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He met my eyes and nodded gravely, and went to kiss her lined cheek. It was a pretty picture, if one didn’t know what it cost him to offer affection to a near-stranger.
    “Such a lovely child, like an ivory carving! And charming with it in the bargain.” Yevuneh smiled again, caressing his hair. “You are blessed, to have such a son.”
    Joscelin, who did understand Habiru, made no comment.
    “Indeed,” I said. “My lady, how was the Covenant of Wisdom broken?”
    “Pride,” she said. “Pride, and wrath. How else? When Shalomon’s kingdom fell, Adonai made us a dwelling-place in Jebe-Barkal, where we might preserve His gifts and keep them safe. Never were they to be used for personal gain, but only for the good of His people-the descendants of the anointed, the Wise Ones, the Melehakim. And the keeping of His gifts lay in the hands of the men, but the passage of wisdom ... ah! That lay in the hands of the women.” Yevuneh turned over her empty hands. “We did not hold it tight enough. You have heard of Khemosh, the falsely anointed?”
    I nodded.
    She sighed. “We did not act. When Khemosh spoke, the men listened, and began to echo his words. When the Queen spoke, we remained silent in fear. We allowed the chain to be broken, the Covenant sundered. Khemosh was anointed in his wrath and proclaimed King, without a woman’s wisdom to balance him; and Khemosh made war upon Meroë. Nemuel, who was the priest of Aaron’s line upon that time, brought the Ark of the Broken Tablets onto the battlefield. Always before, in our time of need, the Voice of Adonai rang forth between the cherubim, proclaiming His fearful Name. This time, the Voice was silent.”
    “And the army of Khemosh was defeated,” I said. “This I was told.”
    “Not that,” Yevuneh said. “Not only that. When the Voice was silent...” She gazed at Imriel. “Such eyes the boy has! Like sapphires at nightfall. There were sapphires too on the breastplate of Aaron, you know; sapphire and jacinthe and agate, sardius, topaz, diamond ... I cannot name them all. Twelve stones for the Twelve Tribes.”
    “The breastplate of Aaron,” I mused. “This was taken from Shalomon’s Temple?”
    “Yes.” Yevuneh nodded. “It was one of the treasures. And when the Voice was silent, Nemuel donned it, and the crown, too, wrought with a signet, and ‘Holy to Adonai’ engraved upon it. In his pride, for he had anointed Khemosh with his own hands, he donned these things to force the will of Adonai. And on the battlefield, Nemuel ordered the cover of the Ark of Broken Tablets to be lifted ...”
    Her voice fell silent. I waited, and Joscelin and Imriel waited with me. After a thousand years and more, these stories were like yesterday to the Sabaean widow.
    “It was folly,” she whispered, “for Nemuel approached the Ark of Broken Tablets in anger. To think he could contain the sacred Name!” Yevuneh shook her head. “Where there is pride and wrath, there is no room for Adonai. It is death to attempt it. Only in a state of perfect love and trust may such grace be attained.”
    “To make of the self a vessel where there is no self,” I murmured.
    “Even so.” Yevuneh nodded. “But Adonai was merciful, and withheld the blow of death, for the love he had borne his people. The cover was lifted, and Nemuel alone looked inside and beheld the Name of God.” Her expression was sombre. “And when he sought to speak it, Nemuel was struck dumb, his tongue withering within his mouth like a drought-stricken root. Such was the penalty for breaking the Covenant of Wisdom. And it is as you have said, the army of Khemosh was defeated, and we gathered for flight; fleeing the forces of Meroë, and fleeing moreover the wrath of Adonai, who was at such pains to preserve His people.”
    “A harsh penalty for one man’s transgression,” I said quietly.
    “No.” Yevuneh gave a sad smile. “The sin was shared among us all, for all of us failed in honoring the Covenant. Even now, to this day, the priests of the line of Aaron are born tongueless and dumb, keepers of a useless treasure, which we must hide from the eyes of Adonai, the Lord our God, lest he remember and smite us for our folly. Khemosh himself got neither son nor daughter, and we dare not even raise up a King, but hew only to the ancient laws kept by the Elders, and the women ... we bear the price still of the power we relinquished. So you see, you seek wisdom in vain.”
    Joscelin let out his