Princess Carmel; Chapter 9

 

Princess Carmel; Chapter 9

© 2022 by Amber Wright

SCROLL EIGHT

Even when Carmel would become the Queen of Aram-Damascus, she could still do the things as she had always had. She had been afraid King Ezron would think her talents were foolish and put a stop to them. She felt a smile spread across her entire face.

“I have made you smile for the second time, no?” King Ezron patted her hand lightly. “I hope I shall always make you smile.”

“You shall.” Carmel felt as light as a butterfly and took another sip of water.

In the new land where she would go, she would smile. She would make music. She would sing. And she would always be herself—Carmel from Tyre, princess of the House of Hiram, daughter of Phoenicia.

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“Ab, how does one know how to…” Carmel gulped, suddenly feeling very foolish.

“Yes?” King Hiram paused with measuring stick in hand. “You have a question for me?”

“How does one know how to—design a great house with many rooms enough for everyone?”

“Ah, planning a big family already?” King Hiram patted his daughter’s shoulder with a smile. “But, as queen, in a sense you will have a big family to begin with—your kingdom.”

Carmel nodded. “And what of the widows and fatherless—what of them?”

“You treat them well.” King Hiram leaned back against the designing table. “You feed them. You clothe them. You make sure they have a place to live.”

“Yes, Ab. I want to build a house for them.”

“How so?” her father raised an eyebrow.

“Will you teach me?”

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“My lady, you must not overtax yourself.” Zara cautioned her.

“I am young, Zara, as you have said so yourself.” Carmel smiled sweetly, reclining on her couch. “Now is the time to better life for those around me, and today is the day I must plan for tomorrow I must complete the building.”

“Tomorrow, Princess Carmel?” Eman asked in a shocked tone. “Only tomorrow?”

“Figuratively speaking,” Carmel replied in a patient tone. She raised her eyebrows excitedly, “And I have asked my father and he has given me his leave. When I leave, I am taking you three with me!”

Damali sniffled from her cushion on the floor, folding a veil. “Thank you, my lady. I am most grateful. You are a true friend to me!”

“No time for tears, my dears.” Carmel stood up and spread her arms out. “Today we plan for tomorrow. Let us eat some honey cookies now!”

“And our favorite lamb on flatbread!” Eman added with a giddy giggle. “I am so happy I could…” her voice trailed, off-key.

“Cry!” Damali snorted out, and covered her face in embarrassment.

“Off you go, girls.” Zara clapped her hands briskly. “The honey cookies and lamb will not get here by itself.”

As silence settled into the room after the maids had left, Carmel looked around her room with new eyes. The walls were a fine limestone polished with scented oils, the drapes were silky purple linen, the bed was facing the east window with its pillows plumped up against the wall, and other furniture was placed strategically for a spacious-look. Beneath everything, fine rugs made of multi-colored threads layered the floor.

Silence evaporated the moment Eman stepped into the room again with her tray filled with lamb on flatbread. Damali’s tray held the cinnamon topped honey cookies, a pitcher of water and four cups. Carmel’s mouth watered as the trays came closer.

“I brought the entire contents of the oven!” Eman’s grin made her look younger than her twelve years. “Here is our food, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Carmel stood up and settled herself onto the cushion on the floor.

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Carmel swallowed. Tomorrow had come and so had her betrothal banquet. She sat shakily in her seat as her father the king announced her upcoming marriage. She listened mutely, feeling almost grown up…yet so like a child still. Only today she was eating and laughing with her nurse and two maids, chattering nonstop. And then tonight had come.

“For my last and final daughter, Princess Carmel!” King Hiram raised his gold cup high in the air. “Soon to be Queen Carmel of our neighboring country, Aram-Damascus.”

A general applause followed and Carmel found her two maids standing in the doorway of the banquet hall. Damali had her hands to her face, her head jerking. Crying, she supposed. And Eman was jumping up and down, despite the fact that her mistress would soon become queen, not just remain princess and marry a prince of some distant land.

Carmel smiled and felt the butterflies twirl inside her stomach. Within a few short weeks, her life had turned upside down; then, pulled into a fragile balance that only the future would determine it for better or for worse.

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Three months later, the royal caravan of Tyre traveled slowly southeast. The time had come. Princess Carmel was to be married to King Ezron in his palace in Aram-Damascus.

Inside the chair atop the camel with her nurse and maids, Carmel wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Already the sun was high and still they had not reached the palace of King Ezron’s.

“Do you still want to become queen here, my lady?” Eman said with a whine, fanning herself with both hands. “It is so hot.”

“That is why I am planning to build my house on a mount,” Carmel looked out the drapes from her perch, “where it is cooler.”

“Thank you, my lady, for choosing a cool location for your house.” Damali wiped her sweltering face with her veil. “This heat is enough to boil you alive—that is, if it had enough moisture in it.”

“I wonder why we sweat here then?” Eman chirped up brightly. “I thought where it is dry, you cannot perspire.”

“Here is proof you can perspire.” Carmel felt her face dribbling with sweat.