“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.
