Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  Just a few more days to watch it move in the sunlight, see it kissed by the gentle moonlight. Just a few more days, and he would have to slice it all off himself. And she would have another reason to hate him.

  I will obey, he chanted in his mind, and reached for the next section of uncombed hair.

  And all the while, Taleh never moved.

  With hundreds of people surrounding them, how was it possible the night was so quiet?

  That thought was like a dash of cold water upon him, startling him back to reality. The weight of his responsibilities settled back upon his shoulders, among them the necessity of telling her what her future was to be.

  Reaching over her shoulder, he dropped the comb into her lap. “I am finished,” he said with a lightness he was far from feeling, and heard a soft sigh. Was it relief, or regret? There would never be the right time for what he had to say to her. It would never be easy, delay would not help.

  He stretched himself out on the ground, feigning relaxation, lying so he could see her face.

  “It is time for us to talk,” he said simply.

  Taleh flinched. Javan did not wait for her to respond. “I do not want to be your enemy, Taleh. I am not the one who killed your sister, but it would make little difference if I were. I am sorry she died. Being a soldier is not easy. I do not like killing people.” He looked closely at her in the poor light, hoping for some reaction. She gave him none, looking back with black eyes devoid of expression. He continued, “I do not know what you were told about this war, or the reasons for it. I can guess. Now I think you should hear our side.”

  “I know your side,” she said.

  He forced back a smile. She was listening. It was a start. “Oh?”

  “I know that you are on our land. I know we have tried to get it back for many years. I also know that the herds you are taking back with you are your own.”

  He was surprised to hear such an admission, even if all she would grant him was the right to animals.

  “Why does that surprise you?” she asked. “I know we took your flocks. Everyone does. Why should we not have taken them? They were on our lands.”

  Their land? Javan let the claim go. “They were our animals.”

  “I will not argue with you. Yes, they were your animals,” she said, a resigned tone in her voice. “I can see why you would want them back.” Her sudden anger crackled in the air. “Take your animals! Take your herds! Take our clothes, our food! Take whatever you want. But there was no need to wipe out our cities!”

  Javan saw her sister’s body as clearly as if it were reflected in her eyes. “Taleh, we were not the ones who started this war.”

  “Of course you would say that. I expected nothing less.”

  He frowned. Convincing her would not be easy. Very well, he had chosen her, this was the first challenge of their life together he would face. He would tell her the whole story, the parts her people would never admit. “This war began as most do, as you say – over land, a piece of land that has not belonged to your people for more than three hundred years.” She gave him a look of disbelief. “What I say is true. I would hardly expect your people to admit that they lost a war to the Amorites.” He lost his own battle with sarcasm. “Of course, no one would ever admit that. That would take honesty, and we cannot have honesty in Ammon, can we?”

  “How dare you?” she hissed. “What do you know about us that gives you the right to speak so?”

  “More than I ever wanted to know,” he replied just as sharply. “I have seen your altars. I have buried the bones of your babies, slaughtered in payment to your gods!” At her gasp, he knew he had touched a sensitive point with her. Had he committed blasphemy in her eyes, or did the sacrifice of infants hurt her, too?

  He took a calming breath. “Please, let us begin this over. Yes, your people owned the land of Gilead once. The Amorites won it from you in battle, whether anyone has bothered to tell you about it before now or not.” He caught himself as the sharp edge came back into his voice, and took another breath. “When we entered the land, we won it from them, again in battle. It became ours. If your kings had wanted it back, they should have done something about it when it was first taken by the Amorites.

  “Eighteen years ago, your armies started raiding our lands. At first, we did not know what was happening, why we were suffering so. Then your king accused us of taking your land. We sent our messengers, but your king refused to accept Jephthah’s explanation.” He smiled sourly at her look of surprise. “Yes, Jephthah tried first to settle this without war. Your king chose to ignore the truths of history. We were provoked beyond enduring. We have been the legitimate owners of this land for three hundred years. Why question our right now? The land of Gilead is ours.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Little one, we did not just charge into your land like your people have been doing to us these past eighteen years. We tried reason first. Why do you suppose I joined with Jephthah? I have nothing left of my family. I survived because I was out in the hills looking for sheep that had wandered off. When I came back, it was too late. There was nothing left. I found our crops burning, all the cattle and flocks driven off except the few I had gone to find. Our house had been put to the torch. I left because I could not stay and do nothing. Jephthah offered me hope, and a chance to find out what had happened to my mother and sister. I found the bodies of the others . . . ”

  He was lost, locked back years before when he was first transfixed with horror at what he had found one sunny afternoon. If it had not been for some silly sheep . . . He speared her with eyes that burned with old grief and hatred, not seeing her, seeing instead that awful day. “What you saw of your sister was nothing! Nothing, do you hear me?”

  A movement from his young woman pulled him back to reality. She was sidling further away, frightened by what he had let slip past the defenses of fifteen years. He shook his head, clearing the old image from his mind, and fought down the old rage as he tried to pick up the thread of what he had been saying.

  “There was nothing to show me what had happened to the women of my family. I still have no answers.” Bitterness, well aged and refined, tainted his words. “I have seen your country. I know what you do to your prisoners. I must assume the same thing happened to them.”

  Taleh could no longer meet his gaze and see the haunting echoes of his pain. She had seen long lines of prisoners being taken off to be killed. She had heard the tales. For the first time, she saw Javan as a victim like herself. They both had grief to carry.

  Javan was not done. “Taleh, Jephthah offered me the chance to get some vengeance. I am sorry that my vengeance cost you so much.”

  Knowing that he had endured some of what she had just gone through gave her the courage to ask the one question that tormented her. “When we get to your land, what will become of me?”

  It was tempting to tell him that someone had been watching her bathe at the cistern, that it might possibly have been a soldier, but it would gain her nothing. How could she prove it? He wanted to blame her country for all the evils. No matter his answer, she was still a slave, just a slave.

  This was not the time, Javan decided. He would tell her only enough to ease her mind, but they were both too raw tonight. “What do you want to know?”

  “Will I become a slave?”

  “No.”

  “If I am not to be a slave, why did you spare me?”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Merab – she is one of the other captives – she has said she will be married to a soldier.”

  She made it sound like an accusation, Javan thought. Aloud, he asked, “Has she? And how does she feel about that?”

  “She is delighted. She spends all her time gloating over the rest of us.”

  “Does she indeed?” Javan started to grin. So Obed’s woman was delighted with her fate, was she? How fortunate for Obed. “And you? How do you feel about her future?”

  “I do not understand
it. Why bother to wed a slave?”

  “But she is not a slave.”

  “She was taken. You captured her. You can do whatever you wish with her – with all of us.”

  “First of all, little one, I did not capture her, Obed did. Second, we can not do whatever we wish. This may sound strange to you, but we have laws in our land that protect even slaves. You have not been harmed, have you?”

  Taleh had to admit it was true.

  Javan continued, “If you obey, you will not be. Your lot will be much better among us than it ever would have been with your own people. You will have the protection of our Law. Does that sound intolerable?”

  Was he telling her the truth? While his attentions had been unwelcome, they had not been unkind, and certainly not cruel. Quite the opposite. A ray of hope appeared in the darkness that was her future.

  Javan took both her hands, holding them firmly. “That is better. Now you need to sleep. We have another hard day tomorrow. You have nothing to fear from us as long as you obey. I promise you.”

  Nothing to fear – until the revolt was discovered. And then what?

  Later that night, Javan lay awake, struggling with his decision to hold back from telling Taleh her fate. Perhaps she would have been ready. No, he was sure he had done the right thing in waiting. With a groan, he rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position. It was not the hard ground that kept him awake, he knew. No, the real problem was trying to figure out what was so difficult about telling a woman that she would become his wife.

  C H A P T E R 7

  The first few days were a burden. The heat never let up, and the army did not slow its pace. Soldiers were accustomed to the rigors of travel. In sharp contrast to their endurance, the women’s faces became drawn with exhaustion, thirst and pain, but the army dared not linger.

  Javan was sorry when the fancy food confiscated from the larders of Minnith ran out and they were forced to make do with plain fare. Many of the cattle had to be slaughtered to provide meat for the journey. Sacks full of grains were carried into the women’s camp each night to be ground into flour for the flat, unleavened bread more appropriate for the trip. Tempers frayed. Each evening Javan felt stretched thin, assigning chores for his men, watching the women, trying to find time to visit Taleh between his responsibilities. He waited and prayed to see her first real smile. When would she bend?

  He had seen nothing during his passage through Ammon to make him think anyone would willingly stay in that land. Did she not know that her firstborn could have been sacrificed on one of those profane altars to Molech, asking the gods for rain which would come or not regardless? Was it possible she knew and did not care? How could anyone not care?

  His fellow chiefs struggled as well to maintain discipline. For the most part, they succeeded. Javan was proud of his men, proud of the part he played in their training.

  Things were not going as well among the captives. Javan heard several of the soldiers guarding the prisoners had picked up signs of trouble. He was not surprised to see Jephthah walk past, and motion him to follow.

  Jephthah did not break his stride. “I have heard disturbing reports. A soldier standing guard thought he saw one of the captives with a dagger.”

  “Which one?” Javan’s heart lurched. Please, not Taleh!

  “It was one of the young men.”

  Javan released his breath with an audible sigh.

  Jephthah fixed him with a close look. “I believe we have a rebellion brewing, Javan. We have to stop it, and we have very little time. We will be out of Ammon within a few days. Those who wish to escape will have to do it soon. If one dagger has been seen, we would be stupid to think there are no more. They cannot hope to overpower us, but even one injury is too much to bear this close to our home. We would not like to be made fools of by our captives. If the young boys we took are strong enough to work our fields, they are strong enough to kill.”

  “I agree.” Javan hated to ask the next question, but he knew where his loyalties belonged. “Is it just the boys? What about the women?”

  There was no doubting the look in Jephthah’s eyes. Javan felt guilty just trying to meet the iron gaze of his leader. “What about the women, Javan?”

  “Is my woman under suspicion?” Javan’s chest tightened and burned.

  “What if she is? Javan, if your woman is found among the rebels, what will you do?”

  Javan marveled that his legs could still move normally. Taleh, a rebel? Taleh, gone from his life? Taleh, dead?

  He owed his commander the truth, but the words came hard. “I cannot be the one to cut her down, if that is so. May God forgive me, but I cannot do it. I will not stop another, but I have made the decision in my heart. She is my wife. Could you have raised a sword against your wife?”

  Jephthah’s face showed heart-deep sadness. “To lose a wife, whatever the cause, is a great grief. Very well, I will not ask that of you. It would be best, Javan, that you do not hope for too much. We will attack the camp at our last stop of the day. Prepare your men, but do not let word spread. We cannot give the captives any warning.”

  The cold distance that had served him well for killing slipped back into place, but this time he felt a hole around his heart. “Jephthah, will you grant me one favor? If she is found to be among the rebels, may I see the evidence against her before her sentence is carried out?”

  “My friend.” Jephthah scowled at him. Javan felt his impatience, but he would not take back his question. “How many favors will you ask? You wish to see evidence? What if it is not sufficient to convince you? Will you then plead for her life? Will all of the claimed women be set free because my men think with their hearts instead of their heads? Do you imagine you are the only man among my men who fears for his choice this day?”

  “I cannot give up hope. I do not believe my woman will be found among the rebels. I have noticed she is shunned by the others. Her beauty may well be her protection.”

  “We shall see.” Jephthah would commit to nothing more. “Send me Obed. We will eat together for the noon meal and plan our strategy. Until then, you must tell your men and begin moving them into position.”

  “It will be done.”

  Javan had gone just a few steps before Jephthah’s voice reached him, only loud enough for his ears. “There will be no visits to the camp of the women.”

  As Javan moved his men into position, gradually, like the wind across the sand, his thoughts kept turning to Taleh. He could see her from time to time, moving within the group of women, her yellow robe reflecting the sunlight. He was torn between a frantic need to imprint every part of her onto his memory and the foretaste of bitter grief in case today would be her last. Endless years of discipline made his face a mask, he knew, for his men reflected his standards and he could see no weakness in any of them.

  How many weapons would they find this evening? No matter how quickly they accomplished their task, warning would be given like lightening. It would take less time than that to slip a blade between the leather strips of a coat of mail.

  When the vast company stopped at midday, all was in place. The plan was set. There was no turning back.

  Taleh thought they stopped earlier than usual. She was grateful. The soldiers would be coming soon with grain to grind into flour. It had never been her favorite chore, not even in the comfort of her home. Here, in the heat of the plateau, after the day’s journey, it took on all the traits of deliberate punishment. With an entire army to feed the next day, when the soldiers appeared with the small mortars and pestles each evening, they were met with groans of displeasure and bitter mumbling.

  Taleh had never eaten such bad bread as her fellow captors had produced these last days, full of husks and sand. She knew the soldiers were well aware that it was deliberate. How much longer they would tolerate the subtle retaliation she could only wonder.

  Tonight the soldiers were not as prompt as usual. Taleh took advantage of their delay to make herself comfortable. They would be
coming soon enough and then there would be no time to rest until after the next day’s supply of bread was done.

  Stretched out on the ground, her eyes closed to the glare of the lowering sun, Taleh heard a shout. It was cut off almost immediately. Bolting upright, she barely registered an unusually large number of soldiers in their camp before she was grabbed from behind.

  A scream tore at her throat, muffled by the hand crushing her mouth. The arm around her was so tight her ribs hurt. The air in her lungs burned, trapped between the cruel tightness binding her and the equally cruel hand over her face. She was being smothered. She could not move her hands, could not claw, could not fight, could not get the hand away. In desperation, Taleh kicked her legs, trying to inflict pain, to make her tormenter let her go. Her heels connected with something. He only gripped tighter, making more pain. She was too afraid to think, too occupied with trying to breathe around the huge hand.

  She only knew this was not Javan.

  Javan swiftly grabbed the woman in front of him, covering her mouth while he captured her arms in the iron restraint of his own. The women all over the camp responded with totally unexpected fury. Weapons appeared from nowhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two soldiers struggle to subdue a single woman. Silver caught the light, but he could only hope the men were alert.

  The woman pinned in his arms suddenly bit his hand. Let her scream, Javan thought, dropping his hand from her mouth. She immediately let loose an ear-splitting shriek, fighting to free her arms, and lifted her feet off the ground without warning. Had she been larger, the weight shift might almost have caught him off guard, but this one was too small.

  Her fury increasing, she continued to scream and kick, making Javan’s ears ring with her noise. Thick leather protected his legs from the worst of her blows. All the other men were as busy as himself. Where was Pelet? He had been in sight but a moment ago.