Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [265]
We had steel, yes. We had Joscelin.
He shoved his daggers into the empty sheathes on his belt as he ran, disentangling his baldric and slinging it over his shoulders, his sword jouncing in its scabbard. The oilskin cloth fell by the wayside as he tucked one vambrace under his arm, struggling to force his bleeding left hand into the mesh gauntlet of the other. Leather straps flopped with every stride, impossible to buckle on the run.
And then we were there, in the clearing atop the hill, with the round temple shut tight and slumberous in the early morning light, while twenty Sabaean soldiers fanned out to surround us, their bronze blades drawn and gleaming in the sun.
"I knew it," said Hanoch ben Hadad, jutting his black beard. "I knew it! There were too many women paying visits to my sister. I told the Sanhedrin as much."
"How is it, my lord captain?" I asked him softly, watching Joscelin fasten his vambraces out of the corner of my eye. "Is your sister not worthy of company? I found her a gracious hostess."
"Woman's folly," Hanoch said in a hard voice. "Prey to a gentlemanner and a sad tale. She is aging, and lonely. It is fortunate for you my niece Ardath thought better of her folly and made confession to her husband Japhet in time for us to pursue. It would go worse if you had succeeded in profaning the temple."
Ardath. Yevuneh's daughter, with the nursing babe in her arms. I felt sick at it, the blood beating hard in my ears. To have come this far! "Ardath knows not what she does," I said, my voice sounding distant and strange. "It is fear that speaks."
"Fear, aye." He nodded. "She fears for her children's future, do we risk Adonai's wrath. Such is wisdom, the truth of women's wisdom; a mother's fear. A pity you did not think to do the same. Your son will suffer for your folly. Give thanks to Adonai that we have halted you in time. If the Sanhedrin is merciful, it may be that you will not be put to death, but only enslaved."
"And how shall you be rewarded, Hanoch ben Hadad, for finding Kapporeth, where Nemuel's shame is hidden?" I asked him, anger flaring. "I tell you this, it is Blessed Elua's will that has led us here, over deserts and mountains and rivers, through dangers that would render you faint to hear told! It is no matter for you to decide, no, nor the Sanhedrin of Elders. It is for Adonai Himself, and it is the wisdom of the women of Tisaar to know it, and hide no longer from the Will of God, who has forgotten you these long centuries!"
It gave Hanoch pause. His dark eyelids flickered, and his men glanced uneasily at one another. "Nonetheless," he said, then, resolve firming. He pointed with the tip of his sword toward the closed door of the temple at our backs. "Therein lies the Holiest of Holies, and the way is barred to you. I am content. Adonai's silence speaks. You will return with us to Tisaar, and face judgement."
Joscelin crossed his forearms and bowed, steel flashing in the rising sun. His daggers rode at his hips, his sword-hilt over his shoulder. Cassiline discipline held immaculate. No one watching would guess the ragged state of his hands, his bone-deep exhaustion. "My lord captain," he said in Habiru. "Do not do this thing. I am loathe to shed blood in this place. Let my lady Phèdre at least seek audience with the priest of Aaron's line."
Hanoch ben Hadad hesitated again, then shook his head. "No," he said, gesturing with his sword, and the line of Sabaean soldiery advanced a step, raising hide shields studded with ancient bronze. "I am sorry, D'Angeline. You are a valiant warrior, if your battle with the Shamsun tells any tale. But the way is barred to you. Adonai's will is clear.”
I stole a glance over my shoulder. The temple doors remained adamantly closed.
"As you say," Joscelin said gently, and his daggers sang free of their sheathes, crossed before him and shining like a star, blood trickling down the insides of his wrists. "Nonetheless. I have sworn a vow."
"Not to Adonai," replied the Sabaean captain.