Once, he was a coppersmith by trade, dealing in metals he could never afford to own. Yet, he managed to keep his family afloat. On this day, his tunic was in tatters, his skin hanging on his bones. He was drowning.

“She’s my daughter,” he begged. “I should be allowed to give her in marriage.”

His protests were quickly silenced by guardsmen, who hauled him away from the proceedings and out of the Libbu with threats of death if he interfered. He stood by the archway, hopelessness on his face, rubbing his grizzled beard. Iltani briefly looked at him, her lip quivering as if she’d recognized what he had tried to do.

But the squabble over her hand rose. Yashub barked an order to the head guardsman to hand Iltani over. He grabbed her arm, but Gala pulled her out of his grasp.

“She doesn’t want an old sweaty man like you in her bed. Leave her to me.”

“Let me go with him!” Iltani wrestled free from Gala. “He has wealth and you have none!”

But instead of getting angry, Gala was transfixed.

The men around him laughed, calling over the guardsmen. “He has coin enough! Let him have this feisty one!”

“I will take care of her. I swear it.” Gala placed both hands over his heart in supplication. Beside him, hordes of wealthy men stood, eyes alight with the contest, looking back and forth between Yashub and Gala to see who would win the prize.

“She’s mine! I am farther up the line than you. Stand back!” Yashub wheezed, his face dripping with sweat.

“No! She will be my wife!”

Gala grabbed Iltani’s arm once more, and the men around him shouted and cheered and banged on the dais with their fists. They clapped the guardsman on the back as Iltani squirmed. One man, a wealthy merchant by the look of him—silver rings squeezed over fingers, a tunic of the finest silks draped over his shoulder—pressed gold coins into Gala’s hands, his face awash with sikaru.

The merchant yelled above the fray. “A young man needs this girl, not an old goat like that one over there!”

He pointed at Yashub, and Gala smiled, his weak-chinned face radiating with the prospect of winning.

I clutched my hands together. “Gala has a fist full of gold! He’ll prove himself wealthier than Yashub.”

“That’s it! This is the end of it!” Yashub rasped, wiping a meaty hand down his face. “I’m taking her. I need a young woman to carry my seed, as the old hags are all dried up.”

He looked up at the head guardsman, waving his bag of coins.

“I’m the man with more wealth and was put in line in front of this one. So hand her over! There are options on down the line for this young man. He doesn’t want this girl, who’d likely slit his throat in bed.” Winded and red-faced, he held a hand to his gut.

The guardsman looked from Gala to Yashub, indecision in his eyes.