In the upper marketplace, a grain seller called out, “Barley, a seah per shekel, a seah per shekel. Wheat, two shekels a seah, two shekels a seah.” The barley price was higher than in previous years, but it was not because of the drought, just a reflection of last season’s poor barley crop. I knew this because the wheat prices were lower than the prior year because of the strong harvest. Once the merchants sensed drought, the costs would soar. Was this why Ovadia purchased so much grain, despite the lack of adequate storage? Was he trying to build a stockpile before the prices rose?
I continued up the road, drawn to the cloud of dust and noise I heard at the top of the hill. Where an orchard had once stood, fifty slaves labored away at an enormous building, second in size only to the palace itself. The floor of cut stone was already complete, covering an area three times the size of Ovadia’s house. The violet robed priests overseeing the work meant this was the new Temple of the Baal. I ought to seethe seeing such a giant structure rising to a foreign god in the heart of the capital, but instead I found myself admiring the work. At least Yambalya was doing something useful, unlike the prophets who just waited in the cave for me to feed them.
Only Eliyahu took a true stand against the Baal. All of our hopes rested with him. But what impact could one man alone have against all of this?
Without warning, two arms wrapped around me from behind. The arms tightened across my chest, cutting off my air and lifting me off my feet. My thoughts spun. Had the tattooed soldier who killed Shimon tracked me down? I heard a familiar laugh and went cold. It wasn’t the soldier—it was worse.
“Lev! You came back!”
Zim put me down facing him, his hands on my shoulders. “Did you come to see the Temple? No one’s ever heard of such a massive structure going up so fast, but then, Yambalya himself comes at least twice a day to measure the progress. Come, I’ll show you.”
My heart pounded as I struggled to keep the smile on my face. At least the soldier would have killed me quickly. How could I be so stupid? Ovadia warned me to anticipate discovery and prepare for it. I knew Zim had returned to Shomron, he was bound to spot me eventually. Why hadn’t I concocted a story to give him? Zim knew my connection to the prophets. Worse, he played for the priests of the Baal, who wanted my master dead. In a single moment, all my secrecy had disappeared.
My thoughts raced, trying to conjure the excuses I should have worked out days ago. Nothing came to mind, but one thing was clear: trying to break away now would only make matters worse. Whatever I did, I couldn’t make him suspicious.
I followed Zim to the partially constructed Temple. “The altar will be over there, facing north toward Tzidon. There will be an attic covering half of the building, and Yambalya is putting a small room there for me. Until then, I’m back in the old musicians’ quarters. How about you? Where are you staying?”
In Shiloh, when I had last seen Zim, I avoided his questions by distracting him with food. Now I had nothing to offer. “I’m not sure yet. I just arrived.”
“So where’s your kinnor?”
My mouth went dry as I stammered, “at…at Ovadia’s,” unable to come up with a convincing lie. “I stayed with him during the wedding, so it was the first place I thought to go. His wife let me leave my things there while I looked around.”
Zim grimaced and lowered his voice. “You’ll want to be careful. Yambalya doesn’t trust Ovadia. Says he’s fallen out of favor with the Queen.”
I lowered my voice to match his. “Thanks for the tip. What do you suggest?”
“Why not stay in the musicians’ quarters with me? There are only three of us there, not like during the wedding.”
“That might be a fit.” I needed to find more intelligent responses to Zim’s questions. Ovadia would know what to say, but I wouldn’t see him until the evening.
“So, where did you go after we parted at Shiloh?” he asked.
Again, I could think of nothing better to say than the truth, or at least part of it. “I tried to return to Uriel. He stayed behind in Emek HaAsefa with a few disciples. I thought they could use a musician, but it didn’t work out.” That at least was true. “So I went home to Levonah, and my aunt took me back in.”
I could see Zim getting ready to ask another question. I needed to break his momentum and get away until I could consult with Ovadia. Having no food to offer, I turned to his other great love. “Are you still playing every night?”
Zim shook his head and held up a hand in mock protest. “Every night, plus during the day more often than not.”
“Mostly for Yambalya?”
“Whenever there’s not some bigger festival or banquet that needs me.”
“Still playing for Uriel’s son?” I had been shocked in Shiloh to learn that Uriel’s son Gershon was the High Priest of Israel, serving the Golden Calf his father despised.
“No, not for some time.” Zim paused. “Truth is, Gershon hasn’t hosted a single banquet or celebration in the past month that I can recall.” He shrugged and moved on. “Say, if you just arrived you can’t have begun to look for work. There’s a banquet tonight—I’m sure we could use your kinnor. Shall I ask?”
I was needed at Ovadia’s. The number of prophets had already grown to over forty, and they needed every moment I could spare to grind flour. Yet, if Zim thought I was in Shomron to feed myself as a musician, I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t even say I would live off my copper until I settled in, for Zim knew music was much more than food to me. My fingers ached for my kinnor, which I had not played in weeks. “I’d love to play,” I said, and it was the truest thing I’d said yet.
“Great. Bring your things to the musicians’ quarters an hour before sunset, and we’ll go together.” He gave me a last hug. “Yambalya calls, but stay and watch as they build the future of Shomron.”
I sank onto a stone at the roadside and looked at the horizon. An hour before sunset. At least I had enough time to deliver bread to the cave. How many more deliveries could I make now that I had been discovered? I needed to figure out what to do next.
Ovadia was not home, and I didn’t dare seek him out at the palace. Batya worked on in cold silence. If she was this mad because I went for a walk, how would she react when she learned I’d been discovered?
There was no time to let the loaves cool. I shoved them into the saddlebags and shut them tight, but the smell of warm bread wafted through. It was one thing to be in a hurry, but another to be stupid. If the guards found the bread, I might never arrive at the cave. I rubbed dried manure from the courtyard over the saddlebags and sniffed again. No more bread smell.
Without a word to Batya, I led the donkey out into the alleyway. I managed to control my steps as I exited the city, only breaking into a run once I was out of sight of the gates.
“Is this Naftali ben Jacob reborn?” Peleh said as I arrived at the cave out of breath. “Why the rush?”
I had no desire to tell Peleh all that happened. Fortunately, I knew few prophets or disciples could resist a chance to teach. “Who was Naftali?” I asked, feigning interest.
Peleh took the bait. “You know Naftali.” He received the first stack of bread from me and passed it to Sadya behind him. “When our father Jacob died, his twelve sons brought his body back from Egypt to lay him with his fathers in the Cave of Machpelah. When they arrived at the mouth of the cave, they found Jacob’s brother Esau blocking the way. He claimed that there was only one grave left, and as the firstborn, it belonged to him.”
My uncle had taught me the stories of our fathers. “Didn’t Esau sell his birthright to his brother?”
“Precisely.” For a moment, we were teacher and student, not fellow fugitives. “Naftali was the fastest of the brothers, so he ran back to Egypt to retrieve the deed showing the grave belonged to Jacob.”
“They left Jacob unburied long enough for Naftali to go all the way to Egypt and back?”
“No!” Peleh’s enthusiasm took the bite out of his instant response. “Hushim ben Dan was deaf and could not understand Esau’s words, but he saw his grandfather’s body lying dishonored while the brothers argued. He took a club and with one mighty blow sent Esau’s head flying into the cave behind him.”
I handed Peleh the very last of the bread. “No man can hit another hard enough to knock off his head.”
Peleh placed his hands on the last stack of bread but didn’t take it from my grasp. “You must learn to understand the stories of the prophets. Esau’s wisdom merited an eternal place amongst our forefathers, and so his head was allowed to be buried in the cave. But he never learned to control his cravings. Whatever his body desired, he gave it, be it for good or ill. His wisdom failed to purify his body, and thus it was left to rot by the roadside.”
