A murmur ran through the crowd. Princess Izevel, who now stood beside King Ahav, motioned to the High Priest. He broke off his speech and leaned in, allowing the Princess to whisper in his ear. The priest turned to King Ahav, who nodded. The High Priest winced, but restored the calm to his face by the time he stood upright and faced the crowd again. “This marriage is more than a union of two people; it is the joining together of two nations. The High Priest of Tzidon will bless the union as well.”

The man in the garish robes, who I’d mistaken for the Princess’s bodyguard, stepped forward, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. “I am Yambalya. I serve Baal, the mighty storm god, patron god of Tzidon.” His voice resonated with the deep tones of a bass drum.

“Long ago, when the heavens were young, the children of El fought for mastery. In his struggle against Ya’am, lord of the seas, Baal turned to Koshar, the craftsman, for weapons that would make him invincible. With these tools in hand, Baal threw down the lord of the seas into the depths, and climbed supreme into the heavens.” Yambalya raised his arms skyward, revealing scars running up his forearms.

“As Baal’s faithful, we follow his ways. Baal was mighty on his own. But he did not achieve victory until he formed an alliance joining his power with the strengths of another. So too, Tzidon and Israel apart are mighty nations. But their union will be incomparable. With the blessing of Baal, the fertile soil of Israel and the merchants of Tzidon will bring the nations of the world to our feet.” A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Yambalya stepped back to the side of the platform.

All eyes again turned to the High Priest of Israel, who stood pale and silent. He didn’t resume his speech, but rather nodded to King Ahav, who took a ring from a waiting servant and slid it smoothly onto Princess Izevel’s outstretched finger. The High Priest faced the crowd. “I give you King Ahav and Queen Izevel.” The crowd cheered as the King and his new Queen clasped hands, stepped out from under the canopy, and headed toward the palace.

Three court musicians escorted the King and Queen while the rest of us followed the guests out through the city gates and into the fields around the city. As long as the King and Queen were in seclusion, the musicians were allowed to eat and enjoy the festivities. The feast area was divided into three sections: one for the soldiers, one for the nobility, and one for the commoners, who were invited to the celebrations but hadn’t been allowed into the city for the ceremony.

The aroma of sizzling fat reached my nose, made my stomach rumble, and brought to mind the altar at Beit El. Zim grabbed my arm, “Did you see the size of the cows they’re roasting?”

“That’s for the nobility,” Yonaton said. “Come on, the food on our side looks fine. I’m starving.”

“We could get in there if we wanted to.” Zim stared beyond the guards at the roasting pit.

“How?” I asked.

“With these.” Zim indicated our instruments and the dark red sashes that we’d been issued for the wedding.

“Look at us; we hardly dress like nobility.” I’d borrowed Zim’s mirror before the wedding, and thought the dyed sash served only to highlight the plain weave of my tunic.

“As long as we look as if we’re supposed to be there, the guards will let us through.”

“I don’t know,” Yonaton said. “That one on the left looks pretty mean.”

“Stop worrying. Just start playing and follow me—and remember to stare straight ahead.” He launched into a weaving rhythm and started off.

Could Zim be right? If we acted as if we belonged, would the guards let us pass? I glanced at Yonaton, who arched his eyebrows as he raised his halil to his lips. I lifted my kinnor, and my heart thumped in my chest from the thrill of the challenge. When we reached the guards, Zim stepped up his beat and closed his eyes. Just hold the rhythm, I told myself. Ignore the guards. Keep moving forward. Despite his rough tunic and wild hair, Zim passed through, drawing the two of us after him.

“Wait.” The guard on the left stepped in front of Yonaton—he had looked. The guard turned to Zim, then back to me, his face knotted in confusion. I stopped playing and took a step back, not waiting for the outburst that was sure to come.

Zim called back to us, “Don’t lose the tempo, they’re waiting for us.” My hands leapt back to the strings—Zim wasn’t admitting defeat. His voice carried so much confidence that the guard looked sheepish and stepped out of the way. Once out of earshot, Zim struck a final drum roll, ending in a belly laugh. “Remember: if you believe it, it’s true.”

The nobility merited a far wider space than the commoners. In the center was a roasting pit, spanned by two whole oxen and numerous lambs, surrounded on three sides by trestles piled high with roasted meats, breads, and salads. My mouth watered at the smell of spices mixed with the smoke of the roasting meat. Zim walked straight to a serving table, wrapped a chunk of roast lamb in bread, and bit into it like a wolf, letting the juices flow down his chin.

My hands were sweating from the ruse we used to get past the guards. Though excited at our success, I couldn’t bring myself to touch the fare. If I ate the nobles’ meat, I’d be just like the shepherds in Levonah who grazed their flocks across furrowed fields. “I want to go back and eat in our area,” I said. Zim laughed, but Yonaton’s shoulders relaxed in relief.

“If you two want to go back, I’ll come with you. Let me take a little more meat first—it’s delicious. Who knows when I’ll get another chance at a roast this good.”

Yonaton pointed to the far corner of the nobles’ area where a small crowd stood gathered around a table. “What’s over there?”

“Don’t know. Let’s see.”

From one end of the table to the other lay a carcass covered in scales with sharp teeth and bulging, lifeless eyes. The animal was split open down its middle, and five servants stood shoulder to shoulder dispensing its flesh, steaming and fragrant. “What is it?” Yonaton asked.

“I don’t know.” I ran my hand over the animal’s skin, feeling the smoothness of the scales that crackled between my fingers. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A fleck of meat hit me in the ear as someone behind me laughed. “Mountain boys. Go back to your goats.” Zim extended his bread to one of the servants who balanced a piece of the creature on top of his already overflowing pile of meats. “Never seen a fish before?” He held his bread in front of us. “Sure you don’t want to try?”

Yonaton glanced at me.

“No,” I said.

“Just try a bit of mine. I’ve already taken it, and I’m not taking any more, so no one will lose if you taste it.”

I reached out and broke off a small piece of Zim’s fish—just a taste.

“See, it’s no fun being holy all the time. Isn’t it nice to grab what you want just once?”

I put the fish back on Zim’s pile of meat and wiped my hand on my tunic. “I don’t want it.”

Zim laughed. “Please yourself. Just be careful. You don’t want to wind up righteous and alone like Uriel.” Zim led us back out past the guards, who paid us no heed.

In the commoners’ section, Yonaton and I waited in line to get our food. There was no fish, and the meats weren’t spiced, but it still smelled wonderful. Food in hand, we rejoined Zim, who handed us each a clay goblet. “I got us wine.” His own goblet was already half empty.

Again I hesitated, remembering our first morning in Shomron, when I could barely rouse Zim for all the wine he’d drunk the night before. The only reason I distinguished myself at the rehearsal was because I hadn’t stayed up drinking with the musicians. Now Zim was handing me a goblet with far more wine than had ever passed my lips. This was my last opportunity to impress Dov—I couldn’t take any chances now. “I’ll pass.”

“Don’t worry. I got it from this side, you don’t have to feel bad about drinking it.”

“It’s not that. I don’t want it to hurt my playing.”

“A little wine isn’t going to hurt your playing—it might even improve it.” Zim downed a quarter of his goblet in one gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of a greasy hand. “You’re not with the prophets now. You’re at a feast—probably the biggest you’ll ever enjoy. Everyone is drinking and having a good time. Stop thinking so much.” He held out the goblet again.

Slowly, I reached out and grasped it, then sipped at its pungent sweetness. It was much stronger than I was used to—not watered down at all. All around me people were drinking and laughing. I closed my eyes, took a large swallow, and felt my nervousness melt away.

I was swallowing the dregs of my second goblet when three sharp trumpet blasts sounded from the palace: the signal I was waiting for. The world tilted as I rose to my feet. Not up to running, I did my best to slip quickly through the crowd.

I arrived at the gates before they opened, slung the kinnor off my back, and joined the other musicians in my rotation. We fell into the same upbeat dance tune I’d played when the royal caravan arrived at Shomron. The trumpets sounded a long cry, the palace gates were thrown open, and King Ahav and Queen Izevel came forth to loud cheering. A crowd careened around them as they strode hand in hand down the hill of Shomron, out of the city gates, and over to the mass celebration.

They were led to chairs next to Izevel’s parents, upon a dais at the edge of a large clearing. I joined the rest of the musicians in our position just below the stage. Adjacent to us was the section reserved for the sick and crippled, who, according to the King’s custom, were given seats at the very front of the commoners’ area. Ovadia stood next to the stage and commanded a constant stream of servants, who converged on him and ran off in every direction. He’d been working non-stop since returning to Shomron. Yonaton and I had helped him as much as we could when we weren’t in rehearsals, delivering messages and lending our hands to the endless details to which he attended personally. I hadn’t even seen him at the ceremony—he must have been too busy preparing the celebration to attend.

A clamor arose as a line of torch-bearers snaked through the crowd. They pushed the crowd back as they advanced, forming the perimeter of an open space before the royal families. Into the opening stepped a man so thin his white robes swayed as if empty. He wore a matching white turban in the same style as the High Priest of Tzidon. Approaching the platform, he bowed deeply to King Ahav. “Your Majesty, I am your humble servant Avidah. My performers and I were brought by the dyers’ guild of Tzidon in honor of the royal union. With the King’s permission…” King Ahav nodded in assent, “We will begin.”

Dov struck the first note, and the musicians jumped into the music we’d prepared for the performance. It was a wild piece in parts, with a foreign rhythm, and despite all our practice, I feared I wouldn’t keep up with the driving pace. But the wine loosened my fingertips, my dizziness was gone, and I felt a wonderful sense of freedom in its place.

Avidah withdrew to the side of the circle, just in front of the section set aside for the infirm. One of his performers carried a cedar torch into the clearing; its flame illuminated his blue robes and matching turban, the scent of its burning resin almost overpowering. He raced around the circle, his torch swinging close to the crowd, forcing people to step back to avoid the flame, pushing them farther and farther until he had more than doubled the size of the clearing. With a loud “Hiyah!” he threw his torch high in the air where it broke apart into six, smaller flames. He caught each one in turn, but each barely grazed his hand before it was back in the air again. Once he controlled all six torches, he ran along the edge of the clearing, catching and throwing the torches as he went. The crowd cheered, stomped, and clapped their hands. Back in front of the stage, he caught the torches one by one, catching three in his right hand, two in his left, and the final one in his mouth. He returned all six torches to his right hand and took his place next to Avidah.

A second performer, a sword suspended from the belt of his pink robes, stepped toward the stage holding a woven reed basket. He bowed before Ahav and Izevel, removed several gourds from his basket, and placed them on the ground before him. He drew his sword from its scabbard and held it above his head for everyone to see. The jeweled handle and polished blade glittered in the torchlight. In a flash, he slashed the sword down upon the gourds, splitting each one cleanly in two, and leaving no question: this sword was sharp.

Falling to his knees, the pink-robed performer held the sword straight above him, tipped his head back so far that the tendons on his neck stood out like ropes, and opened his mouth wide. A gasp issued from the crowd as the point of the sword descended toward his wide-stretched mouth. Only hours of steady practice kept my fingers from freezing on the strings of my kinnor. How could a man kill himself just to entertain the King and Queen on their wedding day? Watching the torchlight dance off the polished blade, I swallowed hard—why would he draw out the pain by doing it so slowly?

As the point of the sword entered his mouth, I turned away, not wanting to watch. Women screamed. I plucked furiously at my kinnor, grateful that the complex rhythm demanded so much concentration. Silence fell over the crowd, and I glanced up, expecting to see the man writhing on the ground. My fingers faltered on the strings. The performer was still on his knees, gazing up, with half the length of the sword sticking out of his mouth. How could it be anything but torture? Yet the blade kept descending.

The sword sank until nothing except the jeweled handle remained visible. Head tipped back, he rose to his feet with outstretched arms, spinning in a circle so that all could see. He turned back to the stage, fell to his knees, and grasped the hilt with both hands. In one smooth motion, he drew the sword from his mouth and held it high in the torchlight, showing that it was clean, without a trace of blood.