He was wise. She would have to humble and humiliate herself before him in front of witnesses. There was no other course of action and she hardened herself and fortified her will. She would have to raise her skirt in front of them all with one hand, thus exposing her feet and thus forever having her modesty violated in public by her free will.
She placed it in her left hand. With her right hand she pulled up her dress and exposed her feet so that she could navigate the pool which she hoped would be shallow. She cried aloud inside but made no sound. The king and none of the witnesses made a sound as she placed her foot into the pool.
How is this possible? How can I walk in water and not get wet? How can I walk upon water? What magic, what wisdom does this king possess?
She thought a moment.
If there is such magic power in his house, what power must his temple possess?
She pondered and quaked at the thought. She had to harden her will and muscles so that she would not fall in weakness.
As she neared him, he gave a silent signal for her to pause. He came down and walked upon the water. With that act she realized it was not water. A king would not expose himself. A king would not demonstrate disrespect to his royal vestments. As he came before her, she prostrated herself before him. It was some sort of clear and reflective crystal. She noticed that it was cold and hard but she noticed that it, the crystal, reflected light. She viewed her beauty in the amazing crystal and desired that the king not request her to arise for she now saw the beauty of her face that her lovers had often seen and she desired to simply lay with herself even if it was in public before witnesses.
From her position on the floor she was able to view the entire room of the king in reflection. There was only one other object in the room. There was a metal bowl. The bowl was crafted like the sea and rested upon four legs. One leg was the north point of a compass. One leg was the west point of a compass. One point was the south point of a compass. The last was the east point of a compass.
In the hand of the king was a metallic scroll; was that scroll the source of his wisdom? She could not see the words inscribed but she did notice the icon in the corner. It was not the icon found in the temple. She pondered. Then she admired her reflective beauty for she had never seen such beauty so clearly and so intimately before in her life.
It was not uncomfortable for her to be on the floor upon herself. At that moment the high priest signaled for her to arise. On doing so he, the high priest, backed out of the presence of the king. In the room there was the throne and the Bowl of the Sea.
Each leg of the bowl was constructed of three oxen. The brim was ornate with lilies. The borders were engravings of lions, oxen, and cherubim in relief. The cup was actually not a cup at all, but rather a bath that rested on massive wheels and its axles were cedars from Lebanon.
The king gave a silent signal for her to begin to speak. But what was she to say? The last moments had taken her tongue away and her own beauty had bedazzled her. Then she remembered it in her hand. She had not dropped it. She had performed as a queen should, in a perfect royal fashion and had at all times been graceful. He, the king, had not gotten the measure of her, after all.
With the formalities completed and her forebearance revealed she finally spoke, “Dear King, it, has been with us from the first, as a gift and not payment or tribute. When the first of the ancient ones of your people crossed the desert into the valley of the Nile from the east and requested seed so that they may live, the ancient ones of my people did give seed. A fair and honest agreement was established. The ancient ones died in their time and the agreement also died in its appointed time.
“Now you, my Lord, request that it be returned to the people east of the Nile who are no longer wanderers in the desert but who are now a great people. I request, Great King, to make fair this bargain that I carry back a seed also—the seed of your people. I request to carry into the valley of the Nile, a son. A gift for a gift, a seed for a seed. Is this not a fair agreement to replace the old agreement, your majesty?
“When he is of age, I will send him to the throne of his father and the final seal for all time will be that you give it to him as his inheritance.”
She put it before him, and he accepted it.
In time, nine months and nine days, a son was born to the queen. Menyelek was a most beautiful baby; the queen saw her beauty in the face of the newborn. The king saw his wisdom in the eyes of the newborn. In the valley of the Nile, Menyelek grew up in beauty and in wisdom. The queen never allowed her son’s beauty to ever be away from her face. In beauty, Menyelek lived and died. Menyelek was thirteen years of age.
The sands came and the desert eroded, then buried, what once was beautiful. In wisdom and power the king lived and died before the destruction of the royal palace by the armies from the east after a nine-month siege. It was hidden, then lost, then forgotten.
The date on the calendar of the Bishop was Saturday, October 14, 1307. It was the day after Friday, October 13, and the Bishop awaited the results of Friday the Thirteenth’s prosecution of the decree. Only his most trusted knight was allowed in the innermost room of his sanctuary and space of his mind, but he knew it was safer not to trust anyone, including his most trusted knight of the realm, this day. At this moment, even with all his authority, he was powerless and had to wait nervously in anticipation and hope that the expected results of Friday the Thirteenth had no uncontrollable or unforeseen consequences. Hearing the knight’s footsteps in the hallway, he, the Bishop, sprinted to the massive oak door, tripping on and over his vestments.
“Well, Sir Knight!” the Bishop demanded.
“The blade pruned eight but the ninth was not in the orchard,” the knight replied.
“And, it?”
“Sir, it was not to be found,” the knight replied dutifully.
The Bishop, letting his guard down, commented in regret and disappointment.
“A failure. It was a failure. We can cut down and burn all the trees in all the orchards, Sir John, but unless that single fruit is in hand all is for naught.”
The Bishop excused the knight and went behind the massive oak doors and in the slow motion of the dying proceeded to close the doors. It had been there on Thursday, October twelfth, but now he had failed to capture it. The failure was certain, but it was not his blunder. There were spies everywhere and besides, to organize and orchestrate such a raid would have needed divine intervention. But, nonetheless, eight of the secret nine were dead and the surviving ninth could never appear in the realm again with or without the prize.
The Bishop would write three letters. The first would be to Philip to declare success. The second would be to the Inquisition to accuse Sir John of witchcraft and idolatry. And, the third would be a letter to confess his sin.
He called in two horsemen—making sure neither was schooled in reading and writing. One he sent to Phillip the Fair, the letter declaring the nine masters dead and that it had been destroyed—with the caveat that the horseman be immediately put to death. The second he sent to the Chief Inquisitor, accusing Sir John of unfaithful acts against the realm with the article that the horseman be sold into slavery and the profits given to the church. The third letter confessing his sins was placed in the base of a baptismal font.