attendants, bare to the waist, stretched out the canopy, and Turms took his place before the small crowd.
Pressing the palms of his hands together, he raised his arms above the heads of the people and said, “May the blessings of this day be yours in abundance.”
Then he greeted them, saying, “It pleases me to receive your gifts on this most auspicious morning. Come near to me, for this is the acceptable hour. Who will be first?” He lowered his hands and looked around him at the hopeful faces of his subjects. He saw a young girl with blue cornflowers in her hair, holding a sprig of laurel. “You, little one, what is your desire?”
The girl, nudged forward by her father, stepped timidly closer. She did not dare to meet the gaze of the king, but kept her head bowed, her eyes upon the laurel clasped in her trembling hands.
“Is this for me?” asked Turms, bending near.
The girl nodded.
“I thank you,” he said, gently taking the laurel sprig, “and the gods thank you.” He placed a hand on her head and felt the gentle heat there. “What do you want me to do for you?” She hesitated, and he said, “Speak, child. All heaven stands ready to do your bidding.”
“It is my mother,” replied the girl, head low, her voice faint as a whisper.
“Yes? Tell me, what is in your heart?”
“She is very sick.”
“Your mother is sick and you would see her made well again—is that your desire?”
The little girl nodded.
Glancing up, Turms addressed the father, who was now standing behind his daughter. “How long?” he asked.
“Two days, my lord king,” replied the man.
Turms nodded. He straightened, raised his face to the sky, and covered his face with his hands. He stood in silence for a moment and then, lowering his hands once more, smiled and said, “There is nothing to fear.” He reached towards the girl and took her chin between his finger and thumb, lifting her head. “Your mother will be well. This illness will pass. In three days, her strength will be renewed.”
“Thank you, lord,” said the man, relief visible on his face.
Turning to one of the acolytes, Turms said, “Send one of the court physicians to this man’s house with a potion for sleep and the easing of fever.” To the man and little girl, he said, “Go in peace. The gods are pleased to grant your petition.”
Bowing from the waist, the man backed away through the crowd, drawing his daughter with him, thanking his king as he went.
“Who will be next?” asked Turms.
A man dressed in the short tunic and sandals of a day labourer stepped forward and went down on his knees. He stretched forth his hands, holding a heavy bunch of ripe purple grapes. “My lord and king, hear me. I am in need.”
Directing one of the acolytes to take the offered gift, Turms asked, “What is your need, my friend?”
“It is for justice, my king.”
“I am listening. Speak freely.”
“I have been working for a man who promised to pay me each evening when work was completed. I have worked two days without pay, and last night he dismissed me. When I complained that I was not paid, he set his dogs on me. They tore my clothes.” He indicated a ragged rent in the hem of his simple garment. “I seek the promised wages.”
Gazing down at the man, who still had not raised his head, Turms asked, “What reason did he give for dismissing you?”
“None whatever, my king.”
“Did he have cause to dismiss you without pay?” inquired the priest king gently. “Theft, perhaps, or drunkenness? Or laziness?”
“My king,” said the man, bridling at the insinuation that he might have been in some way to blame for his troubles, “I am an honest man and do an honest day’s work. I earned my pay and now I am hungry, and my children are hungry.”
“How much are you owed?”
“Twenty-five denari,” replied the man readily. Turms looked into the fellow’s eyes for a moment, and the man returned his gaze unwaveringly.
“I am satisfied,” declared the king. Turning to one of the acolytes, he said, “Give this man fifty denari out of the treasury. Then send the Master of the Rolls with two soldiers to collect the same from this man’s employer.”
The acolyte picked up his wax tablet and, with a rosewood stylus, recorded the king’s judgement in the soft wax. Other petitioners came forward then—some seeking a judgement, others in search of a decision or knowledge