The guards were sparse, and none nearby questioned him as he walked up to the captives. After all, what was one more Lamanite wishing to make light of the prisoners? Though that did appear to be in short supply this evening. Probably since so many were too worried about the approaching army to want to bother dealing with captives.
Teancum, he thought as he moved closer to the captives. The scouts had brought word that the Nephite forces were camped not a quarter of a day’s journey to the north. If Kumen didn’t break camp before dawn, or perhaps earlier, they would likely be run down.
He came to a stop, several of the captives looking up at him with mixed expressions. Many looked fearful, but a few looked curious, as if wondering why a Lamanite had come to see them. A few even looked smug. Likely because they had heard the reason for the army’s abrupt arrival.
Looking down at the captives, he felt almost guilty. Their wrists were bound, as was the custom, and the guards had restrained their feet so that they wouldn’t be able to run easily. For some of them, particularly the soldiers sitting along the outside of the group, the behavior made sense. But behind them? The children? The wives? Did they deserve to be treated like dangerous warriors?
“What do you want, Lamanite?” one of the soldiers asked, his voice soft. “Are you here to punish us for your failures on the field this day?”
“No.” He gave the Nephite a shake of his head.
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t know.” The answer surprised him almost as much as it appeared to surprise the Nephite. He couldn’t answer why he had come. He only knew that he had. “Maybe curiosity.”
The Nephite nodded. “Come to see the thieves your fathers spoke of?”
Mathoni frowned, and the Nephite let out a dry chuckle.
“Come,” he said, shaking his head. “Do not be surprised that we know the stories your people tell of us, of our ancient family.”
“I’m not here to talk about that either.”
“Are you here to talk about anything?” the Nephite asked. Then he frowned. “Or are you just here to stare at our women like some of your brethren?”
“No,” Mathoni said, shaking his head again as he crouched a few feet away from the prisoner. His legs burned, knots in the muscle protesting the treatment, but he ignored it. He would just have to deal with it. “I want you to tell me about the great betrayal.”
The Nephite frowned, along with several of the nearby prisoners. “I do not understand,” he said after a moment. “I believed that you did not wish to speak of ancient history and family.”
“Not that betrayal,” Mathoni said, shaking his head. “The one you may remember. The fall of our king. The Anti-Nephi-Lehis.”
“Oh.” The Nephite’s eyes had gone wide. “The people of Ammon.”
“Yes …” The name was new to him. He hadn’t heard it before. “The ones who were lead into slavery by your agents. The ones who usurped our king and turned him against his own people, leading them willfully to be your slaves.”
“It sounds as if there is little to talk about,” the Nephite said, shaking his head. “You have decided so much already.”
Mathoni scowled. “Do not patronize me, Nephite.”
“My name is Shem, son of Helam,” the Nephite said. “And if my manner seems rude, I apologize.” He lifted his bound hands. “I am not in the most … welcoming, you could say, of positions at the moment.”
“I am Mathoni, son of Opher.”
“Well then, Mathoni,” Shem said, dropping his hands to the earth. “What do you wish to talk about?”
Mathoni opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat. What did he wish to ask about? But there was only one clear answer.
“I want to know why my father never returned from the great betrayal,” he said. “And I want to know why my uncle never spoke of it, why he always looked at his sword as if it were a weight around his neck.”
Shem’s eyes went wide. “And you would expect me to have an answer?” he asked. “I have never met your father or your uncle.”
“No,” Mathoni agreed. “But you mocked my account of the great betrayal, so you may know something about it that I do not. Speak, Nephite.”
“And we return to ‘Nephite’ once more,” Shem began. “No, no, do not rise,” he said as Mathoni began to stand. “As I have said, I am not in the most welcome of moods at the moment. You wish to know of the people of Ammon?”
“If that is what you call those who left with the king your people drew away, whom our people set out to reclaim,” Mathoni said, his voice tight.
“Reclaim?” Once more the Nephite’s eyes widened. “You may not find solace in what I will relate.”
“Speak or I will leave.”
“And seek answers elsewhere,” Shem said, nodding. “Very well. You wish to know why your father never returned and your uncle will not speak of it?” He let out a long sigh. “I may not be able to provide a complete answer, but I may be able to bring some light to your troubles.”
Mathoni nodded. “I will listen to your account of things, then.”
Shem shook his head. “I was not there, Mathoni. So my account is not perfect. Nevertheless, it is the account had among my people.”
“We never came to steal away your king, or your people,” the warrior began. “Nor did we send agents to deceive. What you call the great betrayal we called a joyous occasion. The four who journeyed into your lands were sons of our last king, Aaron, Ammon, Himni, and Omner. They did not come to enslave, or to deceive, but to enlighten.”
“To trick and deceive,” Mathoni said.
“No.” Shem shook his head. “To educate. To bring to them the word of God, and teach those who would listen of His mercies. Perhaps even to mend the gulf between our two peoples.”
“And?” Mathoni prompted.
“They did,” Shem said. “They found great success among your people. Not at first—many cursed them and imprisoned them—but one of the four, the man called Ammon, had great success with the son of your king, a man named Lamoni. I do not know the exact events, nor how they transpired, but I do know that once your king saw the changes in his son and his people, he too grew curious. He, along with many of your people, converted to the Lord.”
“This is, what I assume, you refer to as the great betrayal,” Shem continued. “Your king declared freedom to worship as one chose—a choice some among your people did not agree with. Nor did they agree with his newfound belief, nor those of many of your brothers. You are familiar with the Amulonites, I expect?”
“In name only,” Mathoni admitted. “I can’t recall having met any.”
“It is likely you never will, unless you venture to the east,” Shem said. “What about the Amalekites?”
Mathoni frowned. “Those who follow King Amalickiah?”
Shem shook his head. “No, but similar. Once-Nephites who fled our people, forsaking our beliefs and laws. They have not been the only ones, sadly. But both they and the Amulonites lived among your people and counted themselves as Lamanites. They did not approve of the king’s newfound faith, nor of his new openness to us, the Nephites. So they stirred your people into rebellion.”
“What?”
Shem nodded. “They encouraged the rest of your people, the ones who did not believe, to turn on your king. So when your king died of old age, they crowned a new one of their own choosing and refused to follow your king’s chosen successor.”
It was a different story than the one Mathoni had been told growing up, but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was like another view of what he had already been told. Except in the account he had been told, the old king had been ensorcelled by Nephite lies, and then killed, depriving the Lamanites of a leader.
“Continue,” he said after a moment. “I would like to hear you finish your account.
“Those who had converted,” Shem continued, “saw the rising dissent among your people, and then the crowning of a new king, and determined to c
all themselves by a new name as a result: the Anti-Nephi-Lehis. Whether that was the moment that those who still called themselves Lamanites decided things had gone too far …” He lifted his brow. “Who can say? But driven by the Amulonites and the Amalekites, your people went to war with the Anti-Nephi-Lehis.”
Mathoni nodded. That much he had known. His father and uncle had left to fight the betrayers. Only one had returned, and he’d never quite been the same.
“But the Anti-Nephi-Lehis had sworn an oath to God to never lift a blade or weapon again,” Shem said. “And so when the Lamanites descended upon them they simply … let them kill them. By the hundreds. Such was the strength of their conviction that over a thousand of them died that day, struck down in the act of peacefully calling upon God, waiting to be killed. Not one lifted a blade to defend themselves.”
“But it did not end there,” Shem said before Mathoni could react. “Though the Amalekites and Amulonites drove your people to continue, the face of such slaughter was too much for them. Many of them threw down their weapons of war and refused to be part of the slaughter any longer, and joined instead with the people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi.”
“Those who would not throw down their arms and yet refused to fight instead turned their rage—and likely guilt—towards a new target. They entered Nephite lands and razed the city of Ammonihah to the ground, killing everyone inside of it. Our armies fought back, too late to save the city, but more than sufficient to force them back. Your people were routed, driven to your lands.”
“But the story does not end there,” he said as Mathoni opened his mouth. “Angry, your people finally found a proper target for their rage in those who had driven them so strongly to go to war in the first place: The Amulonites, who had also pushed them to go to such lengths. Your army turned on itself, and if the record is to be believed, burned most of the Amulonites alive wherever they could be found.”
“So,” Shem said, leaning forward. “When your people speak of a ‘great betrayal,’ perhaps you should ask them to be more clear.”
“But as for the Anti-Nephi-Lehis,” he said. “Your people were not content to let them be. After some time had passed, they again began to look at them like defenseless lambs. I expect that once again, our outcast brethren may have had something to do with that.”
“Then why do you send them to us?” Mathoni asked.
“We don’t,” Shem said. “They come to you, and your people welcome them with open arms, as they are an enemy of the Nephites, and any enemy of the Nephites is your friend.”
Mathoni frowned, but he could think of no simple answer to Shem’s accusation. After all, wasn’t that what had happened with Amalickiah? And now Amalickiah was king over all the Lamanites, after the Nephites had killed the old king, or so he had claimed. With an entire people waging war.
A war for his glory.
“In any case,” Shem said, “being able to see once again what had come before, the people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi petitioned our government for aid. Our nation put it to a vote, the judges gathered, and they were given a place among our people.” He paused, looking up at Mathoni.
“What?” Mathoni asked.
“I was waiting for you to say ‘as slaves,’ or make some other form of interruption,” Shem said. A few of the other Nephite warriors chuckled. Mathoni shot them a glare.
“We didn’t, though,” Shem said. “We gave them lands to call their own, and when the specter of war loomed over us once again, helped them move from Jershon to Melek so that they would not be in danger of once again falling under the blade of the Lamanites.”
“And that,” he said, leaning back, “is the story of the people of Ammon, your ‘great betrayal.’ Who did the betraying, I leave up to you.”
“And my father and my uncle?”
Shem lifted his brow and then shook his head. “I cannot say. Perhaps your father fell to the sword during a battle with our armies. Or perhaps he threw down his sword and joined the people of Ammon, though …” he said with a tilt of his head. “I find that unlikely, given how highly your people respect their marriage commitments. Had that happened, I believe he would have come back for you.”
“So slain in battle then,” Mathoni said, nodding. It didn’t hurt; it had happened a long time ago, and he’d assumed as much already. “And my uncle?”
“I would expect,” Shem said, “based on what you have said, that your uncle knows the truth of what transpired in that ‘great betrayal,’ and that his version of events is much closer to mine than to the one that you were raised with.”
“Then why not tell me?” Mathoni asked, an ember of annoyance rising in his chest. He raised his voice. “Why not tell the truth?”
“Lower your voice,” Shem said, jerking his head towards one of the nearby guards. “I doubt your captain would appreciate having his attention drawn to this conversation.”
Mathoni glanced at the guard, waving him away as the man started to step towards them. “It’s fine,” he said. “They are bound.” The guard, either not curious or deciding that it wasn’t worth his time, turned away.
“I can only guess at your uncle’s reasoning,” Shem said as Mathoni turned his attention back towards him. “But I would expect that the sword weighs heavy on him because of the truth of what he saw. Just as what you’ve seen weighs heavy on you.”
“What?” Mathoni shook his head. “How could you—?”
“I’ve fought in battle before,” Shem said. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes in the eyes of others. What you’ve seen haunts you. Was it the death, so quick and easy? Or was it something worse, like the way your captain murdered ours in cold blood?”
“I—”
“That is, I believe, your answer, Mathoni,” Shem said. “Now you know our account of the story, and you know the one that you were raised to believe. So tell me, which would leave your uncle with such a weight upon him? The account in which we stole away your people to make them our slaves? Or the one in which he was forced to watch his people slaughter brethren who refused to lift a hand to defend themselves? A slaughter which was vile enough that your people later turned on those who inspired it, burning them alive and driving their remnants from your lands forever?”
Shem fell silent, but Mathoni couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wanted to deny the Nephite’s words, reach out and strike him across the face for his lies and trickery, but … somehow he knew they were not lies. The story Shem had told him had made far more sense than any of the shortened explanations he had been given as a child.
It also explained both the reluctance of his uncle and his mother to ever speak about what happened to his father, or what his uncle had done during the great betrayal. His father had likely died … but perhaps not at the hands of a Nephite.
At the hands of a Lamanite, then, or an Amulonite, in a moment when brother had turned against brother.
Literally? The thought sprang into being, but he dismissed it as quickly as it had come. No, his father had not been an Amulonite. If he had been, from what Shem had said, then his uncle would have been one as well.
No wonder you never wished to speak about it, uncle, Mathoni thought. You saw it all—the real story, whatever it was. He didn’t quite trust everything Shem had told him. After all, Shem was a Nephite, and Nephites were liars.
Weren’t they?
“Do you have any other questions?”
Mathoni jerked as Shem’s question pulled him from his thoughts. “No,” he said, pushing himself up and then wincing as his legs cramped. “We’ve conversed enough.” He turned.
“North,” Shem said, his voice cutting through the dark.
“What?” Mathoni asked, glancing at the guard to check if the man had heard as he turned back.
“North,” Shem said again. “The people of Ammon live in the north. The land of Melek. If the Lamanite armies ever made it there, my people would have long since lost, but a single Lamanite, if committed, could—”
“Why are you
telling me this?”
“Because I believe you want to know,” Shem said.
“Know what?”
“Where you can find them.”
Mathoni scowled, then turned and strode away from Shem and the rest of the prisoners. His mind was spinning, reeling like a leaf caught in a summer storm. He needed time. Time to think, to let the turbulent currents of his mind, stirred up by Shem’s words, come to rest.
Antiomno was already asleep when he returned to the shelter, passed out on the ground after the hard day. The rest of the battle brothers were likewise spread about. Mathoni was the only one awake.
He lay down on his bedding, his eyes fixed on the roof of the shelter. Everything felt as though it had been turned on its head. Shem’s version of the great betrayal … the story he’d told … It all kept echoing through his mind, resonating with the haunted, gaunt look his uncle and mother had gotten every time he or his friends had asked about the great betrayal.
No wonder his uncle had decided to stay home when the call for war had come, to tend to flocks and crops. No wonder he’d had little to say when Mathoni had announced his intention to answer the king’s call.
He’d seen it before, Mathoni realized. Nephites lying and deceiving to make us play into their hands. Except it hadn’t been the Nephites as everyone thought of them.
It had been exiled Nephites, individuals who had been cast out, who had found a welcome ally in those who shared a common enemy.
An ally? he asked himself. Or a means to an end?
He thought of King Amalickiah, and how fortunate it had been for him that the Nephites had conspired to kill the former king.
Very fortunate, except that the Nephites never spoke of it. They never made claims, or attacked, or did anything but build their walls higher. They gained nothing from the death of the king but a war.
And Amalickiah? He had gotten a kingdom. And an army.
His thoughts were the thoughts of traitors, he knew. But he couldn’t drive them away. Sleep would not come.
Kumen and his execution-murder of the captive Nephite captain. The way they’d been encouraged to brutalize their prisoners. The fact that they were taking them back to basically be slaves, despite one of their reasons for going to war being to prevent such happening to them in the first place.
Unusual Events: A Short Story Collection Page 45
