Exhausted, I slumped forward and gripped the horse’s flanks with my knees in a vain effort to save my sore backside. More hills of Israel rose before me that day than I had seen in my entire life as the horses raced past Beit El, then north on the King’s Road. We continued past Levonah, then finally headed west until we reached Shomron on the very edge of the mountain plateau. I always imagined Shomron as the largest city in the Kingdom and was surprised to see that it was less than half the area of Beit El. Despite its smaller size, Shomron did not lack fortifications. Walls twice the height of Levonah’s rose above three gateways, one inside the next. We slowed our pace to pass through the triple gate, where four soldiers, each with the royal ox emblazoned on his tunic, stood at attention. Ovadia reined in our horse close to the one carrying Yonaton and spoke in a low voice. “While you’re in Shomron, the two of you will stay with me.”
“What about Daniel and Zim?” I asked.
“They’ll be in the musicians’ quarters.”
“We don’t mind being with the musicians too,” Yonaton said.
Ovadia shook his head. “Master Uriel made me promise to look after the two of you while you are here. He wouldn’t agree to send you without my giving my word.”
The day before, Uriel had insisted that he would let events take their course without interfering. Yet, as the horses carrying Daniel and Zim turned off the main road immediately inside the city gates while Yonaton and I were carried farther up the hillside, it seemed to me that the old navi was not done interfering after all. And I was sure of it when we reached Ovadia’s house, the largest and most beautiful I’d ever seen. There was an arched entranceway to the courtyard, and the walls were built of hewn stone, containing windows a full arm’s length in width. While two maidservants prepared a stew and kneaded dough in the wide kitchen, a manservant carried our meager belongings up the ladder to a room reserved just for us. Ovadia and his wife Batya saw to it that we wanted for nothing, yet they hardly spoke in our presence, even to each other. As I soaked up the last of my stew with my bread, Batya said, “You two look exhausted; you ought to get to sleep.”
Though the sun had not yet set, Yonaton nudged my shoulder as if to say, “Don’t argue.” It was clear the family wanted its privacy. We said goodnight and climbed the ladder to our room where the amber light of late afternoon streamed in through an open window. It shed a soft and inviting glow over two fresh straw beds. I’d never slept on straw before—in my house, only my aunt and uncle enjoyed such luxury. I leaned out the window and took in the view of the palace, which stood upon a raised rock platform cut out of the hilltop. Its high walls glowed, reflecting the setting sun. Soldiers stood guard, stone-faced, at the corners of the parapet. I watched until darkness fell and the palace disappeared from view. Only a week ago, my sheep were my sole audience; now I was in Shomron, about to play my kinnor before the King. Perhaps Dahlia was right: our lives could change in an instant.
In the morning, the manservant directed us to the visiting musicians’ quarters, a single room that could comfortably sleep six, but with more than twice that number crammed inside. Except for a wine barrel standing upright in the corner, the floor was completely covered with bodies. We stepped gingerly over a dozen sleeping musicians to reach Daniel and Zim against the far wall. Daniel sat right up when Yonaton jostled his shoulder, but when I shook Zim, he opened his eyes, moaned, and rolled back over.
“Have a late night?” Yonaton asked.
“More like an early morning.” Daniel stretched his arms over his head and yawned.
“Well, help us wake the others, we’ve got to get down to rehearsal.” I shook Zim’s shoulder again. “Come on, Zim, you’ve always managed to get up to play for the prophets. This time it’s for the King.”
“Yes,” Daniel mumbled, pulling on his clothes, “But our prophets water down their wine.”
After much wrangling, Daniel managed to get all sixteen visiting musicians up, dressed, and out through the city gates. The sodden bunch could barely keep their eyes open as we headed toward an open field where the six court musicians waited with some amusement.
“I’m sure you’re all good musicians, otherwise you wouldn’t have made it here,” said Dov, the chief musician in the King’s court. Despite his bearish build, Dov had soft eyes and a warm smile peeking out from behind his graying beard. “We have only two days to learn to play together, so we’re going to have to be diligent. The court musicians have been working on the music for the wedding ever since the engagement, so we’ll lead. When you feel that you’ve caught on, join in.”
Dov picked up his tall nevel and counted into the first melody—a rousing dance tune that kicked off with strong percussion and two nevelim. The other court musicians set right into their parts without hesitation. The rest of us, one after the other, meandered into the tune as it became more clear. As soon as all of us were well into the melody, Dov laid down his instrument and circulated among us, offering comments and corrections. “You need to slow down,” he said to Zim. “Focus on staying in time with the rest of us.” Zim, who was still struggling to keep from nodding off, scowled at the criticism, but he did slacken his beat.
Yonaton, whose turn was next, watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye. “I think you’ve got it,” Dov said to him. “Play louder, I want you to come out clearly.” Yonaton’s shoulders relaxed, and a grin rose from behind his halil. Dov then stopped in front of me and closed his eyes to filter out the other musicians. He opened them, nodded, and walked onto the next player without saying a word.
Once he had finished his rounds, Dov returned to his place, picked up his nevel, played through one full measure with us, then brought the piece to a close. He immediately started a new nigun, and the process began again from the beginning.
The King’s Road was packed with people pouring in for the wedding when Yonaton and I headed back in through the city gates. Apparently, not all of Israel was as opposed to the match as the people of Beit El. Merchants hawking their wares to the milling crowd lined the main road as it climbed the hill toward the palace. Yonaton stopped before a man selling iron tools and picked up a two-pronged plowshare. “My father could plow twice as fast with one of these.”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the cart, “Come on, you can’t afford that.” Yonaton shrugged and released the plow point, which clanked against the others in the cart. I stopped in front of another cart loaded with milky rocks. I licked my finger, touched it to the rock, and brought it back to my mouth. “Salt!”
“From the Salt Sea itself,” the merchant said. “Don’t go eating it, and mind your hands now that you’ve touched it—you could blind yourself if you rub your eyes with this on your fingers. But I promise you, friend, sheep love it. So do shepherds—keeps the flock healthy like nothing else.”
I put my hand on the rock again, feeling the sharp points of the crystals pressing into my palm. No shepherd in Levonah had a rock like this. Yonaton tugged on my arm. “You were right, we can’t afford this stuff.”
“Now, you don’t know that.” The salt merchant held up both hands to stop us. “A little one costs just this much copper…” He held up a small iron weight and dropped it on one side of a scale.
Yonaton pulled on my arm again, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from those rocks. Would it really keep the flock healthy? If we were paid well for the wedding, it might be only two years until my flock grew too large to keep at my uncle’s house. Would I have to take final leave of my family at age fourteen?
Unbidden, a new image rose in my mind. It was Dov’s face from that morning, smiling at me, the lone musician among our group he hadn’t criticized even once during the rehearsal. True, I mainly stood out because I wasn’t suffering the effects of wine like the others, but Dov didn’t know that. Without even meaning to, I’d impressed the most influential musician in the Kingdom. Perhaps Dov would offer me a place in the King’s court if I proved myself? Then being a musician wouldn’t mean moving around, hunting for work wherever I could find it. It wouldn’t mean living in a cave, playing for prophets who would use my music to enter realms forever closed to me. I could stay in Shomron, play before the King and nobles, and find my place among the elite musicians of the land—even Zim dreamed of that.
Dov’s face faded from my mind, replaced by one younger, sweeter, and so much closer to my heart, with stubborn red curls forever falling over a pair of hazel eyes. I was closer to Dahlia than anyone in the world, but she just wouldn’t see the fact I could never ignore. There was a stone wall between us. It was something we never talked about, even though I’d gone over what I would have to say endless times in my mind.
The stone wall is like the wall of the pen. I’m on the inside, locked in with the sheep. You’re on the outside, feet planted on the soil. The wall is only waist high now—we can gaze at each other, talk together, even touch as we did when we were children—but only because we’re young. As soon as we’re both of age, this wall is going to rise right over our heads.
We’d been raised like brother and sister, but that was just another part of the illusion. As brother and sister, we could stay close—what husband would be jealous of his wife’s brother? But no man would tolerate such closeness with a cousin. Isaac married his cousin, Jacob married his cousin. Cousins could make the ideal marriage partners—they share family and their lands are often side by side.
But Dahlia and I were the exception. Uncle Menachem would never accept the life of the nomadic shepherd for his daughter. A traveling musician or even a player for the prophets would seem no better. But what about a member of the King’s court? There was certainly no comparison between a life in the wilderness and a life in Shomron, the seat of nobility.
And then there was the copper. Daniel told me the King paid visiting musicians well—surely he did no worse for members of his own court. It might take me twenty years as a shepherd to save enough to buy a piece of rocky hillside, but all the court musicians that morning were dressed in linen tunics, not the woolen ones farmers and shepherds wore. Perhaps as a court musician, I could buy land in ten, maybe even five, years. And Dahlia was right; if the Yovel wasn’t coming, then any land I managed to purchase would be mine forever. Would it be enough, though?
The salt merchant hadn’t taken his eyes off me this entire time. No doubt, he thought I was dreaming of returning to my flock with one of his rocks, but I was no longer interested. Here, finally, was a dream worth leaving my flock over, a path that even a landless orphan could take toward a normal life.
A shrill scream shook me from my thoughts. A woman shrieked in the distance, her voice immediately drowned out by the rough cheers of a crowd of men. The cheers faded and her cries rose again, only to be drowned out a second time by a deep roar.
The salt merchant laughed.
“What’s that noise?”
“Go see,” he said with a wry grin.
Yonaton and I followed a throng heading off the main road in the direction of the commotion and looped around a pile of boulders jutting out of the hillside. There was another shrill scream, and we scampered up the boulders to peer down on the scene below. I fell behind because of my kinnor slung over my shoulder and called ahead to Yonaton when he reached the top. “Is she all right?”
“The woman’s fine.” Yonaton flinched, and the crowd roared again. “It’s her husband that’s got the problem.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He might be torn apart by a bear.”
“A bear’s chasing her husband?”
“No. Her husband’s chasing the bear.”
Sure enough, an enormous iron cage stood in the clearing below. Inside, a powerfully built man edged closer to a shaggy, brown bear. Over a hundred people cheered him on while his wife pulled at the bars, berating him. He ignored her, his eyes focused on the bear that was crouched on four legs, its head reaching as high as the man’s chest. The animal threw open its jaws and roared, and glints of sunlight sparkled off its neck.
“Yonaton, is that bear wearing…?”
“Jewels,” he whispered, stupefied.
The man in the cage stepped forward, and the bear reared up on its hind legs. One more step, and the beast swung yellowed claws as long as my fingers, like a set of curved knives, a handsbreadth from the man’s face. A spectator reached his hand between the bars of the cage, trying to grab a golden bracelet off the bear’s wrist. The beast turned with a snap of its jaws, and the challenger in the cage advanced, arm outstretched.
The bear spun back to him, swatting with its massive, brown paw. The man jumped back, but not far enough, and a sharp claw caught the end of his nose. He brought his hands to his face as the crowd gasped. His wife’s cries reached a frenzied pitch at the sight of blood pouring through his fingers. “Get out of that cage!”
The man retreated to the corner, removed his hands from his nose, and wiped the blood on his tunic. He advanced again, circling to the right of the angry bear. The smell of blood only provoked the beast. It launched forward, slashing its paws. The man ducked under its arm and lunged for the back of the bear’s neck. His greedy fingers closed around the golden chain of a ruby necklace. The beast whirled around, the back of a paw slammed into the side of its opponent’s head. The blow lifted the man completely off his feet. He crashed into the iron bars of the cage and slid down, collapsing at the bear’s feet.
Two soldiers with spears leapt into the cage. The bear growled but retreated before the sharp iron points. A third soldier dragged the challenger out and left him in the dirt outside the cage. Awareness slowly returned to his face, now swollen purple. He opened his eyes and sat up, blinking furiously to clear his eyes of the blood flowing from a gash on his forehead. He unclenched his fist and surveyed his palm. It was empty. The bear was pressed against the far side of the cage, the red stone still suspended from its shaggy neck.
Someone from the crowd helped the man to his feet. As he staggered forward, his wife pounced, hitting him in the chest with both fists, less powerfully than the bear, but no less fierce. The crowd’s laughter mingled with the wife’s screams as she pulled him away. A scrawny man with large, bulging eyes climbed to the top of the cage, and the laughter immediately ceased. “A handsbreadth away from a lifetime of riches! Who will be the next to try?”
Two men stepped forward from different parts of the crowd. “One at a time,” the announcer said. “You. You climb in. You can go next. Unless… Ovadia, have you come to try? I’ll let you go first!”
The crowd turned to watch Ovadia approach the cage. He stared long and hard at the bear, now back on four legs, circling its enclosure. The crowd was quiet, silenced by the prospect of seeing the King’s steward in a death struggle for treasure. “Not today, Aviad.” Ovadia’s calm gaze met the shaky eyes of the announcer.
But his refusal only excited Aviad. “Come, come…surely one who enters the throne room of the King isn’t afraid to step into a bear’s den?” The crowd laughed at the bold taunt, but Ovadia shook his head. Aviad raised his voice higher, “Can any man have too many riches?”
“A fool may be blinded by the jewels, Aviad, but a wise man sees the claws.”
Ovadia turned away, and his eyes fell upon the two of us. “Ah, boys, I was hoping to find you. Can you come with me?” We followed him away from the crowd. Once out of earshot, Ovadia pulled out a sealed scroll. “Please take this to Uzziah ben Hanan. He is the foreman in charge of readying the gates. Wait for his response, then come report to me at the palace. I’ll instruct the guards to allow you entry.”
I was anticipating a meal after a long morning of practice, but couldn’t bring myself to refuse. We found the city gates thrown open and people streaming through, most on foot, some on donkeys, and quite a few nobles riding horses. Workmen washed the gates and smoothed out rough patches in the road under the supervision of a tall man who walked among them, inspecting their work. Yonaton approached him, “Are you Uzziah ben Hanan?”
He nodded, took the scroll from Yonaton’s outstretched hand, and examined the clay seal in the image of a footstool. “So, what does Ovadia want now?” He broke the seal, read the scroll, then turned to one of the workmen washing the gates. “Shama, take your horn and position yourself on that hill. When Tzidon’s caravan comes into view, sound three long blasts.” He turned back to Yonaton. “You may tell Ovadia that everything has been arranged.”
The first part of our task done, we headed back up the hill toward the palace at the top—but something about our errand didn’t feel right to me. “Does it seem strange to you…” I asked Yonaton, “…that Ovadia would use us as his messengers?”
“He’s far too busy to go himself.”
“Of course he is, but he must have other servants.”
“Look around, everyone’s busy.” Indeed they were. All around us pavers were being washed, bushes trimmed, and even a canopy erected below the palace. “He probably needs all the help he can get.”
“Maybe.” But something still didn’t feel right to me. Uriel may have convinced Ovadia to take us into his house, but why would he make us his messengers as well? If he needs extra help, why not use his personal servants?
Three guards blocked the palace entrance. One put out his hand to stop us. “We’re looking for Ovadia,” I said.
The guard caught sight of the kinnor hanging over my shoulder and nodded. “You’re the musicians?” He smirked, probably expecting men, not boys. “Go through. You’ll find Ovadia in the entryway.”
From Ovadia’s house, I’d seen only the top of the palace, but as we stepped through the gates, I entered a city within the city. All the houses inside Levonah’s town walls combined together would hardly equal the size of the palace. It was at least five times as wide as Ovadia’s house and rose to a full three stories. In the courtyard, a double row of thick limestone columns led up to the palace gate. The whole enclosure was buzzing like a beehive: slaves sluiced down the broad flagstones of the courtyard, gardeners pruned grapevines, and servants darted from place to place, each one burdened by his own load.
Under the arched and pillared entryway to the palace, Ovadia inspected a stately oak throne, oiled and buffed to a warm glow in the sunlight. Beside him, a man in linen robes specked with sawdust gestured to an elaborately carved cedar tree on the back of the throne. “Had there been more time—”
“Nonsense,” Ovadia said. “No visiting king could expect more. King Ahav will be pleased.” He turned at our approach. “Ah boys, everything’s been arranged? Excellent. I’m sure you’re hungry. You can return to the house and Batya will fix you something to eat. I may join you there soon, once I find servants to carry this into the throne room.”
I eyed the throne of dark-tinted wood. It looked heavy, but not too heavy for us to carry. The next time I saw Seguv, he’d surely tell me about his appearance in the King’s court. How I’d love to tell him that I’d been there as well.
I might be dreaming of spending the rest of my life playing music at the court, but I know how much my dreams are worth. This might be the only chance I ever get.
Yonaton read my face and nodded—he wanted to do it too. I spoke up, in the deepest tone I could manage. “We can carry it.”
Ovadia’s lips curled into a bemused smile. “You probably can. But the King is sitting on his throne and will be watching. For all the world, I would not be the one to drop this throne in front of King Ahav.”
“We won’t drop it.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. The craftsman shifted from foot to foot, clearly displeased with the idea of mere boys carrying his creation. But he wouldn’t voice his opposition before Ovadia.
Ovadia ran his eyes slowly over my face, then down to my chest and hands. He gave the same inspection to Yonaton, who was shorter and more solidly built. I expected Ovadia to refuse, but he raised his eyebrows and nodded, appearing pleased with our proposal. “Very well, two stout hearts are worth many strong arms. The throne belongs next to the King, on his left side. It is unacceptable to set it down in the throne room or to show any strain. If you feel it slipping, say ‘Where would you like it, sir?’ and I will come to your aid.”
We picked up the throne and immediately discovered it was heavier than it looked. The effort I saw on Yonaton’s face mirrored my own. Ovadia hesitated, but then took a step backward, directing us forward. At his nod, servants opened two tall wooden doors, and Ovadia backed into the throne room. It was long and narrow, with black basalt columns, carved like date palms and just as tall, marching in two lines down the center of the room. Beams of light shined through windows high in the southern wall. The King, a crown of woven gold on his head, sat on a raised platform three steps above the stone floor. The room held noblemen in dyed linen garments, soldiers bearing the emblem of the royal ox, commoners waiting to petition the King, and scribes recording all that occurred—about twenty people in all. We entered, and with great effort wiped the strain from our faces.
Ovadia walked in reverse ahead of us, twisting slightly to avoid showing his back to the King. His approaching presence parted the crowd as he directed us up the long aisle. I could see the tension creeping back into Yonaton’s face, and the muscles of my own jaw tightened. Both of us leaned forward, using the back of the throne to hide our faces from the King, but this only made its weight harder to carry. My arms burned, my back was screaming, and I could no longer keep the distress from my face. Hunched and struggling, we carried the throne between the columns to the foot of the dais, but to place it on the platform, we would have to lift it waist high and pass right before the King.
“Where shall we put it, sir?” The strain in Yonaton’s voice rang out like a bell.
Ovadia grabbed the back of the throne with two broad hands and lifted it with surprising power. “Right over here.” The three of us carried it over the steps with ease, and Yonaton and I were able to relax our expressions before passing the King. We set it down next to him and backed away, bowing as we went.
“Nicely done, Ovadia. It is truly as beautiful as you claimed.” A loud cheer came from outside, and everyone but the King turned toward the sound of the commotion. “Has someone just taken a jewel from the bear?”
“I believe so, my King.”
“A rather brutal form of entertainment.”
“Apparently quite popular in Tzidon. Princess Izevel thought it would amuse our guests.”
“They do sound as if they’re enjoying themselves. Still, we don’t need any more cripples in Shomron—I’m feeding quite enough already.”
Three long blasts echoed from outside the city. The King sat up tall and stately, a match for any of the pillars lining his great hall. “Could Tzidon have arrived already?” He sank back into his throne. “Ovadia, go and meet him outside the walls and escort him to me.”
“Very good, my King. What of his wife and daughter?”
“Show them to their accommodations first. Women are not fond of holding audience immediately after a long journey.” Ovadia bowed and turned to take his leave, motioning to the two of us to follow. “Wait a moment.” The King pointed to the kinnor slung across my back. “These boys. Are they the musicians you fetched from the prophets?”
I heard the probing question in the King’s voice and recalled the smirk from the guard at the palace gates. Now that the King saw that we were just boys, would he guess that Ovadia’s journey had nothing to do with musicians?
If Ovadia was ill at ease, his face belied it. “Yes, my King. These are two of the four I brought.”
“You said they are quite talented, correct?”
“Superb, my King.”
That was a risky thing for Ovadia to say. What if the King asked us to play and found us wanting? But the King had other ideas. “Bring them with you. It will make a nice impression for them to play upon his arrival.”
“An excellent idea, my King.” Ovadia bowed again and exited the throne room, with the two of us trailing closely behind.
Once out of the palace, we broke into a run, covering the distance down to the city gates in a quarter of the time it had taken us to climb up to the palace. My stomach growled—I hadn’t eaten since before the rehearsal. No time for food, though.
We passed through the gates, and Ovadia directed us to a small, grassy hill overlooking the western road. Hearing from Seguv and other travelers about Shomron, I’d always imagined it perched atop the highest mountain in Israel, but that wasn’t the case. Shomron was guarded by higher mountains on the north, east, and south, each surmounted by a watchtower. Only from the west, where there was no higher peak, could the chariots of Tzidon approach. I raised my hand to block the glare and strained my eyes to peer past the rich, brown coastal plain. I caught my breath at the sight of a smudge of distant blue along the horizon. The great sea! Until that moment, I knew it only through stories. Teeming with life and dangers, it was the gateway to the rest of the world.
“The two of you will play from here,” Ovadia said. “When they come into view, I will descend to greet them at the bottom of the hill.”
“Who are we waiting for?” Yonaton asked.
“King Ethbaal of Tzidon and his daughter Izevel, who is to marry King Ahav in two days’ time.”
“Where’s Tzidon?”
“It’s to the north of Israel, on the sea. The people of Tzidon are great sailors. King Ethbaal has made his capital city into the greatest port in the world.”
“Is that why King Ahav wants to marry his daughter?” I asked.
“Yes. An alliance with Tzidon will expand our ability to trade. The King expects this to bring great prosperity to the land.”
“Do you think it will?”
“The King’s reasoning is sound.”
Ovadia hadn’t really answered my question. Before I could ask another, a wedge of horsemen came into view, each bearing a pole flying a banner marked by a majestic cedar tree. Behind the horsemen thundered three chariots carrying spearmen and bowmen. They scanned the sides of the road, weapons gripped at the ready.
“I thought this was a wedding,” Yonaton said. “They look as if they’re going to war.”
This vanguard was followed by a single, gilded chariot, much larger than the rest, carrying three passengers seated side by side. In the middle sat an older man draped in purple robes, with a high forehead and neatly groomed beard. He held his chest high as he gazed off into the distance. At his right sat a woman with coronets of steel-gray hair, the sun flashing off her many jewels. On his left sat a woman in a dove-gray dress, her face and hair covered by a white veil. A second line of chariots stretched down the road behind them. At the end of the caravan rode at least a hundred soldiers on horseback, with more coming into view. Each bore the cedar emblem on his chest.
Ovadia signaled to us with a wave. I played the first song that came to mind, one we’d practiced that morning, a fast, dancing melody. It was too cheerful for a march, but Yonaton joined in without objection. King Ethbaal probably couldn’t even hear us over the din of the horses. Ovadia walked down the hill, positioned himself by the side of road, and bowed to the royal chariot. He spoke with the King, climbed in beside the driver, and beckoned us to follow. Without stopping our music, we stepped down to the road and returned to the city as part of the royal retinue.
The main road of Shomron was too steep for the chariots, so the party dismounted at the city gates, where a large crowd was assembled to catch a glimpse of the bride. As she descended, four soldiers came forward with a covered litter. She stepped gracefully into a padded seat and drew the curtains around her, displaying nothing more to the disappointed crowd than a thin wrist and long, elegant fingers. The King and Queen walked slowly at the side of her litter as they ascended to the palace, followed by a winding trail of soldiers.
The procession stopped in front of the palace. Another servant ran forward to place steps before the litter, and the veiled bride stepped down, holding the hand of a maidservant for support. Ovadia escorted the royal family into the palace, and a maidservant followed, carrying an intricately embroidered sack made from some rich indigo fabric.
I wasn’t sure what we should do, but as no one had told us to stop the music, we continued playing and trailed the royal family toward the palace at a respectful distance. The plaza showed none of its earlier activity, standing empty except for guards. At the inner gates, Ovadia turned to King Ethbaal and asked, “Would the King like to be shown to his room to refresh himself before meeting with King Ahav?”
“No, I’ll see Ahav immediately.”
“Very well, my master awaits you. Please follow me. I will return immediately to accompany the Queen and the Princess to their chambers.”
Once her father had gone, the Princess pointed around the plaza and said something to her mother in a foreign tongue. Her words were meaningless to me, yet the melody of her voice aroused a desire to glimpse beneath her veil. My eyes rested on her hands, the only part of her not hidden from view. Her olive skin shone as if rubbed with oil.
“You Queen of Israel soon,” her mother replied in halting Hebrew. “If you wish to enter hearts of people, you must speak their tongue.”
“As you say, Mother,” the Princess replied, in a Hebrew far more fluid than her mother’s. Izevel swept her hand across the plaza again. “It’s little more than a fortress.”
The Queen examined the carvings around the entrance. “It has some beauty. Remember, palace is Queen’s domain. You cannot expect unmarried King to keep it properly.”
“I’m so glad you were able to make the journey, Mother. I will miss your wisdom once you are gone. You are right. The dignity of the palace is my responsibility now.” The Princess pointed to a painted vase atop a pedestal opposite the palace entrance. “Place it there.”
The maidservant put the vase on the floor, replaced it with the indigo sack, and untied its top so that it fell in a heap around the object it held. She then stepped away reverentially. On the pedestal stood a bronze statue of a man, a jagged lightning sword grasped in his upraised hand. A helmet as long as his torso extended above his head, reaching toward the sky. “Yes.” the Princess sighed. “That’s better already.”
I inhaled sharply and bit my lip. A statue—an idol—in the palace of the King of Israel? The shocked silence of the crowd in Beit El returned to me like a cold, ill wind. Even as I stood beneath the summer sky, gooseflesh crept up my arms.
My sleep was broken that night, but not by the old nightmare.
The caged bear, larger and fiercer than before, roared. It reached up its great paws and pounded the iron bars above its head. The sun sparkled off the jewels hanging around its neck, but the ruby pendant was gone—in its place hung the Princess’s bronze statue, its upraised arm ready to strike.
The bear curled a paw around a bar above its head and pulled down with all its weight until the bar snapped in its grip. It reached for another bar on the side of the cage and yanked until it broke as well. It grabbed another bar, then another, breaking each one in turn. Once the cage lay in ruins at its feet, the beast stepped free.
No longer confined, the animal grew at a terrifying pace. It climbed uphill, distending with each step until it reached the height of the palace itself. And it kept on growing. Paws the size of chariots whipped along the palace courtyard, hooked yellow claws ripping paving stones from their moorings. The monster grabbed the sides of the palace and tore it from its foundations. It raised the palace and placed it on its head, fitting it as tightly as a crown. In one colossal step, the bear breached the walls of Shomron and lumbered north.
I startled awake, my heart pounding. Unlike my old nightmare, there was no forgetting this time; every detail of this dream remained deeply etched in my waking mind. I slipped out of bed and looked out the window; my shoulders relaxed at the sight of the palace quietly bathed in moonlight. Still trembling, I reached for my kinnor. Nothing calmed me like music.
Growing up in a home where everyone slept in the same loft helped me learn how to quietly slip down the ladder and step out into the cool night air without waking anyone. I didn’t want to play near the house lest I disturb others’ sleep. It took only a moment to decide where to go.
No one was awake in the streets, though I passed numerous bodies snoring by the side of the road. Ovadia had mentioned that there weren’t enough places for everyone to sleep in anticipation of the royal wedding. The city was only ten years old and had never before held so many people.
The bear slept. Its shaggy back rose and fell with each breath. I approached the bars of the cage and assessed the great beast. Its finery was gone, somehow removed for the night, and a deep musk radiated from its hunched form. I crouched nearby and plucked a nigun my aunt used to sing to me when I woke from a nightmare, confused and afraid. Despite my delicate picking, the music roused the bear; it sat up and snuffed at the air. I stopped playing, but it was too late. The beast rose to its full height, growled, and thrust its paws between the bars at me. I retreated as it snarled, blinking in the dark.
Standing at a safer distance, I closed my eyes and listened to its voice. Daniel said he heard the song of the sheep in my music. The bear was no different than my sheep, really, only larger and more dangerous, with a slower and more powerful rhythm. I plucked again at my kinnor, searching for the right sound.
After a few fumbling moments, a simple melody began to emerge from the lower register of my instrument. It just felt…right. I opened my eyes to see the bear standing silently, no longer lunging for me through the bars. I stepped forward, closer, but it still didn’t move. I began to hum, adding my voice to the notes of the kinnor. The beast tilted its head and released a groaning sigh. I took another step forward—the bear was now within my reach, which meant that I was within its reach too. Still humming, I removed my hand from the strings and extended it between the bars. The bear didn’t move. I laid my hand on the back of its mammoth paw, probing the thick fur.
The animal turned its head—I pulled my hand back, fearing a strike that never came. I returned my hand to the strings, quietly strumming the bear’s song. The animal closed its eyes with a low grunt. It crouched, lay down, and rested its head on the back of its paws. I reached in through the bars and scratched the bear behind its neck, the same place where the man grabbed for the ruby necklace earlier that day. I continued to stroke the spot until the bear sank again into a deep slumber.
