Living in Threes
“The plague had come back in the night and seized the king’s daughter.When Meritre and her mother came to the temple in the morning, the mistress of the chorus stood with the high priest and a man in a massive wig and a collar of honor so heavy with gold that it bowed his narrow shoulders. “The king needs your voices,” he said.All of the singers bowed to the king’s will. Neither the hymn nor the festival of the plague’s ending would matter if the king’s daughter died.Meritre had never been insid...e the palace before. She had seen it from the outside, of course, and she had seen the king in the temple or passing in procession through the streets, carried high on the shoulders of strong men. The sheen of divinity surrounded her; her face was a painted mask beneath the lofty height of the double crown. Because she was king, she wore the false beard strapped to her chin, and carried her head high with her eyes fixed far above mere mortal things.Led by the king’s messenger, the singers went by ways that must be familiar to servants, past the palace wall into a maze of courts and corridors.MoreLess
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