The door to the nursery opened behind me. The head nurse turned and said, “O King, live forever,” and bowed. The King must have made some motion because all the nurses left the room. I did not turn.
“Is he . . .” the King asked.
I whirled. The King’s face was ashen. He whispered, “He is my son and I love him.”
“I am slaughtered,” I said. “Each loss I suffer, I think it my last. But then something more is ripped from me.”
The King, who normally stood tall, slumped. “You were not the innocent I slaughtered.”
Something passed in the air between us, and I felt as if I had been struck. “My Lord the King commands where troops are sent, even from afar? And where soldiers are placed?”
The King said nothing, but his face was answer enough.
“The ecstatic spoke falsely,” I choked. “Three innocents you have slaughtered. My husband, myself, and your own son, who will soon die.”
I walked past him and up the first stair I found. Minutes later, I had gained one of the higher pinnacles of the palace. The glass in the window slid backwards when I spoke one of the passwords I had been taught. I stepped on the ledge and looked down at the brown and green far below when a voice softly coughed behind me. I turned. One of the stewards, his face a mask, held out a letter for me.
I turned my back on him and took a step forward.
The steward said, “I have a letter from someone who says she is precious to you.”
“There is no-one left!” I shrieked.
“It is from a woman named . . . Abi,” the steward said, looking at the letter.
Standing by the windowsill, I motioned him forward. It read:
To the royal Bat-Sheva, most illustrious queen over Eretz, the crown of her husband and the joy of her people, greetings.
I, Odilo, write of intelligence which your maid Abi has gained, but is unable to deliver to you, her sickness being very advanced. Abi has spoken with others from the King’s servants—always inquiring after your well-being—and has learned of a divergence in the reports concerning your late husband. It seems that some report he spoke harshly to the King, but others say it was not so, and his only concern was for the other troops, and it shamed your husband to enjoy rest when his brothers fought. Abi says this will be important to you, and bids me tell you that your husband loved you till the end.
Your steward in faithful service,
Odilo
I turned to the servant. “A speeder, and two guards. I travel incognito. Now!”
***
I could not see my old streets through the blackened windows, but when the vehicle came to a stop, the door slid open to my old house. I hardly noticed the disrepair around me as I rushed inside. Abi’s body had been laid on the table in the house’s shrine. I took her lifeless hand in mine, and whispered, “Thank you,” into an ear which would never hear again. Then I called to Odilo, who stood outside the door.
Without turning to him, I said, “You are released from my service. Tell the other servants.”
“Mistress . . . can we not live here?”
“This place belongs to the crown now.”
“But we will be cast out to beg among the poor in the streets.”
“Be thankful you do not live in the royal palace. Now call the guards from outside and bring me a sheet from the bedroom.”
When they stood before me, I stared long into their red visors. “Wrap this body and bring it with us in the speeder.” The bursting radiance from their spears made shadows flicker on Abi’s ashen face as they wound the sheet around her and carried her outside.
When we returned to the palace, I ordered the guards to follow me. I ignored the stares of the servants and courtiers and walked to the easternmost corridor of the palace. There are no windows there, but it has many doors leading to many burial plots. Several servants of the house of death were preparing bodies as I entered. One dressed in gray turned to meet me with down-turned eyes.
“She is to be buried in the graveyard of the royal family,” I told him.
He motioned for the guards to lay the body on one of the tables and pressed a finger against his palm. A knife slid out from one of his fingers. He cut the sheet and moved to make a small incision on the side of Abi’s head, but I put my hand on his. “You will not find the chip you are looking for.”
“If this slave is not of the royal palace, then she will be placed with . . .”
I kept my hand on his. “I do not want her in danger of those beasts which hunger for the freshly dead.”
“Her burial clothes will be laced with spices which repel them.”
“Please. She . . . I never showed honor to her as I should have. If your superior objects, send him to me.”
The slave bowed, and I followed as they wheeled her away to a side chamber. Since it is counted as defilement for the royal family to attend the preparation for burial, you have never seen what those preparations involve. I think it improper for me to narrate them for you, but I am glad for their work. They glanced at me from time to time but otherwise did not object as I watched. Hours later, I followed them as they walked outside and lowered her into the ground, the notes of the hastily assembled choir descending with her. They chose a song normally appointed for the upper echelon of royal servants, but it was still poor praise for my Abi. I looked away when I could bear it no more and saw the great memorial at the center of the plot which was already prepared for the king. I wondered then for the first of many times why the king sat on his throne while my one true friend lay in the dust. It felt as if the earth itself were gripping me.
When we were back in the house of death, I waited for an opportune moment and snuck one of the knives they use when the cause of death is unknown and slipped it into my gown. I placed my hand on a nearby screen and asked the spirit after the location of the king.
***
I walked to the nursery, feeling the flat of the blade under my robe, against my hip. As I drew near, I heard a voice weeping, and wondered who among the thousands serving in the palace might be weeping for me. I opened the door and saw the King on his knees, his face pressed into the ground before the crib which held my son. Standing around him were members of the priestly cast. In their shimmering robes of white—robes which the learned claim reflect the deathless Light before which they serve—the priests surrounded the King like stars surrounding a blighted planet.
As he wept, the King repeated, “Let it be me who dies, and not my son, I pray you. Spare my son and do not spare me.”
I walked back to my chambers, the King’s prayer echoing in my mind.
***
I returned in the depth of night and stood at the entrance of the nursery and heard the King weeping still. I listened as he prayed to the Increate that his filth would be washed and his bloodguilt forgiven. I listened as he prayed for the shalom of the woman whose husband he had murdered.
I stayed outside the door for a long time, listening as the King sobbed and moaned. Then I walked back to my private chamber, shut the door, and slept like one dead myself.
***
I awoke the next morning and called for my maid. She entered my bedchamber with eyes downcast.
“The child has died,” I said. Without looking at me, she nodded.
“Where is the King?”
“In his study.”
I dismissed her and dressed and slipped the knife into a fold in my robe. I found the King at his desk. When the King saw me, he dismissed his advisors and stood. He was dressed in white linen and his head was anointed, but grief shadowed his eyes.
“The King does not mourn?” I whispered.
“Can I bring him back?” the King asked. “While the child lived, there was hope. But now I will not see him again until I go to him.”
“Go where?”
“To him, my son. The priests tell me I Am cares for us, the seed of the Father of Many, and even in death brings us to himself.”
“I . . . I will see
him again?”
The King nodded.
I turned away and went back to my chambers. I sat before a window and looked down on the city, and the many lives which walked in the streets far below. I thought of I Am as I had never thought of him before, ruling on high and looking down at his creations. I thought of I Am coming to those waiting in the dust. And I thought on what I had seen in the eyes of the ecstatic.
I had seen love and anger in those eyes, my son, anger and love. I do not know which was the fiercer. But I do know the Increate was not angry at me. And regardless of how the King interpreted the parable of the ecstatic, I think the prophet intended I should hear myself in it.
After a while, I leaned out of the window and dropped the knife. It flashed in the sun as it fell into the royal gardens below. I have never found it in any of my walks there.
***
There is much I have yet to tell, my son, but my hand aches and trembles. This, at least, you should know: some time later, the king came to the evening meal haggard. I looked at him as we ate until our eyes met. He sighed and said, “A son of mine by another marriage has taken a daughter by force. The woman’s brother has killed the offender and fled. The relatives of both are ready for war.” The king rubbed his eyes and sighed again, and so did not see the look on my face. But he did see as I ate nothing else and left as soon as the first courtier was dismissed. I locked my chamber door and told it to admit no-one, but the king knows every password. The door hissed open and he stood before me in the shadows of the evening. I waited for him to speak.
Eventually he said, “This will be death of my kingdom.”
I laughed. “Finally, some fortunate news.”
“Still you hate me,” the King said, as if to himself. “And so you should.”
“Did you come here hoping for the comfort of my body because you are losing your throne? Did you think that would endear you to me? Tell me, most illustrious king: why did the Increate choose my son to die, he who had done nothing, and let you keep your life?”
“If I had been taken into the council of the Increate, that would have been my counsel. But he does not ask my opinion.”
I turned away and said nothing more until he left. I did not sleep that night. The next morning, at the first meal, I whispered to my server as he leaned over to fill my cup, “I require information. Summon whatever functionary can serve me.” The servant said nothing and walked away. At the end of the meal, a knock sounded.
“Enter.”
A bald-headed man with wide eyes appeared and bowed. As he did, I saw the blinking circuitry which had been implanted in his skull before birth, as was always done for the slaves of his class. I motioned for him to sit opposite me.
“The woman. The royal daughter, the one who was . . . Where is she?”
He looked down at his clasped hands. “Great Queen, please”
I slammed my hand on the table. “She has been violated! Will you squirrel her away to protect the throne?”
“No, my queen!” The shock on his face was genuine.
“Then why do you not speak?”
His eyes fell again, and in a whisper so low I could barely hear it, he said, “War comes, and sides are being drawn. Let her Glory the Queen tell her servant which side she has chosen, and I will advise. But know that I will say nothing which might weaken the king.”
Nothing he could have said would have surprised me more. I stammered, “I only wish to visit the royal daughter.”
Something came into his face which I cannot describe, and I knew he was a good man whom I could trust. “I was at your wedding, O Queen,” he said. “There was much to do, and my mind was being filled with so many tasks, I could think of little else. But I remember seeing you on the throne. No-one stood by your side that day.” He covered his face with his hands so I would not see his shame.
I rose and kneeled by his side and took his hand. Immediately, he dropped to his knees before me, but I pulled him up so I might look into his eyes. “I wish only to visit the royal daughter.”
“You mean no harm to the king?”
“No,” I said; but a part of me wondered.
“The daughter’s name is Palm, and she dwells in the house of her brother, Father’s Peace. I will arrange a speeder for you. Now let my Queen give me some trivial task, that none might think I plot against the king.”
***
When my speeder stopped in front of the son’s palace and the screen rose, I saw a company of royal guards stood at the entrance. I spoke the password to my guards and waited as their visors turned from red to green and their spears grew silent. I walked alone toward the company waiting for me in front of the palace, holding the branch of olive which it is said the dove brought back to Rest as he waited in the tevat. I gave it to the mistress of the palace and the flowers opened for her and breathed their scent. But she regarded me with hooded eyes as she said, “Welcome to her Glory the Queen. I was told you are here to visit the bereaved?”
“Only that,” I said, but still they stared at me.
Finally, one of the servants muttered, “The spies of the King will learn nothing from us.” The mistress glared at him and I knew he would be beaten as soon as I left.
I leaned close to the mistress and said, “I care nothing for the King and his affairs. I wish only to speak to one who has become my sister.” The mistress nodded, but I could feel her eyes on me as we took such a circuitous route that even I, who care nothing for the machinations of the court, knew they were keeping secrets from me. When they finally led me to the woman’s cell, I remember hearing faint hammerings and the cries of workers. How those weapons boomed when they used them against the royal palace! But I did not think of that as the door was opened and I turned away from the stench.
“She is a royal daughter, and you treat her like a prisoner?”
“She came here herself, and weeps when we do not lock the door.”
“Leave us.” When they did not move, I asked, “What role could she possibly play in some plot against Father’s Peace?” The door closed behind me and I got on my knees opposite her.
“Palm? I am your Queen, but I wish to be your friend.”
She stared at the floor.
“I know what it is to be violated. To carry the defilement of another’s sin.”
Nothing.
“Will you dishonor your Queen? A word, and you will be in a worse dungeon, and not of your choosing.”
She looked at me then, and I whispered, “I only want a friend.” But still her face was a mask, and I knew she wandered far, and would not return for me.
As I walked back to my speeder with the mistress and her guards, she muttered to me, “Often it is so with those whose hatred eats at them.” I looked at her sharply, but I do not think she meant anything by it. The smell of that small room followed me in the speeder and into my room. My room could not have been more different from Palm’s prison, but I wondered if there was a smell in mine, and how I would ever leave it behind.
Not a week later, I heard the alarm sound within the palace. On the horizon, crushing the homes of the smaller villages as they approached, cannons almost half as high as the palace’s walls made their slow approach, surrounded by soldiers like ants. Their missiles flashed through the sky and crashed against the power-net surrounding the palace walls. Fliers darted through the openings and dropped canisters which spread screams and death in yellow fog. Shouts and the burst of weapons filled the corridor as I ran back to my room, calling for my maids. I locked my door with my strongest password I knew and we huddled in a corner. The door buckled but held against the weapons they turned on it.
We ate a little that night in the quiet of darkness. Adina said something about rationing food, but I told them the Queen’s quarters had special provision which would hold out a long time. I forced myself to stay calm the next day, even when a distant voice spoke to a cheering crowd outside and the music reserved for the day of enthronement sounded. When I dared peek through
my widow, I saw a drunken tumult in the palace hardly different from the chaos of the invasion. I even saw a woman forced. No-one helped her.
The next day came, and the next, we waited for the door to be violated and the new king to extinguish all competitors to his throne, or some threat to come to the spirit in the screen which would force us out. But days turned to weeks as we passed the hours chattering and gossiping and playing games. And when the food in our cupboards was found replaced one day—there being long passageways between rooms so that mine is fully stocked without a servant entering my private chambers—I knew Father’s Peace intended to ignore us.
One day, when no-one had a story we had not already heard, Zemira asked, “Will we ever be able to leave?”
“I cannot guarantee our safety if we do,” I said.
The spirit in the monitor suddenly appeared. “A message for her Glory the Queen,” it said, and cut to a dirty face with ragged eyes. A ruined house appeared in the screen behind him. “Bathsheba!” the man said. “You live!”
I went and peered into the screen. “Odilo? Is that you?”
“Can the Queen do nothing to help us?” Odilo asked, turning for a moment to quiet a child at his side whose ribs showed where her rags were torn.
“Help?”
“The people cheered for Father’s Peace when he spoke to us from the royal palace the first time, but . . .”
“Why are you living there, Odilo?”
“It is your house, O Queen.”
My mouth dropped open. “It is a slum.”
“It is now, as is much of the city. The people’s suffering is very great. Can you do nothing?” We talked for a while longer while I tried to think of something I might do. Suddenly, a crack sounded off screen. Odilo looked to his left fear and fear twisted his face. “They traced the line. Help us . . .” Static filled the screen.
I waited until everyone was asleep, then went onto my balcony and looked up at the moon. A voice said behind me, “You said it was too dangerous for us to be out here.”
I turned. “You never would have spoken to me thus in times before, Abishai.”
Her eyes flared. “I . . . I only . . .”
“We have grown close, all of us. I am not angry.”
“Why are you sad, mistress?”