King Solomon's Wives: Hunted

Chapter 2: Thieves and Hunters

Sumarra

Eighth Century B.C.E.

Sumarra ran, but a man caught her by her hair. “Thief!” he shouted. He and his companion shoved her down and bound her hands. They wrapped cloth over Sumarra’s head and led her over sand and down to a cold cellar. They forced her into a cell, bruising her shoulders against a wall, and beat her until she collapsed on the filthy ground. She lay aching, eyes closed and afraid, but she was at least happy her sister, Aisha, had escaped. The two men, merchants, had offered money to sleep with her and Aisha, both of whom needed to become pregnant. But as soon as they entered the tent, the men noticed Aisha’s gold bracelets, took them, and accused the women of stealing.

Now, Sumarra opened her eyes to see she shared a prison with skeletons and rats. She hoped Aisha had made it back to camp and could send help.

No help came. For three days Sumarra received no food or water. Her captors either wanted to weaken her or leave her to die. By the third night, as she slipped into rest, she wondered if she would ever wake. She dreamed of the daughter she’d never be able to have.

A man’s voice woke her. “In the name of Terah, I beg you to get up.”

Sumarra opened her eyes to his face. The face. He squatted on the other side of the prison bars. He was young and dark-skinned. Dust covered his neck and cheeks, and calluses covered his hand as he reached in to shake her. “Wake, woman.”

She sat up slowly. Hunger seized her stomach, and thirst blistered her throat. She’d been hot during the day, but her tattered robes weren’t enough to keep her warm at night. Her vision blurred, and she barely remembered where she was: a prison, left to die.

“Would you call yourself a thief?” the man asked.

Sumarra cleared her throat and squinted. “Not of food or coins.” Her eyesight faltered, but she tried to read the man’s expression. He didn’t look angry like the merchants had.

He even smiled a little. “Clever answer. But I know who you are, and I know what you were doing at that tent. You weren’t stealing.” He glanced back and slipped a bowl of water through the bars. “If I set you free and feed you a little, can you get back to your sisters?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The water stung Sumarra’s throat as she drank.

“No time for games.” He pulled out a key and unlocked the door. “Those who hunt you are approaching. You have to warn your sisters.”

Sumarra wondered how he knew so much. “Who are you?”

“Not a Hunter.” He slid down his collar to reveal unblemished skin over his heart, free from the Hunter’s mark. “And I am as much a thief as you. Tonight, I stole this key.” He held it up and swung the door open, motioning her through. “Harmless enough, wouldn’t you say? I know who you are, Wife of Solomon, because I come from Ethiopia, where your journey began. My name is Berhanu, from the tribe of Melanik. My brother, the King, sent me to find gold and bronze. Instead, I found you. You’re more valuable, and you’re in danger. I intend to help you.”

He held out his hand, Sumarra took it, and he helped her stand. His eyes brightened at her touch.

Sheba, she thought. This man comes from Sheba. Sheba, the beautiful queen of the old Ethiopian Kingdom, must have told her heirs what had happened in Solomon’s harem. This news filled Sumarra with hope—Sheba had not forgotten her women. Sumarra walked on shaky legs as Berhanu led her out of prison.

He helped her up a hill that overlooked a valley and the town beyond, and he gave her bread and more water. The early morning air chilled her skin. Berhanu noticed her shivering and gave her one of his skins to wear. It seemed so heavy she nearly dropped it, so he wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. He leaned close and pointed to torches in the distance.