by Tessa Afshar
“Farewell? Where are you going?” But Rahab already knew the answer.
“To Ai. We must finish what we began. Other men are being sent ahead of us this evening. The rest of us leave before sunup.”
In one moment Rahab’s fragile sense of happiness shattered. The thought of Salmone going to battle, facing arrows and swords and knives and violent men made her want to wretch. The specter of Hamish’s headless torso lying in front of her old inn rose before her eyes. She had had nightmares of that scene, could still smell the cloying scent of fresh blood in her nostrils, could still see the horsefly rising out of that gruesome gaping mouth. Could that happen to Salmone? The thought of never seeing him again clawed at her stomach like a wound that refused to be quieted. She felt shocked not so much because he was going to war as because it felt so gut wrenching that he was going to war.
She turned and rose, panicked that Salmone might see in her expression something of her churning horror. But as she began to stand he took her hand and pulled her back down.
His dark eyes bore into her. “What, no good-bye? And I came all this way.”
Rahab gulped. She feared if she tried to speak, she would burst into tears. Or speak words that revealed the state of her heart. She stared at him as dumb as her new sheep, unable to lower her gaze. “Good-bye,” she croaked. It was the only thing she could manage before pulling her hand out of his and rushing headlong into the family’s new tent.
As Salmone said his narrow-eyed good-bye, resentful of his own need to seek the Canaanite woman before going to battle, he was peripherally aware that thirty thousand of Israel’s best fighting men were commencing a stealth ambush on Ai. Under the cover of deepest night they made their way to the ridge of Jebel et-Tawil, out of sight of the watchmen at Ai or Bethel, but close enough to observe both cities. There they would hide in silence, unobserved, biding the long hours until battle began.
At first light, Joshua led a second, much smaller army toward Ai. It was to this force that Salmone belonged. There was nothing secret about this march. The men approached the city with brazen intent and settled themselves just north of Ai in broad sunlight. Unlike the men on the ambush mission who had covered their feet in tough canvas in order to mute the sound of their marching, Salmone and his fellow fighting men wore sandals with wooden soles. On the packed dirt of the rough countryside, their marching feet sounded like the beat of well-timed drums. Salmone’s heart beat with that drum until he felt that he was one with it—a miniature cog in a seamless battering ram. He was ready. He was ready to show the men of Ai what the Lord could do. Like a mobile wall, the small force moved behind Joshua until they arrived at the narrow valley north of the city. They camped on the hilltop with the valley between them and Ai.
When the sun began to set, Joshua went into the valley in plain sight of the watchmen on the city walls. He paraded right under their noses and waved a friendly salute to the soldiers. They heard him laugh as their arrows fell short of his heart by cubits. Salmone gave a hard smile as Joshua scrambled back up the hill and joined his men. They would have to scramble faster than Joshua in the morning when the real fighting broke out.
A few silvery green trees dotted the hilltop, and Salmone found one of these to lean against. Somewhere out of sight of Israel and Ai, he knew many of his friends lay hidden for a second night, awaiting Joshua’s signal. Like the night before most of the battles he had participated in, Salmone was too tense to manage any sleep.
He thought of Miriam and her great hug as she had said her good-byes to him. His heart softened at the thought of her. He wanted to provide a safe life for his sister. Sometimes, he felt a chafing frustration with having to pace his plans according to God’s time. Sometimes he wished God would hurry up and establish them in security already. The thought made him go red, and he was grateful for the dark that covered his face. Beneath the layers of godly obedience and faith there still lay this unconquered chasm of self-will. He wanted to be his own master. He wanted to bend God to his own desires. Was it a wonder that Joshua had accused him of hypocrisy?
The thought brought Rahab to his mind. Or rather pulled her back to the forefront of his attention. He had hardly taken a step since their parting without a muted awareness of her filling his thoughts. When the call to battle had come from Joshua, Salmone had experienced a fierce need to seek her out. To etch her face into his memory. To say farewell, perhaps for the last time. He knew war could mean death. It was a reality he faced before every fight. Even those who vanquished sometimes fell in battle. You could win and still get injured. Still die. It wasn’t the possibility of dying that tormented him, however. It was the thought of leaving without seeing Rahab.
He told himself he had no business seeking her out. She was nothing to him, and she could never become anything to him. Yet he felt that if he didn’t go to her, see her, hear her voice, he would choke. And so he had trudged one unwilling step after another into her camp to find her laughing with his friends, looking like she had belonged to Israel all her born days.
He swallowed hard as he remembered her eyes when he had told her he was going to war. The beautiful golden eyes had filled with terror, and a possessive protectiveness came over him. Rahab was far from indifferent toward him. The realization offered an artesian well of satisfaction. The satisfaction merely vexed him more, and he growled under his breath. Ai was an easier enemy to manage than his own heart.
Before the sun had risen, the small force with Joshua was already falling into formation. With almost languid arrogance they made their way to a stretch of land overlooking Arabah. The location presented a poor choice from Israel’s standpoint. They were exposed on every side, and Ai’s warriors would have the advantage. Salmone knew they appeared like fools to a people who had already thrashed them once. Easy prey. Which was just as Joshua wanted it.
The king of Ai acted as expected. With the first faint rays of the sun he and his men charged out of the city, full of confidence and bluster as they shouted insults against the small army facing them.
Have you come back for more? You want more corpses for your collection?
Our pigeons fight better than your best warriors.
Would you like a few lessons from our girl children?
There was no shortage of insults that morning. Salmone did not allow his expression to change, but remained stony before every word. Pride held no place in this plan. In a few moments, he and his brothers would seem even greater fools than this. The men of Ai kept coming. But just before the first wave of Ai’s army reached Israel’s defensive line, Joshua screamed the shout to fall back. Israel’s fighting men turned and ran toward the desert, away from the city. To the enemy, they looked like cowards, running away.
A great shout arose from the army of Ai. Some laughed, some whooped, twirling swords and clubs in the air. Salmone was aware that Israel’s rapid retreat filled the hearts of her foe with new bravado. Everything in him itched to stop, turn around, and engage this brash adversary with the courage that welled up in him. But instead he forced his feet to run faster, biding his time. Dust rose up from thousands of sandals pounding the wilderness terrain. Salmone tasted it with every breath, a dry earthy flavor that parched his throat and threatened to choke him. He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe rhythmically through his nostrils, keeping his lips locked shut. Throwing a quick look over his shoulder he saw with satisfaction that even the watchmen on the walls had left their posts and joined the chase. It was doubtful that any men remained in Ai or Bethel. Every man had joined in this pursuit, confident of victory.
Suddenly, Joshua stopped and turned around. He held a sword in one hand and a javelin in the other. Salmone saw Joshua raise the javelin toward Ai. As soon as he did this, the huge force waiting in ambush rose up from hiding and rushed into the city.
Unaware of the disaster entering their city, the men of Ai caught up with Joshua’s smaller force and engaged them in battle. Swinging their swords enthusiastically they came against what the
y believed to be a vanquished and cowardly enemy. Salmone, ever in the front lines, found himself set upon by two men at once. The first was massive-shouldered and bulging with muscle. He wielded a broadsword, slashing it through the air with a manic flair Salmone couldn’t help but admire. The other was armed with a knife that he handled and twirled with ease, flicking it from hand to hand with a steady, graceful grip. Salmone raised an eyebrow. These two were no mere farmers playing soldier during an emergency. They had training and expertise. And they seemed set on sampling Salmone’s entrails for breakfast.
“Gentlemen, one at a time, surely?”
The man with the knife flicked it into the air and watched it twirl. “Says who?” he shouted, deftly catching it by the handle and pitching it straight toward Salmone’s chest. Salmone pivoted with a lightning-quick movement, barely avoiding the knife and bringing his elbow crashing into his other opponent’s broad back. The impact of bone on bone jarred the larger man, and he stumbled two awkward half steps—giving Salmone just enough time to run his sword through the man’s massive right arm. The blade cut deep, tearing muscle and sinew and reaching bone. Blood splattered across his chest, and he screamed with anguish and rage, but did not lose his grip on his sword. Demonstrating considerable self-control, he shifted the sword to his other hand and brought it down against Salmone’s midriff with uncanny precision. Salmone barely saw the arc of flashing metal as it came toward him. He jumped back, bringing his own sword down to intercept the powerful strike. While this minimized the mortal force of the blow, Salmone could not completely escape its path and it ran across his abdomen, drawing a thin line of blood.
Salmone ignored the searing flash of pain, knowing the wound to be superficial. With his peripheral vision he saw the knife man pulling another weapon from his belt. “I’m as eager as you to finish this fight,” Salmone shouted above the battle noise, “but I think it only fair to warn you that your city is on fire.”
The man with the knife glanced over his shoulder, and then turned fully around to stare at the thick column of black smoke. But Salmone’s other opponent refused to be sidetracked. “Shut up you Hebrew scum! You can try your trickery on the dead because I’m going to pulverize every one of your little chicken bones,” he snarled. Raising his sword, he came at Salmone with a lunge. His skill was impressive, for despite his injury, the power behind each of his thrusts was undiminished. He was also better at wielding his sword than Salmone, though slower. While working toward the man’s injured side, Salmone dodged to the right to avoid a deadly thrust, then immediately feigned left. The broadsword followed left as he had hoped, and Salmone pivoted right instead, ramming straight into his opponent’s body. It took the man only a split second to shift the sword back toward Salmone, but the move opened an undefended region to the left of his body and Salmone brought his sword straight up into it.
The man’s eyes grew large with shock. A curious gurgle erupted from his throat, and a froth of blood flowed out of his mouth, running down into his dark beard.
As the man crumpled, Salmone grabbed the dagger from his belt. “If you’re not going to need this, I guess I’ll take it.” He wiped his bloody sword on the man’s tunic and scanned the area for the man with the knife. He had seen the man start toward Ai as the smoke began to rise, but now saw him standing a ways off, still looking toward the city. He’s still in throwing range, Salmone realized. He knew he could loose the dagger and kill him in one quick movement, but the idea of sinking a knife into a man’s back didn’t appeal to him. In combat, no one would frown on such practice. Nonetheless, he couldn’t quite reconcile himself to the notion. He felt it somehow beneath him.
In the distance, he saw the larger force of Israel’s army emerging from Ai and running toward the battle. He knew the knife-wielding man would be caught with the rest of his comrades between Israel’s two forces without a hope of escape. Shrugging his shoulder, he turned back into the conflict close at hand.
Within the hour, the battle thickened as both forces of Israel drew close, surrounding the men of Bethel and Ai. Their enemies now fought with the desperation of fear rather than the bravado of victory. They fought with a reckless ferocity that required all of Israel’s skill to repulse.
Salmone found himself fighting a wild bear of a man who wielded an ax, which he also used as a club. Salmone worked to keep his head attached to his neck, prancing around the colossal figure like a Canaanite dancing girl. Near him, Hanani was fighting a wiry man who wielded two swords with substantial agility. Salmone noticed that Hanani was struggling against his opponent, remaining on the defensive, trying to parry thrust after relentless thrust.
He realized he’d need to assist Hanani soon, but the bear he faced required his entire attention. He ducked low to escape a blow, and swung his sword at the man’s legs, trying to cut him off from below. The man jumped a full cubit into the air, easily avoiding Salmone’s sword. Salmone looked at him openmouthed before rolling hastily out of the way of the club-like swing of the ax coming down toward his head as the man landed back on the ground.
Salmone took a few steps back, bringing him close to Hanani. “Hold fast. I’ll be with you soon,” he yelled. He noticed that Hanani hadn’t the energy even to nod.
Salmone’s opponent lunged with his ax, and Salmone spun to avoid being disemboweled. As he did so, he noticed the knife handler who had attacked him earlier, standing five cubits away, a knife held at the ready in his dexterous fingers. His gaze was fixed on Hanani.
Chapter
Fifteen
No!” Salmone shouted. He looked around him, desperation coloring his movements, and saw there was no one to help but him. It was his fault. Pride had driven him to ignore a dangerous foe, and now his friend would pay the price. “No,” he said again, this time in a whisper. He lifted his sword high, leaving himself completely open to the frontal attack of his opponent’s ax. The man came at him without hesitation. Just before impact, Salmone twirled in a full circle so that the ax missed him by a hair. He brought his sword down under his arm and behind him at an impossible angle which the ax man had not anticipated. It landed with a sickening sound into the exposed side of the man. With a grunt, he folded.
Salmone wasted no time in freeing his sword. Instead, he reached into his belt and pulled out the knife he had tucked there earlier. Almost in slow motion, he saw the man with the twirling knife lift the hilt, take aim and begin his throw. In the same moment, Salmone realized Hanani’s opponent had managed to block Hanani’s sword with one of his own and was about to thrust his second sword into Hanani’s stomach. It would be a deadly blow.
Salmone’s breath caught. Two opponents—two lethal attacks, both trained on Hanani. The two-handed sword man stood closer, his throat conveniently exposed. Salmone took quick aim and threw. The wiry soldier took the dagger in his jugular and crumpled to the ground with a great gush of blood. In the same fluid motion, Salmone pitched the full weight of his body into Hanani, knocking him to the ground. But the body-slam placed Salmone where Hanani had stood an instant before. Exactly where the dagger was flying. There was no time to evade it. With a force that brought Salmone to his knees, the knife penetrated his belt and robe and sunk into his stomach. The impact was excruciating, and then came a curious numbness.
Hanani sprung to his side looking as white as the sands they kneeled on. “No, no, no! O Lord. O Lord, help us!” he cried.
Salmone’s whole body began to shake with such violence that he pitched backward. Hanani caught him just in time to prevent him from hitting the ground hard, bruising his skull and adding to his injuries. He set his friend down with careful hands. Salmone managed to reach up and grab a handful of Hanani’s garment. “Pull this thing out of me,” he gasped.
Hanani looked at him with eyes that were wide and tear-filled, and shook his head.
“Do it. Quickly.”
Hanani stared into the sky for a moment, then wrapped his hand around the hilt of the dagger and pulled hard and fast. The pa
in was beyond anything Salmone had ever experienced. He screamed in agony, unable to silence the sound that came out of his throat, animal-like in its intensity. He was still conscious, taking labored breaths, his mind stricken with torment, yet clear. “Now get him,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Before he hurts someone else. Use the dagger.”
Hanani nodded and stood, holding the knife that dripped with his friend’s blood. Through a haze of pain Salmone raised his head, and noticed that Hanani had to wipe the tears from his eyes to be able to see. The knife man was trying to run out of their range, but the field was littered with men fighting and fallen, and it slowed his progress. Hanani took careful aim and let the dagger fly. It dropped the man in mid-stride.
For a moment Salmone lost his hold on consciousness, his head lolling back on the dirt with a thud. He came to in Hanani’s arms, feeling queasy and weak. “Oh, Salmone,” Hanani moaned.
“It will be all right.”
“It’s my fault. Forgive me. It should have been me.”
Salmone wanted to shake his head, but didn’t have the strength. He looked down and saw the copious flow of blood staining his garments and soaking the ground. It looked mortal to him. He swallowed and closed his eyes. Lord, have mercy on me. He forced his eyes open again and tried to focus on Hanani. “The guilt is not yours. I had a chance to kill him earlier and didn’t.” He lifted his head to examine his bleeding belly. The effort caused beads of sweat to stand out on his brow. “Looks bad, Hanani. If I don’t make it, make sure my sister is well-cared for.”
“Take care of your own sister. Don’t you dare entertain thoughts of death. You stay alive, Salmone Ben Nahshon, or I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
Salmone gave a trembling half smile. “Go finish this battle, Hanani. I’ll be fine here.” He saw Hanani hesitate, agonizing over leaving him alone. “Go.”