Free The Secret Chord by Geraldine Brooks Page A

aboy came with a torch to lead me to my room, it was very late. Shammah had not returned. A pale light was already seeping through the shutters when I woke from a restless sleep to hear him come in, drunk, stumbling and cursing. I heard the king’s name, and my own, interspersed with references to donkey’s balls and camel dung. I rolled over and went back to sleep, reasoning that it would be many hours before Shammah might be ready to speak with me.
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    The house stirred to life not long after. I dozed through the sounds of morning tasks, the animals being let out of their stalls, the men and boys leaving for pasture and field. When finally I rose, only two women were left in the courtyard, baking the day’s bread in the tannur. The one I had met the day before worked beside an older woman whom I assumed to be Shammah’s wife. She looked up for a moment from working dough, and nodded a brief acknowledgment before turning her attention to the bread. The girl peeled a hot round from the curved wall of the tannur and brought it to me, steaming, along with a handful of olives. I asked after Nizevet, as I did not see her in the courtyard. The girl replied that she was resting. She was very tired from the prior day’s long talk, the girl said, with an air of rebuke. By the time I had consumed my morning morsel, the women had finished the bread making and were preparing to milk the ewes and nannies pastured nearby. As they took up their bowls, I unrolled a hide to review what I had set down the day before.
    The sun was high in the sky before Shammah came stomping across the courtyard. He snatched up a round of the fresh bread and threw himself down heavily into the chair opposite me, gnawing on it. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and fixed me with a glare of complete distaste. “I’ve never understood why my brother puts up with you,” he blurted. “The things you say to him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t put a spear right through you.”
    There was no answer to this, so I gave none. I carefully rolled up the skin I had been reading and drew out a blank one. Shammahsnorted. “So you wrung my mother out like a filthy rag and now you propose to begin on me, to see what more dirt you can squeeze?”
    â€œYour brother . . .”
    â€œAh, yes, my brother wants it. My holy, miraculous, mighty brother, beloved of all—men, women—even Yah. He wants it. And he gets what he wants, always. Well, now you know that wasn’t always how it was. Until that old man and his oil pitcher showed up here, that boy knew his place—and a dung-spattered, dusty place it was.” He grinned to himself, a mean, private mirth. “I can still see the look on Eliav’s face—and Avinadav’s, for that matter . . .” He gave a throaty laugh, and then winced, and put a hand to his temple. The previous night’s excess was claiming its usual price.
    â€œWell, none of us believed what the old man said. How could David, that worthless little turd—don’t look at me like that. It’s how we thought of him; I know she told you that. But I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that he well earned his reputation. No. I bet she told you he was her perfect darling. Well, he wasn’t perfect. He was a sly little shit. He’d learned to be. He knew how to keep an eye to the merest advantage and he did not scruple to take it, once it showed itself. He was like you in that way.” He scowled at me, malice in his face. His mouth twisted into a grin. “You forget. I was there that day he killed your father. I saw your wonderful piece of playacting. It was well done, I have to give you credit. I thought at the time, that boy’s got balls. How you came up with it—kingdom, crown, all that stuff—and had the front to put on that show with your father’s blood up to your ankles. It