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The following is the sixth installment of a serialization of the novel, Abinadi by H.B. Moore. To read the previous installment, click here. More information about H.B. Moore can be found: www.hbmoore.com
Chapter Five
Turn ye not unto idols, nor make to yourselves molten gods:
I am the Lord your God.
(Leviticus 19:4)
The heat of the day finally stirred Alma awake. He lifted his head and took in his surroundings. He was in his small, dark room, the walls lined with colorful fabric and the floor with intricate rugs. A faint breeze sailed in through a solitary window, and a couple of flies buzzed their way in the glowing pillar of light. Alma sat up on the cushions and rubbed his head. It felt like he’d been hit with a boulder. With a groan, he remembered the events of the night before. It all blurred together—the wine, the music, the dancing, the women.
His stomach churned for a moment, and Alma wondered if the wine was still sour in his stomach and he’d have to rush outside. But the sensation passed. With a sigh, he lay on the cot again. The woman he’d danced with, or rather who had danced with him, had been beautiful on the outside. But in their brief encounter, he saw something beyond her physical appearance. Something dark in her eyes, something strangely appealing yet appalling in the same breath.
A temptress.
Alma raised his head, wondering where the idea had come from. King Noah had no need for harlots; his palace brimmed with legal wives and concubines. But the more Alma thought about it, the more he was sure those dancing women had been harlots. He turned over on the cot and faced the wall, closing his eyes in understanding. The rumors he’d heard about harlots in the king’s palace were also true. The image of his father’s eyes plagued his mind. It was as if he’d let down his parents, even though they were in their graves, by the simple act of dancing with a harlot. Alma folded his arms, trying to push away the ridiculous thought. His parents were as dust and had no influence on him now.
A shuffling sound came from outside the room, and Alma turned just as someone entered. He stared, unblinking, at the young woman who carried a tray loaded with guavas, cherries, cheese, and wine toward him. She was younger than the women from the night before, but her expression was far beyond her years. Another temptress? Alma sat up and cleared his throat. His face flushed hot as he realized his odor was probably foul and his appearance disheveled. Then he wondered why he cared.
The woman—the girl—knelt before him and held out the tray of food. The wine in the goblet sloshed against the brim. Alma hesitated, glancing at the girl, but her eyes were lowered. His gaze stalled on her high cheekbones and full lips . . . graceful neck . . . He tore his eyes from her and focused on the tray. His throat was parched, so he reached for the wine and took a small sip. Surprisingly, it calmed his stomach. He took another sip, followed by a long drink.
When the goblet was finished, the girl smiled and started to pour more wine from the narrow jug. But Alma put up his hand, stopping her. “Let me,” he said. He poured wine into the goblet. Before he knew it, he’d finished the second cup. The girl still waited quietly.
“Thank you,” Alma said.
She nodded and motioned toward the food.
He took a cherry from the platter. “What’s your name?” he asked, unable to keep his curious gaze from her face.
She shook her head slightly. “You can call me whatever you like.”
Alma straightened, staring at her. “You don’t have a name?”
She stared back, amazement flickering in her eyes. “I . . . the king calls me Jahza.”
“All right, Jahza,” Alma said, wondering why she wouldn’t tell him her true name. “Thank you for the wine and food.” He waited for her to rise and leave, but she remained. “Is there anything else?” he finally asked.
“That’s why I’m here,” Jahza said in a soft voice. “The king sent me to serve you.” She slid closer to him and placed a hand on his arm.
He was so surprised, he didn’t move. Slowly, she slid her hand along his arm until she reached his shoulder. She was close enough that he could smell the faint odor of jasmine on her hair. Her other hand reached for his neck, and she pulled herself toward him.
Alma flinched. He removed her hands and gently pushed her away. He knew his face was scarlet, but he had never been this close to a woman before. Seeing the look of discomfort on her face, he stood and took several steps away from her. “I’m sorry, Jahza. Perhaps King Noah meant for you to visit someone else?”
“No,” she said, her smile covering up the unease in her eyes. “The king said it would be your . . . first visit.” She stood and walked to him, standing very close. “That’s why he sent me. The king thought you’d feel more comfortable with someone young.”
The two goblets of wine had done more than help Alma relax. The girl before him was becoming more and more enticing by the moment. He let out a low breath. It was all here before him for the taking . . . ordered by the king, no less.
Jahza touched his arm again, her fingers trailing to his hand. “As a soon-to-be-ordained priest of the king’s court, you’ll enjoy every pleasure and privilege that you desire.”
Was he really going to be made a priest? Amulon had said so, and now this woman seemed to think so too.
She brought his fingers gently to her lips. Alma closed his eyes. Her skin was so soft, supple. He opened his eyes and gazed at her. She smiled at him, her eyes accepting.
“I’m sorry,” Alma whispered. He dropped his hand and turned away. He moved to the door and opened it before he could change his mind. Then with a swift backward glance at the crestfallen girl, he escaped into the hallway.
He realized his hands were trembling, and he felt as if his chest would explode. It was unbelievable—the king had sent him a harlot. And he had refused her. Sure as the sun would set that day, Alma knew he’d just forfeited his chances of becoming a priest. But if it entailed all of this . . . He shook his head and quickened his pace. From the small room, he’d seen a garden just outside. He was grateful the hallway was empty so he didn’t have to encounter anyone of the court—and try to explain why he had refused Jahza. Slipping through a door to the garden just beyond, he finally let his emotions surface.
His face burned with embarrassment. Any moment now, Jahza would make her report to the king. Alma could well imagine the laughter, the humiliation, and the ridicule that would follow. Or even punishment. After all, he had turned down a gift from the king. Alma’s breath grew still as he remembered the king’s easy wrath. When the man wasn’t being entertained, he was usually in a foul temper. Perhaps the king would be more lenient the day after his latest marriage.
Alma made his way through the garden, stopping to stare unseeingly at the climbing bushes of flowers and buzzing insects. The early morning brought a promise of blooming humidity, but at least for now the temperature was sweet with coolness. He found a boulder to sit on and thought about the girl he’d just rejected. The look in her eyes pulled at his heart. He wished he could apologize to her again but feared he’d never get the chance. She had a name, he thought—a name taken from her by the king. What happened to her birth name? Was a woman—a harlot—so inconsequential that her name was taken from her upon arrival at the king’s palace along with her virtue?
A soft sound reached him, and Alma held his breath, listening. He wasn’t alone in the garden. Someone was crying. Perhaps a child? Perhaps Jahza? He rose and moved through the garden, walking toward the sound. He passed under a group of overhanging trees, then stopped and stared at the sight before him.
The trees opened into a secluded courtyard, surrounded by a circle of foliage. In the center was a carved bench of fine wood. A woman sat on the bench, her head bent so that the cascading hair covered her face, her shoulders trembling with quiet sobs.
Alma knew instantly that the woman was Maia, the king’s new bride. Why was she here alone, crying? Why wasn’t she with her new husband in his royal rooms?
He took a quiet step backward, ready to leave the woman to her privacy, when Maia lifted her head. Their gazes locked, and Maia’s eyes widened.
They spoke at the same time.
“Alma,” she said.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. He offered a stiff bow, then turned to leave.
“Wait.” Her voice was soft yet melodic at the same time. She was next to him in an instant, her tear-stained face peering up at him. Her chin trembled as she spoke. “I am very happy, and the king is a wonderful husband.” She looked away. “I don’t want you to think I’m dissatisfied in any way.”
“Of course not,” Alma said, knowing that her eyes betrayed her words.
“I miss my family, that’s all,” she whispered, looking down at her clasped hands. Then she smiled up at him, her eyes brightening for an instant. “I have been blessed to come here.”
Any woman would consider herself fortunate to marry a king, Alma thought, trying to convince himself. Even so, how could the bride miss her family so much after only one day? He sensed that something else was wrong. He opened his mouth to ask if he could help her with anything, but she stopped him.
“When you see my family next, tell them that I . . . I love them.”
“All right,” he said.
She turned away again, but not before he saw new tears brimming. She moved past him and quickly left the garden, leaving Alma alone. He left the secluded courtyard and searched for an outside gate. It seemed the garden was completely walled in. He’d have to go back through the hallway and risk running into someone—perhaps Jahza.
He took a deep breath and strode purposefully through the garden, trying to dispel the image of Maia’s haunting eyes and the misery he saw in them. As soon as he entered the hallway, a rush of footsteps joined him. A familiar voice boomed out, “Alma!”
“Amulon,” Alma said, feeling his stomach sink low. Did the man already know about his failure with Jahza?
“Feeling better?” Amulon asked.
Alma searched for the man’s meaning, then realized he referred to the events of the night before. “Yes, thank you. I slept well.”
“Good,” Amulon said, grinning. “What do you think of your new room?”
“My room?” Alma said. “It’s mine?”
“As a priest, you’ll have many benefits.”
Alma nodded, thinking. A room wasn’t all he’d been given. He wondered if he could trust Amulon. It seemed that the man had gone out of his way to befriend him. “I’m afraid the king may not be pleased with me.”
“The king is more than pleased. He just enjoyed a wedding night, defeated some Lamanites, and banished the last of his father’s elders.” Amulon laughed. “You slept through the whole thing.”
Alma stared at him. “How did all that happen?”
The two men walked along the hallway as Amulon caught him up on the events that had transpired. They weaved their way through the various rooms of the palace until they reached the throne room. Alma relaxed a little, feeling at ease with Amulon’s easy nature.
“I must confess something.” Alma lowered his voice. “The king sent a woman to my room . . .”
Amulon nodded. “Which one?”
“Jahza.”
“Ahh,” Amulon said. “She’s the new one. Was there a problem?”
“I—I turned her down,” Alma said, avoiding his friend’s gaze.
“I see,” Amulon said quietly. He looked past Alma for a moment, then said, “It’s not my business, but I know what your concern is.”
“You do?” Alma said, hope filling his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t be ridiculed by the whole court after all.
“You need to lay down the law with your wife. Tell her about your new lifestyle. It’s part of being a high priest.” Amulon winked and slapped him on the back. “Let’s get in there. They’re waiting for you.”
Before Alma could explain that he didn’t have a wife, guards threw open the doors, and a shout rose up in the hall.
King Noah stepped from his throne. “There you are!” He swept forward, perspiration beading on his forehead as if he’d already worked a full day. But there was no work in sight, just a feast of fruits, breads, and sweets laid out on low tables, and a crowd of people. Didn’t anyone ever sleep? Alma recognized a few of the priests from the night before. Some of the women were the same too.
King Noah embraced Alma, then turned to the crowd and said, “Now that Amulon has brought Alma, I will make the announcement.”
A hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes focused on Alma.
“Alma will be anointed high priest at sunset,” the king said.
Cheers erupted around him, and Alma blinked at the celebrators. They hardly knew him. People massed around him, congratulating him and pressing gifts into his hands. Everywhere Alma turned, someone else complimented him.
“Let’s eat!” the king shouted. The crowd moved as one toward the platters. Flanked by the king and Amulon, Alma was continually offered food and wine; he was suddenly ravenous, so he accepted.
Entertainers came forward, all bowing before the king, then to Alma. Jugglers had come in from a nearby village. The Kaminaljuyú men arranged themselves into a semicircle, playing drums, while a juggler took the center. The juggler twisted and turned, keeping a carved stick in the air.
Alma sat in amazement—it was as if he were royalty. At one point, Jahza slipped by his side and sat ever so close. There was no disappointment in her eyes now. She simply stared at Alma as if she adored him, and the king seemed more than happy to make room for her.
The hours wore on, passing with little acknowledgment from Alma. The wine and food kept coming, and it was easy to indulge. He was so relieved to still be in the king’s grace, he joined with the other priests in celebrating. After all, it was for his own ordination.
Finally, at the command of the king, the priests staggered to their feet and the group made its way toward the king’s main temple. The numbers had thinned considerably from those who’d been present at the feast. Alma realized that only the priests were invited to this particular event.
They exited the palace and followed a wide path to the temple walls. Just beyond the temple, a newly constructed tower stood—higher than any building in the land. It gave the king a full view of the lands of Shilom and Shemlon. Amulon stayed at Alma’s side, pointing out the architectural features of the surrounding buildings.
“The doors of the main temple are made of fine wood,” Amulon said. “The walls are strong—reconstructed during Zeniff’s time.” He pointed to small idols. “These ornaments are gold and silver. Of course, King Noah added these after his father’s death. Makes things more interesting, eh?”
Alma gazed at the intricate idols with interest. It seemed that everything Noah built was the finest in the land. This temple was the largest and sat the highest on the hill. They ascended the steep stairs, then entered the temple, and the cool interior of the large hall greeted them. Abinadi immediately noticed the fine wood and the intricate workmanship. He slowed his step, breathing in the fragrant aroma of the heady incense that filled the air. Then his gaze was drawn to the end of the room. A row of seats was elevated above the floor. One of the seats was the same that he’d been commissioned to build. But over his woodworking, gold had been laid. The gold ornamentation glowed in the dim light, quiet and majestic. Two of the priests lit the torches that lined the room, and the gold leapt to life. It twinkled merrily in the light as if promising a life filled with pleasure. A low wall had been built in front of the row of seats, and Alma watched the other men take their places and lean against the breastwork, waiting for what was about to take place.
A sense of awe entered Alma. This was the place where judgments were handed down to the people. This was where the king ruled the city of Nephi.
Noah waited for all the other priests to be seated, including Amulon, then turned to Alma and motioned for him to kneel.
“In honor of your duty to the kingdom in bringing me a new wife, I have decided to ordain you a high priest of my court.” The king raised his sword. “The vacant seat of the high priest office will be filled tonight.” Noah leaned toward Alma and whispered in a loud voice, “Just remember the first rule: Stay away from my wives.”
The priests laughed, the sound filling the spacious room. One priest shouted, “What about your concubines?”
King Noah sputtered, then roared with laughter. Alma smiled, relieved that it was taken as a joke and not a foolish comment that might land someone in prison. Then Noah lowered his sword over Alma’s bowed head and spoke the prescribed words of ordination.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, and Alma stood and blinked. The high priests were on their feet, cheering for him. He walked around the low wall and received the congratulatory pats on the back. Amulon pulled him into a fierce embrace. “Welcome!”
“Let us move to the altar,” King Noah commanded after a short time.
Everyone filed out of the temple and surrounded the elevated platform. Amulon handed the king a finely shaped obsidian dagger. The hilt was encrusted with jade and gold. The king turned to Alma and held out the dagger. Alma stepped forward with a bow and took the weapon.
“And now, our new high priest will consecrate the altar with his blood.”
Alma’s stomach lurched, but Amulon had prepared him in advance, explaining that King Noah had “restructured” the laws of Moses to better serve the growing kingdom. Swiftly, Alma drew the blade across the palm of his hand, then placed his hand squarely on the altar. This was not following the laws of Moses that his father had practiced, but Alma told himself that it was a new king, a new law. The other priests bowed their heads and murmured a prayer in unison.
After the prayer, the king said, “Every sacrifice made before the next moon, be it animal, clothing, or autosacrifice, will all be in commemoration to our new high priest, Alma.”
The group moved across the courtyard and back into the palace.
In the throne room, Alma sat on the golden seat that had been reserved for him. Disbelief surged through him. A few days ago, he would never have imagined being a part of King Noah’s court. His father had been the one in the family who was a king’s man—the revered scholar—not Alma. Yet here he was, being given power to judge a man’s fate, wealth beyond his imagination, and the prestige and respect of the leaders in the city.
I could become accustomed to this, Alma thought. What was I so worried about before? The king made the laws here. Noah ruled the people. The traditions of Zeniff and of Alma’s father had died with them. It was a new land, a reconstructed temple, and a new people.
And I am a new person, Alma realized.
The king sent an order for his children to be brought in to meet Alma. The priests reassembled in the throne room, and a short time later, a line of more than two dozen children entered and stood in order—from the eldest, a boy named Limhi who was on the verge of manhood, to a babe in a midwife’s arms.
Alma marveled that one man could have so many children—but the number of wives explained it all. He watched the eldest boy with curiosity. Limhi was thin and quite pale, looking out of place in a room full of brazen men. He looked around the room furtively, not making eye contact with anyone—seemingly uncomfortable in his father’s presence.
Noah walked toward Limhi and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “This one spends too much time in study with the scribes. I’m sending him on a very long hunting trip next week. He needs to become a man!”
The priests clapped their hands. Limhi looked away as if he were embarrassed. As soon as the king allowed it, he hurried out of the room after his siblings.
Amulon left at dusk, but the celebrations continued through the night, and by midnight Alma was completely exhausted. He excused himself to his quarters, much to the dismay of the king. But this time Alma had held his wine, and although his journey along the palace corridors was somewhat staggered, he managed to find his new room. The oil lamps burned softly, welcoming him, and a tray of fresh fruit and another jug of wine sat in the corner. Alma smiled. He would sleep well tonight on the soft cushions—dreaming of new adventures and of being one of the most powerful men in the land.
A movement on the cushions startled him. “Who goes there?” Alma said, reaching for the dagger at his waist.
A slender woman rose from the cushions. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders, and she wore a wrap that left her arms and shoulders bare. In her hand, she held a goblet of wine.
“Jahza?” Alma said.
She smiled at him in the dim, warm light but said nothing, merely raising the goblet to her lips and taking a sip.
Alma hesitated in the doorway. Yes, she was beautiful, and he was a high priest now . . . deferential only to the king. He had no wife to betray. He took a step forward, and Jahza’s eyes flashed with excitement. Alma turned and gently shut the door. Then he looked at Jahza. He would not abandon her a second time.
