“Whore!” A single cry shattered the silence.

“Whore!” “Whore!” “Whore!” A chorus of voices joined the first.

The palace crier burst out into his proclamation: “Go mute! Go dumb!”

Rebekah grabbed the horse’s bridle, lowered the animal’s head, and kissed its eye. Her hair uncovered, she winked at the eunuch. Kneeling, she gathered her fabrics and folded them on the scarf she used as her bundle. As hard as she had convinced herself that she had grown a thick shell through which embarrassment did not penetrate, now cold sweat beaded her forehead and she had to brace herself to confront the populace, the eunuch, and especially her daughter.

An alien object on the dirt road attracted her attention. A piece of pale alabaster. Had the hooves broken a piece off the foundation of a house? Strange. Houses were not made of stone around the Jewish Quarter. There were no stone pavements. Maybe in another place, the alabaster had lodged in the horseshoe and had been carried here. She picked up the stone, surprised at its shine and smoothness. A symbol of better worlds. She threw it on her fabrics and tied her bundle.

She rested a hand high up on the eunuch’s thigh. “Remember me, sweetlove. I’ll come knocking on your door.”

“Away, woman,” he squeaked, struggling to harness his tone, and wishing he could sing to her instead of order her off. Rearranging the arrogant sneer on his face, he kneed the horse in circles around her.

Gold Dust struggled to keep her eyes level and her head high. She jabbed at a man whose guffaws hurt her ears. She was about to rush to Rebekah’s rescue when she flung her veil off her shoulders, plunged her fingers into her curls, arched her hands overhead, and thrust her breasts forward. And to the jangle of her bracelets, she burst into a sensuous dance, her sandals imprinting FOLLOW ME on the dirt road. Gold Dust retreated.

The eunuch closed in on the full-hipped woman whose every swing sent a delicious stab between his thighs. He reined the mount alongside her, bent down, and cried, “Away, brazen woman!” Then he burst into a song, sending the horse into a canter.

Rebekah’s hands dropped to her sides. She took a few steps to follow the flying horse, to ask for a token to authorize her entrance into the palace. He was gone. Nothing left but loud insults and the ring of the last words he had whispered in his flight: “Will you fulfill the promise in your eyes …”

The misery, anger, and pain Rebekah had learned to conceal in her soul were now reflected on her daughter’s face as she forced the words above the grievance of her bones. “Madar, I don’t want to go to the harem.”

Rebekah wrapped her arm around Gold Dust and steered her away from the crowd. They all fought against her. Her daughter, the Jews, the demons in her own head. They would not allow her even her dreams. Was it not enough that she was torn between holding on to Gold Dust and letting her go?