Now, with the sun beating down on him with the heat of a furnace, Noah’s tongue felt like the clay of a dried riverbed. A lack of saliva made it difficult to peel from the roof of his mouth or to lick his cracked lips. And his head pounded in sync with the clanging of his shackles.
When his legs cramped, he feared he might fall and not be able to get up again. He battled the spasm for several more paces before dropping to one knee, then was dragged for the third time today.
Arms stretched taught, he tried to keep his head out of the dirt, letting his chest and knees absorb the punishment of the road. “Get up!” came the bark of the horseman’s voice above him, followed by a barrage of cursing and vile names. His inability to rise the way he had earlier only seemed to increase the soldier’s anger, who continued to drag him along the path.
Noah guessed he’d been towed over 350 cubits when, weakened by the journey and a lack of nourishment, he began to lose consciousness. Would they continue to drag him once they saw he was passed out? Using his last bit of strength to spare his face, he turned onto his left shoulder. Then all light disappeared.
Noah was convinced he was dreaming. What else would account for the cool, wet drops pelting his head and back? Surely not compassion from the commander of the soldiers. Only a rumble of thunder confirmed he was awake. With arms still stretched above his head, he rolled over onto his back and let the rain fall into his mouth.
How long had he been out? 270 parts? 540? When he was nearing unconsciousness, he remembered there’d been a few clouds in the sky, but the sun was still pounding him. Could a storm have developed that quickly?
He lifted his head to the sound of a horse’s footsteps next to him. “Well, Preacher, this is disappointing. But I guess there’s no accounting for the weather, is there?” The commander extended his palm to catch the rain. “On the other hand, don’t think you can use this storm as an excuse for rest. On your feet.”
He pushed himself to a sitting position when the commander started away, who then whirled his horse around. “Unless you’d rather be dragged through the mud.”
Chapter 31
Noah’s first experience of trying to sleep outside in a rainstorm was all he thought it would be—a soggy nightmare. While the soldiers warmed themselves in their tents, their water-soaked captive lay shivering in the night air shackled to a rock. Even with the hood to his tunic up, the constant pounding of the rain prevented him from ever fully drifting off. Being forced to stay awake did provide one benefit though. It gave him more time to plan his escape.
As had been their custom since his arrest, his captors drank heavily before going to sleep, a practice which served to loosen their tongues. This evening he found them particularly verbose, and when the subject of their conversation turned to him, he listened.
“This is a load of dung,” a voice inside one the two tents said. “Why are we wasting time playing nursemaid to this cur, someone Malluch wants dead anyhow?”
“He’s right,” another said. “Good times await us in Cainan, and we’re having to take time out to transport one lousy prisoner.”
Cainan. So that’s the name of the city he was in. He leaned forward, drawing all slack out of the chain.
“There’s not much we can do about it,” a third said.
“Oh, yes there is,” the first said. “If we could somehow dispose of him, we could—”
“Dispose of him,” the second said. “I doubt if the captain would go for that.”
“I wasn’t thinking of asking his permission.”
“Pass me the skin.” The shadow of someone backlit by a lamp raised a wineskin to his mouth, then passed it to another. “You’re going to defy orders?”
“We won’t have to. What if we all woke up in the morning to find the Preacher dead?”
“A nice idea, but just how do you plan on pulling it off?”
“It’ll be easy. The Preacher’s been getting weaker by the day, right? When the captain finds him in the morning, he’ll figure he died from exhaustion and lack of nourishment.”
“I don’t know,” a forth added. “The captain was adamant about wanting him brought back alive. If we get caught, he’s liable to have us all executed.”
“Do you want to spend the next four days dragging the Preacher back to Eden when we could be enjoying the wine and women of Cainan?” the first said.
Several others agreed.
“I guess not. Who’s going to do it?”
“I will.”
“I’ll go with you,” the second said. “How about it?”
“I’m in,” the third said.
“One thing,” the forth said. “How are you going to arrange to have him simply die?”
“We’ll use this,” the first said.
The silhouette of a raised arm holding a pillow shone through the tent.
“We’ll move out as soon as the captain is asleep. In the meantime, toss me that wine.”
With little time to waste, Noah inspected his shackles and the chain binding him. One by one, he ran each link through his fingers, from the connection at his wrists to the end where the chain anchored. None had any defect.
On most nights since his capture, the soldiers had chained him to a tree. But tonight, because they’d chosen to camp closer to the road, they tied him to a rock. They’d looped the chain around an indentation about half way up the large, irregularly shaped stone.
Noah sought to test it, pulling on the loop to see if there was any slack. Although the chain rotated freely around the indentation, two protrusions above and the rock’s wider circumference below secured it against the structure.
He used the flanges of his shackles for a chisel to chip away at the projections of rock, using short, precise strokes to limit the rattling of his chains. He hoped the rain, in addition to providing lubrication for chiseling, would help to obscure the sound produced by his labors. But his efforts were slowed by the rubbing of the shackles against his raw and bleeding wrists, which at times was excruciating. After 270 parts of work, he’d eroded enough of the first projection to move to the second.
A moment later, the light went out in the captain’s tent. His executioners would be coming for him soon.
Noah increased his pace, and with it the noise being made by his chains. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he was sure it wouldn’t be another 270 parts. Ignoring the pain, he stabbed at the rock in an attempt to dislodge larger pieces. His wrists bled, dripping onto the stone before being washed away by the rain.
Two over-the-head downward stabs broke away a section of rock the size of his palm, but the shackles smacked against the bones in his wrists. His knees buckled slightly and he grit his teeth.
Movement and whispers from inside the tent drew his attention when the assassins extinguished the lamp.
He attempted to slide the chain past the chiseled areas, but had difficulty because of the rock’s diameter. Each time he would get one side raised, it would slip back when he moved to the opposite side.
“Ready?” came a voice inside the soldiers’ tent.
On his third attempt, Noah pulled all slack out of the chain while rotating it to the opposite side, inching it up and over the rock. He gathered the chain and headed for the forest ninety cubits away, the weight of indecision at his side. Should he continue running and hope the rattling chains didn’t give his position away—or hide?
He dove into a dense thicket.
Eighteen parts later, he peered back through the shrubs to where three soldiers gathered around the rock that had once secured him. The one holding a torch cursed.
“What now?” another said.
“Keep your voice down,” the first said.
“Why? Aren’t we going to wake the captain and the others?”
“And blow our whole plan. Are you crazy? He couldn’t have gotten far. Look.” The soldier pointed toward the base of the rock.
“What?” the third said.
“The chain. It’s gone. He w
on’t be able to move fast lugging all that iron. Besides, orders or not, I’m sure the captain would prefer a dead prisoner over an escaped one.”
The three soldiers laughed while the leader appeared to stare right at Noah. “He has to be in these woods somewhere. Get the others. And bring more torches.”
Noah lowered himself to the ground, pulling the underbrush on top of him to further camouflage his body. Flickering lights and the sound of running feet in the wet grass warned of his captors’ approach. He forced himself to remain motionless while his wrists continued to bleed and throb.
The soldiers marched past him and deep into the woods. A short time later, he heard voices in the distance, followed by the sound of the soldiers returning. On his way out, one of the soldiers brushed against the thicket he was lying under.
“This is getting us nowhere,” said one. “The Preacher’s gone.”
“No, he isn’t,” the leader said. “He’s hiding around here somewhere. We just have to keep looking.”
“And if he is gone, he’s getting farther away every part we waste here. I say we wake the captain and the others.”
Noah had second thoughts about his choice to hide. He’d have been better off running deep into the woods and putting some distance between himself and the soldiers. Even if he’d gotten lost, he could have waited for daylight to make his way out. But if they woke the captain and the others, it would only be a matter of time before they located him.
The pressure against his wrists from the shackles was unbearable. In a slow and near imperceptible movement, he twisted his hands away from the side of the shackle. A few chain links clanked against each other.
“Did you hear that?” the leader said.
“Hear what?” another said.
“That clanking.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Well I did,” a third said. “It sounded like it came from over there.”
Noah buried his head in the ground beneath the hood of his tunic to make his profile as low as possible. Tramping feet marched around him. The underbrush on his back lifted away, and two soldiers dragged him into the clearing, rolling him onto his back.
While two of them held him down, the leader kneeled with his legs on either side of his head, pressing a pillow over his face. “Sorry Preacher, but taking you back to Eden just isn’t in our plans.”
He struggled against the soldiers restraining him and fought to draw a breath—a breath that would not come. Darkness swirled around him. Could Japheth lead the family to complete the task of building the ark according to God’s commandment?
Just before losing consciousness, Noah heard running footsteps followed by a thump that relieved the pressure covering his nose and mouth. The pillow was pulled away, and the captain stood over him with a drawn sword. He kicked one of the two soldiers still holding him. “I said let go of him!” He turned to the other soldier, but he’d already moved away.
Noah sat up and gasped for air while the captain and the remainder of the patrol looked on. Behind him lay the unconscious group leader, blood dripping from a deep laceration to his forehead.
The captain motioned to the leader’s two companions. “Get him back to his tent. When he wakes up, tell him I said if he tries anything like this again, I’ll put him in chains.” The captain confronted the others. “And that goes for the rest of you. Malluch wants this man alive. If he doesn’t make it alive, I’ll see every one of you takes his place for whatever Malluch has in store for him.”
He wheeled to address Noah. “Have you ever seen a horse hamstrung?”
“No, but I’m familiar with the practice.”
“You try running again, and that’s just what I’ll do to you.”
* * *
After three days of torrent rains, Noah was happy to see the stars again. Not that he hadn’t appreciated the shower. It had come just in time to save him from the brink of exhaustion. Yet even with his thirst quenched, being towed behind a horse through a downpour had been a challenge.
By the second day, the road had become a sloppy mess, forcing the soldiers to slow their pace. He’d fallen repeatedly, but being dragged through the mud proved much easier on his body. He managed to return to his feet each time and continue the march.
Strange noises appeared to follow them the past two evenings. After they’d bedded down, the sound of something running in the forest next to where they’d camped drew his attention. But he couldn’t tell if it were an animal or just the heavier rainfall striking the trees at the time.
Just before nightfall, the rain had stopped, and tonight only the stars were his companions. And the sound of a few frogs singing from a nearby pond or stream.
He lay back on dry grass for the first time in four days, hoping for a much needed night of rest. A soft breeze blew across the land. If it weren’t for his stomach cramping from hunger, it would have been a perfect night. He tried to take his mind off it by thinking of Miryam and his family and started to doze.
There it was again.
A rustling of leaves in the forest next to them brought his head off the ground. He peered into the black abyss of dense foliage waiting for the next sound of movement.
Nothing.
Probably the wind.
Chapter 32
Thirteen days and no killings.
Shechem should have been elated. Instead, he questioned why the murders had stopped and when they would start again. Between that and worrying about the identity of his wife’s lover, he’d barely slept.
He speculated the killer was just lying low after having been seen. Surely nothing else had deterred him. Shechem had flooded the city with soldiers, alternating their location, number, and schedule and still the blood-letting continued. He likened it to a mouse finding its way into a granary. Despite being surrounded by cats, each night the mouse had managed to find that one hole to sneak through to earn its prize.
Now, having just risen from another night of insomnia, what news would the dawn bring?
He didn’t have to wait long.
A knock came at his front door. Two soldiers, Lamech, and another man stood on the other side. “Forgive the early morning intrusion, Commander,” one of the soldiers said. “But this elder said it was urgent.”
“That’s all right, soldier,” Shechem said, “I wasn’t asleep. You’re dismissed.” He invited Lamech and the other man inside, squinting as he put fingers and thumb to the bridge of his nose.
“Headache, Commander?” Lamech said.
Shechem nodded. “Lots of them since these murders started.”
“Maybe I can give you something for it. This is Babel. He thinks he may have seen your killers last week.”
“Killers?”
“I’m a merchant,” Babel said. “Someone’s been stealing from me at night, so I came back late one evening hoping to catch whoever it was. The streets were nearly empty, except for three men I saw running away from a cart two stands down from mine. When I crept closer, I saw a dark liquid dripping from the bottom of the cart. I pulled back the canvas covering it and found one of my fellow merchants, Damascus, I think that was his name, with his throat cut.
“Three men? Are you sure there were three?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see what they looked like?”
“Just three men wearing hoods all dressed in dark clothing. Two were larger, about four cubits high. The third one was smaller.”
“Which way were they running?”
“Toward the south gate.”
“How many does that make now, Commander?” Lamech said.
“Twelve, I think.”
“Yes, it must be difficult to keep track.”
If it weren’t so depressing, he would have laughed at Lamech’s response. Instead, he thanked him for bringing Babel and showed them out. Before departing, Lamech had offered to recruit men to serve as watchmen during the nighttime hours. But Shechem didn’t want any other civilians on the streets after dark, onl
y his soldiers. “They’d make better targets than lookouts,” he’d said, shaking his head.
He teetered in the middle of the room trying to reconcile this new information with what he’d witnessed himself. He’d observed a single killer. Now it appeared three stalked the city. Could the one he’d spotted been the shorter of the three men seen by the merchant, or was there a fourth killer out there somewhere?
His temples throbbed.
* * *
An hour before sunset, Noah entered the city of Cainan, only this time neither alone nor of his own volition. Despite the approaching twilight, the marketplace remained busy, providing him hope he would see his melon merchant friend. Or be seen by him.
It appeared the larger contingent of soldiers had moved on. This provided ample room for the patrol to tie their horses—and Noah—at the near end of the market. How ironic to find himself lashed to the same post where he’d tied his donkey thirteen days before.
While the soldiers milled about waiting for direction from their commander, an old woman crossing the street fifteen cubits from the stock rails caught his attention. She hunched as she walked, her white hair peeking from beneath a veil covering her features. The commander called to her. “You there.”
The woman continued on like she didn’t hear.
“You there. Old woman.”
She turned slowly to the sound of the commander’s voice.
“Old woman. Bring this dog a drink of water.”
She nodded and crossed the street into a tavern.
“And only a drink of water, do you hear?” The commander pointed to two of his soldiers. “You two stay here and keep watch. Don’t let anyone near him except the old woman. I’ll have some food and drink sent out to you.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldiers said.
While Noah waited for the old woman’s return, he thought about the quirk of fate that had returned him to this place. Could he be as fortunate a second time? He craned his neck to the limit of his restraints but couldn’t locate his merchant ally. Besides, he doubted whether the man would recognize him in his present condition.
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