Daughter of Deliverance

by Gilbert, Morris

  Below him he saw the Israelite camp surrounding the tabernacle, which was itself surrounded by a wall of cloth held up by many pillars. The brazen altar was sending up a column of white smoke, almost like a pillar in the windless air, and between the altar and the tabernacle was the brass laver in which the priests washed their hands and bodies to purify themselves.

  Joshua’s eyes shifted then to the surrounding tents, and a smile of satisfaction spread across his face. They were camped exactly as God had instructed them from the very beginning. The twelve tribes were each divided into three smaller tribes, and within those divisions they were further separated. God had chosen to keep the identity of the tribes pure.

  Joshua’s eyes went to the north, where the tribes of Dan, Asher, and Naphtali were set in order. To the south, the tribes of Reuben, Simeon, and Gad flanked the tabernacle. On the east stood the tribes of Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun, and to the west were Ephraim, Manasseh, and Benjamin.

  Joshua took pleasure in the order of the encampment, but then he lifted his eyes toward Canaan on the far side of the Jordan River and a cloud crossed his face. He was not a man of fear but of faith. Still, the commandment to conquer a land filled with strong kings, some of them within walled cities, was daunting.

  “God will do it,” Joshua said loudly. Raising his eyes and his hands to the heavens, he entreated, “God, you are the Almighty One. Nothing is too difficult for you, but you must help me, for I am weak.”

  Joshua’s hearing was still keen, and he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, he saw Caleb rapidly striding toward him. Joshua smiled at his old friend, whom he so greatly admired. At the age of eighty-five, Caleb was still tall, lean, and strong. His piercing hazel eyes could see farther than anyone in all the tribes of Israel. Joshua noticed the missing forefinger on his left hand, remembering how it had been bitten off by a bear. Caleb had slain the bear with only a knife but had lost his finger. It was a story Caleb loved to tell to his children and grandchildren.

  “Good morning, Joshua,” Caleb said. His voice was high-pitched and could carry for miles, and his face was expectant. “Am I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all, old friend,” Joshua replied with a smile, “but we must face up to some facts. The big fact is that Moses is leaving us.”

  Caleb glanced at Joshua’s face and saw the lines that the years had put there. “Are you worried about leading Israel?”

  “Of course I am!”

  “Don’t be.” Caleb shrugged his shoulders. He had sinewy arms and fingers, and by his side was the sword with which he was an expert. A knife hung on the other side. He was also an expert with a sling, able to bring down a deer at an unbelievable distance. “Jehovah will be with us,” he said.

  “He’ll have to be,” Joshua said grimly. He gazed down again at the camp. “Does it seem strange to you that we are the oldest ones who will enter the Promised Land?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does. But God commanded that the old generation would have to die off in the wilderness. Only those who were twenty or younger when we came over the Red Sea are left now.”

  “Except for you and me. We’re the old men.”

  “I’m as strong as I was when I was twenty, and so are you.”

  “Well, you don’t lack confidence.” Joshua dropped his face and studied the ground for a long moment, then said, “I miss those who are gone.”

  “So do I, but I love the new Israel. The men are strong and lean. They’re ready for a battle. It’s not like it was when you and I first brought back the news of the land that is to become ours.”

  “I was just thinking about that. We could have already been there for the last forty years if it hadn’t been for the unbelief of the people.”

  “Well, that’s all done,” Caleb said with a shrug. “Now what?”

  “When Moses leaves, we’ll cross over the Jordan, and that’s when the battle will begin.”

  “I’m ready for it!” Caleb replied. “We’ll go forward in the power of God and watch Him give us the victory.”

  The two old men stood for a moment, bound by their past history, trusting and loving each other as only warriors who have been in battle together can. Then they turned and walked slowly back down the trail that led to the camp.

  They parted, and Caleb went directly to the section of the camp occupied by Judah, of which he was a member. He found his own tent and his daughter Ariel, and his face brightened as always. Her real name, one given to her by her mother, was Acsah, but Caleb had chosen his own name for her. Legally she might be Acsah, but she was Ariel to him. He paused to study her for a moment, and a rush of pride filled him. She was, to him and to many of the young men of Israel, the fairest woman of all. She was as tall as he was, with a beautiful complexion. Her hair was as black as a raven, and she had almond-shaped, wide-spaced eyes of a peculiar gray color that was sometimes almost green. She had a provocative figure, which had drawn the young men. But despite her physical attractiveness, Caleb knew that Ariel had some severe faults. One was her pride. Pride was a good thing in some ways, but sometimes Caleb worried that his daughter, whom he loved so deeply and completely, was headed for trouble.

  “Hello, Father,” Ariel said, running up to him and kissing him on the cheek, her eyes sparkling. “You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.”

  “You must want something.”

  “Why must I want something?”

  “That’s the way you always begin when you want something you don’t have.”

  “Well, I didn’t want anything, but I’ll think of something now.”

  “Where’s Ardon?”

  Ariel shrugged her shoulders and tucked her hair back up under the kerchief she wore. “Oh, he’s over with the Levites. He and Phinehas are studying Moses’ book, as always.”

  “I worry about your brother,” Caleb said. “He’s a fine soldier, but he thinks too much. That can be dangerous for a man of war.”

  “You think soldiers must be stupid? Why, you’re not, and he’s like you.”

  “No, he’s more interested in the Lord than I am, I’m ashamed to say. He wants to know everything about God, and no man can ever know that. He just wants to be so righteous that I worry about it.”

  Ariel laughed. “I suppose you think I’m not religious enough.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to have a little more religion.”

  Ariel slipped her arm in his, and the two walked together toward the tent. “I’m too much like you.”

  Caleb laughed. “I suppose that’s true. That’s why I call you Ariel. It suits you better—‘the lioness of God.’”

  “You think I’m vicious like a lion?”

  “A little.” As the two entered the tent, he turned and asked, “What about young Zuriel? Are you going to marry him?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why not? He’s a fine man. He has plenty of large herds. He’ll have more when his father dies.”

  “He’s boring.”

  “What do you want, to marry a dancer to keep you entertained? You’re too choosy. I’m going to find Ardon.”

  “Don’t take too long. We killed a lamb, and I’m cooking it the way you like best.”

  ****

  Caleb started toward the tents of the Levites, who were the keepers of the Law, but a thought came to him. He changed direction and threaded his way among the tents until he came to the tent of Achan, a man of his own tribe. He found Achan sitting in the shade of his tent eating, which was not unusual. The man’s a glutton and a drunkard, Caleb thought, but even so he’s well liked. I don’t understand it.

  “Achan, I’m looking for Othniel,” Caleb called out. “Is he here?”

  Achan scrambled to his feet. He was a short, chubby man with a red, good-natured face and a wealth of curly black hair, both on his head and on his chin. “I don’t think he is.”

  Caleb snorted abruptly. “He’s either here or he’s not. Now, which is it?”

  “He was here a while ago,
but I don’t know where he went.”

  “Yes you do. You’re lying to me.”

  Achan tried desperately to avoid telling the truth, but Caleb had an eye like a hawk, and there was no hiding the truth from him.

  “Well, I know he’s your nephew, so I don’t like to get him in trouble,” Achan whined.

  “You’re going to be in trouble if you don’t let me know everything. Now, where is he?”

  “He’s taken up with that woman from the tribe of Dan. Her name is Carphina.”

  “She’s a married woman.”

  “I know it, Caleb, and her husband is a rough fellow. I tried to talk Othniel into staying here, but you know how he is.”

  “Yes, I know how it is. Listen to me, Achan. The next time he starts to do something like this, you let me know right away. I won’t have my nephew acting like he does.”

  “But I can’t be a talebearer.”

  “Would you prefer to have your back scratched with a whip?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Then you mind what I say. He’s my nephew, and he’s not going to bring dishonor to my family. If his father were alive, he wouldn’t be acting like this. Now he stays with you most of the time, so you’re responsible for him.”

  “I can’t do anything with him, Caleb. He’s strong-willed. He laughed at me when I tried to correct him.”

  “He won’t laugh at me,” Caleb said shortly, then turned and walked away.

  Achan swallowed hard and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He was deathly afraid of Caleb, for he knew the old man had a temper like a wildfire. He considered trying to beat Caleb to the woman’s tent to warn Othniel but decided against it, knowing that he couldn’t cross this man.

  “Othniel, you’re in trouble this time,” he muttered, then went back, sat down, and took a long swig from his jug of wine.

  ****

  The Levites were kept apart from the other twelve tribes because they were different. God had commanded Moses to separate the tribe of Levi to be His special servants. They were to be the keepers of the Law, to furnish the priests to minister in the tabernacle, to make sacrifices, and to serve God alone.

  Caleb spotted his son Ardon talking with his good friend Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, the high priest. “Ardon,” he said, “come over here.”

  Ardon turned. “Just a minute, Father. We’re not quite finished here.”

  “Yes, you are. Phinehas, you’re going to ruin my son’s mind, filling it full of religious things.”

  Phinehas was a tall man, lean and strong. He had a trim beard and a pair of steady dark eyes. He smiled at Caleb, who was one of his favorites. “Why, I’m surprised to hear you say that. Most men want their sons to be men of God.”

  “He’s already that.” Caleb was always mystified by the work the Levites did. “What do you do with this book that Moses has been writing all these years?”

  “We’re preserving it, Caleb,” Phinehas said. “We’re making sure that it’s kept absolutely accurate. Every letter is gone over by at least half a dozen Levites. Our scribes work night and day to preserve the integrity of the Law.”

  Caleb listened and, after a pause, said, “Well, Moses approves it, so it has to be all right. Ardon, come with me. You can do your study with Phinehas later.”

  “Yes, Father.” Ardon walked away with his father. Physically, he was much like Caleb—tall, strongly built, with black hair and the same hazel eyes, a wedge-shaped face, and a wide mouth. “What is it?”

  Caleb’s mind, however, was on Phinehas. “You know, that man is unusual.”

  “He has a great mind, Father.”

  “Wasn’t talking about his mind. He’s got a strong arm. Has he ever talked about how he killed Zimri and Cozbi?”

  “No, he’s never mentioned it. What happened?”

  “I suppose you were too young to remember, but that devil Balaam polluted our people back when we were wandering in the desert. He sent a harlot named Cozbi to tempt one of our princes, a man named Zimri. Zimri brought her into the camp, right in the sight of everyone, and began to commit fornication with her. God was ready to kill us all for permitting such a thing, but your friend Phinehas grabbed up a spear, ran into the tent, and thrust them both through.” Caleb’s face was grim. “Twenty-four thousand people died in a plague because of that sin, but God said that Phinehas would never be forgotten among our people. I remember clearly what God said: ‘I am making my covenant of peace with him. He and his descendants will have a covenant of a lasting priesthood, because he was zealous for the honor of his God and made atonement for the Israelites.’”

  “Now that you mention it, I remember it vaguely, but I’m glad you told me the full story.”

  “Phinehas is a great man, my son. Better than his grandfather Aaron, really.”

  “How can you say that? God spoke to Aaron face-to-face.”

  “Aaron also made the golden calves that nearly got us all destroyed, but that’s enough about that. We’re going to be leaving this place soon. I want you to go find Othniel and bring him to me.”

  “What’s he done now?”

  “About the worst thing a man can do,” Caleb said grimly. He stopped and turned to face his son. “He’s dallying with that whorish woman from the tribe of Dan, the one named Carphina. According to the Law, she ought to be stoned. Maybe she will be yet. Go get Othniel and drag him out of there.”

  Ardon shook his head, his face registering the disgust he felt. “Othniel ought to have better sense.”

  “He should have, but he doesn’t. I wish his father had lived.”

  “Othniel’s not interested in anything but pleasure, Father.”

  Caleb, distressed, chewed his lower lip. He examined the stub on his hand where the finger had been bitten off by a bear, as he often did when he was troubled. “He can change.”

  “He hasn’t changed since he was fifteen-years-old. When his father died, he started going downhill. Besides, men don’t change.”

  Caleb stared at his son, puzzled. “You really believe that, Ardon—that a man can’t change?”

  “You’ve lived many years, Father. You’ve had a lot of experience. How many have you seen change?”

  Ardon’s reply caused Caleb difficulty, and he couldn’t answer. “Well, go get him,” he said.

  “I’ll bring him back if I have to knock him on the head.”

  Caleb watched Ardon leave. Then he turned and walked back toward his tent. He studied the people as he walked through the camp, especially the men. I wonder if this new generation will be any more faithful to God than the ones who died in the wilderness. He was not the man of prayer Joshua was. Still, he had faith in God like a rock. “God,” he said, “we’re going to need you. We can’t do it alone, so be our helper in this battle that’s shaping up.”

  Chapter 6

  A stream of disgust rose in Ardon as he made his way to the section occupied by the tribe of Dan. His thoughts were consumed with Othniel, and they were not pleasant ones. The two had grown up as childhood playmates and had been inseparable. But as they passed out of childhood into early manhood, their pathways began to divide. Othniel was interested in having a good time and began seeking out young women early. He was a handsome, witty, and charming young fellow and had no trouble attracting their attention. He had little interest in religion, or in Moses’ book of the history of Israel, and this was a matter of concern to Caleb, who had become Othniel’s foster father after Othniel’s father, Kenaz, had died.

  Ardon was greeted by several of the members of the tribe of Dan. They were an unruly, quarrelsome group, and Ardon remembered the prophecy that Jacob, the grandson of Abraham, had given on his deathbed. He had identified the nature of each of his sons, and of Dan he had said, “Dan will be a serpent by the roadside, a viper along the path, that bites the horse’s heels so that its rider tumbles backward.” A grim smile touched Ardon’s broad lips. “Old Jacob got it right that time. Dan has some good soldiers, but they are not t
o be trusted.”

  He stopped one of the young men he knew and said, “Where’s the woman called Carphina?”

  The young man grinned at him and pointed. “That red tent over there, but I think she’s busy right now.” He snickered, and a wicked light touched his eye. “Her husband’s gone on a hunting trip, but you’ll have to wait your turn with that one.”

  Disgusted with this news, Ardon left the young man, despising his lewd smile. He was proud of his family, the family of Caleb. And now to have their own flesh and blood dragging their name in the dust stirred his anger.

  Nearing the red tent that the young man had pointed out, Ardon stopped and thought about what to do. Then he heard Othniel’s voice and, without hesitating, stepped into the tent. It was gloomy inside after the bright sunlight, but light filtered in through several openings.

  Othniel was lying on a couch with a woman by his side. They were both drinking, but when Othniel caught sight of Ardon, he exclaimed in surprise, “Ardon, what are you doing here!”

  “What are you doing here?” Ardon snapped back, anger boiling up in him. “You’re a disgrace, Othniel, dallying with a married woman.”

  The woman was dressed in a clingy outfit that appeared to be blue silk. She had adopted the Egyptian method of cosmetics with the coal outlining her eyes, and she had arched her eyebrows. Her full, pouting lips were red with rouge, and her voice was shrill as she demanded, “Who is this, Othniel?”

  “He’s my cousin,” Othniel said, somewhat shamefaced.

  “Well, he’s got some nerve coming into my tent like this. Tell him to get out.”

  Othniel swallowed hard and rubbed his hand through his thick reddish hair. “I think it might be better if you leave, Ardon.”

  “Don’t let him leave, Othniel. I would say he’s all right.”

  Ardon whirled around to see that another woman had entered the tent. She was past the first days of youth and was a little heavy. Still, there was a seductive light in her eyes, and she smiled and edged closer to him. “Introduce me to your friend, Othniel.”