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?

The echo of hooves died behind them. “Gold,” Rebekah said, “I want you to believe in fate, but also remember that it needs a helping hand. That’s all I did today.”

9

Rebekah dug out a clay pot hidden under a bed of straw in the stable. She emptied four coins onto her palm—testimony to years of dinar-pinching to save a dowry for her daughter. Gold Dust would no longer need a dowry. Once Rebekah found a way to penetrate the palace and befriend the eunuch, he would invite Gold Dust into the harem.