Читать книгу Daughter of Lachish - Tim Frank - Страница 5

No! It could not happen to him! Not now! Not so close to victory. He’d thought he would live, would see the fall of the enemy, would experience the triumph over the rebellious city. He had hoped for the spoils of battle, the rewards of war. And now? Now he was dying. He was sure of it. An arrow had pierced his skin and opened a gaping wound in his forearm. It was not only his arm that hurt. The pain surged through his whole body. He lay on the wooden deck of the siege machine, unable to move, close to death. He couldn’t even protect the siege machine. Would it make it through the battle? Would it survive if he did not?

“Ishtar! Oh, Ishtar!” Itur-Ea called out to the goddess. “Draw me from the claws of death,” he breathed. The pain lessened, the clamor of battle receded. But Itur-Ea felt no peace. Panic seized him as he seemed to rush along a tunnel of darkness, as he fell into the regions below the earth. He tried to call out, tried to remain among the living. Times when he had visited the temple of Ishtar flashed before his eyes. Was he going there? Into her embrace? Itur-Ea let go. Only fear met him in the darkness.

A cold wave hit him. He shivered. Itur-Ea opened his eyes. The archer poured more water over his face.

“Get up!” the archer yelled, then slapped Itur-Ea’s face.

Itur-Ea moaned. “I can’t.”

“It’s only your arm,” the archer insisted. He cut strips off Itur-Ea’s bloodied sash and wound them round the injured arm. Itur-Ea gasped in pain. But the archer seemed to hardly notice. He propped Itur-Ea up and slapped him on the shoulder, the one that was not injured. “We need you. The machine won’t last long under this fire if you don’t do your job. So do it!” Turning away, the man took his bow, stretched the string and released the arrow that would surely find its mark.

Itur-Ea got up. He didn’t think he could lift the ladle. Gritting his teeth he plunged it into the caldron of the siege machine. He poured the water over the side, methodically keeping the siege machine wet, dousing the flames that threatened it. He had seldom seen such tenacious defenders. The men of Lachish threw fire and torches at the attackers without pause. They threw everything else they could as well: boulders, grindstones, wagon wheels and jars. And of course their archers fired arrows and their slingers shot stones at the Assyrian army.

But they could not succeed. Lachish would fall. Itur-Ea was sure of it. Had the city not rebelled against the god Ashur? Had it not broken the treaty of the god? The people of Judah might put faith in their god, the god of Jerusalem, but their god could not help them. For the Assyrian army would crush Judah, the arm of Ashur would utterly destroy the land. Itur-Ea looked back across to the hill where the king of Assyria sat enthroned. King Sennacherib, the lord of the empire, king of all, directed the battle from above.

Itur-Ea could hear the heavy breathing of the soldiers below operating the battering ram. With a thud its iron tip crashed into the city wall. Again and again it was rammed into the same spot so that the wall would slowly begin to crack. Each time it struck, the siege machine shuddered slightly. Whenever they found a crack between stones, the crew would lever the ram with all their strength, trying to dislodge stones in the wall.

“Cover!” one of the archers yelled as he dove to the front of the machine. A heavy rock struck the machine. Itur-Ea could feel the impact as the timber framing shook. No real damage. The siege machines were built to withstand such bombardment. Stepping back, the archer had already released his next arrow. By the glint in his eye Itur-Ea could tell that it had found its target.

Despite his weary arms, Itur-Ea continued to pour water over the hides that covered the siege machine. He looked back over the Assyrian troops fighting their way up the siege ramp. “By Ishtar!” Instead of continuous rows of advancing soldiers, he saw a large gap in the attacking ranks. An intense barrage of arrows and sling stones held back the Assyrian fighters. How could they allow their vanguard to become separated? They could never hope to weaken the city’s defenses without the cover provided by the archers and the steady stream of reinforcements.

A glimpse along the city wall through the windows of the siege machine was no more encouraging. The attempt to scale the wall with ladders had been repelled. Attackers lay fallen beside remains of siege ladders.

The siege machine lurched. Instead of the full thud, the ram just scraped the wall. The crew on the lower level was caught by surprise and a few fell over as the ram swung out. “Chains!” The defenders had managed to put a chain around the ram and were hauling it up. The three soldiers sent forward to free the ram were immediately felled by lances and rocks thrown from the wall. “Cut the rope!” the captain of the siege machine shouted from below. Itur-Ea fumbled the dagger out of his belt and began sawing the rope from which the ram was suspended. “Now! Cut the rope!” The voice of the captain sounded desperate. Itur-Ea worked feverishly. Finally the last strand snapped. The ram fell down. In one movement the crew thrust it forward and tilted it back. The chain around the ram became loose and the soldiers were able to haul it back into the machine. Not that the machine was much use now! It provided some cover for the archers, but could no longer damage the wall.

The captain clearly must have seen the difficulty and decided to use the ram unsuspended. What little effect that had!

Theirs was not the only siege machine in trouble. No water was splashed over the side of the closest machine. Had they run out? Or had the pourer been wounded? Frustration and despair surged through Itur-Ea. The attack was not going well.

The king saw the situation. And he acted. The signal for retreat was given. Feelings of relief and disappointment overcame Itur-Ea. But he could not think of their failure now. Retreat was always a dangerous phase of battle. The rear of the Assyrian army pressed forward and sent a cloud of arrows and sling stones onto the defenders on the walls. The brake blocks were removed and the siege machines descended the ramp slowly. The captains shouted orders to keep the machines in line. The maneuver surprised the defenders. They had fought the attackers at close range; their weapons were not aimed to cover the distance. But no soldier could drop his guard, even for one moment. The archer next to Itur-Ea suddenly gasped as an arrow struck him under the arm. Here the body armor was no protection. Wounded, he fell onto the deck.

* * *

“Do you think the Assyrians will enter the city? Will they destroy it?”

“They can’t. The LORD will not allow it.”

Rivkah looked at her friend Simchah. How could she be so sure?

“My mother prays every day to Amun-Re for the deliverance of Lachish. But she is afraid. I’ve seen her weep at night.”

“We should not bow down to any other gods. The LORD alone can save,” Simcha countered. How often had Rivkah heard her say that? Simchah came from a very strict family. Unlike most other people in Lachish, they prayed only to the LORD, the national god of Judah.

“My father said that only Egypt can help us now. If Lachish can hold out long enough until help arrives, there’s hope.”

“But has the Pharaoh of Egypt been able to stop the Assyrians so far? We should hope only in the LORD.”

“Yes, but . . . ” Rivkah knew any argument would be useless. Simchah was her best friend, but when they spoke about the gods she could be so stubborn. She always had to be right, she just wouldn’t listen to anything else.

A group of soldiers hurried past on their way to the southern wall. Simchah followed them with her eyes, “Warriors of the LORD!” If anything could distract Simchah, it was strapping young men, especially soldiers. But which boy wasn’t a soldier these days? Due to the siege every last body was used to defend the city. Even women and girls worked to strengthen the defenses.

When they had realized that the Assyrians were constructing a siege ramp on the southwestern corner of the hill, the people of Lachish had built a counterramp. They hoped to give the wall extra strength and get more defensive weapons to where they were needed. If the Assyrians did break through, they would be surprised at the opposition they would find. Father had explained it all one night when they were sitting down for their meal. Rivkah had helped to build it, too. Well, a bit anyway. It had been hard work and she certainly didn’t complain when her mother had asked her to stay home the next day and put her to work on the loom.

“Do you think they’ll take chariots to the southern wall too?” Simchah found chariot drivers even more fascinating than foot soldiers.

“Why would they?”

“To fight the enemy of course.”

“I don’t know whether chariots would help a lot.” Rivkah lived on the main road and saw plenty of chariots going by. They didn’t really excite her.

“Of course only if the Assyrians break the wall. And I don’t believe that will happen.”

“There you have it. They’ve come close, though.” And today, it seemed, the Assyrians had mounted an all-out attack.

“Do you think the Assyrians will leave once we’ve repulsed this attack?” Simchah mused. “Oh, I so want this siege to end.”

Rivkah wished that too. In better days they had sat here in front of the house and had eaten dried figs or nibbled some honey cake. Now everything was rationed.

“It will pass,” Rivkah said, sounding rather more assured than she really was.

“I know. We sometimes have to go through hard times to get to a blessed future. Just imagine, I will marry a warrior who has defended our city!” Simchah had a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Oh, Simchah! Really, do you call some of those boys warriors?”

“But what if I marry a soldier from the garrison?”

“Dream on!”

“You’ll see.”

Rivkah had no doubt that Simchah would get the attention of a soldier if she worked at it. She certainly had the looks and the right manner. She was no longer a girl. Men started to notice her. “But what would your parents say?”

“Oh . . . ” Simchah gave a little wave with her hand as if that would never be any cause for concern.

Rivkah laughed, “Simchah, the commander’s wife. I can just imagine it.” Simchah joined in. She got up and struck a ladylike pose.

“And who will you marry, Rivkah?”

“I don’t know. Mother hopes we’ll get rich husbands.”

“Maybe a tax official or a rich farmer?”

“Most farmers are poor. You see them coming through the gate leading a skinny donkey. Or at least they used to come . . . before the siege.”

“The farmers from the villages. I don’t mean those. That would just be horrible! No, the landholders of Lachish, they’re well off. And they don’t have to work so hard that they get dirty and grimy.” Simchah sat down again. “I could come and visit you. And we’d drink wine and have cake and fresh melons.”

Rivkah rolled her eyes, “Don’t talk of food. I’m starving.” She ran the hand over her empty stomach.

“You’re impossible,” Simchah scolded her. “Always so negative. Why not dream of days to come?”

Just then the noise at the southern wall grew louder. “What’s happening?” Rivkah asked.

“Probably fighting back the Assyrians.”

“I’d better go home, I think.” Rivkah suddenly felt guilty. Why had she stayed away from home for so long? What if the Assyrians entered the city now and she was not would not be with her family?

“Be careful,” Simchah warned.

“I don’t think their arrows will reach that far into the city. I’ll be careful”. She gave Simchah a quick kiss, jumped up from the bench and waved as she strode off down the street.

It was quiet in the side streets. Not many people were outside. Most were probably cowering in their houses during the attack. The men fought on the walls—or slept. Few mothers allowed their children to play outside. The shops on the main street stood forlorn. People did not go shopping in such a desperate situation. And yet, she knew, some people had dug out their heirlooms to exchange for food.

There were no customers milling around the workshop of Rivkah’s father. Usually, a few passers-by would stand and watch the blacksmith at his work. Especially the farmers, who would wait while their plowshares or ox goads were repaired. The fire and his skill fascinated them.

Rivkah ducked into the house past her father, who was busy stoking the fire. But her mother noticed her when she came into the back room, “Where have you been?” It was clear that her mother was not pleased. “It’s dangerous outside. What if you get hit by an arrow? Or if, God forbid, the Assyrians break through the wall? There’s a war going on, Rivkah.”

She stepped away from the loom she had been working on. “There’s still plenty of work to be done around here. Your sister and I have been working most of the afternoon and you were nowhere to be seen.” Rivkah’s older sister, Shomer, stood at the other loom and turned the back to her. Shomer always did what her parents wanted and her weaving was really exquisite. She looked after her little brothers and sisters and would never be late home.

“I was just at Simchah’s,” Rivkah tried to defend herself.

“Running around in the streets at this time,” her mother shook her head. “Can’t you see how dangerous it is?”

Right now Rivkah could see that the best thing to do was to be quiet and somehow appease her mother. She moved over to the loom her mother had been working on. A simple linen cloth hung there half-finished. She could do that.

“Shall I continue weaving this?” Rivkah asked her mother.

“Please. But make sure the rows are tight. And take care to make it nice and even.”

“Yes, mother.” Why did her mother always say that? After all, Rivkah wasn’t a beginner and had woven many garments over the years.

Shomer turned to look at her. Her eyes seemed accusing and yet hurt and afraid. She always took it personally when Rivkah went outside the boundaries set by their parents. But what was wrong with going and talking to her friend? Mother was just overanxious.

Weaving was tedious work. Rivkah wasn’t a bad weaver—there were just other things she’d rather do. Suddenly she felt something tickle her back. “Hey!” Rivkah lashed out and hit her youngest brother, Shallum. He had snuck up behind her and had managed to stick some stalks of straw into her dress. Nepheg, the older of the two, peeked around the doorway to see how his sister would react. “Leave it!” Rivkah yelled. Shallum ran away. Rivkah pulled the straw out of her clothes. Annoying little brothers!

But they didn’t give up that easily. Soon Shallum was back and tried to stuff some feathers down Rivkah’s neck. She knew who was behind that. Just wait, Nepheg! When she saw him again at the door, Rivkah jumped up and ran to grab him. She nearly got him, but Nepheg saw her coming and fled to Mother. “Mother, Rivkah wants to hit me.” He clung to her dress.

Mother turned round angrily, “Can’t you leave your brothers alone, Rivkah?”

“But they started it,” Rivkah said.

“I don’t care who started it. I’m trying to cook. And I thought you wanted to weave.”

Nepheg smirked triumphantly at Rivkah. But Mother pulled his ear. “And you two stop annoying Rivkah. Go and find something useful to do.” With that she sent him away. Addressing Rivkah she continued, “The boys are bored. This war’s affecting them quite badly. Just be a bit considerate, please.”

Of course they were bored, stuck in the house the whole day. Other boys still went out on the streets at times. Some boys, little older than Nepheg, even helped out along the walls, carrying ammunition and conveying messages. But mother was too worried to allow any of her children out except, maybe, for essential tasks like getting water.

Rivkah returned to the loom. “You’re so easy to tease.” Now Shomer was giving her sisterly advice! “Just ignore them. Every time you snap and hit them they are even keener to try it again.”

“They asked for it.”

“Exactly. They want you to get upset.”

Rivkah knew Shomer was right, but she wouldn’t admit that now. What else should she do? Just stand there and let them annoy her and ruin her dress?

Concentrating on her work again, Rivkah passed the yarn through the warp suspended on the loom. After lifting the rod, the alternate threads of the warp came up, so that she could return the yarn to the right again. With one deft movement she pushed up the rows she had just completed, ensuring they were tight.

* * *

As darkness fell, a multitude of fires illuminated the Assyrian camp. While many shone dimly through tent covers, others glowed brightly under the starry sky. Soldiers gathered in their units to eat the evening meal. In the shadows, the stomping of horses could be heard. Near the palisades a squadron of bullish structures stood silently in formation. These were the siege machines, parked up after battle. In the tents nearby, the maintenance crews prepared for the night. Most of them had participated in the attack. Many nursed wounds, all had lost comrades. They discussed the performance of their machines, the effectiveness of each iron ram and the strength of the enemy walls. But nobody dared to voice their disappointment—they had failed to take the city. For weeks the army had been constructing a siege ramp. They had carried boulders from the valley and the hillsides. Under constant enemy fire they had heaped stones and boulders against the city mound and had constructed an incline. It was exhausting, dangerous work and had resulted in many casualties. Finally the ramp had been covered with lime plaster to ensure stability and give a smooth surface. The limestone had been quarried and processed at a site several leagues up the valley. All previous attempts to attack the gate or to scale the steep sides had been unsuccessful. And now they had mounted the first attack against the city with the siege machines. The siege machines did not always guarantee success. But they had all hoped that this would be the breakthrough, that the walls would be breached and the city of Lachish would be no more. Instead, a long, drawn-out siege seemed to loom. Yes, they had inflicted damage, but they had not dealt the fatal blow.

Itur-Ea angrily kicked a stone. He was angry that their rear guard had not withstood the vigorous enemy bombardment, angry that the defenders fought so determinedly and had hurt the Assyrian forces, angry that those rebels dared to defy the great god Ashur. And it was his siege machine that had been disabled by that chain. The situation had been grim. He was sure it was only the protection of Ishtar, the goddess of war, that had finally saved him from further harm.

The damage would mean more work on the siege machine tomorrow. He wasn’t sure whether he could repair it in one day. Nobody really knew when the king would order the next assault. Oh, there would be little skirmishes and the archers would do their best to prevent the strengthening of the defenses. They had to keep up the pressure. But siege machines would only be involved in large-scale offences.

The arm was playing up again. Itur-Ea had washed it and his mate had applied storax balm and a bandage. It would have to do. Those with more serious injuries were treated by the diviners. After a battle there were always scores of wounded soldiers. In his case it was quite obvious what caused the pain. He hoped that no demonic fever would enter his body through the wound. Then it would be necessary to ward off the evil forces and appease the gods.

“Does it still hurt?” Naid-Marduk looked at him.

“What do you think?” Of course it hurt. At times Itur-Ea could get annoyed with his friend.

“It’s a pretty nasty wound,” replied Naid-Marduk.

“I’ll be alright. Certainly not dead yet. You’re lucky they didn’t get you!”

“That’s true,” he acknowledged, “It didn’t look too good at one point. Of course down below you’re protected a bit better. The whole machine really needs to come down before they can get at us.” Naid-Marduk had been assigned to power the ram of a siege machine. “On the one hand I prefer to be down there,” he continued, “but when you see who they’ve put on top to splash the water around on my machine . . . he’s useless.”

“Yeah, doesn’t really know much about our machines,” Itur-Ea agreed. “He only recently joined the division—originally he was an engineer and sapper.”

“Those guys are not much use here at Lachish with that bloody glacis they put around their hill. There’s no way of burrowing under the walls.”

“The whole place is a nightmare. May Ashur give us victory soon!”

* * *

If anyone had still been asleep, they would be awake now. The donkey protested loudly and strongly at being roused from its rest. Head down, flanks heaving, sucking in the air as it loudly snorted its “ee-ah,” panting like a dog on heat. Meshullam had expected as much from the beast. He gave it an irritated slap on the back. Normally, most people would have just turned over on their mats, if they were not up already. The braying of donkeys could be heard in the town any time of the day. But today it might just remind them that they had to get ready. The last possessions had to be packed, the belongings loaded on donkeys and carts. The people of Moresheth-Gath were leaving their town today, heading for Jerusalem, the capital. It was no longer safe here. So far the Assyrians had not attacked the town, but some of the smaller villages not far away had been raided, cattle and sheep had been stolen. It was only a matter of time before Assyrian troops attacked the small town itself. Meshullam’s father, Ehud, was sure Moresheth-Gath would not be able to withstand the Assyrian force. They had to leave.

Little groups had already left the town in the previous few weeks. Some had gone to the fortified city of Azekah, others to the government centre of Socoh, still others all the way to Jerusalem. Father had been clear that only at Mount Zion, in the city of the LORD, could they find refuge from the mighty army, the tool of the LORD’s wrath.

Most of the people that still remained in Moresheth-Gath had decided to go with Ehud. After all, he was the most influential town elder these days, even though he was among the younger men at the gate. Two days ago Ehud had urged them that they had no time to lose. It was now or never. So Meshullam got the animals ready for departure this morning.

The sun was rising above the eastern hills when the group set out from the town. They went across the narrow saddle at the northern gate to reach the wide ridge that ran nearly all the way to Azekah. The cows bellowed in front of the carts, the donkeys snorted as they were hurried along, the sheep called to their young as flocks were herded together. The goats bleated in protest. The excited shouts of children mixed with the determined commands of men, the crying of babies with the calming words of women and the busy hisses of girls herding the animals.

Meshullam dragged the donkey behind him and made sure he kept his younger brother Shimei in sight. Mother would be furious if anything happened to her baby. Shimei was a good brother, really, but Meshullam thought that Mother spoiled him too much. She always fussed over him.

Now he ran off again!

“Hey! Shimei, come back here!”

Shimei reluctantly came back from behind the bush where he seemed to have discovered something.

“Why?” he asked.

Meshullam didn’t give an answer, just looked at Shimei and said, “Come along.”

Shimei trotted beside the donkey for a while. Soon he had his hands on the load, fiddling with the ropes. The animal turned its head in protest.

“Leave it!” Meshullam yelled.

“Why?” Shimei grabbed hold of a bag and hung onto it, swinging his legs under the donkey. With a sudden jerk the load shifted, Shimei let go and fell hard on his bottom. The donkey stopped. Luckily the load had not fallen off. But Shimei started crying.

“I told you to stop it,” Meshullam snapped.

Shimei only cried louder. Some of the older men that passed them looked at Shimei in disapproval.

“Be quiet!” Meshullam told Shimei.

Shimei did reduce his volume somewhat but continued crying. Meshullam busied himself securing the load again. There were also jars on the donkey’s back. What if they had fallen and broken?

Shimei finally calmed down and they were ready to join the drawn-out group again when they saw Mother and the girls coming. Shimei ran towards her, seeking comfort from her. She set down the bundle she carried, took him up in her arms and embraced him.

“What is it Shimei? What has happened?”

Shimei just buried his face in her dress and put his arms around her neck.

“He thought it was funny to hang from the donkey and drag the load down. When it shifted he fell and hit his bottom. That’s why he’s crying,” Meshullam told her.

“But Shimei! Don’t you know you shouldn’t do that?” she scolded him gently. She hugged him again tightly and set him down. Picking up her bundle she told him to go with Meshullam again.

“We’re walking a long way today, Shimei. Just stay with Meshullam.”

Somewhat unwillingly Shimei went to Meshullam and walked along behind him. At least for a while he was quiet.

* * *

Rivkah let her eyes rest on the horizon for a moment. Across the hills the city of Mareshah was clearly visible. The mound rose prominently among the dark-green belt of olive groves surrounding the city. In a land dried out by the summer heat, the trees provided a stark contrast to the brown fields and pasture around them. The whitewashed houses of Mareshah stood out in this landscape. Rivkah had taken the street outside the citadel yard today to walk to the well. Under her arm she carried the empty jar. She always enjoyed this view over the hill country. The rolling hills, wide open spaces and then this city on a mound that looked nearly symmetrical. She knew the place wasn’t as large as Lachish, not as well-fortified. Most people here didn’t speak well of Mareshah at all. It was considered a cultural backwater, a “peasant hole.” Still, it looked pretty from the distance.

Rivkah wondered whether they were harvesting their olives this year. Or did the Assyrians combing the countryside prevent it? At least the olive trees were still standing. Around Lachish the Assyrians had chopped down the trees and destroyed all the orchards. Maybe the same disaster would yet strike Mareshah.

As Rivkah walked further down the street, the city wall and nearby houses blocked the view over the landscape. Pushing any musings about Assyrians or neighboring cities out of her mind she quickened her step. Not far to the well now. She noticed a few other women ahead of her on their way to get water. She followed them down the steps to the northeast corner of the city. A tower guarded this section of the city wall. The well was in its basement.

* * *

Rivkah placed the water jar on her head. She had listened long enough to the chatter of the women at the well. Everyone talked about the siege these days. Some thought that they would be able to hold out, that help would arrive from Jerusalem or from Egypt. Others believed that they were all doomed to die, that the Assyrians would conquer the city. One woman even thought that this was the calamity foretold by the prophets. Rivkah shuddered. Was there no hope?

She did not like this war. Nothing was the same anymore. All the life had gone out of the city. The little shops along the main road were all closed. In the past she had stopped and looked at the jewelry. How she had longed to get one of those bangles. She had watched the potter shape the clay on the wheel. Back then, the little shops and street vendors had been eager to sell their food. The farmers had brought their produce to the market. The fresh milk had tasted so good. And the fruit! Now, they just lived on a meager ration of twenty shekels of grain per person per day. A few lentils and a small, bony piece of meat each week provided the only variety. She was starving.

Few people were out on the street. They did not linger, afraid of being exposed to enemy fire. To the right the citadel’s walls rose high above the city’s humble houses. When Rivkah passed the gates she could see the activity in the citadel. It was the command centre in the defense effort. From the citadel the commander issued orders. From here soldiers were dispatched to the fighting. Here the garrison was stationed. Provisions and weapons were stored here.

The townspeople had to come here for their daily rations. Even though the commander discouraged people from congregating at the citadel, a few milled around the gate. They were anxious to get food to provide for their families. They came to get some comfort in this place. Here they felt some safety. Nobody greeted Rivkah. They seemed too absorbed in their own misery.

As Rivkah walked on down the main street, she suddenly noticed a little boy staring at her. He was standing at the side of the road, pressed against a house wall, looking up with big dark eyes. She wasn’t sure what she read in his face. Fear? Surprise? Or was it a guilty conscience? He seemed somewhat disorientated and unsure. Just as Rivkah was about to ask him what he was doing all alone on the street and where did he live, a young woman came running down the road. When she saw the boy she clapped her hands in relief and shouted, “Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Yotam. What are you doing here?”

The boy’s eyes left Rivkah and he looked at his mother. He pulled up his shoulders, uncertain how to respond. But then a smile crossed his face. The woman scooped him up and carried him in her arms. He let it happen and then snuggled against her as he wrapped his thin arms around her neck. The woman turned and hurried back down the road. Over her shoulder the boy looked at Rivkah again. In his eyes there was no longer any hint of fear.

Rivkah didn’t know whether the woman had even looked at her. She must be one of the refugees from the countryside. Many villagers had sought refuge in the heavily fortified city of Lachish as they heard about the advance of the Assyrian army. The people were poor and did not wear any nice clothing or jewelry. They had had to leave most of their meager possessions behind when they abandoned their houses.

With their arrival, the emergency stores of the city had to last for even more people, but they were a welcome addition to the defense effort. And they did work hard, always willing to help where needed. The houses had become even more crowded accommodating them. Of course, people got annoyed and tempers sometimes flared. But they coped. They had to. After all this was war. Their only hope was in a joint effort to resist the enemy until help arrived, whether from heaven or from earth.

Rivkah’s father was busy at work. He did not fight on the walls. He supported the defensive effort through his trade. There was plenty of work for a blacksmith when a war was on. Normally he made agricultural implements. Now he was beating plowshares into swords and pruning hooks into spear tips. The demand for arrowheads just could not be satiated.

As Rivkah walked through the room, her father looked up. “You can leave some of that water here. Just pour it into that small jar over there.” He turned his concentration back to the arrowhead he was making. It was delicate work.

Rivkah took the water jar from her head. “Elisaph, can you help her, please.” Her father spoke to Rivkah’s cousin who just stood there, leaning against the wall, hardly even noticing Rivkah. He helped her father in the workshop treading the bellow to feed the fire with air to increase the temperature, if required. Elisaph gave a grunt but came over and lifted the jar to pour the water.

“Thank you, Rivkah.” Her father must have finished the arrowhead. He put his hand on her shoulder. “I hope we’ll survive this siege. Keep your head up. I know it’s hard on you. But you can be sure we’ll fight to save this city. Even if I don’t live, I pray you will.”

Rivkah was confused. Her father wasn’t normally like this. He usually didn’t talk that much, especially not with her. But these weren’t normal times. The war seemed to have taken its toll on him. Rivkah studied his face. His eyes seemed sad. Was he afraid? Did he have a premonition of what was to come? Rivkah picked up the water jar again and carried it into the inner room.