And so it went for a long while, the two of us trading blows and working to knock the other off-balance, but neither of us giving much ground. If only I had use of the powerful kicks that had served me in past bouts against men larger than me. One blow to the right spot in the man’s torso would have brought him to the ground, no matter his size, but I could not kick with my right leg when my injured left would not hold me steady. Mataro had made certain that my left leg was little more than a damaged prop and not the weapon it had been earlier this morning.
As it was, I was forced to rely on feinting tactics and my ability to slither out of his untrained holds in order to keep up a varied pattern of punches that caught him off-guard, hoping that I would wear the big man down enough that he would make a mistake.
Annoyed with the last hit that had caught him beneath the chin and forced him to bite his own tongue, he lunged for me, blood drooling from his mouth, and slammed his own fist into my side, directly into the place Mataro had cut me. I could not help but cry out as pain radiated up my body. Although I twisted free of him, I saw the moment he realized what I had—the sutures in my side had broken free. I could feel the trickle of blood down my side and knew the linen would already be turning scarlet.
His eyes flared, and a sneer turned his already fearsome face into something sinister when his attention flicked down to my leg. Nausea flared in my throat as I anticipated what was to come, but I could not hesitate. I lashed out with two more hits to his face, but neither had my usual power. He volleyed back with a slap to the side of my head that had my ears ringing.
Before I could rebound from the hit, he kicked me directly in the left leg, and all I could see for a few moments was stars of every hue streaking across my sight. While I was reeling, I received more blows to the face and one in the side that made me gasp in agony as a rib gave way. And then, before my mind had even caught up from the attack, I was on the ground.
The mood of the crowd had shifted drastically. No longer were they screaming my name in triumph. Instead, there were hisses and droning noises of disapproval—perhaps for me, perhaps for my opponent, but it would not be long before they turned on me. Perhaps Nicaro would even let the giant tear me apart like Tombaal had wanted done to Igo. I was nothing more than a dog to these people, after all.
The giant had somehow gotten his thick arm around my neck and was squeezing, stealing my breath, his huge body pressing my own into the dirt so thoroughly that I could barely move. I could do nothing but grip his forearm and tear at it, making a futile attempt at pulling in a breath as my sight wavered.
How fitting that my life would end here in the very same dirt that my fame and fortune had purchased, beneath a giant like the one I’d swore I would one day rival. My one consolation as everything faded into darkness and the crowd bellowed their disappointment was that at least my family, all of it, was safe in Kiryat-Yearim. I could practically smell the sweetness of the forest air, see my sister beckoning me homeward, and hear my Tesi calling my name from under our sycamore tree. . . .
Thirty-Three
I groaned. There was no part of me that did not hurt, especially my left leg and my side, which felt like it had been stitched up again. Worst of all was the fiery brand searing my throat. I made an attempt to swallow, but it only enflamed the throbbing pain. The giant must have damaged something deep inside.
I peeled my eyes open, another painful move since the left one was swollen shut, and found nothing but blackness. I must be in the watchtower again, which made no sense at all since I should be dead in the middle of the fighting grounds. I was so broken they hadn’t even bothered to bind my hands and feet.
Although I could not see anything, I felt a presence in the room.
“Teitu?” I rasped, the whisper causing another bolt of agony in my throat.
But there was no response from my friend in the dark. Only thick silence and the odd feeling that someone was there, watching me. I tried again, but when no whisper returned to me, dread began to settle into my bruised bones.
After a third time with no response, I accepted the truth. No one was here with me. I’d lost the fight and Nicaro’s men had come for Teitu. Were they even now torturing him for my failure to best the giant? I could blame Mataro for his ambush, but ultimately it was my fault that Teitu would be blinded and maimed.
I let my face fall back to the ground, welcoming the throbbing pain in every one of my extremities. I deserved to hurt.
Feeling even more defeated than I’d been with my face pressed into the dirt by that Gazan, I fell into sleep again. When a burst of sunlight woke me, I cursed the fact that I was still alive.
A large man hunched through the small doorway, and I expected that he’d be dragging Teitu’s mutilated body, but instead Jaru alone stood before me with an unreadable expression on his face.
“I was not certain you would awaken,” he said, frowning as he took in the mangled mess of bruises and bloody abrasions that must now be my face.
“Teitu?” I managed to rasp through the fire in my throat.
Jaru’s jaw worked back and forth, as if he were physically holding back his response.
“Blind?” I pressed.
“He’s gone, Lukio.”
I shook my head.
His response was far too gentle for a man who was supposed to be my jailor. “When I checked on him just before your fight began, he’d passed. I am sorry.”
I stared at Jaru, unwilling to accept that the man who’d been so undeservedly loyal to me was truly gone.
“How?” I managed to grit through teeth that ached just as badly as every other part of me.
“His injuries were severe,” he replied, but Azuvah’s son would not look me in the eye.
“Tell me,” I demanded, uncaring that I was aggravating the damage in my throat.
“He is gone, Lukio. Let us leave it at that.”
Whatever had happened, Jaru had every intention of keeping the details to himself for some reason. And perhaps it was for the best. At least Teitu was at rest now, after all he’d suffered.
“May his memory be a blessing,” whispered Jaru, in the tongue of his mother.
I kept my silence, mourning the man I’d never known was such a loyal friend until it was too late.
“The king is on his way here,” Jaru said. “I am to bring you out before him.”
I heaved a sigh and made an attempt to get to my feet, but my wounded leg would not hold me. Jaru slipped his arm around my torso, taking enough of my weight on him that I could stand.
“My servants?” I whispered, hoping he’d remembered my request from a few days before.
“Arrangements have been made for them all,” he replied.
Overcome by gratitude, all I could do was swallow down the sharp lump in my ruined throat and nod my thanks. “And Mariada?”
“They know she took the child, but she managed to convince them that you and Shoshana manipulated her into doing so. Besides, once Nicaro found out that the babe was Hebrew, he turned his anger on Tela and Amunet. Don’t fear for Mariada. My son remains as a guard in the palace. He will watch over her.”
I exhaled, comforted by the knowledge that she would not suffer for her part in this and that Jaru would make certain she was safe.
“It has been an honor to know you, Lukio,” Jaru said in a low tone.
I looked into the eyes that were the same as the woman who sang me to sleep when I was a child and who loved me so well that she offered her life for mine. I marveled again that her son had been brought into my life in such an extraordinary way. “You do your mother great credit, Jaru. If you ever need refuge, go to Kiryat-Yearim.”
He acknowledged my words with only a silent nod, as if he were too overwhelmed to speak, then helped me squeeze through the narrow opening, something that was infinitely more agonizing than when I’d crawled through it yesterday.
The sun blinded me for a few moments as I emerged, but once my lopsided vision cleared, my lush vin
eyard spread out around me like a paradise, the vines soon to be heavy with fruit. My silver-leafed olive trees shivered in the distance beneath a gentle salt-air breeze. At least I would die beneath a beautiful blue sky with the smell of green in my nose.
Jaru’s six men stood in a semicircle around me, with their hands on their weapons, as if I would lunge at them any moment. Even after my defeat, they feared Demon Eyes, a fact that I once would have reveled in and now meant nothing at all.
Instead, the once-revered champion of Ashdod slumped to the ground the moment Jaru released me, my legs shaking so badly they could not hold my weight. I sat there, with my back to the stone wall of the tall watchtower. Instead of thinking on what agonies lay before me, I closed my eyes and pictured my Tesi with her children, her laughter bright as she explored the woods with them like we did when we were young. Somehow, the images assuaged a small measure of the pain.
But when I opened my eyes again a short while later, the king of Ashdod was five paces away, staring at me with cool condescension.
“Where is it?”
I did not answer.
“Where?” he urged, no longer dispassionate. “Where is it? I sent someone to Beth Shemesh. You lied.”
I’d wondered if he might not be too impatient to wait for me to dig the hole. I simply shrugged at him. Teitu was gone, anyhow.
“Tell me or you die.”
I summoned Demon Eyes one last time and smirked at him.
His blue eyes blazed as he gestured to his men. They lunged at me almost as one, landing blows to my torso that had me gasping for air and their kicks to my legs and arms most certainly tore open the replacement sutures Jaru must have arranged while I was unconscious.
Through the barrage, I caught sight of Jaru, his fists clenched tight, as if he were barely able to keep from coming to my aid. Willing him to see the slight movement, I shook my head. If he broke now, his family would be forfeit, and for his sake—and his mother’s—I would endure this. His eyes dropped closed for a brief moment before he wiped every evidence of concern from his countenance and I was satisfied that he would not intervene.
For Azuvah, I thought, and for the God she revered. Eager to feel the bliss of nothing once the king of Ashdod finally had his way, and holding the face of my love in my mind, I waited for the abyss to swallow me.
But to my astonishment, Nicaro barked a sharp command and the beating ceased. Then he was again in front of me, speaking so softly that I was forced to watch his lips to distinguish his words.
“Do you know the reason you are still breathing right now, Lukio? Because the people revolted. That Gazan had you in a headlock, squeezing the life from you, and the crowd flew into a fury. A few of them even charged onto the field, determined to save you.” He laughed ruefully. “I’ve never seen anything like it. So, I had a choice to make. I could either let the brute finish you off and make you a martyr, or I could grant you mercy. And let me be very clear, if it were up to me, you would be dead right now, especially since I already knew you’d lied about the Hebrew box.
“But then my daughter reminded me that the festival you’d organized had been more successful than I’d even hoped. That you’d filled my city with fresh trade and turned every eye to my greatness. She said that if I let you perish on that field, that would be the only thing that would be remembered of this day—not my legacy. So, you can be grateful that my fool daughter is still infatuated with you, even if you threw her and everything else over for her slave.”
He sneered, as if the thought was beyond unimaginable. But he didn’t know my Tesi was worth everything, including my last breath.
“And, of course, I could kill you now. Have my men bury you without fanfare in an unmarked grave. But that would profit me nothing. Therefore, I have a better idea.” He smiled, and I suddenly felt very much like a boar cornered by his hunting hounds.
“Since I assume that you are also responsible for costing me a few Hebrew slaves meant to be aboard the transport to Egypt tomorrow, you will take their place. I am certain that a famous fighter will be of far greater value to Pharaoh than a few brickmakers anyhow. That is, of course, if you survive your injuries on the voyage.” His brows drew together in mock concern.
“But either way, the rumor will be that rather than face the shame of your loss, you boarded a ship just like your father and sailed away to foreign lands. I hate to give you the glory of a legend, but perhaps that is the price to pay for a festival that will be renowned the world over. However, knowing the fickle people of this city, no matter how much they screamed for you, they will forget you the moment a new champion arises.”
He pressed his face so close to mine I could see the pinpoints his pupils had become and how they swam in the same madness that had seeped out during Orada’s funeral.
“And while you breathe your last, enslaved and alone in some sandy wasteland, know that I will never stop until I find that box and destroy it. My armies will shake the ground of every corner of this land until every last Hebrew bows only to me.” Spittle formed at the corners of his lips. “And any legacy you hoped for will be swallowed up by the dirt you die in like a dog.”
He stood and took one last look at me, visibly shaking with fury. But then with one slow blink, the madness was gone, and nothing remained but the veneer of royal composure as he spoke to Jaru.
“Fetter him and put him on a ship.”
Thirty-Four
I jolted awake, then cursed myself for doing so as the fetters cut into my skin with a fiery bite. If I made it to Egypt alive, I would be permanently scarred from the iron shackles at my wrists and ankles—more wounds to add to the multitude that leeched away my life. I’d given up trying to shift into a position that would take pressure off my injuries and now lay on my back, praying that the fever causing my entire body to shake would take me swiftly. The only difference between this prison and my last was that the hold of the ship smelled of brine and had a floor made of wood instead of rich soil. Both were just as black and bereft of hope.
The ship swayed back and forth in a gentle rhythm, which told me that it was still at port, but it would not remain anchored much longer. The Egyptian sailors had already filled the hold with jugs of olive oil and wine and barely gave a second glance to the man lauded only yesterday by Ashdod as nearly divine. As soon as dawn broke, whenever that might be, I would be carried away to sea.
I’d been swimming in and out of consciousness for an indeterminable length of time. But thankfully my bouts of lucidity were coming farther apart. Sleep was a mercy I relished. It was there I could be with my Tesi on the mountain, hold our little ones, wrap an arm around my sister, and tell Elazar, Yoela, and everyone else how sorry I was. Sometimes when I dreamed, I was with Risi on the beach, searching for shells and playing in the waves and when my head went under, I hoped that it wouldn’t come back up again. But then I would wake and remember that instead of beneath the sea I was atop it, and I would wait for oblivion to consume me again.
The clank of metal from around my wrists pricked at the back of my mind, trying to coax forward something I should remember. Something important from a long time ago. I’d just been dreaming of the mountain, of Risi’s prolific flower and vegetable gardens, and of the small orchard where she tended a variety of trees.
The words came to me slowly, having been buried beneath the detritus of many years but determined to push their way to the surface, nonetheless.
“Do not fear the iron fetters that carry you to sea.”
A vagabond had told me that once, there in those very orchards I’d been visiting in my sleep. Beside an apple tree upon which Risi had attached wild branches to the established root, making its apples taste sweeter and bloom faster than all the others.
My heart picked up its sluggish pace as more of the man’s odd statement floated to the surface of my mind.
“You are a wild branch, young man. Do not despise the root to which you’ve been joined, for it is from this mountain, in the sh
adow of cedars, that your own deep roots will take their nourishment. And the branches who spring from you will spread wide to shade the helpless and reach heights you cannot imagine. So, do not fear the iron fetters that carry you to the sea, young man, only the ones you bind upon yourself.”
At the time I’d mocked the vagabond whose dark brown braid trailed nearly to the back of his knees. In fact, I’d told Ronen that he was a madman and quite possibly dangerous. And yet, instead of agreeing with my assessment, Ronen had gone pale and nearly ran from the garden. Later, I’d discovered that the man was called Samuel, and he was regarded by the Hebrews as a seer and a wandering priest. Could he have truly known that I would one day be bound in iron shackles and put in this ship’s hold? It seemed too farfetched to believe. But like Jaru’s appearance in my life, and Tesi’s, and even Teitu’s, how else could it be explained?
There was something more that the seer had said to me that day, about the watchtower I’d been imprisoned in, but the chill in my body came over me again, washing away both the questions and the answers. It pulled me down like a wave Risi had once saved me from, relentlessly tugging at my exhausted bones until I succumbed to the darkness and let myself be pulled into the black sea again.
The smell of brine and wood pitch remained with me, even in my dream. But instead of being alone in my dank prison, the same presence from the watchtower filled the room with soft blue light.
Whispers surrounded me, calling my name. Then, a cool hand lay on my burning leg and another on my side, and I was so grateful for the respite from pain, even if it was only temporary. But my mouth would not move, so I was unable to speak my thanks aloud.
Perhaps some sort of spirit had finally come to carry me away to some world beyond this one. And yet, I did not want to go. There was something I had to do, somewhere I had to be. A place where my roots were to grow deep and my shade wide.
Between the Wild Branches Page 31
