Army of God

by Dennis Bailey

  “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Bohar said. “From what you’ve told me, it’s just one man we’re talking about, right?”

  “Somewhat more than a man, I’d say,” Shechem said. “By himself he managed to destroy our entire company.”

  “Of what, twenty-six, twenty-seven men? But against the combined armies of Enoch and Eden? No one man, or angel, or whatever he is could withstand a legion of twenty thousand men.”

  “My friends,” Malluch said. “I’m afraid the prince’s rejection of our request makes the point moot. It’s clear he’s unwilling to risk the welfare of his army, not even for the prospect of eternal life. It’s time to move on.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Eden’s army will go it alone.”

  Bohar threw both fists in the air. “Yes! Finally.”

  “Commander, I want you to draw up a battle plan for a campaign to the garden.”

  After 120 years of planning and waiting, Malluch’s patience had run out. The time had come for him to complete his revenge. “For how many men?”

  “The full contingent.”

  “Five thousand men? Surely, my lord, we can accomplish our objective without calling out our whole army.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m not taking any chances. Remember, we’re going there not only seeking the tree of life, but to take vengeance on the creature who destroyed my family.”

  “All right. Do you have a timetable in mind?” Shechem’s stomach tensed, part in anticipation, part in apprehension.

  “Soon. But I’m far more interested in the details of your plan than in how quickly you can put one together. I’ve waited over a hundred years. I can wait a little longer.”

  Shechem nodded and walked toward the exit.

  “Just don’t make it too long,” Malluch said.

  * * *

  Noah jogged down the left side of the ark to where Shem was applying pitch to the hull from scaffolding fifteen cubits above the ground. When he arrived, Shem wore the same expression he had as a child when he brought home his first firefly. Stange how after 429 years, the memory remained fresh in his mind. “Father, can you come up here? I want you to see this.”

  Shem swatted at something above his head, and continued flailing until his father reached him. “What are you waving at?”

  “Bees. Hornets. I don’t know, but they’ve been buzzing around here all morning.”

  Noah heard a buzzing in his left ear, and followed the sound around to his right.

  “See, there it is again.” Shem waved once more.

  “Will you stop for a moment?”

  “You don’t want to get stung, do you?”

  “They’re not bees or hornets.”

  “What are they?”

  “Well, if you stop waving for a part, we might be able to see them. Now be still.”

  The two men sat motionless on the scaffolding. When the buzzing returned, Noah nodded for Shem to look to his left. Two small green bodies about the size of locusts floated in the air in front of them, their wings a blur because they beat at such great speed. They had needle-like noses, and when one lifted its head while hovering, it exposed a bright ruby throat.

  “I don’t remember ever seeing one of these before.” Shem moved closer to the hovering creatures. Or maybe I have and never paid attention to them. But you’re right, Father. They’re not bees. At least not any kind of bee I’ve ever seen.”

  “Hummingbirds.”

  “They’re a bird?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Small for a bird. But the name sure fits.”

  “Indeed. Now what did you summon me for?”

  “Oh, yes. Right. Remember, Father, when the Lord told you to build the ark out of gopherwood? Only gopherwood? And how I groused about why it made any difference?

  “Both events remain clear in my memory.”

  “Well, I think I know why. Watch this.”

  Shem dipped a pole with a sheepskin brush on the end into a bucket of hot pitch and slid it along the outside of the hull. Not a drop of pitch ran down the side but was absorbed immediately into the wood the way water sinks into sand.

  He took the pole and touched the brush to a piece of scaffolding. This time the pitch adhered to the wood, but the excess dripped off the sides of the timber.

  “Do you know why?” Noah bent to examine the hull.

  “It’s oak,” Shem said, grinning. “We made the shoring out of ash and oak trees.”

  He slapped Shem on the back, only to have the joy of their discovery cut short by the women calling for help.

  They hurried down the shoring to the other side of the ark. Ham and Japheth met them at the top of the hill and together the four men and the lioness ran to the house. When they arrived, Ariel, Shiphrah, and Elisheva, their faces pallid, pointed to the doorway where a man held a knife to Miryam’s throat. “That’s far enough,” he said. “Unless you want me to start carving her head off right here.”

  Noah searched his daughters’ faces.

  “He came in through one of the back-bedroom windows,” Elisheva said. “Before we knew what was happening, he grabbed mother and ordered us outside.”

  Noah eyed the lioness. Where’s your mate? “What do you want?”

  “Justice.” The man holding Miryam, naked from the waist up, was deeply tanned and had a closely-trimmed, gray beard. “For my son.”

  “Who is your son?”

  The man pointed the knife toward the ark. “He and four others died on the other side of that hill seventy years ago. At your hand.”

  Japheth had warned about the men they’d killed that night having relatives. And at least one of them had a good memory. “A long time ago.”

  “For my wife and me, it was yesterday.”

  “You said you wanted justice.”

  “Yes. These are your sons?”

  “They are.”

  “Choose one.”

  “What for?”

  “Like I said. Justice. A son of yours for one of mine. You’re going to kill one of your sons right now or watch your wife die.”

  Miryam struggled, but the man maintained his grip.

  “I’m responsible for your son’s death,” Noah said. “Let my wife go, and I’ll surrender to you.”

  The man shook his head. “It won’t go that easy for you. Your own death would be too quick. You and your wife are going to suffer the way we’ve suffered. For a lifetime. A bit more painful perhaps, because you killed him yourself, but a fair trade nonetheless.”

  “No, Father,” Japheth said. He and his brothers drew their swords and moved toward the house.

  The man dragged Miryam outside the door. “Take another step, and I’ll slit her throat. Drop those swords.”

  They froze, but held onto their weapons.

  “I mean it.” The man pulled Miryam’s head back and pushed the knife blade against the skin of her throat.

  Three swords hit the ground.

  “There, they just made it easy for you,” the man said. “Pick up the sword next to the son you’ve chosen and run him through. I’ll let your wife go.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” Japheth said.

  “Not if I get there first,” Shem said.

  “One of you may indeed kill me, but not before one of your brothers or your mother lies bleeding in the dirt.” He addressed Noah. “You’ve got nine parts to pick up a sword and do as I told you or your wife dies.”

  Noah’s attention was drawn to the male lion exiting the woods at the rear of the house and heading toward them. Should he say anything? If he did, what would the man do? Would he panic and hurt Miryam?

  “There’s a lion coming up the side of the house.”

  The man smiled. “You mean like the one standing next to you?”

  “I should warn you, it’s my wife’s lion.”

  “Three parts.”

  When the lion rounded the corner, the man swung Miryam around to face him. Shiphrah grabb
ed one of the dropped swords and threw it, the blade plunging deep into the man’s left thigh. In pain, he yelled out, releasing his hostage. The lion bolted toward him, and he tried to raise the knife to defend himself, but the cat was already in the air. The man screamed again when the lion levelled him and ripped into his throat, the lioness bounding over to join her mate for the kill.

  Meanwhile, the three brothers surrounded Shiphrah, congratulating her. “I know the Marauders taught you a few things, but that was amazing,” Shem said. “Japheth. Have you ever seen anyone throw a sword like that?”

  “I’ve never even heard of anyone throwing a sword like that.”

  Noah and Miryam pulled the lions off once they were sure the man was dead. “Where have you been?” he said to the lion.

  “I think he was answering a call to nature,” Elisheva said.

  Several cats and some of the other carnivores wandered down the hill and took up positions near the body. The wolves moved to within seventy cubits, pacing and licking their lips. One of the crows flew in, landed on the man’s shoulder, and cawed.

  “We’d better bury him quickly before we have a riot on our hands,” Japheth said.

  “Why bother?” Shem said. “The wolves and jackals will just dig him up.”

  Japheth approached the two jaguars and smacked them each on the rump, chasing them back up the hill. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  “Shem, Ham,” Noah said. “Wrap his body in canvas, load it on a cart, and take it at least eight furlongs from here before you bury it.”

  The two brothers picked up their swords and headed for the house. Meanwhile, two jackals joined the wolves in pacing.

  “But just in case, better make sure your hole is at least four cubits deep,” he said.

  Chapter 51

  The next morning, Shechem and his twenty captains sat around a table in the garrison to discuss plans for the campaign. A knock on the door was followed by a guard entering the room. “Excuse me, Commander.”

  “What is it?”

  “One of the patriarchs has asked to see you.”

  “Show him in.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander. He asked that you come to his house.”

  “What for?”

  “He’s dying.”

  “Who?”

  “Methuselah.”

  Shechem rode to Methuselah’s house, located in the oldest section of the city just north of the palace. When he entered the room, the eldest of the patriarchs lay on a bed surrounded by his sons and daughters. At 969 years, he had a full head of white hair and a long matching beard that rested on top of the blanket covering him. But his face was gaunt, his eyes sunken. He looked tired.

  Still, he had enough strength left to raise his hand and dismiss his children. He motioned for Shechem to come closer. “Commander,” he said, his voice raspy and slow. “Soon, I go the way of my fathers.” He coughed twice. “My son, Lamech, said you were a man of striking contradiction.”

  Shechem didn’t know exactly what he meant by this or how to respond, so he simply nodded.

  “He was convinced you had nothing to do with Malluch’s ruse to cover the murders of our sons. He also said he respected you because you had opposed the massacre of the slaves.”

  This surprised Shechem, who because of his standing in the regime had assumed Lamech considered him complicit in the cover-up. How he knew of his opposition to the slaves being massacred, he had no idea. “Is that why you summoned me, to tell me this?”

  “No.” Methuselah coughed violently five times, wheezing to catch his breath. “There’s a rumor Malluch is planning a return to the garden.”

  “We leave tomorrow.”

  “I advise you not to go, Commander. He who guards the entrance is not of this earth.”

  “I’ve met him.”

  “Yes, you have. And you know what happened to those who were with you.”

  “We were but twenty-five then. Now we are five thousand.”

  “Five thousand or fifty thousand won’t make any difference against an angel of God.”

  “Malluch doesn’t believe in angels.”

  “A skepticism that cost his father and brother their lives, along with all the others.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “To save your life. If only for a short while.”

  “If you’re talking about the garden, save your brea—”

  “You have two daughters?”

  “Yes, but they moved with their husbands to villages south of the city years ago.”

  “Go to them. Take them and their families to the mountains to the north. Repent to the Lord and savor the time you have left with them.”

  Shechem had a lot to repent for, but it was too late for him. “Why?”

  Methuselah lifted his arm and swept it across his body in an arc. “Three months from now, there won’t be a dry stone onto which you may set your foot.”

  “A flood?”

  Methuselah struggled to breathe. “More than a flood. A calamity.”

  This wasn’t the first time Shechem had heard this. Years ago, a story had surfaced about a farmer in the south who’d predicted a great flood. But it was soon dismissed, like so many other fables. “Who told you this?”

  “The Lord showed it to me in a dream.”

  Could the senility of old age and the nearness of death have affected Methuselah’s mind? “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave now.” He gave him a final glance. “But I appreciate your concern.”

  “You know she’s betrayed you.”

  The commander spun to find Methuselah straining to prop himself up on one elbow, his eyes set firmly beneath bushy silver eyebrows. Shechem knew exactly who he was referring to.

  “With whom?”

  Methuselah collapsed on the bed, fighting for each word. “You know him, but—” He let out a long, slow exhale. His chest did not rise again.

  Shechem leaned over the expired patriarch. “Who?” He grabbed Methuselah by the shoulders, lifting him off the bed, only to have his head loll back against the pillow. “Who is it?”

  Methuselah’s family returned to the room. “He’s gone, Commander,” one of the sons said. “Please allow us to tend to our father’s body.”

  He gently lowered Methuselah back onto the bed.

  * * *

  On the ride back to the garrison, Methuselah’s last words tormented Shechem. If only the dying elder had fought for one more breath, he could have revealed the name of his wife’s lover. A selfish thought, but it would have put an end to his lingering search.

  No matter. Whatever insight into Claudia’s infidelity the patriarch had been given, Shechem was convinced now more than ever her lover was the silk merchant. Methuselah had confirmed his betrayer was known to him. Who else but the silk merchant?

  The only thing left to decipher from the old man’s dying words was what the elder intended to communicate in the last part of the sentence. “You know him, but—” What did the “but” mean? Was there some warning about the person Methuselah felt compelled to share? Or maybe he meant to tell him not to look at someone so obvious. Could she have had more than one lover?

  Whatever it was, he would take care of the man or men immediately upon his return from the campaign to the garden.

  * * *

  Gasping for air, Ariel pushed through Noah and Japheth standing in the doorway of the ark, ran down the ramp, and headed for the house. “Daughter,” Noah said after her. A moment later, Shem charged up the ramp from the deck below to join his father and brother at the door.

  “What’s wrong with Ariel?” Japheth said.

  “She says she can’t breathe,” Shem said.

  His father and brother shared a dazed look. “Well, if she can’t breathe, what’s she running for?” Japheth said.

  Shem pointed inside the ark. “She can’t breathe in there.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “She has this fear about being in enclosed areas. I learned about it years ag
o before we were married. One day we were walking in the hills and got caught in a thunderstorm. I found this cave, so we went in to wait out the storm. Well, we had barely gotten inside when Ariel panicked.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She ran out of the cave and refused to go back in. I grabbed her and ushered her under a nearby tree until the storm passed.”

  “Father, this isn’t good,” Japheth said.

  “What are you saying?” Shem said.

  “I’m saying it could be dangerous having someone who’s afraid of confined spaces on board the ark.”

  Shem grit his teeth, his nostrils flaring. “What do you suggest? Leave her behind?”

  “We may have to.”

  Shem punched Japheth in the jaw, knocking him back a step onto the ramp, then tackled his brother so that the two rolled down the incline. When they reached the bottom, they continued to punch each other in the grass. Noah ran after them, calling their names and ordering them to stop, but the two brothers fought on.

  Japheth gained the advantage over his smaller brother, resting on his rib cage while the two exchanged blows. Noah grabbed him with an arm around his neck. “All right, son. That’s enough.”

  He shook Noah off, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards, striking his back against the edge of the ramp. Shooting pain raced up his spine, and he cried out.

  The two brothers rushed to aid their father. “Are you all right, Father?” Japheth said.

  He found it difficult to speak through the excruciating pain. But what worried him more was the strange numbness in his legs. “I can’t move.”

  Noah lay tied to a plank of wood next to his bed in the hopes immobilizing him would help reduce the inflammation in his back. It was an uncomfortable position that’d made it difficult to sleep, but it had relieved some of the pain. Three days had passed since his injury, and still he was unable to move his legs.

  As they’d done for each morning of those three days, his sons entered the room to greet their father and receive his instruction for the day’s work. Japheth had a swollen lip and Shem a black eye.

  “Good morning, my sons.”

  Shem shot Japheth an accusatory glare.

  “Is there anything we can get you today, Father?” Ham said.