Rebekah's Treasure

by Sylvia Bambola

  “Benjamin is right, Father,” Aaron says, scooping dirt like a madman and flinging it over his shoulder, “you’re worn out.”

  “I’ve worked no harder than the two of you. And I don’t need to go to the tower to know what that pig, Lamech, is doing. He’s sitting in the cool of his cave, as usual, feeling pleased with himself, pleased and confident that because he has Rebekah, he has won the victory over us.”

  “Still, you must rest,” Benjamin says. “You must spare yourself. It was you who said Lamech will not give up Mama without a fight. We will need your sword.”

  I continue digging, not even bothering to look up or answer my son. All I can think about is that basket. The next one will be more malevolent. That thought drives me to distraction. How much more must my family suffer for this foolish treasure? And how much more must I lose before it all ends?

  What’s that? That sound . . . it irritates . . . distresses me. What is it? I try to turn onto my side, but my body is weighted by fatigue and won’t move. I am bone weary. I can’t even open my eyes. Am I dreaming? I must be. Yes, surely it’s a dream. I feel my chest heaving up and down, feel my muscles quiver with pain, feel the fatigue that pins me to the ground like a helpless slug. But that sound! I must . . . make it stop. It is oddly familiar. Where have I heard it before? It almost sounds like . . . a whip . . . a whip being laid against a man’s back. I can’t bear it. It’s sickening. I try to bring my hands to my ears, to stop the sound from filling them, but I can’t move my arms.

  “Stop . . . no more,” I hear myself whisper. But the lashing continues. Over and over. Whisht, wap, whisht, wap. And beneath that sound, I hear a man groan. Again and again the whip is laid to his back. Twelve . . . thirteen. Why am I counting? Sixteen . . . seventeen. I’m splattered with blood. It’s on my arms, face, neck. The man’s blood is all over me. I see him now bound to a post. The flagrum, with its ox-hide thongs and small knotted lead balls, flashes behind him. Twenty . . . twenty-one. Why doesn’t he cry out? Beg for mercy? Twenty-six . . . twenty-seven. My face is drenched. I want to wipe it . . . need to wipe it, but my arms are dead things, useless dead things. Thirty-two . . . thirty-three. They’ll kill him for sure. How can any man withstand such scourging and live? I see the lead balls tear bits of his flesh and fling them into the air. And the blood . . . it’s everywhere. Why doesn’t he just curse his tormentors and die? Thirty-eight . . . thirty-nine . . . oh, at last, it’s stopped. That terrible sound has stopped. But the man? Is he still alive? I see him slumped against the post, blood pouring from his wounds. Yes. His chest moves in short, uneven breaths. If only I could wipe his blood from me. I’m drenched. Drenched.

  I thrash around, trying to rouse myself, but stop when I hear weeping. Who weeps and wails? I can’t see. It’s so dark. All around me swirl black clouds. Then through the weeping I hear the sound of a hammer pounding, pounding, pounding. The clouds part slightly and I see that the hammer is pounding nails into the hands and feet of a man, and then into wood. I can watch no more, and with a jolt, force myself awake. My breathing is heavy and ragged. I can hardly pull air into my lungs. Sweat pours down my head and face and neck. Down my arms. My heart thunders. It’s been years. Why am I remembering now? I was only a boy, but I can recall every detail.

  I glance at my sons who lay sleeping beside me. The night sky still hangs heavy over us and they snore peacefully beneath it. I’m exhausted but my heart is too troubled for sleep. I crave the solace of my sons but dare not wake them. They’ve worked hard all day, then spent much of the night discussing with me how we might defeat Lamech. We all need every minute of rest we can get.

  I turn to my other side, trying to calm myself, trying to forget the dream. But it’s still so vivid. It haunts my thoughts. And after I lay there for a long time and can no longer keep my eyes from closing, I once again slip into the foggy world of sleep, and when I do, I hear that sound again: whisht, wap, whisht, wap . . . .

  “Father are you sure? If we leave the summit now and dig where you propose . . . and find nothing . . . we won’t have time to return here and search among the chambers before Lamech’s men come again with another . . . .”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I say, clasping Benjamin’s shoulder, trying to bolster his confidence and mine. “But it came to me last night when I couldn’t sleep. I believe it’s where God would have me dig. Don’t you see? The two tunnels are two chambers. We must dig between them.”

  Aaron’s face twists in thought. “If Hashem has favored you with wisdom, Father, let us waste no time. I say we go at once.”

  Benjamin nods, but I see his agonized reluctance. It is a great risk we take. We have little time. If it’s wasted in futile pursuit, Rebekah will pay dearly. Oh, where are Josiah and his men? They should have been here by now. We know the location of Lamech’s cave but are too few to execute a rescue. At the first sight of us, Lamech will surely kill Rebekah. My sons and I agree our only option is to find the treasure so we can put our plan into effect, a plan involving only the three of us since we have no one else to count on.

  And so, with heavy heart, I lead my sons down the summit, down the steep winding path. It’s barely sunrise as we head for the two tunnels located at the base of the mountain, tunnels that lie east of the crumbling aqueduct. We discovered them on our first trip to Hyrcania, and after a brief exploration, found they were nothing but rock-and-dirt littered shafts, and completely blocked within several cubits from their openings.

  Aaron is the first to reach the tunnels, and at once paces the ground between them to determine the center, for the scroll tells us that the pots are located midway between the chambers. When he finishes, he begins digging without a word. Benjamin joins him. Then I.

  We dig one hole, then another. Nothing. Nothing but hard-baked mud and rocks.

  “Father, should we try another spot?” Benjamin says, already covered in grit and sweat.

  “Yes, move to the right. That’s it! Dig there!” I shout. And so we begin digging another hole very near the ones we’ve already dug. No one speaks. All our energy is spent shifting dirt and rocks. Dust fills the air as we wield our large curved stones like madmen. It powders everything: our hair, our faces, our sweaty arms and legs, our damp tunics. Our hands are bleeding now. Still we dig. Two cubits . . . three cubits . . . and find nothing but more dirt.

  “Another spot . . . try another spot!” I shout, unable to keep the desperation from my voice.

  Benjamin shakes his head. “The winds are strong here. Look how it carries the dirt back to us. We must consider the possibility that the winds have raised the level of the ground. The scroll said three cubits. But if we assume the earth is thicker now, then we should dig another cubit before giving up.”

  “We won’t have to,” Aaron suddenly cries. “I’ve hit something!”

  In a flurry, Benjamin and I dig around the object Aaron has discovered. Our efforts are rewarded when we expose the lids of two clay pots. More digging reveals the pots to be large and round and taller than our waist. When we’ve completely unearthed one of them, I break Eleazar’s seal and remove the top. Though I can plainly see it’s full of silver, I plunge in my hand and laugh in jubilation as the coins jingle. Then I pull up a handful and show them to my sons. By then we are all praising Hashem.

  “Now, to lay our trap,” I say, feeling my blood rush, my senses sharpen. “Come, we must hurry! The sun is already climbing.”

  From the beginning we’ve known that Lamech and his men were hiding in a nearby cave west of the M-shaped path. For all that pig’s boasting about his skills as a general, he has proven himself lazy and careless; so have his men. They made a trail of dust a child could follow, and follow it we did, all the way from En Gedi. Lamech may be competent enough to spy on a group of exhausted, ragged captives, but when it came to his new crop of cutthroats establishing a camp or a proper perimeter or even spying on experienced soldiers, they were hopeless; though the ache in my heart reminds me they were skilled eno
ugh to take Rebekah by surprise at the pool in En Gedi.

  But we have been busy with our own strategy these past several days. While two of us were always busy digging, one would often rest, and during that time would monitor Lamech’s activities from the northwest tower on the Hyrcania summit. And this monitoring paid off. From it we gleaned that Lamech has less than a dozen men, and he has sent no one to spy on us. All his blustering by the pool in En Gedi when he tossed down the bell and said he would be watching, was just that, empty bluster. Not only are we not under his surveillance, Lamech has posted but two men west of here, midway between the aqueduct and his cave. Also, from our tower, we have noticed that Lamech and his men rarely leave the cool interior of their cave.

  Even so, we know the danger is real, for surely one of Lamech’s men stays near Rebekah, ever ready to plunge his dagger into her throat. This was why we’ve been careful to follow Lamech’s instructions, or at least appear to follow it. Lamech had to know I would send to Masada for help. That’s why he gave me only four days to find the treasure. He meant to be far away by the time Josiah and his men arrived. It is obvious he wishes to avoid repeating the disaster of his last encounter with us on the summit, by avoiding the summit altogether and insisting Rebekah and the treasure be exchanged at the base of the mountain. It is also obvious that he is supremely confident that since he has Rebekah, we will not move against him. Both his laziness and his hubris we will now use to our advantage.

  “Hurry!” I say to Aaron and Benjamin as they cover one of the clay pots with dirt. The other has already been removed from the pit, and stands nearby. We spend time pacing out the spot where the pot remains buried so we can return to it later, then spend more time smoothing the dirt and littering the ground with rocks. Finally, we carry the large pot to the designated meeting place. It’s heavy and must be carried on its side and takes all three of us to do it.

  By the time we reach the rendezvous point and position the jar in the shadow of the aqueduct, we are panting for air. All around us are the crumbling remains of the fifteen cisterns that once stored rain water. It’s a poor spot for a battle. Our backs are against the high walls of the aqueduct, and the ground is littered with trip hazards making aggressive warfare difficult. At least in naming this spot, Lamech has chosen wisely.

  “May God go with you,” I say, embracing Aaron.

  “I won’t fail you, Father,” Aaron returns, lingering against my chest for a moment before pulling away. His eye patch is caked with dirt, his face glistens with sweat. We are all weary from the morning’s labor, though it’s not fatigue that mars Aaron’s face but a fierceness that makes me shudder.

  I watch him scramble so stealthily over rocks and walls that he raises little dust. Then long after he disappears from view, I pull the bell from the pouch at my waist, remove the rag that swaddles the clapper, and ring it.

  Even before I see Lamech, I smell him coming. Odors like that of rancid fat and rotting fish fill the air. When I finally see him, there’s a grin on his face. His costly blue robe flaps around his legs as he approaches. His large ornate dagger is conspicuously belted at his waist. Behind him are eight men. As expected, Rebekah is not with them.

  “So, where is this treasure of yours?” Lamech asks, rubbing the large scar on his cheek and looking around eagerly.

  Both Benjamin and I are standing in front of the jar, obscuring it from view. “Where is Rebekah?”

  “All in good time, my friend. All in good time.” He cranes his neck this way and that, then frowns. “Young Aaron is missing. Laying in ambush, eh? It would not go well for your wife if he tried anything.”

  “He wouldn’t be so foolish. But he’s safely away. One of us had to be in case you rewarded our good faith with treachery.”

  “Hmmmm, no doubt I’d be his first target, eh? Oh, come, come, Ethan, we both know you’d betray me, too, if you could. But fortunately for me, there’s a blade at your wife’s throat. If harm comes to us, to any of us, if the slightest misfortune should befall us, that blade will do its worst.”

  “This is not our agreement. You were to bring Rebekah while I was to bring the treasure. You have not kept faith with me, Lamech.”

  The grinning pig bursts out laughing. “Nor you with me! Otherwise you would not have sent young Aaron to . . . what? Attack us from behind? Lay a trap? Follow us back to our hiding place?”

  “He’s not planning any of these things.”

  Lamech strokes his bearded chin. “You’d swear to that? You’d give me your word?”

  “Why should I give my word to someone who breaks his? You promised me my wife. Where is she?”

  “And you promised me treasure. Where is it?”

  I motion for Benjamin to step aside while I do the same, revealing the large clay jar behind us. Lamech’s eyes widen, obviously surprised by its great size.

  “I see only one jar,” he says after regaining his composure. “You promised two.”

  “And you shall have it, when I have Rebekah. But this time I name the terms.” I point to the summit. “The second jar will be waiting for you up there. But not one coin will you get unless Rebekah is with you, and unharmed.”

  Lamech frowns. “That’s your territory, Ethan. It will be easy for you and your sons to set a trap. Your terms are unacceptable.”

  “You outnumber us three to one. Surely you’re not afraid? But before you answer, come see what you are giving up, for this jar is yours, and another like it could be as well.” I beckon him to step closer, knowing the draw of treasure would be too difficult for him to resist.

  He hesitates, then signals his men to be alert before walking over to the jar. As soon as he removes the top, I know I have him. He rakes the coins with his fingers as though they were a woman’s tresses, and I think of what he has done to my Rebekah. My hand moves to the hilt of my dagger. Only the look on Benjamin’s face restrains me from using it.

  Lamech jingles a few coins in his hand as he studies me out of the corner of his eye. “You will let me take this jar and leave without a fight?”

  I nod.

  “And if I bring you Rebekah, you’ll give me another just like it?”

  Again I nod.

  “Perhaps we can come to some agreement after all. I will think on it and let you know.”

  “And in the meantime? Will you give me your word you won’t hurt Rebekah?”

  Lamech snorts like a pig as he laughs. “If I did, would you believe me? Ah, Ethan, you are soft. No woman should mean that much. It makes you desperate. It makes you foolish. I will take this jar, and come back tomorrow for the second. And I will come here, to this spot, and no other; otherwise you’ll get your wife back in pieces! The matter is settled. Do not test me in this.”

  My eyes narrow as I stand looking at this butcher of merchants and women. Lamech’s eyes follow my hand as it moves toward my dagger.

  “Draw blood and I swear you’ll lose what is most precious,” Lamech says with a sneer. Then he snorts with laughter. “You should never have let me know your weakness, Ethan. A man with a weakness can be conquered.” Lamech motions for his men to pick up the jar. “It would have been better for you to have let your wife perish.”

  Benjamin and I watch as three of Lamech’s men carry away the jar. I still hear Lamech’s laughter as he and the rest of his men round the bend. But as soon as he does, Benjamin and I scramble to the top of the aqueduct. Soon, Lamech and his men will be near a patch of rough, sloping terrain where footing is difficult and made worst when carrying a heavy jar of silver. That will leave only six able to react with any speed to an attack. It’s the place we have chosen for our face-off.

  We move quickly across the top of the aqueduct, scattering a few stones as we go. I fear our noise will alert Lamech, but no, when I look down I see he and his raucous men just ahead, talking and laughing. Once again Lamech’s laziness and pride work in our favor, for he has not posted lookouts or ordered his men to be cautious.

  With daggers in hand B
enjamin and I carefully shadow the cutthroats, and just as they reach the designated spot, we let out a fierce cry and leap upon them as if we were lions. Within minutes, four of them are dead on the ground. Only Lamech and the tall, toothless man remain. The three carrying the jar have dropped it and run. Now it’s one on one. Benjamin takes the toothless man while I take on Lamech.

  “You dare do this, knowing your wife will die?” Lamech backs away, though he has a dagger in his hand.

  “You underestimated my weakness or the length it would drive me,” I reply, lunging forward and slicing his upper arm. The blade cuts deep for he can barely hold his weapon. Another cut, and he drops it. Then his face is one of utter surprise as I finish him off. But as he crumbles to the ground I do not feel the satisfaction I anticipated. Rather, I feel relief that such a man will no longer be a scourge to others, and I feel sadness, too, that once again, Jew has slaughtered Jew.

  “Father, we must hurry. The three who got away are bound to head for the cave. We must make certain they don’t encounter Aaron and Mama.”

  I nod. Knowing Lamech would never honor his word, it was decided that Aaron would go to the cave and rescue Rebekah, then bring her back. It was doubtful that Lamech would leave more than two men to guard Rebekah, an easy match for Aaron’s abilities. But if he was wounded in the process, the three men that just escaped could present a problem.

  So we make haste and sprint in the direction of the cave.

  The cloud of dust ahead tells me we’re not far behind the three jackals we pursue. My only thought is to reach them before they encounter Aaron and Rebekah. My feet fly over the rough terrain. Benjamin keeps pace beside me. And as we scramble over rocks and hard-mud ground, eating dust and dropping sweat, something inside me keeps urging me to run faster. My breathing is heavy, my muscles quiver with fatigue as I close the gap between us. Benjamin is now running ahead, his young body showing little strain.

  We’re nearing the cave and still there’s no sign of Rebekah or Aaron. This troubles me. Surely we didn’t pass them on the way? Even if they were hiding, they would have made themselves known to us as we passed. When I hear shouting, then a scream, I quicken my pace, not caring if I raise dust and reveal myself to our enemies. Benjamin also quickens his. As I get closer I see a woman holding a dagger and fending off two men. Nearby, two others lie on the ground, motionless.