Like Flames in the Night, page 7
part #4 of Cities of Refuge Series
With the empty waterskins slung over my arm, next to my own pack, I ushered Odeleya from the campsite, halfheartedly listening to her chatter as we made our way through the maze of tents toward the path that led down into Shechem. Near the entrance to the camp was a group of Aramean soldiers standing guard, tasked with ensuring that we Hebrews minded our masters peaceably.
Until now I’d always slipped past the soldiers with my head down and my ears open, doing my best to remain unnoticed, but today I’d have to throw off that invisibility and pray that the outcome would be worth the cost.
Odeleya stared in wide-eyed shock when I halted in the path, handed her the stick I’d been carrying, and told her to wait for me to return. Then, with breathless words of supplication to the God who was able to make the sun stand still for Yehoshua, I made my way to the Aramean I’d concluded was in charge of this group of guards, knees trembling.
As I approached, I slipped my hand inside my pack, willing it not to shake as I removed the bread I’d made, and hoping that the honey and the yogurt had done their job.
The head guard looked down at me with curious confusion, a predator surveying a mouse that had foolishly crossed his path. A flash of fear that he could somehow see the outline of knives inside my belt nearly halted my steps, but I pushed forward and lifted my linen-wrapped offering to him, hoping that a man tasked with overseeing Hebrews understood our language. I had no intention of giving away my comprehension of theirs.
“Roma, the head cook, asked that I deliver this bread I made to you and your men,” I said, pausing to clear the warble from my voice. “If it pleases you, I hope you will accept her gratitude—and mine—for your protection of her charges in the camp.”
His brows lifted, and to my relief, he responded in my tongue. “Is that so?”
I bobbed my head, keeping my eyes lowered and my posture subservient. “We are all so very grateful for the chance to work here in peace.” The lie slithered from my mouth, leaving an oily residue behind.
The head guard lifted the bread to his nose and inhaled, his eyes flaring in surprise at the sweet scent. It would have been better for the loaf to be hot, but I had every confidence that even cold it would taste far better than the standard, tasteless flatbread I knew to be their daily ration.
“Perhaps the girl has brought us poisoned food,” said another of the guards with a gruff laugh. “Make her eat some first.”
I forced myself to not react to the goad in a language I supposedly could not understand and kept a placid smile on my face.
“No,” said the head guard as he passed the other loaves to his companions. “No Hebrew would be so foolish. The commander would have the heads of twenty or thirty of them if they so much as lifted a pitchfork in threat.”
After a menacing grin toward me, he took the loaf between his teeth and ripped off a large chunk. To my satisfaction, not only did he hum in appreciation of the taste, he finished off the bread and then licked his fingers. “You made this?” he asked.
I dropped my eyes in feigned humility. “I did, my lord.”
“Well, if it was poisoned, it was certainly a delicious way to perish.” The humor in his voice surprised me, and I braved a glance upward.
“I am pleased that you enjoyed it,” I said, then nodded and turned away, praying that my efforts would yield fruit. A few paces away Odeleya stood like a cornered gazelle: pale, eyes as large as pomegranates, small mouth hanging slack. Not only must I find a way to explain my behavior today, but now I also had to plan how I might avoid her company as I maneuvered myself into the commander’s kitchen—for the sake of my mission, and for her protection. She was a sweet girl, but I could not allow her to thwart my efforts, no matter how innocent her intentions.
“What is your name?” came the voice of the guard behind me, before I could take more than five steps toward my astonished young companion.
I halted and looked over my shoulder. “Tirzah, my lord.”
He nodded and brushed a hand through the air, dismissing me without a word of thanks, but the satisfied expression on his face made triumph pound in my veins. I was one step closer to my goal, perhaps even two.
Without a word to satisfy Odeleya’s curiosity, I led her away from the labor camp and down onto the valley floor, taking my usual northern route around the city walls. The girl did not question my unconventional course toward the well of Yaakov, regardless that it was almost twice as long, but her confusion was nearly palpable at my back.
What Roma had not accounted for in her campaign to keep me busy with countless trips back and forth to the well was that such mundane errands afforded me the perfect opportunity to scout the area around Shechem. I’d not yet been inside the city, but in addition to the labor camp, there was also a military encampment at the foot of Har Gerizim. To my delight, soldiers’ voices echoed across the narrow valley, sometimes with perfect clarity.
Although my instinct was to steer clear of the soldiers as I’d been accustomed to doing in Shiloh, I’d made a habit of taking the longer route to the well, allowing for the possibility that I’d chance overhearing something along that way. So far, I’d heard nothing more than useless information about training maneuvers and a litany of crude jests.
But at least listening in on the conversations of the soldiers who traversed the same path gave me the opportunity to acclimate myself to the strange cadence of their speech. It was stilted on my own lips, but I understood far more than I could speak. Hopefully I could control my reactions well enough that the commander and his men would have no suspicion that I was listening in on their every conversation.
After we’d passed another tight-lipped group of soldiers heading back toward the gates of Shechem, Odeleya’s exasperation with my silence boiled over. “Are you ever going to tell me what just happened?” she asked, coming alongside me. “Why did you give those men bread and say it was from Roma?”
Thankfully our silent walk had given me enough time to prepare a smooth response. “I am a cook—a good one. I want to use my skills instead of packing water back and forth like a mule and scavenging the woods for tree branches.”
Frowning, Odeleya jerked her shoulder to keep the empty skin-bags from sliding down her arm. “But why did you not just give Roma the bread? Show her what you can do?”
I was impressed by her quick mind but hid my reaction with a careless shrug, one that would also disguise my fear that my plan, however well thought out, might still go awry if Roma did not react the way I guessed she would. Nevertheless, I spoke with certainty.
“Giving her credit for such generosity to our masters will make her look good in the eyes of the guards. And once she is beholden to me, she won’t forget my name again.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
1 Adar
From my hiding place crouched between two brushy pines, long before the gray light of dawn, I caught sight of the barest sliver of the new moon. The herald of the beginning of the month had been the signal that Sheth and Hanael would meet me on the slope of Ebal in the very same place my brother had left me in their care.
And thankfully, I would have progress to report. My scheme with the bread for the Aramean soldiers had worked even better than I’d hoped.
Not a sound accompanied the arrival of the two men, but I sensed their presence even before they slipped into the small clearing. Hands hovering at my waist where my knives were hidden, I waited until Sheth whispered a low greeting before I unfolded myself to standing and stepped out of the cover of the pines and into the starlight.
“Malakhi trained you well,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I could barely see you there.”
I restrained a grin at the praise. “It’s fortunate that my chattering teeth didn’t give me away. I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“Apologies,” said Hanael. “There was a disturbance in the camp near us. Guards were called in to search a tent nearby. We were forced to wait until they cleared out before leaving.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“We don’t know. A theft or something of the sort, most likely,” said Sheth. “But the Arameans are on edge. Something has them unsettled.”
“Othniel?” I asked.
“I would guess so. We’ve heard they have taken Arad now, which means nearly the entirety of Yehudah’s territory is back in the hands of their tribe.”
“And Be’er Sheva has been returned to the tribe of Simeon,” said Sheth. “Othniel’s victories have already become the stuff of legends. They say he cannot be stopped.”
A frisson of excitement coursed up my spine. “And what is next?” I asked. “Are they coming north as we hoped?”
Hanael let out a small sigh. “Yes. There’s been word that the army is growing, day by day. Men from all the tribes are finally throwing off their cowardice and making their way into the ranks of Othniel’s company.”
“No wonder the Arameans are nervous,” I said.
“They have cause to be,” said Sheth. “But we suspect Kushan is looking to make alliances with some of our enemies. And if he succeeds, Othniel may find himself fighting a war on two fronts, or worse.”
“Malakhi believes this as well,” I said. “Have you found proof?”
“We’ve been told that the addition to the garrison we are building must be finished within the month, and the men working on the commander’s villa have been informed the same. They are expecting guests. Important ones.”
“And you?” Hanael asked. “Have you had any success?”
Now I did give myself leave to smile. “I have. I am to report to the commander’s kitchen in the morning.”
“You talked Roma into sending you?” asked Sheth, his tone appreciative.
“It took some doing. She spent the first week making me haul water and wood. But I outwitted her.” I told them of how I’d made special bread for the guards and attributed the gift to her.
“Was she not suspicious?” asked Hanael. “We cannot afford for anyone to question your reasons for being inside Shechem.”
“When she came to me the next day, asking why I’d done such a thing, I told her it was purely from gratitude for allowing me to stay and that I only hoped to serve in whatever capacity she needed me,” I said. “At first she did not believe me, but then I told her about how my poor murdered ima had taught me to cook and how even baking bread made me feel close to her memory.”
The false grief had poured from my lips like date honey. I’d managed to draw mist into my eyes by conjuring the very real memories of sitting at my ima’s knee as we patted rounds of bread between our palms. By the time I’d finished my story, Roma had practically begged me to cook.
“And when I told her how much you would appreciate her kindness to me,” I told Sheth, “she blushed and stammered and fluttered her hands as she directed me in my new duties. I don’t know what you’ve done to that woman, but you’ve done it well.”
Sheth laughed a bit too loudly, so I shoved his shoulder and hissed for him to be quiet.
“No one is up here,” he said. “Who other than the three of us would climb a mountainside hours before dawn? So tell us, how did you come to be appointed to the commander’s kitchen?”
“I give the credit to my honey-yogurt bread,” I said with a casual shrug. “One of the guards must have said something to his superiors, because two days ago one of the cooks was caught stealing. Whoever came to Roma with the request for a replacement asked for me by name.”
“I’m impressed,” said Sheth. “You got inside faster than I expected. Your brother will be proud.” His words filled me with satisfaction, as if Malakai himself were speaking them.
The sound of voices nearby caused the three of us to drop to the ground as Hanael blew out the oil lamp.
“Arameans?” I breathed.
“I don’t think so,” whispered Hanael, then gestured for Sheth to follow him. “You stay here,” he told me.
“No chance of that,” I said, drawing out one of my knives.
He huffed a laugh and slipped through the trees toward the voices that, as we moved closer, could clearly be distinguished as Hebrew.
In a clearing not fifty paces from where I’d met Hanael and Sheth, and very near the summit of the mountain, five Hebrew men were gathered. With two oil lamps on the ground in the center of their circle, they stood with hands uplifted, a quiet Shema on their lips. We waited as they spoke words written by Mosheh, reverence for the sacred call to the people of Israel to hear and obey the law of our One God drilled into us from birth. As soon as the last word was spoken, Hanael stepped forward.
The men startled, three of them skittering off into the trees like hares. Only two of them stood their ground as Sheth and I moved into the dim circle of lamplight. One of them held a chip-edged bronze dagger, a shoddy weapon that would likely do little if they were actually under attack.
“We mean no harm,” said Hanael, palms upward to display his own empty-handedness. “We are simply curious as to why you men are meeting here in the dead of night.”
The man with the dagger did not relax his stance, his eyes narrowing. “I will ask you the same. Who are you and what is your purpose here?”
Hanael and Sheth shared a glance as I wondered what sort of story they’d concoct to explain our presence.
“This is my cousin’s widow.” Sheth gestured over his shoulder at me. “She works among the cooks and sent word that one of the guards made advances toward her. I asked her to come here to ensure she was not harmed and to discuss whether we should send her back to our village.”
The man divided a suspicious look between the three of us, so I did my best to look cowed, as if truly fearful for my virtue and dependent on my “cousins” to protect me.
A softening of the man’s shoulders made it clear Sheth’s excuse had been accepted as truth. He let out a sigh. “We are Levites. And it is Rosh Chodesh.” He gestured in the direction of the moon. “We meet here in secrecy at the head of every month to worship and plead with Yahweh for deliverance.”
“You are priests?” asked Hanael, his gaze moving to the three cowards now emerging from their hiding places among the trees.
The first man shook his head. “We are of the line of Gershon, not Aharon. But we have all served at the Mishkan in Shiloh over the years in various capacities. The Arameans won’t allow us to gather, of course, but we five refuse to submit to such an edict, so we come here.” His jaw firmed, as if it were the three of us standing in the way of their worship instead of our common enemy.
“Have you found others still holding fast to the Torah in the camp?” asked Hanael.
The Levite pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest. “We gather here in secret, as we’ve done since we were chased out of our homes seven years ago. How would we know?”
“But you are Levites,” said Hanael. “Is it not your job to call our people to worship and repentance?”
“The Arameans may allow some semblance of worship to continue in Shiloh, but here they tolerate none of it,” the man said. “They would consider a public call to return to Yahweh an act of war against their gods. We could very well lose our lives.”
As I listened to the Levite and Hanael, my eyes were drawn to a circle of stones nearby. Realization struck about where exactly we were.
“This is the altar Yehoshua made, isn’t it?” I said, pointing to the stones. The five men turned to me, confusion blinking in their eyes.
“It is,” said the Levite. “The Arameans destroyed it years ago, but we rebuilt it. Of course we cannot conduct sacrifices here since it is too much of a risk, even under the cover of darkness, but it is why we chose this place to gather nonetheless.”
It was on this very mountain that Yehoshua offered sacrifices to reconfirm the Covenant between Yahweh and his chosen people. From this place he reminded those born from the wilderness generation how the One True God chose us from the nations, brought us out of slavery, and led us to many miraculous victories against the Canaanites.
My father had recounted the awe-inspiring rumble of thousands of Hebrew voices committing as one to live in Covenant, their obedience a testimony to the power and righteousness of the Almighty. And here were the men charged with teaching our people how to uphold that sacred duty to Yahweh trembling in fear and hiding among the trees in the night.
A sudden rush of righteous anger surged upward, spilling out of my mouth. “You have enough courage to reconstruct this altar but not enough to call for repentance? No wonder the people in the camp down there are so fearful. They have no hope, no leadership. How can you even call yourselves servants of Yahweh if you stay silent?”
The Levite sputtered a half-constructed excuse that I ignored completely as I talked over him, gesturing to the two oil lamps still flickering between us. “You can keep the truth within the circle of these shadows, recite the Shema to each other, and be safe. Or you can take your heritage seriously and spark a fire among the people. Don’t you remember the reason Yahweh finally sent Mosheh to lead us from Egypt? It was because we started crying out for deliverance.” I flung my hand toward the altar. “Has Yahweh disappeared? Has the power that split the sea diminished since the Arameans seized control? Or have we simply forgotten who we are?”
Seven pairs of incredulous eyes were fixed on me and all mouths gaped. My own lips snapped shut, and my heart began to pound. Where had those words come from? I’d not consciously decided even to speak such admonishments to these men, but somehow they’d poured out in a torrent. Heat rose on my cheeks, and I was glad the evidence of my embarrassment would not be highlighted by the feeble glow of the lamps.
“She is right,” said Hanael. “You have heard of Othniel’s victories, have you not?”
The Levite nodded. “We have. Although some say that he will be satisfied with the retaking of Yehudah and Simeon’s lands and will leave us to the Arameans.”
