When my eyes finally went dry, I pulled the tunic down and saw that all the others were asleep. The ache in my chest answered my master’s offer. I would go to Jericho to mourn my friend.

I reached Jericho on the second day of my journey. In better conditions, I could have made it in one day, but muddy and washed-out roads made for an uneasy ride. I spent the night in a cave so shallow that it was really just a crevice, barely sheltered from the winds and relentless rain, unable to light a fire for lack of dry tinder. As I shivered through the night, I wondered if my decision to go had been rash—I was traveling farther than I’d ever gone, to pay respects to people I’d never met, on the death of a friend I saw only a few times a year. Yet, the emptiness I felt when I pictured Seguv’s smiling eyes pushed me forward.

On the morning of the second day, I descended into the great valley of the Jordan River, where the ruins of Jericho lay just north of the Salt Sea. Halfway down the mountains, the air grew lighter, the clouds thinned, and the rain dwindled to a light mist that barely reached the ground. I descended further onto dry roads, and the sunlight glittered off streams of water running down the mountainsides. At the base of the mountains, the road flattened and passed through a grove of tall date palms, where a dozen camels—animals rarely seen in the cooler mountain plateau—grazed in their shade. There were also rows of newly planted trees whose species I didn’t recognize. These must be the balm trees Seguv told me about, the source of the afarsimon oil, the justification for rebuilding the destroyed city despite the costs.

The dry air of Jericho drew the wetness from my clothes, and I was grateful to be spared meeting Seguv’s parents stinking of soaked wool. No guard sat at the newly erected gates to direct me, but I had no trouble finding Hiel’s house. It was the largest one and stood at the highest point in the city—much as the King’s palace towered over Shomron. I tied Balaam to an olive tree out front, its trunk thick and gnarled, a remnant of the great city destroyed hundreds of years before. Before passing the threshold, I filled my lungs with clean air before entering a house tainted with death.

I took in the whole room with one glance. A middle-aged couple sat on the floor, barefoot, their clothing torn and their heads dusted with the ashes of mourning. Four men sat opposite them, but no one spoke. I paused at the threshold, then stepped as softly as I could to an empty stool, not wanting to disturb the stillness.

Sitting down among people I didn’t know, I wondered again if I should have come. I wanted to give comfort, but it was not my place to break the silence—and what would I say, anyway? The couple on the floor must be Hiel and his wife, but where was Onan, Seguv’s older brother? Could he have died as well?

I realized I was staring and turned my attention to the other guests. Two of the men, wearing dirty work clothes, resembled each other so much, they must have been brothers. A third sat rigidly in his chair. His posture and spotless linen tunic reminded me of the scribes in the throne room of the King. The fourth sat in the corner, eyes on the floor. Whatever he was staring at must have been absorbing, for he didn’t stir at all when I entered. His whole appearance bespoke nobility. His hair and beard were trim and neat. He wore a thick belt made of sheep hide— something I’d never seen, even when visiting Shomron. Despite the heat, a vivid crimson mantle was wrapped tightly about his shoulders.

“Were you a friend of Seguv’s?” Hiel asked me.

I stole my eyes from the nobleman in the corner. “Yes sir, I was.”

A hungry expression entered Hiel’s eyes. “How did you know him?”

“I live in Levonah. He came up to sell dates.”

“You came all the way from Levonah?”

“No sir, I was in Emek HaAsefa when I heard.”

The nobleman with the mantle snapped up his head and examined me. I could feel the heat of his gaze, his black eyes glowing like coals in the heart of a fire.

Hiel also sat up straighter at the mention of Emek HaAsefa. “Are you of the bnei nevi’im?”

I gave a weak smile, then thought better of it. “No, sir, I am a musician.”

“Oh, you are that shepherd boy that…that Seguv spoke of.” My smile almost broke through again when I heard that Seguv spoke about me, but Hiel’s voice cracked on his son’s name.

“Did he…I mean, were you…” Hiel was foundering.

Without warning, the nobleman with the fiery eyes rose to his feet, drawing Hiel’s attention. “Are you leaving?”

The nobleman motioned with his chin toward the entrance. In the doorway, flanked by two guards, stood King Ahav himself. The other guests and I immediately jumped to our feet. Hiel and his wife attempted to rise from the floor, but Ahav stopped them with a gesture.

“No need to get up, my dear Hiel. The mourner needn’t stand before the King. I was broken-hearted when the news reached me.” The King pulled my vacated stool toward himself and sat down. “You may wait outside,” he said to his two guards. I wasn’t sure if I should leave as well, but followed the lead of the other guests and continued to stand respectfully.

The King ignored our presence, his attention fixed on Hiel. “I blame myself, of course.”

Hiel’s hand rose in protest. “You must not, my King. I knew the risks involved. The dangers of the waters here are well known. I was proud to take on the mission of rebuilding a great city in Israel. Our losses have been tragic, that is true. But we hold you blameless.”

King Ahav dropped his eyes and fingered the tassel on his belt, replying quietly, “I’m not talking about the waters. I’m speaking of the curse.”

Hiel’s eyes grew wide. “My Lord, I thought you did not believe in the curse.”

“Well, I didn’t. It seemed so ridiculous. Just a story told to children and the ignorant to frighten them away. But now that it has come true, can we continue to deny it?”

“What curse?” I slapped my hand over my mouth, but the question had already leapt out. One didn’t just speak in front of the King—certainly not to interrupt such an intimate conversation.

The King turned to me, and for the second time that day I had the impression that I was being examined. But while the nobleman’s gaze penetrated to the heart, the King seemed to be weighing my value. “You look familiar,” he said at last.

I dropped my hand from my mouth but didn’t reply.

King Ahav’s eyes held me. “You may speak.”

“Thank you, my King.” I bowed my head, avoiding looking him in the eye. “I am a musician. I played at the King’s wedding.”

“Ah yes, I remember.” Ahav leaned back with the satisfied smile of one who has made a good purchase. “Yes, the curse. When Joshua conquered Jericho over five hundred years ago, he declared, ‘Cursed is the man who will rise up and build this city Jericho. With his oldest son he will lay the foundations, with his youngest son he will erect its gates.’”

Hiel and his wife both started to wail. I shrank back against the wall—I shouldn’t have asked.

The King turned back to the couple on the floor. “It’s so strange that the curse would come true,” he said, a tone of pleading in his voice, but their sobbing only grew louder. “Who would imagine that the curse of the disciple would materialize, when the words of his master failed?”

“And what does that mean?” The air in the room pulsed as the nobleman with the fiery eyes stepped forward, his frame expanding as he stalked out of his corner toward the King. The hard tone of his voice sounded familiar. I’d heard such a tone once before—from Yambalya.

The King snickered. “Come Eliyahu, you know the story better than I. Moses pronounced a curse on the people that if they worship idols, there will be no rain. Go on, recite it for us.”

Eliyahu’s nostrils flared as Ahav waved a hand for him to speak, but he did not argue with a command from the King. He drew his mantle tightly around him and declared: “Guard yourselves, lest you turn your hearts and serve other gods and bow down to them.” Eliyahu’s voice shook with rage. “Then the wrath of the Holy One will blaze against you. The heavens will be restrained, there will be no rain, the ground will not give its abundance, and you will be lost from upon the good land the Holy One gave you.”

I’d known these verses from the Torah since I was a young boy, but this was the first time they made me tremble.

The King appeared unmoved. “You see,” he faced the bereaved couple, “it makes no sense that this curse would come upon you, my dear Hiel. Look around you. The people seek the Baal more every day, yet in my entire life, I never remember the rain being so plentiful. So why should the curse of Joshua cause your family so much misery, when the curse of his teacher Moses has foundered?”