Princess Carmel; Chapter 3

 

Princess Carmel; Chapter 3

© 2022 by Amber Wright

SCROLL TWO

“Baal-Eser!” Carmel grabbed onto her nurse Zara’s hand and stood to her feet, wiping the dirt from her chin. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be the one asking.” Baal-Eser’s stern features softened in the torchlight. “What are you doing here?”

“I—the mountain looked so inviting—that is,” Carmel stumbled over her words like a bubbling brook in a springtime flooding. “I mean, my two guards are dead and—”

Baal-Eser interrupted by speaking rapidly to Zara and Carmel’s two living guards. They told him the whole story in a few quick paraphrases of the actual event. At the end, Baal-Eser looked at Carmel. She gulped, hoping he would not find fault with her for sending two of her guards to their untimely deaths by going to the mount.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity.

Baal-Eser slowly relaxed his stern expression and quickly gave his little sister a hug. “At least you are alive.”

Carmel exhaled in relief. Her brother did not find her guilty for the deaths of her guards.

“But our father must hear about this directly. Come, we will find him in his designing room.”

“Baal-Eser?” Carmel’s voice was shaky.

“Yes, Carmel?”

“Does this mean that,” Carmel felt tears brim her black eyelashes, “there will be war?”

Baal-Eser stopped, slightly turned to face her and let out his breath. “We shall see what tomorrow holds. Until then, we speak to Ab.”

Carmel nodded. Their father needed to know what had happened and would seek to find the answer to the strange incident. Perhaps it had only been a band of thieves and not a neighboring country seeking war.

Please El, protect and guide us! Carmel breathed the little prayer as her feet stopped at the door to King Hiram’s designing room.

Tomorrow would come, bringing what was destined—and she would be ready. She would prepare for the worst, hope for the best and stand strong like a princess.

00000

The day arrived with furious waves of heat and headaches. The governor of Aram-Damascus was no more and a young man, by name of Ezron, had proclaimed himself king. Not only had this Ezron proclaimed himself king, but his goal was to destroy the kingdom of Tyre if the palace would not send him one of its daughters for his wife.

This news rippled through the palace like buzzing bees. When Carmel heard it, she sat at her lessons and frowned into nowhere. Her nurse Zara had a difficult time in getting her to work any problems on the papyrus.

“Do you suppose my sister Batnoam will refuse?” Carmel leaned her chin against her fists, elbows resting on the little table. Her greenish eyes swirled with concern. If her sister refused, there would be war.

“If she did refuse, I’d not blame her.” Zara said slowly as if not wishing to disturb Carmel.

“But how can she even think of refusing when the whole kingdom of Tyre rests in her hands?” Carmel knitted her brows into one long wrinkle across her tanned forehead.

Batnoam must not refuse—or we will all be dead men and dead women and dead children. This Ezron is said to be quite fierce. Oh El, help us in these times of trouble! Her eyes drifted down to her ink-stained fingers and a sudden thought sent her heart racing, chilling her with a dread. Could this be the time when she would forget her childish whims and fancies to become the Treaty of Peace for her kingdom?

“Batnoam is betrothed and therefore must refuse Ezron.” Zara said briefly.

“What of my sister Nikkal?” Carmel lifted her chin from her fists to wipe her sweaty palms on her robe. She noted the fine purple color in the cloth and wondered how many shell-fish it took to make the dye for her wardrobe.

“Your sister Nikkal’s betrothal to Prince Bederi is to be announced tonight. Which reminds me,” Zara stood up and clapped twice. Almost at once, a servant girl appeared in the doorway. “Your lady would have her bath now.”

“Does that mean I’m finished with my lessons for today?” Carmel asked hopefully, a sudden smile taking over her forlorn face.

“Yes, Princess Carmel.” Zara picked up the papyrus and reed pen, and closed the silver ink bottle. “We must prepare you for the banquet.”

“But,” Carmel felt her mouth going dry. Her only sister who was not yet betrothed would be betrothed tonight, just hours away. “But could Nikkal not marry Bederi so she can save Tyre? Ezron must have his wife—or we will all die!”

“If we are meant to die, we are meant to die.” Zara began gathering Carmel’s clothes and perfumes for her bath. “Unless…”

Carmel glanced up sharply and eyed her lifelong nurse with wary, half-frightened eyes. “Unless,” a gulp, “what?” The word ended in a squeak.

“Unless you should be Ezron’s bride.” Zara wore a twisted expression, unreadable.

Carmel pinched her robe and wiped her sweaty palms yet another time. “But I’m only thirteen. I…” she did a half-shrug, dry-tongued.

Zara nodded as she picked up more articles for Carmel’s bath. A servant girl announced that the bath was ready. Carmel stood up.

“I am ready.” She took a deep breath. “And should El see fit to make me the Treaty of Peace for Tyre—to save my people’s lives—I will be ready when the time comes.”

Zara nodded again and Carmel watched her wipe a finger across her eyelids. She slowly swallowed. Saying the words were one thing; doing the deed was another thing. She hoped she would have the strength if and should the time would truly come.

Carmel walked over to the opened window, its purple drapes blowing with the breeze from the sea, and briefly said a prayer for guidance. She wanted to make the right decision. She did not want to enter into sacred matrimony blindly; nor did she want to see her people die because of her stubbornness. She wanted El’s decision, not hers. A noise outside ended her prayer.

When her eyes opened, a procession of camels and royal colors flying from the innermost camel’s chair was stepping into the courtyard below. Carmel shivered. Was this the answer to her prayer? Or was it the warrant for her death, along with her people?

“It is he, my lady.” Zara spoke softly behind her, touching Carmel’s shoulder in consolation. “He has come for his—Treaty of Peace.”