Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  With that, they left, and she lay down with a moan. She stared at nothing, thought of nothing, until a little smile started. The soldiers, for all their threats, had reckoned without Javan. She doubted very much that he would let her go hungry.

  Footsteps came up beside her and stopped. She winced inside. Her submission had taken too much from her. She was not ready to face him so soon. She waited for him to make the first move, not even opening her eyes.

  A voice she did not recognize, harsh and deep, ordered, “On your feet, slave!”

  Her eyes flew open and she looked into the cold, unfeeling face of the soldier who had been watching her from the edge of the camp, the same one she had not thought significant enough to mention to Javan. His eyes were slits in the dark. She scrambled to her feet, feeling awkward in her haste.

  “I have work for you to do,” he continued. This time, she saw the look in his eyes, and her mouth went dry with fear. He grasped her arm fiercely, and she bit her lip to catch the cry of pain his tight fingers caused her.

  Taleh’s heart pounded in her ears. Where was Javan?

  She stumbled as he pushed her ahead of him through the group of captives. Most of them were asleep. No one so much as looked up as they passed. None of the guards made a move to stop them, or questioned where they were going. She tried to look back, hoping to catch someone’s attention – it made no difference who – and received a vicious shake for the attempt.

  She continued to move ahead, guided from behind by the pressure on her arm. Bruises were forming under his ruthless grip. They made their way further into the camp of the soldiers unchallenged. Taleh scanned the darkness frantically for Javan.

  They neared the edge of the soldiers’ camp and still her captor showed no sign of slowing. Cold panic spread through her body, squeezing the air from her lungs. She recognized the path they were taking, even in the dark. He was bringing her out to the place where the rebels had been executed.

  She pulled back, frightened enough to struggle. He slapped her across the head in a shocking blow. Taleh fell to her knees from the force of it, but the soldier never lost his hold on her arm and jerked her to her feet.

  “Stop this!” he hissed in a voice as cold as death, and grabbed her other arm, hauling her close to him.

  Panicked beyond reason, Taleh at last screamed.

  Soldiers jumped to their feet, swords in hand.

  Her captor let go, his face flushed with rage. Taleh quailed before the swords surrounding her. She could not decide which danger was worse, the danger in front or the one behind. The soldiers looked confused. From the group, several voices asked, “What is the problem?” “What is she doing here?” “Did we overlook a rebel?”

  Her captor spoke quickly. “I do not know what is the matter with her. I told her I needed her to work, but she fought me. I did not think it necessary to search her for a weapon after this evening. She may have thought to kill me with my own.”

  The soldiers turned as a body to look at her. Taleh warily stepped back. They moved forward. They would kill her first and ask questions afterward, if at all. It would be too late for Javan to help her then. A rush of anger cleared her mind, and she looked at her captor with disdain. She was not going to cower before him now and let him spin his lies.

  A big man with dark hair and an air of command came up behind the cluster of soldiers. “Let her speak.”

  Taleh watched in amazement as the soldiers lowered their weapons and stepped aside to let the dark-haired man through.

  He fixed pale, piercing eyes on her and asked, “Why did you fight him?”

  She met his gaze without faltering, willing him to see the truth. “I have done nothing. I am not one of the rebels, and I will not go meekly to be killed!”

  The cruel soldier at her side did not look at her. Taleh could feel the waves of his anger lap at her, threatening to pull her back from the brink of freedom.

  Her questioner asked, “Why did you think you would be killed? Did he not tell you he needed you to work?”

  “I saw where you took the rebels. I tell you again, I am guilty of nothing! I could not allow myself to be killed for no reason.”

  At that, the cruel soldier turned to her. He stood so that only she could see the murderous intent in his eyes, and she knew he did it deliberately. His voice did not give him away to the others as he said calmly, as though to a stubborn child, “I was not going to kill you. I told you I needed you to work.”

  The soldiers stood quietly, weighing the evidence of their eyes and ears. Taleh did not know how to convince them. But there was one who could. “I want to speak to Javan.”

  Several of the soldiers looked startled, but not the dark-haired commander. “How do you know Javan?”

  “He was the one who spared me back at Minnith,” Taleh answered. She began to let herself hope. Javan’s words that first day came back to her. “He told me I was to tell anyone who asked that I belong to him.”

  At last she had their full attention! The dark-haired man asked, “Has he claimed you? Are you to be his wife?”

  “Yes,” she answered quickly, thanking the gods Javan had made his intentions clear at last.

  The soldiers eased away, leaving only the three: Taleh, her captor, and the one who had done the questioning. He turned to her captor, whose face was still a mask. “So, Pelet,” the soldier asked, “did you know this?”

  The dangerous man’s name is Pelet, Taleh thought. She would have to remember that.

  Pelet met the other’s eyes fairly. “No, Obed, I did not.”

  He lies well, Taleh said to herself, wishing she dared say it aloud.

  “Good,” Obed responded. He spoke quietly, but his voice was rich with menace. “I think it would be best if you took her back and chose someone else to do your . . . work.” He put a small stress on the last word. Taleh wondered if he believed her, if he thought as she did, that Pelet had been intent on doing her harm.

  An angry noise rumbled in Pelet’s throat. Obed was not done with him. “You might do well to choose a woman who has not been claimed next time, Pelet. Remember, I, too, have chosen a wife from among the captives. I would protect her with my life. Perhaps your work” – again he stressed the word – “would do well to wait until morning.”

  Pelet did not look at Obed, as though the comment did not deserve a reply. He took Taleh’s arm and turned her back toward the camp of captives. His hand was not so tight on her arm this time. Taleh looked back and forced herself to smile at the soldier named Obed. He surprised her by smiling back.

  What a strange army this is, she thought. They slaughter city after city and then come to the defense of a captive.

  Pelet’s grip tightened. He pulled her roughly along behind him as he stalked back toward her camp. The moon slipped behind a stray cloud, leaving complete dark. Taleh could see nothing of his face. How was it there were no campfires near their path?

  Where was Javan in this vast crowd of men? How could she see him in the dark? If by some chance she were to find him, would he see her?

  Pelet abruptly turned off in another direction. Before she had a chance to protest, he pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “If you do anything, I will kill you and tell them whatever I want. It will be too late for Javan to save you then.”

  Taleh believed him. Her skin crawled at his nearness. She thought she would be sick. He took a single step back, but it gave her no relief. The edges of his knife gleamed in the dark, cold and deadly.

  “Walk,” his voice came, as murderous as his knife.

  The darkness threatened to swallow her. Pelet stayed close, the dagger never wavering from her side. They had not gone far when he spoke. “You think yourself clever for that lie you told?”

  What was he referring to? When had she lied?

  “You are not betrothed,” Pelet accused her. “Javan hates your people. He would never lower himself to take a wife from the people of Ammon.” He spat the word out like a curse. His words, his vo
ice, hit Taleh like shots of poisoned arrows, replete with hatred and disdain, shivering with threat. “I fight for the glory of it. I have no need of revenge. He has. He lost his entire family to your people, but you would not know that.”

  She knew as much of the story as he did, but if she were to tell him so, he would not believe her.

  The dagger poked her sharply as they both stepped heavily into a shallow hole, and Taleh gasped in pain and surprise. Her nose and lungs filled with the smell of him. As they moved on, she sifted through her impressions of him to find out what was wrong.

  And then it came to her. He repelled her so completely that part of her mind expected him to smell evil, to exude it like a rancid odor. Instead, he was freshly washed. Had he done that to overcome her resistance with an appealing scent?

  Perhaps evil had no smell. Perhaps it had texture instead, cloying and tight, and a taste, of sickness and bile.

  Taleh stumbled on in the darkness. She no longer paid attention to their course, for it would make no difference. Fear played tricks on her mind, for she thought she saw Javan. She blinked to clear the cruel fantasy from before her eyes.

  He was still there, standing next to a lone campfire, illuminated in the dark, and wonder of wonders, he was facing her direction. Just a few more steps and she would be in his line of sight.

  There was no sign from him. It was just too dark.

  Despair filled her. She would walk past him, her sole hope of rescue, and he would never even know. Where would she be tomorrow? How far into the night would Pelet take her before he stopped to have his way? Would Javan try to look for her? Or would he simply think she had run away, the prospect of being his wife too much for her to endure?

  Where would she be tomorrow? How far into the night would Pelet take her before he stopped? Would Javan try to look for her? Or would he simply think she had run away, the prospect of being his wife too much for her to endure?

  She stole a glance at Pelet, wondering if he had seen Javan. His face was as before, cold and unfeeling. No, he had seen nothing. But then, neither had Javan.

  From across the camp, Javan saw Taleh, walking with another man, leaving the camp. His heart went cold, filling his chest with burning ice. She was taking this drastic step just to avoid him? Was she so frightened of him that she could not say to his face that she did not wish to marry him? She would sneak out under cover of darkness? She would enlist another man’s aid?

  Beneath his hurt pride, another sense began to work, some soldier’s instinct, and he forced himself to look again. Something was wrong. She knew no other soldier than him. Who could she ask for escape?

  His woman was being frightened into silence. He had seen her walk, seen her angry, hurt, sad, and afraid. She was too rigid, the man with her too close, her arm held in a strange manner for one who was helping her flee.

  He would have sacrificed his pride and let her go if she wished, but he would die rather than let her be stolen away against her will.

  Taleh tripped. The man with her jerked her back to his side, a harsh, unfeeling lurch.

  Javan abandoned courtesy, shoving past men. “Get out of my way!”

  Despite the men and the space still between them, he could see her face, despairing and frightened. Anger beyond anything he had ever known filled him, starting at the soles of his feet, pounding against his skull. For a brief instant he could not even see, his rage was so intense. Whoever had her would die.

  He would do it himself.

  He had to save her first.

  He saw the man’s face clearly at last, and something else as well. Pelet had a knife!

  Gathering all his hard-learned control, holding himself rigid under the strain, Javan stepped into their path.

  Fear weighted Taleh’s steps. Her legs felt heavy, like an old woman’s.

  To think, she actually wanted to stay within the embrace of the army, wanted to have soldiers surround her! She almost giggled at the thought. She felt lightheaded, giddy with dread. She even thought she saw Javan again, still as a statue, one with the night, standing directly in their path.

  Out of the darkness, like the visions of her mind come to life, it was him!

  Her knees gave way, and only the hard strength of Pelet’s grasp kept her on her feet.

  And then Pelet saw him, too.

  For a brief flash, Taleh thought Pelet was going to draw his sword. Javan’s eyes held him in check, and she felt him shudder. He let go of her arm as though it were on fire. Somehow her legs kept her up.

  “Javan,” he said in uneasy greeting.

  “Pelet.” Javan returned the greeting, and Taleh had never heard a single word hold so much danger. Neither man spoke. Taleh could not move.

  Javan broke the silence. “I see you have noticed my woman.”

  Javan’s hands caught Taleh’s attention. They were clenched into massive fists. He reminded her of a rope stretched too tightly, humming with the tension.

  “Your woman?” Taleh saw the surprise on Pelet’s face. It looked genuine. She had told him, and he had not believed. He had to, now. “I would be happy to give you your price for her.”

  “She is not for sale,” Javan snapped, his too-rigid control cracking. He took a quick breath, his nostrils flaring. Taleh watched him fixedly, afraid to hope. In the voice that held the quiet menace, Javan went on, “I might ask why she is with you, but I am certain you are ready for my question. If I find that any harm has come to her, I do not think I need warn you of the penalty.” He reached out and took Taleh’s hand.

  Taleh held on as if it were her lifeline, and used his strength to make her legs move again. She took the steps over to his side awkwardly, wondering at the slight tremor in his hand.

  Javan seemed to have dismissed Pelet from his thoughts if not from his presence. His whole attention was focused on her. He turned his back on Pelet and started in the direction of the women’s camp. The first few steps, Taleh expected an attack from behind. When Javan’s hand let go of hers, she tried to walk on her own, but her legs were rooted to the ground. Her body’s refusal to obey alarmed her. She trembled violently. A buzzing noise filled her ears. Through the haze, she felt Javan pick her up. The warmth of his body, his arms, slowly seeped into her, but she could not stop the trembling, or the weakness that still left her limp.

  Javan started walking. The noise in Taleh’s ears faded with every step he took, and she became aware of how closely he held her, how strong his arms were around her, and how very safe she felt. His breath tickled her face. His broad chest pressed against her with each inhale. The steady beat of his heart even through his leather armor drummed in her ear. She liked this – very much. These strange new feelings collided with her embarrassment. She faltered, “I do not know what is . . . nothing like this has ever . . .”

  Javan looked down at her and their eyes met in the darkness. “Do not feel you have to apologize.”

  “Please, I can walk,” she said firmly. It might even have been true. “Put me down.”

  Javan said absently, as though his mind was far away, “There is no need.”

  “I am too heavy for you to carry.” The words came out like sharp pebbles.

  “No, you are not.” He did not even bother to look at her.

  “I can walk.”

  “I know you can walk. I have seen you do it. Right now, I want to carry you.” Javan withdrew again into his thoughts.

  They reached her little pile of belongings. He lowered her feet to the ground, and turned her to face him. “I will now give you an opportunity to explain.”

  “Explain?” Taleh stared at him. What did he think he had seen? He could not seriously believe she had gone with Pelet of her free will, could he? She wanted to – wished she dared – slap him. Hard. Instead, she turned her words on him. “Explain what? Explain how? What did you think you saw? If I tell you he held a knife at my side, will you believe me?”

  “Woman,” Javan returned with strained calm, “you test my patience. I ha
ve made no accusations. I merely asked what put you in Pelet’s company leaving camp in the dark. Surely you know I have something at stake in this. Do you think I did not see the fear in your face? Please assume I have a little intelligence! Now, tell me how this came about.”

  The story tumbled out, the night of fear, her words spilling over each other as she tried to remember everything, every mad step they had taken.

  Javan listened to her with growing horror. He forced himself to remain in place while she told her tale, when every instinct told him to find Pelet and slit his throat. The anger mounted inside him as he thought about what might have happened, what Pelet wanted to happen.

  Pelet would pay the penalty for this night.

  He caught her arms, holding her firmly in place. He wanted to crush her against him, wrap her in his arms and keep her safe. He could have lost her this night . . . “I think you should know that under our Law, if he had violated you, he could claim you as his wife. It sounds like a bad law, but at least such women have someone to provide for them. The girl’s father has the right to refuse for her, but you have no father to protect you. If he had succeeded, there is nothing I could have done to keep him from marrying you.”

  Her eyes opened wider, overwhelming her face even in the dark. “I thought he would kill me afterward. He said he would kill me if I tried to scream.”

  Javan pressed his lips together, holding in his angry words. When he could speak calmly, he said, “Yes, I heard you say so. I do not believe that would have happened. He merely wanted to keep you quiet. I should kill him for what he did to you tonight.”

  He caught himself before he said more. The border was still several days’ march away. He was proud of the army he helped command, and would not air its faults, even to her.

  What would Jephthah think when he heard word of tonight’s events? Jephthah would be fair, it was not in him to be otherwise, but his opinions on the Ammonites were well known. The revolt was barely over. Unknown tensions still seethed beneath the surface of the seemingly subdued captives.