A Light on the Hill

by Connilyn Cossette

  Darek was quickly relieved of his sword and the obsidian dagger tucked into the belt behind his back. Still, he gripped my hand, jaw set and expression fierce.

  Use your head, he’d told me. So remembering my ruse, I shook off Darek’s hand and placed a fist on my hip, targeting a glare on the guard whose powerful fingers were wrapped around my forearm. “What is the meaning of this?” I spat out, trying to jerk away from the man’s bruising grip. “How dare you touch me!”

  The guard said nothing, the blank eyes that peered from beneath his metal visor assessing me with detachment.

  “Release me,” I insisted, forcing a note of indignation into my command. “And give my servant back his weapons immediately.”

  His cheek quirked, as if vaguely amused by my pretense, but then his grip tightened even more. He leaned down, the stink of garlic and barley beer on his breath wafting into my face. “You’ll have to take that up with the king.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Six

  Surrounded by six guards who forded through the crowd like a river, Darek and I were herded back through the gates I’d just been so relieved to exit. The guard who’d discovered us kept his hand around my arm, his grip wrenching tighter every so often, a none-too-gentle reminder that I’d best not attempt to flee. I’d given up my protests about their rough treatment but worked hard to maintain a haughty expression, acting as though the men were simply there to escort me instead of dragging me before their king against my will.

  They led us up through the city, directly through the center of the marketplace, which seemed to be bustling with activity now that the end of the parade had moved through. Zendaye and Binaim, behind their fabric stall, watched as we passed, their eyes large and troubled.

  Go! Take Yuval and go! I pleaded with them silently, hoping they interpreted my desperate glance for what it was. From the corner of my eye, just before they disappeared from sight, I saw Binaim tug at Zendaye’s arm, and I restrained an audible sigh of relief. Surely they knew that our arrest meant they must go or risk detention themselves. Somehow I’d failed them all.

  Raviv would never even have the chance to destroy me now—the king of Megiddo would likely steal his vengeance. I’d never have the opportunity to speak in my own defense at a trial. Would my father be shamed further by my disappearance and the accusations that I had run away to avoid justice?

  Darek’s hand curved around my wrist—a silent reassurance that he was by my side as we entered the palace courtyard. Would Darek die today as well? Another life cut short by the momentary act of dropping an oleander bloom into my herb basket?

  We climbed the long, stone stairway that led to the palace entrance and were led through huge cedar doors carved with Egyptian-style depictions of some battle. Pharaoh was featured prominently, unnaturally tall and draped with jewels, walking across the backs of his enemies. From the Canaanite garb of those crouched beneath the sandals of the Egyptian king, I assumed this was a depiction of whatever victory had led to the city of Megiddo being under the hand of Pharaoh in the first place.

  As we walked through the hallways, more evidence of Egypt’s influence appeared. Alabaster oil lamps flickered in the niches, covered in Egyptian symbols. Large papyrus wall-hangings decorated the walls, more depictions of Pharaoh’s glory. Even the guards standing at attention by the entrance to the throne room were dressed in white linen kilts with turquoise scarabs hanging from gold chains, short black braided wigs, and Egyptian-style kopesh swords dangling from their belts. I’d been born over thirty years after the Israelites left Egypt, but as I passed through the doorway I somehow felt as though I’d stepped foot into the domain of Pharaoh himself.

  Only a few steps into the room, we stopped. The two tall guards in front of me obscured my full view of the intimidating cedar throne that dominated one end of the space. My captor released his iron grip on my arm, and my hand tingled at the freedom.

  “My lord,” said the guard with the same flat tone he’d used with me. “We’ve found the woman.”

  “Have you?” said a booming voice, one that suited a man who ruled over not only Megiddo but all the surrounding cities. “And where was she?”

  “Nearly made it out of the city,” said the guard, leaving out the fact that Darek and I were already making our way down the road when overtaken.

  “Good. Take your men and go.”

  The command was immediately obeyed, and the men melted from the room, leaving Darek and me standing together in front of the empty throne. Animal pelts of every variety carpeted the dais upon which the throne held court, and a spotted cheetah skin draped across the wide seat.

  At the head of a large table near a window sat the king. Even seated and leaning with his elbows on the table, it was obvious that he was very tall, perhaps a full head taller than Darek, and was dressed in a crisp-pleated kilt and a gold usekh collar that covered half of his thickly muscled bare chest—devoid of any hair, in the Egyptian custom. Nothing else about the large man looked Egyptian however; his skin was pale and the wispy hair on the sides of his balding head a light brown. Strangely, one side of his clean-shaven face was puffy, and a darkening bruise adorned one eye, as if he’d been in a recent altercation.

  He reached for his wine cup and took a long draft, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Come, my lady. Sit. Eat.”

  My feet anchored to the floor, I did not move, confused by the politeness of his tone and the peculiarity of his appearance.

  “Please.” With a tight smile, he gestured to the ornate ebony chair at his right. “I insist.”

  Knowing it was death to refuse, I complied and felt Darek shadow me as I did so. The king’s light blue eyes tracked me across the room and remained latched to me as I slid into the chair. My fingers curled tight around the eagle claws carved into the arms.

  The king’s gaze flitted over my head to Darek. “Your man here seems quite attentive.” He dropped his gaze to me. “I have no reason to be alarmed now, do I?” One pale brow lifted in subtle warning.

  “Of course not, my lord. Darek is paid well to stay by my side. You understand that a woman traveling alone cannot be too careful.”

  “Of course.” His lips quirked as he took in the sight of my protector, his keen eyes appraising him over my shoulder. “By the looks of him, you chose well.”

  “I did. There is no finer bodyguard in the land of Canaan.” Willing all trembling in my body to stay concentrated within my legs and out of my voice, I leaned forward with a wide smile in hopes of drawing his dangerous scrutiny away from Darek. “How can I be of assistance to you, my lord?”

  Thankfully my distraction worked, and the king dropped his attention back to me. “Please, my dear, do eat.” He gestured to the bronze plate in front of me and a servant appeared at my elbow. The silent man served me roasted beef slathered in a thick brown sauce, a mixture of honeyed pomegranate, apples, figs, and a few other fruits I had no names for sprinkled with cinnamon, and a savory bread topped with olive paste and silken, herbed goat cheese.

  My mouth watered at the delicious aromas, and although desperate to sample everything, I held still, struggling with indecision. Would this king poison me with food at his own table?

  The king leaned toward me, a two-pronged utensil in his meaty grasp. I flinched at the sudden move, holding my breath. He speared a slice of beef from my plate and brought it to his mouth. With a little moan of satisfaction he chewed, and then with a nod toward my plate, indicated I should follow his lead.

  Not wanting to risk further insult, I mimicked him and took a bite of the roast. My eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. Never had I tasted anything so rich and delicious. I chewed slowly, savoring the buttery tenderness of the meat. It must have been spitted over a low fire for a very long time. And the sauce—I had no words for the honey-savory flavor. Forgetting myself, I licked my lips to ensure I did not miss a drop.

  “My cooks are the best outside of Pharaoh’s palace, are they not?” />
  With my mouth full of a bite of the sweet fruit concoction, I could only nod, wishing I could beg a few moments with those cooks to learn the secrets to such extraordinary recipes. But a sudden thought struck me like a spear. Darek was standing behind me, watching the king and me eat, his stomach just as empty as mine after the simple barley bread and yogurt we’d eaten with Zendaye early this morning. But as Darek was only my servant; in the king’s eyes, I could do nothing but continue to eat.

  The king lifted his cup to his lips and took another drink, as did I, the fine wine sliding down my throat with ease. I resisted the urge to ask where the grapes had been harvested and what sort of a blend the dark red consisted of.

  “You must excuse my appearance this morning.” The king gestured to the bruise beneath his eye. “A bit of an exhibition to begin the Harvest Festival this morning. A tradition from my own people in the north. The king must ensure his subjects know he can hold his own.” He sliced his meat with his knife, the sound of metal against metal crawling up my arms and raising gooseflesh. “A worthy opponent, that Mittani. Got a few hits on me before I gutted him.”

  At the same moment my stomach rebelled against the casual way he spoke of murdering a man, something soft brushed against my leg. Then, before I could even react, something wet and rough passed over my toes. I jerked backward, nearly coming off my chair. “What was that?”

  The king laughed, his mouth full of food. “That is my cub, Oni.”

  I remembered the conversation I’d had with the guard at the gates of Megiddo about the lion cub chained up in the throne room. Back stiff and eyes wide, I tucked my sandals beneath my chair.

  With a flourish the king sliced off another hunk of beef and then held it in the air next to the table. A golden paw swiped upward, knocking the meat off the tip of the knife and onto the floor. “He won’t try to hurt you. He is just like an infant right now. Although,” he shrugged, “his claws and teeth are plenty sharp.” The lion cub appeared, fuzzy ears poking above the surface as he propped both paws on the table, nose twitching in search of more beef. The king indulged him by spearing the rest of his portion and tossing it two paces away. The cub pounced on it, the chain attached to a leather collar around his neck clanking on the floor as he did so.

  “A lovely animal, my lord. But won’t he be dangerous as he grows?”

  “Precisely!” The excitement flaring in his eyes seemed nearly as perilous. “Nothing like a little fear to keep one’s enemies in line, don’t you think?” He tented his fingers beneath his chin, examining my face. “And, my lady . . . I have heard you know exactly what it is like to face a lioness.”

  He had heard of our encounter? What else did this king know about me? About Darek? About Yuval? I dropped my hands to my lap, gripping my fingers tightly to keep them from shaking on top of the table and giving me away.

  “Yes,” I said. “My men and I were traveling up from Yaffa. We’d gotten caught in the storm two days ago and were set upon by a starving lioness on the mountain. My other slave was gravely injured.”

  “And where is that slave now?” The king cast a look around the room, as if Yuval might be hidden behind the long purple curtains at the window or behind the door.

  “I sold him.”

  “Sold him?”

  “Yes, my lord. I have no need of a slave who cannot protect me as I travel.”

  “And yet I was told that you paid handsomely to ensure he was cared for.”

  “Only out of gratefulness for saving my life.”

  “Generous.” He took another sip of his wine, watching me over the rim. “He must have been a loyal slave.”

  I tipped my head in acknowledgment of his compliment, a tight smile on my lips.

  “And tell me . . .” his question lifted high, as if searching for what to call me.

  “Moriel, my lord.”

  “Ah, Moriel.” He smiled, leaning forward, those pale blue eyes seeming to pin me in place. “Tell me how such a lovely young woman came to be traveling along the road in the first place.”

  Taking a moment to swallow the trepidation that welled up in my throat, I returned his smile. “We were on our way to Beit She’an, my lord. I’d been told how well fortified it was, with the garrison stationed within, and hoped to live there, at least until those Hebrews are run out of our land.”

  His brow lifted. “Ah. And you came from . . . ?”

  “A small town outside of Yaffa, my lord.”

  His brow wrinkled. “A priestess, living in a small town? I find that difficult to believe. There are no temples between Yaffa and Ashdod.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I scrambled around in my head for an explanation about places I’d never seen. “True, my lord. I originally came from Jericho.”

  “Jericho?” Disbelief moved across his features. “The city destroyed seven years ago?”

  “Indeed. I left only a few months before those savages came through and burned it.”

  “I was told it was destroyed by an earthquake, a massive one that leveled the city. . . . Tell me, my dear, what caused you to leave Jericho?”

  With what I hoped was a silent gulp, I told him a variation on Rahab’s story, of being a favorite of the king, discovering the plot to kill him, and how the king had been so grateful he’d given Rahab—me—enough reward to begin my life anew in another town, well before the earthquake had knocked Jericho to the ground.

  “I decided that I would live my life on my own terms and purchase my own inn. And the small village I chose is on the main road to Yaffa, so I had plenty of customers.” I smiled with a hint of suggestion and a playful tilt of my head. “It wasn’t long until word spread and I had a thriving business.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” He studied me for a few moments and then his brow lowered in disbelief. “I find it hard to believe you have lived more than twenty or so years, Moriel.”

  I flipped my hair behind my shoulder. “I am well over twenty-five, my lord,” I snipped, the lie coming easily. “It is amazing what the best balms from Egypt can do for a lady’s skin!”

  “Indeed,” the king said, his eyes traveling slowly down my face, my throat, and along my bare arms. “I can only imagine its softness.”

  The wine nearly surged upward, burning my stomach. I hadn’t meant to entice this terrifying man, only to keep his suspicions at bay. To distract myself and attempt to seem at ease, I took another bite of the fruit salad, fascinated by the spicy-sweet mixture and wondering how I could possibly recreate the taste again. I reached for a piece of sweet bread, filled with a swirl of dried apricot, raisins, cinnamon, and pistachios, and capped with golden honey. Internally sighing with pleasure, I worked very hard to take small bites and not shove the entire delicious thing into my mouth.

  “And tell me, Moriel. Why would the High Priestess let you go so easily?” He scratched his chin. “What was her name again?” He tapped the table with a long finger. “I met her so long ago . . .”

  I swallowed the last of my sweet roll so quickly that a piece of it lodged in my throat and I was forced to take another swig of wine to free my voice and prevent a coughing fit. Thankfully, the name of that horrific woman would never leave my memory. “Mishabel, and may she enjoy the delights of the afterlife with her Divine Lady.” I repeated the phrase I’d heard in Jericho.

  The king’s eyes flared with surprise that I’d come up with the correct name for the priestess. “Why, yes. Mishabel. I remember her well.” A flash of disgust registered in the downturn of his mouth.

  Ah. He and I shared the same opinion of the awful woman.

  “As do I,” I said, the memory of her twisted, cosmetic-laden face rising up in my mind. “Unfortunately, she too was part of the scheme to assassinate the king of Jericho and was forced to release me to avoid revealing her own culpability.” I gave him a rueful smile. “I heard she perished that awful day.” With a playful pout I shook my head. “How very sad.”

  The king laughed at my morbid hum
or and slapped the table. Oni jolted against his chain at the sudden noise. “Indeed. She was awful, wasn’t she?”

  Oni settled again, tail twitching, occupied with chewing on the corner of a fine woolen rug. I released a breath, grateful that my story contained just enough truth to fool the king. “No one more deserving of being buried alive.”

  “Ah, it does seem as if you are being honest, my dear.” He leaned forward and placed his large hand on mine where it lay on the table. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “I had my doubts, you see, with the way you and your men arrived so quietly, and then leaving with only one of your slaves—well, you can imagine I might have cause for such doubt. There have been rumors of spies, you know. Hebrew spies.” His thumb stroked mine, and behind me Darek inhaled sharply.

  I spoke quickly, hoping the king had not heard Darek’s reaction. “Hebrews? Here?” I widened my eyes in false innocence. I looked around as if one might be listening to our conversation, subtly sliding my hand from beneath his as I did so. “But why?”

  Leaning back into his chair, he pressed out his lip and waved a palm. “Well, you know, of course, that my predecessor was slaughtered by their army at Hazor and those slaves set their sights on Megiddo next. Fortunately, they were no match for the iron-wheeled chariots we sent out to meet them, and they ran off, tails between their legs like a pack of naughty jackals.”

  I’d heard the story of the battle of Hazor from my father, who had seen those kings of Canaan slaughtered by Yehoshua and Calev with his own eyes, and how Pharaoh had installed this man over Megiddo, a ruthless Hurrian to ensure that the city would stay loyal to Egypt and fend off any further Hebrew advancement.

  By the looks of the rich Egyptian appointments in this room, the shining bronze plates, the delicacies set before me on this table, this king was provided with every luxury by Egypt to ensure such loyalty.