Sunrise on the Mediterranean (22 page)

E
VEN THIS FAR AWAY
from the city of Ashqelon I could hear the cries, the clash and clatter, of ancient war. The Pelesti and highlanders were
still fighting?

My steps hastened as I thought of Cheftu. Was he safe? Had he been hurt? Why hadn’t he showed up in Lakshish?

When I stepped through the treeline, I saw men at each other’s throats. Still. This was why there was yet a Middle East peace
knot, I realized. These people, even in all these intervening centuries, never learned how to get along. Maybe we should just
let them kill themselves now and save history and the rest of the planet a lot of grief? I couldn’t recall ever feeling so
disgusted with the human condition before.

I skirted around the battlefield, into the growing shadows of the valley. Men’s cries, horses’ screams, and the incessant
banging of metal on metal rang in my eardrums. Thousands of men fought, amid the remains of their comrades. It was ghastly
chaos.

The Pelesti wielding swords were old men, their weapons too heavy, their armor in disrepair. These were the reinforcements
for those slain in battle? My despair grew.

The columns and order were gone. Now it was simply feather-headed man fighting bearded man. The crenellated walls of the city
were lined with Pelesti, waiting for the battle to get close enough so that the arrows, spears, and hot oil they had prepared
would have effect.

On the horizon I saw the sun was rising, bloodstained colors on a bloodstained land. The light peeked over the beach, climbing
quickly, throwing the shadows of man killing man on the ground, black and gray against the reddish brown grass. The shadows
of dawn were dispersing, the sounds of battle, of screaming and dying, fading away.

In a matter of hours the Pelesti would be no more. Not in Ashqelon. I backtracked to the shore, then edged through the sacred
lake enclosure. The crocodiles were sunning themselves in the morning light.

The Temple of Dagon was empty, for the male priests had donned headdresses to go defend their lives and way of life. The priestesses
were, presumably, standing on the city walls with the people.

I let myself into the room where Cheftu and I had made love. Cheftu was there, chained through his ears to the wall, huddled
up. Asleep? Dead?

“Cheftu,” I called, running to him. His skin was warm, but he was out cold. Drugged? I was furious with Takala; she must have
done this! I knelt beside my husband, looking at his face. The lines around his eyes were sharper, deeper creases. His skin
was so dark, he could pass as East Indian. And those holes—they had healed, but still they were enormous, as though they’d
been made with nails or an awl. Instinctively I reached for my ears. God, that must have hurt.

He would be out for hours to come.

I sat on the edge of the bed. The sounds of battle were gone. Soon the sounds of invasion would begin. I looked down and saw
that blood covered me. It was layered on my skin like latex. I put my head in my hands.

The city was my responsibility. How did this happen? Though I didn’t want to, I forced myself up, out the door, into the main
chamber.

Tamera’s face was stained with tears; she was panting, sobbing at the feet of Dagon. When she saw me she screamed, then threw
herself at my tail. “You, my Sea-Mistress! You are all we have! Takala-dagon is dead. Wadia is lost to us—”

“He’s safely in Ashdod,” I said. “Already Yamir-dagon has been sent to the heavens by ash.”

It took a moment to process her words. “He has been cremated?”

“It is our way,
haDerkato
,” she said with great dignity.

I nodded numbly. My mouth opened of its own accord. “What can I do?” Shit! I didn’t want to get involved! We were on the losing
side of a battle with God’s team! But Takala had died speaking to me, Yamir had always smiled at me, and Wadia was too young
to bear all this alone.

“The highlanders will soon send us their terms,” she said tearfully. “They are camped outside the city, but I understand it
is their holy day. So they will not move or do work or battle until dusk tomorrow. Our men are gone, most of them. Only women
and children remain in the city.”

“We have another day,” I said.

She tried to smile.

“What did you do to my slave?” I asked. I needed Cheftu—I needed his mind. He could help me figure out what, if anything,
could be done.

“He will awaken soon,” she said.

“Do the highlanders treat their captives well?” I asked, trying to get a sense of what my options were. A whole city was my
responsibility. Tamera’s face crumpled.

“They do not, Sea-Mistress.” She said it softly, resignedly, then I remembered the lexicon.

Hal
and
herim.
I closed my eyes as the world turned white for a moment. “They take no prisoners,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t confirm it.

“None, Sea-Mistress.”

I turned abruptly, staring at the useless, poorly mended statue. There was no more time to guess why I was here, if it was
by accident or design, if it was blessing—very well disguised—or punishment. Now was the time to deal with it.

For hours I stood in silence, staring into space. Outside, it had become black, Sabbath night. Into it the highlanders sang
a ghostly, minor-key tune. My breath sounded loud to me.

After a while noises came from within the temple: Cheftu-waking-up noises. I ran back to the room, threw open the door. “
Mon Dieu!
You are here! You are safe!” he said, staring at me bleary-eyed.

“Yes,” I answered. “How do I get you off the wall?”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes going opaque when he saw the chain. “Cut it.”

A search of the temple produced two priests getting drunk in one room and an iron dagger in another. I struck at the chain,
channeling my fury into cutting the metal. Once he was free I gave him some bread and a little wine and spent twenty minutes
and a bath assuring him I wasn’t wounded, that none of the blood was mine.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What happened to you?”

“I woke up chained,” he said. “I guess from the way my head aches, they drugged me.”

I sighed, sick of the images that lived behind my eyelids whether they were opened or closed. “The Pelesti are the Philistines.”

“Oui?”

“The highlanders, who they are in battle with, who they were just slaughtered by, are the Jews. The Israelites.”

Cheftu’s eyes bugged. “From the Holy Word?” he asked. “Samson? Saul? David?”

The man was a biblical encyclopedia. “David is Dadua.”

“We are in Dadua’s time? We are knowing these holy people?” His English sounded awed.

I saw nothing holy in these people. They slaughtered like professionals. I continued in English. “The bad news is that we
are, and we are on opposite sides of the fence. The royal family is gone, and I”—I licked my lips—“I am in charge.”

He searched my face, my eyes. “They made a wise selection.”

My eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”

“How can I assist you?” he asked after a moment of staring at me. How my soul thrilled at him, even now.

“Do you have any idea who I will be talking to?”

“Joab was David’s general,” Cheftu answered promptly. “Nathan was his prophet.”

“Do we know anything about them?”

He frowned. “Joab seems to have been a brute. Blood-thirsty. He was David’s, how do you say? Assassin?”

“Henchman?”

“
Oui.
Henchman. He did for David what David did not want to soil his hands with.”

“What about Nathan?”

“He was a prophet.”

“Anything else?”

“
Ach
, well, Nathan’s prophecies changed from time to time. He reversed on himself because of dreams or something. He wasn’t a
very confident prophet.”

“What kind of intercession do you think Tamera expected me to manage?”

Cheftu’s tone was flat. “Painless, fast deaths.”

“Are you just exercising a positive attitude, or do you know for sure?” I snapped. Dawn was approaching; I was getting really
scared. These people were depending on me.

“It is in the Bible, though there were times when the Israelites were allowed to take spoils,” he explained.

“So death or slavery?”

He nodded once. “Holy shit,” I whispered. After a moment I asked, “Uh, what kind of death options are there? I mean, do they
have firing squads? Do they shoot a volley of arrows at us?”

He got up, pacing the room angrily. “How should I know, Chloe? When I read the Bible I wasn’t seeing what adventurous and
vile ways the people of God had of killing their enemies! Why must you be so ghoulish, wanting to know details?”

I felt myself bristle at his outburst. “I was just trying to get the whole story,” I said defensively. “You aren’t the one
who is supposed to barter for people’s lives or deaths. You aren’t the one who is supposed to know what is the more or less
painful way to go. I don’t even bargain well for sandals!” The weight of it all came pouring down on me. “This is for people’s
lives! It’s on my shoulders!”

“
Ach, chérie
,” he said, instantly contrite, hugging me, touching my wind-ravaged hair. He pulled me close so that I felt his words as
I heard them. “Are you fearful?”

“Petrified. Are you?”

He took a moment to respond, and I closed my eyes as his fingers ran through my hair, massaging my scalp. “I worry for you,
but that is not the source of my fear.”

“Is it because this is the Bible?” I asked after a moment. He sighed deeply. “For me these are holy times. Seeing David and
Joab as they are, it is almost impossible to believe.”

“Because they don’t act holy?”

Tamera appeared in the doorway, her hair arranged, her dress elaborate. “The priests wish to cleanse and adorn you for the
morrow,” she said. “Please come with me.”

Cheftu squeezed my hand. “I will pray for you.”

“Don’t be afraid,” I whispered.

As the local goddess, I was bathed, made up, prayed over, fasted, feasted, and eventually allowed to sleep. When I woke up
it was the day to meet with the highlanders: the Israelites. I had not a clue what to say.

Tamera came in with the fish cloak. As a representative of all of Ashqelon, it was my job to wear it. So much for feeling
confident in one’s clothing. “Are they entering the city?” I asked.

“
Lo, haDerkato.
We meet at the city gate.”

“
Lo
, not at the city gate,” I said, trying to recall all the things my father had said about diplomacy, about winning an argument,
about negotiating. Oh God. “We will meet them on the beach, by the sacred fishpond.” That seemed neutral ground.

She bowed and backed out. I called after her to make sure there was wine and food—something other than corn. And no shellfish
or pork, because just like Muslims, they would be offended by that. Not for nothin’ have I been an ambassador’s daughter.

That thought struck me cold. Was it possible I was here for a reason beyond finding Cheftu?

My fish cloak was on and my body was painted, though without the elaborate kohl markings on my face. I knew that part of successful
negotiating comes from looking as much like the other side as possible. Help them see what you have in common. I hoped it
would work.

Cheftu was by my side through all of it, and no one said a word about his presence, how
haDerkato
suddenly had this slave in attendance. We proceeded silently down the beach. Everywhere I looked I saw the faces of the Pelesti.
Eyes that were honey brown, blue, green, and black beseeched me to save them. The fate of the city of Gezer had been dreadful.
The highlanders had killed everything that had breath, then burned everything that would kindle.

The good news was that the troops waiting outside our city walls were sated with their destruction. Piles of gold, jars of
oil, and stores of food had been wheeled into camp from the wreckage of Gezer. But no captives.

Under my direction Tamera had arranged for the meeting space to have two covered chairs, with a small table in between. Servants
stood on both sides with fans, wine, and sweets in hand. The breeze was mild this morning, a sign that we were that much farther
into spring. The season of war.

“When the negotiator arrives, I want everyone to leave except my slave,” I instructed the attending priests, priestesses,
and slaves. “My slave alone will serve us.” When Tamera started to protest I told her that the envoy’s entourage needed to
be entertained as a distraction. I would do better speaking to the negotiator alone.

The highlanders waited until the heat of the day to arrive. I spotted them coming down the beach. Five men, gleaming with
armor.

Okay, Chloe. Showtime.

“
Chérie
, try to barter with the prophet,” Cheftu suddenly said. “I have an idea.”

I turned to him, eyes bulging. “They are fifteen steps away and
now
you have an idea?” He slipped his waist sash down a little. I saw an oblong of white. “You still have the stones? How is
that?”