Prize of War

by Carole Towriss

  Watch out for giants.

  And when he did return…

  Win Acsah’s heart.

  Chapter 6

  Othniel the son of Kenaz, the brother of Caleb, captured it;

  so he gave him Acsah his daughter as a wife.

  Joshua 15.17

  Acsah raised her hand to shade her eyes against the retiring sun. Where was Abba? She strained to see as far down the road as possible, stomped toward the house but spun back again. The messenger had said they’d be arriving today at midday. The sun already leaned toward the western horizon.

  Leah followed from the courtyard. “Acsah? Don’t you think you should wait inside the house? At least inside the gates of the city, instead of here on the road? You’ll get dusty. You don’t want to meet Enosh looking like that, do you?”

  Acsah chewed her lip. “I want to see Abba as soon as he arrives.” She really didn’t care what Enosh would like.

  “Shall I prepare the evening meal?”

  She should remind her aunt not to forget to put out lots of dates.

  Leah placed a hand on Acsah’s arm. “They’ll be here soon. Don’t fret.” Then she strolled back inside. As if nothing were amiss. As if Abba were not returning late—from battle.

  Acsah envied Leah’s faith. She never seemed to worry. Even in the midst of the bloodiest battles for Hebron, she’d retained a deep peace. Abba and Jonah could return to their tent, crimson dripping down their chest and arms, and Leah would only say, “Praise Yahweh you have returned to us,” pick up a bowl of water and some cloths, and begin washing them off.

  Dust rose southeast of town. Acsah squinted, trying to decipher the few figures. One rode a donkey. Abba? Probably with Enosh. She waited a moment longer until she was sure, then raced through the garden, into the house and onto the roof. “Leah? He’s com—” Her words cut off when she saw her aunt placing dates next to a bowl of grapes and some cheese.

  “How could you possibly know?” Acsah spread her hands.

  Leah only smiled.

  “Well, he’s still down the road, so it will be a while.”

  “I just put bread in the oven so it will be hot when he gets here.”

  Infuriating. But somehow wonderful.

  Acsah ran up the stairs. She poured water into a bowl, wet a cloth, and washed her face, then checked her reflection in her polished bronze mirror. She adjusted her headcloth, then ripped it off and searched through the basket in the corner and selected a fresh one, deep red, before checking her reflection once more. Back downstairs, she helped Leah finish setting out the food so Abba would have a hearty meal waiting after his journey.

  A donkey brayed outside, beyond the courtyard. Acsah bounded out the door.

  As he walked through the wooden gate Abba handed the reins to their servant. “Thank you, Mattan.” Abba brightened at the sight of his daughter.

  Acsah jumped into his arms, and he stumbled back a step.

  “Abba! I was getting so worried.”

  “Why?”

  “The messenger said you would be back at midday. The sun is halfway gone.”

  He chuckled and set her on her feet. “But not yet gone. You had no reason to worry until after dark tonight.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s go inside. I’m starving. I assume Leah has enough food for the entire army of Judah up there?”

  “Of course. The bread should be ready right about now.”

  Abba’s chest rumbled beneath her as he laughed. “I don’t know how she does it, but I am glad she does.”

  Acsah looked over his shoulder. “And where is Enosh?”

  “Your champion will join us on the roof shortly. Let’s go inside.”

  Acsah frowned and ran to the city gate. Why wasn’t he with Abba? She glanced down the road. More dusty figures, too far away to make out.

  Abba was already in the courtyard. Acsah hurried to catch up and moved past him to the cistern in the floor. She filled a bowl of water, and retrieved a cloth. When she returned to the doorway Abba had removed his shoes, and she knelt at his feet.

  “Why don’t you let Mattan do this?” Abba tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his.

  “Abba, you know I love to do this for you.” She dunked the cloth, then lifted one foot. As she drew the wet cloth over his muddy feet, Mattan’s soft voice drifted through the house while he brushed Donkey. She rubbed a dry cloth over one foot and placed it on a clean sandal, then reached for the other, repeating the process. She raised her face to him, smiling. “All done.”

  He stood and reached to help her up. He limped toward the broadroom, stopping at the stairs in the corner. He motioned for Acsah to go first.

  She waited where Leah had spread the food on the floor of the roof, now shaded from the sun by the sleeping chambers that occupied the western side.

  Abba gathered Leah into a warm embrace. “So much food! Thank you. And thank you for joining us. Jonah won’t mind?”

  She laughed. “No, no. He is playing with our grandchildren. You must be hungry from your trip. Sit, eat.” She pulled away and shoved a plate heaped with fresh fruit, cheese, and bread at him.

  He dropped to the floor and reached for a cluster of plump, purple grapes.

  When Leah sat on the other side of the mat, Acsah took her place beside her. She tilted her head and studied her father. “Why didn’t Enosh come with you?”

  “I was on a donkey. I arrived before all the men.” His eyes twinkled, and his smile was lopsided.

  He was keeping something from her. Of that she was certain. She just didn’t know what.

  “Your champion will be here very soon. Have patience, motek. In life you will always need patience. Best to start cultivating it now.”

  Your champion. That was the third time he had said that. Not Enosh. Your champion.

  Was it possible it was not Enosh?

  She turned at the sound of a voice on the stairs—not as harsh as Enosh's. Softer, but still male.

  “Thank you, Mattan.” The man laughed.

  A shiver worked its way down her spine. That laugh—that musical laugh. It couldn’t be …

  Othni stepped onto the roof. The dry afternoon breeze did little to alleviate the heat—and nothing to calm his nerves.

  Acsah sat before him, eyes wide, stiff as one of the toppled idols on the stone floor of Kiriath-Sepher’s destroyed temple.

  Apparently Caleb had not informed her of the events of the past few days.

  He had an easier time attacking a giant than approaching this … wisp of a girl. He took a tentative step forward, her gaze following his every move. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “May I join you?” Though he addressed Caleb, he needed her approval as desperately as his next breath.

  Caleb chuckled. “I invited you, did I not?” He placed a bowl of juice at Othni’s seat.

  Othni folded his frame and sat between Caleb and his daughter, acutely aware of every part of his body. His wounds ached, his legs felt too long, his skin—except for his just-washed feet—were covered with dust from the journey. He downed the juice in one gulp.

  He could feel Acsah’s cold stares. Would she rather he were Enosh? Why hadn’t Caleb prepared her?

  He’d thought she might be pleased. The smiles she gave him the last time he was here seemed to indicate that. Or was it that he wanted her so fiercely he had imagined it, remembered it all wrong?

  She shouldn’t be forced to marry him. Not if she wanted another.

  Othni’s heart dropped to his sandals. He looked to Caleb, who just sat there with a smirk, popping grapes in his mouth. Not helpful. Finally, Othni could stand it no longer. “Why didn’t you tell her? Why did you bring me here?”

  “Tell me what?” Acsah reached across the mat and grasped Caleb’s arm.

  Othni shot his gaze back to Acsah. Her eyes, no longer wide, glared at Caleb. Then at him. When no one answered her, she placed her palms on the mat and rose up on her knees. She leaned toward her f
ather. “Tell me what? You already made me a prize. Now what have you done?”

  Caleb chuckled. “I didn’t do anything, motek. Othniel did it all.”

  Othni backed away when Acsah leaned toward him.

  “What are you talking about? What did I do?”

  “You took Kiriath-Sepher.” Caleb shrugged and waved his hand in the air as if he had just said, “You woke up this morning.”

  Acsah’s face lost all its color. She slowly sank back on her heels, stared blankly at him.

  His heart turned to stone.

  She didn’t want him. It couldn’t be more obvious.

  “What happened to Enosh. Is he … Is he…?” Acsah’s voice wavered, her grief evident.

  Enosh had lost the city, gotten more men killed in one day than in the entire battle that followed—gotten even more than that injured—and she still wanted him.

  Thank Yahweh he had not eaten all day, or his stomach would eject it. He clambered to his feet.

  Caleb patted her hand. “No, motek. He is not dead. He simply failed, and Othniel rose to the challenge.” Before Othni could leave, Caleb grabbed his wrist.

  Acsah’s head shot up. “Wait? You mean Enosh is not … dead?”

  Caleb shook his head.

  Her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes closed. “Thank you, Yahweh.”

  Othni’s heart couldn’t have ached more if a barbed arrow had pierced it. He pulled hard on Caleb’s hand, longing to be anywhere else.

  “It’s not my fault.” Her voice was so soft, he almost missed it.

  He spun back around. “What’s not your fault?”

  “I- I prayed so many times about marrying him. I had asked Yahweh to help me love him because”—she glanced away briefly—“I really didn’t think I could. When you came instead, I thought Enosh had been killed, and it was because of me.” She winced. “I thought maybe Yahweh had taken him because of my prayers.”

  Othni tried to make sense of everything she had said. “So you don’t want him instead of me?”

  An enchanting pink crept over her cheeks.

  He’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Was her skin as soft as it looked?

  Caleb cleared his throat, and Othni again took his place beside her.

  “Shall we eat then? I really am very hungry.” Caleb rubbed his hands together, licking his lips. “And Leah has prepared so much wonderful food.” He reached for the warm bread, still steaming, grabbed a small loaf, and passed the basket to Othni.

  Leah’s food was delicious, but then, anything would have been delightful after weeks in the dry, sandy negev. The conversation artfully avoided war, death, and injury.

  And marriage.

  But it didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered.

  Acsah didn’t want Enosh.

  The meal was nearly over. Acsah rose and gathered the platters of food.

  Leah placed her hand on Acsah’s arm. “No, motek, let me do this. You go with Othniel, take a walk. Go to the vineyard.”

  Acsah glanced at the land beyond the walls of Hebron. The sun was nearly down, a full moon rising in its place. She turned to Abba, who merely raised a brow, smiling. She set the dishes back on the mat.

  Othni stood and headed toward the stairs.

  Acsah took a couple steps, then turned back. “Are you coming, Abba?”

  He shook his head.

  Acsah’s stomach clenched. “No?” She looked from Abba to Othni and back.

  “I trusted him with my life; I trust him with my daughter.”

  But did she? She drew in a couple deep breaths before she turned to face Othni again.

  He stood with his hands behind his back, a soft smile, and those dark eyes focused on her. He tilted his head toward the stairs and started down. After strolling through the house and courtyard, he waited for her at the gate, holding it open.

  She stepped through, his hand landing lightly on her lower back for the briefest moment as she passed him. Warmth spread through her body, and her heart sped up. His presence beside her nearly stole her breath. He was so much taller and bigger than she was. Barely taller than Abba, though, so why did he feel so overwhelming?

  The air began to chill as they passed the apricot and fig trees. When they finally reached the vineyard, he stooped to open the gate before they ambled between vines that crept along the ground. She knelt for a cluster of enormous grapes adorning the thick creepers and ripped it off, offering him the fruit.

  He reached for it, a linen wrap extending beyond the short sleeve of his tunic.

  “What’s that?” She pointed to the cloth wound around his bicep.

  “Minor injury.”

  Her heart hurt. She’d prayed for his safety, as she’d prayed for everyone in Kiriath-Sepher, but seeing the effects of the battle was somehow … different. “How?”

  He shrugged as he plucked the grapes from the branch. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.” She stepped nearer, drew her finger along the edge of the cloth. “Can I see it?”

  “It’s not pretty.”

  “I’ve seen all my abba’s scars.”

  “It’s not a scar yet. It’s still quite red and raw.”

  She’d never seen Abba’s wounds when they were fresh, at least not that she remembered. Maybe a minor one from working in the orchard or vineyard. “Does it hurt?”

  His eyes, dark as a spring raincloud, fixed on hers.

  Soldiers liked being strong, never showing weakness. She’d been around enough of them to know that much. That was fine on the battlefield, but not at home. Not with her. She took another step closer and put her hand on his chest. “You have to be honest with me.”

  He waited another heartbeat. “Yes, it hurts. Not as much as the first day, but yes.”

  “Come here.” She took his hand and led him to the low stone wall surrounding the vineyard. She sat and patted the space next to her. When he joined her, she untied the knot that held the linen in place, careful not to put any pressure on the wound. She slowly unwound the cloth. When the red, blistered flesh appeared, she clenched her teeth to stifle a gasp. “When was the last time you put honey on it?”

  “Before we left Kiriath-Sepher.”

  “You need to change this then.” She started to rise, but he grabbed her hand.

  “We can do it when we get back. Stay a while. Talk to me.”

  She settled back onto the warm stone. “What shall we talk about?”

  He leaned nearer, grinning. “How about our wedding?”

  Heat crawled up her neck into her face.

  He chuckled. “You are so beautiful when you blush.” He grazed his fingers along her cheeks and rested them on her jaw.

  She dropped her gaze to her hands, but he lifted her chin.

  He dropped his hand. “When should we get married?”

  She shrugged. “That’s not up to me.”

  “I have to build our house first.”

  “Our house? We won’t live with your family? In Bethlehem?”

  His brow furrowed. “Your father has given me Kiriath-Sepher as a reward. Didn’t you know that?”

  She nearly choked. “I have to leave Hebron?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know this?”

  No, she hadn’t known. Abba had said nothing about leaving Hebron.

  Othni reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

  How could she leave? Leave everyone and everything she had ever known. Leave the city she loved. Judah’s center, the most beautiful place on earth.

  Leave the widows.

  Leave Abba.

  Leave all of that for a man she barely knew.

  It would have been bad enough to live in Bethlehem, but at least Rahab and Salmah were there, and Othni’s family. But Kiriath-Sepher?

  No one she knew. No bubbling springs. Nothing but sand.

  Why?

  Enosh’s anger burned no less hot than it did the day he lost Kiriath-Sepher one month ago. If anything, it raged hotter
yet. The Canaanite royal city should have been his. Caleb had almost promised it to him … and then it had been stolen from him.

  And still he couldn’t think of any way to make it his again. Night after night he lay alone on the roof of his modest home. Caleb’s home, the largest in Hebron, occupying the place of honor near the city gates, was only an arrow’s flight away. Yet he’d barely seen the man since their return. It was as if the great Caleb was embarrassed by him, avoided him now that the war was over.

  Enosh couldn’t possibly have thought of every outcome. He couldn’t be held responsible for every injury. This was war. Couldn’t anyone see that? Apparently not, since he was treated as an outcast, worse than a leper. Women, even those who had not lost anyone themselves, turned away from him on the street. Wouldn’t look him in the eyes. At summer’s beginning any young virgin would have been honored to be his bride.

  Now no one would marry him unless he were the last man in Judah.

  This was not fair.

  This was not his fault.

  He was being held to a standard no one in any battle had ever had to meet.

  Well, he wasn’t going to stand by and let this happen.

  Strolling among the burnt remains, Othni observed his men rebuilding the conquered city. Houses had been repaired, finished with mud brick where the wood could not be replaced. Barely a quarter of the city was inhabited, as most of the soldiers returned to Hebron and their families. None but the most adventurous had stayed and settled in the newly vanquished village. They were rugged, seasoned soldiers for the most part, excellent for settling a new city—but they could also often be the most difficult to manage.

  He inspected the massive eastern gate. He drew his finger along the seam between frame and stone, tightly sealed with plaster. He moved his hand across the massive doors to the other side. Neither the bronze frames nor the bronze-covered wooden doors had not been destroyed in the fire. New leather hinges had been added, and he swung the doors back and forth a few times.

  Siah approached from the center of town. “There’s not much debris left from the fire. Most of the wood burned up completely. Rubble from houses is being reused by our people. The grain storage pits on this side of the city are repaired, and we’ve begun to repair those on the west side.”