The 22 Letters (20 page)

Zayin, mounted on the horse Horizon, was riding through an olive grove in the northern approach to Gebal: Zayin now very much at home on horseback, riding easily and gracefully, keeping a light touch on the reins, murmuring words of encouragement to the horse as they jogged along. It was the end of a long day, the end of a long ride of many days. Horse and man had got used to each other and were confident together: there is nothing like the companionship of a long journey to get rid of suspicion and mistrust.

Now, as they neared strange habitations and passed astonished peasants and donkeys on the track, the horse only pricked up its ears a little, pranced a little sideway sometimes, but quieted down at a word from the rider. But when at long last they came among the crowded streets of the port and the town, it was different. Heads appeared from doorways, children fled, or followed, staring. Zayin, feeling for the first time the lofty superiority of the man on the horse over men whose feet are merely on the ground, waved graciously. And the citizens muttered, “Can that be General Zayin riding that great beast in that strange manner?” The horse showed the whites of its eyes and snorted, but Zayin urged it firmly onward, through the streets and toward the palace.

The guards at the entrance to the palace were weary and ill-tempered after controlling the crowds that had been flocking to the offering all day; they cursed the latecomers who were still pressing round the gates. As Zayin clattered up the steep street they must have thought the hoof beats were those of yet another ass laden with parched corn. But when they looked round and saw Zayin mounted on the magnificent horse they were struck dumb with astonishment.

Zayin was about to swear at them for their unsoldierly reactions, when it suddenly came to him that he must present a strange picture in his trousers and cloak of skins, with ragged hair and beard. Indeed, after their first shock of surprise the soldiers leveled their spears at him and barred the way. But he called out: “Do you not know your general when you see him? It is I, Zayin. Let me pass!” And at the well-remembered sound of his voice the soldiers stood aside and stiffened to attention.

In the palace yard, everyone from the King to the lowest tally clerk had been feeling the exhaustion that comes at the end of a day of empty ceremony. Heads turned at the sound of the horse's hooves, and a sudden tense silence fell. The next minute, the King, the priests, and the people were gaping at the man and the horse, and the crowd were falling back to give him passage. And Zayin was equally overcome with amazement at the unexpected sight of the King and his whole court: after all he was only a ragged fugitive, returning without his army and empty-handed. Except for the horse, of course—and the animal, sensing the tension in the air as horses do, began to prance and fidget nervously.

It was the High Priest who broke the silence, for it was his ceremony of the offering that was being interrupted, and he spoke the words with which all who came to the offering were addressed.

“Who are you that come to present offering to the Most High and Mighty King of Gebal, and what offering do you bring?”

Zayin's mind moved slowly, but at last he understood. “Ye Gods!” he exclaimed to himself. “I have arrived on a Day of Offering!” and aloud he cursed his horse, that was backing and sidling and tossing its head.

Zayin collected himself, did his best to control his horse, and spoke: “Zayin, son of Resh, General of the Army of Gebal, salutes and does homage to His Most High Majesty (Stand still you brute—it's the King!) I bring this horse as humble tribute.” But the last words were spoken in the wrong direction, for the horse had spun round and they were facing the palace gates.

The tension broke, with a gasp of astonishment from the crowd as they recognized the figure on the strange animal as their general; but Zayin could also hear laughter at his odd arrival. And then through the entrance gates appeared his father, Resh, who was returning to the palace in the last hope of retrieving his reputation from the priests. Resh stared, as everyone else had stared, but he recognized his son, and holding out both arms—and ignoring the increasing alarm of the horse—he ran to embrace him.

But the headlong approach of Resh was too much for the horse, and Zayin's concentration was too much distracted for him to control it. He fell from the back of the rearing animal almost on top of his father, while the horse, panic-stricken, at last bolted through the palace gates, scattering the guards and peasants from its path.

The courtyard was in an uproar of exclamations and laughter, and the High Priest had to call for silence repeatedly before he could make himself heard. He was furious at the unseemly interruption to his ceremonial, and jealous that the return of Zayin might steal the glory of his Offering Day.

“General Zayin, His Majesty bids you welcome on your return from the wars on this auspicious day,” boomed the High Priest. “What rich tribute, what plunder and captives does your victorious army bring to lay before His Most High Majesty?” The priest's eyes were on the ragged, lonely figure of the General, and it was clear that he suspected the truth, that there was no victorious army, neither plunder nor captives.

Zayin walked up to the steps on which the throne and the High Priest were standing, made a formal obeisance to the King, drew himself up, and spoke.

“Most High Majesty!” he began. “The animal which I have brought you is but one, and I dedicate it to Your Majesty's service.” If it hasn't already galloped back to the Valley of Horses, he thought to himself. “But more than that it represents military power such as we have not dreamed of before, a principle—”

“General Zayin must be aware,” interrupted the High Priest smoothly, “that the Day of Offering is not a time when credit is given for principles—nor dreams. We cannot count or weigh them. As for the uncouth and unmanageable beast which you presented in such an unusual manner—I do not see it either,” and he craned his head round in an exaggerated pantomime of looking for the horse.

“If the palace attendants cannot hang on to a good horse when they see one, so much the worse for them,” Zayin rejoined, losing his temper. “It will come to hand in time, no doubt. In any case, I have more important things than gifts. I have news, much of it bad, I admit. I have military intelligence which vitally—”

“The General must also be aware,” once more interrupted the priest, “that today is no day for inauspicious news or business matters. Have you
nothing,
Zayin, son of Resh,”—and the priest's voice grew ominous—“to offer to the King?”

“High Priest!” retorted Zayin angrily. “I return from many weary weeks of campaigning and dangers. I'm neither a potter, nor a peasant, nor a priest! As you suspect, I am empty-handed and there is nothing in my wallet.” He put his hand in the leather bag at his waist, and his fingers encountered something hard. Then he remembered. “Except this—perhaps you can weigh and measure it!” He took out the tablet covered in the nail-shaped marks which he had saved from the dust of the northern camp. Restraining himself from flinging it at the High Priest's head, he tossed it contemptuously to a scribe in attendance. “Accept it as my offering—you may even be able to read it!”

As he strode angrily out of the palace gates, Zayin, the soldier, met Nun, the sailor. The two brothers halted and stared at each other, then they embraced, and stood back laughing.

“Well, General,” said Nun. “What strange customs have you been adopting in Gebal since I've been away? A beard? And skins round your legs like a roll of canvas! What have you been doing here?”

“Here?” echoed Zayin. “Ah, you sailors always think time stands still while you're at sea. Others travel too, you know. I've seen stranger things by land—but this is no time for exchanging yarns. You've come at the very moment to save the family fortunes, Nun my boy. I've no doubt you've swindled the Cretans out of a rich cargo. Take it to the King—it's Offering Day!”

“So they told me down at the port,” said Nun thoughtfully. “But all I've brought back is a leaky ship. I have news though, Zayin. Not good news but of vital importance—”

Zayin laughed shortly, but Nun continued—

“And, Zayin, I have learned a skill that will set our sailors before those of all other nations. The stars, brother! How to steer by them! All thanks to my friend from Chaldea. This is he,” and he gestured to the figure of the sage, standing near by in the shadows. “Your Reverence, this is my brother Zayin.”

Zayin bowed to the Chaldean. “I wish you luck if you are going to the King with your news and your star-lore,” he said to Nun. “A few painted pots from Crete would be more acceptable on Offering Day, I feel. And as for your reverend friend,”—he lowered his voice—“I think we have more than enough priests here already. Be careful!”

Nun looked at Zayin with raised eyebrows. “But have you brought no offerings, brother?” he asked.

“Mine seems to have given me the slip,” replied Zayin. “You haven't seen a horse, have you?”

“A horse? We were nearly attacked by something as we came from the port. I thought it was a wild Cretan bull. Where are you going, Zayin?”

But Zayin had made off without another word toward the port. Nun shrugged his shoulders and led the Chaldean toward the palace.

Resh, for the second time shuffling abjectly away from the place of offering in deep despair, was overcome at the appearance of his other son. He tottered to embrace him in transports of relief.

“Ah, Nun, Nun, savior of your family,” he wept. “I knew you would return in time, and here you are. My old heart beats with hope again. Tell me, tell me, what have you brought to offer to the King?”

“Father,” said Nun, “I rejoice to see you. All will be well, I am sure. I have things that the King must know, that may save us all from destruction; and I have strange secrets. But for offerings, I have nothing but a leaky ship—” and while his father began wringing his hands again in another rush of doubt and despair, Nun strode toward the High Priest and the throne.

The keen eye of the High Priest had not missed the exchange between father and son, though he could not have overheard their words. “Who are you,” came the voice of the High Priest, “that come to present offering to the Most High and Mighty King of Gebal, and what offering do you bring?”

Nun spoke up calmly and clearly: “Nun, son of Resh, sea captain, salutes and does homage to His Most High Majesty. Your Reverence knows well that on many voyages I have brought back goods from distant lands to enrich His Majesty's kingdom. This time I am fortunate to have escaped with an empty ship from the enemies of Gebal. But I have knowledge and news to impart to His Majesty that are of more weight than any gift of precious things—”

“Son of Resh,” interrupted the High Priest in a cold voice, “you must know that on Offering Day knowledge is not a thing we can measure, neither can we weigh news. We must record that you, too, come empty-handed to the offering.”

“High Priest,” said Nun impatiently, “my hands may be empty, but my head is not! Can you or your scribes steer a ship by the stars?”

This time the High Priest's reply was a burst of cold laughter, which was faithfully copied by the other priests and scribes. The High Priest's voice came more coldly than ever.

“If you have been meddling with heavenly knowledge, the concern of holy priests, it is no wonder that you return with an empty ship from a disastrous voyage, Captain—they tell me ships are best steered by a steering oar !” Again the priests and scribes snickered. “Your brother, by impiously bestriding an animal, lost himself an army. Have you nothing more tangible than news and knowledge, of which anyone can boast, to lay at the feet of His Majesty on Offering Day?”

A thought occurred to Nun, and feeling inside his tunic, he took out the clay tablet with the long-legged script and the seal of lions that he had been given by the Queen of Crete. He handed it calmly to the nearest scribe.

“Only this. It may speak for itself, if your scholars can read it,” he said evenly.

The High Priest gave it a contemptuous glance, and then turned to the distracted Resh. “Resh, father of Zayin and Nun, are two handfuls of clay all that your family has to offer? Have you no other sons?”

Resh sank to his knees and twisted his hands. “Your Reverence,” he replied in a choked voice, “I have only one other son, and he is weak in the head, and no one knows where he is!”

There was a hush while the High Priest gazed with triumphant scorn at the abject Resh, and drew breath to speak. But the silence was broken by a small, feminine voice.

“I know where he is. He is three weeks' march away from here.”

And all eyes turned to Beth, standing on the steps of the Temple, holding a white bird.

“Beth! Beth!” came the strangled voice of Resh, who was beating his head with his hands as he knelt. “What are
you
doing here again, girl?”

“You forget, Father,” said Beth, “I am no longer a mere girl, I am a maiden of the Temple and have a right to be here. And since His Reverence wishes to know, I can tell him. My brother Aleph is many days' journey away, in the land of Sinai, and sends his homage to the King.”

“How can you know this, Beth?” asked Nun.

“This little bird has just told me,” said Beth seriously. “And it, too, has news of great concern to His Majesty.”

Once again came the cold laughter of the High Priest. “So this bird, too, has news, like the other members of your strange family. I am surprised that it does not also have mysterious lore or knowledge in its possession, which will be to the benefit of the whole nation!”

And the priests and scribes laughed again—but Beth's eyes suddenly widened as if a great thought had come to her, and she said simply, “Indeed, perhaps he has.” But the High Priest did not notice.