Solomon's Throne by Jennings Wright

The set out a rug and all of the delicacies, and called to the travelers.
    The food and drink were marvelous, and much needed refreshment. They relaxed for an hour, watching the birds that flew over the ruins and the few clouds that appeared very high up in the rich blue sky. After each had gone outside to wash their hands and face with water from a clay pitcher, Joao and Isabel went back to their drawings. By mid-afternoon they were pleasantly tired, and agreed that it was time to go back to their new temporary home on the Tigris.

    That night, Joao was up until the early hours, working by the light of a small brazier. He sat hunched in the far corner, careful not to wake his wife. On a board on his lap were the tools of his former trade—quill pens, ink, parchment. He put all his skill into the letter, not knowing who might ever read it. He hoped it was a son. A son’s son, perhaps. But, of course, he had no way of knowing who, or even if… The Throne of King Solomon might sit for endless millennia, never found, never freed. That wasn’t his burden any longer. He had found it. He had known when he saw it that he couldn’t do more than make a few hasty drawings. He was being watched and followed, and he didn’t always know when or by whom. He could not take the risk.
    Shaking his head at the memories of those strange silent men he wondered, Where do they come from? How did they always seem to find him? He didn’t know. He continued to write on the small scroll, making ornate letters and small border drawings. It was in God’s hands, and he could only do his best.

    The next several days brought strong winds which blew the sand sideways and into frightful swirling demons. The small party did not venture back to Ctesiphon. Isabel and Joao had strong hot coffee in the village, and Joao was reintroduced to the hookah. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the sweet, fruity smoke, but he did enjoy the company of the smiling men who welcomed him. Sometimes Khadem joined them, and he could communicate. Other times, all was done with smiles and bows and hand gestures. But the goodwill on both sides was readily apparent, and the time was passed in satisfactory fashion.
    Finally a morning dawned clear and still, and Joao and Isabel prepared to visit the Taq-i Kisra again. It had begun to greatly disturb him that he had withheld so much from his beloved wife. No, to be honest, had lied so much to her. He was not sure what to do to rectify this, and put it to the back of his mind until he had accomplished his mission here, and they were safely back aboard the Santa Antonio de Tanna.
    They arrived at the ruins in short order, and once again the site took their breath away. It is the stillness, thought Isabel. The majesty of the place… Whatever it was, the lonely palace, with its soaring arch, seemed to point to heaven. Isabel dismounted and turned to Rahimi.
    “ Aqa , was the Taq-i Kisra built by Muslims?”
    “No, senhora, by the Persians. They were not followers of Mohammed. They were Zoroastrian…We are still followers in our village. There are not many of us left, but we are the gatekeepers of the great kings…We await their return.”
    Isabel turned back to the ruins. Whoever built it, and whatever they believed, she could feel her God smiling on them.
    Joao said, “Rahimi, we will be doing more drawings today. Perhaps we will do some digging, and discover a hidden treasure!” They all laughed. “If you would like to just prepare a place for our meal nearby, we will be happy to wander about solitario. ”
    Rahimi nodded his assent after the request was translated to him by Khadem, and Isabel and Joao set off to the palace. Joao had made sure that their small caravan dismounted to the north side of the ruins so that the arch and interior of the ruins were out of site of their guides.
    When he took out a small hammer and chisel, Isabel looked quizzical. “ O que e que voce esta fazendo? What are you doing?”
    Joao smiled at