Annai blew him a kiss as the ship put down its oars and stroked smartly from the pier. She was ethereally beautiful in the morning sunlight, her dark hair blown out by the breeze, her light dress alternately flattening against her shapely dancer's torso and tugging away from it. For a crazy instant he wanted to dive into the water and swim back to her. But the family needed the excellent pay he would receive for this tour. Certainly her love would keep; she was as constant as any woman could be, though she could have done extremely well as a woman of the temple. She simply preferred to allow no man but her husband to touch her, and Huuo was hardly inclined to debate that.
He made his way past the oarsmen and down into the hold, where the cargo was stacked under waterproof cover. The ship rowed out to sea, and there picked up a fair north wind. The oars were shipped; the galley slaves could catch up on their relaxation while the wind held. Huuo knew that they loved their games of dice and markers, and that the ship whore would get brisk business. Foreigners professed to be in doubt about the distinction between a whore and a temple priestess, but that merely showed how ignorant those of other cultures were. The priestess brought worshippers closer to the spirit of the goddess, while the whore merely sated animalistic passions. There was also a considerable difference in price, for those who chose to think of it that way. Actually there was no price for a priestess; there was a significant donation for the welfare of the temple. One might as well compare a field laborer to a noble: both did their jobs, but could never be confused with each other.
Huuo retired to his cabin, which was hardly more than a cramped cubby in the hold, and settled down for the ride. The ship was bound from Jaffa to Gaza, this leg of its larger route; he had boarded it at his home city of Mor. There would be other stops along the way. It might have been faster to ride overland, but the ship was both safer and more comfortable. Though the Canaanites of this region had become properly subservient, their wilder neighbors of the mountains, the hill folk who called themselves the Israelites, had never acceded properly to either authority or civilization. Periodically they had to be put down, when they became too much of a nuisance. The independent cities of Philistia would contribute to a levee for mutual advantage, and a joint expedition would be mounted. Then things would return to normal for a few years, until the savages forgot the lesson and became obnoxious again. Sometimes one of their prophets would rouse them to violence in the name of their cult god, pretending that it was the only god extant; sometimes it was just their natural depravity. It had been a while since the last punitive expedition, so the primitives might be stirring; Huuo didn't care to risk riding alone through what the hill folk pretended was their territory.
This festival tour was to celebrate the gods of Philistia, who had been reasonably kind. Other musicians would gather from other cities, each contributing its best; they would tour the principal cities, performing together for each seren, or city lord, renewing the glorious history of Philistia. The serens in turn would wine, dine, and offer blandishments to the musicians, and the people of each city would throng in celebration. Were it not for his separation from his family, Huuo would have enjoyed the prospect greatly.
He found himself unable to rest adequately, so he brought out his double flute and played, practicing for the big event. He hardly needed practice, but the music always soothed him, and he realized that his tension was because of the recent separation from his family. He closed his eyes and imagined Annai dancing as he played the melody and descant. In his fancy she languorously stripped away her scant items of apparel, until she pranced naked, as she liked to do when feeling free. That gave him comfort.
“Sir.”
Huuo paused, opening his eyes. A Canaanite sailor stood before him, apologetically. “Yes?”
“Sir, the oarsmen—they overheard your playing. They bid me inquire—if it be not too great an imposition—if you would honor them by playing for them on the oar deck as they row?”
Huuo realized that the wind had died, so the oars were resuming. Music could facilitate such labor. Flattered, he agreed. He got up and followed the sailor to the head of the cramped deck where the twin rows of oarsmen sat. The drummer was just establishing the cadence, so Huuo settled beside him and adapted his melodies to that powerful beat.
The oarsmen grinned, and put forth extra effort, making the ship fairly leap ahead. It was a good event for all parties, because Huuo appreciated an appreciative audience of any kind, and the oarsmen liked the diversion, and the ship's captain was glad of the extra speed.
The ship put into port at midday at Ashkelon. There it unloaded ingots of copper and silver, and took on a quantity of fine textiles and assorted jewelry. Huuo was sure that the local merchant-thieves were cheating the pirate-captain, who was also cheating them, and that each was privately well satisfied with his bargain, because it was the final buyers who wound up paying the most for the least. This was the name of trade. The cities of the seacoast flourished from it.
In an hour they were back at sea. A contrary wind appeared; the ship's priest burned incense, but the wind merely strengthened. Huuo shook his head; if he had brought his daughter Minah along, she would have spoken to the wind, and it would have changed. But then the captain would have schemed to acquire her, by devious means, and the situation would have become treacherous. Better a slow trip than that!
Now the captain approached him. He was a Philistine of middle age, grizzled, stout, but clearly possessing the competence of experience. “Captain Ittai here. My lord musician, do you play for the spirits?” he inquired brusquely.
Huuo smiled. He was wellborn but no lord, and the captain knew that. But Ittai was asking a favor. “I can play, but they do not necessarily listen,” he demurred.
The captain lowered his voice. “I note you are bent to the left.”
This could be trouble. Huuo had done his best to conceal his left-handedness, because superstitious seamen could have violent notions about the curse of such a person on a ship. He played more instruments than the double flute, but he carried that one now because it betrayed no handed-ness unless one were sharp enough to observe that he played the dominant melody on the left. But the captain was evidently an observant cuss, and had read the little signals that could never be entirely concealed: which hand lifted higher when he was startled, which way he preferentially turned, even the momentary angling of his head. Concealing all of these little traits was an effort that could give him a headache from the continuing tension. So, unconsciously, believing that no one was paying attention, he had given himself away.
“You choose to make an issue?” Huuo asked in a carefully neutral tone.
“By no means,” the man said quickly, though of course his very mention of the matter had made the issue. “But there are those aboard who might react in an ignorant manner if the wind were unusually adverse. It seems best to me to negate the whole issue by seeing that the wind is not adverse.”
Nicely put. “I will make an attempt to persuade the wind,” Huuo agreed, getting up and bringing out his flute. “But understand this: the spirits, too, have been known to take note of particular things. Were my effort to annoy them on that score—”
Ittai laughed. “On a day like this? I have been at sea twenty years, and never seen a storm blow up swiftly in such weather. The adverse risk is minimal.” He paused, then added: “Besides, the local waters are kind to the left.”
That was a curious statement. But they were arriving at the incense site, and further dialogue would be awkward.
He stood on the deck and played the melody of the hymn to the north wind, which was the one they wanted. The south wind intensified. But he knew that these things were whimsical, and sometimes an increase preceded a reversal. He had no doubt that the spirits could change the winds, but suspected that they seldom bothered. Why should they do mortal men any favors? Minah could evoke their attention and cooperation, but she was Philistia's most winsome child. Huuo was simply a wrong-handed man.
As if the thought of Minah affected things, the wind dropped, then changed. It gusted east, then veered south. There was a cheer from the oarsmen. It was sheer chance, he was sure, but Huuo made a small bow in the direction of the oarsmen, then retired to his cubby. He knew he was lucky that something ill had not happened.
“Nice job,” the captain said. “I didn't want to get delayed today, because things can get complicated after a battle, depending how it goes, and markets can tumble. I want to complete my deals in Gaza and be on my way before news of any kind comes.”
“News?”
“About the campaign against the Israelites.”
“Oh, yes,” Huuo agreed, remembering. “There was a levee from Mor. But I wouldn't call it a campaign, just a routine cleaning up. The hill folk can't compete with civilized forces.”
Ittai frowned. “You think not? That upstart they call king, David—he's a cunning one. That's the one who took out Goliath, remember. Now he's going for bigger prey.”
Huuo was surprised. “The lucky lad? I thought he was a musician, not a warrior.”
“The same. The little harpist. We put him on the throne of Israel, as a Philistine vassal, but now he's getting too big for his sandals and we have to take him out again. Remember, he learned warfare from us, from the years he served as our vassal. Achish, seren of Gath, trained him. So now the ungrateful lout will be using our own techniques against us. That's what makes him dangerous.”
Huuo nodded. “Dangerous, indeed! Those wild hill folk have always been an annoyance. But still, their resources can't compare to ours.”
“They took Jerusalem. That means they're more than rabble. This rebellion has to be ended before it gets awkward. Weird things can happen in the field.”
“You speak as if you've had experience.”
“Why do you think I'm wary of David? I was there at the battle of Ephes-Dammim, twenty years ago. We had the might to crush them, and should have done it, but the idiot generals agreed to a contest of champions. They figured no one could stand against Goliath. Then this sneaky shepherd used his sling to conk the champion on the forehead with a stone and felled him without ever coming close. I said then, may the gods forgive us if we ever give that little turd another chance. I retired from soldering when my levee returned, and have been a shipper ever since. The sea has always been my first love. But I've kept track of David, and I know trouble when I see it. But do you think they'd ever listen to someone who was only a foot soldier? Mark me, we'll be finding out the hard way.”
“We surely will,” Huuo agreed, not wanting to argue the case with someone who was obviously highly opinionated.
Then there was a call from elsewhere on the ship, and the captain had to hurry away to get it straightened out.
The wind freshened, filling the sails, and the boat moved south at respectable speed. Huuo lay back. Now he could take his nap.
For a time his mind wandered. The captain had reminded him of the encounters with the organized factions of the hill folk. More of that scattered history was returning to his memory. He had studied music, of course, and so had picked up information about musicians. David the harpist, said to have been a talented player when young. That man was now a king? He must be, for the name matched: King David. It wouldn't be the first oddity associated with the hill folk. There had been the time the hill folk had the giant. Instead of the Philistine Goliath, there had been the Israelite Samson, claimed to be the strongest man in the world. He was supposed to have single-handedly slain thousands of Philistines, though his first wife was a Philistine. Of course that had been a considerable exaggeration, but he had made a nuisance of himself. So they had put Delilah on him, and she fathomed the secret of his strength, and after that they chained him, blinded him, and used him for stud. Maybe Goliath was Samson's descendant, no brighter than his ancestor, falling for the wiles of a woman or shepherd musician.
Huuo drifted asleep, his dream picking up where his conscious thoughts left off. After Samson, Saul had come on the scene, anointed the first king of Israel. Huuo found himself in the body of the soldier Ittai, when the Philistines fought a pitched battle with Saul's crude army of hill folk. They beat the Israelis, of course. But then the enemy brought forth their fetish object, the thing they called the Ark of the Covenant. That made the Philistines nervous, because even primitive spirits could make a lot of mischief for mortal men. But the general urged them to attack regardless, and while the mischief of the spirits was chancy, the wrath of the general was certain, and they waded in. They slaughtered the hill folk and took possession of the Ark, and that was a real coup, because the enemy didn't dare attack as long as their sacred chest of artifacts was hostage.
They took the Ark to the temple of Dagon at Ashdod and opened it up. Huuo, though no priest, was somehow able to look over a priest's shoulder to see inside. It was just a few scrolls and things, a motley collection of items of supposedly holy nature. But the Israelites believed in it, so it wasn't destroyed. That was a mistake, for Huuo's invisible eye saw something awful seeping from it: the concentrated spirit of the hill folk, leaking out into the city. It squirmed its way into the sleeping bodies of the good citizens of Ashdod, and they turned dark and fevered and coughed their lives out onto the dirt.
So the authorities moved the Ark to the city of Gath—and of course the plague followed. Only Huuo, in his dream eye, could see the noxious spirit crawling in snakelike streamers from its crevices and seeking out the living people. So they moved the Ark to Ekron, and that city also suffered the ravages of the terrible plague.
Finally they realized what the nature of the problem was. So they returned the Ark, together with some token votive offerings, to the Israelites, and the plague ended. There was the lesson: never bring the enemy's spirit power into your home cities. Swords could slay physical enemies, but not malignant spirits.
And so Saul consolidated his new kingdom and harassed the civilized cities nearby. That was when they had to mount an expedition against him—and suffered the misfortune of the Goliath business.
At which point Huuo woke. Now he had a refreshed appreciation of the problem of the hill folk, and could almost believe Captain Ittai's dire concern about the current campaign. Those Israelites were slippery folk, and often luckier than they deserved.
The ship was pulling into Gaza. Huuo gathered his things and stood ready to disembark. The captain approached. “Thank you for your assistance; we are early.”
“Thank you for your interesting review of the Israeli campaign,” Huuo replied. “I hope I catch your ship on the return trip before any serious consequences appear.”
“That would be best,” Ittai agreed gravely.
A uniformed palace guard was waiting on the pier as Huuo accompanied Captain Ittai off the ship. He approached Huuo. “You are the musician? Seren Jaoch awaits you, sir.”
“Awaits me?” Huuo asked, surprised.
“See, I told you the local waters are kind,” the captain said wisely.
“But I'm only the flautist,” Huuo protested.
“Exactly,” the guard said. “Please accompany me to your place of honor at the palace.”
Bemused, Huuo followed the man off the pier to a sleek riding wagon drawn by a sleek horse. This was the kind of treatment accorded to visiting dignitaries; what was he doing here? He did not quite trust this.
They got in, and the guard drove the horse smartly along the road toward the walls of the main city of Gaza. This certainly was easier than walking, but still felt strange.
“I would not question Seren Jaoch's decisions,” Huuo said cautiously.
“But I am curious why an ordinary musician should be accorded such honor.”
The man glanced sidelong at him. “You really don't know?”
“I really don't know. I have not been treated this well elsewhere.”
“Seren Jaoch does not govern elsewhere.”
Huuo realized that the man was not going to tell him, so he let it be. He satisfied himself wi
th a good look at the approaching city. Gaza was larger and wealthier than Mor, and it showed; the ramparts were significantly more formidable. And while in most cities there was an uneasy coalition of ruling lords, it seemed that Seren Jaoch was clearly dominant here. Surely he was a good man from whom to receive favor—and a bad one from whom to receive disfavor. Huuo would have preferred to enter this city unremarked, because a despot's favor and disfavor could be separated by very narrow lines.
The guards at the main gate waved them on in, evidently recognizing the horse and wagon. They moved through the aperture, and on down the central street of the city. The city inhabitants crowded back to give the wagon room. The stone and mud walls of the dwellings and shops passed behind almost in a blur; Huuo simply was not used to traveling this fast.
Then they were at the grand columns of the central palace. The horse came to a smart halt and servitors rushed up to help Huuo down to the pavement. As soon as he was clear, the horse, wagon, and palace guard moved away, leaving him to the servitors. These hustled him into the palace and to a lavish suite complete with obsequious male and female servants. Huuo knew there wasn't any point in asking them anything, so he suffered himself to be stripped and bathed and garbed in clean, elegant robes. That meant that he would soon learn why he was receiving such special treatment.
He was ushered to a small but extremely well appointed banquet hall. There stood a heavyset man who seemed no older than Huuo himself, reminding him vaguely of the captain, though this was clearly a far more important personage.
The man stepped forward to embrace him. “So good to meet you, Huuo the Musician,” he said. “I am Seren Jaoch.”
Huuo hastily bowed his head in submission to a royal presence. “I am honored, lord,” he said. “Yet I fear you take me for a far more important person than I am.”
“Importance is as it seems,” Jaoch replied. “You will eat with me, and we shall talk.”