Garden of Madness (16 page)

In the midst of homes like hovels, filthy streets, and tattered clothing that hung on even more ragged wash lines, there was beauty, and it came from the people themselves. They smiled on the couple as they passed, and singing came from many homes— melodies at once haunting and lovely.

“It is the beginning of Shabbat,” Pedaiah said as though this explained the singing.

She did not ask for more.

“Here.” He slowed at a door and knocked.

They were making a visit? Tia felt some disappointment to end their private exploration.

The door swung open to reveal a short, heavy woman with ruddy cheeks.

“Pedaiah!” Her voice rang across the narrow street. “Come in, boy, come in.” She yanked his arm. “And you’ve brought—”

A wave of something akin to horror passed over her face. Was it Tia’s clearly Babylonian dress? Or was she recognized?

Pedaiah guided her through the door with a hand against her lower back. “Hannah, I must ask for your discretion, yes?”

She recovered quickly and shut the door. “Of course, of course. Come. We are about to eat.”

Pedaiah smiled. “I was counting on that.”

The family made room at their table, and Tia squeezed between Pedaiah and one of their four children, a boy about six, with an adorable shyness. It was a meal unlike any other she’d eaten. Foreign food, mostly breads and vegetables, heavily seasoned. A very little bit of meat, too much of which ended up in her dish. Their generosity embarrassed her. She shared a bit with the little boy beside her and was rewarded with a lovable grin. But it was the foreign talk that was strangest—not that they spoke their native tongue, for it was all her own Aramaic—but the subject of their conversation was strange to her. She ate in silence and gleaned much. Pedaiah, it seemed, was more than the son of the imprisoned Judaean king. He was something of a leader of his people.

“And when they
do
close their ears to the Babylonians, they are just as likely to listen to the false prophets as the true ones,” he said. “I fear they will never learn.”

Hannah scooped her bread into her stew and shrugged. “This you should expect, Pedaiah. We are a stubborn people.”

He smacked his palm against the table, and the heat of his anger blazed against Tia’s arm. “It was their stubbornness that brought us here. Are they not ready to go home?”

Abner, Hannah’s husband, held up a hand. “This is our way, Pedaiah. Why should we not suffer?”

The meal ended too quickly. Pedaiah signaled her with his eyes. They still had questions for Daniel, and it grew late. Tia nodded.

At the door Tia gave her thanks to Hannah and Abner. The woman grasped her hand with both of hers and studied Tia, but her words were not for Tia.

“Be careful, Pedaiah. You play with fire.”

Tia opened her mouth, but Pedaiah’s slow shake of his head kept her silent.

They ambled toward the river. Her belly was too full to run, and her head too full to speak. Everywhere were more symptoms of hardship—doors in disrepair, children with sunken eyes. A weathered old man hobbled toward them, his twisted body leaning heavily on a bent stick. He passed and looked up at her. He was not much older than Pedaiah. Crippled and hunched from a life of servitude. A young mother sat in an open door nursing an infant. Her gaunt face followed Tia as she passed. Tia glanced at her malnourished baby, felt a rush of grief, and had to look away.

Pedaiah whispered, “Don’t turn away, Tiamat. It is why we are here.”

The boat they brought across was to be left on this side, so Pedaiah led her to the massive bridge that spanned the river. From its entrance Tia could not see the five piers it stood upon, though she had counted them many times from her balcony. A narrow rail, waist-high, was their only separation from a precipitous fall into black water. She ran her hand along its cold length and they walked in silence.

When it felt as though they must be halfway across, they stood against the rail and gazed upriver toward the palace. A chilly wind pressed them toward the water, and Tia’s cloak flapped against her legs.

“It is such a different perspective on my home. The palace is like something from a story, blurry and indistinct, when all this is reality.” So often it felt like a prison. From here, suspended between Old and New City, the square-cut notches of varying heights along the palace wall glowed with a hundred torches, and the lush greenery of the Gardens overhung the upper levels like a lavish layer of protection. “The opulence shames me.”

She dropped her head, studied the water, her stomach churning like the agitated waves against the piers.

“What is it?” Pedaiah’s words were almost gentle.

“How can they live like that?”

He did not answer. His presence was solid beside her, his eyes on the palace.

“I understand now why you hate me.”

She heard his sharp breath. “I—I do not—”

She held up a hand to silence him, and surprisingly, it was effective. “I am a pampered, spoiled princess. I know nothing of the world beyond my luxuries. Down here”—she thrust her chin toward the Jewish district—“is another world.”

Another world. She had loved and despised it, both, tonight. How could they not provide better for their people?

“It is not all misery.”

“No, no, I can see that. But still, they are so—so
poor
.”

His laugh was low and not derisive.

“How can I go back, pretend not to care about those who suffer?”

He leaned sideways against the rail and studied her profile. A sudden gust tangled her hair across her cheek, and Pedaiah swept it back with the barest touch of his hand.

Tia’s thoughts were as tangled as her hair. Her mother’s threat to toss her from the palace, from her position and her luxuries if she did not marry the prince from her homeland. How could she ever live among squalor? The inability to return to her selfish life after all she’d seen and the equal impossibility of reconciling herself to poverty held her trapped in a vise.

“You must let me marry Nedabiah.” The words spilled out, and Pedaiah’s hand, still at her hair, became a fist. He turned and stepped away.

Tia moved closer and he shifted again, his face set toward the water, as hard as the rocky banks. They had been like this all night, like the ebb and flow of the water, washing against each other, then pulling away. Her palms grew slick against the rail, and her mouth was dry as desert sand.

“If I marry Nedabiah, I will be a voice for your people, Pedaiah. My mother will at first be angry, but her advisors will placate her, and she will see that I am still married to a prince, so all is well. And I will retain my position, where I can do some good . . .” Tia plucked at his sleeve. “Pedaiah, are you listening?”

He snatched his arm from her. “I am listening, Princess. But all I hear is empty wind.”

She took a step back from the venom in his voice.

“You have learned nothing tonight. You are still a foolish child, chasing after baubles and fine foods, afraid of truth.” His eyes were on her now, full of that familiar fury, the angry arrogance. “I do not know why I even tried.”

She fought the tightness in her throat, the too-ready tears. He would not have the satisfaction of making her weep. She gathered her hair under her head covering and secured the veil across her face.

“You speak of truth, Pedaiah. Perhaps it is time to cease our worthless amusements and accomplish what we intended. Pose our questions to your diviner, and see if
Belteshazzar
knows the truth.”

A glance revealed the blood pounding in his temples, the twitch of his jaw muscles, the hard slash of his lips.

The closeness they’d shared had fled. It was time to return to the familiar.

CHAPTER 18

The moon had risen high by the time they reached Daniel’s house. The lateness distressed Tia. Their excursion to the New City would leave her vulnerable to detection when she returned. But she would not go back to the palace without speaking with Daniel about his prophecies, without questioning him about Kaldu, and even her late husband.

The same doorkeeper they had last encountered met them at the door. Would they rouse the old wise man from his bed? Tia need not have worried. Even before they exited the narrow passage to the courtyard, she heard the distinct buzz of a crowd.

Pedaiah led the way and she held back, surveying the mob before allowing herself to be seen. The courtyard where they had conversed quietly with Daniel during their last visit overflowed with Jews, mostly men and some women. Indeed, even the balcony that circled the courtyard held a crowd, their faces turned downward to the open space. Around the central figure of Daniel on a reed chair most of the men sat cross-legged, allowing those behind a better view. For a crowd so large, the conversation was not so loud, but the murmurs held an anxious intensity. What was this gathering?

Daniel’s gaze lifted to the passage they exited, took in Pedaiah. He extended a palm to the space beside himself, inviting Pedaiah to his side. Was this honor given to him as a prince? Or as a teacher? Pedaiah shook his head, the movement slight. Daniel’s gaze traveled to Tia and he nodded.

“Friends”—his voice carried throughout the courtyard and to the level above, and the crowd hushed at once—“I thank you for your attendance this night. We will read from the Torah first.”

Their holy book. Pedaiah pulled her by the arm to the far side of the courtyard against the wall. His cold fingers burned her skin.

“He will teach for a while. We must wait.”

“Did you know we would be delayed? You could have brought us earlier, avoided all that running through the city.”

He left Tia at the wall without a word and threaded his way through the seated group until he reached an empty place near Daniel. Tia followed him with her eyes as he lowered himself to the stones beside the Jewish girl Judith. A flush of unwarranted anger heated her chest. She forced her attention away, to the unknown crowd.

There were readings, prayers to their One God, even singing. A letter from someone in their homeland, Jeremiah—perhaps a prophet? Much about a future redemption. She focused on little of it and spent her time examining those who gathered. Most of the men wore plain tunics and fringed head coverings, something she had never seen on the Jews who worked in the palace. The center of the group, those seated closest to Daniel, were a mix of head-covered Jews and bare-headed Babylonians with their red and gold embroidered robes.

She slid along the wall to get a better look at faces. More than one glanced at her with the same surprise she felt, though with her face veiled Tia doubted she was recognized. Her presence clearly caused anxiety. A ripple of attention passed through them, each turning their head in her direction. Was it only the presence of one of their own? Did they fear reprisal for their interest in the Jewish diviner? Some of them were palace diviners themselves, were they not?

Yet they seemed out of place. She scanned the overflowing courtyard and compared it to the Hall of Magi. All she had known of the palace diviners had told her they were a scheming, backstabbing lot who lusted for power. Here, she sensed a united community—a common goal, a desire for truth, perhaps even a shared bitterness. She was annoyed at the delay, intrigued at the reason, and drawn to the unfamiliar.

When Daniel’s teaching ended, he and Pedaiah stood and moved out of the crowd, toward a narrow doorway at the rear of the courtyard. The girl remained, but Pedaiah signaled Tia with his eyes to follow.

The room was lit only by the courtyard torches spilling shadows through the doorway, and neither man brought a lamp. Still, in the darkness Daniel examined Tia, perceived her with more accuracy than was comfortable.

“So, you have returned, Princess.”

“I am looking for answers.”

He smiled and inclined his head. “So much like your father.”

She bristled. “My father always sought truth from his diviners, even when it was unfavorable.”

Daniel turned from her and retreated into the darkness, found a chair. “Yes. But how often was the truth actually given by those who feared him?”

“You are all liars, then?”

Pedaiah drew himself up as though she’d insulted
him
, but Daniel only chuckled and held up his palm. “This is for you to decide, Princess.”

She balled her hands at her sides. “You spoke of prophecies. I would hear more of them. And of what the future holds for our kingdom.”

A saddened smile passed over his lips. “Come, sit.”

As though summoned, a young boy appeared at the doorway with a small oil lamp. Daniel beckoned him forward and indicated a small table that also held a shallow bowl and a terra-cotta jug. When the boy had placed the lamp and gone, Pedaiah and Tia seated themselves beside him in reed chairs.

Tia pointed to the bowl and jug. “You will seek an answer?”

Daniel followed her extended finger and frowned, his look quizzical.

“It is for reading the oil poured on water, is it not?”

At this, Pedaiah made a little sound, like a father aggravated with his toddler’s foolishness. “He is not one of your palace sorcerers, Tiamat.”

“Sorcerers! We have no sorcerers at the palace. Every one of our wise men seeks the will of the gods and summons their power only for the protection of our people!”

That little snort again, but Daniel touched Pedaiah’s arm. She would rather the touch had been rougher.

“My lady, the powers that your diviners summon are dark, even if their purpose for doing so is not. Since the first garden, evil has always worn the mask of good.”

“What is this ‘first garden’? My father’s Hanging Gardens?” Tia should have been at ease with this captive Jew, but his words left her fumbling over her own.

Daniel drew his chair closer, a conspiracy of three. “Not far from here at all, my lady. Where Euphrates meets Tigris, and two more rivers once flowed from a place of unimaginable beauty. The very first garden, where the One God placed the first man and first woman, and the evil one whispered to them of a good that was not good. A choice that would destroy, even as he promised it would exalt.”