Thorns of Glory, page 46
Two hundred celebrants. Perhaps three hundred. That was my initial guess. The room was a trapezoid, the narrowest end situated farthest from the entry platform where we stood. Four rows of tables converged toward a shorter, primary row of tables, presumably reserved for royalty or royal guests.
Upon our appearance there was a general response of approval. Some raised their goblets. Others made exclamations of greeting or said things like, “Finally!” or “There she is!” The most enthusiastic seemed to be bachelor-aged men, a few who stood and clapped. The least enthusiastic appeared to be the young women, especially those who sat beside or had accompanied the younger men. Some of these girls glared, subtly, then not-so-subtly, at their escorts. Not every woman. Some smiled or made flattering remarks about my dress.
I ignored them all, my eyes desperately scanning the faces. They were not here. Joshua, Melody—none of them were here. I narrowed my gaze at Old Saul, who faced stoically forward, suddenly pretending I was invisible.
Someone cleared his throat and belatedly announced, “Her Highness, Princess Salomé of the House of our esteemed King Herod!”
Did I say those least enthused by my appearance were the younger women? Oh, but this was not true. An entire coterie of men who filled the upper half of the second table veritably ground their teeth when they saw me: Temple priests, perhaps two dozen. They were fully adorned in white-and-blue vestments. I studied each face with trepidation, fearing I might see my brother, Nimrah, among them. He was not. I think I’d been told there were ninety or a hundred members of this intimidating body called the Sanhedrin. The majority must have been busy with their round-the-clock duties at the Temple. Those enjoying a respite from such duties appeared to have gathered here, if for no other reason than to shoot venomous grimaces at me. Er, that is, at Princess Salomé.
It was to my advantage that I felt I knew precisely how Salomé would have reacted to such disdain. How did I know? Ashamedly, because my mother, Asherah, possessed a startling number of the same manipulative personality traits. My script, therefore, was already too familiar.
Old Saul guided me down the center toward the royal table. My female attendants did not accompany me. They gathered along the walls with dozens of other attendants, male and female, presumably to stand at attention and serve the needs of their patrons whenever they might snap their fingers. Only the bodyguards followed closely in my wake. In this setting, even Old Saul was careful to keep a respectful distance behind his Princess.
A girl stepped toward me, her voice laced with flattery. “You’re a vision of loveliness, Princess Salomé! That dress should be on permanent display in the Domus Transitoria!”
“Too kind,” I replied, almost monotone. “You’re too, too kind.”
I wished I knew the girl’s name or the place she had mentioned. Unless a compliment was bestowed by a superior, my mother would have never received it with sincerity.
A young nobleman, already mildly tipsy, raised his goblet. “A dance, Princess! Do not let us pass the night without a pre-seder dance!”
This was a religious event, wasn’t it? Such sentiment was confirmed by the woman beside him, who harshly whispered, “Control yourself, Eliud! It’s a solemn occasion, sodomite!”
A second young man leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially, “No garment could outshine the luminosity of your soft white skin, Salomé.”
I replied in an equally low tone, “A vision upon which you will never feast your eyes.”
The young man frowned, either because he was already a suitor or considered himself a prospective suitor and hadn’t anticipated such a snub. I, of course, feigned to ignore him, as I ignored other lewd comments and unctuous compliments about my gown. Asherah would have played it the same.
A venerable figure at the royal table stood to greet me. He was stout, with ruddy cheeks and a double chin, even amidst his considerable beard. This was, without a doubt, King Herod Antipas. My heart stuttered, and my stomach felt queasy.
Queen Herodias, at his right, did not stand. She briefly noted my arrival, then chattered with a chambermaid whose job had something to do with preparing her personal foodstuffs. Other than Old Saul and a few eunuchs, the Queen was the only other soul in this room who knew my true identity. Such chicanery seemed of little interest to her. She made a small yawn as she spoke to her servant. Clearly, she’d have rather stayed in bed. Then again, her calculated effort to ignore me seemed too calculated. She had more interest in my presence than she was letting on.
It was all I could do to stop myself from demanding what had become of the real Salomé, as well as Joshua and the others, as well as my property: the Oracle of Cohor. Saul, behind me, looked poised to respond to such an outburst. Surely he’d first react with phony, raucous laughter, then with some hasty claim like, “Our eminent Princess has evidently arrived at the celebration after having sampled our first-rate wine selection.” He and the eunuchs would then haul me off like a common lunatic, to the laughter and applause of my “adoring” fans, who might be disappointed if I did not stir up some kind of row.
No, I determined. Do not panic, Hamira. You shall not give them what they expect. Make no mistake, I would play this moment to the hilt, but I would exploit the performance to discover some means of turning the tables.
His Majesty reached out both hands to take hold of mine. He wore a golden diadem with dozens of jewels and overlapping purple robes of differing fabrics, embroidered neck to foot. Rings encircled every finger, including one of monster size on his right hand.
He wore something more: a grin as lecherous as that of the younger men I’d encountered on my approach. His facial expression shifted perpetually from that of a little boy with a mouthful of sweet treats to that of a fiendish thug capable of violence at the slightest provocation. Either image caused my flesh to crawl. Graciously, I allowed his fleshy fingers to take my hands and grip them tightly, almost feverishly.
“Your Majesty!” I said, grinning widely. “You are looking well, Stepfather! Handsome and fit!”
My ebullient tone caught the attention of the Queen. Her conversation with the chambermaid broke off. She studied me, squinting, uncertain whether I was not, in fact, her daughter.
“Salomé, my little enchantress!” exclaimed the King. “I was beginning to wonder if you might not come.” He leaned in close, lips hardly moving. “And stop with the ‘stepfather’ drivel. We are not amongst peasantry.”
I glanced back at the near table. “But we are amongst priests.”
“Curse them!” Herod said gruffly, abandoning any pretense of inconspicuousness. “Every one bought and paid for! Those snarls are part of their official wardrobe. Ignore those slithering asps!”
At that, he sent the representatives of the Sanhedrin a toothy smile, causing them to tilt their heads in confusion, unsure if the King might be talking about them.
I turned my attention to Herodias. “So glad you could make it, Mother. Are you feeling better?”
She continued to gape, again trying to decide if I was merely playing my part with enthusiasm or if her daughter was engaging in some inscrutable trick or scheme. I privately wondered if the Queen might be near-sighted. How was it possible for a mother to fail to recognize her own daughter?
After an awkward pause, she replied, “Yes.”
“So delighted!” I prattled on. “What a misfortune if you had missed this special, rare occasion.”
Younger voices, presumably those of Salomé’s friends—persons closer to her own age—were calling and waving for me to join them.
“May I greet my friends, Mother?” I asked, presuming that to abandon the King’s table without permission might be an affront, even for Princess Salomé.
The Queen leaned very close—close enough to ensure that no one else overheard. “Hamira?”
I gasped and backed away, as if incensed. “Mother!” Just as suddenly my lips curled into an impish grin. I winked at her. “I’ll return momentarily.”
She grasped a pleat of my dress before I could depart. Her face reddened, a combination of frustration and anger. Whatever I might have been playing at, Herodias was not impressed.
“What are the names of those friends?” she demanded.
So. She honestly wasn’t sure who I was. She was proffering a test! I glanced at my “friends,” then back at the Queen, my expression seemingly stricken with oblivion, as if unmasked. She started to form a triumphant grin.
“Ariyah, Ephrem, and the others,” I replied. “Mother, have you gone daft?”
Nonplussed, she released my dress.
I turned away, heaving a soft sigh of relief that I’d remembered the two names Salomé had spluttered before we separated. Behind me, I heard the King comment to his wife, “What is wrong with you? You don’t recognize your own niece and second cousin? I’ve been suspicious that your eyesight was—”
“My eyesight is fine!” she snapped.
I could feel the heat of Herodias’s glare as I approached the covey of adolescents who, like most adolescents, loitered about before taking a seat. I glimpsed Old Saul at the far left of the royal tables, preoccupied with another court official. A stroke of luck. I felt sure the Queen would be trying to catch his eye and call him over to confirm my identity. Think quickly, Hamira. I needed, somehow, to escape this place. How? Without the oracle, I felt helpless.
There were four exits, the widest being the open space behind the royal tables. This way led into an airy courtyard and gardens, fountains, and a filigreed roof. There were also canals and polished marble stone, transformed into mirrors, like the surface of a pool, by the torchlights. Lamps from loftier perches cast a grid of crisscrossing shadows. Pairs of sentries closely guarded the other three exits. I guessed additional sentries and soldiers were posted around every corner. I’d lost my bearings. I couldn’t be certain which direction might lead to a palace gate.
And yet . . . how could I leave? Salomé had lied to me, that spider! It was starting to look like she’d lied to me with every breath of her lungs. Neither Joshua, Melody, nor anyone else—not even Salomé herself!—were present. Might the Princess arrive with them at any moment? Was I a fool to think she might still keep her word?
Could I afford to take that chance?
I didn’t know what diablerie was underfoot, except that I felt certain Salomé was engaged in some subterfuge of which even the King and Queen were ignorant. My spine was afire with intuition. Grim intuition. The Princess had never intended that I partner with her in some childish prank. Instead, I’d been duped to serve as her decoy, allowing her to commit some insidious act. Some unpardonable deed I felt certain would sentence me, Joshua, Melody—every last one of us!—to death.
What wicked plot had the Princess hatched since our introduction a few hours ago? No, no. Her plan must have formulated long before that. Assuredly, it involved my brother. Her devious mind had started conjuring its witchery the moment Nimrah had described to her our uncannily similar appearances.
I had no time to ponder it. I had a part to perform, a part that demanded improvisation every unfolding instant, including every syllable of dialogue.
“Princess!” greeted one of the young men, tall and self-assured. I pegged him right away as the ringleader of this little band of palace mischief-makers.
I knew the type. My father’s royal court veritably brimmed over with them: Young aspirants obsessed with rank and station, eyes perpetually on the lookout for vulnerabilities, even in their closest allies. Vulnerabilities that they would later employ to stab them in the back, particularly if it improved their own standing among the elites. Those who may think this tactic was reserved for males were naively mistaken.
Such an exhausting game! I’d watched my sisters play it—scratching and clawing—for years. Somehow I believed if I stayed in the middle, I’d remain invisible. Instead, I earned, by unrelenting degrees, my father’s perpetual wrath: A sentiment that would have eventually cost me my freedom or, as in the case of my oldest brother, Joreth, my very life. It was for this reason, and because of my mother’s theft of Akish’s silver sword in retaliation for Joreth’s death, that my mother, sisters, and I had fled to be with my great-grandfather, King Omer.
The tall ringleader acted as if whatever he was about to say would only find itself beclouded in the gleam of my gold-threaded dress. He snatched a deep breath and let out a melodramatic suspire. “There are no words,” he declared. “Absolutely no words to describe your ravishing countenance.”
“How about ‘ravishing’?” heckled the girl beside him.
A second young man added, “Leave it to Ephrem to claim there are no adjectives and then supply one.”
Good, I thought. I’d identified one of the people Salomé had named.
“It is truly beautiful,” said another girl.
“Utter frippery,” I demurred. “It’ll do for the occasion. Your gown, however, is a work of unfeigned elegance.”
The girl seemed taken aback. She reexamined herself. “Do you really think so?”
Was a compliment from Salomé so rare that her friend was befuddled?
I modified my performance. “My seamstress could make a few improvements. I’d loan her to you if she wasn’t so consumed by the demands of my own wardrobe.”
A few laughed, mostly males, but not the girl from whom I’d snatched my compliment.
The young man, Ephrem, put his arm around my shoulder and turned me away from the others, confidentially. “Sweet Salomé, the moon blazes like a beacon. After the feast I’d be honored if you’d walk with me along the portico.” His chin nudged toward the courtyard and its garden beyond the King’s table. “Do not reject me, maiden. I am pleading for your companionship. Besides, I have juicy gossip. I know you cannot resist that. I’ll beg on my knees, if required.”
He was clearly a cad of the highest order. Still, his proposition caused me to ponder a possible course of action.
“Tell me, uh, gallant Ephrem,” I said. “My memory must be slipping. Remind me: Does this portico have a gate?”
“What? To the street? I’m hurt.” He feigned clutching his heart. “As children we sat side by side on that wall a dozen times, back when kisses were more than sufficient entertainment.”
“Ah yes,” I said as if relishing a memory that might have otherwise made me vomit.
“If you recall, that gate is always locked,” Ephrem added. “Frankly, I doubt it’s been opened in a generation.” He nudged his shoulder into mine. “Is it your intention to escape?”
I looked at him uneasily. “E-escape?”
“The feast!” he said, whispering loudly and chuckling. “What sort of shenanigans were you planning outside the palace gates on a night like this? If you leave me out of it, I swear I’ll take my vengeance. I’ll ignore you for three full minutes. Perhaps as many as four.”
“How high is the wall?”
He hefted his eyebrows. “High enough to shatter your pretty ankle. Maybe your leg.”
“How do you—I mean, how did we reach the top of the wall in the first place?”
“The stairs,” he said incredulously. “You can almost see them from here. Have you really been in Galilee so long?”
I pressed on. “What if we hung on by our fingers and dropped?”
“Well, I might do that,” he said with masculine assurance. “I’ve never seen you do anything so physical in your life. Your, um, ‘dances’ hardly count. Are you that determined? Aren’t you afraid you’ll break a nail or scuff that exquisite gown?”
I took Ephrem’s arm and batted my lashes. “Might you be willing to create a diversion suitable enough to give me time to climb that wall and slip away unseen?”
He tucked in his chin. “I don’t follow. You’re the Princess. Why not just exit the main gate? Who would dare to stop you?”
I glanced back at the royal table. Herodias had not yet managed to snag the attention of Old Saul. That was partly because the old jaguar had his gaze fixed on me.
I whispered into Ephrem’s ear. “Old Saul.”
“The chancellor?” Ephrem started to turn.
“Don’t look at him, you armadillo! I mistakenly dropped a hint that I might explore the city streets in the moonlight, and ‘King Stuffiness’ roundly forbade it. He has Saul watching my every squiggling move, along with four of his henchmen.”
“You’re jesting!” said Ephrem. “His Majesty thinks Old Saul has nothing better to do at the pre-seder? What’s an armadillo?”
“Will you make the diversion?” I asked more urgently.
“I thought I was invited to join you.”
I’d intimated no such thing, but since I’d already started along this path, I decided I might as well see where it’d lead.
“You are,” I assured him. “After! If you try to escape with me, they’ll notice for certain. I’ll meet you later at . . . at the southeast corner. I’ll be the one in the ‘ravishing’ dress.”
He laughed. “You’re actually serious! I never thought sweet Salomé would ever surprise me again. Of course I’m in. Southeast corner? Ten minutes after you depart?”
“Twenty,” I said. “First, allow the bees nest to fully stir with the knowledge of my disappearance.”
“When should I commence this diversion?”
“The sooner the better. That is, right after our plates are served.”
He paused to study me a moment more, then kissed my hand. “It will be my privilege. Incredible! I’m going to be a part of one of Princess Salomé’s infamous conspiracies! Why haven’t you invited me before?”
“Conspiracies?”
We jolted and turned. Saul was standing an arm’s length away! The old jaguar had snuck up behind us with all the stealth of . . . a jaguar!
“What conspiracy have you invited young Ephrem to participate in, Princess Sal-o-mé?” He split the syllables, presumably to remind me that he was among the very few who knew perfectly well that this wasn’t my real name.
