Threshold (21 page)

The Soulenai watched and nodded at me. They would have seen through the Goblet of the Frogs what Boaz had done with the stone curl.

Persuade him, sweet Tirzah. Only he can destroy Threshold.

After the swirling colours had slowed and then mottled, I turned to Yaqob. “When? I can hardly wait. I need to know.”

“Shush, Tirzah,” and I tolerated his kiss. “Before Consecration Day. It must be before then.”

“Yes, but
when
?”

“It is safer for you not to know. I fear each night that Boaz will beat you to such agony that you will let slip –”

“Yaqob! I lay in that cell for eight days and I did not ‘let slip’!”

“Hush, love. Yes, I know. But I fear for you with him. Believe me. I
will
rescue you. Have you heard any more information that might be useful?”

Back at the residence I rested for an hour, for the afternoon’s activities
had
tired me. Then I prepared for Boaz’s return.

He did not come back until it was dark, and that suited me well.

“Has not Holdat laid the meal?” he asked. “I am tired, and hungry, and do not want to wait.”

“Shush, Boaz, and come with me.”

I led him through the house into the lovely vaulted bathing chamber. It was redolent with the scent of candles, and night-blooming wisteria that wafted in from the gardens. I had opened the windows, but only slightly. No-one could see in. Candles floated in the pool, flickering soft shadows about the chamber and across the water.

A small table had been laid for a meal, with wine, but only one goblet, that of the Frogs.

I led Boaz to it, and removed his robes before he sat down, wrapping and knotting the blue cloth about his hips. Then I pushed him into the chair, and washed his feet and hands as he had once insisted I do before we commenced the writing lessons.

“Is his Excellency feeling more relaxed?” I asked with a smile.

He nodded, his eyes as shadowy and intimate as the chamber.

Then I sat down and served him; a reversal of roles, for it was normally Boaz who served me. I cut choice
meat from the fillet of cold honeyed lamb, then laid seasoned bread, stuffed vegetables and a tart fruit next to it.

“Are you not going to eat?” he asked as I picked up a knife and cut his meat for him.

“I have eaten. Let me feed you.”

And, as he had fed me, so now I fed him, but using my fingers rather than cutlery, and wiping his mouth with the corner of my dress rather than a napkin.

“Drink,” I said, and poured wine into the goblet.

He did so, but then put the goblet to my lips so that I might drink as well.

Hold me, soothe me, touch me, love me.

“I have read another tale from your father’s book this afternoon, Boaz,” I said. “Would you like me to tell it to you?”

“Very much.”

“But not here, I think. Come, bring the wine.”

I stood pitcher and goblet by the pool, then slipped from my dress.

His hands fell to the knotted cloth at his hips.

“No,” I said, “let me.” And I folded the wrap away from his body.

The water was cool and very fragrant. I took a cloth and washed him down, smiling as he reclined against the side of the pool, sipping from the Goblet of the Frogs.

Hold me, soothe me, touch me, love me.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to say thank you for the box, Boaz. My kohl sticks look very good in it. Now, shush, I want to tell you a tale.”

I put my arms about him and rested my head on his chest, floating gently by his body, and I told him a tale about the Soulenai that held no dangerous overtones, but only spoke of their love for each other and for their brethren and their hopes for a peaceful world. And when I
had finished I took his hands, and put them where I thought they would do the most good.

“Hold me, soothe me, touch me, love me,” I whispered, and this he did.

I
N
two days the capstone would be laid, the following day Threshold would be consecrated to the power of the One. Today Chad-Nezzar, the majority of his court, most of the nobles, all of the Magi and thousands of spectators were due to arrive from Setkoth.

I was very nervous. I dreaded the completion of Threshold, dreaded that day when it would flood with power. But I also dreaded its completion because that would trigger Yaqob’s revolt. While I could
sense
that preparations proceeded apace for it, I had no idea when…or how.

I looked about for Boaz, but I could not immediately see him. At home, with me, he relaxed more and more, but of what use was that if the Magus still reigned beyond the verandah? He was still no closer to admitting, let alone exploring, the Elemental side of his nature.

In fact, as Threshold slid close to completion, he was further from it than ever. He was so enthralled by Threshold, by the power it promised, that he had put aside thought of anything else. Over the past few weeks he had not touched the Goblet of the Frogs, nor let me read to him from the Book of the Soulenai.

The Soulenai fretted as much if not more than I. At night I heard them whispering from the Goblet of the Frogs, but Boaz slept on soundly.

I sighed and shifted, smiling my thanks to the boy behind me who held the shade above my head. The sun was a great, red orb in the sky, seeming almost to writhe in a haze of heat.

I was waiting just outside the gates of Gesholme, standing inconspicuously underneath the wall. Before me the stone wharf gleamed in the sunshine. Slaves had spent four days washing, sanding and sweeping to make it fit for the abundance of royal and noble feet set to alight upon it. Guards, their weapons and armour gleaming, the various tassels of their units fluttering in rainbows of colour in the breeze, stood to either side of the wharf. Before them ranged Magi, some two dozen, their blue and white robes immaculately arranged, their hair rigidly cubed into queues.

Boaz had allowed me to stand here to witness Chad-Nezzar’s arrival. The Chad, as everyone else with even a tenuous claim to distinction, was arriving for the laying of the capstone and would stay for Consecration Day. Threshold had been eight generations in the making and had consumed much of the wealth of Ashdod. I suspected that everyone arriving, whether Magus or noble, was here to grab what power was there for the offering.

I hoped they were truly prepared for what
might
be offered them, because Threshold’s shadow had been thickening by the day.

No more had died since the eleven. Thirteen next, and I thought I knew what Threshold had planned for Consecration Day.

A movement, and Boaz stepped through the gate and onto the wharf. He was the Magus, all the Magus, and he ignored me. I wondered how he would explain my presence
to Chad-Nezzar. Perhaps he wasn’t going to. Perhaps I would be cast back to the tenements for the duration of the royal visit.

But I didn’t think so.

Boaz moved to talk quietly with the captain of the guard, then with one or two of the Magi, making sure everything was in readiness.

All slaves had been removed from sight for the day, locked into the closely guarded tenements (all save me, and I now existed in that no-man’s land between slavery and servitude). I wondered what Yaqob was thinking. Surely he would have to give up his plan for revolt now that Chad-Nezzar and a large part of his army floated only a few minutes away.

Surely they didn’t have the weapons or the stupidity to battle the imperial soldiers. Surely.

I looked back through the gates. The avenue that Boaz had constructed through Gesholme towards Threshold stretched completed, lined by ranks of soldiers. I knew that one day Gesholme would be razed to the ground (for what use were slaves once Threshold was finished?) and that colonnaded avenues and vistas would surround the pyramid.

Then Threshold would stand free of any reminders of the sweat and pain expended to build it.

I wondered if then the frogs would still chorus at dawn and dusk.

A shout distracted my meanderings, and I looked back at the wharf. Everyone stood tense and expectant now, gazing up the Lhyl. A great river boat hove into view about the sweeping curve in the river, and I gasped in wonder, for at first I thought it was an apparition.

All river boats that I had seen were constructed of great bundles of reeds tied together, and I supposed this one was too despite its massive size, for it had the usual graceful sweep of line and the high prow and stern. But the
sides of the boat were covered to the waterline by great drapes of silk and gauze, gold and vivid pinks with spangles of sky-blue and silver sparkling here and there. How the rowers’ oars ever managed to function without becoming entangled in the materials I do not know.

Above, three largely decorative sails bulged in the breeze, one each of rich blue, crimson and emerald, each striped with ribbons of pure gold.

Great streamers and banners fluttered from the masts, bells and chimes sounded, and clouds of incense drifted about, presumably to keep both insects and the smells of mass-packed slavery from the royal nose. Musicians played from the bow of the boat, and I could see a pet monkey scampering among them.

It was the most beautiful man-made sight I had ever seen.

This boat was followed by scores of others, some small, some approaching the royal barge’s size, all decorated to some extent, even the soldiers’ boats.

Men moved to catch mooring ropes, and rowers shipped their oars so that their paddles reared to the sky in a glistening, silent salute. I backed up against the wall, feeling utterly insignificant amid such glory.

A ramp slid to the wharf, and Boaz stepped forward. A small honour guard marched off the boat in rigid formation, stood to each side of the ramp, and thrust their spears into the sky.

“Glory to the immortal Chad!” they roared, and the refrain was taken up by every guard and soldier whether on boat or on land. “Glory to the immortal Chad!”

I noticed the Magi kept their mouths shut.

The not-so-immortal Chad stepped into view at the top of the ramp. His flesh was even more studded, pierced and encased in jewellery than on his previous visit, and he wore a headdress of bronze and copper, inlaid with more jewels than the rest of him combined.

He swayed as he stepped onto the ramp and for one moment I thought he would topple into the Lhyl, but Chad-Nezzar obviously had a lifetime of such minor brushes with disaster behind him, and he recovered in regal style and proceeded down the ramp with as much dignity as he could muster.

I was grateful I was far enough away not to hear the chatter of his metals and gems, for I could well imagine their excitement at this scene of pomp and majesty.

Boaz stepped forward and kissed one of the assortment of jewels on the hand Chad-Nezzar offered him, welcoming his uncle to Threshold with a speech carefully composed to demonstrate that while the Magi owed him respect (and more yet, perhaps, to his treasury), they considered him a guest invited only through the benevolence of the Magi themselves.

While Chad-Nezzar accepted these words calmly enough for the moment, this was not, as I was to discover, quite how the Chad thought of himself.

Once the formal greetings and flowery phrases had been mouthed, both Chad-Nezzar and Boaz relaxed.

“You have done well, nephew,” Chad-Nezzar said, waving a hand about, and Boaz inclined his head.

Whatever Boaz was about to say was halted by the arrival of another man at the head of the ramp. “Zabrze!”

My own interest sharpened. Zabrze was Boaz’s older half-brother, son of his mother’s first marriage. And heir to the throne, as Chad-Nezzar had never taken a wife.

Well, what woman would let Chad-Nezzar near her with that armoury of metal to prick and scratch?

Zabrze may well have been heir to the throne of Chad of Ashdod, but his appearance and bearing were in complete contrast to Chad-Nezzar’s.

He was an extraordinarily striking man. In his midforties, he was lean and fit, dark skinned, dark eyed and dark haired. He was undoubtedly a Prince, but Zabrze
used bearing and assurance to radiate this fact, not half the royal treasury. He wore a knee-length wrap of a dark blue striped with gold knotted about his hips, and a broad gold band about his upper right arm. His hair was braided, tied with gold wiring and swept back into the nape of his neck. But that was it. Even his feet were left bare.

He stepped from the ramp and gripped Boaz’s hand. The affection was obvious, and I realised that only the formality of the occasion kept the brothers from embracing each other.

Zabrze was followed by a woman some six or seven years younger than he. Handsome rather than beautiful, but radiating the same assurance as her husband, she was dressed in a fine white linen dress hanging from a collar made of threaded gold beads draped about her neck and extending over her shoulders. As she moved I saw she was some eight months gone with child.

Fear gripped me as Zabrze took the woman’s hand and Boaz smiled and bowed to her. Zabrze had brought his pregnant wife to
Threshold
?

I heard Boaz call her Neuf. It was an elegant name for an elegant woman, and I sighed and put my moment of fear from me, wishing I had even a tenth of that elegance and assurance.

Sundry other nobles and dignitaries alighted from the boat, but my interest was truly only in Zabrze and Neuf. With Chad-Nezzar, Boaz led them through the gates and down the avenue, servants scurrying to shade the group with tasselled parasols and waft incense before them lest the scent of slavery reach their royal nostrils.

I stood by the wall and waited until I found an opportunity to slip back to Boaz’s quarters.

On the way I stood momentarily transfixed, staring into a dark alley. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. One of the officers from Chad-Nezzar’s army was chatting quietly and extremely surreptitiously…with Azam.

My stomach turned over, and I hastened away before they saw me.

Azam?

The royal entourage, as many of the nobles, were accommodated within the compound of the Magi. Chad-Nezzar, Zabrze and Neuf were quartered in Ta’uz’s old residence. Other nobles and guests slept aboard their river boats. Most of the vessels had sleeping quarters, for Ashdod’s nobles liked to spend many weeks each year floating in grand processions on the river, sometimes hunting, sometimes banqueting, sometimes intriguing. The eight thousand soldiers who had accompanied Chad-Nezzar erected a spreading camp about Gesholme and the riverbanks.

My initial relief at the arrival of these soldiers had dimmed. What did an officer of the imperial army have to say to a slave?

And a slave who was Yaqob’s right-hand man in his quest for freedom?

I sat alone in Boaz’s quarters all day, alternatively fretting about Azam and nervously wondering what I should do and say, should I come face to face with Chad-Nezzar or Zabrze and his wife.

Boaz stayed with his family and did not return until very late at night.

I rolled over as I felt him lie down beside me. “Boaz?”

“Go back to sleep, Tirzah.”

But I wanted to talk. “I did not know you were so close to Zabrze.”

“We were close as children. He looked out for me at court. But when I was seven or eight he was close to eighteen, and spending more time with the army than with me. We grew distant.”

That was not what I’d seen on the wharf, but I let it pass. I snuggled close to him. “I have heard that Zabrze commands Ashdod’s army.”

“Apart from those under
my
command, Tirzah.”

“Is he a good commander? A popular commander?” I asked.

Boaz hesitated for a very long time. “Zabrze is a
good
commander,” he said finally. “But the army is large, and to many, perhaps, he is a distant figure.”

I wondered about the officer I’d seen whispering with Azam. “And he is heir. But he does not share your uncle’s predilection for banding and studding.”

“He is a man of relatively plain tastes.” Boaz paused. “He will be a good Chad.”

“His wife is very elegant,” I said wistfully. “But I am surprised that he should bring her here when…”

“She bears children with ease. This will be their eighth.”

“Eight! Then you have almost a squadron of nephews and nieces!”

Boaz laughed. “Yes, and I am pleased Zabrze elected to leave them in Setkoth. Four nephews, three nieces and whatever they’re growing now. Zabrze is doing his best to ensure the succession.”

“Threshold must be very important to draw so many royals and nobles hither.”

He was silent, suspecting that I was about to embark on one of my increasingly unsubtle frets about the structure. But not tonight.

“Boaz, why the impatience to have Threshold finished by a set day? Surely a month or two more would not have hurt?” He had driven everyone on site hard for the past months, and the past five or six weeks in particular.

“There is only one day each year that we could hold Consecration Day,” he said. “If we had not been ready for that day, then we would have been forced to wait another year.” He gave a short, hard laugh. “And I do not think I could have waited that long. So close, and to be forced to wait a year.”

A year, I thought. A year to draw him so deep into love he would eventually accept his Elemental heritage, even if only for my sake.

“What is so special about the third day from now, Boaz?”

I felt him fidget. “It is the day of the year when the sun reaches the zenith of its yearly voyage through the sky. In three days’ time the sun’s strength will peak at noon, and for an hour it will shine stronger than at any other time of the year.”

“Threshold depends very much on light, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

His reply was curt enough for me to edge onto another topic, although just as dangerous. “Boaz, what will happen to all the slaves on site after Consecration Day? You will not need them here.”

“Worried about your ‘friends’, Tirzah? Worried about what I will do with you?”