Dozens of men milled around the hill below Shiloh, and all seemed to be between the ages of twenty and forty. A second group gathered at the east side of the hill, but the two groups didn’t mix. Nervous laughter ran through the crowd. One of my companions laid a hand on my shoulder and pointed to a cluster of trees at the foot of the hill. “The musicians are over there.”
I approached the trees, finding five musicians playing as an older man scrutinized them, dropping comments and critiques. “Excuse me,” I said to the man, who took no notice. “Excuse me,” I called a little louder.
The old man turned, first looking over my head, then down until he met my eyes. “Yes?”
I’d never asked for work before. “I’m wondering if you…” I started, brandishing my kinnor.
“Ah, you’d like to play with us.” He smirked. “I’m sorry, I’ve got all the musicians I need.” The other musicians watched me now, a couple of them grinning. “Keep working on your music. Perhaps in a few years you can come join us.”
I nodded, my cheeks burning, and walked away, their music mocking my retreat. The musicians were good, but no better than me. The leader hadn’t even listened to me play. As I approached the King’s Road, their song faded, all but the drumming, which grew louder with each step.
I pulled the piece of parchment out of my pouch. It was stupid to think I could just show up and play—at least I hadn’t lost much time. If I moved quickly, I might still be able to reach Mitzpah by nightfall. All I could hear now was the drum, pounding louder and louder.
“Lev, you came!”
“Zim!” He stopped drumming and wrapped one stout arm around me, squeezing my face into his shoulder. “I thought you were staying in Shomron?”
“I told you, I never miss Shiloh. Yambalya said I could come.” Zim released me, and I rubbed my nose, which itched from scraping against his rough tunic. “You’re going the wrong way. The musicians set up over there.” “They didn’t want me. The leader didn’t even listen to me. He thinks I’m too young.”
Zim laughed. “I was barely older than you when I started coming. You’re not too young—you just look terrified. Come on.” Zim walked past, waving for me to follow. “Emanuel!” he called with his habitual confidence.
The old man saw Zim, and a genuine smile stretched across his face. “Zimri. I was hoping you’d come back. We can use your drum.” Emanuel caught sight of me. “I told your friend to come back in a couple of years. We don’t need any boys playing.”
Zim shook with laughter. “You must have some group this year if you think your musicians are better than the King’s.”
Emanuel started, his eyes lit with curiosity. “The King’s?”
“This is Lev ben Menachem. I played with him at the King’s wedding. I told him to come to Shiloh—I figured you could use the help.”
“But he’s just a boy.”
“You judge too much by appearances.” Zim ran a hand through his wavy, dark hair. “Have you listened to him play?”
“No.” Emanuel scratched his beard.
“Lev, let’s do that song we played for the juggler. You start, and I’ll join in. If the rest of you think you can follow along, feel free to try.”
All eyes were on me again, but now it felt completely different. I took my time preparing to play, first stretching out the fingers on my left hand, then on my right. No one spoke as they waited. I closed my eyes and let my fingers go.
Zim picked the right tune. It was fast, and the melody jumped around a complicated rhythm. If I hadn’t spent so much time practicing before the wedding, I would never have been able to lead it. As it was, I struggled to play it on my own. Zim let me start solo, then filled in the rhythm underneath. After one round, a nevel added its voice, not quite in rhythm. A halil joined in with a high, warbling note, but struggled to stay in tune and fell away.
Before long, all seven musicians were playing—the quality of the music nothing near the caliber of the wedding. I played the notes as crisply as I could in order to guide the others—suddenly aware of how much my abilities had grown since the gathering began. All of Daniel’s lessons had taken hold. I had more power and speed than before, but that wasn’t all. I was playing more loosely now, as I did at the wedding after two goblets of the King’s wine. This time, though, the freedom couldn’t have come from drink. It must have been from that morning’s flood of tears.
We played through the melody twice, then Zim departed from the rhythm into short rapid beats. I brought the tune to an end, sealing it with a bold final note that continued to reverberate even as I removed my hand from the strings and opened my eyes.
Emanuel’s attention was locked on me, eyes wide and mouth slack. Zim held back a laugh. “You can stay,” Emanuel said. “Let’s try that song again. We can add it tonight if the rest of you get it sharper.”
A molten sun faded in the west as a full moon rose over the ridge on the eastern horizon. The crowds on both sides of the hill continued to grow as the day wore on, but still hadn’t mingled. The musicians set up on a hillside overlooking an expanse of trellised grapevines, their avenues or arbors forming shadowed lanes over the land that lay between the two gatherings. An old man approached the near group, and chatter ceased as they surrounded him. I could tell that he spoke loudly, but we were too far away to hear what he was saying.
When the old man finished, he left the first group and walked along the edge of the vineyard toward the second, passing directly below the musicians.
I nudged Zim and pointed. “Hey, that’s Master Yosef!”
“That’s right. He comes here every year. That’s how I got hired to play for the prophets this summer—he heard me last year and asked me to come to the gathering.”
“I’m surprised to see him at a festival.”
“He likes to come and make sure everything happens in ‘the right way.’”
“What has to happen in the right way?”
Zim cocked his head and examined me slyly out of the corner of his eye. “You really don’t know what happens here?”
“No, what?”
Zim threw me a mischievous grin. “You’ll see soon enough.”
The second group now gathered around Yosef. When he finished speaking, only a smudge of color remained in the western sky, and the moon glowed white and immense above the eastern hills. Yosef waved a flaming torch back and forth above his head.
“That’s our signal.” Emanuel raised his hand. “Lev, lead us in that song from the wedding.” I struck the first notes, and the others joined in, smoother than before, but still struggling.
The signal was not just for us. Both groups moved toward the vineyard, spreading out as they approached. Some men of the near group hesitated before walking under the bowers, but there was no such hesitation from the far-off crowd. Even from a distance, I could see that they were dancing, and moonlight reflected on their brilliant, white garments. Yosef sat beside a bonfire on the hillside below us, next to two of his disciples.
As they reached the edge of the trailing vines, I got a better view of the dancers. “Hey, those are girls!”
