Sunrise on the Mediterranean Page 13

  Zakar Ba’al didn’t do it for the gold, the spices, or the minerals, but rather because it broke the monotony. He’d realized hundreds of years ago that when there was no sense of urgency, much of the sweetness of living was missing. He’d probably spent a lifetime or two chewing poppy pods, until even that state grew tedious.

  Power was the only constant. Those who knew their time was limited fought him, and in that battle of wits, or brawn, or weaponry, Zakar Ba’al drained the life from them, slurped from their bowl of enthusiasm, then threw away the husk.

  A new challenge had arisen. A bold young man who was both poet and warrior thought to rule over the Way of the Kings. Abdiheba, the doddering idiot, was shaking in his Tsori-dyed shoes, pleading with anyone to come vanquish this threat.

  Zakar Ba’al smiled. He would present himself, but he would do it solely for the pleasure of watching youth and guile outwit the old paranoid sheep stumper. As always, Zakar Ba’al wondered where Cheftu was. They should have crossed paths at least a hundred times in the past thousand years; Cheftu could not be dead, for no wisewoman had ever found his soul among the shades.

  It was a mystery, the only mystery that Zakar Ba’al hadn’t unraveled. He turned to the ship’s captain, who stood at his elbow. The light of dawn rose from behind the honeycombed hills of Tsor. Dion longed for change, for vitality, for something and someone to stimulate his brain and will, to challenge him.

  What was the gift of immortality without the desire to live?

  He gestured, the captain shouted, the ship set sail. Let me live fully or kill me, Dion asked the gods.

  I WAS NERVOUS. Cheftu was standing just the other side of the curtain—Cheftu, who was my dearest friend, my companion, and the lover who lived in my very soul.

  My gaze flickered back to my image in the water mirror. He’d never seen me this way. I was tall and pale, and my green sheath made my eyes greener. Kohl rimmed them, and I’d stained my lips with pomegranate juice. The round neck of the dress was reemphasized with a gold necklace. I wore matching drop earrings. A headband of green, gold, and brown held back my straight, copper-colored hair.

  My hands began to tremble when I heard Tamera’s voice. “Sea-Mistress, your slave awaits.”

  I could barely croak out a response. Instinctively I moved between two of the lamps. I would have the advantage, make absolutely positive it was Cheftu. My blood recognized him even as it careened through my body; I just wanted to verify it with my brain.

  Suddenly he was standing before me, so proud and beautiful that I wanted to weep. He said nothing, looked at nothing in particular, merely stood there. My gaze caressed the muscles of his shoulders where they knit together over bone, the cords of veins that ran up his arms from his beautiful hands.

  Tomorrow I was going to paint his hands—I’d been planning on doing it for two years!

  His stomach was hollowed out, the lines of his ribs showing through. My poor beloved had been starved. His gaze remained fixed on my knee, or the lamp, or something low. I was panting; it seemed an eternity had passed in these short moments. Was I scared?

  Well, yeah. He’d never seen me in this body before. He’d never been a slave before. Would he believe it was me? Stupid thoughts, but niggling. What could I say? What could I do? I felt my eyes welling with tears. “Ch-Cheftu?” I whispered, stepping forward.

  His face went slack when he heard my voice, his eyes snapped to mine. “Mon Dieu,” he whispered, wide-eyed as he looked me over from head to toes. “Chloe?”

  I nodded, unable to step forward, shaking.

  He dropped to his knees. “Grâce á Dieu,” he whispered, hands upraised. Then I was in his arms, learning again what my body seemed to know but my mind and heart so quickly forgot: the heat, the passion, the homecoming of being within his scent, his touch, his taste.

  My heart unlocked, freeing all the thoughts and fears and emotions I’d held in such check. It was a wonder to hold him, to feel his heart beating against mine, the heat of his blood beneath my hands. We stood, locked together, reacquainting ourselves with the feeling of the other person.

  His hands were trembling also; he too was panting. “I feared,” he said, “I didn’t know—”

  I pulled back, turning his face toward me. His amber eyes were liquid. “It’s okay,” I said in English. “We’re together.”

  He closed his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks. “Grâce á Dieu,” he whispered again and again in my hair. When our bodies steadied, we pulled back to look at each other again. His gaze traveled over my hair, my face; he touched my cheek and ear with his finger. “You are beautiful,” he said. “How I have missed seeing your pretty face.”

  My smile was melted by his kiss. I didn’t know to whom the tears I tasted belonged as we clung together. His hands moved gently in my hair as my hands touched his back, feeling the scabbed whip marks, the line of his ribs. He pulled me closer, so that I felt the jut of his hipbones, the need of his body. I held him close, the ribbed edges of his abdomen inside my elbows, my hands gripping his narrow waist as he pressed into me, groaning against my mouth.

  I don’t know what language I spoke, but I know the gist of it. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  The slide of flesh on flesh, the wonder of it, brought me both extreme pleasure and tore me into tears. Cheftu held me, caressing my hair, kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, my mouth, telling me the many ways he loved me. Telling me how he had ached for me, wept for me, prayed for me.

  He called out for me, his hands in my hair, his forehead against mine, as we climaxed together. Unwilling to move, he cradled me against his chest as our breathing returned to normal.

  The lamps had burned out, and the sky was still dark. We had fallen asleep. I kissed his chest, just as a confirmation that I could. He caught me tightly against him, shaking suddenly as though he were being chased by demons.

  I lay quiescent, reveling in his touch. Slowly he calmed down, his grip loosened, and I wriggled my way to his face. “Tell me,” I said.

  “Are you going to purchase me, Sea-Mistress?” he asked, his eyes smiling in the faint light from the windows.

  “Well,” I said, tracing the lines of his nose and cheeks, “you do seem to have many talents.”

  His face became somber, his voice tender. “I had not dared believe this day would come,” he said. “When the brigands took me, I feared never to see you again. I thought I had erred and the capture was my discipline.”

  It hurt me to think of all he had suffered. The lines on his back would remain imprinted on my palms forever. “What were your thoughts coming here, to the temple?”

  “I had none,” he said. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to please another woman. I just hoped that whoever this goddess was, she needed me to garden for her instead.” He focused on me again. “Thank God you are here, chérie. Thank you, God,” he said, pulling my mouth to his.

  We loved each other slowly, exploring, talking, remembering, discovering, sometimes just staring at each other. Finally we collapsed in sleep, peacefully unconscious until Tamera shouted to another slave, “I will see what the sea-mistress advises.”

  I woke up with a jolt, my heart pounding. Cheftu slept on, snoring softly. In moments I was dressed. The sheath was crumpled, my hair bedraggled, but I rinsed my face, donned my jewelry, and covered up the gorgeous body of my husband.

  My husband. Here. I giggled to myself. God had brought us together, again. Now all we had to do was blow this Popsicle stand!

  Tamera awaited me in the hallway. Her face was pinched. “Yamir has chosen to lead a group of warriors into the Refa’im valley. Takala wants your presence on the battlefield. You are the teraphim.”

  I opened my mouth, but she continued speaking. “Also, the trader outside the city walls is causing quite a fuss, claiming that you have bought the male slave, plus his wife, his son, his four daughters, his mother, and her slave.”

  “A slave with a slave?” I said.

  She shrugged. “He is Amaleki.”

/>   That explained everything? I closed the door behind me, speaking to Tamera in a normal voice. “Pay the trader for everyone,” I said. “Then free them.”

  She frowned at me. Was there a problem? Did I not have money?

  “Ken?” I prompted her.

  “What is ‘free them’?” she asked as we walked into the main chamber to greet Dagon.

  “What is the opposite of being a slave?” I asked, trying a different angle.

  “To be a landowner,” she said, assisting me with my fish cloak. The other priestesses came in, greeted us, and left again.

  Slave or landowner? I rubbed my face with my hand. I didn’t know how to communicate my concept, so I’d settle the immediate problem. “Buy the slaves. Can you do that?”

  She nodded as we entered to sing the god awake.

  After the morning prayers Tamera asked if I needed anything else. After ordering a seafood breakfast for two, I dismissed her and returned to Cheftu.

  As I stepped back into the room, I saw that Cheftu was up and dressed, his hair slicked back with water, revealing his mutilated ears. “Does it hurt?” I asked, pointing to the chain.

  He shrugged. “No more than not having one’s freedom.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re here. We’ll be leaving soon.” Cheftu looked at me, then slowly crossed his arms. “Going where?” I opened my mouth to answer, but he continued speaking. “Chloe, I have been marked a slave for life. I was purchased to be your slave. This is not our world, one cannot change this.”

  “It won’t matter once we’re out of here.”

  He crossed to me, gently taking my hands in his. I was getting a very bad feeling; he was way too resigned. So I started babbling. “It will be easy. I’ve been given all these gifts, all we have to do is get out of the city, then hop a ship—somewhere. We can be free, we can be together—”

  He laid a finger on my lips, silencing me. “What are you here?”

  I glanced away, a little embarrassed. “The local goddess.”

  “You think they will let you just walk away?”

  “I don’t care what they want. I came back after you. I have you. Now—”

  “Do you think you are here solely for—”

  Tamera opened the door, directing slaves to set the food on the low table, then shooing them out. Her gaze moved from me to Cheftu, then she squared her shoulders. “Takala wants you in her audience chamber right now.”

  We had plans to make; I didn’t have time to wait on Takala. My short-lived job as goddess was drawing to a close. I needed some more time with Cheftu. “She must come here,” I said, stalling.

  Tamera ducked her head. “As you will it, Sea-Mistress. The king Yamir-dagon has gone into battle, I just learned.”

  Spring had arrived. “When did they leave?”

  “The division left for the Refa’im valley at the second watch, Sea-Mistress.”

  “I need a bath before I can do anything,” I said, buying more time.

  Tamera’s gaze was measured. I was certainly being more abrupt with her than ever before. Did she know what I was thinking? “I will hurry with the water.”

  Cheftu chuckled when the door closed. “Keeping noble company these days?”

  I kissed his shoulder. “Forget that. What is our plan?”

  “Look at my ears, chérie. I am a slave in this time.”

  “Well—can’t I just travel with you as your, your owner?” His face changed subtly, hardening. “You aren’t a slave to me,” I whispered. “This just seems so unbelievable, I—” As I spoke, my fingers found the rips in his skin. It was believable; he had been beaten. He had been wounded. He had been treated as a slave. “To me you are my beloved, my equal, my partner, my lover, my best friend.”

  “Merci,” he said quietly.

  The slaves brought in a tub, and we washed quickly, silently. “We need to leave,” I said again.

  He looked at me. “You aren’t here for me alone.”

  “Well, who else am I chasing through time?” I asked, suddenly tense. “You are being far too accepting of this unacceptable situation!” I gripped his forearms. “Why are you giving in so easily?” He stared at me, his gaze unreadable. “Don’t you want to be with me?” I asked in a scared whisper. I thought I knew the answer, but also I would have never guessed that he would react this way. He was so … passive.

  “Where is she?” Takala’s voice boomed from outside. We sprang apart, throwing on clothes. I had just gotten a comb through my hair when Tamera announced Takala was here.

  “There you are!” she said, wheezing up to me in the corridor. “What kind of goddess are you? We need you on the battlefield immediately!”

  I looked at her face. Her makeup had been applied with a heavy hand, but her eyes were rheumy, shadowed. As bossy as she could be, she was also a loving mother and good queen. For a moment I felt guilty, since my plan was to bug out ASAP. She stared at me, her eyes piercing through me. She shifted her gaze for a moment to Cheftu, and I knew she realized what he was to me. With a gesture she dismissed everyone.

  “Who are they against?” I finally asked. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to leave. I had my husband, I had my own body, surely there was somewhere we could go and live happily ever after? Wasn’t the third time the charm?

  Takala sighed deeply, the chains and fetishes around her neck shimmering and jingling with the movement. “The highlanders. They are planning to take the city of Jebus.”

  “Jebus?” The name was vaguely familiar; where had I heard it? “What do the Jebusi have to do with you. Us?”

  “Abdiheba, the king of this city on a hill, married my daughter. He killed her immediately afterward—”

  I looked at her in shock. “She cuckolded him with a sheep. It was deserved,” Takala explained.

  Maybe I should rethink my concept of “loving mother”? I nodded numbly.

  “However, we have a suzerain covenant with them. Should anyone attack, we are sworn to defend.”

  “Have the, uh, highlanders attacked?”

  “Not yet. They circle the city, keeping to the hills like a pack of wild dogs looking for the weak lamb.”

  “Where is the Refa’im valley?” I asked. I’d been following her, and suddenly I found myself halfway to the palace.

  “East of the city. We will ride to Lakshish tonight, await news, then join the battle tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” I said. This was not part of my plan. “I cannot leave as yet.”

  Takala turned on me. “The serenim of Ashqelon have housed you, fed you, given you gold, jewelry, and position. You have lived better than I! Your intercession with Dagon changed the sea back into clear water. However, we have asked nothing else of you than this. Come to battle. Be our totem.”

  I looked around me. Soldiers on every side. Walled city. Guards. Slaves. Calculated escape routes? None.

  She swallowed, humbling herself more than I’d ever seen. “You are a goddess, I cannot force you. But I ask you, you know my sons. You’ve dined with us, you’ve served with us. They are good boys, they love this land, they honor the gods. If you do not come, the Pelesti will be no more.”

  Pelesti, a word I’d rarely heard. Philistines, vanquished by the Jews; that much I recalled. I had no business being here, I wasn’t part of Bible history.

  Yes, I’d seen the Exodus, but I hadn’t been a part of it. Moses and I hadn’t had a tête-á-tête. I needed to get out of here before I screwed something up. After all, these Philistines were against the Jews. They didn’t survive, only the name Palestine did.

  I knew from my father’s work that renaming this stretch of land “Palestine” was a Roman attempt to remove the Jews from the history books, from the maps, from, ultimately, the world. It was the only word that remained of the Philistines. But the people who had donated the name didn’t last.

  I really didn’t want to see that, or know any of this. What a horrible thing to be thus doomed. However, in the here and now, her pain was as real as Ch
eftu’s whip marks. Would it hurt to just go stand there for a while? I wouldn’t be on the field, and I wouldn’t have to do anything. It might help the morale of the people.

  Not to mention that it would get me away from all these guards and walls. It would be easier to escape. I licked my lips. “I will need my slave,” I said.

  “It is done. He will join us at the battlefield.”

  I smiled inwardly. This woman would have made a helluva colonel. I tried to think of anything else I could get, without causing too much fuss. “Also, my jewelry, my clothes.”

  She watched me with black eyes. “It is done.”

  “Provisions.”

  “Done.”

  What else could I ask for? The clothes would keep us warm, the jewels would buy our way, provisions would keep us fed—what more was there? “Then let us go,” I said resignedly.

  The chariots she summoned, the speed with which they were ready, let me know that she’d planned on my going whether I’d agreed or not. I mentally bumped her rank to general.

  Unlike the carts I had seen around Ashqelon, these chariots were light, fleet. They had spokes in their wheels instead of solid wood rounds. Fortunately Takala had her own, since I wasn’t sure the horses would bear our combined weight. No sooner had I stepped into the back of the vehicle than we were off.

  I held on for dear life, watching the world fly by. We were on the coastal plain, which was covered in flowers: pink, yellow, and white. Stalks with red-and-purple blossoms grew on both sides of this glorified goat path, but we were moving fast, so I couldn’t see them closely. The wind blew my hair, and I understood immediately why we all wore headbands: so we could see.

  After a few miles the tension in my body lessened. I’d gotten used to the swaying, jouncing motion and was no longer so afraid of falling out the back. The chariot had a great suspension system. My grip loosened as I began to relax, make plans. Giddiness bubbled inside me; Cheftu had arrived!

  Just hours ago we had held each other. And we would again tonight. And every night from now on. But where could we go? How could we get there? Thank you for bringing him to me, I said to God. You’ve been great, thanks.