Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank
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by the rubble of the crumbling city defenses, as battle platforms. Archers crowded on their decks providing cover for the stormers pouring into the city.
The Assyrians met stiff resistance. The Judahites drove chariots up the counterramp, turning the siege into a field battle. But the close-quarter fighting gave the unwieldy vehicles no advantage. Horses and drivers fell.
It did not take long until Assyrian troops had conquered the first tower. Shouts of triumph came from the soldiers now standing on the open platform. They were echoed by those still outside the walls. Without the threat of attacks from above, ladders were placed against the tower and a lieutenant led his platoon of archers upwards. From the elevated position they commanded a wide area, inflicting further damage on the defenders.
Itur-Ea took a deep gulp from his water flask. His lips were dry and his throat ached. The occasional arrow still struck the siege machine, but there was hardly any danger of torches reaching it now. He no longer had to keep the sides moist.
Looking back over the siege ramp and across to the hill, Itur-Ea could see the Assyrian camp and nearby the seat of the king, the great Sennacherib. There was a hive of activity with messengers arriving at, and departing from, the command center. The king must be assured of victory now.
Soon the order came for the siege machines to withdraw from the southwestern ramp. They could do no more damage to the city walls and stood in the way of the attackers entering Lachish. They had done their part.
It was a staged withdrawal. One machine after the other descended the ramp past lines of soldiers climbing up the hill.
After the heat of battle, Itur-Ea felt strangely weak and tired when he returned to the camp. He ate some bread and grapes—not much, but it felt good. He couldn’t rest long anyway; the battle still continued. They would take the city, he was sure, but not without more fighting. It seemed those Judahites were eager to fight to the bitter end. Somehow they were not able to accept the fact of their weakness when faced with the might of Assyria. Their stubbornness may have something to do with their trust in that strange god of theirs. The city itself did not even have its own god, he had heard it said. Rather, they had one god for all of Judah—the god of Jerusalem. This god, they were convinced, could never bow to Ashur. Now they were taught their lesson.
* * *
“They have broken into the city! The Assyrians have breached the wall!”
Simchah’s father rushed into the house, the sword strapped to his side. Simchah’s mother hurried down the ladder from the upper floor. Her face looked ashen. “What did you say . . . ?” she asked with a wavering voice.
“The Assyrians are in the city. They are fighting back our men. They will come here,” Simchah’s father shouted in wide-eyed panic. When his wife looked at him, she gasped. Now that he leaned against the wall, the wound on his left shoulder showed clearly. It was a deep, open gash. He was losing blood quickly.
Rivkah looked at him in horror. It took some time for what had happened to sink in. She saw Simchah’s father, pale, exhausted, weakened, and yet agitated, ready to fight. As she glimpsed Simchah’s mother moving towards her husband to tend to the wound, she suddenly realized what she had to do. Her family! They would be in trouble!
“I have to go back home,” she told Simchah.
“Wait!” Simchah pleaded, but Rivkah got up and was already moving to the door. She didn’t take any heed of the protests of Simchah’s father as he shouted that it wouldn’t be safe for her to go into the street. Rivkah was already out of the door and couldn’t catch the warnings of Simchah’s mother. She ran down the street. Home! She had to get to them. Mother! Father! Tears were streaming down her face. She knew they were in danger. What if they would die today? She couldn’t leave them alone now. She’d rather die with them. Oh, why had she gone away this morning? Why hadn’t she stayed at home? Everybody had felt the danger today. And she had left her family, why? Just because she didn’t want to work, because her mother had been a bit upset and got a few things wrong. It all seemed so trivial now, so stupid. Rivkah stumbled and fell. Her knees and hands hurt and stung. Sobbing, she got up again and hurried on down the street.
As she rounded the corner, she saw something coming towards her. A grey furry, animal with light brown splotches ran down the street and passed her. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her arm and could see clearly. “Kaleb!” she shouted. The dog didn’t stop. “Kaleb, Kaleb!” Rivkah called again. He stopped, turned around and wagged his tail, but didn’t move. Rivkah ran towards him. She threw her arms around him. “You can’t go there. They’re fighting down that way. Come with me!” She grasped the fur on his back and dragged the dog with her. At first he struggled against her, but then relaxed and let himself be led. The two ran towards the main road, Rivkah in a hurry, bending down to clutch the dog, Kaleb trotting along reluctantly.
Rivkah thought she could hear noises coming from the main road. Shouts, the clash of iron, moaning, the hollow thud of shields. Had the battle reached the main road already? Was she too late? She hurried on, dragging Kaleb with her. Suddenly arms encircled her shoulders, gently but firmly, and held her back. “You can’t go there, child.”
Rivkah let go of Kaleb and whirled around. It was a woman. Rivkah noticed the delicate nose-ring, the precious earrings only partly hidden by the shawl the woman had draped over her head, the eye-shadow which gave her eyes that delicate, yet sad look. She wore fine clothes, better than Rivkah’s mother would ever wear. Who was she?
“You can’t go there,” the woman repeated. “They are fighting on the main road, if the Assyrians haven’t killed everybody already.”
“But my family! I have to get home! I have to reach them!” Rivkah cried.
“Where do they live?” the woman asked gently.
“On the main road, near the tanners’ lane.”
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. You won’t get there. The Assyrians are totally in control of that area. Their soldiers are continually passing up and down the main road. Even if you were a bird of the air, they would shoot you with their arrows if you tried to fly there.”
Kaleb looked up at them unsure what to do. He cowered down confused, looking around him. He flinched when Rivkah stamped her foot. “But I have to see them,” she insisted. “I can’t leave them alone now. I need to talk to my mother, even if I die!” She struggled to free herself, but the woman held her.
“It’s no use, child. You will not get there.”
The realization struck Rivkah. “Too late!”
She stood still. “Too late,” she echoed again. She gave a stifled cry as her legs buckled underneath her. Everything felt black and empty. The woman held her.
“Come on, we have to get away,” the woman pleaded.
Rivkah took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, tried to get command over her body. She shook herself as if to wake from a bad dream. Slowly, feeling returned to her legs. “And now . . . what happens now?” she asked, still in a daze.
“We have to hide. Come!” The woman turned her around and led her by the arm down the street. Trembling Rivkah allowed herself to be guided. Suddenly she stopped. “Kaleb!” She turned her head and saw Kaleb still sitting there. “And the dog?”
“What about the dog?” the woman asked.
“It’s Kaleb,” Rivkah answered as if in explanation. The woman didn’t seem to understand. But Rivkah just shouted, “Kaleb, Kaleb!” The dog leapt up and came to her side immediately. He licked her hand and jumped up, nuzzling her. “I can’t leave him behind.”
The woman sighed. “Bring him along then. But come now!”
The three figures hurried through the empty street. The tall woman walking with determined steps and holding the girl’s arm; the girl following and grasping the dog’s fur tightly; the dog scuttling along bewildered, yet alert.
“Where are