Chapter 3

Arnon’s last day wore on, and when the declining sun had been nicked by the glowing tip of Arcturus, twenty miles away, old Kedar rolled up the western tent-panels also, admitting a jasmine-scented breeze. Rousing, Fara lifted her eyes to the breath-taking panorama of rolling hills in the foreground descending to the green Valley of Aisne, with the majestic Arcturus in the far distance; and, beyond the southern slope of the mountain, the dazzling white shoreline of the Dead Sea.

Noting that Fara had been momentarily diverted from her vigil, Ione drew closer to whisper that Voldi had come. Did she want to see him? Fara shook her head.

‘Tell Voldi not to wait,’ she murmured; and, as Ione moved away, she added, ‘Tell him I cannot come now. He will understand.’

Fara’s heavy eyes slowly returned to her mother’s drawn face. She laid her cheek against Arnon’s breast and listened—and listened. Old Nephti took a step forward and held up an outspread hand for silence, though no place had ever been so quiet. At length Fara straightened and kissed her mother on the forehead, very gently, so as not to waken her. Then she came slowly to her feet. Her eyes were tearless now and her proud face was composed. Lightly touching old Nephti’s shoulder in a brief caress and making a weary little gesture of appreciation toward the others, she left the tent.

Voldi was waiting in the garden. Rising, he held out his arms and Fara nestled her head against his breast. He could feel the silent, convulsive sobs and drew her closer.

‘She is gone?’ he asked.

Fara nodded wearily, dejectedly.

‘I will take care of you, dear,’ murmured Voldi.

‘Let us not speak of that now,’ said Fara, gently releasing herself from his embrace. ‘There are many things to do, I suppose. Will you ride over to the King’s encampment—and tell them?’

‘Of course; and then may I come back?’

‘Voldi, I am so very tired. Perhaps tomorrow…’

He took her in his arms again and kissed her, but her response was apathetic.

After Voldi had ridden away, Ione joined Fara, who had remained in the garden, seated in her mother’s favourite chair.

‘What do we do now, Ione?’ she asked weakly. ‘I know so little about it.’

‘The men will come tonight, dear, and attend to the burial.’

‘And—am I to have anything to do with that?’

‘No—you will not be expected to go along. Nephti and I will dress her for the burial.’ Ione reached out her hand. ‘Come now—and take some rest. You are quite exhausted. I shall bring you something nourishing to drink.’