The Switch

Elishat dismissed the crowd with a short closing prayer and retreated into the Temple of Ashtart where she was rushed into a private changing room by a small team of loyal servants. They stripped her of her ceremonial gowns and quickly removed her gold anklets, bracelets, and earrings, as well as the horn moon necklace that hung around her neck. They carefully wiped the white makeup from her face, the kohl from around her eyes, and the ruby red color from her lips. They unbraided her thick, black hair, teased it into disarray, and powdered it until it was nearly all white. They dressed her in a drab gown, tied a bundle of rags to her shoulder, and covered her in a threadbare robe. To this costume they added a long, brown veil, the kind worn by a poor shepherd woman mourning the death of her husband. Elishat touched the tear-stained fabric and felt a quiet affinity with its unknown donor. A temple maiden placed a walking stick in her hand and said, “Now, Princess, you must do your part.” Elishat allowed her noble spine to bend under her hunched shoulder. She leaned on the walking stick and practiced taking a tottering step forward. Her people stood back and nodded their approval.

            Meanwhile, Amaal stood in the middle of the market square, looking for Hannu in the crowd. Out of nowhere, a man appeared next to her. With his bare chest, military shendyt skirt, and gold arm bands, Amaal recognized him right away as General Barca’s lieutenant. She was more certain than ever that he was the one who had shaken her flute from the hands of the thief in the garden. She touched her flute case protectively and glanced up at him. To her surprise, he addressed her by name, saying, “Amaal, you must come with me.”

            “But,” she said, stepping away, “I’m waiting for my friend—”.

            “General Barca sent me.”

            The dagger in his sash made it clear that she had no choice, yet his voice was not unkind when he added, “Come, let’s go.” He led her away from the crowd and into the narrow street behind the temple. Amaal rushed to keep up with his long stride and wondered what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into. Her movements of the last two days flashed through her mind: sleeping in the garden; climbing the city wall with Hannu, visiting the Temple of Ashtart, attending the royal wedding. Had she broken a law or upset a local custom? She hardly had time to think about it. In a matter of minutes, they had arrived at the back entrance to the Temple of Ashtart. The Lieutenant led Amaal quickly up the steps and turned her over to the temple maiden who hurried her inside and into a dressing chamber.

            Suddenly, Amaal was surrounded. Someone started combing her hair, parting and plaiting it while someone else knelt and pulled off her dusty sandals. The temple maiden spoke calmly as she slid a gold bangle onto Amaal’s wrist. “General Barca wants you to remember that the Princess walks with poise and grace, her gaze on the horizon. Can you remember that?”

            Amaal remembered Barca’s admiration of the Princess on the afternoon of the royal wedding. She also recalled his probing, head-to-toe look on the day she arrived in the marketplace. Suddenly, it all made sense. She was part of his plan. She was his stand-in for the princess. She pulled away. “Oh…no!” she said.

            The temple maiden put her hand firmly on Amaal’s shoulder. “Oh, but you must,” she insisted. “The life of the Princess depends on it.”

            “No, no, I can’t!…I’m not…I can’t do this…”

            Someone reached for her flute case, but Amaal held it tight.

            “I…I don’t want to…you can’t make me!”

            A strident voice called out, “Amaal!”

            Amaal recognized it immediately and answered. “Yes?”

            “Be brave!”

            It was the Princess herself. Amaal saw the commotion in a room across the hall. They were covering Elishat with an old veil and putting a walking stick in her hand. She watched as the Princess was rushed out the back of the temple. Amaal could see that she had no choice. Reluctantly, she relinquished her flute and gave the temple maiden a nod of consent to proceed.

            The servants stripped her of her tunic and donned her in ceremonial robes, the exact ones, in fact, that Princess Elishat had just removed after the cremation. The cloth still held the warmth of her body and the essence of myrtle. A servant applied white makeup to Amaal’s face, dark kohl around her sea-green eyes and red powder to her lips. They decorated her with earrings and rings and slipped her feet into a pair of golden sandals that, thankfully, fit perfectly. The temple maiden placed the horn moon necklace around Amaal’s neck and arranged it at the center of her chest. Finally, they put a conical cap on her head. They stepped back and looked at their stand-in with guarded satisfaction.

            Amaal said plainly, “What am I supposed to do now?”

            The temple maiden replied, “Lead us to the palace, Princess.”

            The entourage walked through the temple to the atrium. As they passed the Black Star, Amaal silently hummed the Hymn to Ashtart and wished for protection from the goddess. In the few steps that remained to the front of the temple, Amaal convinced herself that the palace wasn’t far at all. She pulled ahead of the group and, with a torch bearer on either side to light her way, walked down the steps and into the market place.

            Meanwhile, on the east side of the city, a poor widow picked her way along the narrow alleyways, occasionally poking at an old rag or a fallen orange with her walking stick. She moved along without delay but acted as though she had all the time in the world. Even the most astute citizens were fooled when she stopped to beg, refusing to give her a half-shekel. How strange it felt for the Princess to ask—and be denied! She spat on the ground, and the citizens turned away in disgust. At the city gates, two of Pumayyaton’s guards were checking people entering and leaving the city after dark. The widow continued at a slow but steady pace, apparently troubled by her hunched back and leaning heavily on her walking stick. As she approached the guards, a whistle went up from atop the city wall. The guards looked blankly at one another. “You go!” one said, pushing his chin up at the other.

            “No, you!”

            “You have the courage of a jellyfish.”

            “You have the face of a jellyfish.”

            “If it turns out to be something, you’ll pay the price.”

            “You’re my superior, you’ll pay the price.”

            “I’m not climbing all those steps for a whistle.”

            While the guards bickered, the old widow saw her chance and tottered out through the gates. She headed toward the north shore and the rowboat she hoped would be waiting for her there. Along the way, she removed the bundle of rags from her shoulder and let it drop to the ground. She used the walking stick to steady herself across the rocky beach. From the moment of her birth, Elishat had been watched and sheltered day and night by nursemaids and palace guards. She had never known what it was to be truly alone. She stopped in the pitch-black darkness and took a moment to savor the unfamiliar sensation of true solitude. The wavelets lapped against the shore—shhh, shhh, shhh—keeping her secret as they broke and spread on the sand. Barca would be peering anxiously through the darkness from the deck of the ship, but for a brief moment, the Princess was as anonymous as the walking stick in her hand.

            The boatman guided her into the craft and pushed away from shore. Neither spoke a word though each silently uttered a prayer to Yamm, the god of the sea, as was the custom. Elishat watched the receding harbor through the widow’s veil hanging over her face. She took a deep breath and whispered farewell to all she had ever known. They rowed to the far side of the harbor to the ship and the rope ladder hanging from the deck.

            “Go with Ba’al,” the boatman whispered.

            Elishat grasped the rungs of the ladder and held fast as the sailors on the deck above pulled her up. Her brief solo adventure over, she was again in the hands of her faithful guardians, among them, Admiral Bitias, who asked if she were all in one piece.

            “No beggarwoman shall ever be refused a shekel so long as I am queen!” she whispered.

            “And Queen you are,” Bitias replied as he signaled the oarsmen to engage.

            “And the treasure?” she asked.

            “Safely stowed.”

            Meanwhile, across the marketplace Amaal led her entourage. Pumayyaton’s guards glared at her. She looked straight ahead, adjusted her bangles as she had seen Elishat do, and continued toward the palace. Her legs trembled under the weight of the royal robes and all that gold. As she neared the palace, Pumayyaton’s grim-faced goons moved to block her way. Amaal felt a flutter of panic, unsure what to do. Suddenly, there was a volley of shouting back and forth between her people and the guards. In an instant, she was surrounded. She felt a firm hand on the back of her neck forcing her head down so that all she could see was a confusion of robes and feet. In the scuffle, she felt someone remove her conical crown. Amaal was helpless to pull free as she was steered away from the sounds of the skirmish. She couldn’t see who it was or where they were taking her; she could only hope that she was not in the custody of the Hyena’s henchmen.

            They hustled her through a zig-zag of dark alleyways until they came to an abrupt stop. A door squeaked open and someone pulled her away from the swarm that disappeared back into the streets. The door clicked shut behind her and two women started to undress her right there in the courtyard. Amaal started to resist.

            “Shush, Amaal. It’s us.”

             It was Manu, pulling off the royal robes, slipping an ordinary tunic over Amaal’s head, and Sappir wiping the white makeup from her face, the kohl from her eyes, and the red color from her lips. They removed the bangles, earrings, and half-moon pendant and set them aside, and replaced the golden sandals with Amaal’s dusty, leather ones. They stood back and looked her over.

            “Okay, done,” Sappir said breathlessly. “Now, you must leave the city…”

            Leave the city? Sappir had it all wrong, Amaal thought. It was the Princess who had to leave the city. Now that she was restored to her normal self, Amaal could breathe a sigh of relief, rejoice that the mission had been a success, enjoy a good meal with the family, and… Sappir was still talking. “…through the city gates and walk to the north shore. A boat is waiting for you there—”

            Amaal looked to Manu. “I don’t understand—”

            “You must leave, Amaal,” Manu urged. “Many lives depend on it, including your own.”

            “Mine?”

            “When the King finds out you were involved,” she said, “he’ll have you arrested.”

            Amaal had not thought it through. The gravity of the moment called to her in a weird way. She detected the aroma of myrtle. Then she understood. She had taken off the royal garb but the essence stuck to her. Manu’s words sunk in. Amaal replied, “What about Hannu? Is he leaving, too?”

            Manu shook her head as Sappir opened the door and peered up and down the alleyway. “We haven’t seen him all day. Don’t worry about Hannu; just get safely to the north shore.”

            Sappir pulled her head back in. “All clear.”

            Manu held Amaal firmly by the shoulders. “Ba’al bless you.”

            “Wait!” Sappir said. She brought the flute case and slipped it across Amaal’s back. “Okay, now, go.”

            “But…I…”

            “There’s no time, Amaal, the danger is all around us. You must go quickly.”

            They pointed her in the right direction, and as the door squeaked on its hinges, she heard Manu’s worried voice, “We should have told her how to get past the guards,” and Sappir’s firm reply, “She’ll be fine.”

            Amaal walked quickly along the dark road made visible only by the glow of oil lamps inside the homes along the way. As she approached the gates, she prepared herself for the guards’ interrogation. She tucked her flute case securely under her arm and pretended to be meeting Hannu at the beach. They were going to play music under the stars. If the guards asked, that would be the lie she would tell. She only wished it were true.

            One guard scoffed as he looked her up and down, “Here comes that mangy girl who plays the pipe.” He did a foolish little dance to imitate her playing the flute.

            The other guard ignored him and barked, “Stop right there!”

            Amaal took shallow breaths to calm her pounding heart. How sad, she thought, that an entire city should be at the mercy of such small-minded men. She wanted to yell at them for making life miserable for everyone, but Manu’s words “the danger is all around us” echoed in the back of her mind, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

            “Should we search her?”

            Amaal did her best to look uninteresting, hoping that the guards would not notice the remnants of makeup on her face and the flute tucked under her arm.

            “You can search her if you want. I’m not touching her!” the other answered.

            “Me neither!”

            “Then let her go.”

            They pointed her out of the city with a final retort, “Go on, get out! And don’t hurry back!”

            Amaal silently thanked them for their insults as she passed through the gates. Her heart continued to race as she made her way to the beach and the long line of fishing boats pulled up on the shore for the night. In the dark, their shadowy outlines all looked identical. Next to one, though, she noticed the figure of a man. She approached cautiously. Before she could say anything, he put a finger to his lips and held out his hand to help her step into the boat. Neither said a word as he pushed off from shore and rowed into the harbor. Amaal had no idea where he was taking her. Sappir and Manu hadn’t told her, and she hadn’t thought to ask. As they moved into deeper water, she noticed something, a harbor seal perhaps, swimming soundlessly toward them. It neared the boat and stopped and looked up. It wasn’t a seal at all; it was a man. Amaal glanced at the boatman. His expression remained unchanged as he set the oars across the stern in front of him and steadied the craft in the water. Shirtless, with broad shoulders and gold armbands around his biceps, the swimmer lifted himself over the edge and landed quietly on the bench. He swiped the water off his shoulders, pushed his long, dark hair back from his face, and gave Amaal a nod of approval. She recognized him at once: the Lieutenant, too, had made his escape from the city.

The boat crossed the harbor and headed toward open waters. Beyond the edge of the breakwater, the answer to Amaal’s question became clear. There, barely visible in the dark, lay a ship, its sail furled as for the night, its deck quietly sleeping. As they moved closer, Amaal realized that just when she’d been thinking that the hard part of the mission was finally over, she would have to climb the cargo netting hanging from the side of the ship. She slid her flute behind her back and, at the boatman’s nod, pulled herself up onto the netting. The rope was rough to the grip, and the weight of her flute case pulled hard against her collar bone. Step by step, her feet searched for each wobbly rung. She had managed to climb halfway up when something made her glance downward over her shoulder to see how far she had come. The panic was immediate. Her fingers froze around the rope and her legs started to tremble. Her flute felt like a millstone tied around her neck. She wanted to call out to the men in the boat below, but she dared not make a sound. She closed her eyes and waited for the shaking to stop, but it didn’t go away. Just then, she felt the firm grasp of a hand around her wrist. The Lieutenant whispered, “Let go.” He pulled her fingers free of the rope and placed her hand on the next rung. His touch broke the spell. She made it to the top where two sailors lifted her gently onto the deck.

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