Читать книгу Daughter of Lachish - Tim Frank - Страница 6

Itur-Ea sat in the shade of the tent seeking cover from the fierce midday sun. This morning they had taken off the front panel of the siege machine and he had thoroughly inspected the whole part, made some repairs and replaced a few hides. The machine was in surprisingly good condition after the battle. In the afternoon they would suspend the battering ram again. Getting that just right was always a major operation. He had to admit that it wasn’t his strength. He was far more confident in maintaining the shell of the siege machine.

His father was a tanner and Itur-Ea had learned from him. Really, he had wanted to become a tanner himself, but the village had chosen him to join the army when the call came. Now his brothers carried on the trade back in the village. He thought about the village often these days: small houses of sun-baked bricks surrounded by stands of date palms. Irrigation canals watered the barley fields. The land was flat and fertile. Not like here in this wild, barren country of steep hillsides and deep valleys.

They used to catch fish in the canals. But the best and biggest always came from the great river. Of course that was several leagues away. Still, they would sometimes go down to the town on its shore and buy fish at the market. It had always seemed such a journey, like a visit to a different land. He would stand and watch the boats on the river, some of them heavily laden with produce for the big cities. He had dreamed of setting out to discover the world, of seeing majestic cities and temples, of travelling to strange and distant lands.

Itur-Ea laughed. He certainly had done that. Who would have ever thought that he would come to this place, to the end of the world near the Western Sea? But he had hardly journeyed by boat. No, he had had to travel on his own two feet—weeks of marching through inhospitable territory, over hills and mountains, plains and deserts.

And then there were the battles. There were times when he loathed them. The exhaustion, the intensity wore him down. But mostly he savored them. The action, the acute awareness of life and death, the danger thrilled him. The performance of their siege machines gave him an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. Through them, careful design and destructive power combined to overwhelm the enemies of the mighty Assyrian army. Whoever dared to stand in their way had fallen.

Nothing compared to the triumph when the walls crumbled, the last resistance was extinguished, the houses looted and the whole city sacked and burned. Then he knew that he was truly part of the greatest army, that his lot was with the conquerors. Victory was with the king and his god Ashur. It made everything worthwhile.

If the truth be told, he probably couldn’t go back and live in the village. Not yet anyway. At the moment life was too exciting to give it all up and lead a sedate life. Wouldn’t he get bored in a sleepy village where everything moved to the same rhythm year in, year out, where village politics was the most exciting topic of conversation?

Military training had been hard to begin with. The new environment had intimidated him. And he had never been any good with a bow and arrow. Actually, if he thought about it, you could count on one hand the birds he had shot as a boy in the village. Still, he had shown some promise with the spear, especially in close-quarter combat. He proved to be very skilled with the dagger and the sword. On his first military campaign he fought as a shield-bearer, providing cover for his archer. The experience had taught him some valuable lessons.

It must have been that survey when he returned to Nineveh that had matched him to his current role in the siege machine division. He had immediately taken to this job. With it, his future had been decided. He had become a professional soldier and now knew siege machines like few others.

He had never been back to the village. The army barracks was his home now. The last two years he had been stationed in the big city of Nineveh itself. Its massive walls and grand scale still awed him. But he knew the city well now and had adapted to its life. He was a stranger there no longer.

“Master?” The voice of his assistant interrupted Itur-Ea’s thoughts. “We are ready to install the battering ram.”

“Thank you. I will inspect it in a moment.” As Itur-Ea walked into the sunlight, he felt as if he was leaving behind memories of the village. His military knowledge was needed.

* * *

Rivkah’s hands slowly moved through Kaleb’s fur, from his ears down his back to his tail which twitched when she touched it. Kaleb moved his head around and licked Rivkah’s face. She drew back. “Don’t!” she laughed. “Leave your tongue in your mouth.” Kaleb stared straight ahead again as she stroked his head. He gave a sigh as he yawned and shifted his paws. “Hey what’s the matter, eh?” She pulled his ear. He just looked at her with those deep, trusting eyes only a dog could have. Rivkah wrapped her arms around Kaleb and buried her face in his fur.

He was her best friend. Others just called him dog—keleb—but she called him Kaleb, the mighty warrior from the tribe of Judah. Others thought he was a dirty mongrel but she thought he was beautiful. Others just saw a sly stray roaming the streets; she saw how crafty and fast he was. People might try to kick him just like any other dog, but he was far too clever and alert to ever receive a blow. Some people were even afraid of him. He could put on quite a fierce show. He certainly never let anybody near him—except for Rivkah. He trusted her and she trusted him.

Suddenly Kaleb stood up and growled. But whatever had attracted his attention must have gone. He sat down again, only his ears twitching alertly. He nuzzled Rivkah, sniffing her clothes. “No, I didn’t bring any food this time. Hungry?” She held his mouth between her hands. “If Mother knew that I sometimes give you food, she would get awfully mad. She would make sure I got a decent thrashing.” Rivkah tickled him under the jaw. “There’s not much food round these days, old pal. My stomach’s empty, too. I’m sure you’ll still be able to catch the odd mouse, eh. But I’ll try to sneak something out for you next time.”

Kaleb must have been satisfied with that for he slumped down and rolled over onto his back. Rivkah rubbed his tummy. He closed his eyes and pulled his legs up against his thin body. A contented growl came from his chest.

* * *

They had barley soup for their evening meal today. It certainly made the grain go further and filled the stomach. The feeling wouldn’t last long but for now the tummy felt so warm and full that the soup seemed like a sumptuous meal. Rivkah could even detect a faint taste of meat. A few bones had been thrown into the pot to give the soup some flavor.

While Nepheg had already finished his bowl and was greedily asking for more, Rivkah slurped her soup slowly, relishing each gulp. There would be no seconds tonight. That’s all they got.

“You’re not hungry, Rivkah? Can I have some of yours?” Nepheg was trying to get more food.

“No, I’m just enjoying my meal. I don’t pour it down my throat like you.”

Nepheg clearly wasn’t happy with Rivkah’s answer.

“I’m hungry! Father, can I have some more? We must have some food in the house.”

“You know there’s only enough for tomorrow morning. We’ll get a new ration in the afternoon. So be quiet. Maybe you really should eat your food a bit slower.”

Father was emptying his bowl and cleaned it out with a small piece of stale bread. These days they didn’t have fresh bread anymore. Old bread was more filling.

The whole family sat in a circle on the floor, Father on his ibex skin, the others just on the packed-mud floor of the upper storey. They always ate up here. It was much more pleasant than down in the workshop. Rivkah looked around. She was still hoping for an opportunity to quietly put some cooked barley to the side for Kaleb without anybody noticing. Shomer was busy feeding little Susannah. Nepheg was just explaining to Shallum how he could single-handedly defeat the entire Assyrian army. Mother was complaining loudly that she suspected they had not been given the full ration today. Nobody seemed to listen to her. Father certainly didn’t appear to. He had closed his eyes and leaned back, reclining on his right hand. With the left he stroked his beard. It was the perfect time! Rivkah took a small shard and scooped some gruel out of her bowl. She quickly hid it under a fold of her dress.

“What are you doing there?” Of course, Shallum must see it!

Rivkah inwardly screamed at her brother, Shut up! She could have strangled him. “Just eating.” Rivkah knew she was blushing.

“Leave your sister alone and make sure your own bowl is clean.” Mother came to Rivkah’s rescue. She had heard enough complaints from the boys for one day. “But . . . ” Shallum began.

Mother didn’t let him finish, “You won’t get any more tonight. So you better eat what you’ve got. I see your bowl is not that clean.”

Shallum just looked at Rivkah in puzzlement but proceeded to lick his bowl as he had been told. Normally Mother would have scolded him for not using a piece of bread to wipe the bowl. But today they didn’t have enough bread.

That was close! Rivkah was sure Shallum wouldn’t bring it up again during the meal. She just had to disappear immediately afterwards before he could ask any questions. Hopefully he would forget about it later on.

After the meal, Father uttered a short prayer to Baal asking for an abundant supply of food. Everyone rose. It would have been Rivkah’s task to wash the dishes. But she had something else in mind. “I’ve got to go outside.” Nobody really seemed to listen, but Rivkah was already halfway down the ladder. Outside the house, she did turn towards the sewer but then walked further up the lane. Here she sat in the shadow of a wall and waited.

It was dark by now. Stars shone in the night sky and a breeze rustled through the streets. The lane was quiet. In the distance she could hear the shouts of men and the subdued hum of a city under siege.

And then he was there! A moist tongue licked her feet. “Kaleb!” Rivkah flung her arms around the dog and drew him close. He eagerly ate what she offered him. “I know it’s not much. A handful of barley and a small piece of bread. But it’s all I have. I have to eat something too.”

Kaleb licked her hands. He seemed to understand, but clearly could have done with more. After a while he realized there was no more and stopped searching, just lying across Rivkah’s legs.

“Oh, you’re still heavy enough. I thought you might have lost a bit of weight, Kaleb.” Rivkah stroked his fur. Kaleb snuggled against her. He was content and could have stayed there till morning.

“Hey, old pal, I can’t stay too long. Have to go back to do the dishes. So you better get off.” Rivkah pushed him off her legs. Kaleb got to his feet reluctantly and shook himself from head to tail, as if he had just emerged from the side of a warm fire into the frosty air. He whimpered. He was no longer the fierce, wily dog, but more like a small puppy seeking comfort and warmth.

“Kaleb, I’ll see you again tomorrow.” Rivkah caressed his ears. He trotted beside her, head down, as they walked along the lane. One last pat and Kaleb scampered off into the darkness. Before Rivkah entered the house she turned around and looked down the street and let her gaze wander across the starry sky above.

* * *

The city on the hill loomed dark ahead. Its towers and walls were clearly visible in the pale moonlight. The impressive fort in its centre rose above the jumbled assortment of houses crowding inside the city walls. No light came from the city. But round the base of the hill the odd fire flickered—evidence of the Assyrian army that had encircled Lachish.

This was how it had been for the last two months—two whole months since they had first set up camp on this low hill. But tonight felt different. Itur-Ea paced the open platform of the camp tower. He had asked to have another look at the city before the attack tomorrow. Opposite him, the siege ramp rose steadily against the city mound. It still seemed impossibly steep, but they had brought their siege machines up that slope before.

“Nervous?” The guard on watch grinned at Itur-Ea.

“No, just assessing the likely direction of any possible major resistance. I have to know where the fire might come from.”

“Right.” The guard didn’t look convinced. “You know,” he continued, “the king has consulted the gods and tomorrow is a favorable day. Ashur will grant us victory.”

“Oh, I do not doubt that tomorrow is the perfect day. It’s just . . . you have to be prepared for battle.” How could Itur-Ea explain what he felt before a battle? Everything stirred within him. In battles he felt the presence of the great goddess Ishtar so acutely. In the night before a battle he always longed for the mystic union with Ishtar as he had experienced it in the temple of Nineveh.

“Well, I’d better go back to the tent.” Itur-Ea nodded towards the guard. He had to be alone. He didn’t want anybody watching him right now. Nor did he need any glib comments. Placing his feet carefully on the ladder, he climbed down from the tower to the dark camp below. Finally he felt the ground under his feet. Turning around he walked past tents where soldiers were still making their last preparations for the battle ahead. He did not go to his tent immediately but, rather, felt his way to the siege machines. Placing his hand on the leather shell of his machine, he breathed in the scent he knew so well. It was darker here—no fires were nearby. And so the thoughts came flooding back.

Itur-Ea was a follower of Ishtar, a worshipper of the goddess of war and love. He could still remember the first time he had gone to the temple. Its splendor was inspiring. The surroundings had awed him. The vivid pictures of the brazen and sensual goddess had set his heart racing. The chants and swirling clouds of incense had taken hold of his mind. The union with the temple maid had set his whole body aflame. And he had realized who Ishtar was, had felt her presence. He had taken his fill and was satisfied; he had given his everything and was spent. Life until then had just been a hazy drudge, but now he had burst into a new reality, a clarity of life as if he had finally surfaced from the dark, primeval waters.

Itur-Ea had stumbled like a drunk when he walked back out onto the street. The encounter with Ishtar had overwhelmed him. And he had known that he was a new man—that he was a man. From then on he would return often to the temple. Yes, Ishtar was demanding—the temple fees were significant. Ishtar was fickle—his life was no longer so settled since he had devoted himself to her worship. But she had often blessed him these past years and he would continue to worship her as long as he could, as long as she did not turn against him or tired of him.

His religious life had changed completely since he lived in Nineveh. Back in the village they had mainly worshipped Ea, the god of the deep and of wisdom. Each year at the festival of Nin-aha-kudu, the manifestation of Ea as the god of rivers and irrigated gardens, the image of the god and his daughter had been carried through the village. He himself was even named after the god—Itur-Ea: “Ea has become merciful”. While he had become excited as a boy when the festival of Nin-aha-kudu approached, it could not compare with the experience in the temple of Ishtar. How he longed for that experience now!

In the dark night Itur-Ea pressed himself against the cold leather panels. What would tomorrow bring? Would he feel the presence of Ishtar? With a sigh he turned and went to his tent which he shared with a dozen other soldiers.

* * *

Was Nepheg dreaming of a sumptuous meal, fresh fruit and juice? He loudly smacked his lips in his sleep and chewed on non-existent food. Now and then it sounded as if something had got stuck in his throat. But with a sudden rasping noise he always cleared it again, took a deep breath, and then moved his lips once more, smacking and slurping. He’s probably drooling, too, Rivkah thought. It was pitch dark, so she couldn’t see his face. Nepheg had never been a quiet sleeper, but he must be really hungry tonight.

In the evening, like every evening, they had taken the mats and blankets from the alcove and spread them on the floor in the main room of the upper storey. The children slept together here, except for Susannah, who was with Mother and Father in the little bedroom. In summer they would often sleep on the roof, but Father had thought it unsafe while a war was going on. So they had to endure the night in the heat of the living room. And it did get quite warm up here towards evening, with the day’s heat trapped inside the house.

Shallum was sleeping peacefully beside Rivkah. His breathing was quiet and regular. To her left lay Shomer. She had rolled over again and was leaving precious little space for Rivkah. When they went to bed they had had enough room, but Shomer encroached on Rivkah’s space during the night. Why did she always have to twist and turn? Could she not remain still when sleeping? Shomer pushed her elbow into Rivkah’s side. Rivkah sat up. She gently tried to nudge Shomer to roll back away from her, but had little success. At long last Shomer did move a little.

Rivkah did not lie down again immediately. She stared into the dark and listened. The sounds of her sleeping siblings seemed to recede into the background and she thought she could hear the footsteps of soldiers hurrying across the street below. Even at night they kept watch over the city, defending it against the enemy outside its walls. What did they see as they watched and listened into the dark, trying to detect any movement by the enemy?

And what did the Assyrians see? A city fortified by strong walls, defended by determined men? Did they dream of riches inside the walls? The governor in the citadel had some opulent furniture and the incense stands in the sanctuary were beautiful. But Rivkah had heard of the wealth of Assyria. They had buildings covered in gold, intricate ebony reliefs on temple walls and purple curtains on windows. The city of their great king was so large it took three days to cross it and all its houses were fine and luxurious. No, they wouldn’t find any such riches in Lachish, where people had just enough to survive.

Maybe it was the brutality of the Assyrian army that caused them to continue this siege. Rivkah had heard of their viciousness and violence. Were they out to plunder and to kill?

Rivkah shuddered. She put her hand against her chest and clasped the amulet. It was a figure of Isis with the infant Horus. Rivkah felt the outline of the goddess’s face framed by the full Egyptian hair. In her lap Isis cradled the child-god Horus.

Would the charm of the goddess help her? Isis was a protector in times of strife, a helper to those in trouble, a source of life. Powerful and skilled in magic, she was the great healer. According to legend, the goddess had prevailed against the cruel god Seth, who had slain her husband. Everything had seemed lost. Through her determination and magic she had conceived a child—Horus, the falcon, who would avenge his father and banish the evil Seth. From death and despair, Isis persevered to the birth of a child who would give victory and life.

Rivkah’s fingers glided over the hieroglyphs at the back of the little figurine. Through these marks the power of Isis was with her, the protection of the goddess effective for her. Would Isis guard her at this time of danger? Would the power of Horus keep her safe?

But what if the violent goddess Anath thirsted for blood with a vengeance neither men nor gods could prevent? Anath exulted in human blood and may have set her face against Lachish. Maybe the gods of Assyria would prove victorious. Had they not swept away the gods of all the nations they conquered? And what about the LORD, the God of Judah? Was he powerful to save Lachish? Rivkah knew that people throughout the city called on their gods to save them. Would the gods protect their followers? Rivkah sensed the cosmic struggle that was being waged over Lachish.

As she lay down again she held the amulet tightly. In all the uncertainties it gave her hope. She breathed calmly and closed her eyes. Nepheg, too, now slumbered peacefully beside Shallum. The pangs of hunger must have passed. Rivkah gave Shomer another nudge and was rewarded with a handbreadth of space.