Naamah slept in an airy chamber with veils of thin sheer fabric drifting around her like clouds. She held his head close to her small chest and let him bathe in her heartbeat. Naamah smiled. The morning had just come and a pair of swallows dove down into the courtyard and danced around the atrium, small beating wings fanning flowers of red, blue, and yellow as they bloomed in the summer air. Naamah took a deep breath and smiled, stroking the Rehoboam's hair gently with her hand. The air today was humid, heavy with the essence of the Mediterranean.
Rehoboam yawned. He stirred from his slumber and looked up at Naamah with his large brown eyes. "Mama," he mumbled. He tugged at the sheer white dress Naamah wore and the jewels and metal rings jingled together at his touch, shaking as Naamah laughed. She hugged him.
"Come, come," she whispered in his ear, running her right hand down the nape of his neck onto his back. She let her nails gently scratch him as she repeated the motion, "it is morning already. Join your father for prayer and break-fast."
"I do not want to," he answered, putting his heavy head in Naamah's lap as if he wanted to tunnel past her and deeper into the cushions of the bed.
Naamah ran her hands down his sides, "A young prince needs to pay his duties to his father and God!" He squirmed as she tickled him, "Get up and get dressed darling."
He laughed, pushing Naamah back with what force his little arms could muster. His skin was a beautiful tan olive, like Naamah's own. He had short dark brown hair that curled in the wetness of the air and a bright smile born out of the kindness of God. She hoisted him up and out of bed. He was already more than half of Naamah's height, and only of 8 harvests old. She whistled and two hand maidens appeared, robed completely in white so that not even their faces peeked through the veiling fabrics.
"Bye bye mama!" Rehoboam waved as the two handmaidens led him away from Naamah's room.
"Behave well," Naamah replied, waving gently from her bed. When they had vanished out if the hallway that led from Naamah's chambers to the main castle, she sat back on her cushions and sighed.
The swallows sang from their perch in the rafters high above. Naamah stared at them. They sang to each other, puffing their chests out as they did, flitting from side to side on legs thinner than twigs. Naamah wondered what it would be like to fly, uncaged by marble, gold, and silk.
Naamah remembered that this city was called Antioch, a wealthy metropolis built on the route of the silk road, and home to a summer palace for Solomon and his court. It had been nearly 5 dozen moons that she had been kept here in Antioch under the supervision of Shazaad, the province's governor. Meanwhile Rehoboam was moved around with Solomon as his court did. The young prince was brought up by nannies and tutors, by priests and poets, by artists and warriors. Where he went, a host of his attendants followed him. The one thing that did not, was Naamah. She cherished every moment that the young boy was allowed in Antioch to see her. And Rehoboam cherished every moment that he could be by his mother's side.
Solomon's current wife, the daughter of the Pharaoh and a masterfully beautiful woman, was also here.
Naamah shook her head. She wasn't jealous. No. Solomon needed a highborn queen, that much she understood. But she had not expected this to be the outcome when Solomon had picked her up in old Babylon - now reduced to rubble by the marauders from the East. She had three good years at the side of Solomon before she had became heavy with child.
She ran her hand down her navel as she remembered. It had been hard for her, since her body was so small. Rehoboam was a large child, and there were many complications when he was born. Much of which Naamah could not remember. Though Straia, her favorite handmaiden had told her that Solomon resorted to using sorcery to ease her pain. Good Solomon, blessed by God, and a masterful magi, and the King without heir.
Another breeze rustled the flowers in the atrium. The swallows leaped back into the air and flitted across the marble floor before ascending quickly out through the ornate hole in the roof above.
Had Solomon saved Naamah? Or did Solomon save his heir? She wondered to herself. It had been a long while since he had visited her, and longer still that she had known his kind embrace. Her hand fell between her thighs as she though, leaning back onto the stacks of pillows.
She ran her other hand across her breasts, still small and childlike despite a small period of growth when she was pregnant. She frowned. She was old now, twenty some odd years and her body had not grown past that of her youth. Her hand came away from her legs slick. She stared sullenly, crossing her legs uncomfortably. Her fingers were stained with bad blood, black with a streak of sickly yellow. As if on cue a door to the far side of the atrium opened.
It was Shazaad. He was a tall man of old Persian descent with curly black hair and a curly beard. He had thin almond-shaped eyes and a nose like the beak of a hawk. Two attendants followed him, all three of them were dressed in decorative red robes laced with gold and silver. One of the attendants carried a large bundle of white cloth.
Shazaad swept through the atrium, brushing aside the fallen flowers and leaves with his bare feet as he passed so that the walkway through the center was clear. He raised his arms to his sides and smiled, "My most gracious guest, I hope you feel better this day of all days! The astrologians predict that great fortune shall befall our city in the coming week, no doubt a result of your Lord master's visit!" Naamah bit her lip.
Lord Master, Solomon was not Naamah's master though everyone surmised that it was so. No one had witnessed their wedding and no one had known about their relationship. To all of his court, Naamah was just his favorite whore.
Naamah pulled her dress down over her thighs and faked a smile, "Yes, God is most gracious in his generosity today. He had the kindness to wake me to the dance of two red swallows." Naamah did not actually remember what color the swallows were, but red seemed auspicious given Shazaad's outfit.
"Most wonderful indeed," he said, picking up an ornate stool from next to Naamah's bed and setting himself a top of it. He was not ugly, though Naamah wouldn't say he was quite handsome either. Thirty four with not wives and no heirs legitimate or otherwise. an even temperament and not nearly as fat as the other lords of Solomon's lands. "Red swallows signal a new coming of Eastern riches."
"Does it now?" Naamah smiled politely, "That is most interesting to hear."
For the sixth time. She added silently to herself. Shazaad was very fond of his skills at 'divination.' Almost as much as he fancied himself a sorcerer. Though his skill at medicine was not something to be written off. That was the entire reason Solomon had stabled her in his care. Shazaad had come from a long line of medicine men, and his almost insatiable appetite for knowledge had propelled him far ahead of any of the shamans or alchemists that frequented the house of noble lords. No, when it came to medicine, his claims to sorcery were not far from the truth.
"Now then," he reached for the bundle of white cloth held by the attendant and pulled out a small metal dish, "allow me to see to you for today."
Naamah grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head, leaving her body naked in the light of the morning sun. She turned so her back faced Shazaad.
"Don't hunch over, that makes it hard." He pressed a hand on the small of her back and forced her spine to straighten. Then he pushed her slightly down and put the dish on her back. "Breathe in please."
Naamah took a deep breath.
"Exhale please."
Naamah exhaled.
"Again."
Naamah complied.
"Good." He sat back up and put the metal dish away. Next to took out a long piece of thrice woven silk and tied it around Naamah's arm. "Turn towards me."
Naamah turned around and covered her breasts with her left arm.
He tied the cloth around her bicep and pull it tight, then put both of his thumbs on her wrist. There he held his breath and closed his eyes, he pressed gently with his thumbs at first, then harder and harder until Naamah began to feel her arm go numb. Then he let go and untied her arm. "Open your mouth."
Naamah opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Shazaad put wooden rod into her mouth and pressed down on her tongue. She didn't gag anymore from this strange procedure like she did when she had first arrived. He stared inside her throat and poked around with a metal stick and mirror.
"You may close your mouth now."
Naamah closed her mouth and coughed, spitting a bit of phlegm onto the ground besides them. One of the attendants bent to clean up the mess. Naamah stared at Shazaad as he though, she turned around and put her dress back on, all the jingling metals and jewels chiming as she did. It didn't provide much modesty, now that Naamah considered it, the dress was mostly sheer, but the weight of it on her skin made her feel more at ease. She wondered if that was why out of all of the Lord's creations humans were the only to seek clothing.
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Shazaad spoke up. "You are better today, but still showing signs of bad humors. I am still unable to find any literature on a disease of this type. Your breath is marred by popping and your heart beats too quickly and too weakly for a lady of your size. Though I cannot truly determine the cause of your illness."
Naamah shifted uncomfortably. She put her hands down across her naval and crossed her legs.
"The only matter I can say with certainty is that I believe you are inflicted with an illness." He put his instruments away and fetched a closed vessel from the cloth bundle. He opened it, and it was filled with a viscous red liquid. "Here is your vigor for today."
Naamah took the silver vessel in her hands and put it to her lips. She lapped it first with her tongue to determine it's temperature and taste. It was cold and it tasted sweet. There was a good amount of honey mixed in with the true bitter medicine. Naamah appreciated the lengths that Shazaad went to make his alchemical brews more palatable. She remembered the first vigor he had given her had almost choked her to death. The mix of herbs had burned her throat and nose so badly that she could not eat solid or salted food for two weeks. As her stay lengthened, Shazaad's vigors began to become milder and more palatable. They changed day to day, but his cooking techniques and bed-side manners improved with experience. Naamah drank deeply from the vessel. It tasted of honey and blackberries, two things she was fond of in her childhood. When she finished she set the silver vessel in the hands of the attendant. The liquid in her stomach burned like fire and her arms filled with strength.
"Try standing," Shazaad said as he stood up and moved his stool so that Naamah had a wide breadth to move.
Naamah moved to the side of the bed and swung her legs over and smoothed out her dress before gently lowering herself onto the marble floor. It was cold to her bare feet, but with some effort she managed to stand up. "Ah, it... it works well."
Shazaad grinned, "Of course it works well! It is a vigor devised none other than by Star-eye'd Shaza'ad!"
"Yes indeed," Naamah smiled politely. She wobbled a little as she tried to walk but quickly found her footing. There were some benefits to being so small and light.
Shazaad stroked his beard, "Though I must continue to endeavor to find a method to cure your infliction instead of just mollifying the symptoms." He turned his cloak and started back toward the door he came from. "Have a good day, most gracious guest! I will return tomorrow with another attempt!" His two attendants followed him hastily out of the chamber.
Naamah smiled. Shazaad was a strange man, but not a bad one. The long and short of it was that he never grew up past that stage of boyhood wonder that took so many to the battlefield. She supposed he didn't have time for women given all of his other passions and hobbies. Naamah wandered over to her large wooden chest and pulled it open with some effort. Within were the old clothes that she used to wear when she traveled with Solomon. Old scarves and robes and silk skirts - even the see-through dyed veils that Solomon loved to see her wearing. Out of all of them she picked the first dress Solomon had ever given to her. It was a three-piece outfit. A small leather vest that covered her breasts, a short skirt and loincloth that hung lightly on her hips, and two circlets for her feet that were held up by thigh-high stockings of silken weave. Atop her head she put on a thread circlet adorned with a bright ruby. When the sunlight hit the gemstone, it would make her green eyes seem to glow. She put her white nightgown into the chest and closed it. Then she stretched. She still felt good. This time Shazaad's vigor was particularly useful. Most of the time his concoctions left her tired after two or three minutes of standing. Though she was grateful that she was allowed even that much.
She whistled and two handmaidens appeared from the hallway beyond to help her to the main castle.
---
When Naamah reached the main thoroughfare it was already crowded. Merchants and nobles and peasants were filling the summer sky with their lively voices. Indeed, there were dark-skinned men from the far East here today, carried over the vast Earth by heavy oxen and dumpy grey asses. The air was warm and filled with the scent of exotic spices. Some had set up stalls and were cooking thick slabs of lamb sprinkled with herbs and salts, others stewed squashes and beans into a thick sweet porridge. There were merchants peddling linen, and apples, and shields, and knives, from curries to hummus and dolls to dresses. Antioch had come alive with the rising of the sun, and Naamah found it invigorating to be among the crowd, barefoot in the dusty baked stone. Her two handmaidens kept close to her in case she had a fainting spell, but today of all days she felt the best.
The center square of the castle was also the main-street of downtown Antioch. Naamah almost felt lost in the hustle and bustle of the people and things. The camels and horses and oxen and mules. Between the Egyptians and Arabs and Persians and Scythians and Medes, between even those of old Babylonia and Sumer, and of Phoenicia and far off Hellene, Etrusca, and Gall. Today even men of dragons were out in force, wearing their strange flat hats and white floppy sleeves. Naamah loved the look of those sleeves.
Naamah broke fast on a thick chunk of spiced lamb sandwiched within warm flatbread. As she bit into the meat, the aromatic spices bit at her nose and tongue. Hot grease flowed from the meat and soaked into the bread, her hands and dribbled down her fingers to the floor. Naamah ate greedily, but savored each and every bite - the salt - the spice - the oil. There was no telling how many more days she would have to enjoy such pleasures.
After eating, Naamah filled her waterskin with milk, mint, rose syrup, ice and a pinch cassia[footnote]arabic cinnamon[/footnote] and sipped the lassi idly while she wandered in the crowd.
Eventually after a bit of time, and finishing two lassies and starting on a third, she found the spot where Solomon was holding court. Rehoboam was sitting at his side on a smaller bench. Two old men were barking at each other in front of them. Naamah stood to the side and watched. She looked around and found one of Solomon's retainers standing far to the side looking far too idle to be serving the king. She walked over and pulled on his shirt.
"What's going on up there?" Naamah asked.
The retainer looked down. "Property dispute," he pointed at the two men, "some slave ran away, and got captured and resold. Old owner came looking for her and the new owner is claiming the proper title to her."
Naamah shook her head. Slaves were a nasty bit of business. Most times they were treated well, Naamah recalled. There was little benefit for a master to abuse a slave, but every now and again she would see a slave assaulted in the streets - a woman or a girl more often than not - and torn into by men of foul blood. There were no investigations into cases of dead slaves. Merely property replacement. She pursed her lips, there was once upon a time that Naamah had been in the same situation, before she had even a name to identify her mangled and violated corpse with. "Yes indeed..." she said to herself.
Solomon slammed his staff into the platform to silence the two squabbling men. The slave in question winced. She was a pretty girl with full hips and long gold hair. Her eyes were blue and dark pinpricks dotted her face and shoulders. She stood naked, wrapped in chains as the dispute continued. Naamah guessed she was no more than sixteen years old. But very pretty, and quite exotic. She could see why the owners both wanted to keep her. "I have heard enough of your squabbling! You tire both me and my court with your circular reasoning and wayward topics." Solomon stood up, "Rehoboam," he bellowed, calling his son to attention. "You can settle this. I trust your judgement. I am going to go visit your mother."
Naamah's heart leaped at his words. It had been so long since Solomon had spoken of her. And it wasn't much time before Solomon was sitting next to her, hands on his staff and flanked by his other retainers. The people were not want of reason to call him wise, yes indeed.
"How are you little Naamah," he said softly. He placed his hand in Naamah's palm and tugged her so she would sit down. Naamah did so.
"I feel better," Naamah replied, resting her head on Solomon's shoulder, "Shazaad's medicines have begun to work better and better."
"The man is almost a sorcerer when it comes to herbs and minerals. I trust him with my own life." Solomon laughed.
"Yes indeed," Naamah said.
"Look at your son," he said, pointing at Rehoboam. "Look at how he has grown, and the kindness of his character. Look and quell the pain in your mother's heart. For I know that you have missed him dearly."
Naamah looked up at Rehoboam, who now sat awkwardly in Solomon's bench. He looked tiny in that large seat. The two men looked at him sternly.
"I was the first owner!" The one of the right screamed, "I have the title to her! I was never contacted when she was caught!"
"I paid for her latest! I am not required to reimburse his property!" The one on the left screeched, "I have title to this slave! He lost property and it was required in another raid and sold to me! He has lost right to title of her!"
Rehoboam closed his eyes and massaged his head with his hands. Naamah grinned, "He gets that from you."
"I do not do that," Solomon replied. "I do not do that often," he corrected soon after.
"It shows how much he looks up to you my king," Naamah kissed him on the cheek.
Solomon kissed Naamah on the forehead, "Only call me Solomon, Naamah. Only you are allowed to call me Solomon, for you are the gift the Lord himself has bestowed upon me."
Naamah felt her cheeks redden.
Rehoboam clapped his hands. They made a feeble slapping noise before his retainer slammed his warhammer into the ground to silence the two old men. "I think," he began, his eyes were closed and his hands were gripping his knees, "since you both have rights to her, we will just cut her in half and give one half to each of you."
The men balked, "That makes her useless to us!" They exclaimed together. The slave struggled when she heard. A retainer pushed her down with an iron mancatcher. She glared at Rehoboam eyes full of hate.
"In that case..." he said, opening his eyes. This was his true solution now, Naamah knew. "We will reimburse both of you the money paid for her and she will enter the service of the king's court as a gift from both of your estates."
The two men grumbled, but accepted the young prince's decree.
"Not the most elegant of solutions, but it will work." Solomon said.
The mancatcher was removed from her throat and her chains let loose. Young Rehoboam walked over and draped an ornate cloak over her naked body. He touched her face, "Please. Do not be so hateful. I know you miss your people. If you wish to be free, then be free. I will send you to your people."
Solomon grinned, "Now his true colors show. A guide to lands unknown, past the mountains of Hellene and the plains of the Scythians, and into the lands of the barbarians, where once we could not cross. To the fabled Caucasus mountains far in the North." Solomon pat Naamah's clasped hands, "Your son may not be full of virtue, but he is full of guile. A natural talent that is unable to be taught. But at least, somewhat compassionate in his young age."
Naamah nodded, "Yes indeed."
