A Clever Girl: Interregnum

By Jeannie Troll

A Clever Girl: Interregnum continues the story of Achtriel and her community in the early seventh century AD. In addition, it focuses on the history of Tirzah before her appearance in Part 1.

attempt at statuary, Laocoon, his eyeballs protruding, almost comically, behind the snake.

"Ah, here you are at last!" the Duke's booming voice observed. She turned to see him holding the hand of a strange lady. Her oddness was not so much intriguing as puzzling. She wore somber robes, cut in Druidic lines, and a motley cap, cataracts of greying hair descending from it. "This is the child I spoke of, Moira," the Duke said happily, as if displaying cured," she said finally. "Give her to me."

------------------------------------------------------------ attempt at statuary, Laocoon, his eyeballs protruding, almost comically, behind the snake.

"Ah, here you are at last!" the Duke's booming voice observed. She turned to see him holding the hand of a strange lady. Her oddness was not so much intriguing as puzzling. She wore somber robes, cut in Druidic lines, and a motley cap, cataracts of greying hair descending from it. "This is the child I spoke of, Moira," the Duke said happily, as if displaying cured," she said finally. "Give her to me."

------------------------------------------------------------

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647018467

Book preview

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A Clever Girl: Interregnum

Jeannie Troll

Copyright © 2020 Jeannie Troll

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64701-845-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64701-846-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter One

Tirzah was dancing. It was in the old practice hall, the one with marble floors. She was small and leaping in the gazelle dance. The teacher clapped her hands twice when Tirzah landed.

That is how it should be done, the teacher said pointedly to two girls who had clearly failed to please her. The girls, a yellow-haired witch from Sicily and an Arab with jewels in her ears, fixed Tirzah with a warning glare. The blond one had already accosted her in a hallway and threatened to kill her. Tirzah raised her head defiantly and stared back at them. Although she had just turned five, she had already mastered this most crucial lesson: do not show fear. Thala had taught her this, along with many other useful things.

Do not go about much with the other girls, she told her today. They were lunching in the lower courtyards after the morning class. Your destiny is finer than the dull fates in store for them. And they cannot be trusted.

Yes, Alemah, Tirzah replied. But the instruction had disturbed her. Tan, her bosom friend since infancy, had not been permitted to continue in the music program. Instead, several weeks ago, she had been taken to the overseer’s quarters and had not returned. Without Tan beside her, Tirzah felt like only half of herself. It was as if a ghost lay beside her under the arch where she and Tan had rested every afternoon.

Now she found herself observing other girls. If one of them would share a quiet word, some fruit, or a corner by a friendly eunuch, the emptiness, which followed her everywhere, might lessen. But Thala had lived in this zenana for thirty years. She had never been ensnared by the perpetual intrigues that caused the demise of unwary slaves. It was unwise to ignore her.

Everyone in the zenana knew that Thala was a woman to be feared. The fact that Tirzah was her protégé had saved the girl from numerous calamities. The frequent culling of child slaves, ones who did not promise to be beautiful or were incautious enough to irritate some matriarch, had never touched her. Even the prince’s unofficial wives and their entourage of sometime favorites treated her with consideration.

Thala had known Tirzah’s mother. They had been sold as children when crop failure impoverished their village. Thala and Tirzah’s mother, whose name was Naftali, had been spotted by the prince’s buyer in a crowd of children being herded toward the docks. He had paid so well for the two girls that their captors had happily relinquished them. Then along with twenty bolts of cotton, a caged python, two ibises, and a golden Buddha, he had conveyed them to Byzantium.

Because they were uncommonly pretty, both girls were earmarked for the palace schools where they would be taught to dance, sing, and play musical instruments. But after several years, Thala’s nose had grown too long. She was dismissed to be sold immediately to a brothel merchant. Naftali was so beautiful, however, that she had used her influence to keep Thala as her serving maid.

Naftali was Aethiopian and of a bronze skin color. This only added to her value for it was rumored that the Africans were passionate. Thala was Greek, from a distinguished family, so they had not known each other prior to captivity. Nevertheless, they were inseparable henceforth and remained so till the day Naftali sliced her own throat with a eunuch’s sword. It was rumored she had had a dalliance. When her newborn child was taken from her and her lover strangled, she had despaired and killed herself.

Whenever anyone recounted this, her history, to Tirzah, it had an unsettling effect. She had long since learned to ignore things that might deflect her concentration. Except for Thala and Tan, she had not formed attachments to anyone or anything. However, when she was thus reminded that she had been loved—enough so that someone, missing her, had taken her own life—it made her irritable. She wished that Thala would not bring up the subject. But Thala liked to reminisce, and for the most part, her stories were instructive.

Thala’s closest friend and ally now was Hyacinth, a huge black eunuch who controlled the flow of luxuries into the court. He was so well-connected that the prince often asked his advice on business matters rather than the Jews who usually oversaw such things. The prince was himself an émigré. His family, it was said, came from the bloodline of the Persian king Khosrau, who was now living in Byzantium, invited there by the emperor Maurice. High in the royal lineage, the prince’s life had always been tenuous. But in Constantinople, he was free from internecine plots and murders. The wealthy suburbs of the great Roman city afforded him the luxury of peace.

Nominally, of course, the prince was Armenian and a Christian. He would not have prospered in Byzantium without this concession. He had a public wife with whom he attended all the emperor’s festivities. But within his household he conducted things no differently than had his imperial ancestors. He owned over two hundred female slaves whose lives depended on his pleasure.

Children born to these women were assumed to be his progeny. In truth, frequent liaisons produced babes whose parentage, if investigated, might be questioned. It had been Naftali’s misfortune to have incited the jealousy of several powerful wives. Through machinations long since become routine in slavery, they had caused her downfall.

Before she died, Naftalil had begged Thala to oversee the infant’s fate. She told Thala where to find the jewels and presents, which the prince had bestowed on her, to finance Tirzah’s future. With this funding, Thala had bought the child, employed a wet nurse, and purchased the apartment in which Naftali had once lived. As one of the prince’s favorites, Naftali had amassed sufficient riches to ensure that Tirzah would be safe—at least until she was old enough to exercise the scant control a slave girl might assume over her life.

A natural businesswoman, Thala had managed their resources well. Through prudent investing in Hyacinth’s procurement schemes, she had purchased a small sleeping room. In time, she was able to acquire others and to furnish them stylishly as rentals for ambitious concubines. In addition, she controlled a secret allocation network run by the Jews who served the slave apartments. This provided rare fruits, dried meat, dairy products, baked goods, and honey to the harem. Because of this, even the premier courtesans depended on her. A well-appointed dinner party, with influential guests, could make or break a woman’s social standing. Without the right connections, even a favorite could find herself with no recourse. A shift in palace politics, a continual occurrence, might quickly cost her life.

After her talk with Thala, Tirzah did not want to eat. But Thala scolded her, telling her that food was hard-won and that, without, it she would not keep up with the taxing dance requirements. So Tirzah ate the dates and goat cheese and managed to swallow the pastry. Then she returned to the studio to practice that morning’s lesson.

Although afternoon classes would not start until after the noontime rest, the dance teacher was already there, talking to two unfamiliar women. One was older, but aside from her gray hair, one would not have known it. She was erect and regal in bearing and had the face of a queen. The other one, younger, was also beautiful. The three women looked up when Tirzah entered, then continued speaking quietly. The instructress beckoned Tirzah.

Girl, come here to me, she said.

Remembering to keep her gaze restricted to the floor, Tirzah did as she was told.

Let me see you, the teacher said, not unkindly. Tirzah looked up to see the three women scrutinizing her.

You see I have spoken truthfully, the teacher remarked to the older of the women.

Indeed, the woman said, pursing her lips, with proper training. She continued to inspect Tirzah, looking closely at her legs and arms and turning her around by the shoulders. Rhisu, she addressed the younger woman, it is now time to repay the gift of my years of work. But if you are unequal to the task inform me now, and I will take the child elsewhere.

No, Hadice, I am equal to the task, the younger woman answered and bowed.

The next morning, Tirzah did not go to her usual dance class. Instead, she went with Rhisu, who had come to fetch her from Thala’s apartment. Rhisu walked swiftly so that Tirzah had to hurry behind her through many parts of the palace she had never seen.

It seemed to have been built by Titans. Faraway ceilings, with bubble domes or crisscross arcs, bloomed from towering vaults. Archways like giant spider legs, turned to halls with pillars that looked like teeth. One dome was so high, she thought it must be the heaven Christians spoke of. On top of it was a small blue eye, spilling light stripes into the dusty air.

We are headed to the Taq, Rhisu said without turning around. It is the area where you will begin your training.

Tirzah would have liked to ask about this training, but she knew that this was not a possibility. Growing up in these enclosures, she had learned well to hold her tongue. The humors of one’s elders were quixotic and, more often than not, vented on the young. So she followed cautiously, ready to restrict her viewpoint to the floor should Rhisu turn and notice her.

But Rhisu’s silk-clad legs swished relentlessly forward till they halted in a room with tall pilasters and flowering plants. Rhisu spoke to a passing slave who led them out to a roofed terrace where elegant women lay about conversing. Spanning the terrace was a rectangular pool. The day was hot. Tirzah let herself imagine, for a moment, stepping into the cool water. A naked boy, not much younger than herself, was playing in the pool and watched her pass with mild curiosity.

At the far end of the pool stood a wall with two bronze doors. They had been engraved with creatures-animals perhaps, or demons. Rhisu approached the doors and shook a string of bells affixed to a shahmaran’s tail. Do not shame me, girl, she said, turning to look at Tirzah. Or it will not go well for you.

Yes, Alemah, Tirzah said with a small bow.

Nothing happened for several minutes. In the courtyard behind them, a parrot shrieked incessantly, then stopped. Several babies could be heard squalling. Women laughed. Tirzah would have liked to turn around to look but knew that to lift her head would have been impertinent. Between the paving stones, some plants were growing. They had tiny flowers, which trembled in the breeze.

Finally, she heard the grate of metal on stone—a door’s reluctant slide. Rhisu led Tirzah through the opening and into an echoing coolness.

Violet is expecting you, a quiet female voice announced. She had a strange accent, unlike any of the numerous inflections heard about the compounds. Tirzah would have liked to see the woman’s face. It might have indicated where she came from and been interesting. But she kept her eyes obediently lowered as she trailed Rhisu over tessellated floors and into a noisy chamber.

The sudden cacophony caused her glance up. Fortunately, Rhisu was talking with a eunuch and had failed to notice. As their conversation continued, Tirzah was able to survey the room.

Unlike the small studio, where she had spent each day since she began walking, this space was enormous. Marble pillars, several stories high, bloomed into sunlit cupolas. Winged lions, carved into the columns, clambered toward the light. Paintings of dancers, birds, and horsemen adorned the walls. Tirzah had never been outside of the seraglio but imagined that this profusion of imagery was what a forest might look like. The air was chilly and scented by potted lemon trees. Their fragrance gilded the odor of sweat, which identified this as a dancing area.

Lowering her gaze, Tirzah encountered a familiar sight: the unfriendly faces of other dancers. There were hundreds of them, arrayed in groups about the room. The teachers, women and eunuchs whose muscular forms betokened years of rigor, stood together talking.

Now the eunuch with whom Rhisu was speaking grasped Tirzah’s chin. He turned her face toward his with a large jeweled hand. Closing one eye, he looked her up and down. Then a slow smile spread across his face.

Promising, he said to Rhisu. Your mistress has an unerring eye.

She has appointed me the child’s mentor, Rhisu said. We will work here this morning. In the afternoon, I will give her private instruction.

That is unusual, the eunuch frowned.

It is the way that I was trained, Rhisu told him. And I became the principal dancer for Khosrau’s former court. I danced for Barbad, Nagisa, and Ramtin.

Then what brings you here?

Khosrau has asked us to begin training your dancers and musicians in the modal technique of Barbad, his most brilliant musician. As your prince is Khosrau’s cousin, and as he has a large and well-appointed orchestra, we were commissioned to begin here.

Well, well! Indeed, we are most fortunate to have such harbingers of style, the man said. Clearly our master desires to keep up with fashion, even in this godforsaken country.

For all I shall see of it, this country is no different than another, Rhisu said, surveying the room. If I am left in peace to do my work, I ask for no more.

This must be so for such as you, he sighed. I, on the other hand, am sent out about the city. It is an overstuffed provincial madhouse with ridiculous pretentions. If I did not live here, I would pray that Khosrau summon an army and burn it to the ground.

He is the emperor’s guest.

Yes. We hear they are thick as thieves. And of course, he, like our dear prince, is better able, within its walls, to continue to inhabit his own skin.

That is as well. I do not wish to be where there is violence. I have seen enough of that.

Still, these pompous Romans need their faces washed. Humiliation might improve them. They waddle about like overfed peacocks.

I have danced for Romans, Greeks, Persians, Africans, Rhisu said. To me, they are the same.

Not so. Of all the peoples of the earth, these dullard Romans are the most absurd. They do grow food well though. Too well, I fear. He rubbed his rotund belly.

Rhisu smiled at him politely. Then she looked about the room. Who are these instructors? Are they knowledgeable? she asked.

I am not a judge of dance, he said dismissively. I warrant it is pretty and most difficult. Beyond that, I can tell you nothing. The highest-ranking teacher here is Chauderi, but he travels a great deal and is seldom about. The women peck at one another all day long, but when he arrives, they pull their feathers down. It is comical at least.

Which of the women is the highest ranked?

"If you asked her, it would be Roxane over there. She strides about like Alatum, and the others let her. I suppose that indicates superiority in this place."

Thank you for your time, Rhisu said with a slight bow.

I have plenty of it, he replied.

Follow me, girl, Rhisu told Tirzah, who, again, restricted her view to the floor. It was made of wood and felt lighter underfoot than the one in her former practice room.

You are a student of Barbad? a haughty female voice inquired above her.

Yes, madam. I have come to observe your morning classes.

Indeed. And you have brought this girl?

This child has been assigned to me to be evaluated for instruction in the modal arts.

Of course we have heard of this stylistic form, but we do not practice it here. We have not as yet been privileged to observe it.

My mentor, Hadice, will be commencing classes very soon. We are now selecting teachers to participate in training.

I see, the voice said in a somewhat friendlier tone.

This morning, I will be observing your classes. I have been authorized to make recommendations to my mentor, so please inform the instructors of this.

Of course, the voice said, assuming some deference. My name is Roxane. I will introduce you to the other teachers.

That will not be necessary, Rhisu told her. My charge and I will observe them from the stage.

I will have seating brought out for you, Roxane demurred.

Large enough for myself and my pupil. I will not have her stiffened by the hard floor before I have begun my work.

Yes, of course. We will endeavor to provide whatever comforts you require.

Tirzah heard the chime of handbells and the bustle of feet. Soon she felt Rhisu’s tap on her shoulder and followed behind her.

This way, Rhisu said, going up some wooden steps. Then they were on an enormous stage, in the middle of which was a large divan. Sit here and be quick about it, Rhisu said as she lowered herself gracefully onto the couch. Tirzah climbed onto the pliant surface and arrayed her knees and ankles as she had been taught. Rhisu gave a terse nod of approval and paid her no further attention.

There was nowhere now for Tirzah to fix her eyes but on what lay before her. From her vantage point, she could see it all. Nearby, but not so near as to be presumptuous, the teachers were talking animatedly. Occasionally they glanced up at Rhisu. Their students, who seemed to range in age from five to fifteen, were more direct, eyeing her with catlike concentration. When their gazes fell on Tirzah, they turned to each other to whisper.

Tirzah thought again of Tan and missed her. She could have comforted herself now by cataloguing her impressions and imagining how Tan would be amused by them. Without her, there was no one to provide that sense of place, of comradeship, and solace. It was as if the world had lost its center.

Pay attention, Rhisu commanded.

Yes, Alemah, Tirzah answered.

The dancers, it would seem, were divided not by age but by ranking. It was obvious which groups were thought superior. These did not take notice of the others but sat somewhat impatiently. Occasionally they would glance at Tirzah and register detached assessment. The lesser students, however, regarded her pugnaciously. They did not bother to pretend they weren’t discussing her and making uncomplimentary observations. The place to find another friend was not here.

At the far edge of the room, a large group of musicians sat behind a latticed panel. Through its filigrees, she could see that they held a great variety of instruments. There were barrel drums from Africa, frame drums from the east, and smaller percussion instruments she could not clearly see. There were also many kinds of harps, horns, pipes, and flutes.

The harpists were mainly women, as were the frame drummers, but most of the larger drums were played by men. Men were present in the ranks of flute, string, and pipe players as well. But there was something odd about them. They were almost frightening—squarer, and more robust than the men she knew.

Do not stare, Rhisu said without turning to face her. Those are real men. They have not been cut.

Yes, Alemah, Tirzah said, not comprehending. The difference between these men and the eunuchs with whom she had been raised was puzzling. Maybe Thala knew why.

There was not time to think about it, however, for the classes were beginning. The teachers left off their conversations and proceeded to their student groups. When all were in place, Roxane clapped her hands and the dancers stood up.

Each group began performing stretching exercises, some of which were familiar. There was one group, however, that must have been selected chiefly for its flexibility. These dancers, girls and young eunuchs, were capable of remarkable feats. Balanced on one hand, they could lift their bodies and proceed to contort themselves into incredible postures. Some could tumble through the air like whirligigs to land upon each other’s shoulders. Although they were remarkable, she soon grew tired of watching them.