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“To make of the self a vessel where there is no self,” I murmured.

“Even so.” Yevuneh nodded. “But Adonai was merciful, and withheld the blow of death, for the love he had borne his people. The cover was lifted, and Nemuel alone looked inside and beheld the Name of God.” Her expression was sombre. “And when he sought to speak it, Nemuel was struck dumb, his tongue withering within his mouth like a drought-stricken root. Such was the penalty for breaking the Covenant of Wisdom. And it is as you have said, the army of Khemosh was defeated, and we gathered for flight; fleeing the forces of Meroë, and fleeing moreover the wrath of Adonai, who was at such pains to preserve His people.”

“A harsh penalty for one man’s transgression,” I said quietly.

“No.” Yevuneh gave a sad smile. “The sin was shared among us all, for all of us failed in honoring the Covenant. Even now, to this day, the priests of the line of Aaron are born tongueless and dumb, keepers of a useless treasure, which we must hide from the eyes of Adonai, the Lord our God, lest he remember and smite us for our folly. Khemosh himself got neither son nor daughter, and we dare not even raise up a King, but hew only to the ancient laws kept by the Elders, and the women … we bear the price still of the power we relinquished. So you see, you seek wisdom in vain.”

Joscelin let out his breath in a long whistle, and began the work of translating the story to Imriel. I sat thinking, watching flies circle the honey-pot.

“It may be, my lady Yevuneh,” I said at length. “Though I am sorry to hear that the women of the Melehakim do not take up the sundered ends of the chain they let fall. But all knowledge is worth having, and these stories are new to me. Of Moishe’s Tablets and the Ark that held them, I have heard. What is this of which you speak, this Ark of Broken Tablets?”

“It is written … you know such things were recorded?” she asked me.

I nodded, thinking of the volumes of text I had read, the hours spent at the Rebbe’s feet, learning Habiru lore. How could she know? Most of it had been written long after Melek al’Hakim fled his father’s land.

“It is written that there were two sets of tablets. The first, that were broken, were written by Adonai’s own hand,” Yevuneh said softly. “The second, that Moishe chiseled himself-those preserved the law. But the first… ah! Those held the Name of God in every syllable.”

The hair rose at the back of my neck. “And those are here.”

“So it is said.” She spread her hands. “I have not seen them, myself. But that is the story for which you asked. And that is the sum of our useless wisdom. One day, perhaps, Adonai will send us a sign to make atonement. In a thousand years, it has not come.”

There came a knock at the door; I daresay all of us startled. Yevuneh’s maidservant went to see who it was, and came to fetch her mistress. Presently Yevuneh returned, looking grave.

“The Elders will see you.”

Seventy-Three

OUR MEETING with the Sanhedrin of Elders was long and fruitless.

I told the story well, or so I thought; Hyacinthe’s story, the story of the Master of the Straits, the misbegotten son of Rahab, the One God’s unrelenting curse, and why I came seeking the Sacred Name. Some of it needed no explanation. Rahab, they knew, and the Book of Raziel, from whence came his powers. But as for the rest…

A thousand years and more, the Sabaeans had been closeted in the far south of Jebe-Barkal. Of my own country, of the schism between Terre d’Ange and Alba, they knew nothing, nor what it signified. Of blessed Elua himself, they knew nothing. And of his begetting-

“You mean to say,” one of the Elders frowned, “this man, this Yeshua ben Yosef, was acknowledged the Mashiach and the Son of Adonai?”

“Yes, my lord.” I gave him my best curtsy. “So it is said, by the Yeshuites; that is, by the descendants of the other Eleven Tribes. Even now, they undertake to follow Yeshua’s will in carving out a new homeland, far to the north even of my home. So many say, although not all believe.”

“Adonai!” He breathed the word like a sacrament. “Is it truly so?”

“We hid, Bilgah,” another of the Elders reminded him. “Until Adonai Himself despaired of the gifts He had given His people. How not? He presumed us lost. Might He not send the Mashiach to lead those who remained?”

“Say it is not so!” Bilgah the Elder clutched his temples. “I would rather believe Adonai turned His face from us in anger than forgot us!”

So it went, on and on. For Hyacinthe and his plight, they cared little. The news we had brought, a thousand years old, overshadowed aught else. For my own part, I will own, I was shaken. Could it be so, that the birth of Yeshua himself was owed to the folly of the Melehakim, who failed in upholding their Covenant? I do not know. I did not know then, nor ever did I. The politics of gods are beyond mortal ken. In the end, I could only cling to that which I
did
know; that I was D’Angeline, and a scion of Blessed Elua. And no matter how the story is told or who tells it, his begetting was a thing unforeseen, for mortal love-the love of Yeshua ben Yosef and the Magdalene-played a role in it. And that is a thing, I believe, no god may control.

Love as thou wilt
.

So I waited, until the Elders of Saba paused in their quarrels, and made another deep curtsy, Joscelin bowing low beside me. “My lords,” I said softly. “You have heard my tale, and my plea. Know this. My friend who has taken this sacrifice upon himself grows older with each day that passes-aging, and undying. Now, he is young, still, if one may bear such power and retain youth. One day, he will not be; and one day, madness will come for him. You hold in your hands the key to his freedom. Will you not lend it to me?”

There was a long silence.

“It is not so simple, lady,” one of the Elders said into the quiet. “If you speak true … and
if
, I say, I grant you nothing … Adonai Himself has forgotten us, turning His attention to His Son. What shall become of us, then, if He remembers?” He shook his head. “No, better we remain forgotten.”

“For how long?” I asked. “Another thousand years? What I ask, my lords … if it be not wisdom, then name it compassion, and forge the Covenant anew.”

“It is not,” another Elder said, “so simple.” He smiled at me with kindness and sorrow. “You see, lady, when Adonai-the One God, you call him-turned His face from us, we lost what we had held sacred. This thing you seek-this key, this Name-there is no one among us with the grace to contain it, with a tongue that may speak it. How long, you ask, does Adonai’s wrath endure? That is a thing we may answer. It endures forever, and a thousand years is only the merest beginning.”

I thought of the moonlit waters of the Lake of Tears, of Shoanete’s story, of Yevuneh’s story. And I thought of my dream, and Hyacinthe’s pleas mingling with Imriel’s screams. “Nonetheless,” I said. “I would behold this thing, this Ark of Broken Tablets, and know it for myself.”

They voted, the Elders of Saba. And for all that I had told the story well, for all that I had endured-that we had all endured-they voted no. Not happily, not all of them, for there were looks of sympathy, but it is how they decided.

“Whether or not your story is true,” said Abiram, eldest of Elders, “we cannot know. It may be so, and this is a thing we may undertake to learn. Perhaps in this news you bring there is a sign, but it will take long study and prayer to determine it. And alas, there is one certainty in all of this. This god you claim to serve-this earth-begotten
Elua
-was never anointed by Adonai. No,” he shook his head, “I am sorry. But to allow you to approach the Holiest of Holies … no. Even to one of our own, we would deny such a request. It is permitted only to the priests of Aaron’s line. What you ask risks greater blasphemy than the Breaking of the Covenant itself, and would end only in your death.”

“So be it,” I murmured, defeated. “I thank you for hearing my plea.”

I was angry, returning to Yevuneh’s house. I could not help it.

“It is what you expected,” Joscelin said. “No more, and no less. You were warned often enough, Phèdre. Well and so; it has come to pass. The Melehakim have laid wisdom aside, and compassion with it. Although for all we know, they’re right and your tongue would shrivel, if you weren’t struck …” His voice trailed off as he stared at Yevuneh’s house. “Name of Elua! Is she holding a fête?”

Dark figures moved to and fro in the windows; women’s figures, clad in muted shawls. We were admitted to the house to find a dozen of them, solid Sabaean matrons all past their child-bearing years, engaged in the work of bringing various dishes into the modest courtyard at the rear of the house.

“You’ve returned!” Yevuneh clapped her hands together, spotting us. The quiet sorrow that had marked her earlier had been replaced by a sense of contained excitement. “Ah, good, we’re nearly ready.”

“Forgive us, my lady,” I said politely. “We did not mean to intrude upon your gathering. We will retire and be out of your way.”

“No, no, child; not at all. They are here to see you.” Taking my arm, she led me through the house, making introductions: Ranit, Dinah, Semira, Yaffit, a half-dozen others-bewildered, I committed them to memory using the old skills Delaunay had taught me, and all the while they crowded around, murmuring polite greetings, touching my hair and skin in wonderment and exclaiming over Joscelin. We were not only the first D’Angelines they had seen, but the first northerners altogether, and a great novelty as such.

“Wait,” Yevuneh told them, “until you see the boy, ah! A jewel in miniature!”

“Where is he?” Alarm rose in me. “He was to remain in our quarters.”

“Oh, tcha!” Yevuneh clicked her tongue. “Listen to the young mother fuss over a single chick. Did you bring him this far to fear he would come to harm in Yevuneh’s house? Yes, child, he is upstairs, awaiting your return.” Her expression turned shrewd. “Not that it will bring good news. So, tell me, did the Elders deny your plea?”

“Yes.” The gathered women had grown quiet, waiting and watching with knowing eyes in time-worn faces. I began to understand that this was something like the Elders’ Council. “My lady Yevuneh, what passes here?”

“I said that in a thousand years, there had been no sign that the time had come to make atonement.” Yevuneh gave her gentle smile, a simple widow bearing her share of her people’s thousand-year-old grief. “I spoke wrong. There is you. And that, child, is what we have gathered to discuss.”

So it was that I told the story a second time that day.

’Twas different, this time. It was a pleasant courtyard instead of an audience-room, with verdant trellises shading stone benches and comfortable cushions. Dishes of honeyed sweets and melon and sesame balls were passed around, and the strong drink they call
kavah
, beans roasted over a brazier and ground into a fine powder, mixed with boiled water and served with ceremony, hot and bitter. Yevuneh had already relayed to them what I had told her earlier of Terre d’Ange, of the Mashiach and the birth of Blessed Elua.

What they thought of that, I cannot say. The knowledge had dropped like a stone into the depths of their shared story, and what changes it might wreak at that level were beyond my knowing. This much, I know: They wanted to hear more.

And I told again Hyacinthe’s story, this time beginning it with the Tsingano boy I’d met in the marketplace, my Prince of Travellers with merry eyes and dark curls, who did not disdain the friendship of an unwanted ward of the Night Court. They sighed over his white grin and chuckled knowingly over his exploits, and nodded approval when he used the hard-won monies from his livery service to buy his mother the lodging-house in which she dwelled.

As for the Tsingani themselves and the fateful folly that had set them on the
Lungo Drom
, the Long Road-this they understood better than anything.

All the while I spoke, Imriel mingled among the women of Tisaar, offering sweets, serving nearly as neat-handed as if I’d taught him myself. They’d not neglected the graces in the Sanctuary of Elua. And the women sighed over him, too, marveling at his fair skin and twilit eyes, seeing in his blue-black hair an echo of the boy Hyacinthe I evoked for them.

Of Skaldia, I told little, save for the threat to our land, and how Hyacinthe embarked with us on a quest to secure the aid of our beleaguered young Queen’s betrothed, the exiled Cruithne prince whom she loved. This, too, they understood; and understood the anguished curse of the Master of the Straits, doomed by his immortal father’s stricken pride.

“Pride,” Yevuneh murmured. “Pride, and wrath. How else?”

I told of Hyacinthe’s first sacrifice, how he had surrendered his place among the Tsingani, his rightful role as the heir of the Tsingan kralis, to speak the
dromonde
on my behalf-although I did not speak Melisande’s name, for fear that Imriel would hear and understand. It did not matter. They understood, the women of Tisaar, that he had done it in honor of his mother, whose heritage he would not repudiate.

They were mothers, most of them; mothers, grandmothers, wives and widows. I saw the sheen of tears quicken in their eyes as my tale-Hyacinthe’s tale-drew near its close on the shores of that stony isle. A lump rose in my own throat. I had to swallow hard to force my voice past it.

Don’t you know the
dromonde
can look backward as well as forward
?

And I told them, then, how the Prince of Travellers used his gift to take my place, offering himself as sacrifice in my stead, and what had befallen him since.

I thought I had told the story well, before. I was wrong.

There was not a dry eye in the courtyard when I finished, and mine own included. If I’d maintained control of my voice, I’d ceded it to my tears, which rolled unheeded down my cheeks. It should have been me. It should always have been me.

“Oh,
my
!” Yevuneh shook an embroidered kerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose noisily. “Ah, child, such a tale! And you believe-is it so?-that the Sacred Name may break this curse?”

“Yes, my lady.” Seated cross-legged on a cushion, I inclined my head. “For ten years and more I have studied the matter. I believe it to be true. The Name of God may force Rahab into relinquishing the long vengeance of his wounded pride. I have found no other way.”