up the steps, passing women on their way down. Did he notice the looks we gave each other?

  At the top of the stairs I tripped myself, rolling back down, trying not to bash my head too badly. The guard shouted for help, then ran to the top of the stairs to get someone, leaving my jar on the step. In seconds the women who had just passed us were helping me up. Another woman took my cloak; we had already painted her face to look like mine. Sadly, she was bruised already.

  She lay down in my place while I hobbled and ran down the stairs. The other women clumped on the stairwell, blocking the guard’s way back down.

  Moments later I was staring into the depths of the dark water from my bucket perch, both ropes in my hands, the whispered “Good luck” wishes of the women in my ears.

  I realized that tunnels of dark water should be terrifying; however, my particular experiences had prepared me for this exactly. I had no uncertainty that I’d find a way out, nor was I frightened that I’d stay underwater too long. After all, during my time in Aztlan I’d survived a bloody complicated labyrinth, not just once, but three times. This should be a piece of cake.

  Cold cake. I sneezed again, felt my nipples pebble beneath my dress from the chilly updraft. My hands were shaking so much that I could barely work the ropes. Voices, the guard’s, the women’s, floated down to me. Now or never.

  According to the women, I would be submerged for only a few seconds since the well was more of a pool. When I got into it I could swim out—hence the reference to “lame”— since you could move through water even without using your legs. If I followed the current, it would lead me outside to where one of the contingencies of Yoav’s soldiers waited.

  If the women’s words could be trusted.

  Geronimo, I thought, releasing the ropes. The flax raked my hands as I plummeted toward the water. First its iciness grabbed my dress. I hissed as it touched my legs, then my belly. With a giant gulp of air, I was in the dark wetness.

  Allowing some inborn sense of direction, not to mention the water flow, to lead me, I quickly found my way to the drain at the bottom of the well. Things were going great—I was pretending to be a stick of wood, seeking the way out— when I got stuck.

  I was holding my breath, submerged in a cascade and wedged in like a cork. Stone cut into my shoulders, tore at my breasts. Real fear grabbed me as I struggled. Nothing moved; my ears were aching from the water pounding me from above.

  Oh God, oh God. The urge to sneeze was growing; my lungs were burning. I felt my legs swinging free in the passage beneath me, while water was building up behind me. I could see nothing and wondered briefly if this were it. Had my vanity done me in, or was this a plot on the women’s part?

  My nose was itching, and I inhaled automatically, gagging on water.

  And sneezed so violently that my body ripped free. I dropped like a rock into the passageway beneath me, the backed-up waters cushioning my fall. Water closed over my head for a moment, then I was on my feet. Hurting, but standing in waist-deep water.

  I walked in total darkness for about a hundred paces, hearing nothing except myself sloshing through water as I headed down a gentle hill. I moved slower, sensing the passage widen out. There just possibly might be someone standing guard. I didn’t sense another presence, but I was cautious.

  Suddenly the tunnel turned, while simultaneously changing grade. With all the grace of which I am capable, I fell, slid, and crashed into a shallow sunlit pool. I surfaced, sputtering, instantly sobered by the sight of covered corpses lying at the water’s edge.

  One of the gibori—Abishi, I think—greeted me as he hauled me out of the water. He wrapped a cloak around my shoulders. “What happened to those men?” I asked, wiping my face.

  “They are Yoav’s spies. They got caught and fought with the Jebusi guards.” Abishi looked away, and I noticed that he’d been crying. “Would you like to see them?”

  I paused but didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to recognize the few faces I associated with living and laughing soldiers with the bloodstained bodies lying next to a water source. Had any of our guys won? “Do the Jebusi know we are here?”

  Abishi’s expression was resigned. “Not yet, but they will by the next watch.”

  His words made my blood go cold. These women, this small group of women, had risked everything to help us, to buy freedom for themselves, to have the right to keep their children. “Then let’s go,” I said.

  “Yoav has planned two attacks on different sides of the city if we need the distraction.”

  “The man loves strategy,” I said.

  “Ken,” he said, then looked at me with concern, his gaze moving over my body. “Isha! Were you attacked? Are you healthy? Do you need wine? Bread?”

  I sneezed, shaking my head. I bet I did look a fright. Unwashed, slippery, running makeup, ratty clothes, hair dye. Yikes! “The drain attacked me.” I didn’t even want to see what wounds I’d sustained; the cold was numbing, a feeling that probably helped about now. “You aren’t going to fit well,” I said, gesturing to his shoulders. “The passage is very narrow. Take only the smallest men and let’s go.” How long had it taken me to get here? Time in the water had no sense of passing. The sun was still shining outside, the birds still singing on this summer afternoon.

  “Is there anything—”

  “Lo. Let’s go.”

  Wading through the utter darkness of the spring was cold but also surreal. Outside it was bright and happy, beneath the city we were planning on killing.

  However, my conscience had been somewhat assuaged because Waqi had asked me to invade. Then other women— I don’t know how they learned—began bumping into me in the market, whispering, “I’ll help,” or, “Count on me.” The city’s women wanted new rulers, new laws. It wasn’t all of them, I was certain, but a very vocal minority, led by the queen. They wanted a chance to see their children live.

  The caveat was that I negotiate their freedom. No herim or hal for this group. No slavery, either. Yoav was desperate enough that I thought he would agree. Zorak thought so, too—Zorak, who had become less my shadow and more of a guardian angel for Waqi and the little, still unnamed, one.

  The men behind me were silent, only a few shallow breaths betraying the dozen soldiers slogging through the water. My sandals—I was surprised I still had them—tugged at my feet, giving the feeling of walking in flippers. The farther we progressed, the deeper the water got, moving up from our calves to our thighs to our waists. Shivering and wet, I led the men up the dark passage. We dared not use any light, but in the midst of the darkness I felt the walls, the ceiling, the mass of earth, weighing down on us. The sound of falling water attested to the presence of the shaft.

  We were well inside the city walls. Was everything going according to plan?

  After adjusting my dress so that it covered my knees, I began the laborious process of climbing up the duct. I’d rock-climbed before, but never through the middle of a waterfall, with no gear, and in a dress! Beneath me the soldiers lined up to shove my body through. The stones tore at my hands, while water cascaded straight onto my head as I blindly fumbled upward, always upward.

  The channel narrowed; we’d never be able to make it through. Clinging like a barnacle to the wall, I slipped my knife from my waist, using the haft to chip away at the limestone. Just losing a few inches would make such a hu
ge difference!

  Bits fell onto the men beneath me, then a large section dropped. I winced as I heard the surprised shout at impact. After I carefully tucked my knife back, I continued to climb. Squeezing through was still tight but doable, especially with a prod from below. I barely had time for a huge gulp of air before I was in the pool.

  Lungs bursting, I surfaced. I treaded water for a moment, waiting to read our prearranged signal. It was still silent here; we were several dozen feet beneath the city yet.

  The soldiers popped up in the pool around me, each gasp signifying another of our group joining in. It was amazing how much and how well I could see in the darkness. The rope and bucket bobbed on the surface of the water, the mouth of the well shone a dim square of light between us. The smallest square.

  We had to take the other route; this one was being guarded.

  As we watched, the bucket was lowered, only voices and shadows discernible above.

  Trying not to splash, I gestured for the men to follow me. We would swim to the source upstream, for the water moved downhill from here.

  This was where it would get hairy, since no one had taken this particular pathway in a long time, Waqi had said. As I surface-dove, a remembered phrase slowly saturated my mind, soothed me. The waters will guide, they will purify, they will offer salvation. The words off the time portal in modern Egypt for a traveler of the twenty-third power.

  Okay, Chloe. Remember.

  While the soldiers waited and watched the well covering, I swam to the far end of the pool, feeling around on the stony wall for an opening. The water ran through this well pool, then down the drain we’d just come up. Which meant it came from somewhere above us, but just how big was the “faucet”? Finally I found it, a two-by-two channel of total blackness filled with rushing water.

  I gestured for Abishi to hand me some rope to tie us all together, me in the front, him bringing up the rear. Blind and lame in a big way, I thought. I closed my eyes, resting them from the masses of water that threatened to wash away my eyeballs.

  We were moving uphill, breaths held, our bodies being torn and battered by the icy, flowing water. I saw spots behind my closed lids, and my chest was completely aching, burning, when I noticed the channel had widened enormously. The water level had dropped.