5th book

THE ONE PRINCE NEST’S

The whole Jericho is fast asleep. The only identifiable amplitude reverberating that night transmitting through the air was the Jordan river’s modulating waves. The flowing beatings of streams gently striking the wayside grasses with its repeated blows, creating a distinguishable sound, a harmonious intonation breaking the silence in the dead of night, similar to a graveyard, a place of rest for this Idumean King’s beloved city.

From the darkness of the night sky is the moon gently dwindling its melancholic light. But still, the visible brilliant stars gleaming in the sky are backing up the heaven’s infinite blackness, spreading their tiny sparkling radiance like searching for the night Queen that’s no longer in heaven. The sweet, pleasant breeze diffuses its perfumes from the misty fragrances in the air. It’s luscious aroma suspended in the air spreading its potions from the bouquet of flowers, like looking for a rim, a hiding place from the unseen wings of the comforting night’s fresh air, a sympathetic insight, penetrating the deep understanding, bursting in the absolute wilderness, begging and kindly pleasing the tip of the highest tree, open wide to the full extent of the flowers innermost.

A man in a dark cloak, commonly worn by Hebrews emerged from Herod’s palace, almost in a hurry, running across the square. Upon reaching the ground porch, the shadow began counting the pillars, then halted at the fourth column. Standing therein, the shadow started to look around, scrutinizing, detailing the darkest of night, searching the surroundings, magnifying the entire place.

After a while, positively assured that he is all alone, he confidently leaned his back at the post, like he is inclined to wait. This mysterious person remained still at first, without breaking his silence, breathless, frozen into that hard stone of support. In a moment, boredom came unto him, or perhaps he did not appreciate the moody place pervading the changing tone of his character. And so, he wrapped his dark shawl around his head and walk around the column back and forth. Half an hour more had passed, and a shadowy figure unexpectedly materialized, coming from the other end, quietly roaming around in the deep of night, hiding his dynamic body from the heap of his crumpled Roman cloak.

—“Paulo!” uttered by the first, when he saw this newly arrived nearing him, but his holler is almost like a whisper.

—“I am not so skilled in assessing and reading the stars; this is why I’m late for most of my meetings,” the newly arrived said.

—“Disregard those things now; what’s important is you’re here, let’s go.” Antipater’s invitation.

—“Let’s go! Wherever you desire, but I tell you in advance that I’ll be leaving tomorrow before dawn.” Paulo said.

—“Even before the “morning star” arises, we’ll be done,” Antipater replied.

Herod’s son, Antipater, who behaves like a woman, clasps his one arm around Paulo’s waist. Then they both walk the narrow back road heading to the most farthest isolated town. They walked for quite a while, and then they stopped across this tiny house in a dark corner, a small house unnoticeable from the passersby’s meticulous eyes, bare face from the extravagant design of luxury, plain and simple, but well kept and in order.

—“Here it is,” Antipater said.

—“Thank god,” the companion replied, like he’s not with himself.

Herod’s son knock at the wooden board door of that tiny house, an unusual knock giving a signal, seeking an admittance, then abruptly, the door swung wide open, like somebody is deliberately expecting the coming guests.

—“Good evening Enoe,” Antipater greeted as they enter the house, a young lady holding a lamplight in her hand, illuminating the newly arrived visitors, she gave a shy smile, looking innocently, lacking confidence.

—“May peace be with you, my Lord, and to that gentleman your companion.” Enoe replied in her sweet voice, a Jewish customs.

Paulo observed the young lady from Israel, outlining her face from the dim lamplight, and then he looked at his friend, like he wants to ask him like this: —“Who is that young lady?”

Antipater smiled at his friend, his reply to Paulo’s meaningful stare, his expressive behavior.

—“Wait here gentlemen,” Enoe said anew. —“This corridor is dark, so let me light your way.”

The Jewish lady gently closed the front door first, and went leading the way with her lamplight in her hand, a lamp casting lights that is not very bright and shines only over a small area.

Likewise, the newly arrived guests quietly followed the young lady leading them, they continue to walk more, and in twenty-five steps they reached the dead-end, a wall-like closure is blocking their way.

The young lady from Israel laid the palm of her hand on that wall, then like a magician, she clumsily pushed the wall, and the heavy wall gave way, a secret door for the two friends.

—“Please come in,” said Enoe.

Paulo and Antipater passed that hallowed space and walk a little further, tracing a path going to one more room.

Enoe opened the door, and there, a bright room with unaccountable lights, very different from where they came, the narrow and dark pathways, transmitting very little lights. And here they are, into a flambouyant, fashionable room, waiting for them to occupy, to share this beautiful night together.

But then, Enoe suddenly disappeared.

—“Oh!” the baffled Paulo uttered. —“This is astonishing! The light overcomes the darkness, and the wealth from poor.”

This Marte’s child is amazed, recognizing all the different valuable things surrounding him, not having encountered this kind of affluence before. Overburdened by his genuine admiration, he was impressed, with regard for appreciation, like in a mirage of having a nightmare but suddenly awakened in a room beside the mythical goddess of love and beauty in Egypt.

Now, let’s see what this Praetorian soldier had seen and cherished.

The said room is tiny but adorned with fine beautification, arranged like a Grecian’s room. The walls are shrouded with silky-floss curtains in neon-pearl color from France, shimmering when illuminated with lights like a pomegranate’s flower. Four golden lamps hanging from the fanciful ceiling, dispersing its glinting lights, lamps with unending oil coming from a motility, an oil-based fuel source to continuously produce flames, laying at the mahogany table, intricately enhanced with curvy ivory. A round dining table with one leg, known and called by the Romans as “manupudium” (table furniture). Beside this table is a bed in a triangular shape, stack with throw pillows in silky blue fabric, accentuating the room colors, very alluring to the menacing comfort of laziness. Lavishly garnished with rugs in leopard skin, laid on the wood board floor, giving the condition of standing out from being prominent. In the four corners of this room are the four burning frankincense bestowing aromatic scents in the air, stretching out in the entire room, along with perfumed myrrh and spikenard, issuing forth white clouds of steam floating across the room reaching the heavenly ceiling. And as soon as this sweet scents left the room, only then will come out from that wide hallowed passage, towards the hard resplendent corridor.

The dinner table is prepared. The finely burnished wooden table is shining lustrous, a reflective glow like a newly polished mahogany. On top of this table are the four beautiful jars with two handles in each, white as milk in color and smooth like a fragile glass. Stored inside are wine, cold and transparent, like spring water from Lebanon’s mountain. Each of these jars adheres with parchments in a square shape (labels), showing the type of wine and the year in which the wine was made. Reading more, identifies the names of the consul or the dictator of the Roman Republic in which year the grapes were picked and where they came. A big omelet from corn wheat is served at the dinner table, topped with a lump of tiny lamb meat, red like gold, encased with sweet perfumed leaves from the garden fresh plants, and garnished with tiny, little birds. Around this plate is a row of unaccountable small crystal saucers, containing varieties of delicious sweet fruits. An amber jar filled with water and vinegar is set at the table, a beverage genuinely loves by the Romans. Two big, wide mouth goblets are placed beside the bed, etched with protruded designs in various colors. These goblets are usually served with the desserts after finishing the main course, and everyone is happily conversing, exchanging discussions while enjoying their sweet course. At the end corner of this room is a white marble sink, laying on top of this sink are two small bits of woods from the grapefruit’s tree, (soap), and hanging beside the sink are the two thin cloths made from pineapple leaves for handy wipes.

Following Paulo’s observations, he turned his attention to some dishes in front of him, and then he stretched his arms, grinning from ear to ear, and he spoke like this:

—“May the god Pan of the wild shepherds and flocks greatly multiply those innocent lambs. May the happy Bacchus, with his powerful warmth give more bountiful and amusing wildlands. And may he expand more land of Italy’s natural environments, the source of plentiful fresh grapes, harvested from the plain lands of Sorrento, Lacryma Christi, Falerno del Massico, Calvi, Cesano, and Sezano. And you boisterous Comus, god of festivities and rivalry, pour all your graciousness to my friend Antipater, and grant him a firm abdomen, energetic like the Ostrich, and not have indigestion from battling in eating plenty of food, and varieties of delicious wine.”

—“May it be so,” Herod’s son replied, followed by a loud laughter.

Then the two friends prepared to eat. After washing off their hands from that white marble sink, they took off their clothes to not prevent them from eating, and then they tied those thin linens up to their necks. As they sprawled themselves on the cushions settled on the floor, they propped up their arms on the table, heads-up leveling the table, and began to eat by hand (silverwares are non-existent at the time). Eating with fingers, pinching, and twisting every fiber of that delicious and appetizing lamb, is a flavorful flesh satisfying to the taste of these two hungry friends.

—“But Enoe? Enoe? Where did she go?” Paulo asked, he thought of the Jewish. —“Why didn’t she join us for dinner?”

—“Friend,” replied Antipater. —“Enoe faded like a dream, but don’t get bored because in a while, you will hear her and listen to her angelic voice.”

—“The gods and goddesses are aware of that slave’s sad sentiment,” Paulo uttered.

—“Bah! And what do you care about that slave?” asked Antipater.

—“I am a Roman,” Paulo answered. —“And so I am very superstitious. In every festivities there are more male than female, perhaps before the end of the year, wine will turn into blood.”

—“For you Paulo, and me your best friend,” Antipater’s loud proposal, lifting up his wine goblet for a toast, pretending to be deaf, not wanting to hear his friend’s superstitious beliefs, even if it made him pale from fearing.

—“And this is for Augusto Cesar, for Roman’s honor. And Tiber’s children’s good fortune.” Paulo added.

Then the two friends drank straight up their wine, one shot from their goblets.

—“A very refined flavour, rich and delicious falernum,” Paulo praised, then he took the wine jar and poured more, filling up their goblets one more time.

Affected by alcohol, he fixed his eyes on the label and was stunned by what’s written. The name and wine’s age gladdened him from what it describes, then Paulo continues reading.

—“Pure and genuine Sorrento, year 636 from the time of dictator “Luscius Cornellius Sulla Felix.” The wine gives Paulo more pleasure, and it made him more talkative. —“The honorable wicked, you murdered General Mario of hunger from that African marshy land. You! Because of your so-called “The table of the prohibition law” or your lists of condemned people, from Itoma’s street, you poured their blood. You poisoned the conscious and good mind of these courteous and honorable men and you twisted their social awareness, you taught them to become aware of their own selfish desires, and so while alive, your putrid flesh is wormed, feasts upon by these crawling creeps. Get up now! From your grave, meet those people in your time that learned how to survive, living unto now, saved from your bloodthirsty and grisly Kingship!”

After Paulo’s speech, he sighed deeply, then continue talking again, joking:

—“This is for Cornelius Sulla,”

Raising his wine goblet again, Antipater followed, consuming the wine with Paulo, but in a quiet mode, not saying a word like he’s planning of something, or perhaps Paulo’s intoxication afflicts Herod’s son’s generosity.

—“I swear in the name of beloved Julio’s jungle!” Paulo continued and pulled a plate of food at the same time, showing a loaded behavior. —“If not for you here beside me, and if not for my horse from Cordova, chewing grasses with its harness tied at Jericho’s palace, if not for my full belief that a few steps from here is the ever-flowing Jordan river. I may have believed that I am in a breathtaking Roman bath with a lovely woman, scenting a pleasant and delicious sweet smell that dazed me from being intoxicated.”

In that fashion, the quiet Antipater, with his jolly and talkative friend, rang a carved wood bell with his right index finger without being noticed. A chiming sound of an iron bell reverberate the room.

—Ah!” Paulo’s slurred speech, then turned his head around, searching for that tinkling sound, while Antipater is enjoying the behavior of his guest’s demeanor. —“That sound is telling me that one more miracle is about to happen. But I tell you in advance, my dear friend, that a Roman in Augusto’s days cannot be easily deceived from the frightening surprises while elated from intoxication, under the influence of Sorrento and Falernum’s exhalation.”

—“I don’t intend to frighten you.” Herod’s son replied, wanting to laugh. —“I just want to fulfill my promise to you, didn’t I tell you earlier that you will hear from Enoe again?”

—“Surely then.” cock-eyed Paulo blasted.

—“Then hear it and judge,” Antipater’s commentary.

Then Paulo stopped talking and waited. And in a moment, heard the sweet and enticing harp’s sounded the room, glittering, cascading its mellow resonance. The beautiful and heartrending melody sprinkled the air, slowly diffusing its delighted harmony around the room and bewitching the enchanting atmosphere to fall asleep. But what more to say, to this alluring harp, giving the fascinating, seductive consonance, emotionally fiddled with the tip of its soft, delicate fingers, deeply moved by an angel —spilling a stream of pleasure, pouring water falls of high spirits from heaven for these two friends. Paulo lost his consciousness, and he could not continue to eat from hearing this captivating descant. Like Homer’s song, this is a dream, composing its hymns witnessed by his gleaming eyes; and Virgilio’s poem, chanted by choir of goddesses of the mythical wonders. Then the harp’s sound ceased for a moment, a brief quietude filled the air, and then once more, a melodramatic music breaks the silence, accompanied by a harmonious voice of a woman, very sweet and sensitive. Touching and heartbroken, better than the harp’s congruity, like hanging, swinging from the gloomy branches of a fig tree, in Ephraim’s woodlands, oscillating from side to side, carried by the gentle wind, the soft voice is singing the following:

“I am a bird from a deep dark forest, and from the glowing blue stars is my bursting amicable heart, grieving in sweet mourning.”

“I am a bird with different colors, placed in an angelic river, nesting on a shore. My warm-hearted voice is my honest supplication.”

“With tens of my heart’s desire is a meaningless lamentation.”

“I am that lost, wretched dove, and from Libano’s petrified ground, I am nesting.”

“And when I sing my wounded afflicted heart, they desired me.”

“Let my heart be love.”

“Living in yearning, I slowly withered.”

“Hidden from the sun’s morning dew, repulse not to ask for the rose’s sweet scent.”

Then the song, and the harp’s music stopped. The deep resonance and the magnanimous lamentation of a woman’s voice faded like a fainted dream from a longing, loving soul, with nothing left in the end but a sweet blurry memory. Sad and unopinionated, a farewell kiss from the one who bid goodbye, ushered by the wings of wind, aimed shoot by the beloved.