him no bribe. Rather I led him to believe you’d sent a letter with consent for us to come and stay with you. His only fault was having faith in my word.”
Yaltha glanced at me, uncertain. Lavi shifted on his feet. I didn’t look at Apion, but I heard the out-breath that escaped his lips.
Haran said, “You stand here and confess you are in my house out of trickery?” He broke into laughter, and there was not a hint of derision in it. “Why have you come here?”
“As you know, Uncle, my father is dead. My aunt and I had nowhere else to go.”
“Have you no husband?” he asked.
I should’ve anticipated such an obvious question, but it caught me by surprise. I hesitated too long.
“Her husband sent her away,” Yaltha said, rescuing me. “She’s ashamed to speak of it.”
“Yes,” I muttered. “He turned me out.” Then, lest Haran inquire what terrible thing I’d done to deserve my expulsion, I quickly continued, “We traveled here with our guardian because you are my father’s eldest brother and our patriarch. My trickery came from my desire to come here and serve you. I ask your forgiveness.”
He turned to Yaltha. “She’s shrewd, this one—I cannot help but like her. Now. Tell me, long-lost sister, why have you returned after all this time? Don’t tell me that you, too, have come hoping to serve me—I know better.”
“I have no wish to serve you, it’s true. I wished to come home, that’s all. I’ve been in exile for twelve years. Is that not long enough?”
His lips curled. “So, you’ve not returned in hopes of finding your daughter? Any mother would wish to be reunited with a lost daughter before she dies.”
He was not just ruthless, but perceptive. I told myself I should never underestimate him.
“My daughter was adopted long ago,” Yaltha said. “I forfeited her. I have no false hope of seeing her again. If you wish to tell me her whereabouts, I would welcome it, but I’ve made my peace with our separation.”
He said, “I know nothing of her whereabouts, as you fully know. Her family insisted on a legal agreement that prevents us from having any contact with them.”
“As I said, she’s gone,” Yaltha reiterated. “I didn’t come for her, only for myself. Let me come home, Haran.” How contrite she looked, how convincing.
Haran stepped away from the harsh shaft of light and paced, hands clasped behind him. He gave Apion a wave of dismissal and his treasurer nearly broke into a run as he left the room.
My uncle stopped in front of me. “You will pay me five hundred bronze drachmae for each month you stay under my roof.”
Five hundred! I was in possession of fifteen hundred Herodian silver drachmae with no idea how that translated into Egyptian bronze. We needed the money to last up to a year, not just for rent, but for passage home.
“One hundred,” I said.
“Four hundred,” he countered.
“One hundred fifty and I will serve you as a scribe.”
“A scribe?” He snorted. “I have a scribe.”
“Does your scribe write Aramaic, Greek, Hebrew, and Latin . . . all four?” I asked.
“Does he create lettering and scripts so beautiful people attribute even greater import to the words?” said Yaltha.
“You do these things?” Haran said to me.
“I do.”
“All right. One hundred fifty bronze drachmae and your services as a scribe. I require nothing further except that neither of you leave this house.”
“You can’t mean to confine us here,” I said. This was a blow worse than the cost of his rent.
“If you require goods from the market, your guardian, as you call him, can do your bidding.”
He faced Yaltha. “As you know, charges of murder do not expire. If I learn that either of you have left the house or made inquiries about your daughter, I’ll make sure you’re arrested.” His face hardened. “Chaya’s family doesn’t want your meddling, and I won’t risk them suing me because of it.”