The Lamp of Darkness - - (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗

Rabban Gamliel said: Beware of rulers: if they befriend, it is only for their own benefit. They act friendly when it is to their advantage; faithless during times of need.

Pirkei Avot 2:3

The High Priest’s presence filled the wedding canopy. His commanding eyes peered from beneath thick, black eyebrows set within a broad forehead. His heavy beard hung over white linen robes hemmed with golden bells, which tinkled as he smoothed a golden sash at his waist. The plaza in front of the canopy was wreathed in living boughs and heaps of summer fruits, blending a threshing floor at harvest with a king’s table at feast time. A mass of torch-bearers stepped into the plaza and sliced a path through the crowd of noblemen. Dov struck the first three notes alone, and the rest of us joined in on the fourth, just as we had rehearsed a dozen times the day before. An expectant silence fell over the crowd as all turned their attention up the aisle.

King Ahav appeared in snowy white linen for his wedding day. He walked alone, eyes focused straight ahead, until he took his place next to the High Priest. Only then could I get a good look at his face, which reminded me of Uncle Menachem’s when selling a ram for slaughter.

Next appeared a towering man in violet robes that billowed out over husky arms and a muscular chest, his hand cradling the handle of a sword at his side. Unlike King Ahav, his eyes swept across the aisle, examining the crowd with each step. I knew there were many in Israel opposed to the marriage—is that what he was looking for? Did Princess Izevel need protection at her own wedding? As the man’s eyes passed over the musicians, a chill swept through my body, but the cold eyes didn’t pause. With a swirl of vivid cloth, he stepped under the canopy and positioned himself next to the High Priest, who took a half step away from the body-guard and peered at him from the corner of his eye.

The royal family of Tzidon now appeared. Princess Izevel stood veiled in the middle, her smooth black hair flowing over her shoulders, dark against the white of her dress. King Ethbaal’s proud face tipped upwards, honoring neither crowd nor king with his attention. He led his wife and daughter forward in step with the music. I recalled the harsh gaze that Yosef had fixed upon Ovadia, insisting that he in no way wished to add to this celebration. Yet here I was playing the music that was drawing Izevel, step by step, closer to becoming queen. I swallowed the stone that formed in my throat.

At the end of the aisle, King Ethbaal dropped his gaze to his daughter, lifted her veil and kissed her gently on the forehead. A soft pink flushed in Izevel’s light olive cheeks. She appeared only a few years older than me—she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. A familiar scent of wildflowers surrounded the Princess, and I suddenly knew what had become of the afarsimon oil Seguv brought to Shomron. The Queen drew her daughter under the canopy and led her in a circle around King Ahav.

The High Priest stepped forward. “May all who have assembled here be blessed. We are the children of Abraham, whose tent opened to all sides to welcome guests. We placed our canopy under the sky, recalling the Holy One’s blessing to Abraham that his children would be as abundant as the stars of the heavens…”

I was barely listening, my attention drawn more to the scene around me, to the royal families and the crowd, than to the words of the High Priest. King Ahav tipped his head upwards, mirroring King Ethbaal. Neither king watched Izevel, still circling King Ahav. But her eyes never left the face of her future husband as she walked the traditional seven circles, each one tighter than the last.

“…Marriage is the joining of two halves, destined from creation to be one. The first woman was separated from Adam and then returned, so they could bond together as one flesh. From this union came all men…”

How different my own wedding would be if Uncle Menachem ever allowed me to marry Dahlia. Two of my younger cousins would precede us up the aisle carrying a rooster and a hen; the canopy would be supported by poles cut from the four trees planted when Dahlia was born; we would be surrounded by family and friends, not strangers and dignitaries. I glanced at Dov, leading us with his nevel, who in the final days of rehearsal continued to be impressed by my playing. I hadn’t asked him about returning to play in the King’s court—I’d have to do that after the wedding.

A murmur ran through the crowd. Princess Izevel, who now stood beside King Ahav, motioned to the High Priest. He broke off his speech and leaned in, allowing the Princess to whisper in his ear. The priest turned to King Ahav, who nodded. The High Priest winced, but restored the calm to his face by the time he stood upright and faced the crowd again. “This marriage is more than a union of two people; it is the joining together of two nations. The High Priest of Tzidon will bless the union as well.”

The man in the garish robes, who I’d mistaken for the Princess’s bodyguard, stepped forward, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. “I am Yambalya. I serve Baal, the mighty storm god, patron god of Tzidon.” His voice resonated with the deep tones of a bass drum.

“Long ago, when the heavens were young, the children of El fought for mastery. In his struggle against Ya’am, lord of the seas, Baal turned to Koshar, the craftsman, for weapons that would make him invincible. With these tools in hand, Baal threw down the lord of the seas into the depths, and climbed supreme into the heavens.” Yambalya raised his arms skyward, revealing scars running up his forearms.

“As Baal’s faithful, we follow his ways. Baal was mighty on his own. But he did not achieve victory until he formed an alliance joining his power with the strengths of another. So too, Tzidon and Israel apart are mighty nations. But their union will be incomparable. With the blessing of Baal, the fertile soil of Israel and the merchants of Tzidon will bring the nations of the world to our feet.” A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Yambalya stepped back to the side of the platform.

All eyes again turned to the High Priest of Israel, who stood pale and silent. He didn’t resume his speech, but rather nodded to King Ahav, who took a ring from a waiting servant and slid it smoothly onto Princess Izevel’s outstretched finger. The High Priest faced the crowd. “I give you King Ahav and Queen Izevel.” The crowd cheered as the King and his new Queen clasped hands, stepped out from under the canopy, and headed toward the palace.

Three court musicians escorted the King and Queen while the rest of us followed the guests out through the city gates and into the fields around the city. As long as the King and Queen were in seclusion, the musicians were allowed to eat and enjoy the festivities. The feast area was divided into three sections: one for the soldiers, one for the nobility, and one for the commoners, who were invited to the celebrations but hadn’t been allowed into the city for the ceremony.

The aroma of sizzling fat reached my nose, made my stomach rumble, and brought to mind the altar at Beit El. Zim grabbed my arm, “Did you see the size of the cows they’re roasting?”

“That’s for the nobility,” Yonaton said. “Come on, the food on our side looks fine. I’m starving.”

“We could get in there if we wanted to.” Zim stared beyond the guards at the roasting pit.

“How?” I asked.

“With these.” Zim indicated our instruments and the dark red sashes that we’d been issued for the wedding.

“Look at us; we hardly dress like nobility.” I’d borrowed Zim’s mirror before the wedding, and thought the dyed sash served only to highlight the plain weave of my tunic.

“As long as we look as if we’re supposed to be there, the guards will let us through.”

“I don’t know,” Yonaton said. “That one on the left looks pretty mean.”

“Stop worrying. Just start playing and follow me—and remember to stare straight ahead.” He launched into a weaving rhythm and started off.

Could Zim be right? If we acted as if we belonged, would the guards let us pass? I glanced at Yonaton, who arched his eyebrows as he raised his halil to his lips. I lifted my kinnor, and my heart thumped in my chest from the thrill of the challenge. When we reached the guards, Zim stepped up his beat and closed his eyes. Just hold the rhythm, I told myself. Ignore the guards. Keep moving forward. Despite his rough tunic and wild hair, Zim passed through, drawing the two of us after him.

“Wait.” The guard on the left stepped in front of Yonaton—he had looked. The guard turned to Zim, then back to me, his face knotted in confusion. I stopped playing and took a step back, not waiting for the outburst that was sure to come.

Zim called back to us, “Don’t lose the tempo, they’re waiting for us.” My hands leapt back to the strings—Zim wasn’t admitting defeat. His voice carried so much confidence that the guard looked sheepish and stepped out of the way. Once out of earshot, Zim struck a final drum roll, ending in a belly laugh. “Remember: if you believe it, it’s true.”

The nobility merited a far wider space than the commoners. In the center was a roasting pit, spanned by two whole oxen and numerous lambs, surrounded on three sides by trestles piled high with roasted meats, breads, and salads. My mouth watered at the smell of spices mixed with the smoke of the roasting meat. Zim walked straight to a serving table, wrapped a chunk of roast lamb in bread, and bit into it like a wolf, letting the juices flow down his chin.

My hands were sweating from the ruse we used to get past the guards. Though excited at our success, I couldn’t bring myself to touch the fare. If I ate the nobles’ meat, I’d be just like the shepherds in Levonah who grazed their flocks across furrowed fields. “I want to go back and eat in our area,” I said. Zim laughed, but Yonaton’s shoulders relaxed in relief.

“If you two want to go back, I’ll come with you. Let me take a little more meat first—it’s delicious. Who knows when I’ll get another chance at a roast this good.”

Yonaton pointed to the far corner of the nobles’ area where a small crowd stood gathered around a table. “What’s over there?”

“Don’t know. Let’s see.”

From one end of the table to the other lay a carcass covered in scales with sharp teeth and bulging, lifeless eyes. The animal was split open down its middle, and five servants stood shoulder to shoulder dispensing its flesh, steaming and fragrant. “What is it?” Yonaton asked.

“I don’t know.” I ran my hand over the animal’s skin, feeling the smoothness of the scales that crackled between my fingers. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A fleck of meat hit me in the ear as someone behind me laughed. “Mountain boys. Go back to your goats.” Zim extended his bread to one of the servants who balanced a piece of the creature on top