Next we have Shala,” exclaims the auctioneer before the crowd of rhapsodic and eager bidders.
“At fifteen, she is a splendid beauty and will make for a loyal and obedient wife,” proudly announces the auctioneer, following “can I hear five hundred?”
Shala nervously scans the room for a sign of Ammi-Zaidu, quickly locating him in the crowd of restless contenders.
Wearing a short-sleeved indigo blue linen tunic covered by a burgundy shawl adorned with gold fringes, Ammi-Zaidu raises his staff topped by a gold eagle and perfectly rounded carnelian knob in the air to confirm the opening bid.
“Five fifty. Can I hear five fifty?” shouts the auctioneer.
“Six hundred,” roars a brutish-looking high-ranking officer of the King’s army.
“Seven hundred,” Ammi-Zaidu fires back sharply. A combative heat thickens the room. Shala’s gaze darts between the two men—her future hangs in the balance, her chest too tight for breath.
“One thousand,” the officer bellows.
For one heartbeat—two—no one speaks. The officer's thousand hangs in the air like a blade. Shala’s gaze locks on the merchant who can save her. Will he raise again? Yes. No. A lifetime with that brute—a wave of faintness washes over her at the very thought. She cannot breathe.
Tapped out, Ammi-Zaidu regrettably has no choice but to concede. The guilt settles in his gut like a heavy stone. He came to save her. He cannot bear to see the disappointment on her face—much less consider her fate with that brute.
The auctioneer scans the room. “Any higher? No?” A pause. “Last chance for this exquisite maiden.” The room stays silent. “Then it is sealed,” he declares. “The girl is sold to the officer of the King’s army.” Shala feels nothing. Numb. Hollow. She steps off the stage in a daze—light-headed, barely aware of her own feet moving beneath her.
Shak proudly struts across the room to pay for his new conquest. Shala is terrified, but upholds her grace and does her utmost to present him with a courteous smile.
“You have chosen well for your second wife, General,” said the auctioneer as he took the lofty sum. “As fertile as the Euphrates, this one will assuredly beget you an heir.”
Rudely, the general belittles the auctioneer, telling him that such matters are his business and no one else’s, before brusquely grabbing Shala by the arm and exiting the premises.