The Nursemaid’s Story

            Amaal followed the travelers through a confusion of city streets to an iron gate that opened into a walled garden. They made their way along a dark path until they came to a grove of olive trees. At a clearing, they lit a small fire around which they settled. The drummer played softly in the flickering firelight while someone sang a quiet tune. Several people joined in singing the refrain about two lovers sleeping under an orange tree at an oasis by a starlit pool. The song reminded Amaal that she had eaten no more than two dates since her arrival. She folded her arms across her growling stomach and wished she had taken more of the free food when she’d had the chance.

            When the song was done, someone asked her what was in the case that hung over her shoulder. Amaal set it across her lap, opened the top, and showed the flute around the circle. Even among the seasoned travelers who had encountered many of the world’s novelties, none had ever seen anything like it. She assembled the three parts of the instrument and positioned her fingers above the sound holes. She set the flute against her lip, took a deep breath, and blew gently into the mouthpiece. Out came a single tone. It was nothing extraordinary, but to the travelers it sounded unique and new. Like the coo of a mourning dove, someone said, or the wind moaning on a stormy night. It looked easy, so everyone wanted to give it a try. Amaal let them pass the flute around, but no one could produce more than a squeak, and they collapsed into giggles watching each other wiggle their fingers above the sound holes and pucker their lips in every imaginable way.

            Handing it back to her, someone said, “Play a tune for Shalim.”

            “Yes, pray that Shalim will bless us through the night.”

             After wiping away their attempts with her cleaning cloth, Amaal brought the flute to her lips. She had no idea who Shalim was, but again she played the same starting note. Uncertain of where it might take her, she lifted one finger. A second note sounded. She repeated the two-note sequence at first slowly and then a little faster. Just then, a nightingale somewhere at the far end of the garden interrupted with an excited trill. Amaal repeated her two-note toggle. Again, the bird replied. The travelers looked at one another. Maybe the flute was enchanted. Once again, Amaal tried the notes, but this time there came no reply, so she stopped and laid the flute across her lap.

             “Surely the instrument must be worth a fortune,” someone said.

            Questions poured out. Was it made of pure silver? Wherever did she get it? Was it Persian? Was she Persian? Who was her father? Was he wealthy? Was she a princess? Everyone scoffed at the last question. Obviously, if she were a princess she wouldn’t be sleeping in a garden, and yet, in the firelight, her sea-green eyes looked exactly like those of the real princess they had seen just a few hours earlier. Amaal laughed politely and said that she was just a regular girl and that she had come in with the caravan, which was perfectly true, and, because the travelers each assumed she belonged with someone else, no one asked any more about it.

            After a time, as the embers settled under a fine layer of ash, a cloudy-eyed old crone sitting in the circle took a sip from her little drinking jug, smacked her lips, and shushed the travelers. A whisper went around that she had been nursemaid to Mattan, the dead king, and his brother, Acerbas, and that she had held a respectable position in the palace until Pumayyaton became king and forced her out.

            “I’ll tell you what happened before the troubles you heard about today.”

            Her gravelly voice sounded as though the hands of death were already holding her by the throat. The travelers, eager to hear to her story, leaned in closer. “You see, Acerbas was the elder of the two brothers and should have become king…”

            She paused for dramatic effect, allowing her fireside audience to murmur their half-baked opinions. She took a sip and waved her jug.

            “I was their nursemaid. The two young princes received exactly the same upbringing, but Mattan struggled to remember the simplest lessons while Acerbas learned quickly and retained every word. I gave them equal care, but I admit that it was Mattan who won my heart with his sweet disposition and his love of the natural world. Acerbas was charming and clever, and I cherished him, too, but I held Mattan closer. He was mild-mannered and kind to a fault, and not at all strategic in his thinking.

            “The boys grew into men, and Acerbas reasoned that if he ceded the throne to Mattan, he could claim the position of High Priest for himself. Thus, he could control the temple and its treasure, steer his younger brother in the right direction, and preserve the peace of Tyre. When the time came, Acerbas announced that Mattan would become king and he, Acerbas, would be High Priest. The city advisors unanimously agreed to the arrangement.”

            The old woman tossed back the last swig and expelled a loud gasp. Eager to hear her go on, someone refreshed her drink, and the story continued.

            “Many years later, when Mattan’s daughter, Elishat, was born, Acerbas devoted himself to her upbringing. The precocious little girl asked intelligent, insightful questions, and her uncle answered every one until, in time, her knowledge of the kingdom and of the world equaled that of the priests and scribes. Acerbas believed the Princess to possess the temperament of a queen. I heard him tell her so on many occasions. Her brother, Pumayyaton, meanwhile, had grown into an unscrupulous young man, conniving, impulsive, and willfully ignorant.

            “The brothers, Acerbas and Mattan, ruled together, and the city flourished, but then King Mattan announced that after his death the children would share the throne. Acerbas knew such a plan spelled disaster, but he couldn’t convince his brother to drop the idea.

            “Now,” the old woman continued, “the marriage of Princess Elishat and Acerbas gives us our last hope, for the two are well suited and share a genuine affection for one another. But with their union comes grave danger.”

            The audience leaned in further, for the crone’s voice was growing weaker.

            “As Acerbas’s wife, Princess Elishat will be elevated to high priestess. Her new position will challenge Pumayyaton’s power as king. Whether Pumayyaton will tolerate such a power share, only the gods know. I, for one, cannot imagine it. If Pumayyaton cannot abide his sister’s threat to his authority, Elishat’s life will be in danger, as will the lives of Acerbas and the many who side with her.”

            The old nursemaid fell silent. The quiet hissing of the campfire brought somber thoughts to the garden. A man took up a collection of a few shekels and pressed them into the old woman’s hand. She groaned as she rose without a word of thanks and tottered away down the dark path.

            The hour was getting late, and the soft drum started up again with the three-stringed harp. Nestled between the exposed roots of a gnarly old olive tree, Amaal put an arm over her flute and gazed up through the boughs at the twinkling stars. The events of the day filtered through her mind. The thought of the men eyeing her in the market made her shudder. She shook it off and thought instead about Gader’s funny ears and Vohu Manah’s magical escape and the sour-faced girl with the purple gloves. With so many visions dancing in her head, she didn’t think to ponder the mystery of how she had gotten there, much less where she had come from. Instead, she let her imagination wander to the old olive tree. She thought of the women of Tyre beating at its branches with sticks, gathering ripe olives in their ground cloths, their children playing in the shade, growing up, and bringing children of their own to play, generation after generation. Amaal’s eyes fluttered and closed as she imagined that even on that night, the old tree had listened to the travelers’ songs and stories and was pleased to give the girl with the silver flute a place to sleep beneath her boughs.

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