Adelphe

CHAPTER II-1

CHAPTER II

MURDER AND EXODUS

During the night, a squall blew in from the sea, soaking the pillars and roof of the great hall. The pungent smell of wet cedar welcomed the petitioners as they filed into the rear of the meeting gallery. The council of elders entered through a small archway and sat on benches on the left hand side of the central dais.

After they were seated, the curtain behind the throne parted, and through the entryway entered a tall, majestic woman with raven black hair and dark blue, piercing eyes. As she entered, the herald called: “Princess Elissa.” A hush fell over the assembly as the princess stepped forward. She gazed into the crowd, her eyes making contact with each for just a moment, touching their innermost being.

Princess Elissa was the eldest of King Mattan’s three children. Two years after Elissa was born, her mother, Ierusha, produced a son, Pygmalion. When Elissa was six years old, Ierusha tragically died giving birth to her third child, Anna.

Elissa grew up in the civic eye, motherless, yet the daughter of the people. When her father, King Mattan, appeared in public, she was often by his side, softening his appearance and endearing him to the crowd. At public assembly, the child princess stood next to the throne listening to the petitions of the people. Often she would lean in, whispering words of leniency and largesse to the seated monarch. In time, the people began to see her as their champion. With Elissa beside the throne, no one went away empty-handed. The adoration of the populace fostered magnetism in the girl that in time evolved into an irresistible charisma as she grew into womanhood.

Princess Elissa paused next to the throne and placed her hand on the carved wooden armrest she knew so well. King Mattan was now gone, taken from her and the people by a pestilence. The congregation felt her pain and loss.

Slowly, Elissa turned away and joined her little sister, Anna, who sat under the tapestry in the family tier. The younger princess appeared oblivious to public ceremony, all bundled against the morning chill in a pastel blue shawl that covered her head and wrapped around her body. Dark brown hair escaped from under the edge of the cloth; her abundant tresses framed a pleasant face and shielded penetrating, intelligent eyes.

“His majesty, King Pygmalion,” called the herald as the diminutive monarch entered the hall. His features were like that of a shrew, eyes always alert and lacking compassion. The mood in the crowd became at once somber and reserved. The boy king sensed the cool reception and responded with a scowl.

A liveried page approached the throne from the side and whispered in the ruler’s ear. Pygmalion looked toward the great doors at the end of the hall and motioned to Captain Parnach, waiting in the wings. The soldier entered and joined the small guard placed between the king and the assembly.

In the family tier, Anna remarked the downcast look that lingered on Elissa’s face. That morning, Elissa and Pygmalion had quarreled. Although Anna had witnessed quarrels between her older brother and sister before, this one seemed different. Pygmalion had insisted Elissa relinquish any claim to the leadership of Tyre. Anna also heard Pygmalion speak of a hidden treasury. She had not interfered, but maintained her usual thoughtful and silent presence. Elissa lifted her eyes from her lap and looked toward the entrance of the hall. Anna noted a look of shock on her sister’s face when Elissa’s husband, Sychaeus, approached the doors.

“The council is now in session!” announced the herald, silencing the murmur of the crowd. Immediately, Sychaeus entered the grand chamber. Other waiting petitioners stood aside when they recognized the temple administrator. He brushed by them with royal bearing and approached Pygmalion and the council. The chief priest bowed before the young prince, while maintaining the bearing of elder statesman. Next to Sychaeus, Pygmalion looked more like a teenage boy play-acting the part of ruler than the leader of the great city of Tyre. But looks can deceive. Pygmalion showed no surprise at Sychaeus’ appearance. “Your Highness,” said Sychaeus as he scanned the seated council members, “I have come to discuss your sister Elissa’s inheritance, dictated by your father, our late ruler.”

“Yes uncle,” said Pygmalion, as though he had anticipated this demand, “and now might also be the time for us to discuss the treasury of Tyre, over which you have presided since the death of our father.”

Sychaeus stiffened at this unexpected response. “But sire, the scribes have maintained record of all transactions to and from the treasury. Certainly you have access to these records.”

Pygmalion nodded to the captain of the guard, Parnach, who took a step forward in front of his men. “Yes uncle, I have seen the records, but I have not seen the records of the temple, as they are kept by you.”

“But temple records,” said Sychaeus, “have always been separate from the treasury.”

“Bring them to me!” snapped Pygmalion.

Sychaeus appeared shocked at this outrageous demand. He looked questioningly toward the council of elders. None of the members returned his gaze. As the priest stepped back, the guard stepped forward surrounding him. He was visibly shaken as they marched him out of the hall.

Elissa gripped Anna’s hand and kept her eyes down as the troops followed her husband from the room. Her fingers were icy cold.

Pygmalion turned to Elissa. “Now sister, what are these inheritance claims that your husband believes are unsatisfied?”

The shock of seeing her husband marched out under guard had unnerved the princess. “I know not brother,” said Elissa, without lifting her eyes.

Pygmalion shook his head and smiled.

The great hall of Tyre was built on high ground above the pastel colored, multi-storied buildings that made up the city. The main entrance faced north toward the Sidonian harbor. The rear opened onto a large courtyard with colonnades. Off the courtyard, on a right angle to the great hall, stood the temple. Through the tall window on the east side of the hall, the columns of the priest’s offices could be seen behind a green profusion of fruit trees and flowering shrubs.

From this direction came a loud cry, startling the assembly into silence. Elissa rose and ran out the back entrance with Anna close behind her. They followed a short-cut path through the dense foliage toward Sychaeus’ office. As they approached the rear of the alcove, the door burst open and a hooded soldier rushed out and through, unaware of their presence. He carried a great book with torn binding and pages sticking askew from the covers. As he passed, they saw in his right hand under the book, a bronze dagger with red and green stones set in the handle, dripping with blood. The sisters rushed inside and found Sychaeus lying on the floor, bleeding from the chest. Elissa picked up his head and laid it in her lap. Two of Pygmalion’s guards were busy at the fire pot, retrieving pieces of parchment from the fire and stomping out the flames. Anna, filled with terror, clung to Elissa who bent close to hear Sychaeus’ last words. Between gasps of breath, he choked out, “Go to Cyprus…find Melampus…he will help you…” With this effort, the dying man lost his ability to speak. He gazed lovingly up into Elissa’s face. The tears flowed from her eyes as his spirit departed.

Behind the temple stood an ancient semi-enclosed area with stone columns and high roof, overlooking the Great Sea. Here, Sychaeus’ body lay out on an elevated bier. Pygmalion placed scribes at the entrance to record on their scrolls the names of all who entered to pay last respects to the murdered priest. Sychaeus’ treasure had not been discovered, and Pygmalion was committed to finding its whereabouts. Word quickly spread, creating an atmosphere of suspicion and fear throughout the city.

Elissa sat on a couch beside the bier, dressed in Tyrian mourning robes. On the bench between the open columns behind her sat Anna, working golden thread to the shape of laurel leaves on a purple cloth. To ward off the cold, Elissa’s attendant, Asheera, brought in a bronze platter filled with glowing coals and set it at her mistress’ feet.

The breeze from the sea brought a damp chill, and the stench of snails permeated the air giving death a gruesome and ominous odor. For three days the women sat with the body of Sychaeus, as was the custom. On the third day, two hooded figures entered from the temple side, which set the scribes craning to get a view of their faces. As the men approached, Elissa saw that they were members of the council of elders, Erwad and Berytus. With hoods in place they approached the widow. “Princess, we would like to convey our most sincere condolences,” said Erwad.

Elissa lifted her eyes as she recognized the men. Her voice revealed her bitter feelings. “Is murder now the policy of Tyre?” she asked.

“We take no part in this,” replied Erwad.

“Has the council no say in the actions of its government?” said Elissa as she shot a fierce look at the men.

“We are alone in our opposition to your brother,” said Berytus. “It is only a matter of time before we too are weeded out.”

“I should trust you then?” said Elissa, with doubt in her voice.

“You trust Uttar, do you not?” said Berytus.

“Uttar? Of course,” she answered. “He was my father’s closest friend.”

“Speak with him then,” said Berytus, “he will tell you where our loyalties lie.”

The next day, at sunset, Elissa stepped up on the platform and lit the enormous funeral pyre beneath her husband’s body. The priests of Melqart stood around the pyre dressed in their vestments and mourners were assembled upwind. As the flames leaped up and the wood crackled in the heat, the crowd parted and Pygmalion appeared, carried on a litter. A tall, dark, muscular man and two female servants followed. The porters observed that the pyre had been lighted and stopped at the edge of the crowd. “What are you stopping for?” snapped Pygmalion.

“Highness,” said the head porter, “the pyre has been lit.”

“Drive on!” shouted the prince. When they reached the elevated platform upon which Elissa stood, Pygmalion stopped below and spoke from his seat on the litter.

“Sister, I have brought servants to assist you and Anna with your move back into the royal residence. They will help with the packing as soon as you are done here.”

Elissa did not move or acknowledge her brother’s words but kept her eyes on the funeral pyre. The dry wood was all ablaze, and the fire created its own wind and heat, forcing the people back along the shore. A gust blew hot sparks over Pygmalion’s litter and he quickly motioned to his bearers to depart. Anna fell back with the others from the heat. When she turned again to face the pyre, Elissa still stood on the platform, flaming torch in hand, a silhouette against the great wall of fire.

That evening, Elissa slipped away and walked alone on the shore. A south wind whipped her clothes and a seabird followed her down the strand. At dusk, she found herself standing on a familiar beach where she used to come as a young girl.

Up above the shore, a pathway ran from the old royal residence between two tall, windowless stone walls and through an overgrown garden to the sea. Here, a large outcropping of rock interrupted the seascape, and the beach was covered with smooth, rounded stones, polished by the tide. Elissa used to come here during early morning hours for solitude and to practice throwing stones from the high tide line toward a fisherman’s buoy about a cable’s length from the shore.

The princess bent down and picked up a smooth stone, recalling the day they first met. She was twelve years old, restless and full of energy, running from the royal domicile, through the overgrown garden, and out into the morning light. A squall had washed the rounded stones into a pile at the high water line. The slender girl chose a handful of projectiles and began hurling them with all her might toward the old buoy. Years of practice had developed her throwing arm and she could now reach over halfway to the marker. With a nicely shaped rock she could skim the water’s surface at the end of the flight and skip to within a cord’s length of the target.