Shame of Man (35 page)

“Yes.” She went back and put her hand first on Mina's shoulder, waking her, because the girl had instincts of secrecy. “We are escaping. Wake your brother silently and go with Carverro.”

Without a word, Minah sat up and then leaned over Chipp in the dark. Annai rearranged her hair, quickly binding it in the manner Crystal did, and shifted her robe to emulate the servant style. She bowed her head and assumed the posture of a lesser person. Because of her long association with Crystal, it wasn't hard to emulate the woman's mannerisms.

They went out with Carverro, and the children climbed into his little hand-drawn wagon. Annai covered them with a cloth, then carefully buried them in elegant copper pots and statues. The ride would surely be bumpy and uncomfortable, but Minah would keep Chipp quiet.

Finally Annai was able to ask the question uppermost in her mind. “Huuo—”

“Alive and well, but in the company of Scylla.”

She knew what that meant. If Zebub had a lust for Annai, so also did his sister have a lust for Annai's husband. Huuo had seemed not to notice, but Annai had; the woman would have done almost anything to get him into her bed. Apparently mostly because of the challenge of it; Huuo was one of few men genuinely disinterested in her. Naturally she had moved in on him the moment Annai had been moved out.

“But—”

“Your house was burned. He thought your bones were there.”

So Huuo thought she was dead, just as she had thought he was dead. What a vile plot against the two of them! Yet what had happened seemed beyond what the evil brother-sister couple should have been able to manage. Something more was going on.

“Now follow behind,” Carverro said. “There are not many abroad at this hour, but we must not risk attracting any attention. This is a hostile city.”

They moved out, Carverro pushing the wagon over the stony pavement, Annai walking meekly after him. There were some torches at the street corners, and some men heading home late. The traveling trader was ignored.

Until they came to the rear gate. It was already closed. “Go around to the front gate!” the gatekeeper called.

“My wife took sick and I have to take her home,” Carverro called back. “I'm sure it's not the plague, but—”

“Pass!” the guard exclaimed, cranking the gate open.

They hurried through, Annai hunching even more and affecting a weak coughing spell. The very mention of plague was enough to make anyone nervous. Had they wanted to enter the city, they would have been barred, but leaving was another matter. Let some other city take the risk.

When they were well clear of the wall, the children were allowed out, bruised but satisfactory, and Annai indulged her curiosity. “How did you get by the mute slave woman?”

“I slipped bhang into her beer. She is peacefully dreaming in her chamber, not caring what occurs elsewhere.”

How simple! Bhang was supposedly a mild intoxicant or hallucinogen, but samples differed; it could be made strong enough to put a person into a delirium for hours. The slave would enjoy her sleep—until the morning revealed the empty chamber she guarded. Then, if she were smart, she would hasten from the house and the city, never to be seen again, for Zebub would be furious.

“How will we return to Mor?” Annai asked. “It's a long walk, and I am not in the best of strength.” For the confinement had wearied her in body as well as spirit. She had not practiced her dancing, fearing that that would lead only to more interest by her captor. “And there may be pursuit.”

“You and the children will be Canaanites.”

And they would be looking for a Philistine woman. It would be impossible to check every Canaanite family; there were too many of them, and they supported each other too firmly. No Canaanite would oppose a Philistine directly, but the indirect resistance could be overwhelming.

Carverro led them to a Canaanite village off the main road. They entered a lowly inn. “I have brought my wife and children,” he told the proprietor. “Will you grant us sanctuary?”

“Let me look at them,” the man said.

“Stand up straight and do not speak,” Carverro told them.

The three of them stood straight, though Annai had a misgiving of the wisdom of this, because all of them had significant Philistine features.

The man studied them carefully. “Canaanites,” he said, nodding. “They will have to work for their board.”

“They will,” Carverro agreed.

The man beckoned to his plump wife. “Put these Canaanites to work,” he said.

Annai knew better than to protest. Canaanite men treated their women with no more respect than Philistines did. She hoped the work would not be unduly arduous, because what she wanted most was to relax with the feeling of freedom.

“You'll need uniforms,” the woman said. She took them to a back room where she had them don the dull clothing of the lowly. Then she smeared grease and dirt on their faces and arms. She tied a cushion to Annai's midriff to make her appear fat. She poured coloring over Annai's head and rubbed it into her hair, changing its color. “Never speak,” she cautioned. “Always obey. My husband will not hit you unless he has to.”

Then Annai know that the woman knew. If a Canaanite man asked that a Philistine woman be hidden, and she was not protesting, they would hide her. By making her one of them.

Soon Annai was sweeping the dirt from the floor of the main chamber, while Chipp was cutting fish and Mina carrying ale to customers. They had hardly gotten to work before a horse galloped up. They heard its hoofbeats stop and the thump of a man jumping down.

In a moment the rider appeared in the doorway. “A Philistine cavalryman,” the proprietor exclaimed loudly, so that everyone knew. “We are honored! Girl—take his cape.”

There was a pause. Then the proprietor whirled on Annai, lifting his fist. “Must I beat you again to make you mind? I said take our guest's cape!”

Oh. Annai hurried up, reaching for the visitor's cape. “Get away from me, slut!” he snarled, whipping it clear of her reach. “This isn't a social call. I'm looking for a woman.”

“I will have a young and pliable one brought to your room,” the proprietor promised.

“Idiot! I'm not staying in this hovel. I mean a fugitive. A beautiful Philistine with two children. Have they passed this way?”

“A beautiful Philistine?” the proprietor repeated, amazed. “In a place like this?”

“I must search your premises. Stand aside, dullard, or pay the consequence.”

“By all means satisfy yourself,” the proprietor said, bowing as he backed off. Then he shot a glance at Mina. “Bring this fine man a mug of ale!”

Minah dashed to the kitchen area, where the wife poured out the ale. Minah brought it to the Philistine. The man hesitated, then shrugged; free
ale was worthwhile at any time. He took the mug without even looking at Minah.

Of course the search turned up nothing. Soon the man was on his way to check the next inn. The three fugitives had been hidden the most effective way: in plain sight.

And not one of the customers at the tables, all Canaanites, had said a word, though all had seen the party arrive and change. For the first time Annai appreciated the solidarity of the Canaanite culture. She had trusted them not to betray her, and they were trusting her never to betray them in turn. No word of this would be spoken to the authorities.

Now Carverro and his party were served good food. “Will you tell us your story?” the proprietor asked.

“This is my wife's mistress Annai of Mor,” Carverro said, startling Annai by his sudden openness. Yet she realized that this was part of the payment for their protection. Odd happenings were always of interest, in the dull outlying villages. “Her husband is Huuo, the renowned musician.” There was a murmur of recognition. “They have always been good to us; we owe them. Lord Zebub abducted her for himself.” He continued with the story, while they ate.

When it was done, there was applause. The folk at the tables approved of what Carverro had done. But there was a question: “Will she dance for us?”

“She has been confined, and is tired,” Carverro said. “She can't—”

“No, I'll do it!” Annai said in a sudden exultation of abandon. The folk of the villages seldom got to see the presentations of the central temples. “You have protected me; I will reward you.” She got up and hauled out the pillow from under her robe and unbound her hair, while the men scrambled to move the tables so that there was dancing space in the center. One of the men produced a tambourine and made a melodic beat with it, while others clapped their hands in unison.

Then Annai began to dance, at first slowly, limbering her limbs, then more swiftly, twirling and leaping with more vigor than she thought she would have. Finally she flung off the dirty robe and danced completely naked, making a scene that they would never forget. For she was indeed beautiful, and the dance enhanced her, and she knew it. This was her expression of gratitude and freedom.

When she stopped, panting with the wild exertion, she was satisfied to see stares of mesmerization all around. She had suitably impressed her audience.

The proprietor brought her a clean robe. “I never liked Philistines,” he murmured, “until this night. Your name is not Annai; it is Anat.”

The Canaanite goddess of war, she remembered from Crystal's stories to the children. The most volatile and beautiful of women. “Thank you.”

There was more, for it took them several days to make their way to Mor with covert Canaanite help, but that was the occasion that remained in
Annai's mind: her dance of freedom, with the dazed support of the Canaanites, who might never again behold such beauty of motion. She knew that later in her life she well might encounter some of the men who had seen her here, but that not one of them would speak of it to any Philistine. It was a good kind of secret.

Crystal was late. It was near noon. Scylla had already seduced him for the morning. He had hoped that Crystal would arrive in time to interrupt that, but when she was late he had been caught for it. Because all he could do, while Annai and the children were captive, was maintain the pretense.

The irony was that he was now playing the same game Scylla was, deceiving her as she deceived him. If she was despicable, what was he? She drew him into sexuality, trying to win his commitment by both inciting and satisfying his passion. He acceded to it, trying to keep her ignorant so as to protect his family and win his freedom from her. Yet he could not be certain that Scylla didn't truly desire him, apart from her scheming—or that he did not desire her, apart from his own scheming. Whatever else she was not, she was one phenomenally alluring woman. So was there a core of genuine unity of desire? The notion bothered him.

He stood at the doorway, looking out, while Scylla attended herself inside. Then he saw Crystal, hurrying up. He stepped out to meet her. “When you are late, I have no protection from—”

“They're safe!” she cried. “Carverro rescued them. They are entering the city now! Soon they will be here!”

An invisible weight lifted from his back. Huuo turned and strode back into the house.

Scylla was just emerging from the lavatory. She looked beautiful, but now he wanted none of it. He wanted to do what had to be done before his family arrived. “You lied to me!” he said, lifting his left hand. “You conspired against my family!”

Her mouth and eyes went round in perfect emulation of astonishment. “What do you mean? Your family died! The hill folk—”

He struck her backhanded across the face. “They took them to your brother—while you told me they were dead.”

She fell half on the couch, this time in a disarray that was not esthetic. “My brother—did that? He didn't kill them?” Her surprise seemed genuine, and it was tinged with a trace of anger. It seemed that she herself had been deceived in that respect. But it hardly lessened her guilt, if she thought Annai had been killed.

“So you could trick me into marrying you. Now I will kill you. It is my right.” He drew his knife.

Scylla twisted by the couch so that she was sitting with her back against it, her legs splayed on the floor. The bruise where he had struck her was
starting to show, and there was blood on her lip. She flung open her robe, baring her breasts and all else. “Then kill me!” she cried. “Stab me through the heart! I will not flinch. I am guilty.” Tears flowed down her cheeks, too copious to have been forced. “But know two things, my lover: I did it for love of you and would have been a true wife to you throughout, with an excellent situation for you at the court of Jaoch in Gaza. I would never have deceived you again.” She paused, fixing her eyes on his, her dishabille and wild hair making her weirdly compelling for this instant. “And when you kill me, you kill also your child within me.” She touched her bare abdomen.

Both of her statements had impact. She was neither trying to escape him nor reviling him; she was professing her love for him. That could be artifice, but he couldn't be sure of that. The time of incipient death was a time of truth, and she knew he wasn't bluffing. And a child in her belly? How could she know, so soon? That much was probably a bluff. Yet he couldn't be certain. Women had ways of knowing about such things.

He covered his hesitation by grabbing her right hand. “And you pretended to be injured, to play on my sympathy for your left-handedness,” he said. “Bandaging an uninjured hand.” He sliced at the material, and unwound it. She did not resist.

But when the last of the swathing came off, it was caked with old blood. Her hand was now bleeding freshly, from the violence of his stripping. The injury was real. Perhaps she had done it herself, deliberately, to ensure that this aspect not betray her—but again, he could not be sure.

He couldn't kill her. Maybe she knew that her words would have that effect; maybe she had rehearsed them for this occasion, in case it came. But evil though her plot had been, and terrible as the grief it had caused him had been, she had given him what in any other circumstance would have been a man's perfect dream. Now, in her openness, her confession of defiant guilt, she was pitiful.

And, indeed, her plot had failed. Neither she nor her brother would be welcome in Gaza after this disaster. His best vengeance on her was to leave her alone.