Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  “Pelet!” Javan roared, drowning out his prisoner’s shrieking for an instant. The woman renewed her struggles. She must know he acted alone. Her wrists were within his grasp and Javan wrenched them behind her back. Pinning them both in one hard hand, he whipped the length of rope from his belt, wrapped it tightly around her wrists and tied it. Only then did he let go, but just to grab an arm and keep her in place. With his free hand, he did a quick search, dodging her kicking feet. He found nothing resembling a weapon hiding in the folds of her robe.

  He frowned at the small sack holding her belongings. Someone had to search it. Where was Pelet?

  Something smashed into Javan from behind, throwing him and his prisoner into the dirt. She was still conscious, gasping for breath beneath him. He rolled off her and came to his feet, sword drawn, in one smooth movement.

  The woman who had run into them was already caught, the soldiers tying her up with angry jerks. A dagger bounced off the hard-packed dirt. That woman would not be alive at the end of the day.

  Something stirred at his side, capturing his attention, and he turned to see his own prisoner awkwardly easing herself into a sitting position. Pelet stood beside her, looking very official with his weapon in his hand. If one had not been watching closely, Javan knew it would appear that Pelet had been busy the entire time.

  “Where have you been?” Javan snapped. “I saw you nowhere. What kept you from your duty? How could a woman get free?” His anger slapped at Pelet’s pride. He did not care.

  “Do you think you were the only one with troubles?” Pelet asked with a cruel edge. “When have I ever shirked my duty?”

  “Your duty,” Javan said, keeping his voice too quiet, “was here, among the captives, searching for weapons. Each one had his own assignment, and yours was here.”

  The two men glared at each other, the air thick with tension. The woman at their feet picked up her screaming where she left off when she fell. Javan looked down at her with disgust, and hoped any man who thought to choose her was watching – and listening. It would give him something to think about.

  Pelet flinched, and then began to laugh. “My apologies, Javan,” he said cheerfully over the din. “I had not realized that your need was so very great.”

  Javan’s anger eased as the situation, finally under some semblance of control, struck him. His laughter joined Pelet’s.

  “She is not yours, is she?” he asked with wicked delight.

  “Praise God, no!” Pelet answered, and both men were off again, their raucous laughter an odd contrast to the harshness around them.

  They resumed their search, the woman still screaming, her voice shrill even in the wild noises.

  Pelet looked over at Javan once, remarking, “A pity we did not think to bring some extra cloth.”

  “A pity, indeed.”

  The soldier suddenly let Taleh go.

  Falling limply to the ground, gasping for air, Taleh was only dimly aware that similar struggles were taking place on all sides. She was jerked to her feet by the hair, shrieking at this new and sudden violence. Her head was pulled back sharply, sending a flash of agony along her neck. The face above her twisted with anger.

  “Shut your mouth, woman!” her tormentor snarled. “You are among the fortunate. You will still be alive tonight. Look around you!”

  Still held by the hair, he let go of her waist and grabbed her arm, twisting her about to face the camp with punishing strength.

  Taleh took her first good look at what was happening. The camp that had been only women swarmed with soldiers, swords flashing. Nearby, she saw a woman flung to the ground her hands quickly tied behind her. One of the soldiers clutched his arm, where a vicious slash bled freely. A red-stained dagger lay on the ground at his feet, while the woman screamed curses at the man.

  Another burst of movement caught her attention, as the scene was replayed further away. As Taleh tried to absorb what was happening, she saw many women laying bound, soldiers standing over them with swords at the ready.

  In the distance, skirmishes could be seen in the camp of the boys as shouts and screams pierced the air.

  Unable to tear her eyes away, Taleh watched soldiers pull the struggling prisoners out, past the boundaries of the captives’ camps, past the vast sprawling mass of soldiers, moving beyond even the animals on the fringe. Only then the soldier released her, moving off with the others. There was no mercy in any of their faces. She did not need to be told what was happening. The cries of death carried on the air, and only fear of the guards placed so liberally around them kept the remaining captives from releasing their grief and anger.

  As though nothing was out of the ordinary, more soldiers came with the small hand mortars and grain. Taleh reached mindlessly for her stone, kneeling to grind her flour, too occupied with her inner turmoil to pay attention to her work. Grain spilled to the ground unheeded. Her thoughts whirled: Javan and his kindnesses, the watcher at the cistern who had to be a soldier, Merab and her delight at being chosen for marriage. And now this unexpected display of savagery.

  Which was real, and which feigned?

  Would life be this way from now on? Would there be periods of calm, shattered by executions designed to keep the rest subdued?

  She did not want to see any more death. Who had given the revolt away? Why had Javan sent someone else to terrorize her? Why had he not come himself? Surely he knew his presence would have helped calm her, saved her those moments of paralyzing fear.

  The fragile trust she was finding for him trembled under this latest assault.

  Javan watched Taleh from several cubits away. He could see that she knew little of what she was doing to the grains under her stone. Added to her pallor, he could guess how badly she had been frightened. Had the soldiers thrown her to the ground? Tied her up? Should he approach her or would she turn on him?

  The flour accumulating on the dirt decided his course. They could not afford to waste food. The more she spilled on the ground in her blind absorption, the more she would have to grind later.

  He walked over and knelt on one knee beside her. “Do you understand why we did what we did?”

  She rubbed an arm across eyes that he knew were moist, even if he could not see them. “Yes. I do not like it, but I assure you I do understand.”

  Her answer surprised – no, amazed – him. “Did you know any of them?”

  “No.”

  “I am glad of that.” He wanted to be glad, to rejoice that she had survived, that she sat before him spared the fate of so many, too many. And with such calm. She did not seem angry, had not even raised her voice. But he could not find a smile when sadness hung heavy over her, a bone-deep sorrow.

  Her time of sweet ignorance had reached its end. Later this night, or perhaps tomorrow, she would begin to think, to brood, perhaps even to hate. He had to prevent that, to get her while her defenses were down. “I think it is time that I tell you what your fate will be when you arrive in Gilead.” Taleh did not take her eyes from him, but he could feel the tension rising in her, like a gazelle waiting for the lion to blink.

  “What did the men of Ammon do with their captives?” He would make her admit his nation’s way was better.

  “Many were killed, just as you have done. The rest were enslaved.”

  “So you see no difference between your people and mine?”

  “It was wrong of me to say the captives in Ammon were killed as you have done. Our – well, not me, you understand, but I saw . . . ” Taleh floundered, then continued with determination. “It was not the practice in Ammon to let captives die quickly.” She glanced up at him, then looked away quickly. “I would try to get out of watching, but I could not always manage . . . ” Her voice trailed off. “I know you did not do so,” she finally said.

  “Tell me, Taleh, except for being a captive, have you been threatened at all?”

  She hesitated. “No, except for that.”

  Javan waited until she looked up again. “I understand ho
w much you despise being a captive.” He ignored the skeptical lift of her eyebrow. “But surely you have seen that we do not torture our captives. In fact, when we arrive in Gilead, I intend to make you my wife.”

  Taleh felt as though she had just been kicked in her middle. The air coming into her lungs tangled with that going out, and went nowhere. She could not speak as the news seeped into her brain. Merab had told her this. Why did it come as such a shock?

  “How do you feel about that?” Javan asked, sounding almost . . . hesitant.

  “Why?” was all she could think to say. Her voice came out as a strangled gurgle.

  “Why what?”

  “Why would you take me to be your wife?” Wife. The rebels were gone. She should be safe from reprisals from her own people.

  What about from his? Since the night at the cistern and the watcher on the wall, she had noticed nothing amiss from the Israelite men.

  The soldiers watched her, but men had always watched her. There was one, a soldier who . . . but surely that was nothing. He had made no move even to speak to her, nor tried to approach her. It made her uneasy, having him meet her gaze every time she turned around, having him stare. He had only watched from the edge of the camp. She could bring no accusations against him for looking.

  Wife.

  The faces of his parents rose before Javan’s mind, suddenly clear. Their marriage had been a good one, full of love and happiness. He wanted the same for himself. Could he have such a blessing with an Ammonite wife?

  “I have never married,” he began. “I was just reaching the age when we were attacked. When it was all over, I had no family, no crops to sell for money, and only a handful of sheep. The village near our home was leveled to the ground. I stayed only long enough to register my claim to my hereditary possession – my land – and then I left to join Jephthah. I have not been back since. This will be the first time in fifteen years that I will have seen my birthplace. I am the sole heir to a large farm. I must secure it for my name, and so I must have children. Therefore, I must marry.”

  She was not drawing away. He took heart. “You know that you are beautiful. I have eyes. Yes, I desire you. I have since I first saw you. But do not think your beauty alone appeals to me. I need a woman who can work, and I have watched you do so. I also need a woman with courage. You will need to be brave if my people will accept you. Remember, they have good reason to hate Ammon.”

  Did he hope to frighten her off? Why was he telling her this? Taleh tried to imagine him as a farmer. The image did not come. Her mind refused to let him hold a sickle, or grasp a plow handle.

  “Did you know of the revolt?” Javan’s question came from nowhere.

  If she said yes, what would he do? “What difference does it make now?” she asked him.

  “None, perhaps. I believe you did know. Yet you said nothing. Why? Do you want to know what I think?” Javan allowed no time for her to answer. “The rebels are your people. To turn them in, to tell even me, whom I hope you are learning to trust just a little, would be to reject your past. This you are not ready to do. That must change.”

  She flinched. He did not know, and had not guessed, how much she had worried about his safety. She would not tell him, he would not believe it anyway. “What makes you think I will ever reject my people?”

  Javan leaned toward her intently. “You will because you must. You will be living among my people, in my country, under my laws. You will be giving birth to children that will be Israelite, not Ammonite. You will come to accept your new life because to do otherwise would be to condemn both of us to a life of misery. We are too sensible to allow that to happen, I believe.” He paused, watching her face. She did not know what it showed. “You will never be asked to sacrifice any of our children to any god. We do not allow such abominations in our worship.”

  Did he mean it? She met his eyes, dark, steady and clear. He spoke truth? She could hardly believe it. She would never have to watch the priests tear her child from her arms and feed him to the flames? Her mother had endured losing her only son that way, long before either Chelmai or Taleh had been born. She knew the story well. The gods punished her mother for her reluctance when the priest took the babe from her arms by denying her another son.

  Taleh had known, down through all the years watching it happen again and again to others, that if such a thing were to happen to her, she would never survive it.

  Now the fear was gone, banished by Javan’s promise. All she had to do was marry him.

  He had been part of the army that killed her family and burned her city. She looked down at her hands and said softly, “But we are enemies.”

  “No.” Javan sounded very angry. “You and I are not enemies. I do not hate you, and I hope you will learn not to hate me. The war is over, Taleh. For both of us. It is time to look ahead. And I want you to be my wife.” He paused, and aching worry filled his next question. “Would I make you such a bad husband?”

  No, thought Taleh to herself as she looked back up into his eyes, so intent, you would not make a bad husband. But I do not know if I can get used to the idea of being with you when your people killed my family. I do not know if I can let the war die – yet.

  Javan could almost feel the battle going on inside her. He did not want her to have too much time alone with her thoughts. “Taleh, I would not have caused you pain. I know that you blame me for the death of your family, but I want the war to end. It is too hard to carry hate inside you. I know what I speak. You will be given time when we get to Gilead to mourn for your family. It is part of our Law.” Suddenly grim, he added, “Life will be much better with us.”

  Javan looked at the young beauty before him, illuminated by moonlight and campfire, watching her thoughts run across her expressive face. Too many losses, too much pain too quickly, to absorb. Would she believe his story, accept that he knew what she felt, trust her future to him?

  Leave her old gods behind? More, would she take his God?

  Taleh thought back to what her life had held, only a few days before. Could it have been such a short time? It seemed an eternity ago. Her father had threatened to pick a man for her, and soon. What would he have been like? Would he have been old and wealthy to appeal to her father’s greed, with many other wives to torment her? Would he have beaten her? She shivered.

  Maybe it would not be so bad with Javan. He had been kind to her, in his own way. He was not so old. And he was wonderful to look at, with his strong-boned face, his broad shoulders, and the muscles that rippled and flowed when he moved.

  He promised she could keep all her children.

  The words stuck in her throat when she tried to say them. She coughed and tried again. “Very well.” Was that her voice? It sounded so strange. “I will be your wife.”

  C H A P T E R 8

  Pelet wanted to smash something. He needed an outlet for his rage. A pity he had not been chosen for the execution squads.

  How could his plan have failed? Javan should by rights be dead now, and his slave woman would be free. She was indeed a beauty, but he knew the depth of Javan’s hatred for this land. The man would never choose a wife from Ammon. So what was he doing with her?

  It was so simple, leaving Javan unprotected. When he saw the woman with the weapon break free of the soldiers, he was certain the job would be done. Why even bother to have a weapon if one had not the wits to use it? Javan’s back was even turned to her!

  This time he would not leave it in the hands of others. He was not a fool who did not learn from his mistakes. And a mistake it had been, to leave Javan’s death to chance. It was too late now to count on removing Javan. That opportunity was gone. But that would not prevent him from finding another solution to the problem. If he did it tonight, it just might work.

  Taleh did not move for a long time after Javan left. He had not touched her, not kissed her. A smile, and he was gone. Was she supposed to feel gratitude, say “thank you?” Her family was still dead. And yet . . . she would not be a s
lave. He was going to marry her.

  That should not feel so strange. She had heard of it happening before, even in Ammon.

  But this time it was happening to her. The man was her enemy. He said he already put it behind him, that the war was over. It could not be that simple, not for her.

  Could it?

  Anger and hatred were very tiring emotions, she discovered. She wanted to let go of them, but her grief kept getting in the way.

  Javan had been very kind to her, too kind. She was not ready to feel these things for him. She had already betrayed her people by agreeing to marry him. Would she compound that by foolish yearnings?

  She was embarrassed to remember her childhood dreams for a husband strong, handsome, who adored her completely. Such things were impossible. How unfair that Javan fit the first two requirements perfectly.

  They were no longer the important ones.

  She suspected her only guarantee of stability was if Javan could somehow come to care for her. The idea was laughable, but she was learning the hard way. She would not be young forever. Childbearing would alter her figure, age and work line her face. There would always be younger, prettier women to draw his eye.

  If he could only love her . . . then she would be safe.

  Her head hurt from the force of her thoughts.

  The soldiers came to collect the flour, and she welcomed the distraction.

  Then they saw the small amount of grain she had completed. Taleh watched them, trying not to tremble, while they glared at her, and muttered fiercely among themselves. She could not hear what they said.

  What a fool she had been to ignore her work!

  They reached a verdict quickly. “You will go short of food tomorrow,” one of the men snapped at her. “If you do not see fit to do your share of the work, neither will you get your share of the food. Perhaps tomorrow night you will find your way to doing the tasks you are given!”