Army of God

by Dennis Bailey

  Lights appeared in the distance, and Shechem’s arm shot up to slow his charging cavalry. Ahead, the road continued on another four furlongs to the north gate. Soldiers on horseback patrolled quietly outside the walls.

  But the four riders. They’d vanished.

  He cursed when they came to a stop.

  Horses panted and snorted all around him. “Where’d they go?” one of his soldiers said.

  Shechem studied the darkened surroundings. “They dropped into that ravine back there. Take half the men and hurry back to the other end to keep them from doubling back. We’ll send a patrol in from here with torches to smoke them out.”

  Eight hundred ten parts later, the patrol exited his end of the ravine with the four riders in custody. He didn’t recognize any of them.

  He led his soldiers back to the garrison, turned over the prisoners, then stabled his horse and walked across the courtyard. Few lights burned in the palace, and he suspected it was well past midnight. But Malluch would want to know immediately about the arrests, a point he confirmed with great exuberance upon hearing the news.

  He and Bohar joined Shechem for the ride back to the garrison. When they arrived, the keeper of the prison came running out the door. “Commander! Something terrible has happened.”

  “What is it?” Malluch said.

  The jailer bowed, his hands trembling. “I’m sorry, my lord, but the prisoners the Commander brought in tonight are dead.”

  Malluch’s lips flattened. “How?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. They didn’t respond when the guards called to them. Then when they entered the cells to check on them, three were already dead and the other barely breathing. The one who was alive was paralyzed from the waist down. He died a few dozen parts ago.”

  “If you’re lying, I’ll have you flayed.”

  The jailer threw himself on the ground. “My lord. That’s what happened, I swear.”

  “Take us to the bodies,” Shechem said. Could he have had any worse luck? For four decades he’d sought these rebels. Now that they were within his grasp, it appeared he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of interrogating them.

  The four prisoners were laid out side by side in a vestibule near the cells. He kneeled to examine them. “Other than their clothes, were they carrying anything?”

  “Two of them had pouches,” the jailer said.

  “Bring them.”

  The jailer left briefly and returned, handing the two pouches to Shechem. He examined the first and tossed it aside. With the second, he reached in and pulled out a tiny white flower with five symmetrical petals.

  “What’s that?” Bohar said.

  “I’m not sure yet. Let me have your knife.”

  Bohar handed it to him. He moved from man to man, prying open their mouths. On the third man, he stopped after looking inside before motioning for the jailer to bring over a torch hanging on the wall. “Down here.” He reached into the man’s mouth with the knife. When he pulled it out, a sprig of green plant material in the shape of a fan clung to the tip.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Malluch said.

  “Hemlock.” Shechem raised the flower in his other hand. “The flower too.”

  “You knew?”

  “Let’s say I suspected when the jailer mentioned the paralysis.”

  “How did they get it in here?” Bohar said.

  “I don’t think they did,” Shechem said. “They died too quickly. Besides, the guards seized the pouches before putting them in their cells. They must have swallowed it before they got here, probably somewhere out on the road when we were closing in on them.”

  “So much for getting any information out of them.”

  Malluch’s face grew red. “Jailer.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “These men weren’t poisoned.”

  “They weren’t?”

  “No. They were hung after being subjected to extreme torture.”

  “What are you doing?” Bohar said.

  “Trying to turn a crock of dung into a pot of gold,” Malluch said.

  “But they’re already dead.”

  “The patriarchs and their sympathizers don’t know that.” He spun back to the jailer. “Take these bodies and hang them, one each on either side of the south gate and two on the north gate.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  “And do it quietly, right now, before the sun comes up. Hang a sign on each of their chests that reads ‘Desecrater of Eden’s Gods.’”

  The jailer bowed and started down the vestibule.

  “And, jailer,” Malluch said. “Tell the guards to keep their mouths shut, or I’ll have them hung out there right alongside of them.”

  “Do you think it will work?” Shechem said.

  “I’d have preferred a confession I could have used against the elders. I’ll settle for conveying a message.”

  Chapter 46

  In the 595th year of Noah . . .

  Shechem didn’t know how Malluch had learned of a plot to free the slaves, but he hoped to talk him out of his promise to destroy them. The hangings on the city gates fifteen years ago had accomplished their purpose. There hadn’t been a whisper of rebellion against his government or so much as a cross word spoken against any of Eden’s gods. Until now.

  “I say we take the army out to the camp and wipe them all out right now,” Bohar said.

  “Wipe out three thousand slaves?” Shechem said.

  “Why not?” It’s better than letting them escape.”

  “Do you know how much time and expense we’ve invested in obtaining all those slaves? And that doesn’t include the value in manpower they represent to Eden.”

  “Yes, and if they escape, they’ll be of no more value than if we kill them.”

  Malluch strode toward them from across the great hall. “My lord,” Shechem said.

  “I’m sorry, Commander, but I made a promise eighty years ago. I intend to keep it.”

  “But why? Now that we know what they’re planning, why not let me increase the guard around the slave camp?”

  “Increasing the guard won’t help us to identify the conspirators behind it.”

  “Then why not set a trap to catch them?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not enough, Commander. The four cowards who attacked our high places took their own lives to keep me from obtaining the proof I needed to accuse the patriarchs. I’m not going to allow that to happen again.”

  Bohar placed his palms on the table and leaned forward. “I still say we should go ahead and kill them right now.”

  “And rob our conspirators of their opportunity to be caught in the act.” Malluch said. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “My lord,” Shechem said. “The slaves provide an invaluable service. Eden wouldn’t be the city it is today without them. If we kill them, where will we find the labor to repair our walls or build your new arena?”

  “Why from new slaves, of course.”

  “And you don’t think catching whoever is behind the plot is deterrent enough?”

  “No, Commander,” Malluch said. “Besides, it will teach these rebels the price of defiance.”

  “But—”

  “I want you to put together a plan to intercept the slaves just outside the camp and have your men in position shortly after midnight ten days from now.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Good. Shechem had another ten days to make his case for sparing the slaves.

  * * *

  Just before midnight, Shechem walked the halls of the palace, as he did so often when troubled. Maintaining a brisk pace helped to clear his mind. Especially when preparing to take an action he found objectionable, yet duty bound to carry out. He’d been unable to sway Malluch, who was determined to sacrifice the slaves in retribution for the elders’ opposition to his government.

  He passed by the open terrace at the rear of the palace on his way up to the third story. Whispered voices from the outside stoked his curiosity, so he move
d onto the porch.

  Below him, two shaded figures stood together. Even in the dark, Bohar’s outline could not be mistaken, but the second figure Shechem couldn’t place. The man kept looking over his shoulder, only the light wasn’t good enough to make an identification. He stopped when coins were dropped into his hand, the clinking sound of money hitting his palm commanding his full attention. A moment later he scurried off while Bohar entered the palace.

  Shechem continued up the stairs to a room where Malluch waited. Bohar arrived nine parts later, and the three men stepped outside onto a balcony with a view to the north. In the distance, lights flickered from each of the four watchtowers atop the walls of the slave camp. “Are your troops in position, Commander?” Malluch said.

  “Yes, my lord. For several hours now.”

  “And are they clear on their orders?”

  “They’re not to make a move until the last of the slaves are in the open.”

  “Excellent, Commander. Excellent.”

  “This is going to be like hunting a herd of blind three-legged sheep,” Bohar said.

  Shechem couldn’t bring himself to think so callously. These weren’t sheep. They were men and represented a near one-hundred-year investment of time and resources. “You never told me, my lord, how you learned of the plot.”

  “A ruler must have some secrets, my friend,” Malluch said. “Even from his closest advisor. How many slaves?”

  He sighed heavily. “Three thousand one hundred forty-six at last count.” He reached to straighten the sheath around his waist before heading inside. “I’d better be getting out there.”

  “Commander.”

  Malluch’s tone froze him in his sandals.

  “Not a one of them.”

  “Understood, my lord.”

  * * *

  Shechem had never feared the coming of dawn. Today, standing on a plain surrounded by death, he loathed it.

  Being a military commander, he’d experienced the feeling of euphoria associated with victory on the battlefield. Here, all he felt was shame when the first glimpses of daylight brought the bodies closest to him into focus. Two thousand nine hundred ninety-eight corpses spread across a thirty-acre area of plain just north of the slave camp. Another one hundred forty-eight lay bunched together around a large bush camouflaging an escape hole cut through the north wall. Malluch had ordered the hole blocked from the inside so none of the slaves could get back in once they’d fled.

  Not a one had escaped.

  Lamech, the patriarchs, and dozens of their kin lined the edge of the plain with their heads down. Many cried, apparently overcome by the carnage splayed before them. Soldiers surrounded eight of the elders’ sons, their hands and feet shackled. “I—I.” Lamech shook his head. “I can’t find the words, Malluch. Have you lost your soul?”

  Malluch laughed. “My soul?”

  “No one in their right mind would do something this cruel and senseless. But since I don’t consider you crazy, my only conclusion is you’ve lost your soul.”

  “Cruel? Look around you. Do you see any signs these men suffered? Each was relieved of his life swiftly and efficiently. And in near total darkness I might add.”

  “Oh, yes, a model exercise in compassion,” Methuselah said.

  Lamech walked onto the plain where three bodies lay next to one another. He gestured across the field. “All this was unnecessary. It’s obvious you had advanced warning of the escape, and yet did nothing to prevent it. Instead, you used it as an excuse to sanction this slaughter.”

  “Merely keeping a vow I made long ago concerning the slaves. Have you forgotten?”

  “No, Malluch. We haven’t forgotten. But I prayed every day you would.”

  Malluch smirked. “Not to that invisible God of yours?”

  “You see how much good that did you,” Bohar said.

  “I prayed your heart would be softened, so when the time came you would choose mercy over the vow.”

  “Mercy? Do not eight of your sons caught in this treasonous plot stand alive before you? Would you prefer I have them executed as well?”

  “No!” three elders in the crowd said together.

  “Spare my son, please,” said another.

  Lamech bowed slightly toward the governor. “I beg your pardon. But surely you’ve seen enough killing for one night.”

  “Take them to the prison in the garrison,” Malluch said. The soldiers surrounding the prisoners marched the elders’ sons off toward the city.

  As they started away, Lamech rushed up behind one of the last soldiers in the formation and snatched his sword from its sheath. He moved swiftly to the elders, where he sliced through the tunic of one of the younger men standing with them. A money bag dropped onto the ground, spilling its contents of gold coins.

  Who was he? Something about him looked familiar, but . . . The man he’d seen the previous evening talking to Bohar.

  An elder standing next to the young man stepped back, staring wide-eyed at the coins on the ground.

  “Father, I can explain,” the young man said.

  The elder took the sword from Lamech’s hand, pivoted quickly and thrust it through his son’s abdomen. He gasped, looking in disbelief while his father gently lowered his body to the ground. “Forgive me, Father,” the young man said before closing his eyes.

  For the next 180 parts, the father knelt with his son in his arms, rocking and weeping.

  Malluch stood over the boy’s body and addressed Lamech. “It would appear neither of us is good at keeping a secret.”

  “It’s too bad,” Bohar said, crouching to retrieve the gold coins on the ground next to the body. “He was a good informer.”

  Malluch raised a look to the twenty-five to thirty buzzards circling overhead. “Commander.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Better find some help and get these men in the ground before you have a real mess on your hands.”

  Chapter 47

  It came as no surprise to Shechem when sleep failed him the next night. The screams of three thousand slaves still resonated in his ears. So, after 720 parts of tossing and turning, he got up and went for another walk, this time in the courtyard.

  Not since witnessing the sacrifice of the children of Enoch had he been so conflicted. If that day had changed him, last night had cast it in iron. The savagery he’d once feared would reach Eden had arrived. And it had only taken seventy years to get here. Even the murders covering the elimination of the sons of the elders couldn’t match this level of ruthlessness.

  Like many a soldier, he’d taken his share of lives, but only in pursuit of the military objective. Those killed had died in battle with a weapon in their hand. And under his command, the torture or mistreatment of prisoners had been strictly forbidden—Bohar being the sole exception. His sadistic predilections had remained a constant source of angst for him.

  But last night had amounted to nothing more than a government-sponsored mass execution. Bohar was right. It had been a slaughter of blind sheep, unarmed men fleeing straight into the blades of the soldiers who waited for them in ambush.

  Most of all, he was disappointed his friendship with Malluch hadn’t been enough to talk him out of the massacre.

  The sun rising in the east told Shechem he’d been walking all night, although it wasn’t the light that stirred his interest in the sky. Two large owls, flying side by side, headed toward him from northwest to southeast. He’d seen the occasional owl before, but never two flying together and never out in the open away from the cover of the forest. They passed overhead and continued until they were out of sight.

  Since it was too late to return to bed, he grabbed something to eat, then stopped by the garrison before heading to the palace. Malluch and Bohar were conversing in the great hall when he arrived.

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t just have the traitors killed along with the others,” Bohar said. “They were caught in the act of helping the slaves escape, and there was no
thing the elders could do about it. Ten to one they’re the same ones destroying our gods.”

  Malluch shook his finger. “You must learn to resist the desire for immediate gratification, my friend. Tempting as it was to have killed them, I think they will serve a much better purpose for us alive.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Dead men cease to have value. But alive, they offer a tangible asset we can use to bargain with against the elders. I suspect the vandalizing of our gods will diminish greatly with these eight in prison.”

  “Well, maybe. But I would have gladly sacrificed two or three for the sake of aggravation alone.”

  “Fear not, my friend. The day will come when they will have outlived their usefulness. Should you wish, on that day you may participate in their demise.”

  The door opened into the great hall and a guard peeking his head through interrupted their discussion. “What is it?” Malluch said.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I have news for you.”

  “Speak.”

  The guard stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “It’s about one of the elders.”

  “Which one?”

  “Lamech.”

  Malluch rolled his eyes. “What now?”

  “He’s dead.”

  The mouths of the three men dropped open. “What happened?” Shechem said.

  “His servant told my captain he died in his sleep.”

  “Thank you guard,” Malluch said. “You’re dismissed.”

  He grabbed both men behind the neck and led them toward a table containing a pitcher and gold goblets. “I’m not usually one for wine this early in the morning, but this calls for a celebration.”

  “A big one,” Bohar said.

  Shechem wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  Three days later, Shechem and Bohar packed their horses outside the garrison along with twelve hundred foot soldiers and one hundred cavalrymen. Malluch hadn’t wasted any time ordering the immediate securing of replacements for Eden’s slain slave force. “Did you take my advice and satisfy your appetite for a woman last night?” Shechem said.