Читать книгу Daughter of Lachish - Tim Frank - Страница 10

Thorns tore bloody scratches across her legs. Her hands were bleeding. She had fallen countless times, hurting her hands and legs. Bushes caught her dress and ripped it. She stumbled on the loose rock. And still she ran. Even though it was now completely dark she did not stop. Her heart was beating wildly. She was gasping for air. Sobs broke the frenzied rhythm of her hard breathing. Tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away with her arm.

Since that horrible moment at the brook of Lachish, Rivkah had been running. She had not looked back after Bath-Shua had sent her on ahead. The screams told the story. And she knew: she was alone now. Fear and horror had driven her on. First across the valley and then into the hills. She had to get away from that place. Rivkah couldn’t hear anybody following. Twice she stopped and listened. Still, the fear persisted.

Rivkah slowed to a walk. She just couldn’t continue any more. She was totally drained and exhausted. Her whole body trembled. A few hundred cubits more and she collapsed on the ground. The sobs became a loud wailing cry which Rivkah tried to stifle with her hands.

“Bath-Shua, what have they done to you? How cruel can men be? You never deserved this.” Grief for the woman who had protected her in those last dramatic hours broke her heart and now she let everything pour out. The grief that had been held back could no longer be contained.

“Kaleb, you mighty warrior! You are no more. You fell in battle, fighting for your people, for me. Kaleb, you were more than a dog, you were my best friend. No soul was as noble as yours. Kaleb! Oh . . . ” Words failed her at the thought of the faithful animal. In agony she tore her fingers through her hair until it hurt. The picture of his lifeless form lying there in the street, killed by the Assyrian soldiers, still haunted her.

Then the realization hit.

“Mother, Father, little Susannah, Shomer, Shallum, Nepheg! Are you dead too? Gone? Or do those vicious Assyrians still torment you?”

She could see their faces now. She longed to touch them, to be with them. How dear they were to her. Rivkah regretted every harsh word she had ever said to them, every time she had disregarded her family. Other things had seemed more important, other people more interesting. Now she realized that her family was the most precious thing she had ever had. That’s where she belonged.

She had lost so much. It came before her eyes in a flash: the house she grew up in, the streets she played in, the city she knew.

“Lachish, oh my city! You have fallen! Nothing but ashes, nothing but ashes! Oh Simchah! The LORD did not save us! Why? Had the gods abandoned the city? Did Amun-Re or Baal or the LORD not hear the prayers of the people?”

She had no answers to the questions. How the people had hoped for deliverance! Now they were dead or condemned. The names of friends and neighbors crowded her mind. In an incomprehensible babble a torrent of names burst from her lips. The names of her family were mixed up in the flow. Slowly the stream of names grew calmer, the torrent ebbed. She only mentioned a few names now, until at last she breathed only one name into the silence: “Mother . . . Mother . . . Mother.”

* * *

Meshullam thought he had heard somebody call his name. He forced himself awake and opened his eyes, staring into the blackness of the night. He listened carefully, but could hear only the breathing of his cousins and his little brother Shimei beside him. But yes, now he heard a voice calling somewhere far away. It was faint and no, it was not his name it was calling. Maybe it was a soldier on the walls, keeping watch during the night. It must have just been a dream.

But now he was awake and couldn’t get back to sleep again. Meshullam turned around and bumped into his cousin Michael on his right. Michael only grunted in his sleep and hardly moved. Meshullam turned back again. He drew his knees up to his body and turned to his other side. Why couldn’t he sleep? Carefully he got up and went to the door of the tiny room. Here in Jerusalem they were living in the small house of a family that had moved down from Samaria several years ago. There wasn’t much space. The house was as crowded as the rest of the city. The family of his uncle Nahshon lived in this house too and, of course, Grandfather.

Meshullam had not gotten used to the big city. Everything was so cramped, so close together, so crowded. It was worse than usual now. Thousands had fled to Jerusalem from the countryside. And now the Assyrians were outside the city, besieging the gates. Nobody could go in or out. Their life was bounded by the walls of the city, their movements enclosed by its gates. Meshullam longed to walk through fields again, to wander through orchards and hurry through scrub and forest. But he knew they could not have remained at home. It was too dangerous.

He wondered what was happening there now. Had the Assyrians already taken Moresheth-Gath? Had they destroyed the houses, torn down the walls, felled the fruit trees and olive groves? Had the Assyrians swept across the country and taken the towns and cities? Tonight he could not help but think of the cities that were under siege in the west, the people that hid behind walls that were not as well fortified as those of Jerusalem. Would they be able to hold out? If not, what would happen to them in the hands of the Assyrians? Reports of their cruelty had travelled ahead of the army. Could the people expect any mercy?

In the dark Meshullam uttered a short prayer: “LORD God, do not forsake your people, spare your wrath, be merciful.”

He stood still, then quietly returned to his place between his cousin and his brother. Sleep did not come quickly. This night, he had no peace.

* * *

House walls collapsed behind her as she ran through empty streets. Somewhere Rivkah could hear Kaleb bark. She tried to get to him, but was not sure which way to go. Where was he? Suddenly Bath-Shua was beside her, pressing her hand. “You must leave this city now. Run, my daughter, run!”

Rivkah wanted to ask her something but Bath-Shua was gone. Instead her hand held onto a burning post. She drew it back and started to run. Then she heard them behind her: the Assyrians! They were following her. She tried to run faster. But her feet seemed like stones. She could hardly move them. In agony and fear she cried out. They were closing in on her. Rivkah turned to confront her pursuers. The faceless form of a soldier thrust a metal blade into her stomach. She gasped with pain.

In shock Rivkah woke from her dream. Her whole body was hurting and her head ached. She got up slowly. Shivering with cold she drew her moist clothes tighter around her. She must have cried herself to sleep last night.

Now it was light. In the east the first rays of the sun crept over the hills. She fingered her Isis amulet. It gave her strength. She got up slowly. Hesitantly, Rivkah took a few steps: away from the conquered city and towards the sun. Her steps became firmer. She became aware of her dry throat. Her stomach felt empty. In search of food and water she walked on.

When Rivkah came to the top of another low hill she could see the rocks of a small stream in the shallow below. In the hope that she would find water she scampered down. To her disappointment the stream bed was dry. But Rivkah did not give up that easily. Clambering upstream she searched between the rocks and did indeed find a pool of stale water. She knelt down on the rocks beside the pool. Cupping her hands she brought the water to her mouth, drinking hastily.

Her thirst quenched, she continued up the stream. She walked slowly, not really having an aim. Yes, she was hungry, but where on earth could she get something to eat?

The sun stood high in the sky by now and was beating down on her. Rivkah sat down. She felt sick. Her stomach was churning. Lying down in the dry grass she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. But scenes from the previous day’s disaster crowded her mind. The memory overwhelmed her. That wouldn’t do! She got up again, willing herself to do something—anything.

She walked on, further uphill. It was some time later when Rivkah—out of the corner of her eye—suddenly noticed a strange movement. She thought she had seen somebody. But no, she must have imagined it. Surveying the surroundings she couldn’t make out any trace of another being. Still nervous, she continued on.

“Hey, little girl, what are you doing here?”

The voice startled Rivkah. Frightened she wheeled around, her heart pounding. A man stepped from behind a bush. Rivkah stared at him.

He studied her. Then he nodded. “So, where are you going?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Rivkah couldn’t think of an answer.

“You don’t know. See, see. And where are you from?”

Rivkah was silent. She just looked at him. An unkempt beard surrounded his face. The head covering was wound over his ears and hair. He wore coarse, woolen work-clothes just reaching over his knees. A simple rope served as a belt. The sandals he wore seemed to consist more of patches than any original leather. The man came closer.

“Come on girl, speak to me. I just heard you talk plain Hebrew. Can’t be too difficult. Where do you come from?”

Rivkah looked at his eyes. They seemed kind. There was no anger, no cunning or malice in them. In fact, he looked anything but dangerous. Rivkah decided to trust him.

“From Lachish,” she managed to say.

“From Lachish? Isn’t the city surrounded by the Assyrians?”

Rivkah nodded.

“How did you get out then?”

“Through the breach in the city wall.”

“The breach in the city wall? What do you mean?”

“The one the Assyrians made,” she answered.

“They’ve entered the city then?”

“I fled from the burning city.”

“So the great city of Lachish has fallen?”

“Yes,” Rivkah confirmed quietly.

“Oh Lachish, your walls were thought to be impenetrable,

your gates were meant to repel any attack,

your steep slopes were told to hold back any enemy,

your towers were counted as a sure defense.

Now you are no more;

you have been erased from the face of the earth,

your warriors have lost the battle,

your chariots will drive out to war no more.

Oh Lachish!”

The man proclaimed his lament over the fallen city. His eyelids were pressed together and with pain etched across his features he lifted his face heavenward. Then he opened his eyes again and looked at Rivkah. “So you fled the city? All alone?”

She nodded.

“Poor girl. When did it happen? It’s the first I heard of it.”

“Just yesterday,” Rivkah said.

“Have you had had anything to eat or drink?”

Rivkah shook her head.

“Oh my, you must be starving then. Come on, I’ll show you where we’re staying. I suppose we can always share our meager provisions with another fugitive.”

* * *

Sennacherib, king of all, king of Assyria, sat on his royal throne while the spoil of Lachish passed before him. In his left hand he held the royal bow, in his right he clasped two golden arrows. Truly, here was the leader of the mighty army that through its weapons, its skill and fighting prowess had carried out the will of the great god Ashur. The king’s feet rested on an ornate footstool, his left arm inclined on the armrest of the magnificent throne. Eunuchs stood behind the throne waving richly-adorned fans, moving the air that was still heavy with the smoke of the smoldering city. Robed in precious garments, the figure of the king on his high throne commanded the attention of all. His head erect, crowned with the ornate, peaked cap of Assyrian kings, Sennacherib surveyed the procession before him. The Tartan, the commander-in-chief, led the train followed by commanders of divisions, the strategists and the Musarkisu officers. Among them was Ashur-bel-amati, the commander of the archers. It was said he could split a hair from a distance of two hundred paces, so accurate was his mark with the arrow.

The Tartan then remained at the king’s side while the other officers moved on past him. Next, the leaders of the vanquished city appeared before the king. They had their hands held in supplication to the king, silently beseeching him for mercy. As they came closer, they shuffled forward on their knees, repeatedly bending down low, kissing the dust. There was no dignity left in them. They looked like dogs that slink through the city streets. Their clothes were tattered and torn, their feet bare; they wore no jewelry and carried no weapons.

As he watched the pitiful display, Itur-Ea could not imagine that these were the leaders of the men that had determinedly held the mighty Assyrian army at bay for months. His rage and anger against them turned into disgust. Now these wretched fools would pay for their obstinacy. Their weakness and stupidity was now plain to see.

While the leaders of Lachish were still groveling in the dust before the throne, a crowd of prisoners was herded past the back ranks amongst which Itur-Ea was standing. Women, children, and old men were now brought before the king, who gave them scant attention as they filed past. The great king showed renewed interest as Assyrian soldiers came forward carrying past the most valuable booty taken from the city. There were intricately carved incense stands and ornate furniture with ivory inlay, jewelry and musical instruments. The city must have had a sanctuary after all, even if there was no grand temple. Soldiers carried past shields and spears, swords and bows, which had been taken from the defenders. Now they would be added to the weaponry of the Assyrian army. But the war chariots received the most attention as they were wheeled past. Their workmanship was admirable. They looked sturdy and yet maneuverable—a most welcome addition to the military inventory.

The Tartan also appeared pleased at the less notable, but more practical, loot of jugs of oil and jars of barley carried from the city. Clearly, Lachish could have held out longer. Now the food would be used to sustain Assyrian soldiers and to give the prisoners provisions on their long journey into exile.

The parade concluded with an offering to the gods. Two rams and a bull were killed in honor of the great god Ashur, the chief army priest conducting the rites. The king watched in solemn silence as priests burned the entrails of the animals. He raised his voice and dedicated the victory to Ashur. Ishtar of Nineveh also received a bull. Itur-Ea’s heart beat faster as the animal expired with an angry bellow. He joined fervently in the prayers to Ishtar. She had protected him in this campaign. She had given victory. And he had encountered her on the battlefield on the night that Lachish fell.

Sennacherib, king of all, king of Assyria, stood. The celebration was over. Soldiers cheered as the great king came down from his throne and went into the royal tent.

* * *

The pace was just crazy. Rivkah could hardly keep up with the man’s strides. She followed several cubits behind him, but always seemed to be dropping back, so that she frequently had to break into a quick run to keep up with him. They hadn’t been walking that long, but to Rivkah it seemed like hours. The man hadn’t spoken since he’d made that offer of food and drink.

Rivkah had to stop and catch her breath again. She fell even further behind. The man suddenly seemed to notice and turned around. “Sorry, I totally forgot that you must be tired. I’ll slow down. Are you all right?”

Rivkah tried to replicate his smile. “Just a bit tired and hungry.”

“It’s not far now,” he promised.

Whatever did “not far” mean? She couldn’t see any houses anywhere. Not a sign of a village. It must still be miles away.

The man kept his promise and slowed his pace. Rivkah was closer behind him now, following his steps. He made his way through the low bushes and thorns covering the landscape. She watched him place his feet carefully on the dry ground as they walked uphill. Suddenly he seemed to remember something and stopped. He turned to Rivkah, “What’s your name, girl?”

“Rivkah.”

“And your family?”

“Amzi, the smith, is my father.”

“Oho, he was a good tradesman, your father. One of our neighbors once went to Lachish to get his plow repaired.”

Rivkah nodded.

The man continued, “I am Amnon from Shechar. Our village was in the valley across there. See, just over that ridge? I was a farmer there, working the land of my fathers. We fled before the might of the Assyrian army. But come on. I’ll show you where we are living now.”

Now that he mentioned it, Rivkah could faintly smell human waste. It wasn’t quite as strong as in the back alleys of Lachish, but it was unmistakable. And then she noticed the fireplace: a simple circle of stones on the ground. Somebody must have used it today. A few pots and bowls lay beside it. Next she saw the cave towards which Amnon walked. He stopped in front of the entrance. “Welcome to our home.” He didn’t get any further. From inside the cave came a voice, “Son, who have you brought here?” An old woman crawled out of the entrance. Her weathered face was framed by long, flowing hair that once must have been shining black, but was now streaked with grey. When she was out in the open, she stood erect, her hair nearly touching her waist.

“I found her in the hills south of here. She’s fleeing from the Assyrians, mother. They have captured Lachish! The city has fallen! May the LORD have mercy on us! Will the Assyrians really rule this land? We all know their cruelty.

The mighty one has broken the gates of the city,

he has plundered the villages round about,

he has felled the people by the sword

and destroyed their children with fire,

so that they will be remembered no more

and their inheritance has been laid to waste.”

Amnon was silent again, deeply troubled.

“So you have brought her here,” the woman brought him back to the present.

“Yes, she is hungry and needs rest. She was wandering aimlessly through the hills. And mother, she looks as if she could do her share of work.”

The old woman inspected Rivkah. “And who is she?”

Amnon leaned over to Rivkah and whispered, “It’s Rivkah isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Mother, this is Rivkah, daughter of the blacksmith of Lachish.”

“Shalom Rivkah, daughter of Lachish. Come in.” The old woman turned to the cave again.

“This is my mother, Ayalah,” Amnon explained as Rivkah followed.

Rivkah climbed down the steps into the cave. At first she could hardly see in the dim light. But then her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a rectangular room with a low ceiling. It was about four by six cubits wide. Opposite the entrance there was a door to another chamber. To the left, too, another room went off the main chamber she was now standing in. Rivkah knew immediately: this was a grave! What were they doing among the dead?

* * *

The wind had turned. The westerly breeze now blew the smoke of the smoldering ruins of Lachish away from the camp. The stench had hung over the valley throughout the night and day. Itur-Ea hardly noticed the change of wind. He stood among the other soldiers watching the leaders of Lachish being tortured. Their pleas for mercy to the king had gone unanswered and he had handed them over to the wrath of his officers. The anger of the officers knew no bounds. One of the Judahites had been hurled to the ground. An officer hauled him up by his hair and at the same time thrust a dagger into his side. The man tried to wriggle out of the way, but a soldier kicked him in the belly, causing the man to double over. Silent tears welled in his eyes. The officer drew him up again and began to hack the skin from the flesh. The man’s screams of agony were met by the laughter of the soldiers. He did not last long. The screams died away as the man sank into a lifeless form, the blood draining red into the dust.

The Assyrian fury was not spent yet. Several archers grabbed two Judahites and stripped them naked. The two stood motionless, giving no resistance as derisive shouts pelted them like stones. The sport had only begun. Four archers stepped forward and each took a leg of the men, pulling them off their feet. Like a cat swung by its tail, so the men were used as living slings and swung through the air. Their heads smashed together before being bashed onto the ground. As one soldier became tired, another took his place and grabbed a leg. The spectators howled in delight. They participated in the sport by dealing an occasional blow to the victims lying on the ground or as they swung through the air. Where was the courage of the Judahites now, where their defense?

Itur-Ea laughed out loud. Just watching them suffer released his anger. He shoved his way to the front of the group. One of the Judahites lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, a shattered body fighting for breath. There was still a spark of life in him. In rage Itur-Ea kicked the man’s head. Other soldiers joined in and stomped on the limp body. Its life was snuffed out and when the horde moved on, it left only a dismembered mess of blood and cracked bones in the dust.

Itur-Ea watched at least a dozen men being tortured and killed that afternoon. It was part of the sweet victory over such determined a foe. As the cool of evening approached, the Assyrian soldiers went to their tents where they celebrated the fall of Lachish with streams of beer. The beer had been distributed for the occasion, to celebrate the victory of Ashur.

* * *

Outside, the raindrops were pounding on the parched ground. The fall rains had arrived. From the safety of the cave Rivkah was staring at the showers outside. How cold it had become! Rivkah shivered. Drawing her knees up to her body she hugged them tightly. Her clothes just weren’t warm enough. Not on a day like this.

Amnon sat opposite the entrance and greeted the arrival of the first rain:

“Blessed are you LORD

for you have remembered your people.

You send the rain in its season,

both the early and the late rains.

The ground is thirsty and dry,

the fields are withered and parched

and you bless them with showers of gentle rain,

you moisten them with downpours of water.

O LORD, you ride on the clouds,

like a warrior you pass through the heavens.

Listen, listen to the thunder of his voice

and the rumbling that comes from his mouth.

He thunders with his majestic voice

and he does not restrain the lightnings when his voice is heard.

From heaven’s chamber comes the whirlwind,

and cold from the scattering winds.

God loads the thick cloud with moisture,

the clouds scatter his lightning.

God thunders wondrously with his voice,

he does great things that we cannot comprehend.”

The hymn had built up to a climax as Amnon’s voice grew louder. Now he suddenly broke off and continued in a gentler voice.

“O LORD, pour your strength into the earth,

make the ground fruitful, oh God,

that the dust may bring forth fruit

and the fields stand heavy with grain.

May the ears of wheat stand like rows of soldiers,

sons of the mighty one.

Blessed are you LORD

for you have remembered your people.

You send the rain in its season,

both the early and the late rains.”

Amnon gazed out into the rain. His old mother Ayalah sat beside the smoldering embers of the cooking fire. Head down, eyes closed, she had listened intently to the old hymn. Beside her sat Naarah, Amnon’s wife. With a rapturous expression she looked at her husband. Nestled in her arms lay Tilon, her son. He had fallen asleep, snuggling against his mother.

The others sat across the room on either side of the door to the southern chamber. There was old Joab. Rivkah understood he was a farmer, too. She had met him only when he came back in the afternoon. Together with Achan, the young boy, he had foraged for food. Not that they had found much. A few grains of wild barley and a quail was all they brought back. Still, Naarah had managed to cook a filling meal.

Joab was carving a wooden spoon while he listened to Amnon’s voice. He worked slowly, his mind wandering to times long past. How often had he greeted the coming of the fall rains? Each new year, he had waited for the rain in its season. And today it had come in its due time. But today was different. Today there was no home, there were no fields.

Engrossed in thought Joab’s hands stopped working. Then he lifted his head, looked at the group assembled in the dim light of the cave and said, “In my village the children always greeted the new rain with a short song. It’s not solemn at all, but . . . ”

Joab smiled and started to sing:

“O bull of my father

don’t stuff yourself on green.

Fresh grass do not gobble

for death is in its leaves.

O bull of my father

be sturdy and be strong.

The yoke you shall carry

and wheat shall crown our fields.”

It can’t have been one of the better renditions of the song. The tune was hardly discernable and the mood of the ditty entirely lost to the listeners. Nevertheless, Naarah seemed to have liked it.

“That’s good! Tell the old bull what to do.” She sighed. “Our bulls were beautiful animals, were they not, Amnon?”

Her husband just made an unidentifiable sound, apparently in assent. He didn’t seem too enthused about the whimsical song. Or maybe he did not want to be reminded about what they had lost. Not getting the expected response, Naarah mumbled something quietly and concentrated on her son sleeping in her arms. Tilon had not been disturbed by the singing and slumbered peacefully.

Outside it was completely dark now. The occupants of the tomb could hardly make each other out. Ayalah got up and felt her way to the western chamber.

“Time to lie down. Tomorrow is another day.” She encouraged the others to follow her lead. Amnon helped his wife to carry Tilon into the adjacent room.

Rivkah had been allotted a place in the southern room with Joab and Achan. She curled up on a bench there and wrapped the woolen blanket tightly round herself. Her first night in the grave! Fear crept up inside her. She shuddered. Hardly daring to breath she stared into the dark. The walls seemed to threaten to fall in on her and bury her alive in this grave. Or was this just a dream and she was already with the dead?

She closed her eyes. But now she saw images of the burning city, the flames licking the buildings, the horror of destruction. The oppressive dark seemed welcome when she opened her eyes again. Careful not to make a sound, she turned over. Reaching out she touched the cold walls of the tomb. Somehow she was sure she shared this fate with her family, her city: they had descended to the shades of the earth, a place of darkness and emptiness, where there was no light or food and the dreaded Lord Mot controlled the weary captives. Rivkah shook. She felt goose bumps on her skin. But with the horror came sadness. Death had taken them and Rivkah would see them no more. The separation hurt. She could feel her throat tighten and her chest ache as she thought about the loved ones she had lost, the family that would never be together again. Tears stole into her eyes. She let them flow freely in the dark. Trying to keep quiet she suppressed her crying. Only once did a sob escape her lips.

She didn’t know how long she had lain there, lost in her misery, but she slowly became aware of another sound. It was the snoring and rattled breathing of her companions; or, rather, of one of them—Joab, the old man, made plenty of noise in his sleep. It brought her back to the present. It was both annoying and comforting.

She still had not fully fathomed what had happened this day. She had been so thankful after the simple meal of bread and herbs that Naarah had prepared for her. The woman had told her their own story of woe, of leaving behind all that they cherished. And she described their present situation in desperate terms. The long walk to get water from a stream bed, the arduous task of collecting firewood. The constant search for food in a land swarming with the enemy, where any day could mean discovery, any step might lead to captivity.

Naarah complained about the few implements with which she was expected to manage the household. She showed obvious disdain for their current accommodation. Naarah had confided to Rivkah that she had buried a dove in the ground outside, just opposite the entrance. Hopefully it would ward off demons and keep the inhabitants safe. In places like these you just had to be careful.

Rivkah had looked with apprehension towards the cave entrance. The place had seemed so unwelcoming, so strange. Naarah’s chatter certainly didn’t ease her mind. It was Ayalah, Amnon’s mother, who made Rivkah welcome. She had shown her round their living quarters, made sure Rivkah was comfortable with her bed and given her the blanket. And then they had talked. Ayalah had explained how the little group of refugees had organized themselves, how they survived and how they made the best of their situation. Ayalah was thankful for this refuge. It may be just a cave, but it was a place to stay. She had told Rivkah how glad she was that she had joined them. Rivkah would fit in so well. She could contribute to the group by helping with little things. She had not suggested any arduous tasks; no, Rivkah had felt welcome just for who she was and hoped she could prove herself useful in some way.

Later on the men had returned—if you could call little Achan a man. Dinner had been a quiet affair, though the first drops of rain had been greeted loudly. When Amnon sang the solemn hymn she even felt thankful, gained hope, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. That had been her first day in the grave.

* * *

The heavy goat-hair tent-canvas muffled the sound of the raindrops that pelted against it. But outside drops fell into the puddles that had formed throughout the camp and drummed an arbitrary rhythm through the night. Water dripped inside the tent. The dew, which some nights had drenched ground and canvas, had never really tested the tent. But the heavy rain and wind drove the water through slits and small holes. Itur-Ea had moved his bed to a dry place. Now the narrow bedstead was wedged between two of his fellow soldiers.

The beer had done its part and Itur-Ea had slept soundly after the festivities. But now something had woken him and he just couldn’t get back to sleep. The closeness of the others irritated him. He hardly dared to move, even though he couldn’t find a comfortable position. He had gotten used to cramped quarters, but not this close.

Pictures of today’s killings came to him: the lifeless forms of the Judahites mutilated by the frenzied mob of Assyrian soldiers; the triumph on the faces of the officers as they dealt blows to the enemies; the delight in the eyes of his comrades pouring out their hatred. Those prisoners had been dealt a lesson, but . . . somehow the question rose within him whether killing these pitiful, vanquished people brought any glory. It needed no courage to attack the defenseless. He suppressed the thought. After all, that was what victorious armies did. They did not show any mercy, they exacted the wrath of the victorious god on his foes. The leaders of the losers always suffered the wrath. Most of the prisoners were kept alive. They were needed for the empire.

Itur-Ea thought of the burning city. Its flames had lit the night sky. Now the rain would quench the embers. The night of the battle, Ishtar had kept him safe and given him her spoils. In the end he had killed the woman. Her body had carried him to excitement and ecstasy, had made his blood boil within him. But when it was over, he had not felt fulfillment, only emptiness. Ishtar had bestowed her gifts and yet they were hollow. He had walked back to the camp feeling weak and strangely sad. He tried to rekindle the excitement by recalling the shape of her body. He thought back to his experiences in the temple of Nineveh. But it did not work: there was no excitement, only a desperate restlessness.

Itur-Ea turned onto his other side, touching the soldier to his left. The festivities of the day had overshadowed his desperation, but now in the night it returned. A great loneliness overcame him. How had it come to this? Had Ishtar played him a cruel trick? She had given him his wish and it had turned out to be false comfort.

* * *

A green shimmer covered the land after the rain. The dust had been washed off the plants and the moisture allowed fresh shoots to appear. Among the dry, brown grass, new blades pushed out of the ground and slender leaves sprouted on the bushes. The parched earth had her fill and, ever so gently, bore fruit again. It wasn’t the strong exuberant growth of spring, but the hesitant signs of life after the long dry of summer.

“That rain was heaven-sent,” Ayalah remarked to Rivkah as they slowly walked down the hill. “We may not be able to plow fields and sow seeds, but at least the plants grow again. We should find some fresh herbs today.”

Ayalah had asked Rivkah to accompany her. The old woman was not comfortable venturing far from the cave on her own. Rivkah didn’t mind. She always enjoyed the time with Ayalah.

“You really don’t know anything about gathering greens?”

“No, sorry. We didn’t eat a lot of green plants from the field. Only now and then did we buy some on the market. And I didn’t always like them.”

“Ah, another of those spoiled townspeople,” Ayalah laughed, “but greens are good for you, they really are good for you. Besides, if you want to eat you have to find something. We don’t exactly have barns full of wheat.”

“No, not really. We are lucky we still have bread. Where did you get the grain from, mother Ayalah?”

“We were able to get the barley harvest in before the Assyrians entered the country. I insisted we take some jars when we fled from the village across to the cave here. Amnon wasn’t so sure. There was so much else he wanted to take. ‘First we have to eat,’ I said, ‘and then you can worry about your clothes and tools!’”

Ayalah stopped and leaned closer to Rivkah whispering, “You know, I got him to bury his plow. What would he do with that on our flight? It’s still there. He has checked on it after the Assyrians came and destroyed the village.”

She started walking again and continued in a louder voice, “And I believe we will return to our village and build houses again. These armies flood the lands, but they will pass on. Thousands will be swept away by this war. The land remains. Bare and forlorn it may be, fallow and devastated, but it will bear fruit again. It needs people to till the soil, sow the crop, plant the trees and gather the harvest. I pray that my family will return to their heritage, to work the land once more. The LORD may have deserted his people for a while, but he will not root them out completely. Rulers may change and kingdoms may falter, but his faithfulness endures.”

“And my family?” Rivkah asked.

“They suffered with their people. I cannot comprehend it. I do not know why some share the fate of their nation and others remain. But were you not plucked like a brand from a burning fire? Rivkah, I believe there’s hope for you. Maybe your family, your city will continue through you.”

The two walked on in silence. Suddenly Ayalah stopped and bent over, looking at the ground.

“Do you see these shoots of wild cress, Rivkah? Just what we are looking for. Nice and tender. They should make an excellent salad. Come, dear can you pick them for me?”

“Which ones?” Rivkah wasn’t quite sure what she meant.

“These ones here.” Ayalah pointed to some crinkly leaves barely sprouting out of the hard ground. “It’s hard for an old woman to bend down and pick them. I’m no longer that fit. That’s where you come in. Prick them off just below the leaves. That’s it . . . Now put them in the cloth bag we brought along.”

Rivkah plucked the shoots, gathering them in a bundle.

“Give me one of those leaves, Rivkah.”

When she chewed it Ayalah smiled satisfied. “Very nice. I didn’t know it grew so well around here.”

They found more plants at other spots as they moved over the hill. Wild, prickly lettuce and shoots of shrubs and pines were added to the bundle.

After they had walked through a small grove of trees they came out into the open again.

“Take a few leaves of that,” Ayalah pointed at some sorrel that had sprouted a few green leaves again.

“Can you eat that?” Rivkah had often seen it outside the city walls and along some of the roads.

“Yes, you can eat it. It may be a bit bitter, especially as the leaves grow bigger, but we can’t be picky, can we? You know, in these times you eat food you would otherwise just walk by or leave to the animals.”

Rivkah took the leaves.

“I think we should have enough now. These greens don’t keep long. So you’ll have to get more in a day or two. But come, we’ll go back home now and prepare lunch.”

As they walked up the hill Rivkah remembered the earlier conversation on their way down from their home.

“So you have only barley now. No wheat? Is that why the bread tastes a bit . . . umh . . . funny, mother Ayalah?

Ayalah tapped the ground with her stick.

“Oh, we do have some wheat. When we found this place and the others joined us, we realized that the barley wouldn’t last us through the winter. Amnon was able to get some wheat from the fields near Mareshah. It was not easy with the Assyrians snooping around. He couldn’t exactly harvest the fields, just picked a few ears and brought them back. It wasn’t easy threshing the wheat as we don’t dare to be out in the open much. So we often grind it husks and all. Of course the bread is sometimes a bit hard to get down, but if it fills you, it’s good. In late summer we gathered wild emmer and darnel, whatever wild grain we could find. That’s even harder to thresh and you don’t get much out of it. It’s not easy baking bread with that sort of flour. I tell you, Naarah normally bakes delicious bread, but she has her work cut out for her. As you know, we don’t have a good millstone either. That makes it even harder to grind fine flour. It’s the only one we were able to pull out from the rubble of the destroyed village. But you know, we should be grateful for what we have, even if the bread is sometimes a bit crumbly and hard to chew on.”

By now they had come to the saddle on the ridge above the cave. It was not far from here and only downhill. They reached the cave and crawled through the entrance. Inside Naarah had finished cleaning the bowls and jars. A jar of thickened milk stood beside her. She must have just carried it in, out of the morning sun. Rivkah was still not used to the sour taste of the thickened milk the fugitives seemed to like for lunch.

“We’ve brought you enough greens for a nice salad and a hearty meal at night,” Ayalah told her daughter-in-law.

“Good. I hope you’re not too thirsty after carrying all that. There’s not much water left. Somebody will have to get some more.”

“Rivkah will get some water after lunch, Naarah,” Ayalah assured her.

While little Tilon crawled around the cave, the three women prepared the salad washing the leaves, then tearing them into little pieces. They added roasted fennel seeds and thickened milk.

Soon the men drifted in. Joab had been lucky and had found some clay to make pottery. He told them that this clay was better than the one he had discovered previously.

“It’s also a bit easier to dig out: the soil’s softer.” And while he discussed with Naarah and Ayalah what dishes would be needed, Amnon and Achan turned up.

They had been out hunting, but did not have much to show for it. A thrush had been caught in the bird trap that Amnon had made from sticks. All the nets were empty. But they had collected quite a few worms and reset the traps.

“I think we’ll get some decent catches in the next few days.”

Amnon turned to Rivkah, “If you see any worms, pick them up. We really need them. You should find a few now after the rain. Outside, just beside the entrance, there’s a jar with soil and some food scraps. That’s where we keep them.”

“One thrush is not much for dinner,” Naarah remarked.

“We’ll see whether we can get some more,” Amnon remarked. “Swallows are best caught in the late afternoon.”

Joab and Amnon complimented the women on the fresh salad.

“I suppose that’s what we’ll have to live on now.” Achan didn’t seem pleased hearing that. He only nibbled hesitantly on the leaves.