Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  At the bottom of the path, armed guards opened a gate to let the oxcart in through the tall wooden fence. Next to the gate, attached to a tree branch, a flag hung limp in the still air, bearing a white antelope against a black background. It was the flag of Manasseh, Orran’s tribe.

  The wooden fence surrounded the whole area, which was bustling with workers in and around two large open pavilions, one at each end, and a few other structures. The river here was much wider than it was up near Aphek.

  The oxcart rolled through the gate and stopped near the pavilion on the right, at the upriver direction. A group of slaves, identified by their cropped hair, sleeveless long shirts, and bare feet, ran over to unload the cart. They sorted the hides into several piles under the large pavilion, which she estimated to measure at least fifty steps long and twenty wide. It had a thatched roof that rested on stone pillars. A manager in a fine coat and a wide-brimmed hat sat in a chair and counted the skins as they were taken off the oxcart. He used a scribe’s feather to record the information on a parchment.

  Deborah exhaled in relief. She had found the tannery. Now she would have to figure out a way to discover if Kassite still worked here.

  A large part of the fenced area, starting near the upriver pavilion, was taken up by rows of square in-ground tubs, each about six steps across. The tubs were filled with various liquids in dull shades of gray and brown, in which animal skins were soaking. Male slaves stepped on the skins to keep them submerged. Another area held worktables and flat rocks, where slaves worked on skins with tools and brushes. At the river’s edge, other slaves washed skins in the water, beat them in the mud, and rubbed them with stones.

  The second pavilion dominated the left side of the tannery, at the downriver direction, and seemed to be assigned to female slaves only. They were dressed in the same long, sleeveless shirts and wore no sandals, but unlike the men, the women covered their heads with scarves.

  Deborah remembered Sallan’s description of Kassite: “He is very tall and thin, and he speaks slowly.” She watched the male slaves, seeking one who matched the physical aspects of the description. Most of them were short, and the few tall ones were too young to be Kassite. She tried again, focusing on each area of the tannery in turn, peering at individual slaves one at a time, paying particular attention to the tall ones. Still, she couldn’t find even one who was remotely old enough. Worse yet, seeing how grueling the tannery work was, she realized that the absence of old slaves made perfect sense. Who could survive to an old age in a place like this?

  A fog of despair descended on her. Was this the end of her quest? Was she destined to remain in the confines of womanhood? Was she wrong to believe that delivering God’s message from Palm Homestead was her True Calling?

  The slaves finished unloading the skins. The manager got up from his chair and walked over to speak with the two oxcart drivers. Now that he was on his feet, she could see that the manager was very tall and thin. Despite his fine leather boots, he walked with a pronounced limp. It reminded Deborah of Sallan, who limped due to losing a foot after trying to escape the Moabite marauders with Kassite, who had suffered the same punishment. And this manager also looked as old as Sallan. Was this a coincidence, or could she be looking at Kassite?

  Studying him carefully from her discreet spot on the hillside, Deborah noticed that his manner radiated an authority and confidence that befitted a prosperous free man, not a slave. Besides, wouldn’t the salesman at Orran’s shop in Aphek have recognized Kassite’s name if the Edomite slave had risen to become the manager of the tannery?

  No, this man couldn’t be Kassite. She had to keep looking at the slaves and try to identify one whose appearance came close to Sallan’s description.

  At the upriver part of the tannery, behind the pavilion, Deborah could see a large stone oven emitting a column of smoke. A few women were preparing food on a wooden table near the oven. Through the stench of the tannery, she caught a whiff of meat roasting.

  Tired of watching the men, Deborah turned her attention to the woman area on the downriver side of the tannery. Their pavilion was of similar size and had the same rectangular thatched roof, but the open sides were equipped with sheets of cloth that hung from the crossbeams, blocking her view of the activity inside. Female slaves worked near the curtained pavilion, stitching, sewing, and applying dye with brushes. The women went in and out of the pavilion through the curtains, carrying skins or buckets of water from the river.

  The third prominent structure, near the upriver end of the tannery, was a wood-and-straw house built on stilts over the slow-moving water. It was connected to land with a short wooden bridge. The perimeter fence, which was twice the height of a grown man and made of wooden planks and cross beams, created a solid wall that encircled the whole tannery and reached into the river at both ends. Anyone wishing to enter or exit the tannery, other than through the gate, would have to wade a good distance into the water and back to land. On the inside, the fence was covered with skins. Deborah assumed they’d been hung up to dry. On the outside, all around the fence, the ground was cleared of vegetation to create a wide path. The guards patrolled it on foot. Altogether, she saw eight guards outside, and none inside. While not on patrol, they sat under a tree near the gate and appeared bored. Further back, a corral held eight horses, as well as several cows and goats.

  Having watched the activity below for a long while, Deborah noticed that there were no supervisors walking around with whips, yet the slaves—who numbered well over one hundred men and almost as many women—worked diligently and seemed to know exactly what was expected of them.

  The manager rang a bell.

  The male slaves left their work and lined up in front of the oven near the east pavilion. The women pulled several heavy pots out of the oven and began doling out food into wooden bowls. Each man received a piece of meat and a chunk of bread, bowed before the manager, and sat on the ground under the pavilion to eat. One of the guards came in through the gate and collected food for all of them. He also bowed before the manager, though not as deeply as the slaves had.

  Deborah’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten or drunk for hours.

  The male slaves finished eating and returned to work. A few of them went behind the pavilion to use the latrines, which were partitioned by waist-high wooden grates. The slaves’ upper bodies could be seen as they relieved themselves before returning to work.

  Once the male slaves had finished eating, women came out of the curtained pavilion and, together with the women who had been working outside, lined up to collected their food. They bowed to the manager and returned to the west side of the tannery to eat their meal. The women also had a set of latrines behind their pavilion, similarly partitioned at waist level.

  When all the slaves had finished eating, one of the women tending to the oven filled a bowl and took it to the manager. He ate quickly, seated in his chair under the pavilion, and returned the bowl to the women by the oven. From there, he walked down the length of the tannery, stopping at various points to inspect the work of the slaves and provide instructions. Deborah was too far away to hear what he said, but she could tell that he spoke calmly and enjoyed the total obedience of the slaves, who seemed eager to please him. His limp, which didn’t interfere with his mobility, appeared to be the result of an injury to his left foot. She wondered whether it was missing altogether, as Sallan’s was.

  The manager entered the curtained pavilion and spent a long time inside.

  Meanwhile, several male slaves went to both sets of latrines and carried out open barrels. Judging by their strained faces and bulging muscles, Deborah guessed that the barrels were filled with human waste. The slaves emptied the barrels into some of the open tubs. The yellow urine and chunks of feces were visible on top of the soaking skins in the tubs. Deborah was shocked to see several of the slaves step into the tubs and stomp repeatedly to beat the feces into the skins.

  “You, woman!” It was one of the guards, and he was pointing
up at her from the gate. “What are you doing there?”

  Deborah felt a chill. She should have hidden better.

  “Come down here!”

  She considering making a run for it, but the guards had horses—and besides, she hadn’t given up on finding Kassite here.

  “Right now, woman!”

  Her hands shaking, Deborah collected her sack and made sure the scarf was tied properly, covering her face. Whatever happened, she told herself, Yahweh would protect her until she found the Elixirist.

  Two other guards joined the first one, and they watched her coming down the path toward the gate.

  Chapter 34

  The three guards waited for Deborah at the bottom of the path. The others watched from where they sat under the tree. She tried to walk with poise, feigning purposeful certainty, though her legs barely obeyed her and she had to clench her fists to hide the shaking.

  “What’re you doing up there?” The guard rested his hand on the handle of his sword. “Spying on us?”

  Deborah shook her head.

  “Who sent you? The Canaanites? The men of Ephraim?”

  She tried to speak, but fear muted her.

  The guard picked up a stick and poked her in the chest. “Answer, woman!”

  Deborah cleared her throat. “I’m looking for a man.”

  The guards looked at each other and burst out laughing. One of those sitting under the tree yelled, “I’m ready! Come here!”

  “Kassite.” Deborah coughed to hide the tremor in her voice. “That’s his name. Kassite. Do you know him?”

  “You can call me Kassite.” The guard holding the stick pulled at her scarf, exposing her face. “Ah, you’re a young one.”

  “Look at her cheesy skin,” another said. “What are you? An Edomite?”

  “No, I’m from—”

  “Show us more skin, girl.”

  “Make her,” the others goaded him. “Make her!”

  He grabbed the lapel of her robe. “You heard them. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Deborah pulled away, stepped back, and stumbled, falling down.

  The guard came after her, smirking.

  She got up quickly and raised her hand, displaying the ring on her finger. “My husband is coming!”

  The guard paused and glanced back at his friends.

  “He’s coming,” she said, “with his soldiers!”

  “She’s lying,” a guard yelled from under the tree. “No husband would let a young wife run around alone like this.”

  “Cheating little mouse.” The guard waved his stick. “Get back here.”

  Resisting the urge to flee, Deborah remembered Zariz’s advice when he’d taught her how to ride: “You must pretend to be confident, or the horse will not respect you.” These guards were animals, she decided, like horses.

  “My husband will flog you,” she said, “until the skin is gone from your back. And then he’ll demand compensation from Orran of Manasseh for your attack on me. Would you like to be sold off as slaves to pay my husband? Would you?”

  Her audacity worked. The grins faded, and the guards looked at each other, unsure what to do.

  Before they had time to recover, she said, “I wish to see Kassite. Call him out.”

  They didn’t respond, and she couldn’t tell whether they’d recognized the name. It was the longest moment of her life, because if Kassite couldn’t be found here, she would truly need a message from Yahweh to tell her where to go next.

  Finally, one of them said, “We don’t know this name.”

  It was the response she’d dreaded, but Deborah wasn’t ready to give up. She steadied her voice. “Do you know all the slaves’ names?”

  The guard shook his head.

  That was a ray of hope. “Then call the manager over,” she said. “I’ll speak with him.”

  He opened the gate and went inside. A few minutes later, he returned with the manager, who was even taller than he had seemed from a distance. The brim of his hat sheltered his face from the sun, but she could see his eyes, alight with a bright-gray hue that radiated youthfulness in stark contrast to his weathered skin.

  “What is the problem, girl?” He spoke in the Edomite language.

  Her heartbeat quickened. Not only his age, height, and limp matched Sallan’s description, but he spoke Sallan’s language, too. Slave or not, either the manager was Kassite, or this was a cruel coincidence.

  She glanced at the guards.

  The manager turned to them and said in Hebrew, “Leave us.”

  They bowed and stepped away.

  “I bring you personal regards,” she said, “from an old friend.”

  “A friend?” The manager spoke slowly. “I do not have any friends.”

  “Sallan.”

  His expression remained blank. “What did you say?”

  “Sallan,” she repeated. “Your old friend sends his regards.”

  Had Deborah not been watching him keenly, she would have missed the slight widening of his eyes and the slow, barely perceptible exhalation that caused his posture to lose a tad of its erectness.

  The manager cleared his throat. “I do not know this name.”

  “But he said—”

  “Go away, girl.”

  Deborah couldn’t believe it. “Sallan sent me! It’s the truth!”

  The manager turned to the guards, raising his voice. “If she is not gone in one minute, you may do with her as you wish.”

  Without giving her another look, he went back into the tannery.

  The guards advanced at her, grinning. Deborah grabbed her sack and ran. Halfway up the path, she glanced back and saw the guards still at the bottom of the path, laughing. One of them dashed uphill after her. She cried and sped up. At the top, she turned onto the Sea Highway and ran as fast as she could. Rounding the bend in the road, fearing that the guard might still be chasing her, she went off the road and plunged into the bushes. Deborah pushed through the dense vegetation for some distance down the embankment, found a small clearing, and collapsed. She curled up on the ground, panting and shaking, and hugged her sack to her chest.

  Chapter 35

  The sounds of birds woke Deborah up. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but here she was, curled on the ground in a small clearing on the hillside above the river. The birds flew here and there through the bushes, squealing urgently.

  A large shadow passed above, and she heard thrashing in the branches a few steps away, followed by a sharp shriek. Rising to her feet, she saw a hawk take off, its wide wings flapping, a gray rodent clutched in its talons. She watched the hawk fly out over the river and swing around, heading downstream, past the jutting edge of the tannery fence, and land on the thatched roof of the stilts-supported house. The hawk pinned down its prey, belly up, and tore into it, pulling out strings of bloody intestines and yellow-tinged internal organs while the rodent continued to paw the air as if trying to run away. The rapid assault made for a nauseating spectacle, but she couldn’t look away. The hawk’s speed and precision in executing the attack, transporting its catch to a safe location, and devouring it with such shocking efficiency, mesmerized her.

  Its meal consumed, the hawk flew away, leaving behind a red blotch and a circle of bloody tufts of fur on the thatched roof. Deborah watched the hawk grow smaller until it disappeared in the hazy western horizon, where the sun was setting. She wished to be powerful and fearless like that hawk, to find what she needed, take it without hesitation or remorse, and fly away, out of sight and out of reach, free and safe. Why had Yahweh endowed this hawk with such gifts while leaving her weak and vulnerable, an easy prey to wicked men?

  The injustice of it all enraged Deborah. She recalled the manager telling the guards, “If she’s not gone in one minute, you may do with her as you wish.” His words had been vicious, but his eyes weren’t. In fact, when he heard Sallan’s name, his indifference briefly lifted, replaced not by surprise or joy, but by something else. Reflecting on it now, she real
ized that the manager’s reaction, while subtle, had consisted of shock and apprehension. Why?

  She must find out!

  Collecting her sack, Deborah pushed through the thicket, slowly making her way downhill to the riverbank. Yahweh might have deprived her of the ability to fly over the water and reach her destination easily, but she could still get there the hard way, confront the manager, and force him to admit that he knew Sallan. Either the manager was Kassite, or he had learned Sallan’s name from Kassite and could tell her where to find him.

  Twilight was getting bleaker when Deborah reached the water’s edge. A few hundred steps south, she saw the tannery fence jutting into the river. She began to advance slowly, hunched over to avoid being seen.

  Near the fence, she ducked, made sure the guards weren’t on patrol, and waded into the river. She held her sack above the water, which reached above her hips before the bottom flattened out. It wasn’t cold, and the current was slow. She hoped there were no dangerous animals or snakes under the surface. Coming around the end of the fence, she stayed low in the water so that only her head showed as she advanced toward shore.

  The stench inside the fence was even worse. She breathed through her mouth. Edging along the inside of the fence, she approached the riverbank. The short bridge connecting the house to the shore concealed her from the rest of the tannery. She pulled the hood of her robe over her hair, adjusted the scarf across her face, and stepped out of the water.

  The tannery buzzed with activity, and the approaching darkness shielded her from attention. She was now at the east end of the tannery, in the upriver direction, where the men worked. The manger was siting in the pavilion, sipping from a wooden cup, examining a parchment against a small lamp. Deborah walked over and stood before him. He rolled up the parchment and put it aside, his pale eyes peering at her from under the rim of his hat.