Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank
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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