Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank
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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.
Chapter 2
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.