Crown in the Stars (8 page)

Yelahlah shifted the wriggling, whimpering Rakal in her arms and untied a leather pouch from her mare. Confident, she pulled out several small, polished, almost-translucent
red gemstones. “These are from the north; I polished them myself. And don’t tell me they’re not fine enough; I know they are.”

To Shoshannah’s relief, Yelahlah soon gained the merchant’s grudging permission for them to stay, as well as a generous helping of the honeyed fruit, barley water, a copper bracelet, and grain and water for their animals.

“No wonder you’re the wife of a tradesman, Cousin,” Shoshannah told her softly. “You’d persuade the feathers from a bird.”

“Oh, I’m not quite that good.” Pretending humility, Yelahlah slid her new bracelet onto her wrist.

They fed and watered their mares, then sat down to eat the too-sweet fruit and the sour barley water. Shoshannah turned her face from the street, lowering her head anxiously. If only Echuwd and his family would hurry. But she had a terrible feeling that they would take their time; they were avid negotiators and loved to boast to each other of having bested this tradesman or that merchant in marvelous deals.

If it weren’t for their greed, I wouldn’t be here
, Shoshannah thought, frustrated. Beside her, Mithqah was yawning, drooping and exhausted. Yelahlah was nursing Rakal to sleep. The afternoon stretched before them endlessly. As time passed, Shoshannah relaxed and peeked sidelong from beneath the folds of her hood. Under the merchant’s canopy just to her right, a prattling young craftsman, a stout matron, and a thin, stooped man were persuading passersby to inspect the unrivaled beauty of their carvings. Furtively Shoshannah eyed the displays.

Fragile pendants, slender bone hairpins, ivory combs, shallow decorative bone containers, and knives of intricately carved woods, ivories, shells, and gems all glowed in the
afternoon light. Shoshannah admired the pendants, but one of the ivory combs drew her attention. It was carved with writhing, gem-flecked hunting scenes like the ones on a small ivory comb, hidden within her mother’s storage chest at home. Amazing that it should look so similar…

A brown hand slapped down hard over the comb, making everything around it jump, including Shoshannah. Startled, she glanced up into the young craftsman’s handsome, mischievous black eyes. He was grinning, until he saw her face. Then he yanked back his hand and cried out, “I’ma-Peletah! Father Tso’bebaw! The Lady is here! She’s returned!”

No!
Shoshannah scrambled to her feet and started toward Ma’khole, terrified. But the stout matron hurled herself at Shoshannah with surprising speed, wailing a tearful, exultant, head-turning cry of greeting as if she had been longing to see Shoshannah for a thousand years.

“Lady! Have you returned to us? Oh!”

“No, truly, I’m not
her.”
Shoshannah thought she would smother in the woman’s embrace. Her hood was tousled now. She tried, and failed, to cover her face again.

Mithqah struggled to pull Shoshannah away from the woman, gasping, “You’re mistaken! Please…”

Ma’khole was becoming agitated, and the other mares were sidestepping now, threatening to trample Yelahlah, who leapt up, holding Rakal while begging the woman softly, “Hush! Leave her alone!” Rakal wailed, unhappily disturbed from his nap.

Aggravated, the sparse-bearded jeweler beneath the canopy to Shoshannah’s left roared, “Grab those animals before they trample things!” Then, seeing Shoshannah fully for the first time, his cry of rage deepened.
“You!”
Turning, he screamed out to the whole marketplace, “Call
for the guardsmen! That traitor-woman is here! Tell the men not to touch her—but don’t let her escape!”

A few men fled in different directions to summon help, but most people were gathering to stare. Various women, clad in long one-shouldered woolen tunics, gasped at Shoshannah, delighted. Some of the men, however, were unmistakably hostile.

Horrified, the stout matron pushed Shoshannah toward Ma’khole. “Lady, hurry! Oh, forgive me…”

Shoshannah grabbed Ma’khole’s reins to escape, then halted.
How?
she asked herself.
How can you escape when you’re trapped between the wall and that crowd?
This could not be happening. She felt weak.

Mithqah glanced from the crowd to Shoshannah, quavering. “Those men look as if they want to kill us. Oh, Shoshannah!”

Now the matron pushed herself between Shoshannah and the crowd. “Don’t you dare hurt her! The Lady never harmed anyone—you know it’s true.”

“She led our Great King to his death,” the merchant argued. “That was harm enough.”

Summoning her nonexistent courage, Shoshannah called out, “I’m not the ‘Lady.’ You’re mistaken.”

“Liar!” the merchant cried. “Do you think we’re fools?”

In tears, Yelahlah answered him above Rakal’s wail. “She’s not your Lady, and she’s done nothing wrong—as I live!”

“She’s got the same face and the same eyes and hair—it’s too exact to be chance,” the merchant pointed out loudly, provoking murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

Now the thin, stooped merchant who occupied the canopy to Shoshannah’s left spoke, blinking but firm. “This is not our Lady. Much like her, yes, but not her.”

“You sound so sure,” the first merchant sneered. “Well, good Tso’bebaw, perhaps we must believe you. The Lady purchased wares from you when she was here—and gave you that land you’re so proud of. But how do we know you’re not just trying to protect her?”

The stooped merchant bristled, but he spoke clearly. “Everyone knows you have a suspicious mind, Peh-ayr. And, may I say, a jealous spirit. You’ve never forgiven me for being the preferred one, have you? Let this poor child and her companions go.”

Apparently the thin merchant was more trusted by the people of the Great City; the men in the crowd looked less hostile, the women disappointed. But the sparse-bearded merchant fumed aloud, “I say she goes to our Queen of the Heavens.”

“Don’t be spiteful, Peh-ayr!” the matron snapped, even as she nudged Shoshannah toward Ma’khole. “This young woman has nothing to do with us. What a dreadful welcome you’ve given her to our city. Go, child, you and your companions, before Peh-ayr thinks of some new trouble.”

Yelahlah immediately plopped Rakal into his basket on her mare. And Mithqah scurried toward her own little tawny horse. Swiftly Shoshannah bounded onto Ma’khole, flinging her cloak and quiver over her shoulder and instinctively grabbing her bow.

“Look at her handle that bow—just as the Lady would! I say she should go to be judged,” the merchant Peh-ayr repeated, infuriated. “If that Master Ra-Anan finds out about this, do you think we’ll escape punishment? And what of Lord Kuwsh?”

Hearing those dangerous names, Shoshannah prodded Ma’khole forward, turning her toward the river once more.

The crowd parted now, but an angry familiar voice lifted above them. “Yelahlah! Where are you going? What’s happened?”

Echuwd
. Shoshannah hesitated. She had forgotten about Echuwd and his family; they were clustering together staring in amazement—as if they had never expected such a scene. How dare they be so surprised!

“Go, Shoshannah!” Mithqah called from behind her. “Forget them; let’s leave!”

In agreement, Shoshannah goaded Ma’khole ahead. But the dark mare slowed skittishly, apparently disliking the brick pavings. Shoshannah was sweat drenched when they reached the end of the market street. And there they were greeted by proud, fleece-cloaked guardsmen, some on horseback, some on foot, all with weapons. Shoshannah snatched an arrow from her quiver, thinking,
One against so many …

A particularly large, muscular horseman—his arms and throat formidably arrayed with clattering teeth and claws from various animals—lifted his own bow, fitted it with an arrow, and aimed it at Mithqah. “You choose,” he told Shoshannah coldly. “Give us your weapons or I kill her.”

At once Shoshannah offered her bow to the nearest guardsman, pleading, “Don’t hurt her; she has nothing to do with this.”

“We’ll see,” he retorted.

Mithqah made a noise of protest, then hushed, clearly terrified of the huge lead guard. But she traded despairing looks with Shoshannah as the remaining guardsmen cautiously surrounded them, returning them to the Great City.

They rode through the market street again, past the
smirking merchant Peh-ayr, past the distressed ivory carver, his sobbing wife, and their ashen young craftsman. And past Echuwd’s family, the gaping Echuwd, and the weeping Yelahlah. Shoshannah lowered her head, scared.

As soon as the guardsmen had gone by, Yelahlah turned on her husband and his family as if she would claw them to pieces. “You should have listened to her—and to me! They were our guests! We were responsible for protecting them both; how will you explain this to their parents, and to the Ancient Ones who love them? If they die, you’re all to blame!”

Not one of them disagreed.
Amazing
, Yelahlah thought, hating them, hating herself.
I never thought I’d see them speechless
. Wretched, she wiped her face and prayed silently,
Protect those poor girls, O Most High—I am also to blame
.

The thin, stooped merchant approached them now, blinking, hesitant. “If I may, I will offer you my home for the night. Surely you can hear some news of your loved ones tomorrow.”

Yelahlah eyed her husband, daring him to refuse. He didn’t. Quietly, she said, “I will follow our guests. Perhaps I can plead for them. After all, Master Ra-Anan and the Great Lady are my own close kindred.”

She lifted her young son—who was wet—from his basket and swiftly wrapped him in a clean fleece. Then she strode past her husband’s family, who silently backed away.

“We say as little as possible,” Shoshannah whispered to Mithqah as their mares clopped reluctantly down the bricked streets, past mud-walled, tree-sheltered homes.

“And we give no names,” Mithqah agreed softly, her tender face set, though her bristly lashes fluttered, betraying her fear.

“Separate them,” the rude, massive lead guardsman commanded. He flashed Shoshannah a look of pure hatred that terrified her.

At once the other guardsmen restrained Mithqah’s tawny little mare until she was far enough behind Shoshannah to prevent them from conspiring. But Shoshannah felt they had said enough; they had agreed to protect their families. Now she had to consider her friend’s safety. Mithqah didn’t deserve to be punished for simply being with her.
At least let me help Mithqah escape …

This southern area of the city seemed quieter. On these streets, the dusky men and women—in fine, long, one-shouldered robes with handsome gold ornaments—were more reserved and proud. Until they saw Shoshannah. They halted, staring at her like astounded children.

Shoshannah squirmed inwardly. She wished she had paid more attention to Tsinnah’s gentle advice regarding her hair and clothes. By comparison to these people, she was a coarse creature dragged in from the steppes.
Perhaps I’ll behave like such a creature and shock them all
, she thought defiantly.

The guardsmen turned toward a more open street, which led to an enormous residence, protected by high walls and a broad, double-doored wooden gate. Several fleece-cloaked guardsmen stood outside this gate, fending off groups of citizens. Some of the citizens were richly clothed, some poorly. But they all stared at Shoshannah and retreated. The men in particular shied away from her,
making her remember that, years ago, if any man even accidentally touched her mother, he was instantly put to death.