“What are you doing?”
“Doing? I’m getting ready.”
Ham was perplexed, until Noah clumped near higher ground and worked to his knees. The patriarch of man bowed his head and folded his hands as he began to pray.
36.
Ham sat on a rock.
Their two hobbled donkeys munched oats from the feedbags.
Tall pines kept them company, a whispering breeze swaying the topmost branches. Hidden, but near, a woodpecker rattled its beak against bark, while high above in the blue sky, a screeching eagle wheeled. Silence then, but for Noah’s mumbling, until a cricket rustled its wings. That brought back the rap-rap-rap of the woodpecker, while the eagle continued its lonely vigil, floating, drifting and looping in long circles. It was the king of the air.
Later, from atop his rock, Ham heard voices. They came from down-slope and through the trees. He sat up and glanced at the praying man, the one with his head bowed so his long, white hair swept forward, covering his face, and with his hands clasped. Noah seemed to be wrestling invisibly.
The noise from down-slope, the indistinct voices, now included the clatter of shields, javelins and belted knives.
With a grunt, Noah rose. He dusted off his knees as riders broke from behind the pines. They were four youths, great-grandchildren of Put. Their manner became wary as each of them focused on Noah. The Hunter, the toughest among them, a hard-eyed youth with hair dangling in his eyes, dismounted with a javelin in his fist.
“You’re to come with us,” the Hunter said.
Noah dipped his head.
The Hunter snapped his fingers. “Aphek, ride back and tell them we’re bringing in Ham and— You are Noah, right?”
Noah raised his staff, and his words seemed to crackle. “Aphek will stay with us.”
“Aphek has to report back. That is Kush’s command.”
“We’ll all ride back together,” Noah said.
The youthful Hunter licked his lips, and he avoided Noah’s strange eyes. “We must obey Kush. For we belong to the Army of Babel, to the city of Babel. Kush is our high priest, our leader.”
“Boy,” warned Noah.
The Hunter hesitated only a moment longer, before nodding. “We’ll all ride back together.”
Ham knew this shouldn’t amaze him. He used to watch Noah do this sort of thing all the time—in the Antediluvian world. Yet it impressed him all over again. No one was like his father.
They mounted up and followed the youths, the young riders picking their way down the pine-needle slippery mountain. Ham ducked branches. His shoulders brushed trees. Squirrels chattered or scampered out of sight. One dropped an acorn. He caught the youths glancing at Noah, and, once or twice, at him, too. At the bottom of the slope, Ham peered past thinning trees. The army camped in a clearing. Bivouac fires burned. Venison roasted, and Ham’s stomach growled. He was hungry. Around each fire lay cloaks, tripods of spears and other sundry equipment. Men stretched out, repaired kits or turned a sizzling spit.
As they broke out of the trees, ram’s horns blew, a flat note, ominous, almost eerie. Voices bellowed. The men scrambled to obey, snatching cloaks, spears, shields and running, bumping into one another, shoving, shouting and making a thorough mess of it. Camp hounds howled.
“Keep going,” Noah said, at the dismayed youths.
The four youths, Noah and Ham rode toward the marshalling host. Rank leaders blew copper horns. They made a piercing cry. Captains roared oaths and gave direction. Flag bearers raised banners, waving them back and forth, gaining the men’s attention. The clangor of shields, oaths and shouts mingled with the tramping of feet. Rather quickly, the mass of pushing, milling men took shape: spearmen in front, slingers and bowmen guarding the sides.
“Impressive,” Noah said. “They remind me of the Slayers.”
“Halt!” Nimrod shouted. He stepped in front of the army, wearing leather armor and holding a helmet in the crook of his brawny arm.
The youths halted, so did Noah and Ham.
“Dismount,” Noah said. “And take the donkeys to the stocks.”
The youths hurriedly obeyed, withdrawing to the side. Noah leaned on his gopher-wood staff, his big, gnarled hands wrapped around the equally gnarled wood. Ham limped beside his father, using his much smaller cane. Even in this, his father outdid him. Ham’s stick was smooth and made of soft palm-wood.
Nimrod’s eyebrows rose. “It’s Ham,” he shouted.
Kush, wearing a copper helmet and leather armor, stepped forth, with hulking Uruk on one side and, soon, Nimrod on the other.
Noah moved to intercept Kush, and he eyed the army. The men in ranks shifted nervously.
Kush glared at Ham. “What are you doing here?”
“Never mind that,” Noah said. “The better question is why have you come to Festival as if to wage war?”
Kush scowled, glancing at the army. “Let us talk over there,” he said.
Out of the army’s earshot. Ham shook his head, and he shouted, “This is Noah! He is our Patriarch! Hear his decree concerning war among men!”
The army lost cohesion. Men looked frightened or ashamed.
“I could have you seized,” Kush said.
“Seized?” Noah roared. “On what pretext would you have me seized, my grandson?”
No one looked ready to grab the white-haired hermit of Ararat. His beard bristled, his blue eyes flashed as he scanned the throng, causing many to glance down or away, anywhere but meet those terrible, blue eyes. Noah studied Kush.
“You claim to lead the city of Babel?” Noah asked.
“I am its High Priest. As such, I’m here to right injustice, to deal with slavers. We’ve—”
Noah raised his gopher-wood staff.
Kush worked his mouth but no more sounds issued. Fear entered his eyes as he clutched his throat.
The ancient patriarch scanned the throng. The men seemed frightened. They seemed awed at this display of supernatural power.
Nimrod rubbed his lips, watching Noah.
“Men of Babel,” Noah said. “Sharp blades and spears are not the way to solve your differences. It is far better to sit and talk in peace. You are cousins to those you march against. And your High Priest has told the others he would talk peace. To wage war then is to be foresworn. That means you will battle against Jehovah.
“Men of Babel,” Noah lifted his gopher-wood staff, “onto your knees. Beg the Almighty to forgive you your thirst for innocent blood.”
Men moaned. Some dropped to their knees. Others, Hunters mostly, remained unbowed.
Kush massaged his throat, with fear and loathing on his ox-like features.
“Lord Jehovah!” Noah cried. “I beg thee to show them a sign. Let them draw back from this abyss. Give us another chance to obey Your Divine decree.”
A jagged bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. It was a fiery bolt, huge and terrifying. Thunder boomed next. Wind howled as if released from the depths of space.
Men trembled and dropped whatever they held. Teeth chattered. At the second lightning stroke, everyone but Noah and Nimrod fell to their knees. Many lay prostrate, Ham and Kush among them.
Noah’s garments flapped. “Fall before Jehovah, Mighty Hunter. Repent.”
Nimrod leaned into the wind and stared eye to eye with the old patriarch.
From upon the ground, Ham lifted his head. In Noah, he saw an old bull yet filled with hoary strength pitted against the new one almost in its prime.
Beside Ham, Kush glanced wide-eyed at the heavens, at the roiling clouds that billowed in fearful majesty. Kush shuddered. He buried his face against the sward, and his frame shook as if he sobbed. When he looked up again, his eyes were red and his features haggard, worn, used up. He pointed at his throat.
“Speak,” Noah said.
As the wind lessened, Kush struggled to his feet, helped up by Nimrod. Kush considered the prostrate army. He scanned the sky. No more lightning flashed. The thunder had ceased and the wind wa
s dying. The clouds stilled their billowing and returned to their apparent motionlessness. Kush seemed to shrink, as if he was a leaf sucked of juice, turning brittle and old.
“We made a mistake,” Kush said, his voice hoarse.
At his side, Nimrod stiffened, and he looked at his father, his eyes yet ablaze. Nimrod seemed to study, to calculate and to weigh.
“Will you accept us in peace at Festival?” Kush asked, the fight drained from his voice, drained out of his stance.
“Do you come in peace?” Noah asked.
“As Jehovah is my witness, we do now,” Kush said. He glanced at Nimrod and then turned away from his son, spreading his hands before Noah. “Thank you for staying our hand, for drawing us back from a misguided path.”
Nimrod stared in wonder at his father.
“I think you will find that Beor is ready to deal evenly with you,” Noah said.
Nimrod stepped in front of Kush. “What about my men, Noah? What about Gilgamesh, Enlil and Zimri? Am I supposed to leave them in bondage?”
Noah leaned on his staff, regarding Nimrod.
Ham shivered at a feeling of déjà vu. So Noah had once looked upon Ymir.
“Beor will treat with you,” Noah said.
Nimrod laughed, shaking his head. “Treat with us? No, Noah, that isn’t good enough.” He tapped his chest with the vine baton, his badge of captaincy. “My men—Hunters—are prisoners, so-called slaves of others.” With his baton, Nimrod waved at the sky. “Lightning may flash and thunder roll, but I will not desert my men. No man of mine will ever stay enslaved.”
“If you pay fair compensation for thievery and bloodguilt for men that lay in ambush of others,” Noah said, “then your men may be returned to you.”
“It was a Hunter that was slain,” Nimrod said.
Noah produced a rag, mopping his leathery face. With the aid of his staff, he slowly walked to Nimrod, to inches from him, staring him eyeball to eyeball. Noah whispered so only Nimrod could hear.
Nimrod retreated, with eyes like a wolf burned by fire. “We come in peace,” he shouted. Then he pushed through his men, as if to escape the old patriarch.
37.
Stars shone. Owls hooted. In the camp, the last fires flickered, with cloak-wrapped men sleeping around them. Ham and Noah slept in a tent, one of three. Hounds and spear-armed sentries prowled around the army perimeter. They ignored a man with ape-like arms, who entered two of the tents, soon exiting, and who knelt by certain sleeping men. He shook their shoulders, whispering, soon moving on. One by one, these individuals slipped out of two of the tents—not the one where Ham and Noah slept—while others rose from around glowing embers. Each of these men left the army bivouac, unchallenged by the sentries, although the hounds bristled, until nudged by their masters. These men trekked through the woods and to a lone campfire surrounded by tall firs, well away from the main army. The crackling flames cast lurid, dancing shadows against the trees. They showed a dejected Kush sitting on a tree stump, with his hands clasped between his knees as he stared into the fire. His eyes were dull and his features torpid.
Menes, Put and Canaan joined him, as did Ashkenaz and Javan. Finally, Uruk came, the one who had wakened each.
“Are you well, brother?” Canaan asked.
Mechanically, Kush lifted his eyes. They looked haunted. Just as slowly, he lowered them, to stare at the flames.
The last man entered the fire’s light. He was athletic, strong, well knit, with a proud bearing.
“Hail, Nimrod,” Javan said.
With his vine baton, the Mighty Hunter saluted Javan, the grandfather of Semiramis. He nodded in turn to each of the elders and to the clan heads.
“What’s the purpose of this meeting?” Canaan asked. “Why the skullduggery?”
Nimrod turned to Kush, and gently said, “Father?”
Kush regarded him.
“What now, Father?” Nimrod asked. “Do we draw our daggers and fall upon Noah and Ham in their sleep, or should we toss fiery brands onto their tent and let them burn to death?”
Kush’s face threatened to crumple. He shook his head. “No, no, don’t even say such things.”
“I agree,” Menes said. “Why do you wish to slay Noah? I don’t understand.”
“If we slay Noah, we’re free,” Nimrod said. “Free of Jehovah and his stifling restrictions.”
Kush trembled. He shook his head more vigorously. “Don’t you understand? Jehovah protects Noah. We must leave Noah alone. At your peril, try to harm him.” Abruptly Kush stood. His eyes were no longer dull, no longer torpid, but wild and fearful. He blundered out of the firelight, crashing into the darkness, possibly heading back to camp.
Menes also rose to his imposing height. He was the tallest of the sons of Ham, smooth-skinned and slender, with large eyes. “This meeting is a farce. I’m going as well.”
“Wait,” Nimrod said. He studied the elders, the clan heads. “I don’t really suggest we slay Noah.”
“Then why did you just say that?” Menes asked.
“To show you the state of my father’s thinking.”
That surprised them, made them shift and made them edgy.
“All right,” Menes said. “The depth of Kush’s fear does seem excessive. Yet what we saw today was frightening. It certainly frightened me.”
Several of the others grunted in agreement.
“I’m not saying it wasn’t frightening,” Nimrod said.
“Then what are you saying?” Menes asked. “Perhaps it’s time you got to the point.”
“My father led us here,” Nimrod said. “He marshaled my Hunters and called out the levy of able-bodied men, marching us to Festival, taking us to war. On his authority he began this.”
“He is our leader,” Menes said. “He is our High Priest. He felt that it was right to do so.”
“He is our High Priest,” Nimrod said. “I’ll grant you that. But our leader…” Nimrod shook his head. “My father has lost his nerve. Oh, I’m not saying that tremendous pressures weren’t placed upon him. As our leader, the man with sole responsibility, I’m certain that dire forces came to rest on him today. Noah practiced an awful spell. We all saw it. It was unfair and underhanded of Noah to do that. But the point still is that at this most vital moment, my father wilted. He has surrendered his will to Noah.”
“Wait a moment,” Canaan said. “I heard you shouting ‘peace, peace’ just like Kush did. So let’s not take such a high-minded tone. It’s unbecoming.”
“Nimrod didn’t fall to his knees this afternoon,” Uruk rumbled. “He alone faced Noah unbowed. When every one of us fell to our knees or onto our faces, Nimrod stood tall. Perhaps he bore then on his shoulders the weight that defeated Kush.”
The elders and the clan heads stared at the monstrous Uruk. Perhaps they were surprised he spoke so earnestly, so well, so to the point.
“I attest to what Uruk says.” Old Javan grinned. “Our hulking Hunter doesn’t look like a speechmaker, I’ll grant you. But an observing mind rests behind his seemingly thick skull. Nimrod remained standing, just as Uruk says. Nimrod alone stood against Noah.”
Canaan blinked several times, taking a deep breath, as if he regained resolve. “So what? So Nimrod stood. Is anyone saying it’s significant?” He glanced at the others and then at the War-Chief. “I’m not trying to slight you, Nimrod. But Kush is our High Priest. He is our High Priest to the angel of Babel. That makes Kush our leader, a leadership that isn’t swept away because of a possible moment of weakness.”
“Wait a moment,” Uruk said. “The angel first appeared to Nimrod. I was with him. It was terrible. The glory of heaven shone upon us. And just like today, Gilgamesh and I collapsed, while Nimrod stood between us and the angel, between us and death.”
Canaan sneered. “Are you suggesting that here, this afternoon, Nimrod stood between us and death?”
“No,” Nimrod said. “Not death. But I did stand between Noah and you, between his designs for us.”
>
“Which is peace,” Canaan said, looking to the others. “That’s what Noah said. Who here calls Noah a liar?”
Nimrod laughed. “You’re no simpleton, Uncle Canaan. You know that Noah means different things than we do when he says peace. What he really means is an abandonment of Babel, of our Tower, of our building a name for ourselves and of building a new civilization. You know as well as I do that Noah pushes for our splitting into small family groups and hiking to distant lands. For reasons I cannot fathom, he’s jealous of what we’re achieving in Babel. Or perhaps he wants his famous curse to stick, thereby showing us how close he is to Jehovah. I shouldn’t think you’d want that, Uncle—the curse in effect, I mean.”
“Noah is close to Jehovah,” Canaan said. “This afternoon proves it. And to answer your question: no. I don’t want to be anyone’s slave. But it’s foolishness to kick against Jehovah. That’s what this afternoon showed, why perhaps Kush has become… Why he frets the way he does.”
Nimrod nodded, glancing at the elders, at the clan heads. “I’m not suggesting you kick against Jehovah, as you say. I’m not suggesting anything dangerous—at least not dangerous for any of you. I plan to take all the risks.” He let that sink in. “My father is the High Priest. Well, so be it. Despite what Uruk hints at, I have no desire for priesthood. I think, frankly, that religion has failed us in our hour of need. Where is our angel now?” Nimrod shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I am the War-Chief, the captain of the Hunters. I’ve learned that begging others for what you want is a poor second to taking it yourself through courage and boldness.”
“That’s madness,” Canaan said. “We don’t dare fight now. Noah made that very clear.”
“Did I say you should fight now?” Nimrod asked.
“No,” said Put, who watched Nimrod with his hawk-like gaze. His lean hands held a supple bow. He sat very straight. “You said we wouldn’t be taking any risks.”
“Exactly,” Nimrod said. “Let me face the dangers. It is clear my Uncle Canaan doesn’t want to. That’s fine with me. Facing danger is what I’ve trained for. It’s what I do. You elders and clan heads have learned the arts of law, of commerce and of farming and artistry, while I have hunted the deadly beasts. I have slain them, mingling my blood with theirs. Danger and death are nothing new to me. I am inured to the threat of it. Perhaps that is why I stood this afternoon when everyone else fell. The day the leviathan attacked us by surprise it was I who moved while everyone else stood frozen.” Nimrod shrugged. “It is my particular ability to be strong when others are weak. Thus, I will take the risks.”
People of Babel (Ark Chronicles 3) Page 19
