A FIRE erupted in a great dynasty. It was a fire that wanted two heads: the king and his first son.
But that fire was never like those started by men. Nor was it ignited by a brood of conspirators.
That fire. It was itself a man, the third prince and pride of the king. So, they called his name Shalom, or Peaceful.
But the boy’s fire was that of great nemesis. And judgement.
Chapter 1
EVERYTHING was at the height of merry when tragedy struck. And it struck harder than time could heal or rescue.
It was on the third toast and the loftiest of all. The final round of drinking at the banquet of princes on the countryside.
It was dusk in Baal Hazor, far away from the capital, king and duty.
The sons of the reigning king were here gathered in their countless numbers. They’d come honouring the special invite of the third prince, as he marked his sheepshearing in years.
It was a sumptuous feast. Yet this was the first time that the gentle Third was throwing a banquet and inviting his brothers.
So, although the man was calling a big feast to mark merely woolling off his herd, his brothers were ready to rally round him and make his day memorable.
Therefore, their singers played the country style; the drummers and cymbalists, they filled the place with a rousing beat.
And by the time their call girls took over the dance, everyone wanted to be drunk on more rounds of wine.
It was the third round now. And it was the cue for the Third Son.
Immediately, the young handsome prince called for the tenders to fetch them the new wine. When it arrived the next moment, he filled the cup in the hand of their eldest.
‘Brother, will you please toast this one for us,’ he smiled.
The First Son leaned slightly into him and enquired, ‘To what, my brother? To what this time?’
The younger one had his response ready. ‘To us sons of our father’s throne.’ Then a buoyant smile followed his words.
The older prince laughed heartily. He loved that one and was proud of the right to cheer it.
So, from where they sat at the banquet table in that big farmhouse, he stood up and matched up to the podium; a silver cup gracing his left hand.
Then from that platform, he looked down and beheld the sons of his father. He watched them laugh and chatter, and smiled.
Now after a moment, the forty-something raised a hand to still the bustling party; and a small silence followed his gentle wave, as everyone rose to their feet.
He cleared his throat; and then a deep kingly tenor sounded from his voice.
‘Brothers of our royal stock, shall we.’
He looked around a moment and marked the decorum that his standing figure commanded.
Then he resumed: ‘Shall we raise this toast to us sons of our father’s throne: Power to us all!’
Right on that instant, the rest of the princes cheered their animated response.
‘Power to us all! Power to us all!’
Then as several silver cups descended from the raise, and clinked and clanked like the chimes of graceful bells, the trumpets and cymbals blared their loudest sounds.
It was an exuberant flourish of brass.
In that moment when the horns went up in a wild flourish, the silver cups were brought to kiss the lips with their crimsons.
But before the drinkers were done taking their first sips, the impossible happened within a blink of an eye. And it wrecked the joys of that night to pieces.
For in that height of everything merry, a voice sounded a deadly command. And it was the host of that party, the Third Prince called Shalom... called Peaceful.
The command was loud. ‘Strike him!! Now!!’
Suddenly, a dozen armed men garbed in black dived down from the rooftop on long ropes. They flew down towards the First as fast as a lightning flash.
In a twinkle the killers were down on the kingdom’s heir with spears and swords, hacking him down to pieces in a pitiless butchery.
This man was caught unawares. There was no time to say a proper farewell. Or even to look death in the eye and scoff at it.
He just ended up killed by a kid brother, his half-brother.
Right there when tragedy struck, the rest of the princes took to their heels and ran everyway that led out.
It was pandemonium. Fear and dread thumped beneath everyone’s chest as the party scattered.
And when those princes landed on their mules outside, they fled on them as though they were being hounded.
But that murder wasn’t meant for all and sundry. And the prince called Peaceful didn’t stage his plot to end the whole house.
No, that banquet was staged for two men—even though it was just one who attended.
Yet Shalom would grieve the fact that he couldn’t get the other also to attend.
Nay, to attend and watch his firstborn killed.
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