Sunrise on the Mediterranean

by Suzanne Frank

  He’s gotta be gay.

  Then I realized who he was.

  My skin turned to ice. No way; it wasn’t possible, was it? I looked as Cheftu, who was still frowning and spinning. Maybe I wasn’t seeing clearly; maybe I was tired; maybe I was hallucinating.

  “Adon has a large family?” Hiram inquired.

  Dadua’s voice swelled with pride. “Four wives, eleven sons.”

  “Ach! A fine family. And servants? I ask because I must know how many rooms and stairwells are needed.”

  Avgay’el spoke: the way she and Dadua tag-teamed was something to see. “One hundred.”

  “Ach! Enough to keep all comfortable.” Hiram belched. “Fine wine. My cup is dry.” A steward hurried over and poured more into the man’s cup.

  I was right! Omigod, omigod. I could barely make myself stay still. Only knowing that every single eye in the place was on me kept me from running, screaming, from the room. It couldn’t be … it couldn’t be! Surely the world was bigger than this?

  Not this court! Not this time, please, no? I glanced at Cheftu again. He hadn’t realized who this Hiram was. Perhaps he would be led astray longer, by the beard, or the bangs, the apparent aging.

  The messenger recovered himself to sell his images to Dadua. Terraces and private courtyards, tiled floors and tinkling fountains. Gold-inlaid furniture—at a discount, because his brother was a furniture maker and this wasn’t part of Hiram’s offer—then he smacked himself on the head. “Ha-adon, I must plead your forgiveness!”

  Suddenly the room was tense. What had he done? “My master sent a gift, a present. Ach! What a worthless old man am I!” He turned around and whistled. Nothing. He whistled again. Still nothing. The giborim had switched from leisure mode to alert. A few hands were resting on the hilts of decorated knives.

  The doors flew open and a bulky thing was carried in on the back of a giant. The roomful gasped, both at the thing and at the giant. He took it off his back, with people all around ducking so he didn’t take their heads off in the process, and set it down. With a strangely graceful gesture, he pulled off a cover.

  We all gasped again.

  It was a throne, a graceful chair, flanked with two huge winged lions. The whole thing was white, it glowed. Grapes and pomegranates were picked out in gold on the arms and legs, etched into the … my God, it was ivory? The giant had left and now returned with a matching footstool, upholstered in zebraskin.

  Now I knew how endangered species got that way.

  “Ha-adon asked about the beauty of the palace, the quality of the work,” the messenger said. “I offer you an example.”

  I scooted out of Dadua’s way as he left his wooden chair with hand-embroidered cushion. He circled the thing first. It was elaborate, far more majestic than anything he’d probably ever seen. Even the Egyptians would be impressed, I had to admit.

  The giant kept coming in and going out, bringing other, bulky pieces. While we watched he unwrapped and assembled them. “What is that?” some gibori finally shouted out.

  “I show,” he said in a low voice. Then he picked up the throne—with Dadua in it. The giborim almost rushed him, but he sat Dadua down again and moved away from him. He’d slipped something beneath, a dais of sorts, and now was assembling more dazzling pieces of craftsmanship.

  Only these pieces weren’t white, they were black, shiny and emblazoned with more gold. He kept working, moving into the crowd, which dispersed rapidly. Finally he stood up. It was complete?

  A series of seven long steps, lined with smaller winged lions, climbed to the throne.

  It was … wow!

  “Do you care for my master’s work?” the messenger said. “Do you wish to accept his gift?” I looked at him again. It was so obvious, I wondered that I hadn’t recognized this man right away.

  Of course, without the bull’s blood and exploding mountains he was a little out of context. Cheftu glanced over at me, caught by my expression. He frowned but didn’t understand my mouthings and looked away.

  Dadua rose regally, swept down the stairs—which were facing the opposite direction of the messenger—and went to the man. Head high, he invited the messenger to stay outside Jebus and complete the project his master had bade him. Dadua offered his soldiers and his populace to aid the architect as he saw fit.

  The hospitality here was extended only as far as military coverage could back it up. Very wise, Dadua, I thought. The messenger is a wily old—it staggered me to think of how old—snake.

  “As a token of my gratitude for your visit,” Dadua said, “I will send your Zakar Ba’al a collection of shields gathered from our battles.”

  Shields? The ornamental shields or ordinary shields? I wasn’t impressed.

  Neither was the messenger. “That will be an honorable token to carry my master … up the King’s Highway.”

  “I shall give you escort,” Dadua said.

  Check and mate.

  “My gratitude,” he said.

  It was him. It was! How in the hell … ?

  Dadua turned to his giborim. “May el haShaday bless you and keep you, make his face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you.”

  We all said, “Sela.”

  I didn’t see Cheftu again until that night. Our times of privacy were few and far between since we were still living in the improvised palace and working in the fields. “Do you know who he is?” I asked hurriedly. We had only moments before we were due on the roof.

  He kissed me, but for once it wasn’t distracting. “Do you?” I asked.

  “But of course, Hiram. It is in the Bible.”

  I opened my mouth, then rethought. If Cheftu didn’t recognize him, maybe I should say nothing? After all, we didn’t need to revisit that time in our lives or our relationship. “Nachon!” I said enthusiastically.

  “Who did you think he was?”

  I smiled and kissed him, concentrating on being distracting. However, one thought raced through my mind: It’s been a thousand years, and he’s still alive.

  The elixir works.

  The day after they received permission from Dadua, the Tsori started building. Wisely Dadua had placed them outside the city, where they would build their “quarter.” By day they came in and beefed up the hill on which Dadua wanted to build his palace, making terraces of stone and filling them in with dirt, then building higher. By night they worked on their own quarter.

  Within a week they opened the first floors in their quarter for business. In the Tsori section of town, one could buy a Philadelphia cream cheese knockoff, a blue glass plate to serve it on, the linens with which to set the table, and the company of a man or woman to enjoy it with you.

  Tsori craftsmen quickly started a series of government offices in the lower city, sandwiching the Jebusi quarter between the giborim and the taxman. The Jebusi had built the city with beautiful stone, but they’d built it for war, for insularity. Though I knew why there were very few windows and tiny dark rooms, I hoped the Tsori did it better.

  We were enduring the blast furnace heat of summer. Working from dawn until just after zenith, we then retired to the shade of the groves, or a courtyard, or, if really blessed, a house.

  One of those days I was sitting motionless, perspiring, when Cheftu poked his head around the corner. “ HaMelekh requests us,” he said.

  “Do I get a bath first?”

  He smiled. “Are you hot?”

  I plucked at the long-sleeved, high-necked gown I wore, then lifted the headcloth off my neck. Because of my pasty complexion I almost had to wear armor to work. “I’ll never be cool again,” I groused.

  He held out his hand. “What are you harvesting now?”

  What weren’t we harvesting? The summer produce and summer heat came together. The grapes continued to ripen; peaches, pears, and plums were almost falling off the trees; cucumbers, onions, and leeks needed to be gathered. Lettuces were picked every day. Lemons and limes, but no oranges. Had they not been discovered yet?

&nbs
p; The olives were ripening, the pomegranate bushes were covered in red flowers, the figs were swelling with sweetness.

  I followed him—it was too hot to hold hands—through the courtyards, out into the street, and down a series of thankfully shaded steps. Qiryat Dadua was silent under the blazing sun. “Egypt must be miserable right now,” I thought out loud.

  He flashed me a puzzled look, then walked on.

  Zorak was standing guard. He greeted us both and let us in.

  Déjá vu all over again, I thought. Dadua and Yoav were sprawled out on the cool floor, engaged in another round of a board game. Avgay’el, her hair tied off her neck, her arms bared, was slowly weaving. She kept nodding off in her battle with the afternoon heat. Ahino’am was sitting against the wall, a child asleep on her chest. N’tan was cross-legged on the floor, whittling. No lamps were burning.

  Yoav glanced up, looked at Cheftu, then me, then back to his game. N’tan saw us and sprang up. “Che-Chavsha,” he said. “And Klo-ee. Welcome.”

  We were bidden to sit, offered wine, and then Dadua turned away from his game. His hair was in a ponytail, and he lounged in only a patterned kilt. His sidelocks were twisted around his ears, and he was barefoot. His olive skin gleamed with sweat, but on him it looked good.

  “Chavsha,” he said, “I understand from N’tan that you were invaluable in the desert. Indeed I have found you so in my court. Therefore, I would like to offer you the position of scribe, officially.”

  Was I the only person who saw, literally saw, the pulse in Cheftu’s throat race? Graciously my husband inclined his head. “I consider it an honor, adoni. Thy will be done.”

  Those black eyes turned to me. “Yoavi says that although you lived as a pagan, isha, you have the nefesh of a tribeswoman.” I felt a blush beginning. “However, it is for your diplomatic expertise I invite you to join G’vret Avgay’el as a lady-in-waiting, also available to give advice on matters of the court.”

  Lady-in-waiting? But these are the years before NOW, Chloe. At least you are out of the kitchens! Would this get me out of the seasonal fieldwork? Either way there would be no more millstone. “I consider it an honor, adoni,” I said trying to hide my smile. After all, this was the Bible. “Thy will be done.”

  Two others joined us. One was a new seer, from the tribe of Gad, another was a prophet who had been living in the Negev, eating locusts while he prophesied. I darted a glance at Cheftu, but he was too stunned to pay attention.

  Dadua sat up so that Ahino’am could stuff some pillows behind him and refresh his wine cup. Slaves attended to the rest of us. Again I was impressed by the wheel of fate; a month ago I wasn’t important enough to be in this room; now I was invited.

  “Egyptians have been sighted traveling to us. The Pharaoh Smenkhare, I’ve heard,” Yoav said to me, not meeting my eyes.

  “From the west there is activity among the Pelesti, isha,” Abishi said.

  “She is g’vret now,” Dadua corrected his general.

  “Tov, todah,” Abishi said, chastened.

  “What activity?” I asked. Surely Wadia wasn’t planning anything?

  “We don’t know, but if it continues, we will have to squelch it.”

  Shit, I didn’t legitimately know enough about being a Philistine to know what they were doing. Please, Wadia, don’t do anything foolish.

  “Why would the Egyptian pharaoh be traveling here?” Dadua asked Cheftu.

  “He is the co-regent of Pharaoh, not the actual ruler,” Cheftu said carefully. “As for why, as Hiram has demonstrated, adoni is in a powerful position. Egypt uses the King’s Highway also. I would imagine that Pharaoh, or whoever is traveling, seeks an audience with you to be certain those transportation rights will remain.”

  A cooling breeze blew through the windows. One thing about Jebus, no matter how hot it became, about four or five o’clock in the afternoon it would cool down. Avgay’el, who had been snoring softly at her loom, woke up and started weaving again. From within the courtyard sounds of Dadua’s children floated in. The boys were fighting, but then they always were. Their mothers didn’t help.

  “G’vret,” Dadua said, “you speak Egyptian, so you will be in charge of any needs this Egyptian might have. He travels with an army, so he will not be invited to stay in my city. However, I will provide both a welcome feast and entertainment. That is how it’s done, nachon?”

  His insecurity was endearing. “Nachon,” I said. “Thy will be done.”

  The prophet and new seer sat down as I was dismissed. “Chavsha, kiss your bride, then return to keep a record of what we say,” Dadua said. “Ach, Yoavi, tell them of the house.”

  Yoav looked straight at me, his green gaze blank. “HaMelekh has gifted you with a house in the lower giborim district.” He turned to Cheftu. “Your belongings have already been moved.” His smile was conspiratorial. “It will be a dinner meeting, so you have a few hours to collect your tools, scribe Chavsha.”

  “Todah, adoni,” Cheftu said, rising up.

  “Serve well, Egyptian,” Dadua said.

  “Thy will be done.”

  I stood in the corridor, waiting impatiently for Cheftu to finish one last thing before he joined me. “We have a house!” I squealed as soon as the door was closed behind him.

  Zorak grinned. “Dadua takes care of his own,” he said.

  “Tell Waqi I will see her at the well tomorrow,” I said gleefully.

  Cheftu greeted Zorak and took my hand, silent as we left the temporary palace. Once outside we heard the sound of tools on stone coming down from the Milo, the area where the Tsor were building. A fine coating of white limestone dust hung in the air, covering everything.

  My husband still hadn’t said a word as we walked through the streets, which were just now waking up for the remainder of the day and night. The sun’s heat was strong yet, but the breeze had shifted so that it cooled and refreshed. I loved this city.

  He took my hand, still silent as he wandered through the narrowing streets. The lower giborim quarter was not luxury, but it would be ours! “We belong!” I whispered.

  “You are excited about your new home?” he asked.

  “Well, duh,” I said in English, smiling. “One correction: Home is with you, anywhere. But I’d love to see our house.”

  We went up and down, through narrow streets overhung with laundry, then up a flight of stairs.

  He opened the door. “Welcome, beloved,” he said.

  “This is our first home,” I said, a little giddy.

  “Oui.”

  I stared at him expectantly.

  “Are you going to go in?” he asked.

  “It is bad luck for the bride to step over the threshold; she is supposed to be carried.”

  “Ach! A bride?”

  I crossed my arms. “I am a newlywed still. If we added up the time we’ve spent together in the past three years, it probably hasn’t even been a year!”

  He picked me up, wincing. “If I had known this, last night I might have loved you a little less, uh …”

  “Enthusiastically?”

  He chuckled, then stepped over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him, shutting us into the darkness of our own house. “Never without enthusiasm, chérie.”

  I kissed him, perched in his arms. Our first home. Not quite Coca-Cola, but still momentous. I certainly felt like crying. I wiggled free. “So let’s see this place!”

  It was long, narrow, and dark. Resembled an overgrown coffin. We walked to the back, then I saw the prize of the place. “It’s a room with a view!” I shouted. We were a section of the city wall. Our balcony was the parapet, with a view of the fields, the valley, the mount opposite to our right, the Tsori construction upward to the left. “It’s wonderful!” I launched myself at him, covered his face in kisses. “We have a home, beloved! We belong somewhere!”

  “You, G’vret Klo-ee, belong with me,” he said.

  That was when I noticed the heavy gold seal around his neck, flat
on his smooth chest. “Scribe Chavsha?” I said, touching it. “Your seal of office.”

  “The same.”

  “So what did they tell you that I had to stand in the corridor?” I asked.

  Cheftu was watching me with a half smile. “Dadua reminded me that now we are participating members of the land. Therefore we have certain duties.” He reached out a long arm, snaked it around my waist, and pulled me to him.

  Our feet were touching, and I felt his knees through the fabric of my skirt. A cool breeze blew from the balcony into the house. Our house. I was elated; we even got the breeze!

  “Those are … ?” I asked a bit breathlessly, because he was staring at my mouth.

  “We participate in the feasts and festivals. The New Year begins in a few weeks, then the Day of Atonement and the Sukkot.”

  “Nachon,” I said softly. “No yeast in the spring, for what, Pesach?”

  He touched my nose with his finger. “You are growing spotted.”

  Immediately I covered my nose.

  “It’s cute,” he said.

  “It’s from working outside.” We were talking, but the energy between us was getting stronger, narrowing onto each other. I licked my lips, and he groaned. “Did Dadua say anything else?”

  “Ach, ken. The most important task in the land.”

  “Avayra goreret avayra?”

  He kissed the tip of my finger, and that made me whimper. “Lo, the most vital task in the land is this.” He leaned closer to me, his breath warm on my skin. His lips hovered above my ear. “Be fruitful and multiply.”

  My laugh turned to a gasp. “Ooo, Chavsha, thy will be done.”

  CHAPTER 12

  THE EGYPTIANS ARRIVED.

  How my father would have been laughing to see his little girl as a liaison between the throne of Egypt and the stone-throwing David. I’d been given my own kitchen to supervise for the Egyptians, and I’d inherited the mushroom to grind my grain. A few Pelesti women and new brides among the Jebusi rounded out my diplomacy team.