Ur
Terah hoped he might sit in the chariot, but he would have had to lodge himself on the floor and press his back against the rear of the carriage—which he could not manage. He had to stand next to Ikuppi, stay clear of the reins, support himself on one leg, grip the lip of the conveyance with one hand, and keep his crutch lodged under his bad arm with little but his weight to keep it in place.
Even the light jostling when the horses walked toward the pen a hundred yards away made the tip of the crutch dance on the floor and forced Terah to press it to his body under his dog-bitten shoulder. He could not imagine also holding a baby on a trip to the palace, and Ikuppi would certainly not allow the horses to pull them all the way at such a slow gait. That could take hours.
When they reached the pen, he found the midwife still in the bed of the cart while Wedum spoke with another servant tending the animals. He had built a small fire. The man ran off, and Wedum told Terah he had assigned him to busy himself gathering kindling until the master and his guests left.
“Good man,” Terah said. “Now let me see this baby.”
Ikuppi suggested Terah sit in a corner of the chariot so he could support himself and hold the child. Yadidatum handed the baby to Wedum before she climbed out of his cart. The child began squawking, so she took him back.
Terah told Wedum to hurry back to the servants’ settlement and tell Mutuum and his wife that they would bring the baby back as soon as Belessunu was awake and had a chance to see him, now that she was no longer in pain as she had been when he was born.
Wedum rode off in his cart, and Yadidatum glared at Terah.
“What is it?” he called down to her.
“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, sir, this is not fair to the child.”
Who had told her? Only he and Ikuppi knew the plan, and the guard had not been out of his sight. “What is not fair, ma’am?”
“Carting him here and there. He should be at his mother’s breast.”
“He’ll be back to her soon enough, and you would be wise to watch your tongue. I would not tolerate such cheek from even your husband.”
Fear flashed on her face. “I apologize, master! I am thinking only of the child.”
“You would do well to think of the welfare of your own son.”
She cradled little Terah in both arms. “My son is all I think of.”
“Tell her, Ikuppi.”
“The king’s chief officer has the power to have a servant executed—or slay you himself, without consequence or having to even give cause. Do you not know that?”
“I know it, sir. I was speaking only for the child I delivered.”
“Do not talk about me when I am standing right here!” Terah said. “You delivered my son too, and it earns you no privilege. You will speak to me with the deference I deserve, especially from someone of your station.”
“Yes, my lord. My apologies.”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
She nodded. And the baby howled.
“Can you not quiet the child?”
“He may be hungry, sir.”
“Was he not fed before you set out?”
“He was. But newborns …”
“I don’t need to hear it, and I don’t care to hear his caterwauling either.”
Yadidatum rocked the baby and touched a finger to his mouth. His tiny lips locked onto the tip and he sucked. “Do you wish to hold him, master?”
“I do not.”
“I wish to show him to the king.”
“I don’t understand. What interest would the king have in the child of a servant?”
“You question me again?”
“I mean no disrespect, sir. I ask sincerely.”
“It is not your place to ask. It is your place to do as you are told. And I am telling you to secure yourself and the baby in the chariot for the ride to the palace.”