For once, Favrielle nó Eglantine's regard held something in it that saw me as a fellow mortal being, and not an inconvenience and an unpleasant reminder of an unwanted favor. "I know it," she said softly. "I have heard it told."
"Well." I ran a length of cloth-of-gold between my fingers. "It is not ended. And that is why I must go to Jebe-Barkal."
"So." She bent over her drawing, adding an unnecessary fillip of embellishment. "Two days. And," Favrielle looked up, eyes gleaming, "you might pay a visit to the marquist, Comtesse. You've need of a good limning."
In her own infuriating way, Favrielle was right, of course; 'twas on my list of things to be accomplished ere we departed for La Serenissima. I thought on it with amusement and annoyance as I lay on the limning-table in the marquist's shop. It was an exquisite torture, the keen, ink- dipped needles piercing my skin, rendering the lines of my marque clean and bold. Whatever claim Kushiel may have on me—and it is a prodigious one—I am Naamah's Servant too, twice-pledged of my own volition. It would not do to set out on a journey of this magnitude with my marque ill-tended.
When it was finished, I regarded myself in the mirror of the mar quist's well-heated shop, gazing over my shoulder. It was well done. The black-thorn vine designed by Master Robert Tielhard was immaculate against my fair skin, twining the length of my spine, accented by crimson petals. The marquist bowed, honoring the work more than the wearer. I paid him generously nonetheless. The Marquists' Guild tithes to the Temple of Naamah. A gift to one was a gift to the other.
Naamah, I prayed silently, do not forget your Servant.
There was a good deal more to be done, and much of it dull and prosaic. I met with my factor, Jacques Brenin, to discuss my finances. We agreed on arrangements for the coming year—which is to say, I acceded to his suggestions, which were always good—and he gave me promissory notes for the Banco Tribune in La Serenissima and a money-lending house he knew by repute in Iskandria.
I paid a visit, by day and sober, to Emile in Night's Doorstep. To him I gave my heartfelt thanks, and a purse of gold coin, which he made to refuse. "No." I closed his fingers over the purse. "Keep it, Emile. Half for yourself, or the Didikani of the City if you wish, and half for Kristof, Oszkar's son. Let it be known that it is out of gratitude, in honor of Hyacinthe, Anasztaizia's son. I ask nothing in return but silence."
"Tsingani do not meddle in gadje affairs," Emile said automatically, then grinned. "Not those who walk the Lungo Drom, any mind. So you found the missing prince?"
"I found his trail," I said. "And I will cross it again, Elua willing. But my duty is done to the best of my ability. It is Hyacinthe's quest I undertake now."
TWENTY-SIX
On THE following day, I was no less idle, meeting with Audine Davul at the City Academy and listening spellbound as she told me aught that she might of Jebe-Barkal. In my ignorance, I had conceived of it solely as a desert land, like unto the Umaiyyat; but there were mountains, she assured me, and valleys dense with foliage, vast inland lakes and one of the most spectacular waterfalls in existence.Our journey, as best I could guess, would take us through all these terrains and more.
"Show no weakness," Audine Davul cautioned Joscelin and me alike. "They are a proud folk, and capable of great generosity and great cruelty alike. These descendents of Shalomon of whom you speak—I know nothing of them save what is told in story. But in the north . . . Jebeans are jealous of their pride. Give every courtesy, and never reveal fear."
We thanked her, and Joscelin bowed deeply. I tried to imagine him showing fear, and failed. Then I remembered him in the hut in Waldemar Selig's steading where he had wished to die, enchained, his hands raw with chilblains, lank-haired and wild-eyed.
All things are possible.
Even the worst of things.
I'd made a fair-copy of Audine's translation of the Jebean scroll upon our return to the City of Elua and had it sent to Eleazar ben Enokh, my favorite Yeshuite scholar. It was upon Eleazar that I intended to call that afternoon—and I will own, it was an encounter I anticipated with some excitement. Ten years of my life I'd given to the pursuit of the Name of God. To be sure, I was a long way from finding it, but I looked forward to hearing Eleazar's thoughts with a scholar's arcane passion.
"I'll send the carriage back for you," Joscelin promised, dropping a kiss upon my brow. His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "I am eager to hear the shortened version of Rebbe Eleazar's impressions. I fear the full might of them would be too much for Cassiel's simple servant to endure."
"Liar," I said affectionately. He laughed and took his leave.
Within, I found Eleazar aquiver with excitement, sitting cross- legged on his prayer mats and slapping his bony knees, the translated Kefra Neghast on the floor in front of him. "Phèdre nó Delaunay!" he exclaimed. "What a treasure you have found! Come, and let us share our thoughts on this matter."
I took my place opposite him, kneeling, and opened the original scroll with its painted illustrations, weighting it carefully at the corners. "You think there is merit in it, father?"
"Merit, of a surety. It is a tale, is it not?" He shrugged. "You ask if it is true. Who can say? You must go and see for yourself."
"But you think it may be so."
Eleazar ben Enokh paused, then nodded. "I think it may be so, at least in part. Trade and war alike existed between the Habiru nation and Jebe-Barkal in the old days. This Queen, Makeda— " he pointed at the parchment, " —it is not impossible. Shalomon had many wives, including Pharaoh's daughter. The ring ..." He tapped his lower teeth in absent thought. "Folklore says it bore the Name of God, and with it Shalomon commanded demons to build the Temple. What is the grain of truth at the heart of that pearl, eh? Perhaps with the ring of his father's authority, Melek al'Hakim commanded the architect Khiram, whose father was of the Tribe of Dân. His mother . . . ah!" His brown eyes glinted. "Perhaps she followed other faiths, yes? And Khiram's workmen also? Worshipping Asherat-of-the-Sea, and Baal of the high places."
"Mayhap," I said slowly. It made sense, though I was reluctant to own it. "Then you think it is a myth, no more?"
"Shalomon's Ring." Eleazar's voice softened, growing kinder. "For give me, for your scroll poses answers to mighty questions, and in my joy, I forget they are not the answers you seek. If you ask me, do I believe in my heart that Shalomon's Ring was inscribed with the Name of God . . . the answer is no, Phèdre nó Delaunay. I do not believe it. I have sought too long on the paths of prayer to believe the Word is writ on a mere gem." He leaned forward, touching the diamond of the Companion's Star on my breast. "Here is etched the sigil of Elua, yes? It commands a mighty boon. But it is a human token, no less and no more, and it is the Queen who must answer to it, and not Blessed Elua himself. This I know to be true. So, I believe, of Shalomon's Ring."
I closed my hand over the brooch and stared at the scroll. "Then you do not believe this Melek al'Hakim carried away the Name of God?"
Eleazar shook his head. "I do not say this. There are paths of prayer the Children of Yisra-el have forgotten. It may be that Melek al'Hakim and the Tribe of Dân remember. And there is this," he added, indicating a line.
' . . . and Melek al'Hakim was anointed by Zadok the priest, Melek-Zadok he became, and with Khiram son of Khiram and his people who were of Dân, and twenty of the Tribe of Levi, that is, Aaron's line, they did despoil the Temple of Shalomon of its vessels and treas ures, and fled amid the strife to Menekhet,' " I read aloud, then sat back on my heels. "What do you make of it, father?"
"Whatever Melek al'Hakim took with him, he had the priesthood's blessing," Eleazar said simply. "I do not know. Perhaps it was the Name of God. What other treasure is worth protecting more?"
"The Temple was built to house the Signs of the Covenant," I said.
"Yes." Eleazar nodded. "Moishe's Tablets, Aaron's Rod, and a jar of manna. So it is written, and it is written that the Ark which held them was taken to the mountains and hidden in the time of Judah Maccabeus." He shrugged. "Perhaps it is so. If it is, it has passed beyond mortal knowledge. But this object..." He pointed to the Jebean scroll, the original, where two men carried a cloth-covered chest on long poles. "It is shrouded, yes. And yet to my eyes, it looks very like that Ark which is described in the Tanakh. Do you not discern, here, the outline of two cherubim, facing one another?"
I squinted at it. "It may be so."
"It may." A grin broke over Eleazar's homely face, making it for an instant lovely. "Who can say, Phèdre nó Delaunay? It is a mystery, and one that we who follow the teachings of Yeshua ben Yosef have abandoned. Who needs the voice of Adonai speaking between the cher ubim when the Mashiach has walked the earth, flesh and blood and somewhat more besides? Who needs the Name of God, when His Son has spoken the Word of redemption and pledged a new covenant?"
I thought of the terrible power and anguish caught behind Hyacinthe's eyes, of the yawning chasm that had opened in the sea between us and the awesome, wrathful presence moving in its depths. "Not all of Adonai's creatures accepted Yeshua's covenant with obedience, fa ther. Rahab, who is the Prince of the Deep, did not; and it is Hyacinthe who suffers for it. If there is no power in Elua's lore nor in Yeshua's to turn him aside, if the Name of God is the only power to which Rahab must answer, then I need it."
"Perhaps it is so." Eleazar was silent for a moment. "You answer your own questions, and I can tell you no more. Is there merit in the scroll's tale? I cannot say. You must go to Jebe-Barkal and see. Only one other thing may I tell you, Phèdre nó Delaunay, one true thing." He folded his hands, his expression grave. "Adonai is beyond our mortal compass. To receive His Name, we must approach Him in perfect trust and love, to make of the self a vessel where the self is not."