In The Book
The fire had reached its peak a few moments ago and was still strong but obviously burning down now instead of gaining in intensity. The songs too had now moved from jubilant to ever so slightly melancholy, but like the fire, they too retained a comforting familiar warmth. The people around the fire played upon instruments, clapped, chanted, and danced to the rhythmic, poetic words.
Be’lobi tzafanti, Be’libi tzafanti
Imratecha le’ma’an lo echta
Baruch atah Adonai, lamdeni chuceicha,
Bes’fatai siparti kol mishpatei picha.
Justin listened with his eyes closed to the tambourine and flute frolicking in the melody.
“Whoa! How strange!” thought Justin. The character in the book had his name. He wasn’t sure he’d ever read a book in which the main character’s name was the same as his. But even stranger was the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d thought for a moment that he was that other Justin, the one in the book, or maybe he just thought he’d heard some music too, or something. He didn’t exactly know what he thought, but he was getting really tired. He closed his eyes and kept reading.
The flute and the tambourine were Justin’s favorites of the instruments. They seemed to be so carefree and fun. He sat with eyes closed allowing the music the entire space of his mind in which to play. Then he felt his chin touch his collarbone and pulled his head up with a jerk. He opened his eyes to keep himself awake. He had been drifting off to sleep and into a dream where he had sat on a raised bed by a window reading a book in the waning sunlight. He had thought he was about to find some wise answer to a perplexing question in the ornate tome (he wished he could find the answer to his own questions), and the bed had been finely made and covered in fine linens like one would find in the house of a great lord. He sat up straight to further wake himself and looked at the members of Tory’s clan. The dancers and singers were plain people and looked so in their woven cotton tunics and pants. The fabrics were not printed, though often differently dyed fibers were used in the same piece giving them an ordered but pointillistic, colorful effect. They often braided their hair, or tied strands of it, to keep it away from their faces when they worked in their fields and with their herds. All of them were nearly as brown as the soil under their pastures from the long days they spent in the sun. Their eyes seemed very honest when they looked at you and they listened with attention, lacking judgment when spoken to. They carried no weapons though they had many farm tools in their barns and homes, but they did wear beautiful jewelry symbolic of their fealty to their king. The jewelry was well made and intricate, but did not consist only of precious metals and gems, employing also very common and easily found materials like leather and polished wood and stones. The value that they seemed to assign to the pieces did not derive from the material used, but instead from what it represented and how artistically the maker had wrought it. It was the same with their music and dance. Whether simple or complex they appreciated the tone more than the lyric, tune or step. The well-patterned movement of the dance they were doing now suddenly brought his new friend Tory to his side of the fire, and he dropped out and flopped down next to Justin, a little out of breath.
“Why don’t you dance,” Tory asked, “Goodness knows you’re better at it than me. And you’ve been here nearly a month. You shouldn’t be shy by now.”
“But, I’m not better at enjoying it. You love to dance. I like to watch and listen. My clan doesn’t dance and sing as much at campfire. We tell stories more.”
“How short we have fallen then, in amusing you. You’ve stopped with us over a fortnight and haven’t heard a story yet. I will speak with the elders and see if we can’t arrange one. You might even decide to stay on and teach us how to tell them properly. Everyone in the clan accepts you in spite of your aversion to dancing.”
“I don’t know about that, but you could tell me a short one now yourself.”
“What do you mean? I’m no story teller.”
“Well, I’ve been wondering why everyone always defers to this Lord Roth when all your songs speak of allegiance to a great king who lives north of the farthest mountain. We have heard of him by the way. He exists in our myths, but no one has believed in him in time out of remembrance. I assume for the moment however that he is real. Still, Roth treats everyone like animals or worse. I’ve heard the hardships you and the townspeople live with spoken of here among the farmers. The taxes you and the crop farmers pay are enormous. I’ve never heard of anything like it in all of Signum. And I’ve heard how his henchmen live completely above the law. They take what they like in town and assault anyone they please with no consequence. But because they are Roth’s men no one dares challenge them. It is plain to one who looks from the outside how much better your lives would be if you weren’t under his rule. If it’s the king who rules you, why do you put up with Roth? Even without the king’s help, you all could overpower him if you would band together. And why let even that king rule you? He’s so far away. Why not rule yourselves? My clan does, as do many south of the river. The time of the landlords is coming quickly to an end. Can the time of the kings be far behind? Signum will be ruled by those with the strength to do it.”
Tory looked at his new friend and slowly replied, “You don’t ask for a story. You ask for our history.”
“Where I come from they are one and the same.”
“Well, first of all, He does exist and He’s not ‘a great king,’ He’s ‘The Great King.’ He is over every clan, all of us, whether we allow ourselves the benefits of His Rule or not.”
“What benefits does his rule provide? Your people are as poor as mine and they are oppressed by Roth.”
“The benefits are not only in wealth, and you might better call us simple than poor, for none of us can remember ever being without anything we really need. We work for what we have, to be sure, but even in the work there is benefit. We learn from what we do; it is all symbolic in nature, and surely you would call wisdom a treasure. And there is more than that. We are at peace because we know the Spirit of His Laws. You can see that we are a joyful people. And we find comfort and strength, not like Roth’s, but perhaps more satisfying, in these things. And it is The Great King who has taught us to live in this way and to recognize what is truly valuable.”
“Very well, you may not call yourselves poor, but Roth is certainly rich as a result of your labor, and he regards you as less than slaves.”
“We care not for Roth’s opinion. It cannot touch us. Also, you must not forget that The Great King has given us much in the treasures that you may have heard mentioned in our songs.”
“Yes, I had meant to ask you about those as well. But first back to Roth. You may accept the rule of The Great King for the reasons you gave. So be it. Why accept Roth, though? He does nothing for you; in fact, he only makes everything harder as far as I can see. And surely, if you all could agree and unite, you would outnumber him and his men greatly. I’m sure you could overpower them in combat and then you would all be free. My people would have done so long ago.”
We do not think that way. Roth is allowed by The Great King to have his office, so we will respect it, even if it is imperfect. I did hear talk a while back, however, of the elders’ considering an appeal to The Great King over some particularly harsh taxes. They had appealed to Roth first, of course, according to the code, but gotten no satisfactory response.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised.”
“Well, as I said, I’m no storyteller, nor am I a historian. Have I explained anything?”
“You have explained some of what I had already guessed. You, and your clan, think and live very differently than me, or my people.
“Well, would it be all right for me to request a story too?” Tory asked.
“How could it be fair otherwise?”
“I don’t possess the wisdom of what is fair and what is not, but that has nothing to do with my question. You have told me since we met that you are on a journey from your people, but you have said nothing of its nature. And though I enjoy your company, I begin to wonder that you don’t continue toward your destination, as you have surely had time to rest and also must know that we will equip you sufficiently for the road.”
“I can understand that you would wonder, but my journey is one of purpose, not place. I have a problem to work out, so it is my thoughts, not my feet, which move me toward my journey’s end. I am very grateful, however, for the hospitality of your people.”
“Do not even speak of that. But, I see now why you are able to spend time here and I am glad for it. I won’t pry into your private affairs.”
“To be truthful, I don’t mind telling you about it, if you want to hear it. It might even help move me toward an answer if I hear it out loud.”
“Go on, then.”
“Well, I have an enemy who has offended one of my friends, but my friend refuses to avenge himself. In fact, he doesn’t even admit the offense. He would let the whole thing go unanswered. I can’t stand to think that our enemy will go unpunished, but it should be my friend or his family who answers the challenge. And they won’t. If I do, won’t that also be an insult to their honor? I don’t know what to do.”
“I suppose to forgive it, as your friend and his family apparently do, would be out of the question.”
“Forgive? Well, I don’t know about that. But I know he should be punished.”
“Do you think you can be the one to meet out just punishment? Wouldn’t it really just be revenge born of pride? And what offense is so great that it troubles you enough to leave your home?”
“We have problems with a rival clan who have been trespassing on our pastures, as well as stealing some of our livestock. One day while my friend and some of his family were on watch over our herds a band of these rode in. My friend and the rest of the watch were not mounted or armed. The watch fought as well as they could and some of us who were nearby came and tried to help. But in the end the poachers made off with several horses and cattle as well as striking down my friend’s dad, though he is fine now. A trouble maker in our clan then insulted my friend’s family honor, called them cowards and weak, and of course, blamed them for the loss of the livestock, which weren’t their own.”
“And your friend’s family?”
“They discounted all he said. They maintain that it was an unfortunate but normal part of clan rivalry. They think anyone can see that what he says is nonsense and therefore his challenge unworthy of serious consideration, much less a response of any kind, word or action. Yet he continues to defame their family name and they do nothing.”
“And you disapprove of this.”
“I wouldn’t care who the person, or what the situation, I wouldn’t let anyone call me a coward or weak. He would know my courage and strength as long as I had breath. But he is not me. He maintains that it is nonsense, unworthy of reaction. And it might not matter so much, but he is my best friend. What can I do? I am losing my best friend.”
“What? You would break friendship with him over this?”
“How can I remain so close to one whom I can’t respect?”
“Well, if I respect you, and I do, I must speak openly. One who punishes should exercise that authority from above himself and should be wise and merciful. Otherwise his justice cannot be true. So I don’t know why you want to put yourself in this place of judging. ”
“You are a good friend to speak this counsel even when you know it could be cause for offense. But there must be a place for action as well, Tory.”
The fire had died as they spoke and the dancers were now seated around the embers singing softly the song that was always the last at the gatherings.
It was in the old language, which Justin could understand even though the words sounded just slightly strange to him, like listening to one speaking with an accent. He had known of the existence of the ancient tongue, but his clan never used it, so he had never heard it until he encountered Tory’s clan. He’d asked Tory about this at the beginning of his visit, and Tory had explained that it had been the language of all the clans before the lords had begun moving in with their men and dividing the lands. This change in rule, he said, had been the result of some people’s continual complaints to the Great King that others were treating them unfairly, and that they needed lords over them to settle the disputes as they arose, rather than having to wait for the King Himself to visit. Then as the clans had less and less contact with each other, their speech began to show differences distinctive to each. Until Justin had met Tory’s people both the Great King and the ancient tongue were the stuff of myth to him. No one in his clan or any of the clans around his gave any thought to either. Now that he had heard it he supposed he had to believe, and in just a few nights Justin had become able to understand it quite well. He still didn’t know what to think of the King. Everything in him and around him seemed to defy the idea that there was some powerful and caring ruler over these people, let alone his own. But when he was at these assemblies the conviction of belief in the singers and dancers was almost contagious and he would catch himself wishing, almost hoping that there was some truth to what he heard. The songs of Tory’s people sung in that tongue had a beautiful ethereal quality that Justin didn’t know whether to attribute to the language or the lyrics or the music or the people, but he never tired of hearing them. The song that always ended the fireside gatherings was one of his favorites, and he was always glad when they sang it over a few times.
Gadol yehawah umhul’al mod ve-ir
Elohaynu har qadsho
Yephay noph mesos kal ha-aretz har tzion
Yarkethay tzaphon qi’ryath melek rav.
