The Lamp of Darkness by - (most recommended books TXT) 📖

eat. I chewed my bread as slowly as I could and watched the chefs working at the hearth. Once I finished eating, I would have no excuse to remain. Finally, Tuval came in. “Morning, Lev,” he said, grabbing a piece of bread and sitting beside me. “You just arrive?”

I nodded, not wanting to admit I was already on my third piece. “No one else eats at this hour?”

“Most palace servants rise before the sun. Only after all-night festivals am I ever at the morning meal when it’s crowded. A cold meal is a small price to pay for a warm bed.”

“But they’re still baking now,” I said, pointing to the cooks carrying stacks of bread in from the courtyard.

“Oh, yes. There’s hot bread, cakes fried in date honey, cheese, and many other things we’ll never taste. All that is for the King’s table. Though the cooks call it the Queen’s table now, as her priests take up most of the seats.”

A young man with a fair complexion and scribes’ robes entered. “Ah, little Otniel,” Tuval called out to him.

A faint blush appeared on Otniel’s pale cheeks. “Good morning, Tuval.” The scribe gave me a quiet nod as he sat at one of the empty stools. He helped himself to bread without bothering to change his linen tunic.

“Otniel, you’ll be glad to know you’re no longer the youngest member of the Court. Meet Lev, the most recent addition to the musicians.”

Otniel made eye contact again. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Lev, I used to carry this boy on my back when he was no larger than that piece of bread you’re eating. His father Merari is among the nobility of Tirza, but for some reason, he eats with us commoners.”

“Only on mornings when I serve the Court,” he said. “I can never extricate myself from the King’s table fast enough to be at my position on time.”

“Where is Tirza?” I asked.

“Be careful what you ask this one,” Tuval said. “You’re likely to get more information than you want. His family has been among the Royal Chroniclers since Yeravaum declared the Kingdom.”

“Not so,” Otniel said. “Yeravaum first made his capital in Shechem. My family only became the chroniclers once he moved the capital to Tirza, next to our inheritance. King Omri asked my father to accompany him when he moved his throne here to Shomron, but he refused.”

“Your father refused the King?” I asked.

Otniel nodded. “My father always says, ‘it’s a foolish man who abandons his land to follow a King, especially a King of Israel.’”

“What’s wrong with the Kings of Israel?”

Tuval drew his finger across his throat. “They have a nasty habit of losing their heads at the neck.”

“Actually, King Zimri died by fire,” Otniel said, “though admittedly he hardly counts, having ruled for only seven days.” Otniel turned to me. “Once he saw his revolt was going to fail, he burned the palace down on himself rather than fall into the hands of Omri, who laid siege to the city.”

“Omri?” I asked, pointing to the royal banner above the hearth.

“Yes, King Ahav’s father. He became King when he won the civil war.”

“So he moved the palace to Shomron because the old one was destroyed?”

Otniel shook his head. “It’s far easier to rebuild a palace than to build a new capital city. But as Tuval said, it is rare that a King of Israel dies in his sleep. Omri moved the capital from the tribal lands of Ephraim to that of his own tribe of Menashe, hoping his brethren could protect him.”

“It worked?”

“So far. King Omri went peacefully to the grave of his fathers, and his son Ahav still sits on his throne.”

Three trumpet blasts shook the palace. “What are those?” I asked Tuval.

“The signal Court is about to begin,” he said, shoving the rest of his bread in his mouth. He stripped off his woolen tunic. “Move quickly when you hear them. We must be ready to play when the King and Queen arrive.”

Otniel wiped his hands neatly and stood to leave. “You didn’t bring a second tunic?” I asked him as I pulled mine off.

Tuval snorted. “It will be a mighty cold day indeed before any son of Merari wears wool.”

A hint of color came to Otniel’s sallow cheeks. Though he had eaten hardily, not a crumb marred his garments. He stepped out of the kitchen as I hung my woolen tunic on a hook. “Can I leave it here during the day?”

“Yes, but don’t leave your linen ones here at night. They’re far too valuable.”

I threw my musicians’ tunic over my head and was about to tighten the sash when Tuval said, “There’s no time now. We’re not even allowed in the hallway when the King and Queen walk to the Throne Room.”

We hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall. My baggy garments puffed out behind me, and I held them with one hand so I wouldn’t trip over the skirts. Another scribe ran ahead of us, clutching a roll of parchment, his quill, and a jar of ink. The guard at the Throne Room door waved us in, then pulled the wooden doors closed behind us.

A line of petitioners stood along one wall, and four others of high birth stood before the empty thrones. Dov sat tuning his nevel, which was three times the size of my kinnor, with longer, thicker strings. “Morning,” he said. “We are only three today. I have Peretz and Uzzah playing for Zarisha this afternoon.”

I neither knew nor cared who Zarisha was. I needed to look presentable before the King and Queen arrived or I’d risk standing out. I folded over my garments and tightened the sash, but still looked like a boy dressed in his father’s clothes.

Tuval put his hand on my back with a weight that told me to relax. “You can take your time now. The King and Queen come at their own pace, which isn’t very fast. That’s how it is around here: run, run, run, then wait.”

I undid my sash, gathered the excess material in my garments, and folded it back on itself around my waist to make the front taut. When I retied the sash this time, I looked presentable. I plucked all the strings on my kinnor, listening to each one in turn.

The door shook with two heavy knocks. “That’s our signal,” Dov said, resting his fingers on his nevel. “Did Peretz show you this melody?”

He launched into a tune faster than anything we’d yet played. Apparently, not all the music in the Throne Room would be as dull as yesterday’s. “No,” I replied, already plucking at my strings.

“When they open the doors,” Dov said to me, “play quietly this time.”

I finally got to play music with life to it, and Dov wanted me to silence my kinnor? But he was the head musician. I bit my lower lip and nodded back.

“King Ahav and Queen Izevel,” the guard at the door announced. The King and Queen stepped in, holding hands. As they walked down the center aisle, I fumbled two notes. It was a good thing Dov had me playing quietly. The Queen climbed the three stairs to the dais and seated herself alongside King Ahav without so much as a glance in our direction.

Dov brought the fast-paced song to an end and began one of the slow tunes we’d played the day before, soft enough that it wouldn’t overshadow the discussions in the Court. The King turned to the magistrate standing before the throne. “Who is first today?”