“Of course, seren. It will be my pleasure to do so.” If this festival proved to be a triumph, I planned to announce that my fighting days were over, but now was not the time to take my stand on that front.
Jaru respectfully took his leave, seeming only slightly more reassured about the festival than he was before I spoke, just as a young messenger padded into the room to whisper something in Nicaro’s ear. With a nod of dismissal, the king drained his mug of beer and stood, slapping his palms on his thighs. “I need to go down to the courtyard and meet with Virka and Grabos, who’ve just returned from a raid. Why don’t you”—he gestured toward Igo, who’d still not taken his eyes from me—“and your great beast walk with me?”
“It would be my honor,” I replied, glad that the king had returned to his normal cordial manner of speaking with me. The sacrifice of a small portion of land was worth disproving whatever Jaru had said to cause Nicaro’s odd behavior earlier. I’d come too far to let some palace guard get in the way of my plans.
Igo’s nails clicked against the tile floor in perfect cadence with my steps as we headed through the great hall toward the grand entrance at the opposite end.
“How is my daughter?” asked Nicaro, as soon as we were alone. “I’ve been so occupied as of late that I’ve barely even seen my wives, let alone my children.”
“She is well,” I said. “She and the other ladies are entertaining themselves with games in the women’s courtyard.”
“Are they indeed?” He gave me an indulgent smile. “Mariada may be a sweet girl, but she is highly competitive.”
I laughed, thinking of the way she’d used her elbow against Jasara. “As I saw firsthand.”
His brows arched. “Did you?”
“I taught Mariada and Jasara a simple dice game that I played as a boy in the streets of Ashdod, and after a few of the tosses, I worried they might pull each other’s hair out diving for tokens.”
He chuckled. “An issue one deals with on a regular basis when multiple wives and concubines live in close proximity.”
“I would imagine so.” I’d noticed during my visits that although Amunet frequently joined his daughters for meals and amusement, his second and third wives rarely took part. And the concubines were never in attendance, likely at Amunet’s request. I could not see the proud woman appreciating reminders of her husband’s divided attentions, even if it was expected behavior for a man in power.
“Think twice before you take a second wife, my friend. It’s expected of me as king, of course, since it is important for me to forge connections with other dignitaries, but it can be more hassle than it is worth. There are plenty of pleasures to be had elsewhere.”
Deeply uneasy with my soon-to-be-bride’s father giving me leave to stray from my marriage bed, I nodded and made a noncommittal hum in my throat. Although I was not ignorant of the ways of the Philistines, many of whose commitment to marriage vows were loose at best, I’d spent eight years watching the mutual regard and open affection between Elazar and Yoela and had silently coveted such a deep connection. A lifelong bond that I’d once hoped to share with Shoshana.
Although my behavior over these past years was in no way blameless, and I knew Elazar would be deeply ashamed if he knew its extent, and although I was in no way enamored of Mariada the way I’d been with Shoshana when I was young, I would be faithful, no matter what justifications her own father might have for sharing himself with more than one woman.
“You mentioned playing dice in the street as a boy,” said Nicaro. “Tell me more about your childhood.”
Thrown by the odd question, I hesitated for a few moments. Was he suddenly concerned that my upbringing was not worthy of his daughter? “What would you like to know?”
“What circumstances led you to Harrom and Jacame’s house?”
I relaxed, remembering that he was well-acquainted with my aunt and uncle. “My mother died shortly after my birth. My father went to sea two years later and never returned.”
“Is that so?”
“He came from a far north place. I do not even know its name. But after my mother died, he returned to it. Or perhaps his ship went down on the way. I have no way of knowing.”
“I see. And then your aunt and uncle died in the plagues.”
I nodded. Watching the two of them suffer from the black boils that overtook their bodies was one of the most terrifying things I’d ever seen. I’d had nightmares for years after that—ones that I’d hidden from Risi because I knew how much it would upset her. The fact that she and I survived the devastation of Harrom’s household, and with minimal effects, was a miracle. Risi had attributed it to Azuvah, saying she’d anointed us with oil and prayed to her invisible God to save us, but if there was such a god, he would care nothing for two foreign children. It was simply good fortune. We weren’t the only ones to survive in Ashdod. Mataro had as well, and he certainly hadn’t offered sacrifices to Yahweh.
“And so your cousin raised you after that?” asked Nicaro. “Taught you to be a fighter?”
There was something in his tone, a renewal of that frosty edge from earlier that unsettled me. Perhaps it was best to unspool a small measure of the mystery to allay any suspicions he might be entertaining. However, I needed to frame my words carefully, like I had with Mariada.
“For a while,” I said. “But my older sister and I ran away after she had a falling-out with Mataro.”
“You have a sister?”
“I do. But she’s . . . gone.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat, and his blue eyes became even more intense.
“And this sister helped you survive?”
By joining us to a Hebrew family, I thought. “Risi was always my champion,” I hedged. “She would have done anything to protect me as a boy—even from our cousin, whose interests she insisted were less than honorable toward us.”
And now that I knew the truth of who Mataro was and what he’d done to Azuvah, I was grateful that she’d done so, even though at the time I’d been angry she made us leave. She must have been so terrified that night. She’d been only twelve years old at the time and had taken on the responsibility for her stubborn seven-year-old brother.
Even as we walked through the main hall, the king was watching me closely. I wondered how much of my regret was playing out across my face.
“Where did you go,” he asked, “when you ran from Ashdod?”
The truth merged with the lie so quickly, I barely had to consider my response. “Ekron,” I replied, remembering the overwhelming busyness of the city just to the east of here where we’d first gone in search of the Ark, along with my fascination with an enormous man we’d encountered there. One of the giant and elusive mercenaries employed by the Philistine army had been entering the gates of Ekron that day, and I’d vowed then that I would someday rival him in strength and ferocity. “My sister found a family to take us in and worked their gardens. It wasn’t until she married that I decided to return.”
Of course, I did not mention that the family was Hebrew and those beautiful and prolific gardens Risi tended were atop the mountain of Kiryat-Yearim, not too far from where the Ark of the Covenant was hidden among a grove of ancient cedar trees.
Seemingly mollified by my explanation, he smiled as we emerged from the palace into the sunlight, not far from the area in which I’d fought the Phoenician the day I’d glimpsed Shoshana for the first time. “And when did you return?”
Virka and Grabos, along with a small contingent of soldiers, were waiting in the courtyard below. They were surrounding what looked to be a group of prisoners, their arms bound behind them and cords connecting their feet into a human chain.
Although I was distracted by the sight, I knew he was still waiting for my answer. “I was fifteen when I came back to Ashdod. My cousin was more than generous to take me into his home and soon thereafter to arrange my first few fights.”
Nicaro paused at the top of the stairs, not looking at me as he gestu
red for Virka and Grabos to join us. “And yet it seems you’ve parted ways with Mataro.”
The question sounded innocuous, but the hair on the back of my neck rose. How would he have known such a thing? I’d not aired my grievances with my cousin publicly and had remained cordial with those whose connections we shared.
“We are still family,” I replied carefully. “I’ve merely outgrown the need for his counsel.”
He stared at me for a few prolonged moments, but I kept my expression blank until he broke into another indulgent smile. “As one does, of course. You are no longer a boy by any measure. But I do hope you’ll consider my counsel from time to time.”
“Above all others,” I said as Virka and Grabos reached us. Igo shuffled backward a couple of steps, a soft whine in his throat. I reached out a hand to soothe him, and he bumped against my thigh, taking reassurance in my nearness. How he’d come to trust me so completely in such a short time was astounding, but I was grateful for it. The house wasn’t nearly as lonely with him breathing deeply on the floor beside me all night.
“It looks as though you’ve returned with victory in hand,” Nicaro said to his commanders.
They both bowed in deference. “We have, seren. We’ve taken Zanoah.”
Realizing that the captives below were Hebrews, my eyes skimmed over each of their faces. Even though the town of Zanoah was a ways south of Kiryat-Yearim, it was not outside the realm of possibility that I might know someone there. There were fifteen of them: nine men, three women, and three children—two girls of about eleven and a boy who could not be any older than nine. Although I recognized none of them, I could not help but compare the boy to Yonah, whose blue-black curls were a similar shade. But this boy did not have a foot that twisted inward, causing a halting shuffle, and the eight-year-old who used to call me a brother would now be a man.
Even though none of the captives were Hebrews that I’d known during my time in Kiryat-Yearim, I could not escape the fact that, besides being bloodied and filthy, all of the women’s tunics were cut to the navel, their faces blank of expression and their eyes hollow, as if they’d been stripped of not only their hope, but of humanity itself.
Everything Shoshana had told me the other night came back in a furious rush. Had she once stood right here, breasts bared and her violation blatantly on display?
I’d done my best to quash images of what she’d endured since she revealed the truth to me, wanting to keep my focus on plotting ways to free her and her child, but there was nothing to do now but let the truth of it wash over me in a putrid wave.
She’d been raped—violently, if the condition of these women was any indication. And as she’d said, the Philistine soldiers were under no compunction to treat prisoners of war with anything resembling respect. There was no Torah law here to keep the soldiers’ depravities and lust for dominance in check. If anything, such demoralizing atrocities were encouraged among them.
And yet, Shoshana had survived. For the sake of her child, she’d refused to let the darkness overcome her. I’d always known she was strong. Even as a girl her backbone was like a rod of iron, and in some ways, I wondered if she was much stronger than I was.
I had run away like a spoiled child all the way to Ashdod, wounded by my perceptions of Risi and Ronen’s conversation, along with what I’d thought was Shoshana’s rebuff. I’d run away instead of standing strong and acting like the man I’d insisted I was back then.
In my musings over both the past and the horrors Shoshana had endured, I’d missed most of the conversation between Nicaro and his commanders regarding the raid, but when the king asked what was planned for the prisoners, my attention snapped back to him.
“There’s a transport to Egypt in a few days,” said Virka. “Let Pharaoh have the men for his brickfields to replace those he lost a few hundred years ago.”
They all laughed and although my entire body was strung as tightly as a bowstring, I forced a smile as well.
“If only we could send all of them back to Egypt,” said Grabos. “It would make our task so much easier.”
“Indeed,” said Nicaro. “If I have my way, we’ll eradicate the whole lot.”
It was no secret that the kings of Philistia coveted the Hebrews’ territories and the lucrative trade routes they now controlled. But these men were not speaking of merely subjugating the tribes of Israel and demanding tribute. They wanted the destruction of them all—which would include Elazar and Yoela’s family, along with Risi and Ronen’s.
For the first time since I’d returned to Ashdod, the struggle between our two peoples became very personal, as did the realization that I had been willfully blind to the truth of Nicaro’s ultimate goal.
“And the rest of them?” asked Nicaro.
“A trader from Ashkelon has already asked to claim the women. The children are meant for the temple.”
Cold sickness spread through my body. These innocents had no idea what horrors lie ahead, but I was not so ignorant. Fury rose in me like I’d never experienced before, even on the fighting grounds. But what could I do? If I made an attempt to fight the soldiers, it would only get me killed. And even if by some miracle I managed to best all twelve of them, and their commanders, none of us would make it past the gates of the city, where a constant guard of ten stood at the ready.
I ground my teeth together. I was the champion of Ashdod and the Master of the Games. Surely I could find some way to help these people!
Like a stone-tipped arrow, an idea struck me between the eyes, one that must be handled with the upmost care. Although it gutted me to accept that though there was nothing I could do for the women and children, the men were another matter.
“The land must be cleared for the Festival of Games,” I said, interrupting whatever Grabos had been saying. “It seems foolish to send able-bodied slaves to Egypt when we could utilize them here first.” Then, in order to throw them off whatever suspicions might be forming, I grinned, allowing Demon Eyes to bleed through my demeanor. “Pharaoh’s waited hundreds of years for their return. What’s a couple of weeks more?”
I didn’t know what I would do once the Hebrews were in my safekeeping, or whether I could find a way to free them, but at least I could give them a reprieve while I considered my options.
Nicaro agreed to my proposal and ordered Virka to have his soldiers lock them in one of the rooms at the city gates until I was prepared to transport them to the olive farm. As well, he offered a rotation of four well-armed guards to ensure that the Hebrews complied with my orders and remained locked inside the watchtower at the center of my vineyard.
The men who were somehow now under my charge were herded by Virka and Grabos and their men toward the courtyard gates, and behind them came the three despondent women with shoulders bowed and heads down.
A shriek burst from the mouth of one of the young girls below, followed by a wail of “Ima!” The child lurched toward the parade of woebegone captives, crying out for her mother and dragging along the other girl, whom she was tied to.
One of the women looked back over her shoulder, the blankness wiped from her expression and replaced with utter despair. She stumbled as she tried to catch a glimpse of her frantic child and was rewarded with a vicious blow to her shoulder blade by the butt of a spear.
To my horror, one of the two remaining soldiers slammed the back of his hand against the little girl’s cheek, the hit so powerful that she and the other girl were both thrown to the ground in a tangled heap, sobbing and clinging to each other’s bound hands, and both now screaming for their mother. Cursing the children, the men made an attempt to drag the girls back to standing and apart from one another, but the Hebrew boy suddenly entered the melee. Somehow the child had freed himself from his bonds while no one was paying attention, the cord now hanging from only one wrist. With a battle cry every bit as ferocious as a warrior, he threw himself onto the back of one of the soldiers, one arm locked around the man’s neck. The other soldier could do nothing to
help since he was busy wrangling the two girls.
Beside me, Igo was agitated, whining and shifting his paws side to side, even rumbling a low growl as the soldier struggled with the boy clinging to him like a barnacle, demanding that the men release the girls. His command was delivered in a voice that was trembling with both fear and ferocity, and before I’d even thought through the implications, my legs were striding toward him.
After a surprising amount of effort, I managed to pry the boy off the back of the red-faced soldier and twisted his arm back with just enough pressure that he yelped. Then, I once again dredged up Demon Eyes and began to laugh.
The harried soldier on the ground blinked up at me in confusion, and even the two little girls paused their frantic fight against their captor, looking up at me with faces streaked with tears, blood, and dirt. I turned away from the gut-wrenching sight.
If I believed that any god cared about them, I would have prayed for their lives. But nothing could save them. I could manipulate Nicaro into using the men as conscripted labor, but there was no feasible excuse for me to purchase two little girls for my household.
The boy, however . . .
“I want this one,” I said, grinning up at the king.
“What possible use would you have for that?” Nicaro called to me.
The boy was trembling. With no understanding of our language, he would see me only as a fearsome enemy three times his size.
“Did you see how strong he is? He had your soldier there in a fighting hold. He’s ripe for training. And young enough that I can mold him easily.”
“You want to turn a Hebrew boy into a fighter?”
“When I’m through with him, he won’t even remember he was a Hebrew. Only that he belongs to me.” I twisted the boy’s arm harder, provoking him to fall to one knee. I hated to hurt him, but I had to play the part perfectly. “I’ll pay double whatever the priests offered. He’s wasted in the temple.”
Nicaro’s brows arched.
I unleashed my most arrogant smile. “He’ll make me even richer than I already am.”
Between the Wild Branches Page 14
