The Dovekeepers
Page 95
This was unexpected. “You knew her then?”
“I didn’t know her then any more than I do now.” Shirah led me to the door. “If you want her to accept this cure,” she murmured, handing me the precious herb, “don’t tell her where you found it. If she had my life and I hers, she would have done exactly as you imagined of me. If you want to look at someone’s hand for the mark of death, search hers.” Shirah nodded at Arieh now, dozing in my arms. “Bring him to Yael before you return to the palace.”
“Why wake him? I’ll carry him with me.”
Shirah gazed at me. She could see inside me, and she knew there was more to my reasoning. I admitted that Channa had asked me to return with him. “Who could not be charmed by him?” I said, for our lion brightened all of our lives.
Shirah was troubled. Usually she appeared to be a girl, no older than Aziza, but at this instant she seemed her true age, a woman who had crossed the desert not once but twice, who had brought three children into the world and been marked with forbidden tattoos when she was little more than a girl herself.
“Bring him if you must. But whatever you do,” Shirah warned, and in this she was very clear, “do not let her hold him.”
I RETURNED to the palace and stood at the fine-grained door. This time, Channa unhooked the lock before I rapped on the wood, already waiting, curious, eyes glinting. Her breath was rasping, and she clutched at her chest, in the grip of her ailment. Still she warmed at the sight of the sleeping child and was quick to invite me in.
I stepped over the threshold of our leader’s house, humbled. I was relieved that Ben Ya’ir was in the desert with his men so that I did not have to bow before his greatness or risk that in his wisdom he might see me for the murderess I was.
I followed my hostess past the frescoes, highly praised by all who saw them, and for good reason. They were painted upon plaster in glorious tones of orange and red and gold. Although faded, they were clearly the work of a master. The seven sisters that the Greeks believed moved through the sky in a burst of stars had been set upon the wall, lifelike in their human guise, along with the moon, the most beautiful woman of all, in a dress of silver with strands of gold leaf running through her garment; so present it seemed real thread had been stitched through the painted fabric. Lamps lit the darkened hallway, and there was the scent of pure olive oil burning. The chamber we entered was well appointed, furnished with tables and benches left by the king’s household. I thought of our straw mats, our coarse cloth blankets, our dirt floors.
I asked my hostess to fetch a dish and some kindling. When she did so, I brought forth the myrrh Shirah had given me. Arieh was still dozing, so I laid him upon a small woven rug. Then I lighted the kindling with my flint. When the fire caught I told Channa what she must do. She would lean her head over the smoke and I would cover her in fabric so none could escape. She was to breathe deeply and keep the smoke inside her for as long as she could without taking another breath.
Channa recoiled, afraid she would choke to death on the fumes. She feared me, perhaps sensing the crimes I had committed. But I wasn’t there to do harm. I lifted Arieh back into my arms, and I hid the brand of my sin, slipping my hand inside the sleeping baby’s tunic, hoping I would not taint him merely by my touch.
“Breathe in and the way will be clear,” I promised.
Ben Ya’ir’s wife looked at me reproachfully, then did as I said. Though she didn’t trust me, she was desperate for air, willing to take the chance that the cure might be worse than the disease. She leaned forward, and I covered her head with a beautiful woven shawl. I sat watching as her shuddering gasps eased during the time she breathed in smoke. When the myrrh had burned to ash, I removed the fabric from her head. Channa drew a deep intake of air without any rasping. Her color had turned from sallow to rosy. The scent of myrrh clung to everything, a bitter fragrance in its purest form. We studied each other while the baby woke and happily began to play with a twig that had fallen from the kindling pile.
“I’ll talk to the guards about a visit,” Channa said thoughtfully. I had the impression, however, that her thoughts were truly on other matters. “I’ll do what I can for your slave.”
She led me back down the hall, past the orange light and the seven sisters on the wall. When I left she asked me for a promise to bring her more of the herb, so she would have access to the medicine should another attack begin. I said I would try my best to locate what she needed.
“I think you know where to find it,” she remarked.
She smiled grimly, clearly aware that I was not the one who possessed the knowledge regarding such remedies.
“I didn’t know her then any more than I do now.” Shirah led me to the door. “If you want her to accept this cure,” she murmured, handing me the precious herb, “don’t tell her where you found it. If she had my life and I hers, she would have done exactly as you imagined of me. If you want to look at someone’s hand for the mark of death, search hers.” Shirah nodded at Arieh now, dozing in my arms. “Bring him to Yael before you return to the palace.”
“Why wake him? I’ll carry him with me.”
Shirah gazed at me. She could see inside me, and she knew there was more to my reasoning. I admitted that Channa had asked me to return with him. “Who could not be charmed by him?” I said, for our lion brightened all of our lives.
Shirah was troubled. Usually she appeared to be a girl, no older than Aziza, but at this instant she seemed her true age, a woman who had crossed the desert not once but twice, who had brought three children into the world and been marked with forbidden tattoos when she was little more than a girl herself.
“Bring him if you must. But whatever you do,” Shirah warned, and in this she was very clear, “do not let her hold him.”
I RETURNED to the palace and stood at the fine-grained door. This time, Channa unhooked the lock before I rapped on the wood, already waiting, curious, eyes glinting. Her breath was rasping, and she clutched at her chest, in the grip of her ailment. Still she warmed at the sight of the sleeping child and was quick to invite me in.
I stepped over the threshold of our leader’s house, humbled. I was relieved that Ben Ya’ir was in the desert with his men so that I did not have to bow before his greatness or risk that in his wisdom he might see me for the murderess I was.
I followed my hostess past the frescoes, highly praised by all who saw them, and for good reason. They were painted upon plaster in glorious tones of orange and red and gold. Although faded, they were clearly the work of a master. The seven sisters that the Greeks believed moved through the sky in a burst of stars had been set upon the wall, lifelike in their human guise, along with the moon, the most beautiful woman of all, in a dress of silver with strands of gold leaf running through her garment; so present it seemed real thread had been stitched through the painted fabric. Lamps lit the darkened hallway, and there was the scent of pure olive oil burning. The chamber we entered was well appointed, furnished with tables and benches left by the king’s household. I thought of our straw mats, our coarse cloth blankets, our dirt floors.
I asked my hostess to fetch a dish and some kindling. When she did so, I brought forth the myrrh Shirah had given me. Arieh was still dozing, so I laid him upon a small woven rug. Then I lighted the kindling with my flint. When the fire caught I told Channa what she must do. She would lean her head over the smoke and I would cover her in fabric so none could escape. She was to breathe deeply and keep the smoke inside her for as long as she could without taking another breath.
Channa recoiled, afraid she would choke to death on the fumes. She feared me, perhaps sensing the crimes I had committed. But I wasn’t there to do harm. I lifted Arieh back into my arms, and I hid the brand of my sin, slipping my hand inside the sleeping baby’s tunic, hoping I would not taint him merely by my touch.
“Breathe in and the way will be clear,” I promised.
Ben Ya’ir’s wife looked at me reproachfully, then did as I said. Though she didn’t trust me, she was desperate for air, willing to take the chance that the cure might be worse than the disease. She leaned forward, and I covered her head with a beautiful woven shawl. I sat watching as her shuddering gasps eased during the time she breathed in smoke. When the myrrh had burned to ash, I removed the fabric from her head. Channa drew a deep intake of air without any rasping. Her color had turned from sallow to rosy. The scent of myrrh clung to everything, a bitter fragrance in its purest form. We studied each other while the baby woke and happily began to play with a twig that had fallen from the kindling pile.
“I’ll talk to the guards about a visit,” Channa said thoughtfully. I had the impression, however, that her thoughts were truly on other matters. “I’ll do what I can for your slave.”
She led me back down the hall, past the orange light and the seven sisters on the wall. When I left she asked me for a promise to bring her more of the herb, so she would have access to the medicine should another attack begin. I said I would try my best to locate what she needed.
“I think you know where to find it,” she remarked.
She smiled grimly, clearly aware that I was not the one who possessed the knowledge regarding such remedies.
