Solomon's Throne (10 page)

“Very well. And how long shall we remain, sir?”

“I should think we will be here at least five weeks. We will be exploring the ruins… It is a journey of some twelve to fourteen days with a small caravan, and not traveling to exhaustion. As Isabel will be making the journey, we will want to make sure not to tire her too greatly.”

Isabel began to protest and then remembered… She would be riding on a camel! She shook her head in disbelief. Perhaps it was best that her father had not accompanied them back to Lisbon after all.

The journey to Ctesiphon had, in fact, been completed in eleven days. The Bedouin guides had spent a week provisioning the caravan, making sure there were comfortable accommodations for the Xaviers in the form of a flowing tent that would be assembled each evening. The floor was lined with carpets, and a small brazier by the bed roll kept them warm during the chilly nights. Joao sat astride his camel during the long days, swaying side to side and also with a strange front to back motion. He had made this journey before, but had conveniently forgotten how sore his hind parts were for the first several days. A litter of sorts had been made for Isabel, much to her relief, but the long days of lounging on the platform against rolled up carpets made her bones ache.

At noon on the eleventh day the caravan came in sight of the ruins of Ctesiphon. They had tracked up the Tigris River for much of the journey, except when it veered too far to the east, and had crossed it to the south of the ruined city. The days were monotonous, as the scenery did not vary from sand, stunted shrubs and trees, and more sand. Heading northeast, they could see the great arch in the distance. Joao turned back to Isabel and pointed.

“There it is! We’re almost there!” Isabel smiled with relief. They would stay on the banks of the Tigris, near the ruins, for a week, exploring and enjoying the hospitality of the locals. Joao had camped within the ruins themselves on his previous visit, leaving it to the guides to procure provisions in the village as needed, so he did not think that he would be recognized.

In a short while they were in front of the colossal structure. The enormous arch, the Taq-i Kisra, rose dozens of feet above them, with the wings of the palace on either side. Made of baked bricks, it rose out of the desolate landscape, quiet and lonely.

“What happened to it?” Isabel asked in a hushed voice, sitting up on her litter atop the camel.

“The Taq-i Kisra and the Shahigan-i Sepid…” The guide pointed to a mound of rubble that could only nominally be recognized as a former structure, “…were burned when the last of the great kings was overthrown by the Ottomans, a thousand years ago. They burned the library, the palaces… but the people were not harmed. The Arabs stayed for a time, but there were stories of the ghosts of our Persian ancestors, of the great kings who searched for their palaces. Slowly they moved up river, or to Bagdad. There is no one left now.”

Isabel shuddered a bit, but looking at the Taq-i Kisra with its magnificent arch, and the enormous blue sky, she felt nothing but peace. She settled back against the rugs as the caravan moved on, past the site.

Later that afternoon they arrived in the village of Hasuyn as Salih. The guide and his servants erected their tent on a hill overlooking the Tigris, and set about establishing a cooking area and the other necessities of camp. Village women arrived with dates and other fruits, as well as a flat fresh breads and cured olives. There was a fresh breeze from the river, and the air was cooling, as it always did in the evening. Isabel went to the tent to refresh herself before the evening meal, and Joao sought out their guide.

“
Meu senhor,
have you arranged the meeting that I asked for?”

“Ah yes, sir, yes! The
anciao
will come for you in the morning. I am happy to be spending the day with my sister here in the village, and the men will get rest, yes?”

“
Obrigado, senhor.
I will be very happy to explore the ruins again, and to show them more carefully to my bride.”

The guide bowed, and went back to his men, who were now relaxing with a hot beverage. He said something to them and they all laughed.
He thinks I’m a bit eccentric,
thought Joao. He smiled.
If he only knew!

The next morning, after hot, bitter coffee and a mixture of sweet rice and bits of dried fruit, the Xaviers made their way back to the ruins of the Taq-i Kisra with the elder of the village, Aqa Rahimi. The elderly Rahimi was the only local man who knew all about the history of the Persians, about the ruins of the palaces, and about the various carvings and inscriptions that could be found on the walls and remaining columns of the structure. He had learned from his father, and he from his father, and on and on through the generations, in a strong tradition of oral history, and he would be their eyes to the past. And for Joao, a prophet of the future. Alongside him was his cousin Khadem, who had worked for the Portuguese during their brief occupation of the area and would serve as translator.

The palace continued to entrance Isabel, and she sat with a small sketch pad under an umbrella while the men walked around the massive structure.

“
Aqa
, why is it that no one has lived beneath these walls all these years?” Joao asked.

Through Khadem, Rahimi said, “It is bad to live in the king’s house if you are not the king.”

“But there are no Persian kings now…”

“One day there may be a king again. It is bad to be in the king’s house if the king returns.”

Joao nodded. They walked around the rear of the structure, looking up at the towering wall. Joao touched an area of brick that had been scratched. “What does this mean?”

Rahimi looked closely at the graffiti. “It is a prayer. For the dead.”

Joao kept walking. The walls were remarkably intact. The brick was barely crumbling, and, although the roof had been burned centuries before, and the center section seemed to have lost many of its walls, it was still a breath-taking site.

“Do you know what was here?” He waved to the area behind the arch, which was a large open space.

“The palace was very grand. The ceiling was…” He made a tenting motion with his hands. Khadem consulted and came up with the word. “Round. The roof was very high from the ground, and the king and his people did their business there.” The king’s court.

He walked through the center to the arch. It was well known through the building of the gothic cathedrals in Europe that arches were very strong. The wings of the palace were beginning to fall apart, but the arch… the arch would stand until the brick crumbled to dust in the winds. Judging by the solidity of the building blocks, that would not be for a very, very long time. He had his spot.

“I will get my wife, and then we would like to see the carvings, if you please.” He strode to Isabel and helped her gather her drawing paper and pens.

“I’d like you to copy some of the carvings for me, my dear. Can you do that, do you think?”

“Oh certainly! That would be wonderful, Joao. We would have
lembranca
, souvenirs, for our new home.” She walked along beside him, bustling with excitement. “I have never seen such a place as this, my love! I did not relish the camel journey, I must confess, but now that we are here I am ever so thankful to you for even those camels!
Obrigado, meu amor.”

Inside the structure, they enjoyed the cool shade. The day had heated up considerably, and the cool brick and shadows were much welcomed. Rahimi showed the couple several of the carvings made by the kings’ artisans, and they both went to work copying them. While they were thus engaged, the two Persian men went to the camels and brought back cool wine, fruit, smoked meats, and bread. The set out a rug and all of the delicacies, and called to the travelers.

The food and drink were marvelous, and much needed refreshment. They relaxed for an hour, watching the birds that flew over the ruins and the few clouds that appeared very high up in the rich blue sky. After each had gone outside to wash their hands and face with water from a clay pitcher, Joao and Isabel went back to their drawings. By mid-afternoon they were pleasantly tired, and agreed that it was time to go back to their new temporary home on the Tigris.

That night, Joao was up until the early hours, working by the light of a small brazier. He sat hunched in the far corner, careful not to wake his wife. On a board on his lap were the tools of his former trade—quill pens, ink, parchment. He put all his skill into the letter, not knowing who might ever read it. He hoped it was a son. A son’s son, perhaps. But, of course, he had no way of knowing who, or even if… The Throne of King Solomon might sit for endless millennia, never found, never freed. That wasn’t his burden any longer. He had found it. He had known when he saw it that he couldn’t do more than make a few hasty drawings. He was being watched and followed, and he didn’t always know when or by whom. He could not take the risk.

Shaking his head at the memories of those strange silent men he wondered,
Where do they come from?
How did they always seem to find him? He didn’t know. He continued to write on the small scroll, making ornate letters and small border drawings. It was in God’s hands, and he could only do his best.

The next several days brought strong winds which blew the sand sideways and into frightful swirling demons. The small party did not venture back to Ctesiphon. Isabel and Joao had strong hot coffee in the village, and Joao was reintroduced to the hookah. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the sweet, fruity smoke, but he did enjoy the company of the smiling men who welcomed him. Sometimes Khadem joined them, and he could communicate. Other times, all was done with smiles and bows and hand gestures. But the goodwill on both sides was readily apparent, and the time was passed in satisfactory fashion.

Finally a morning dawned clear and still, and Joao and Isabel prepared to visit the Taq-i Kisra again. It had begun to greatly disturb him that he had withheld so much from his beloved wife. No, to be honest, had
lied
so much to her. He was not sure what to do to rectify this, and put it to the back of his mind until he had accomplished his mission here, and they were safely back aboard the Santa Antonio de Tanna.