With a sigh, Uriya attacked. This time I routed his every swing, anticipated his every pretense, and pushed him back so far he nearly collided with another sparring team.
“Enough!” Uriya threw up a hand. “Enough, Tobiah.”
Sweat blurred my vision. I breathed hard through my nose until the blood rushing through my limbs slowed. Uriya tossed me a water-skin and then wiped his face and black beard with a cloth. He was a good sparring partner. The grandson of a general in Pharaoh’s army who had defied his king and fled Egypt to follow Mosheh all those years ago. Eager to prove his loyalty to Israel, Uriya had been training in this bleak desert for ten more years than me, but he wasn’t Shimon. The yells and grunts of the men exercising around us swept memories of the battlefield to the front of my mind.
“Let’s go again,” I said, stepping forward.
“Tobiah.” Uriya lifted his palms in surrender. “I am done for now. Save some for the enemy, my friend.”
The exercises every day were just about the only time I didn’t think about Shimon. Or Alanah. And I wasn’t ready to consider either at the moment. If Alanah chose to stay, I would not be engaging that enemy. My first year of marriage would be spent defending the camp, not rushing into battle. The thought made me grit my teeth in frustration, but I shrugged it off, craving the release these exercises offered.
“If you are too tired to continue . . .” I let the pointed challenge trail off.
“Yes.” He tossed the sweat-soaked cloth at me. “I am too tired. And hungry. How far are you going to push this old man? You’ll have to drag me back to my orphaned sons if the sun gets any hotter.”
“Drag your carcass? I’d probably just leave you—”
A quick shofar blast split my taunt in two. The clatter of wooden swords and practice shields around us halted immediately. Avidan, the commander of our regiment, stood atop one of the large boulders that dotted the barren landscape. The fifty or so men who had been practicing around us now gathered around him. Avidan must be here to discuss tactics.
We hadn’t heard much from Yehoshua since the victory a few days ago. It couldn’t be much longer before we pushed into the Land. The pulse of our first victory was still surging high through all of us; now was the time to strike. Hard. While the Canaanites were still reeling.
“Men!” the commander called out. “Sons of Yehudah!”
“Among others!” returned Uriya with a smile. He had been joined by marriage to the tribe of Yehudah.
“And brothers.” Avidan tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I have news, brought from the lips of Yehoshua and from Mosheh himself.”
A storm of exhilaration washed through me. This was our time. I gripped the hilt of my practice sword, wishing it were real. I’d welcome the cool familiarity of my curved kopesh in my palm right now—the sword I’d inherited from my father. Even more, I wished he were here to use it himself, to see the day that we finally pushed into the Land.
“We are not going north,” said the elder. “The chief of the Edomites refuses to let us pass through on the road that cuts through his territory.”
Someone jutted a fist into the air. “Then we fight the Edomites!”
I nodded my agreement.
“No.” Avidan placed his hands on his hips. “They are our cousins. Mosheh has been ordered by Yahweh not to attack the sons of Esau.”
A murmur of displeasure went up from the men. And what did Esau do, but threaten our ancestor Yaakov? And sell his own birthright for a bowl of stew? I scoffed. Obviously his sons were cowards as well. I heard my own thoughts voiced by others around me.
But Avidan stood, unmoved by the swell of anger in his men. “We will not go against the commands of Yahweh. Ever again.”
The arguments dwindled as the stinging reminder of defeat clamped our mouths shut.
“We all know what happened the last time we did not wait for Yahweh’s direction.” The commander circled his gaze about the group. “We lost fathers, sons, and brothers in that first disastrous battle against Arad.”
Perhaps if we’d waited, Shimon would be standing next to me right now, probably elbowing me with some suggestive quip. More time to tangle with your sister before I tangle with the enemy, eh, Tobiah?
The only thing Shimon loved as much as Tzipi was needling me. As if it had been his personal mission to get a rise out of me. A mission he rarely succeeded in.
A young solider nearby called out. “Then we go west! Take the coastal lands first.” Fifty other men lifted voices in agreement, many lifting their dummy swords in salute to his idea.
The elder shook his grizzled head. “No. Mosheh says we are not ready for a confrontation with the seafaring tribes that occupy the coastlands. We must take the eastern route.”
Angry outbursts from the men around me tangled with my own frustrations.
“We are ready! Let us loose!”
“We’ve been preparing for nearly forty years.”
“Haven’t we proven that we are ready?” said a man next to me.
“Our enemies will think we are retreating!” said another.
It was foolish not to push in now, with the pulse of victory thumping in our chests. The Canaanites would still be licking their wounds. We should strike before their claws were sharp again.
Avidan gestured to a man next to him, who lifted a small shofar to his lips and blew a stuttering blast on the ram’s horn—long, long, short, long. Like children brought up short by a scolding, the men ceased their fuming. At least we were well-trained.
The elder waited until every eye was on him. “We are not retreating. We are going a different route. We will go south, head toward the copper mines. We will regroup there. Plan our strategy and then head east in order to skirt Edom. Do not worry, my brothers. It may be a few more months before we enter the Land. But it will be at the time appointed by Yahweh. Our God has gone before us, prepared the way. We have the Ark. We have Yehoshua as the commander of our armies and Mosheh as our leader. We will be victorious!”
A cheer went up from the crowd that had been baying a few moments before. No wonder Avidan had been appointed leader over us; it took skill to reverse the raging tides of battle-thirsty men.
As soon as Avidan dismissed us, with a promise of more directions the next morning, an elbow jammed into my ribs. Levon, one of the younger men who had camped near me during the battle, leaned into me. “You’re that one who brought home that woman, aren’t you? That Canaanite woman?”
Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I replied with a shrug.
“You are! I can’t believe you had that tender morsel under our noses the whole time.” He nudged me again with a waggle of his brows.
I didn’t answer, hoping he would let the matter drop and imagining the immense satisfaction the snap of the bones in his arm would give me.
“Wish I’d brought back one of those. Did you see some of those women?” He whistled through his teeth. “Barely wear anything, don’t they? Of course most of that type don’t anyhow.” A couple of men nearby laughed.
Ignoring the audience, I stretched to my full height. “She is not a zonah.”
Undeterred by my show of dominance, his face crumpled into confusion. This young buck was either foolish or foolhardy. “What was she doing there, then? What other use does a woman have in a battle camp?”
“My wife is not your concern.”
“Your wife? You married that—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off with a sharp warning. “Don’t say it again.”
Uriya’s hand landed on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off, determined to keep my wits about me. Shimon’s constant taunts had prepared me to keep my head in any circumstance. I wouldn’t let this young fool get the best of me.
Levon lifted his palms as if conceding. “You can call her whatever you want, my friend. But what’s the point of marrying her?”
Sucking in a steadying breath, I measured my answer before speaking. “To protect her. And obey the Torah.”
&nb
sp; Levon released a huff of disbelief through pursed lips. Every soldier knew the law, even if it went ignored at times. He arched his brows high. “You really going to wait a whole thirty days?”
I indicated my intent with a firm nod.
He smirked and shook his head. “Waste of time, if you ask me. Just get it over with. Of course, if you change your mind and throw her off, I’ll gladly take her off your hands!” He guffawed and spouted a lewd comment about just what he’d like to do to a Canaanite woman.
Fury exploded in my chest, rushed to my limbs. Surging toward him, I gritted my teeth. “You even think about touching her, you’ll find yourself skewered on the point of my sword.”
Someone grabbed my arms, restraining me from wrapping my hands around Levon’s throat. Probably Uriya and a couple other men, but I didn’t bother to look. I could barely see anything through the sheen of fury that blurred my vision to anything except the insolent buffoon who had insulted Alanah.
Levon’s eyes flared as he took in my expression, which must have reflected the fire that seared my belly at his depravity.
Shrugging off the hands that gripped me, I turned and strode away—my mind focusing on three truths. First, if that fool said another word, no one would be able to hold me back. Second, my decision to marry Alanah had been the right one. And last, from this moment until our covenant was made complete, I needed to stay by her side. No one would be touching my wife but me.
12
Alanah
A tug on my tunic jarred me as I washed my hands in a pot by Nita’s tent. I whirled around, one arm raised to defend myself and water spraying from my palm. Instead of the fierce Hebrew man I expected to see, a small black-haired boy stood there, eyes wide at my overreaction. One of Tzipi’s sons. The youngest, if I remembered correctly from their exuberant greetings for Tobiah upon his return.
“What do you want?” I said, dropping my defensive stance.
Swiping at the water droplets trickling down his face, the child shrank back at my gruff demand. Guilt lodged a prickly finger beneath my ribs. “You surprised me.” I softened the stiff set of my shoulders and lifted the severe line of my brows.
Relief washed the trepidation from his features, and curiosity took its place. “Is that your bow?” He cocked his head and pointed toward the useless weapon near my feet. I was still a bit confused why Tobiah had let me keep it. Little did he know how fast I could fashion a makeshift arrow—although my knife had been confiscated back on the battlefield. Regardless, I never let the bow out of my sight.
I picked it up and ran my fingers along the bowstring. “Yes. This is mine.” A vision of my rough-handed father wrapping tendon cord around the bone-and-wood compound flitted through my mind.
“Do you shoot it?” His eyes grew round, incredulous.
“I do.”
He scrunched his face. “But you are a girl!”
“And?”
“Girls aren’t supposed to shoot arrows.”
I peered down at him. “Well, this girl does.”
He sucked in his bottom lip. “I will be a soldier one day.” He puffed his chest out in imitation of the uncle he adored. “Like Tobiah, and like my abba was.”
At the reminder of his father, the back of my neck prickled and a sudden rush of battlefield memory tied my tongue into a knot.
“And when I am big, I will kill those bad people who hurt my abba.” His little chin wobbled before jutting out. The prickles became sharp barbs into my gut. We had both lost fathers.
“Get away from that woman, Liyam!” Tzipi swooped past me and yanked the boy by the arm. “She is dangerous.”
“But Ima, Tobiah said—”
“I am your mother.” Her swift retort sliced through his high-pitched protest. “You do as I say. Now go!”
Liyam’s eyes cut to me before he backed away with a look of fear that hadn’t been present before his mother barged between us. I glanced away.
“Don’t you ever come near my children again, do you hear me?” Tzipi’s voice shook with fury as she rounded on me. “You don’t even talk to them.”
I lifted my palms in surrender. “He approached me.”
“Just leave.” Her nostrils flared.
My gaze swept the campsite, landing on Noach and Simcha, my ever-present guards, lolling near the fire. “If only I could,” I muttered. How much longer would Tobiah be away? Perhaps he’d gone to see that Keziah woman, or to practice killing more of my people. I huffed out a small breath through my nose. Why did I care where the man had disappeared to or who he was with?
“How long are you going to keep up this pretense of a marriage?” she spat out, as if the words themselves were poisonous.
I settled back into a measured but casual pose, arms crossed and chin lifted like a shield. “This was his idea, not mine.”
“He already has a woman. He is only doing this out of misplaced obligation, like usual.” Tzipi watched me as if gauging my reaction to her revelation. I kept my face carefully composed, hard as granite. After years of practice with brothers who pounced on any emotion that appeared weak, there wouldn’t be a twitch—even though my insides felt like twice-kneaded dough.
Did Tobiah already have a wife? Was that where he had gone last night, to tell Keziah that he had taken on another? I had no desire to be a first wife, let alone a second.
Before I could ask, Tzipi strode up to me, arms folded across her chest. I kept my feet planted. I would not retreat. Without fear, she glared with eyes the same color as Tobiah’s. “I’ve already lost a husband. I won’t lose my brother. I won’t let you destroy him.”
I drew in a steadying breath, struck by the grief on her face as much as the poison-tipped words, but I kept my own words smooth, unaffected. “As I said before, you know nothing of me. I am here because I have no choice.”
“I know enough of your people’s disgusting ways. The way they slaughter children like animals. The perverted ways you worship your gods.” Loathing twisted her features into a mockery of their beauty. “Your kind deserves what’s coming to you.”
The accusations stung, not because of any guilt on my part, but because I knew how true they were—had witnessed them firsthand. The keening of a terrified infant being offered to the flames and the smell of charred human flesh was instantly fresh in my mind. I stiffened, barely reining in the desire to gasp at the ten-year-old memory and the instinct to cover my ears—just as I had the day my father had offered one of his wives’ babies to the baalim in exchange for a healthy crop.
Latent horror must have played across my face. Tzipi watched me with a curious look before she blinked it away and replaced it with a feral sneer. “He should have left you there to die.”
I leaned forward, a handspan from her face. “Then we agree on something.” I smirked, holding still as death.
A large hand clamped down on my shoulder and I spun toward the interference. My fist met a man’s solid chest with surprising force.
Tobiah grabbed my wrist and held it in the air. “I am going to assume that strike was meant for someone else and not your husband.” He looked down at me with his brows raised. Was that a glimmer of humor in his eyes?
Yanking hard, I twisted my wrist from his grasp. “You can assume anything you’d like.”
“Well then, I will also assume you and my sister are having a civilized conversation.” He divided a chastening look between the two of us. “Since we are family.”
Tzipi let out a huff of disgust. “That Canaanite is no sister of mine. She is an enemy, a liar, and an idol worshipper.”
Tobiah held his silence for an interminable few moments, his eyes locked on his sister’s, as if conveying his innermost thoughts with a look. The two of them stared each other down, as unmoving as two sides of the same stone wall.
Tzipi was the feminine version of Tobiah in so many ways. Yet where Tobiah was built like a bear, her lines reminded me more of a desert panther—sleek, strong, and beautiful. I imagined that before g
rief had taken up residence in her soul, her Shimon had been a much-envied man indeed.
Tobiah seemed inordinately restrained, yet Tzipi’s emotions flashed like a blazing signal fire across her face. I could tell the exact moment she conceded to her brother, when the flame of passion began to flicker and wane.
Tobiah’s tone was calm yet somehow infinitely commanding. “Alanah is my wife, Tzipi. She has obeyed the mitzvot set by Mosheh. She endured being shaved like a ewe.” Another long pause plagued the tense triangle of space between us, yet neither I nor Tzipi dared interject. “If you do not give her a chance to see who Yahweh is and how much better our way of life is under the Torah, how will she ever turn away from false gods?”
Tzipi returned his defense of me with a prolonged silence of her own, as if arguing her side without words. Her neck stiffened and she aimed a look of malice at me, one that instantly reminded me of the women in my village. “There is nothing that could ever make you my sister. Leave. Before the thirty days are up.” Without a glance at her brother, she spun and walked away, her head high and her back straight.
I may have left the battlefield behind me, but the war had followed me here. Tzipi had let fly the first shot.
13
Tobiah
26 NISSAN
1407 BC
CAMP AT PUNON
Nearly a week of plodding through rocky, inhospitable land had brought us far to the south, almost back to the sea our parents and grandparents had crossed on a pathway through the depths. The sea where Pharaoh’s army met their well-deserved end.
Alanah paused in her work of clearing rocks for Nita’s tentsite. She’d insisted on helping me, even with one arm still locked in a sling. On the long walk south, her demeanor had been more relaxed, even though she remained aloof, but as soon as we arrived in this wide valley, her agitation returned, as if being at rest caused her physical pain.
Standing to stretch, she placed a hand on the small of her back and arched forward with a little sigh. To distract myself from examining the tempting display of her curves, I swung my hammer again, focusing instead on driving the stake into the hard-packed soil.
Wings of the Wind Page 8
