The Secret Plan

The ceremony was still underway when Hannu walked, unseen, into the Temple of Melqart. He washed and dried his feet as required and stepped into the statuary room that held one of the temple’s most sacred and cherished objects: a splendid, bronze mask of the Melqart, Lord of the City. Its handsome, almond-shaped eyes and broad smile seemed to return Hannu’s gaze with approval. Without saying a word, Hannu explained his plan to the Melqart. The god’s kindly expression never changed. Hannu silently expressed his pride for Tyre, the place of his birth, and his rage at the ignoble Hyena, the murderous king. “Now that Acerbas is gone,” he whispered to the mask, “you belong to the people.”

            Hannu heard the echo of whispers coming from deep inside the temple. He crept quietly toward the muted conversation and stopped before the doorway of a low-lit chamber. He stood still and listened to the urgency with which the man spoke.

            “Moving her will be no easy task. Everyone knows her face, her form, her figure, better than they know their own.”

            “We’ve got it under control, Lieutenant.” Hannu recognized the voice. It was General Barca.

            The Lieutenant persisted. “We can’t just disguise her under a heap of robes and veils. People will say, ‘Oh, there goes the Princess under a heap of robes and veils.’”

            “Lieutenant,” Barca replied evenly, “we have a workable plan.”

            “More to the point,” the Lieutenant continued, “the city is surrounded by an enormous wall. We need to get her past the main gates—and Pumayyaton’s guards.”

            “Lieutenant, enough!” came Barca’s order.

            Another voice broke in, huskier than the others. Hannu could not identify him.

            “The passengers are making their way to the ships as we speak. They have been told to bring nothing and tell no one. Pray they are not seen or heard or we shall all be arrested and executed.”

            In the moment of silence that followed, Hannu stayed perfectly still.

            “Please, continue,” Barca insisted.

            “The first three ships will depart as soon as the Princess is on board. The Phoenix will wait for the girl with the flute, and—”

            The Lieutenant interrupted, “I don’t like the plan with the flute. It’s too risky…”

            “Have we any other choice?” Hannu recognized Gader’s voice.

            “We do not. Besides, the girl is good cover,” Barca said. “Just make sure she gets on that ship…”

            Hannu could hardly believe his ears. Why were these men talking about Amaal and her flute? And getting her on a ship! And Princess Elishat, too! Hannu shifted to lean in a bit closer, but his foot made a tiny squeak, and in the cavernous hall, the sound echoed. The conversation stopped abruptly. Hannu felt a hand grab him firmly by the arm and pull him into the dimly lit room.

             “Who’s this?” the grabber asked.

            “Pull him into the light,” Barca said.

            “Why, that’s Manu’s boy,” Gader said.

            “What do you want here?”

            Hannu recognized the man gripping his arm. It was Admiral Bitias, commander of the Tyrian fleet.

            “I…I was just visiting the temple, and I, well, I happened upon your conversation.”

            “Who sent you?” Bitias shook Hannu’s arm.

            “N-nobody…I came here on my own.”

            “What did you hear?” General Barca asked calmly.

            “I didn’t hear anything,” Hannu insisted. Then, looking at the grave expressions on the faces of the powerful men questioning him, he relented. “I mean, I heard everything…but I…I don’t know what any of it means.”

            “Better for you,” Bitias growled.

            “Better for everybody,” Barca added calmly.

Gader spoke in a somber tone. “Hannu, it is of utmost

importance that you take what you’ve heard here and toss it into a deep well never to be thought or spoken of again.”

            “Okay,” Hannu nodded, trying to let go of what he’d heard.

            Bitias gave another hard shake. “Or we’ll throw you down a well!”

            Hannu whispered a pathetic, “Yes, sir.”

            “And we’ll cut out your tongue before we do,” Bitias added.

            Hannu remembered back to when he’d seen a thief in a village who’d had his tongue cut out. It was a horrible sight. Hannu clenched his teeth.

            “So, keep your mouth shut!” Bitias said, shoving him out of the room.

            Hannu’s heart beat fast. His mind fed on excitement, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so excited in his whole life. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had heard. He walked toward the front of the temple and tried to piece together what was going on. An escape for the Princess. That made sense, given the danger she faced in the city. But how? There was only one gate out of Tyre, and it was guarded day and night by Pumayyaton’s men. What confused him most was that Amaal was involved. Why hadn’t she told him? They specifically mentioned her flute. That dumb, fancy, silver flute. It seemed unlikely that these powerful men would devise an elaborate plan just to steal a flute. Furthermore, they mentioned several ships. That meant that other people would be leaving with the Princess: her supporters, Tyrians who had spurned the King. But how would they board without being seen? He suddenly realized that Bitias had said that passengers were boarding the ships at this very moment—with the cremation ceremony as a diversion. Hannu made several quick decisions, including a stop at the statuary room, and raced out of the temple.

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