The Divided Kingdom

The travelers resumed their chatter, graciously pretending that nothing untoward had happened. At the same time, a group of Tyrian performers quickly shooed everyone, including Amaal, from the top steps and gathered the crowd into the area below. When everyone was in place, a man walked to the center of the stage, his hands clasped gently behind his back, and turned to face the audience. Amaal recognized him immediately from his conical cap and protruding ears. An announcer called out, “Gader, the Royal Scribe! Historian of Tyre! Keeper of the Flame!”

            Amaal joined the crowd in applauding vigorously.

            With a gentle sweep of his arm, Gader commanded quiet attention. He held his hands up to the sky. “Praise the gods for bringing these guests to our great city!” To the audience, he said, “Welcome to Tyre! We wish you ease during your time here. However, as you have just witnessed, we are not without strife. We are compelled to explain recent events so that you might find comfort amid the chaos. We offer no apologies. What gods and kings will, the people must endure.”

            The dancers took their places. On the steps below, a drummer, a tambourine player, and a harp player started a tune to accompany his story.

            “The reign of King Mattan has come to an end. His two adult children now vie to rule his kingdom: Princess Elishat, the elder…”

            A female dancer stepped forth. She bowed forward, hinged at the waist, and extended one leg into the air behind her until her nose nearly touched her knee and her toe pointed perfectly skyward. The crowd wooed.

            “…and a son, Pumayyaton, the younger…”

            A male dancer sprang from a behind a pillar, executed a forward flip, and landed solidly on his feet. The audience crowed. The two dancers turned their backs to one another and folded their arms, a picture of defiance.

            “Alas, the rivalry between the siblings has brought our kingdom nearly to its knees.”

            The two dancers turned and circled one another like roosters preparing for a fight.

            “You see, their father, King Mattan, decreed that upon his death, his two children should take turns ruling the kingdom, first one, and then the other, and then the first, and so on.”

            The locals in the crowd groaned.

            “Matan’s decree, meant to unite the kingdom, set the siblings firmly against one another. By order of the city’s administrators, Pumayyaton took the throne first. He has served as king for seven years. Princess Elishat now claims her right to rule, but her brother refuses to step down.”

            The Pumayyaton dancer stood nose-to-nose with the princess, daring her to attack. The drum beat faster and louder. The princess pushed her brother hard in the chest. He stepped back, turned, and strutted away. The princess rushed up from behind and shoved him. The harpist plucked violently at the strings as the prince tumbled and landed, splayed, on the floor. The princess stepped to the front of the stage, victorious, while the prince rose behind her, mocking her vanity. She turned, and the two flung themselves at one another in a hair-pulling, grasping, slapping dance while a chorus of actors held their heads in their hands and swayed mournfully in the background. Some in the crowd, convinced of its authenticity, called out to stop the fight before blood was shed. Just then, an imposing figure appeared from the wings. With the point of a finger, he separated the siblings, and warned them to stay apart. He struck a resplendent pose, pressed his long, black beard with the palm of his hand, and allowed his robe to fall open, exposing his powerful legs.

            “Their uncle, Acerbas,” Gader announced.

            The Tyrians in the crowd chirped optimistically at the mention of his name.

            “As High Priest, Acerbas wields power second only to the king. He is Melqart, chief of the Temple, keeper of its vast treasure. It is no secret that Acerbas holds strong opinions on two matters: One, that his brother, Mattan, the now-deceased king, was foolish to think that alternating the throne could strengthen the kingdom; and, two,” and here Gader lowered his voice, for the royal palace lay just a few paces away, “that Pumayyaton should never have become king in the first place. It is even rumored that Acerbas recently moved the temple treasure to a secret location, out of Pumayyaton’s reach.”

            The visitors shot worried glances at one another. This was not a harmless morsel of palace intrigue. A breach within a ruling family could divide the people and the gods into warring camps, and that would spell disaster for everyone. Gader held up his hand.

            “As you know, Acerbas and Princess Elishat have announced their intention to marry. For this reason, we have invited you to Tyre!”

            A happier murmur swept through the crowd.

            “Your band of musicians, dancers, magicians, and jugglers are second to none. It is best that you understand the woes into which you enter that you might lift the people of Tyre in celebration. In exchange you shall be well-fed and well-paid. Acerbas will see to that!”

            The visitors chanted, “Hut! Hut! Hut!”                  

            “Well, then,” Gader said, “entertain us and we will sing your praises and call the blessings of the gods upon you.”

            He stopped speaking and gestured over the heads of the crowd to the far end of the market square. Everyone turned to watch an acolyte approaching the enormous bronze cauldron in front of the Temple of Melqart. The acolyte lit his torch and disappeared behind the bejeweled emerald green pillar. A moment later, the fire inside the pillar shone through the emeralds and cast a green glow over everything and everyone in the square. Visitors and locals looked around and laughed at their green clothing, their green children, their bright green faces. Gader smiled with delight. “And now, Tyre,” he said, “the sun has set. Let our guests find a place of repose for the evening, for we wish them to be rested when the time for preparations begins.”

            The entertainers rushed to pick up the shekels that tinkled and bounced on the steps. The travelers disappeared into homes and inns through the hospitality of distant cousins, friends, and trade associates. Amaal watched the crowd thin. She knew no one and had nowhere to go. She looked around for someone who might take her in. The Kings guards were taking up their night time positions, and she did not want to draw their attention by being the last visitor in the market. Feeling a wave of panic, she spotted a group of travelers speaking with a local man and went over to listen in. He was telling them of a garden within the city where they could camp. They all nodded in agreement and set off with him. Amaal followed behind as they exited the glowing green marketplace.

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