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Akkadians. As for the gods of Jebe-Barkal, they are foul and bestial monstrosities.”
    “And yet,” I said, “I have heard you use the grief of Isis to hide something from the eyes of Adonai Himself.”
    He sucked in his breath as if I’d struck him, his bearded cheeks flushing darker. “It is no business of yours, foreigner!” I said nothing. The men behind him stirred. After a moment, he spoke again. “We have tracked these poachers for many days without success,” he said reluctantly, nodding toward the slain Shamsun. “For this, if no other, you may claim hearth-friendship. Is it your wish?”
    “It is.” I inclined my head.
    “So be it.” His bitter smile returned. “I am Hanoch ben Hadad. I will lead you to the city of Tisaar. Whatever your quest may be, you may present it to the Elders.”
    Thus did we enter Saba.

Seventy-Two
    IT WAS an uneasy journey, albeit a short one. The Sabaeans were none too glad of our company, and kept themselves separate. The Jebeans, understandably, were nervous and watchful. Joscelin, Imriel and I were subdued.
    If Jebe-Barkal was like a land from a fable, Saba was even more so. How many years had they endured in isolation? Between the many calendars involved, I was hard put to do the calculations, but by my best guess, King Khemosh had ruled some two hundred years before the birth of Elua.
    The quarrel was more ancient than my homeland. It was a sobering thought.
    Under Hanoch ben Hadad’s guidance, we reached the Lake of Tears, which was so vast as to resemble a calm, inland sea, hiding its mysteries. Here at last there were roads and we were able to ride abreast, making our way to the capital city of Tisaar.
    ’Twas passing strange, in that green wilderness, to see the ruddy stone walls rising around the city by the lake. A sentry looked out from the tower gate, sounding a long blast on a ram’s horn. Hanoch ben Hadad raised his hand in acknowledgment and we waited until the wondering guard turned out to question the Sabaean captain. What he said, I do not know, but it seemed it sufficed. We were admitted to Tisaar.
    For near onto twelve years of my life, I had studied the lore and history of the Habiru. Now it seemed as if I had entered one of my own scrolls. Despite the lack of trade, Tisaar was prosperous, the Sabaeans making use to the fullest extent of those resources that abounded in the land. Crops and herds and wild game they had in plenty, and timber and stone. For metal, though, they had only copper and gold.
    No iron, and thus no steel; not even tin to render bronze. It explained the great antiquity of their arms, which were handed down from generation to generation, patched and mended, betimes smelted and forged anew, each ounce of metal more precious than gold. What steel there was in Tisaar was a treasured rarity, filtered to Saba through the occasional capture of bandits more successful than the Shamsun we’d encountered. Hanoch’s men eyed our weapons with envious wonder. I think they would have seized them if they dared, but the law of hospitality forbade it.
    For my part, I stared about me as we rode through the streets of Tisaar , amazed by the sight of wagons built in a style not seen in centuries, the wheel rims made of copper. And the people of Saba stared in turn, their dark faces according strangely with their Habiru tongue and old-fashioned attire, wondering who-and what -we were.
    There were no inns in all of Tisaar. Sabaeans who travelled from elsewhere in the land stayed with friends or relatives, or camped outside the city, as Tifari and Bizan and our bearers opted to do, granted six-day passes to come and go within the city, provided they left their arms outside the walls. For Joscelin and Imriel and me, Hanoch ben Hadad secured lodging with his widowed sister, gauging us safe enough. Grudgingly, he allowed Joscelin to keep his arms, although he was forbidden to bear them in the city without a Sabaean military escort.
    Hanoch’s sister’s grown daughter had left her for her husband’s household and she lived alone on the ground floor of a spacious house with only a cook and an elderly maidservant. The whole second floor was empty and used only for storage.
    “A strange place.” Joscelin opened a trunk in the room we’d been allotted, sniffing at the linens stored within it. “Smells of mildew. The whole city seems forgotten by time.”
    “It nearly is. Don’t do that, it’s rude.” I had liked Hanoch’s sister,