Garden of Madness, page 15
Memories of the circuitous route she and Pedaiah had taken to Daniel’s house last week sped her feet. She would be there before the sun had fully risen.
She did not hail a doorkeeper, did not wait to be invited into Daniel’s home. Before she breached the courtyard, she heard voices. He had already begun his day.
Tia hesitated at the end of the passage from the street and searched the leafy courtyard for the old diviner. She found him standing in the center, facing her but with head bowed under a covering, a shawl of some sort. Another man’s back was to her, a shawl over his head as well, tasseled and striped in blue. The second man was speaking, and her breath caught at the recognition of Pedaiah’s voice.
He was praying. Again. This time the words were lost to her, spoken in his Judaean tongue. Daniel joined him, and they prayed the words in unison, their deep voices blending, old and young, kind and haughty, until she could not tell them apart.
She leaned a shoulder against the wall, and the anxiety of her rush to reach Daniel evaporated. The courtyard lay in early morning shadows, but a warm breeze blew across her face and chased away the night terrors.
Their prayers, though she did not understand the words, seemed to her to be prayers of praise and confession, not the temple priests’ demands and pleas. They rose like incense, with the scent of sweet sacrifice, from the lips of the two men.
He was a radical man, this Daniel. All these years in the upper strata of Babylonian power and still he retained the faith of his homeland. Risked everything to remain faithful to his One God. How much had he sacrificed?
Tia shifted on her feet, and the slight movement caught his attention. Prayers arrested, he lifted his eyes and smiled on her.
“Forgive me, Daniel.” Tia bowed her head. “I did not intend to intrude.” She did not look at Pedaiah as he turned.
“Come, child.” Daniel held out his arms. “There is no better place for you than in the center of our prayers.”
Her throat tightened at these words, and she crossed the courtyard on swift feet and fell into his grip. He smelled of oil and wine, as though he himself were the libation poured out to his God.
“I have had a dream, Daniel.” The words were a whisper against his ear but loud enough for Pedaiah to hear. Daniel led her to a bench and sat beside her. Pedaiah stood nearby. It would be senseless to ask him to leave.
Daniel lifted her chin. “This dream has troubled you greatly.”
She looked into his clear eyes, then noted how much dark hair he retained amidst the gray, his youthful physique. Odd. She had thought him old because he had always been this way even when she was a child. But this morning he seemed young to her, and she thought of her dream, of Amel and his smell of age. “How old are you, Daniel?”
He smiled and glanced at Pedaiah, as if to share his amusement. “It has been more than forty years since your father brought me to Babylon as a youth. We have aged together, he and I.”
At this mention of her father, the image of his burning face blazed against her memory.
“What is it, child? Tell me your dream.”
She poured it out to both of them, though she could not look at the man who stood apart, only at the one who held her hand through the telling.
When she was through, Pedaiah spoke for the first time. “And did you return to the palace with the young mage?”
She faced him finally and chewed her lip. “I—I do not know. I awoke before I made my decision.”
Daniel patted her hand. “Decision is a fitting word, child. For that is what you will soon face.”
“What does it mean, my dream? Does it signal madness?”
He closed his eyes and bent his head over her hand. He had no sheep’s liver nor oil-on-water. Did he yet seek his One God for an answer?
When he lifted his eyes, they were clear but guarded. “There is no interpretation of this dream for you yet, Tiamat. But it will come, in time. Know only this: The mage Amel-Marduk is not a friend to you. Even now there is a war for your soul in the heaven-lies. Do not let the darkness masked as light take you prisoner.”
“Amel has something to do with all of this, then? The danger to my family?”
Daniel’s fingers clenched around her own, uncomfortably tight. “Tiamat, a lie, no matter how beautiful, is still a lie.”
It was a warning. A warning to stay away from Amel. And yet even as Tia left Daniel’s home, left Pedaiah’s silent watching, her mind and heart went directly to where Daniel said they should not go.
She felt again the moment of her dream when Amel’s warm grasp had returned her to flesh. She wished again to feel that warmth.
She would seek out Amel.
In the night street, not far from Daniel’s house, Pedaiah knocked at the door of Samuel ben Hananiah. Samuel had proven himself a loyal servant of Yahweh, training his family in the ways of the Law, and had become a friend to Pedaiah, though twice his age.
The door swung open, sliding against the dirt-packed floor, to reveal the humble but tidy interior of the small home Samuel shared with his wife and still-unmarried daughter, Judith.
Samuel grinned from the doorway, the lamplight behind him making him look birdlike with his always-disheveled hair and angular build. “Pedaiah! We were not expecting you this night. Come in, come in.” He pulled the door wider.
“I—I am sorry to come with no invitation—”
Samuel’s wife appeared behind him, small and compact and smiling. “Nonsense.” She called over her shoulder, “Judith!”
Pedaiah ducked into the home but needed only wait by the door for a moment. Judith appeared, a pleased look of curiosity lighting her eyes.
Her mother fanned herself with a pudgy hand. “So warm in here tonight. Why don’t you two see if there is a breeze on the rooftop?”
Pedaiah hid a smile. It was no secret what was in the mind of a Jewish mother with an unmarried daughter. Judith raised her eyebrows to Pedaiah in a silent question and he nodded. She took a terra-cotta oil lamp from the table, and he followed her up the narrow stone stairs and onto the open roof. One half of the roof lay covered in drying reeds, but two chairs placed side by side faced the river, away from the palace.
Judith set the lamp down on a small table between the chairs. “You seem distressed, Pedaiah. Has something happened? Is Daniel well?”
Pedaiah dropped into a seat, glad that from a seated position very little of the city could be seen. “I have just come from him. He is well.”
“But you are not.” Judith pulled the other chair closer and sat, their knees nearly touching. “Will you tell me why?”
He sighed, watched the orange tip of the lamp wick, and tried to sort his thoughts.
Judith took his hand in her own warm fingers. “Pedaiah, you know that I care for you.”
He nodded. Why had he come here? It was unfair to Judith.
“You can tell me anything. I’m stronger than you think.”
Pedaiah studied their hands, intertwined. “In over forty years our people still have not learned the lessons of exile. I fear they never will.”
Judith leaned back in her chair but did not release his hand. “Those of us born here are only now becoming leaders, Pedaiah. Perhaps this is why our future is still bound up in Babylon and will be for years to come. You must have patience.”
“Patience! Bah!” He pulled away and crossed his arms. “How can they eagerly await the return to the land, prepared to forsake idolatry, when everything about this pagan place is so enticing?”
“Because you will teach them to do so.”
He closed his eyes against her misplaced confidence. “How can I, when I am a hypocrite myself?”
The night air swirled along the edges of the roof, ruffling the dry tips of the reeds and lifting the hair from his damp neck. Judith was silent. Did she understand his self-loathing?
At last she spoke, the tone soft and contemplative. “Perhaps Yahweh has given you this trial so you would better understand your countrymen and the temptations they face.”
Pedaiah sat forward, his eyes on hers. “It is a test, then? I am to set an example?”
Judith shrugged one shoulder. “I do not know the mind of Yahweh.”
“Perhaps you are right. This—this distraction—it keeps me from pushing forward with my teaching, from what I am supposed to be doing. Just as my fellow Jews are distracted by the charms of Babylon.”
“Or perhaps this distraction is the very thing you are supposed to be concerned with.”
Pedaiah eyed her warily. Did she truly know of what they spoke?
“I am not a fool, Pedaiah. I see the way you look at her, the way you speak of her.” Judith’s voice was soft, sad perhaps. “You care deeply, and that is one of the qualities that make you a wonderful man.”
He dropped his eyes, rubbed at his forehead with two fingers. “I am confused, Judith.”
“She is very beautiful.”
Pedaiah closed his eyes again, avoiding the pain in hers. “It is not her beauty. It is what I see beyond it. Her strength, her devotion to her family.”
“Does she know?”
He shook his head. “How can I tell her? When everything I’ve ever taught is screaming in my head to walk away, to turn my back on the palace and everyone in it?”
He waited for her answer, and in those moments Judith seemed to recede from him, though she still sat in the chair beside him. A distance, more than physical, was growing between them. Her voice came to him as from far away, resigned but not despairing.
“Pedaiah, how can you not?”
CHAPTER 22
In the copper blaze of a dozen braziers scattered at the palace courtyard’s perimeter, the lush greenery of the atrium danced with green shadows and silvery lights. Palm trees rooted deep beneath the palace floor spread branches across the darkness of the night sky, a thousand stars piercing their fronds. Trailing vines swung from the tiered balcony that ringed the courtyard. A fertile oasis in the desert, the garden seduced all in its leafy arms and earthy smells and the pulsing rhythm of celebration.
The largest of the palace’s four courtyards was often used for social gatherings in the evenings, sometimes centered around a holy day, often impromptu and spurred by bored harem wives. A large conclave of women lounged tonight.
For three days Tia had sought Amel, in banquet room and corridor. She had not dared to enter the Hall of Magi again. Now she stood at the edge of the courtyard and skimmed the crowd with her eyes, as she had done with every crowd for days. There. A surge of victory quickened her pulse.
Amel-Marduk sat cross-legged across the courtyard on the other side of the large circular pool in the center. He spoke with someone, and his smile was visible even from here. His upper body rocked slightly, in time with the drummers whose fingertips flew over impossibly complex rhythms on the drums between their knees.
A cluster of dancers twirled between them, blocking Tia’s view of him. The women’s multicolored robes spun outward with their movements, and their hand cymbals clinked in harmony with the gold beads of their veils. She waited for them to pass, then crossed, skirting the central pool along its blue and yellow mosaic tiles.
Amel’s gaze connected with her own and his smile grew. He slid to one side, creating space for her. She lowered herself to the stone floor and drew her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest. “I have been looking for you.”
They faced the courtyard, but Amel’s voice was for her alone. His eyes went to his amulet around her neck, then back to Tia’s face. “Then I am overjoyed you have found me.”
In the days she had been searching for Amel, Daniel’s warnings had not been utterly lost on her. This mage was Shadir’s special pupil. She could not trust him entirely, and indeed should probably even suspect him of complicity in his tutor’s plot. She would be on her guard.
She watched the dancers in silence for some minutes. There were perhaps a dozen of them, sometimes dancing in concert, often spreading through the crowd to please one particular cluster. The melody of lyre and flute tumbled over haunting minor notes and gave their undulating bodies a sultry, hypnotic cadence. Mixed with the brazier smoke and the perfume of the harem women, Tia’s head spun with their movements. She leaned against Amel to steady herself and felt him return pressure against her arm.
“I must ask you some things, Amel.”
“The night is too beautiful for questions, Princess.” His voice was low, his words spoken against her hair.
She shook her head. She must hold on to her reason for coming. “You spoke once of danger to my sisters’ sons. Is all my family threatened?” Tia thought of her dream, of Amel urging her back into the palace to save the figures burning on the roof. “Is there something I can do to save them?”
“I would not want you to put yourself in danger, my lady.”
Tia watched him from the corner of her eye, traced his close-cropped beard along the sharp jawline, watched those long lashes lift and his dark eyes fix on her. He leaned closer, until his shoulder-length oiled curls brushed her skin.
His eyes burned. “There are some who would stop at nothing to claim, or retain, power.”
In this he spoke truth, but a seed of fear took root in her heart. How involved was Amel in whatever was happening? He spoke of power and she sensed his own attraction to it. Could he have killed Kaldu himself if the noble had impeded his goals? That night, when they found Kaldu’s body together, had their chance meeting not been chance at all? Had Amel led her to Kaldu?
“Who? Who seeks power at any cost?”
His head was still close to hers, but he glanced left and right before speaking. “Shadir. I do not know what he plans, but there is something . . .”
Her heart raced with this confirmation. Or perhaps with the nearness of Amel. His arm still brushed hers, and the skin there burned like a hundred desert suns.
The dancers circled to perform for them, and they were silent as they strutted left, then a look tossed back over the shoulder, a backward kick, a turn and a sharp clang of the cymbals. Then right, kick, turn, clang. The movement was simple but effective, and she watched Amel’s gaze follow them with a jealousy she ought not to feel.
The dancers spun away and she reclaimed his attention. “Tell me what you know of Shadir.” She felt the eyes of those around them. They would be surprised at her intimate conversation with the mage. Let them wonder.
“He does not confide in me. But I hear things. Words spoken about—” At this, he seemed to change his mind. A slave passed with a tray of fruits, and Amel held up a hand, then took two large pieces of melon from the tray.
“Words spoken about what, Amel?”
He lifted one piece of the melon, its pale green flesh dripping, and placed it between her lips. “Let us think of more pleasant things, Princess.”
She bit into the cool melon, tasted the sweetness filling her mouth, felt the juice trickle down her chin. Amel put the remainder of the fruit in his own mouth, then wiped her chin with the back of one finger.
She chewed and swallowed and let him speak of the stars and their movements tonight, of good omens and auspicious days. His words wrapped her in silk threads, some kind of cocoon. But what would she be when she emerged?
She whispered against his shoulder, “I must know what Shadir is planning.”
Amel looked away, at something across the courtyard, but her attention was on him, on the glint of the gold band across his forehead.
“It is not Shadir’s plan, I do not believe. He works under the direction of someone else.”
She held her breath, sensing he would reveal it without her question.
“I think, Princess, that it all flows from one person. And that person is your mother.”
Her breath left her. She followed his gaze now and found it turned on Amytis herself, whom she had not seen earlier. She sat on a reed chair, directly across the courtyard from them, alone.
And her eyes, like black stone chips, were trained on Tia.
Tia’s chest heaved as though she’d been running the palace wall. For the first time, she suspected her mother of everything. Had Amytis killed Kaldu herself? Perhaps even Shealtiel, to free Tia to marry her kinsman?
Amytis returned her gaze, more fearful than defiant perhaps, but she did not look away.
What was a daughter to do when one parent set herself up against the other?
It was a question with no answer, and as the music played around them and the food and wine and dance flowed on, Tia feared she would never know.
CHAPTER 23
She must to do something, anything, to prevent her mother from carrying out a plan against her father. On the heels of Tia’s angry resolve came clarity. The time for questions had ended. She had sought information from Kaldu’s wife, pushed Shadir for answers, and searched out Amel more than once. She had found Daniel and had lost a slave girl. Even her mother had refused to give her the truth. No, it would take more than well-placed questions to understand what secrets clung to the palace walls.
Amytis’s schedule was predictable. After the morning banquet hall cleared, she would be in the throne room, performing her husband’s duties through whispered words to her favorite advisors. Never the magi. Always noblemen she had placed close. Kaldu had been one of these. Had he learned something of her secrets?
Tia stood at the rear of the throne room, her hands braced behind her against the cool blue-tiled wall. The morning breeze chilled her feet. She should have worn more than her simple bleached tunic. A host of citizens crowded the room, waiting for an audience. Some stood in clusters, muttering their complaints. Others stood apart, against the bright walls, leaning against the false columns painted red and white, as though they would be devoured by the yellow lions. Amytis was resplendent on the dais, purple-robed and heavily jeweled.
The larger vacant throne beside her paid homage to her missing husband but seemed the only place his presence was lacking. In all else, the morning court functioned as it should. As it had these seven years. She had done well, Tia would give her that. In the hands of a lesser woman, the kingdom would have been ravaged— from within or from without.
