People of the Tower (Ark Chronicles 4)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Nimrod scratched his chin as he glanced at the camp. Minos in his bright cloak and with his oiled curls strummed his harp as he sang to the maidens. They watched him in rapt delight, with shining eyes. The way he had run from the ambush in Japheth Land made many consider him a coward. Still, Minos had aided him at Festival and now trained the Singers, the maidens, with keen precision. Minos brimmed with ideas, perhaps too many. Nimrod nodded.

  Semiramis hailed her brother, and soon the three of them walked out of camp. Semiramis explained the problem and possible solution.

  Nimrod seemed to gaze at the clouds, but with his peripheral vision, he gauged Minos. The lad’s good looks made him seem clever. Nimrod knew the good looks also made him seem brave, and that was an illusion. Yet Minos pondered the information. If he was shocked by what he heard, he didn’t betray it.

  “If Rahab died that would surely help over time,” Minos said. “The problem is who among us has the hardness to dare such a feat? Not I, certainly. And while, you, Nimrod, are the bravest of the brave, your good will and magnanimous nature preclude you from ordering such a wicked deed.”

  “This is your vaunted poet’s insight?” Nimrod asked. “I might as well have sat at Beor’s feet and listened to one of his sermons.”

  Minos dipped his head. “There is the problem. Shem raised Rahab, if she ever was dead. Yet Beor wanders through the streets stirring the people with his sermons. Surely, it surprises you as much as me to find that massive, usually brooding archer, to be so persuasive. Now what I think—”

  Nimrod grabbed Minos’s shoulder, making the poet wince. “What did you say?”

  Minos sputtered, trying to ease out from under Nimrod’s hand, but the grip was too powerful.

  Nimrod spoke with a fervid pitch. “You said: ‘If Rahab was really dead.’“

  “Eh?” Minos asked.

  Nimrod scowled, shaking the fine-boned poet.

  “Why, ah…” Minos licked his lips. “Did Noah ever raise the dead? No. And he’s the holiest man that ever lived. Surely, no one thinks that Shem is more holy or spiritually more powerful than Noah is. How then could Shem have raised the dead? It’s impossible.”

  “Shem didn’t do it,” Semiramis said. “Jehovah did it through him. That’s what Beor is saying.”

  “That’s not the point,” Minos said. “Who said she was dead?”

  Nimrod released the poet and became thoughtful.

  Minos rubbed his shoulder.

  “Nimrod presided over Rahab the day before the burning, or when the burning was to have taken place,” Semiramis said. “Nimrod praised her as one does the dead. Are you suggesting that Nimrod can’t tell who is dead and who isn’t?”

  “Not at all,” Minos said. “Nimrod, that day, did you examine the body?”

  Nimrod shrugged.

  “Well, it really doesn’t matter,” Minos said. “Who could blame Nimrod for thinking that Rahab was dead when Kush and even Ham pronounced her dead? The point is that maybe instead of being dead she was in a deep form of deathlike sleep. So then when Shem arrived, he certainly didn’t raise her from the dead but simply revived her.”

  “Hmm,” Semiramis said. “That has possibilities.” She turned to Nimrod. “Didn’t I say he was clever?”

  “The idea has merit,” Nimrod conceded.

  “It does,” Minos said, not bashful in the least. “But it still isn’t good enough for what you need. People will say that you’re jealous, that envy fills you against Beor and Shem. What you need is a clincher.”

  Nimrod studied Minos with the same intensity he had used on the gazelle.

  “I suggest you hurry and tell us your plan,” Semiramis said.

  Minos’s grin broadened. “The clincher is the destruction of the bearer of the news, the utter shattering of he who strides through our city on a peg leg spouting his lies.”

  “Ah,” Nimrod said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “One of us walks up to Beor and slays him. Oh, that’s very clever. Then the people turn and rend us apart for slaying a man of Jehovah. Minos, I commission you to the deed.”

  “That isn’t what I mean by destroy,” Minos said, undaunted. “My way is more refined, one that will destroy not only Beor but in the process kill his lying message.”

  “What is this method?” Semiramis asked.

  Minos proceeded to tell them.

  13.

  Somewhere in the darkness, a cricket chirped. On the roof and while on his sleeping mat, Beor rolled over, staring at the stars. He couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was because after all these years he was finally in Babel. He still found it hard to believe. He was here, thwarting Nimrod. He grinned. He was among his own again, the sons of Ham. He was respected as he had once been. And yet…that scoundrel Nimrod still had his wife.

  Beor closed his eyes. He remembered the good times, when he had first brought Semiramis back from Japheth Land and to the settlement in the Zagros Mountains. He’d had both his legs then and they had been man and wife. He looked up, finding the constellation Andromeda, the third decan of Pisces. Andromeda was a beautiful woman chained down by her wrists and ankles, unable to rise. He imagined Semiramis up in the stars, chained down by Nimrod, the wife-stealer.

  With a silent groan, he dropped his head back on the pillow.

  How he longed to look into her eyes, to drown in them. What had gone wrong between them? He bared his teeth. Nimrod is what had gone wrong. Despite his preaching, his real desire was to pick up an axe and split Nimrod’s skull, to feel the crunch of Nimrod’s bones.

  Beor sat up, shaking his head. What was wrong with him? He was doing Jehovah’s work. He had to stay pure.

  “I’m no different than I ever was,” he whispered. “I’m a fraud and a hypocrite.” He shuddered and lay back. He wanted to obey the divine injunctions. Yet he also wanted his wife.

  Beor rolled onto his side, with his eyes open. He must resist temptation. He mustn’t think about her or about slaying Nimrod. Noah counted on him. Shem had told him many deep things. There was a disaster waiting to happen. Events hung on a knife’s edge. He had been called to preach and explain this to the Hamites.

  “Remember,” Shem had told him during their journey to Babel, “in the end Jehovah’s will is never thwarted. So we can disperse on our own or Jehovah can drive us to it. But if through Divine wrath then it will cost humanity dearly.”

  Beor tried to dwell on that. Yet soon his thoughts drifted back to earlier today. He had been trying not to think about it as he lay on his mat, yet it was the reason he couldn’t sleep. He had seen Semiramis sauntering down a lane with a water jar on her head. She had walked—no one walked like his Semiramis. She had paused, turned, and found him staring. She smiled. The smile had torn at his heart. Once they had lain together as man and wife and she had smiled like that in the moonlight.

  As he lay on his mat under the stars, Beor shook his head, trying to drive away the image. Then he found himself standing. The others slept soundly. They were all old, Shem, Ham and Rahab. He slipped on a cloak and thrust a hatchet through his belt. He had to relieve his bladder. He had no other reason for going down.

  Quiet as a mouse, he moved to the stairs, soon stepping onto the street. Earlier, he had spoken to his former wife. Semiramis had laughed and looked into his eyes as she stood in the lane with a water jar on her head.

  Beor had noticed people glancing at them. He had grown uncomfortable. He was the preacher. He shouldn’t speak so long to a married woman.

  “Beor,” Semiramis had said, “I despise the way people are so quick to judge. It’s reprehensible, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “We’re old friends, you and I. Is it wrong for us to talk like this?”

  He shook his head.

  She put a hand on his wrist. “Those prying eyes, they give me the chills. Why not meet me tonight outside your house so we can talk without worries.”

  “What? No, I can’t.”

  Her smile had become li
ke fire in his veins. “I’ll slip out my house tonight as the moon moves past Pisces. If you’re here, we can talk. Nimrod will be out checking the canals, and I heard him say he lays a trap at midnight for some elephant.”

  “Where Nimrod goes makes no difference.”

  “You’re right, for we plan nothing wrong.” She had squeezed his wrist and retreated, stopping, turning and smiling at him.

  Now Beor brushed his eyes with his sleeve. He stood beside the house, scanning the darkness. This was madness. Now was the moment to turn back, and he knew it. So he turned back for the stairs, and then his eyes widened.

  Semiramis fervently slipped down the lane, with a hood over her head.

  Go, Beor! his conscience screamed. Run!

  He didn’t run. He couldn’t run. He stood transfixed. He felt, for an instant, like an ox going to the slaughter. Then he was grinning, holding Semiramis’ hands.

  “Oh, Beor,” she whispered, smelling so lovely. “I’m glad you waited. I’ve missed you so much and I wanted to talk to you tonight without others watching and whispering.”

  He was aware of her hands, how he held them. Yet he was the preacher. Normally he wouldn’t have dared touch her. But the truth was, because of his righteousness, he had the power to let go of her when he willed it. With his newfound moral resolve, he had the new ability. Thus, he could afford to do this for a little while.

  “Can you give me a small hug? I so need one today.” She grinned. “I have nothing naughty in mind. I know that as the preacher, you’re above that sort of thing.”

  He licked his lips. He shouldn’t hug her. Yet she needed one. A hug wasn’t evil. It was reassuring. Then she slid next to him. She hugged him, breathing on his neck. All at once, he realized this was a dream come true. He crushed her to him, even as guilt screamed in his head.

  “Semiramis,” he said, thickly.

  She looked up into his eyes, the hood around her making her seem vulnerable.

  A last moment of sanity caused Beor to let go.

  She didn’t let go. She pressed against him, letting him feel her.

  He kissed her. He kissed her lingeringly. Then in horror, he let go. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.”

  She rearranged the folds of her gown.

  Now was the instant to flee. But he didn’t. He had to explain. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s all right, Beor. We…we used to be married. I don’t blame you. I hope you don’t blame me.”

  “Oh, no, no, Semiramis,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. The fault was mine.”

  She shook her head, seeming to marvel. “That’s how I remember you, my dear, Beor. You’re so noble and upright. I was such a fool to leave you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Of course, I forgive you. You must now forgive me, please, I beg you.”

  “Yes, Beor,” she said, smiling, holding out her hands. “I forgive you.”

  It was an innocent gesture this time, holding hands. They smiled at one another. Then he let go. See, he was under control. He could manage his emotions. He was the preacher. That one moment…the devil tested him and he had bested the devil.

  “Let’s not dwell on that little mistake,” she said.

  “Tell me what happened after Festival, after that terrible tragedy,” Beor said.

  She did. They stood beside Ham’s house in the moonlight, speaking softly. As they talked, he thought how good it felt having her in his arms. It stirred him, but that was under control now. She spoke more, softly, demurely, telling him how hard life was under Nimrod. Then he found that he held her hand. It was so natural doing so while talking in the dark, in the moonlight, the hour slipping away. She moved closer. This time, without guilt screaming at him, with it only whispering, he held Semiramis and he kissed her once more.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered, as she peered up into his eyes.

  “I know,” he said. But he kissed her again.

  “Oh, Beor, Beor, I’ve missed you so much.”

  With passion he had forgotten, he crushed her to him and smothered her face with kisses.

  “Let’s go inside,” she whispered. “I don’t want somebody finding us.”

  He hesitated only a moment, soon leading her into the house. When the door closed, his resolve fled. It vanished. When she pulled off his cloak and ran her hand over his chest, it seemed so natural, so easy, to unwind her robe.

  Time passed.

  He found himself in bed with her.

  “Take me, Beor.”

  At that moment, a terrible pounding of feet and shouting woke Beor to his danger. One of the voices sounded like Nimrod’s. He rolled off Semiramis and fell to the floor on his hands and knees, searching for his weapon, tossing his clothes aside, terrified he’d die like a fool.

  The door crashed open. Semiramis screamed, pulling the covers over her nakedness. Men peered from the hall and into the bedroom. They held torches and daggers. Nimrod and Uruk stood in front, with Kush and others in back.

  “Adulterer!” Nimrod shouted.

  Beor howled with rage, guilt and misery. He couldn’t find his axe. He probably looked hideous to them. They had caught him naked on his hands and knees. He leaped up as they piled into the bedroom. His rage and his state caused them to hesitate, but he didn’t hesitate. Beor threw himself at them. Uruk fell to a mighty blow. Nimrod sprawled onto his back, blood pouring from his nose. The others turned and ran. He bellowed, a madman, a monstrous sight.

  What might have happened next—Beor glared at Semiramis crouched in bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin. He scooped up Uruk’s dagger. They had tricked him. He stood panting, scowling, and he stepped toward Uruk.

  Ham and Shem burst into the room, staring in shock. Shem groaned in dismay.

  Beor dropped the dagger, drawing on a cloak. Tears of misery began to fall from his eyes. Quietly, with what little dignity he could muster, Beor left with Shem and Ham.

  14.

  Ham shook his head.

  Beor sat on a pail in a stable, sullen, silent, with his hands clasped between his knees. Shem frowned, studying one of the donkeys.

  “Do you know what a howling mob is like?” Ham asked, with a lamp in hand. “They had bloodthirsty mobs in the Old World. I remember hearing stories about them and what happened to their victims.” The big man just sat there, lost in his gloom. “Look,” Ham said. “You made a mistake. They tricked you, but that doesn’t matter now. Nimrod and Uruk won’t let you knock them down a second time. The next time it’s to the death.”

  Beor looked up. It seemed he didn’t know whether to scowl and rage or resign himself to his fate.

  Insight came like a bolt of lightning to Ham. “Nimrod will try to kill you legally. It won’t be a duel, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’ll demand they drag you out of the city and stone you. You can’t fight a mob, Beor. You must leave tonight.”

  “And have his Hunters track me like a dog?” Beor asked. “To be slain like a mad dog, a fleeing cur admitting my guilt?”

  Ham shook his head. “They won’t track you this time. I’ll see to that. Besides, it’s flood season. Everyone is needed on the canals. But you must rise up now, Beor, this instant, and go. Gain a good head start.”

  “Ham’s right,” Shem said.

  Beor dropped his gaze, defeated.

  “Go,” Ham told Shem. “This offence cannot be argued and defended. To stay means jeering and mockery and dragging the name of Jehovah in the mud.”

  Shem pondered that.

  “Fleeing is bad as well,” Ham said. “There’s no way around that. It admits guilt. But he is guilty. There’s no way to say this nicely. Perhaps it’s a point in his favor that once Semiramis was his wife. I understand. Believe me, if anyone could understand, it’s me. Didn’t I once fall to Naamah, surely a match for even Semiramis? I, too, once made a terrible mistake. Yet to die is to perish in the mistake. Live and reform. At this point, anything is better than staying. Go, Beo
r.”

  “Yes,” Shem said. “We must go.”

  Together, the two brothers harnessed a chariot with the swiftest and hardiest donkeys. Almost by force of strength, they shoved Beor aboard. Shem took the reins.

  With his flickering lamp, Ham walked with them down Babel’s dark streets. He was surprised at the empty lanes. Nimrod had time to marshal the Hunters. So why hadn’t they come? It dawned on Ham the true purpose of Semiramis’s visit. Nimrod would sacrifice anything to keep Babel intact, even sacrifice the good name of his wife, and even sacrifice his own good name. For surely Nimrod understood that people secretly laughed at a man who couldn’t keep his wife at home, whose wife ran to another man’s bed.

  Kush was at the gate with several of his sons. Triumph shone in their eyes, but they remained silent. Perhaps they feared Beor. At a nod from Kush, the sons worked up the bar and opened one of the massive gates. The chariot trundled through.

  “Go with Jehovah,” Ham whispered to Shem and Beor.

  Beor didn’t acknowledge the farewell, although Shem whispered a few words of farewell. Then Shem shook the reins, fleeing into the night with Beor.

  15.

  Work on the Tower resumed.

  By this time, the labor had been separated into specialties. The easiest, most brutish was simply collecting raw mud. There were two types, the regular clay-bearing mud and the one with elements of iron. The pure mud was preferred. Youths with shovels and an oxcart hauled the mud to brickmakers. Hundreds and soon thousands upon thousands of palm-wood molds were filled with the straw-mud mixture. The vast majority of the bricks were sun-dried, and after a few days were popped out of the molds. These formed the inner Tower. The bricklayers set reed mats between levels. The mats bound the bricks, provided drainage and discouraged subsidence. Holes were made in the casing to help prevent splitting in the rainy season.

  Rain was a problem.

  Water soaked into sun-dried bricks. Over time, the brick swelled and crumbled. That could have spelled disaster for the Tower. It was the reason why kiln-baked bricks, burnt bricks, were so vital.