Lilah Page 6

  Lilah said nothing.

  ‘And what about you?’ Sarah went on, frowning. ‘You want this marriage, don’t you? You and Antinoes love each other – you’re promised to each other …’

  ‘What we’ve promised each other is no one’s business but ours, Aunt!’ Without intending to, Lilah had spoken curtly and had slammed her glass down on the tray.

  Sarah gave a muffled moan and turned towards the garden. She was weeping. She had a very particular way of weeping: soundlessly, almost without tears. A violent shudder rippled through her.

  ‘Aunt Sarah!’

  ‘Don’t you want to get married?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  Her aunt looked at her for a moment in astonishment, then shook her head. ‘I don’t understand you! I haven’t understood your brother for years, but now you …’

  ‘Ezra is doing what he thinks is right,’ Lilah said, remembering that she had used the same words in trying to calm Antinoes.

  ‘Oh really? What does that mean – right? Doing all he can to hurt his uncle and aunt?’

  ‘Aunt Sarah, Ezra isn’t a child, and hasn’t been a child for a long time. Uncle Mordechai and you know what he’s doing in the lower town and why. You should be proud and recognize his greatness.’

  ‘His greatness?’ Sarah cried. ‘In the lower town? As if that wasn’t enough to make us ashamed! He could just as easily pursue his studies here – even with that old sage of his, who turned up out of nowhere, like a beggar. There’s no better man than Mordechai. Even after all this time, he would still welcome Ezra with open arms. But, oh, no!’

  ‘Aunt Sarah, there are laws for the Hebrews,’ Lilah said, passionately now, and rose from the cushions. ‘Laws for all of us, at every moment of our lives. Laws that come from the God of heaven. In our exile we’ve forgotten them. They’re written on Moses’ scroll, which has been passed from father to son in our family for generations. Now the scroll of the Law has come to Ezra. He wants to study it. Not only to study it – he wants to obey its teachings. Isn’t that his right? Perhaps even his duty! Shouldn’t we admire him for it as we’re taught to admire the ancients, the patriarchs, the prophets?’

  ‘What modesty! Is Ezra the equal of the ancients, the patriarchs and the prophets now?’ For a moment, they glared at each other. Then Sarah shrugged. ‘You sound more and more like him,’ she said, disappointment in her voice.

  ‘I don’t sound like him. But I understand why he says what he does.’

  ‘You’re lucky, then.’ Sarah rubbed her brow and eyes, as if trying to extract an image from them. ‘The three of you were in the house, in the garden,’ she sighed, ‘always squabbling, but always adoring each other. My brother Ezra here, my brother Antinoes there! I can still hear you.’

  ‘Ezra is not the same as he was, Aunt Sarah,’ Lilah replied, severely.

  ‘Oh, I’ve noticed that! And you’re not the same, either.’ Sarah’s voice broke, and her neck and chin quivered. ‘Antinoes is a chariot captain!’ she sobbed. ‘He fights beside the great Tribazes. He can enter the Apadana whenever he likes and be invited to share a meal with the King of Kings …’

  Lilah knew exactly what her aunt was feeling. Sarah had always loved Antinoes like a son – but she also loved the fact that his family was noble, and his name renowned. She was proud to be able to tell her customers that Antinoes, son of Artobasanez, the late satrap of Margiana, would soon be her niece’s husband and Mordechai’s heir.

  Lilah moved away from the table and the cushions. Immediately her aunt stood up and rushed to her. ‘Lilah! Forgive me, my dear. I know how difficult this is for you. You love Ezra and … we all love him.’

  Lilah let Sarah take her hands.

  Her aunt sighed, and mustered a little smile. ‘Perhaps you’re right. You’ve always got on with him well. Perhaps it’s better not to speak to him about Antinoes for the moment. His mood can be so changeable. In a few days …’

  It sounded like a false hope, and Lilah turned away, embarrassed. But her aunt held her back, her face serious again, her voice low and firm. ‘It’s better not to say anything to your uncle either, my dear, until Ezra’s made up his mind. Mordechai so much wants you to be happy. This marriage is really important to him – to all of us. And to the workshops. Do you understand?’

  The Queen’s Friends

  HOW COULD SHE sleep?

  Antinoes’ voice said, ‘We are together for ever. Without your love, even a Greek child could vanquish me.’

  Ezra’s voice said, ‘Do not soil the walls of this room with his name.’

  Aunt Sarah’s voice said, ‘This marriage is really important to all of us.’

  Lilah flung off the blanket, which had got tangled between her legs. A bad dream had woken her, and she had tried in vain to go back to sleep. The darkness of her bedchamber seemed to weigh on her, the air as stifling as if someone had been burning sticks of cedar.

  She groped for her shawl and put it on over her night tunic. Then she pushed back the shutter noiselessly and stepped out, barefoot, onto the narrow terrace that ran alongside the women’s rooms, its crenellated wall overlooking the inner courtyard.

  She took a deep breath, and the constriction eased in her throat.

  Veiled by clouds, the sky was heavy and opaque, moonless and starless. The west wind blew in from the desert. Soon it would die down, and the zarhmat, bringing the autumn rains and winter ice from the north, would chase it away.

  The diadem of the Apadana shone above the sleeping city, as it did every night. Lilah could not help thinking again of Antinoes.

  Her eyes searched for the tower that had witnessed their lovemaking. It was hidden in darkness, but she saw it anyway, just as she still felt Antinoes’ breath on her skin, the thrill of his caresses.

  She placed her hands on the wall, searching for the support she wanted from her lover’s shoulders and solid chest. For that was what Antinoes represented for her: not only the heat of desire but a peace and a calm that no one else could give her – certainly not Ezra.

  Regret overwhelmed her now. Aunt Sarah had been right. She had lacked courage when she had seen Ezra. At the first sign of his anger against Antinoes, she had fallen silent. She had broken her promise.

  What would she say to her lover when they met again? ‘Be patient. Be patient a while longer …’

  ‘I’ve been patient for so long already,’ he would reply.

  Was he asleep at the moment, or awake, like her, his mind in turmoil? Was he up there on the tower, trying to glimpse her through the darkness?

  She smiled at her own childishness.

  ‘Lilah …’

  The whisper made her jump. She turned, heart pounding.

  She could see nothing but the blackness of night.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Lilah. It’s only me.’

  She recognized Axatria’s voice. A shadowy figure took shape beside her. ‘Axatria, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’

  Axatria gave a tender little laugh and took her hand. ‘For the same reason as you.’ She lifted their joined hands and pressed them to her cheek, which Lilah realized was damp with tears.

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘I’ve been telling myself I was silly and that I ought to ask your forgiveness.’

  ‘What have I to forgive you?’

  ‘My foolishness. My ill-temper. Our quarrel this morning. I thought of joining you in your bedchamber because I knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, but …’

  Lilah embraced her. ‘I forgive you, Axatria. Of course I forgive you.’

  Axatria pushed her away gently, sighed, and wiped her tears with a corner of her tunic. ‘I’m afraid.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘If you quarrel with Ezra, what’s to become of me?’

  ‘Axatria …’

  ‘Lilah, Antinoes came back to marry you, and because of that, you’re going t
o quarrel with Ezra.’

  Lilah looked out at the darkness and said nothing.

  ‘Ezra will never agree to your becoming Antinoes’ wife, and if you marry him without his blessing, he’ll never see you again. You won’t be his sister any more.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? Did he tell you that?’

  ‘There’s no need. You know very well that’s how it’ll be.’

  Far away in the royal city, dogs barked. The sound of a horn or a flute rose in the darkness. Then the wind carried away the echo. In some houses the night was a celebration …

  ‘Ezra can’t live without you,’ Axatria sighed, ‘but he’d rather not see you than share you with Antinoes.’

  Lilah knew Axatria was right: she had put into words exactly what Lilah dreaded. ‘Antinoes can’t live without me either,’ she replied in a low voice. ‘He tells me I protect him in battle.’

  Axatria nodded. ‘I believe him.’

  Axatria squeezed Lilah’s hand until it hurt. They were so close, Lilah could feel Axatria’s body shaking with sobs, even though Axatria was trying to control them as best she could.

  ‘You’ll have to choose Antinoes. You’re too beautiful and proud to remain in your brother’s shadow. But if Ezra won’t see you, he won’t want to see me either.’

  Lilah braced herself not to yield to Axatria’s contagious emotion. ‘Nothing has been decided.’

  ‘I’ll lose the little Ezra gives me,’ Axatria continued, as if she hadn’t heard. ‘I’ll lose everything. But who could blame him? He’s doing what he thinks is right – that’s all he thinks about, doing what is right. He studies to be a just man, listens to Master Baruch. Everything he says and does is in a spirit of justice. He even believes he’s right to be jealous of Antinoes. In the law he studies, a Persian cannot marry a daughter of the land of Judaea.’

  ‘Nothing has been decided,’ Lilah repeated, more firmly. ‘We must trust in the Everlasting.’

  ‘You can! He’s your God. But what about me? Shall I make offerings to Ahura Mazda, Anahita or Mithras? I love to hear Ezra talk about the God of heaven. But I’m not Jewish. I have no god and no country. I’m just a handmaid from the Zagros mountains who loves her master – even if he hardly looks at her, which your aunt finds so amusing …’

  ‘Axatria!’ Lilah took the handmaid’s face in her hands to silence her. ‘Axatria, nothing has been said or done. You, too, must be patient.’

  The sun was already high when a loud knocking was heard at the gate of Mordechai’s house. Two servants ran to it, grumbling, ready to turn away an impatient customer.

  No sooner had they raised the beam that kept the gate shut than it was thrust open from the outside, and a dozen soldiers rushed into the courtyard. They carried spears and wore felt helmets with red plumes, leather breastplates and baldrics decorated with black tassels that held straight daggers. In the workshop, Sarah gave a cry of terror.

  The weavers broke off from their work and crowded behind their mistress. The soldiers lined up in double file. A chariot came through the gate and stopped in front of them in the middle of the courtyard.

  Mordechai had heard the noise from his own workshop and came running from the opposite side, wide-eyed with admiration for the elegance of the horses, the high body of the chariot, its serpentine golden handrail, and the lining of the interior with its blue and yellow geometric pattern. The spokes of the wheels were carved in the shape of leaves and the hubs lined with silver. It was an expensive piece of work, and not from his workshop. The customer had strange tastes, but clearly also the means to indulge them. Mordechai walked forward to welcome the visitors but, before he could even bow, he froze.

  The gold carving on the front of the chariot was instantly recognizable: the head of a winged man resting on a sun wheel and surrounded on both sides by winged lions.

  The emblem of the King of Kings.

  God of heaven!

  The man standing behind the driver noticed his astonishment. He made a gesture, and two soldiers moved aside to let Mordechai pass.

  ‘Come closer,’ the man said curtly. He had the round body and soft cheeks of a eunuch. He wore a plaited and oiled shoulder-length wig, and was neither tall nor fat, with a surprisingly withered face, and a small mouth framed, like his eyes, by deep lines. His splendid ochre tunic was itself full of folds and pleats.

  Mordechai hesitated. Sarah was coming towards him, her face as white as a sheet. The women had retreated into the workshop, clinging to one another.

  The eunuch grunted with impatience and waved his hand again. Mordechai walked up to the chariot with as much dignity as he could muster. When he stopped again, the eunuch was looking him up and down as if he were not sure which species of animal he was dealing with.

  ‘Are you Mordechai the Jew, son of Azaryah, son of Hilqiyyah, Mordechai the chariot-maker?’

  It was less a question than an assertion.

  Mordechai was normally an imposing figure: tall, with a narrow, angular face, lively eyes and coal-black eyebrows. There was hardly any situation he was unable to face. But now there was a noticeable quiver of fear in his voice as he replied, ‘Yes, I am Mordechai, son of Azaryah.’

  Should he bow? Treat him as if he were a lord of the Citadel?

  The soldiers around the chariot waited impassively, and the driver was as still as a statue. Out of the corner of his eye, Mordechai noticed more soldiers at the entrance to the house beside a wagon drawn by two mules.

  The eunuch gave a half-smile, which seemed to transform his face into a pool of water shivering in the wind. ‘My name is Cohapanikes. I am the third cupbearer to the Great Queen, mother of the King of Kings, first master of the world. I have come for your niece Lilah, daughter of Serayah.’

  Behind her husband, Sarah let out a cry. Other cries could be heard from the workshop. Mordechai’s mouth fell open. He was gasping for breath.

  The eunuch seemed pleased with the effect of his words. He raised his arm, which was as smooth and pale as his face, and brandished a cane of Egyptian ebony with an ivory and coral tip. ‘It is the Queen’s wish! Obey!’

  Mordechai found it hard to take this in. ‘The Queen wants Lilah?’ he said in astonishment.

  ‘Are you deaf? It is an order from Queen Parysatis. Your niece Lilah must follow where I lead.’ He laughed again. ‘Don’t make that face. The Queen is doing you a great honour, chariot-maker. Come on! Hurry up! The Queen is waiting, and the Queen does not like to be kept waiting.’

  Sitting in the wagon, Lilah needed the whole journey across the city to recover her composure.

  It had been Axatria and Aunt Sarah who had come running and told her, with much rolling of eyes, about the incredible thing that was happening.

  ‘But why?’ Lilah had asked. ‘What does she want with me?’

  There had been a gleam of pride in Sarah’s eyes, chasing away the terror they had held a short while earlier. ‘She must have heard of your beauty,’ she had suggested. ‘Perhaps she wants you in her service.’

  The idea had seemed so preposterous to Lilah that she had stood rooted to the spot.

  Panic had seized the household. Axatria had tried to dress Lilah appropriately, but Sarah had pushed her away: nothing was suitable – nothing was beautiful enough – and they did not even have time to rearrange her hair.

  ‘It’s because of Antinoes,’ Lilah had said at last.

  Axatria and Sarah had looked at each other, all pride and excitement gone from their faces. Axatria had grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. ‘That may be so, but he won’t tell you that,’ she had muttered, gesturing to the outer courtyard where the Queen’s eunuch could be heard shouting.

  The third cupbearer had brusquely refused the wine Uncle Mordechai had offered him while he waited, then had stormed and threatened until Lilah was ready to come out.

  At last he had fallen silent. He had screwed up his eyes, and looked her up and down with the same arrogant expression he had previously used for Mordechai. At
last, a smile of satisfaction had creased his flabby face. It was not a reassuring smile.

  When Lilah had sat down on the bench in the wagon, Uncle Mordechai had looked at her out of his pale face, begging her with his eyes to be careful. Sarah had lifted a trembling hand, tears already down to her chin. Axatria and the handmaids and workers who had gathered by the gate stared at her as if they would never see her again.

  The third cupbearer had given the order to depart. The wagon had set off, and Lilah had closed her eyes, trying not to think of what might await her.

  Their procession attracted attention as it passed through the streets. Two soldiers ran in front of the third cupbearer’s chariot, and the wagon followed, surrounded by the other soldiers.

  They had turned on to the royal road, which was so wide that twenty horse-drawn chariots could have passed along it side by side. It started at the southern ramparts of the upper town, crossed into the royal city through a gate surmounted by two huge towers, and ended at the foot of the Citadel. It was straight, lined with trees and rosebushes, and the middle was paved with pink and white marble tiles, as perfect as a woven carpet. Only royal chariots and soldiers during processions, on feast days or when the King of Kings was on the move, were allowed to use it.

  A horn blared as they approached the towers of blue-glazed bricks decorated with hundreds of winged lions. Without slowing, they passed through the wall into the royal city. As they did so, Lilah glimpsed rows of guards stationed in front of the two huge leaves of the gate with their bronze carvings.

  The cloudy grey light returned as they came out on the other side. The soldiers were running by the sides of the chariot and the wagon stopped, and they were replaced by four horsemen in long tunics who took up position beside the chariot.

  The royal way continued, as straight as ever, lined now with coloured walls – ochre, yellow and blue – surmounted by square, crenellated towers. No one walked here, and there were no signs of everyday life. Lilah soon lost her bearings. The walls were so high that they even concealed the cliffs of the Citadel.

  The procession veered right abruptly, turning from the royal road into a narrower street with lower walls, and Lilah gave a start. The flights of steps and gigantic walls of the Citadel rose before them, barely half a stadion away, closer than she had ever seen them.