“Can I go?” I asked, breaking the silence.
He stayed cupping my cheeks in his hands. Finally, he emitted a deep grunt. “Maybe the time has come,” he mumbled, as if to himself.
I waited for him to explain, but he walked out without another word.
* * *
The pleasant hours I spent in the company of Ithiel almost made me forget the awkward incident with Hadad. I only thought of it sporadically, wondering to myself what he’d meant about the time having come, but I had more interesting things to think about. Although the training became more demanding day by day, I got through it easily and enjoyed it. I even had free time, most of which I spent with Ithiel, and a bit of which I spent with the other soldiers. They didn’t hide their envy of the special treatment the commander gave me, but at the same time they were drawn to me and even admired me. They tried to fulfill my every wish.
“You have the personality of a king,” Ithiel explained. “Believe me, I know about such things.”
“Being a king is not a matter of personality. It’s a matter of lineage.”
“There are two hundred princes in the palace, maybe more; I’ve lost count. But only a few of them have it.”
“Have what?”
“It’s hard to explain. If you have it, people go quiet when you speak and hold their breath when you enter a room. When you ask for something, everyone rushes to serve you. If you don’t have it, no lineage will help you, nor will study and training. Either you have it or you don’t.” He paused for a moment and then whispered, “And our crown prince doesn’t have it.”
I was surprised by his candor. “Does the king know?”
“He believes that good training can provide him what God has withheld.”
“How old is he?”
“The king?”
“The crown prince.”
“Our age. Around twenty.”
“Perhaps the king is right,” I tried to console Ithiel. “At our age, a person can still change.”
Ithiel shook his head sadly. “He’s a lost cause.”
“What about you?” I dared ask.
“Me?”
“You have it, and you’re a prince. Maybe you’ll become crown prince?”
I knew him well enough to recognize the hint of yearning behind his laugh. “In order to be king, I’d have to kill at least two hundred princes. That’s a little much for me.”
* * *
As fate would have it, only two months went by before I had the chance to prove to Ithiel that my personality wasn’t quite as well-suited to royalty as he might have thought. It was also when I heard Hadad for the second time say that strange thing about the time having come.
On Friday night, following the Sabbath meal, I sat with the other soldiers in the palace garden, passing the hours in conversation and laughter. Friday nights were our only nights off, for the Mad Princess refrained from lighting her candles on the Sabbath, allowing us to enjoy the quiet and gather our strength for the next six nights. A few of the fellows got themselves ready for a visit to the whorehouse near the army camp, across the way from the king’s palace. Though we weren’t considered full-fledged members of the army, we were permitted to enjoy the places of pleasure that served the king’s soldiers. The whorehouse was the most popular of them all, and hundreds of soldiers visited it every Sabbath.
When the soldiers were in high spirits from drinking wine, one of them, a cheerful, short soldier named Uzziah, announced a contest for the title “King of the Fornicators,” which would include a prize.
“Well done!” people cheered from all directions. “What’s the prize?”
Flattered by the enthusiasm over his suggestion, Uzziah announced that he would forego his wages for the week and give the money on Sunday to an expert goldsmith who would create a golden medallion for the greatest fornicator of all.
Within moments everyone was busy planning the contest. A wild argument ensued over whether or not the winner should be determined by the length of intercourse, but it was eventually concluded that the number of sexual acts would be the deciding factor. When I noticed that even Ithiel was taking an interest in the contest and was actively involved in planning it, I decided to retire to my room and spend the rest of the evening reading. Among the treasures of the Mad Princess were dozens of Egyptian papyrus scrolls that were of interest to no one. Hadad had given me permission to read them as long as I did so alone, in order to keep them safe.
I was already on my way out of the garden when I heard Uzziah say, “Shelomoam has to participate in the contest. I want to know if what people say about the poor sexual skills of tall men is true.”
I meant to smile and say something funny in response, but Uzziah didn’t give me a chance. He shouted passionately that the contest would have no value unless we determined once and for all whether tall men or short men had the advantage.
Before I knew what was happening, I found myself pinned to the ground by several soldiers. “You have to participate!” they cried gleefully. “Let’s see who wins.”
“The short men will win,” I said, shaking them off and getting back to my feet. “Now let me go read! Your whores don’t interest me.”
“What does interest you?” Uzziah cried, stomping his feet angrily. “So what if you grew up rich and learned to read? Just because you don’t sleep with whores doesn’t make you better than us.”
I didn’t get overly excited by his reaction. The cold distance I exuded actually caused people to be subconsciously eager to please me, but on occasion it also inspired aggression. I’d learned that a warm apology was the most effective avenue of appeasement. I was beginning to arrange my features into the requisite expression of contrition when, before I could open my mouth, another soldier called out, “Better than us? Don’t make me laugh. He doesn’t like to visit the whores because he’s like an Egyptian. That’s why he likes their papyri so much, if you catch my meaning.”
The bursts of laughter all around me made my cheeks flush. I wanted to throw a few punches, but instead I used what I’d learned from Hadad and froze my emotions.
“Fine,” I said apathetically. “I like to sleep with men, so be it.”
They all stared back and forth at Ithiel and at me. He hung his head, ashen-faced, and said not a word.
I turned my back to them and began walking in the direction of the palace. Suddenly I heard Uzziah shouting behind me, “Shelomoam doesn’t sleep with whores because his mother is a whore!”
Then, a moment later, “Tell us how your whore of a mother spreads her legs—”
He didn’t finish. I pounced on him and knocked him to the ground. He let out a weak cry and pulled something shiny from his belt. It was a knife. I saw the glint of the blade. A moment later, it was in my hand. I thrust it at him with all my might.
Suddenly I felt someone grab my arm from behind, stopping its motion. I waved the knife around, trying to shake off my unseen opponent, but he wouldn’t let go. I don’t know how it happened, but in our struggle the knife flew out of my hand and lodged in his foot. By the time I saw what was happening, it was already too late.
First I saw the blood, followed by the legs collapsing to the ground, and only then did I see his face, twisted in pain.
It was Ithiel.
* * *
That night, as I sat by his side on the bed, dripping oil onto the white bandage wrapped around his foot, he woke up and gave me a wide-eyed stare. I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t dare move.
“So that’s your secret.…”
He spoke so softly that at first I thought I’d imagined it. I stroked his red curls and felt my heart about to break with guilt. “Sleep,” I whispered. “That will make the pain go away.”
His bright eyes shone at me from the darkness with that glint of amusement that I liked so much. “Honestly? I was expecting your secret to be something much worse. Jephthah of Gilead, one of our greatest heroes, was the son of a whore, so I think you have a fine future ahead o
f you.”
But on Saturday night, when Hadad finally heard about what had happened, he didn’t appear especially amused. In truth, I had never seen him more upset. I tried to apologize and explained that my heart had gotten the better of my head, but that only made him more angry. He screamed at me, telling me that he had no other choice but to send me back for another round of torture in the tunnels, because the fact that I could lose control over some stupid remark meant that apparently I had not sufficiently internalized the ability to detach myself. His roaring carried on all night, but no one other than me heard any of it. The screams of the Mad Princess were louder.
Only with the dawn, when the princess became still once again, was Hadad forced to lower his voice and return to his routine. I was about to leave so I could get ready for the morning formation when he suddenly reached out his hand and ran it softly against my cheek.
“The time has come,” he said, the pain in his voice even more puzzling than the words. “Now the time has truly come.”
Fourteen
Not only did my violent outburst not hurt my social standing; it seemed to have increased the aura that surrounded me. Even Uzziah, whose small body I had nearly ripped to shreds, insisted on flattering me to the point of obsequiousness, and he wouldn’t stop apologizing for the thoughtless things he’d said to me. I felt secure enough to declare magnanimously that I was the one who owed him an apology and that the incident was now behind us. Ithiel’s swift recovery strengthened my sense that the event was in the past and had not taken any toll on me.
Only the cold shoulder Hadad gave me marred this perfect image. He stopped training me and avoided all interaction with me, positive or negative. Though I’d lost a father once before, I felt especially hurt this time. I now came to appreciate how dear and meaningful Hadad’s love had become to me. The torture I had experienced in the tunnels was nothing but a slight nuisance compared to the excruciating feeling of being an orphan again due to his abandonment of me. I would have preferred many times over to take a beating from him than to be ignored by him. I was afraid that he’d given up on me and decided to find another soldier to fulfill his dreams and stand for the king’s examinations. I was alone again in an empty and meaningless world. Only Ithiel, my faithful and devoted friend, remained by my side in these hard times.
When I was urgently summoned to Hadad’s room one morning, I was so upset I could barely put one foot in front of the other.
“Are you ready?”
The air emptied out of my lungs in a sigh of relief. He wants to punish me, that’s all. “You are my commander; I will accept any punishment you see fit to impose on me.”
“I was asking if you were ready for the examinations.”
I was so stunned that my voice came out strangled. “What examinations?”
“The king’s examinations.”
I stood there flustered and gave him a blank stare.
“Do you not understand when people are talking to you?” Oh, how I had missed his impatience. “The decisive examinations that will determine both your fate and mine.”
“Is that what you meant when you said that the time had come?”
A cloud passed over his face. “My intentions are not the subject of this conversation. We have ten days before the examinations, and there are a few more things we need to get done before you go.”
“Such as?”
“Leave that to me. The servants will come fetch you in two hours.”
“And where will they take me?”
“That’s all you need to know.”
“Do I need to pack anything?”
“Some clothes. No more.”
* * *
Instead of sharing my joy, Ithiel begged me not to go with Hadad unless he revealed where he planned on taking me. I tried to explain that nothing bad could happen in ten days of secret training. At worst, he would take me back to the tunnels for another round of torture. The most important thing was that I would finally be able to stand before the king for the examinations that would determine my fate. Ithiel wasn’t convinced, and he tried to instill his unreasonable fears in me as well. I realized that he was worried that the end of our friendship was approaching. After all, upon passing the examinations, I would be appointed as a commander and stationed in some far-off place, perhaps in the land of Ephraim, while he would remain in Jerusalem.
“I promise to take you with me.” The idea came to me all at once, unplanned.
He shook his head in despair. “The king swore to my mother on her deathbed not to appoint me to any dangerous position.”
“I’ll keep you safe.”
“He will never agree. No place is more dangerous for a Judean soldier than the towns of the tribes of Rachel.” He paused for a moment, smiling at me with affection. “You hate us even more than you hate the Philistines.”
“Naturally,” I said, hugging him hard and doing everything I could to stop the tears. “At least we learned to work with iron from the Philistines. What could we possibly learn from you Judeans?”
“We can teach you how to steal the throne.” His arms nearly crushed me with love. “You have to admit, we’re experts at that.”
* * *
I was certain that Hadad’s servants would take me back down to the tunnels, and I was already preparing myself for the sickly smell of mildew and for the flood of bad memories. But, to my surprise, they led me first to the garden and then outside the palace walls. Hadad’s chariot was waiting at the gate.
“Get in!”
I took the vacant seat and looked out the window. My fellow soldiers were standing on the parade ground watching me with wonder.
“Draw the curtain.”
“I want to see the view.” It bothered me that Hadad’s previously tight-lipped servants had now taken on their master’s commanding tone. “How long is the ride?”
Instead of getting an answer, the curtain was snapped shut in my face.
I sat in the darkness, trying to get into Hadad’s head and guess where he was taking me. One completely absurd possibility occurred to me, but I liked it. Perhaps he had decided to take me back to Gibeah to see if this time I could defeat the thugs who had robbed me. I pictured the delightful battle and the moment when I would take back the captive Aner, but before this sweet vision could reach its conclusion, the chariot arrived at its destination and the servants ordered me to get out.
The smell of mildew left no room for doubt. The long journey had been meant to confuse me and distract me from the thought of another round of torture. No matter, I consoled myself. I could go into my frozen state whenever I wanted.
I asked the servants why we had ridden for so long only to return to the tunnels below the Palace of Candles, but I received no answer. To my surprise, instead of being lowered down into the depths as I had been two years before, I was taken up an unfamiliar flight of stairs that ended in a long, twisting hallway I’d never seen before. I tried to guess which wing I was in. The place was completely foreign to me. I was taken into a dark, windowless room. The total blackness kept me rooted in place. I opened my eyes wide and spread my arms out helplessly, but I couldn’t see a thing.
Then, all at once, the darkness disappeared, and a tiny flame illuminated the room. The servants placed a burning torch into my outstretched hand and seconds later left the room, locking the door behind them.
My torch lit up the room, and I looked it over with curiosity. Suddenly I noticed a chair in one corner, and on it was sitting a figure like that of a person. I approached it with cautious steps. The figure did not move. I stood in front of it and moved my torch to shed light on its face.
It was the Mad Princess.
* * *
A minute passes before I understand.
Her eyes.
They’re alive.
She sits before me in regal splendor, her back and neck straight, devouring me with hungry eyes. I have no other way to describe her expression.
I stare at her.
The clarity of her voice shocks me even more than the life in her eyes.
Dark shadows dance before me. An uncontrollable shivering takes hold of my body. Hadad’s betrayal punches me in the gut. My breathing is heavy; I am paralyzed with helplessness. Why, Hadad? Why did you lie to me? Why are you in league with those who have done me evil? My betrayers stand in a line before me, laughing at my pain, mocking me for my innocence. Here is the woman who raised me, the one whose waist I used to cling to back in the long ago days of my childhood, the one in whose lap I would bury my head, the one I called Mother. At her side stands her husband, the man whose hands I held and upon whose shoulders I felt safe and secure. And here stands their daughter, my soul sister, the closest person I had in the world. And far behind them, wrapped in a gray cloak, the woman who gave birth to me covers her face.
You too, Hadad?
I followed you blindly. I was willing to accept any torture you brought upon me—being buried alive, being burnt, freezing nearly to death, starving, being tied to a pillory, even being forced to devour a young foal.
You were my surrogate father, Hadad. I believed you. I loved you. And you betrayed me.
Just like everyone else.
* * *
“You aren’t mad,” I say, struggling to form each word.
She cackles. I want to lunge at her, to squeeze my fingers around her dainty neck, to crush her skinny body with my bare hands, but a voice inside me whispers: Another falsehood, what’s the big deal? Haven’t you grown used to it by now?
“Liar,” I say, getting hold of myself and turning my back on her with blatant contempt. “You don’t deserve my anger.”
In a few long strides, my feet carry me to the doorway. I hold up my torch to try to see the way out in the darkness.
“The door is locked, Shelomoam,” she says matter-of-factly.
“I can break through anything that stands in my way.”
“Not this door, Shelomoam.”
“Stop saying my name! If you don’t open this door, I’ll call for my friends. They’ll find me. I can depend on them.”
The Secret Book of Kings: A Novel Page 11
