Army of God

by Dennis Bailey

  With the house dark and Miryam lying next to him, he prepared to go to his God. “Worried about Shiphrah?” Miryam said.

  “Four hundred sixty years and still you know my thoughts.”

  “I imagine it’s because of the 460 years, not in spite of them.”

  “I told her the Lord would spare her.”

  “And so He may.”

  For the first time in more than a year, Malluch wouldn’t be the last thing on Noah’s mind before falling asleep. Escaping with their lives seemed easy compared to the responsibility of carrying on the human race. And an ark that size was going to draw a lot of attention, even in the remotest of locations. How long would it be before word of the ark reached Eden?

  Yet even the danger of discovery didn’t concern him like the wave of doubt washing over him. Out in the field, he’d been so awed by the voice of the Lord that he hadn’t had time to think. But now, in the quiet of his bed, the magnitude of the task he’d been given confronted him. Sure, he’d said what was necessary tonight to motivate his family, but in truth he was as skeptical as they. Not of the certainty of God’s pronouncement, but rather of his ability to complete the task given him. Shem was right. This was a massive undertaking, and none of them knew a thing about marine construction. If they failed, would his family be made to suffer because of it? He closed his eyes. Why me, Lord?

  Chapter 11

  “That’s an impressive lump you have there,” Ramalech said.

  Shechem looked up through bleary eyes at the prince and Malluch standing over him. “Ugh.” He labored to raise his pounding head from the pillow enough to recognize a chamber within the palace.

  “Good thing two of our guests recognized you from the celebration. Generally, we don’t interfere with the affairs of men on the streets. As in nature, the strong prey on the weak and a man lies where he falls.”

  Irritated, Shechem forced a weak smile to keep from revealing it in his expression. Now that’s something that would have been nice to know ahead of time. In spite of his injury, he knew he had nobody to blame but himself. Served him right for leaving the warm embrace of Ramalech’s gift to go out roaming the streets alone.

  “Those killed or wounded on the street at night are buried in the morning.”

  Shechem’s curiosity was aroused at this practice, and he figured he could attribute his ignorance to his head injury. Malluch had been coming here for years, but there was still much for Shechem to learn about the culture. He blinked several times and reached to rub his forehead. “The wounded are buried?”

  “Oh, yes. Our physicians are not wasted on those preyed upon in the street. Anyone still breathing at dawn is quickly dispatched and buried with the rest. Truly, a merciful exercise.” Ramalech paused to allow the sternness in his countenance to relax. “But on the other hand, we take care of our friends.”

  “My clothes?” He peered below his waist at the small white cloth covering his groin.

  “Picked clean. I’m afraid the robbers here put the buzzards to shame. Not to worry though, Enoch is home to the finest seamstresses in the world.” Ramalech pointed to a gray tunic with gold embroidered around the neck, sleeves, and bottom lying on a chair a few cubits away. “You’re lucky all they took was your money and your clothes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, let’s just say there aren’t any virgins in Enoch, not above the age of eight anyway. And strangers.” Ramalech shook his head. “Male or female, they’re considered a carnal delicacy.”

  Shechem peeked under the cloth, then reached to touch his behind, still slightly tender from the long ride. Other than that, he’d sustained no additional injury.

  “Feel like you could eat something?” Malluch said.

  “Yes. There’s nothing wrong with my stomach.” He pressed his palms against his throbbing temples.

  “Excellent,” Ramalech said. “A good meal will bring you around. Then after midday, the entertainment I promised you.”

  * * *

  Shechem squinted at the sun climbing high over the circular stadium filled with several thousand spectators located at the city’s east end. He, Malluch, and Bohar occupied seats next to Ramalech’s throne on a second story viewing stand overlooking the floor of the arena.

  “There’s been a slight change in the program I think your friend with the headache will find interesting,” Ramalech said, turning to Malluch.

  Ramalech signaled to a guard who yelled down to the floor for the prisoners to be brought out. An iron gate creaked open. Three adolescent boys were pushed out into the arena directly below, and the gate locked behind them.

  Shechem leaned forward. Blood dripped from the hands of the three boys. One teen had his smallest finger severed while the other two were missing a pair of fingers each. In his opposite hand, each teen brandished a sword. “Hey, I’ve seen those boys before,” he said, unable to recall just where or when.

  “From a prone position, no doubt,” Ramalech said.

  Truth was, Shechem hadn’t seen who’d assaulted him, but the prince’s statement jarred his memory. The boys he’d seen robbing the drunk last night. “How did you identify them?”

  “That was easy. They confessed.”

  “Confessed?”

  “Yes. That boy there with the one missing finger. He broke easily. The other two were tougher. Of course, we didn’t want them to be totally defenseless and unable to hold a sword. What sport would that be?”

  A gate on the opposite side opened, sending three lions into the arena. Bohar moved to the half-wall of the viewing stand.

  The teens, eyes wide and lips quivering, conversed briefly, then stood with their backs to one another, swords extended. Only the lions didn’t rush them as expected, choosing instead to slowly stalk the boys in a predator’s circle. Periodically, one of the lions would crouch, move in, and take a swipe at one of them, only to retreat at the point of a sword. The crowd roared with each unsuccessful attack.

  During one exchange, a well-placed paw sliced open the thigh of one of the boys, dropping him to one knee. When the boy reached to cover the gaping wound, the lion rushed in and bowled him over, overpowering him with a savage flailing of claws and teeth and blood. As the lion ripped the boy apart, cheering spectators drowned his screams.

  Shechem tried to hide his lack of experience with such matters by keeping his attention focused on the action below. But he discovered he was able to carry the façade only so far. He couldn’t bring himself to cheer.

  The second teen fell when he lunged too far with his sword, giving his adversary an opening to jump on his back and drive him to the ground. The boy attempted to crawl away, but the lion broke his arm, then pulled huge chunks of flesh from his back and side. Again, the crowd erupted while the boy, still moving, succumbed to being eaten alive.

  Down in front, Bohar went wild, cheering and waving his arms.

  While the two lions fed, the third teen backed against a wall to keep from being flanked by the last lion. The tactic proved successful for a while, with the boy managing to keep his attacker at bay for fifty-four parts. But the crowd grew impatient, booing and throwing things from the stands to distract him. A stone cup striking him in the head sent him to the ground, his last cries garbled by the lion’s jaws closing around his throat.

  Bohar turned to the throne. “That was incredible! That last one put up a good fight.”

  “It’s not over.” Ramalech smiled and nodded to several disturbances breaking out in the stands. “The citizens of Enoch are avid gamblers.”

  Bohar returned his attention to the arena.

  “And sore losers,” Ramalech said.

  Directly across from them, a soldier threw a man with graying hair over the wall into the arena. Off to the right, spectators struck the hands of a second man in a dark tunic trying to pull himself back over the wall, dropping him to the ground. The first man appeared uninjured in the fall, but the second got up limping. When the men raised their hands and cried out
for help, they were pelted with shouts of scorn and laughter from the crowd.

  Both men tried climbing the wall, but the man in the dark tunic was forced to give up after the first attempt. This proved an advantage, for the moment. While he remained frozen, the gray-haired man continued to try to scale the wall, drawing the attention of one of the feeding lions. With his back to the arena, the man failed to perceive the lion’s charge and was pulled down and smothered.

  Shechem and those on the viewing stand looked to their right where a smacking sound, followed by a woman’s cry, grasped their attention. “Worthless whore!” A balding, middle-aged man struck a woman across the mouth. She tried to get away, but he threw her over his shoulder and carried her screaming down to the wall.

  He lifted the woman over his head with the ease of a pillow, but hesitated before throwing her down, as if changing his mind. Instead, he lowered her body, grabbed her by the arms, then leaned over the wall as far as he could before releasing her to the floor below. “No Abidan, No!” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “A jealous husband,” Ramalech said.

  “What a waste,” Bohar said. “She’s a fine-looking woman.”

  “Ah, have we a chivalrous man among us?” Ramalech said.

  Shechem knew better. Bohar was only thinking of his own libido.

  “By all means, feel free to rescue her if you like” Ramalech gestured to the arena.

  Bohar shook his head.

  “Not that chivalrous, I guess,” Ramalech said.

  Malluch and Shechem joined him in a chuckle.

  On the arena floor, the woman continued to scream her husband’s name until one of the lions looked up from feeding and moved toward her. As the lion approached, the woman stopped screaming and, unmoving, leaned against the base of the wall in an apparent attempt to play dead. At first the lion seemed uninterested, seemingly content to sniff at her garment, before starting to walk away. A look of relief in the woman’s eyes disappeared quickly when the lion turned back and tackled her, ripping into her neck and scapula.

  Meanwhile, the injured man used the distraction to make his way to the abandoned boy’s body and retrieve his sword. He stopped to take a deep breath.

  The gate raised and two more lions entered the arena.

  All color drained from the man’s face.

  He knelt, placing the handle of the sword in the dirt with the blade facing his heart. Leaning forward, he pushed his body onto the sword.

  The crowd booed.

  “Coward.” Bohar said.

  “I suppose you’d prefer to be eaten,” Shechem said.

  “No. But I sure wouldn’t make it easy on the lion by falling on my sword either.” Bohar pointed to the arena floor. “Look down there.” The last lion chewed on a leg of the man who’d committed suicide.

  “What would you do?”

  “I’d make that lion regret eating me, that’s what. I’d be kicking, and biting, and clawing all the way down its miserable throat.”

  “I don’t think you ever have to worry about that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t believe lions eat skunk.”

  Bohar frowned.

  Ramalech cackled. “I see that crack on the head hasn’t affected your sense of humor.”

  “Nor my sense of gratitude, prince,” Shechem said with a tip of his head. “My thanks for avenging me.” He was compelled to show his appreciation, especially in front of Malluch, but inside, he took no satisfaction in the boys’ death. He might have even been responsible. Had he not made himself a target by venturing out into the streets of Enoch, perhaps those boys would still be alive. Boys with their whole lives ahead of them. Now torn to shreds.

  “I told you, we take care of our friends.”

  Chapter 12

  In the 501st year of Noah . . .

  Noah relished the pre-dawn quiet at the first hints of ashen appearing low in the eastern sky. In an hour the forest would be filled with the sounds of sawing wood and falling trees, but for now he had the morning to himself.

  He and Shem made a good team anchoring opposite ends of a felling saw, but his oldest preferred to work alone with a chopping blade. And with good reason. Fast and precise, Japheth could take down by himself nearly as many trees as his father and brother working together. He often caught himself watching with pride at the way his eldest son swung an axe.

  Selection and preparation of a building site and the harvesting of timber for the ark had not been without its challenges. Shem objected to the use of a nearby hill chosen for construction, complaining it was too far away from the forest. He also needed constant reminding to cut only gopherwood trees for use on the ark. “What difference does it make?” Shem had said. “Wood is wood.” Noah might have agreed, but in his heart he knew the value of trusting God—including His selection of building materials.

  Saying goodbye to the night, he knelt before his Creator. “God of Adam, God of Seth, give ear to Your humble servant. Has it not been eight months since my ears burned with the words of Your righteous judgment? And have I not heeded with zeal Your commandment to commence construction of this ark?” He bowed his head to the earth, pausing to listen for the Lord’s voice. “If I have found the slightest favor in Your sight, tell me now, oh God, that Your mighty hand might yet be stayed.”

  He continued in prayer for the remainder of the hour, receiving from the Lord a sense of peace and strengthening in his spirit. But as he prepared to rise, the thing he desired most—next to a reprieve for mankind—eluded him. Concerning Shiphrah, the Lord continued to remain silent.

  He found Japheth standing quietly a few cubits away, axe at his side. “Where’s your brother?”

  “The last time I saw him, he was making his third trip to the woods behind the house.” A slight grin crept onto Japheth’s lips while he toed the grass with his sandal. “One too many green tomatoes last night, I suspect.”

  “All right. You want to take his side of the two-man saw, or would you prefer your trusty axe?”

  “I’ll take Shem’s place.”

  “Taking pity on an old man?” Noah smiled.

  “Not at all, Father. I appreciate the chance to work together.”

  Japheth’s answer was grounded in equal parts of kindness and sincerity. “Good. Seeing it would take me about as long to cut through one of these with an axe as it would a beaver with a toothache.”

  Japheth laughed deep in his belly.

  Soon, the two were working their way through the base of an eighty cubit gopherwood tree, the blade chewing away in alternating strokes. Sweat poured from the men’s faces with each push-pull manipulation of the saw.

  Halfway through the trunk, Noah thought he heard a creaking sound and raised his hand to stop the cutting. “Did you hear that?”

  “That creaking? Yes.” Both men stepped back from the tree.

  Noah circled halfway around the trunk to inspect the cut. “What do you think?”

  “Let’s keep going.”

  The two men continued. On their fourth alternating stroke, the saw blade bound on the senior man’s end, followed by a return of the creaking sound. Only this time it was shriller. As the tree began to split at the base of the cut and move up the trunk, it grew even louder. “Look out!” Noah yelled, but it was too late.

  By instinct, his son threw his arm up to protect his face from the splintering slab. The failing trunk caught him under the left forearm, throwing him into an adjacent tree stump ten cubits away. Japheth let out a piercing cry that accompanied the sound of snapping bone.

  Noah rushed to his injured son who lay in a heap against the stump, unable to lift his left arm. Carefully, he righted him against the splintered trunk while fighting to conceal the concern in his eyes.

  Japheth groaned. “I’m all right, Father.”

  Words came, but not without difficulty. “Guess that will teach you to get on the other end of a saw with me again,” Noah said.

  Japheth grimaced, struggling to speak
through short breaths. “More like teach me to move faster when you yell, ‘look out.’”

  Noah took a knife and cut off a strip from the bottom of his garment, positioning it in a sling around Japheth’s neck to support his broken arm. What would he do now? One son nursing a stomach ache, the other a broken arm. Not exactly the circumstance he had envisioned as an answer to this morning’s prayer.

  Even so, the Lord had given him a command, and he wasn’t about to lose a full day due to injury or illness. Work on the ark must continue. Sick or not, Shem would have to take his place on the other end of the saw.

  * * *

  Noah and Shem entered the house just before sunset following a record-setting day of cutting. Despite the previous night’s overindulgence, Shem proved more than up to the task. His father estimated the two of them had taken down and trimmed eighteen two-cubit trees, three more than their average per day. In fact, so impressed was he at his son’s zeal for work, he secretly considered encouraging him to eat unripe tomatoes before bed every night.

  Japheth met them at the door, the two wooden splints supporting his arm sticking out of the top of the sling. He winced while rotating the other arm from the shoulder in a big circle. “Father, I think I can still swing an axe with my good arm.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to rest that arm for more than a few days,” Miryam said.

  “With all the work there is to do?”

  “God blessed this family with two strong sons. Surely, your father and brother can carry the load until your arm heals.”

  “What I really could use is another strong back.” Noah said. A curious smirk appeared on Miryam’s mouth while she continued to move plates onto a food preparation table. Shiphrah tried unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle while slicing a cucumber for the late meal. “Well, you two sure seem to take pleasure in my predicament.” The two grinning woman glanced briefly at one another, but remained focused on their tasks. “What is it? What are you two up to?”