Deborah Calling

by Avraham Azrieli

  They mounted their horses, and Kassite started up a dry streambed between two hills, followed by the other Edomite men.

  Deborah settled in the saddle, but held Soosie back. “How many soldiers?”

  “Five,” Ramrod said. “They had good horses.”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  “Nothing special. Spears, swords, and shields.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You are brave and honorable. May Yahweh reward you by granting all your wishes.”

  “My wishes involve you.” He blushed again. “I’d like you to come with me to Bethel.”

  Deborah wanted to explain to him why his wishes could never be fulfilled, but there was no time, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t believe in the power of the Male Elixir.

  “I have to go.” She shook the reins, urging Soosie forward.

  “You don’t need to go with the Edomites.” Ramrod walked beside her horse. “You’re not a slave. The soldiers aren’t after you.”

  “My enemy is much worse than Orran’s soldiers.”

  “The son of Judge Zifron?”

  She nodded.

  Ramrod followed her up the dry stream. “We have a small homestead, far into the hills, and a small spring. You’ll be safe with us, and you won’t starve.”

  “One day,” she said, “I’ll tell you why I can never be a good wife.

  He reached up and touched her forearm. “I can be good for both of us.”

  “Find a kind and happy woman who wants to bear you sons and daughters.” Deborah urged Soosie forward. “And treat her well.”

  “Pray for me,” Ramrod called after her. “For us!”

  Deborah looked over her shoulder and waved.

  Chapter 24

  They rode into the barren hills until the main road was far behind and the sun was halfway down to the western horizon. The armor rubbed against Deborah’s wounds, worsening the pain. The horses were tired and thirsty, and a few hooves were bleeding from the rocky terrain. Soosie showed his age with an occasional wobbly step. Deborah scratched his neck and whispered words of encouragement.

  Sallan pointed to a level spot, and they stopped for the night. The Edomite men gave the horses water and tended to their hooves. Deborah took the saddle off Soosie and untied her sack. Inside it, she found Vardit’s old travel robe, which had been in the sack since the night of her escape from Shiloh. Deborah walked around the curve of the hill until she was out of sight, took off the armor, and put on the travel robe. When she came back, Kassite took out a jar of his medicinal paste and applied it to her back, as well as to Sallan’s injured hand and the boy-servant’s ears.

  Deborah collected twigs and dry weeds, took her father’s fire-starters from her sack, and started a small fire next to a boulder.

  Sallan drew a map with a stick in the sand, just as Zariz had once done. Deborah recognized the Samariah Hills, with the watershed line along the peaks and the Jordan River running parallel to it in the valley, passing Jericho at the bottom, where it entered the Sea of Salt.

  Sallan indicated with the stick. “This is the main trade route through Bethel, Jerusalem, Hebron, and Beersheba, where merchant caravans enjoy a sort of immunity, and the tribesmen of Judah punish robbers harshly. Unfortunately, that’s where Orran’s soldiers will be looking for us once they learn what happened in Emanuel. They’ll ride south at high speed with swords at the ready, perhaps with some help from Zifron.”

  “You mean Seesya?” Deborah’s voice quivered, and she cringed with embarrassment.

  “Not him. That swaggering brute will be lying down on his belly and moaning for a week.”

  She didn’t share Sallan’s optimism. Seesya’s enthusiasm for violent expeditions should not be underestimated.

  “Judge Zifron,” Sallan said, “will provide reinforcement for Orran’s soldiers, maybe ten of his own soldiers, to help in the search.”

  “Why would he bother?”

  “Because he’ll be furious to learn that he was tricked by an Edomite slave, who pretended to be a prince, into releasing his own Edomite slave, who made him lots of money.”

  “But you gave them the formula for the Reinforcing Liquid,” Deborah said.

  “We humiliated him,” Kassite said. “We made him sentence his own son to flogging.”

  “He might not be so upset about that,” Sallan said. “That son was getting too arrogant. He needed a good beating. The real reason to hunt us down is you.”

  Deborah was surprised. “Why me?”

  “Palm Homestead represents a fortune for the house of Zifron. They can’t afford the risk of you coming back with a husband to claim your father’s inheritance. And if Kassite isn’t a real Edomite prince, then you’re no longer the soldier Borah, protected by a prince, but a fugitive girl who can be cut down in the middle of nowhere, never to be seen or heard from again. That’s what Zifron’s soldiers will do as soon as they catch us.”

  “That is a fair analysis of our situation,” Kassite said. He bent over, his hands on his knees, and examined the map in the sand. “The main trade route is where the soldiers will chase us—down to the Negev Desert and the land of Simeon, if they have to.”

  The mention of the Simeon tribe gave Deborah a pang of sorrow, thinking of Barac and his father, Abinoam, who had been heading there on the night of Tamar’s stoning.

  “We are here.” Sallan pointed with the stick. “We’ll continue up the Samariah Hills, over the watershed line, down to the Jordan Valley, and then south along the west bank of the Jordan River through the land of Benjamin to Jericho. It’s a bustling Hebrew city, and we’ll be able to buy food and wine there. From Jericho, we have two options, either of them about a week’s ride to the northern border of Edom. One is to take the road along the western shore of the Sea of Salt, which is part of the land of Judah, but sparsely inhabited. Or we can cross to the east bank of the Jordan River and ride south along the eastern shore of the Sea of Salt, which is controlled by the Hebrew tribes of Gad and Reuben and, further south, by the nation of Moab.”

  The mention of Moab quickened Deborah’s breath as she thought of Zariz. She cleared her throat. “I’d like to see Moab one day.”

  Sallan shook his head. “Moabites don’t like Hebrews.”

  “Hebrews?” Deborah smiled. “I’m Borah, an Edomite soldier.”

  “Much of Moab is roamed by marauders,” Kassite said. “We lost our freedom there eighteen years ago.”

  “It’s better now,” Sallan said. “Travelers say that the Moabite king has raised an army to enforce his law across the land.”

  Kassite looked at the map. “The western shore would be safer. Marauders rarely prowl that area.”

  “Why?” Deborah asked.

  “There are no travelers to rob,” Sallan said. “The caravans don’t take that road because there are no towns for resting and trading. The steep Judean Mountains, which rise up near the water’s edge, make cultivation almost impossible. The only settlement I’ve heard of is at Ein Gedi, and it’s very small.”

  She thought of Miriam and the other lepers, living in a cave, suffering in the heat, smearing themselves with olive oil and garlic, struggling to wash in the thick water of the Sea of Salt—all because of a strange dream Deborah had had while traveling with them.

  “I have one concern,” Sallan said. “Our pursuers might figure out that we’re likely to take the road along the western shore of the Sea of Salt and send a small contingency to look for us there.”

  “It is logical,” Kassite said. “Perhaps we should take the risk of traveling east through Moab, but away from the Sea of Salt. Surely Orran’s soldiers would not go that far.”

  Deborah looked at the map in the sand. “How would we cross over to the east bank of the Jordan River?”

  Sallan pointed with the stick. “There’s a raft in Jericho that ferries people across when the river isn’t too high. People say it’s not a sturdy raft, even at the best of times. We might lose some of our horses.”


  “We might lose more than horses in Moab,” Kassite said.

  Sallan looked away, his face to the setting sun, his eyes creased. Kassite sighed, shifted his hat, and fixed his hair over the missing ears. Deborah knew they were thinking of what had happened to them eighteen years earlier. She wanted to comfort them but stopped herself, worried that Kassite might view it as yet another manifestation of feminine weakness.

  After a modest meal, they put out the fire and went to sleep. Deborah stood watch first and woke up Patrees for the second watch. She used her blanket for cover and her sack for a pillow, but the hard ground, her lacerated back, and intense thoughts kept her awake. The dilemma they faced was about topography and enemies, and as hard as she tried to figure out which path would be less perilous, the more confusing it became.

  The distant howling of a lone coyote reminded her of the tiger tail, which changed her perspective about the road ahead. The facts were clear—the risks and dangers each route presented—but their strategy should be based not on which route was less risky, but on which route offered an opportunity to eliminate the risk. Crossing the Jordan River meant traveling south through the land of Moab, where Kassite and Sallan feared an attack by any number of Moabite marauders. Traveling around the Sea of Salt through Ein Gedi presented only one risk: a group of soldiers sent to hunt them down—a serious risk, for sure, but one that could be confronted by setting an ambush for their pursuers. Once that single risk was eliminated, their path to Edom would be safe. Another benefit to taking that route would be an opportunity to find Miriam, beg her forgiveness, and tell her to take the group of lepers back to the Samariah Hills.

  At sunrise, Deborah woke up the men, except for Sallan and Kassite, who continued to sleep. She told Sallan’s boy-servants to prepare food and give the horses water, and instructed the other men to put on their armor and line up.

  Antippet, Patrees, and the other Edomite men were reluctant to follow her instruction, exchanging doubtful glances. It was understandable. They had seen Seesya pull off the armor from the young man they knew as Borah, expose her undeniably female breasts, and flog her under the tree. Deborah recalled what Zariz had once said: “You must pretend to be confident, or the horse will not respect you.” Applying this advice, she pretended not to notice their recalcitrance and divided them into two groups of four men each, placing Antippet and Patrees in charge of each group. None of them dared to disobey her outright, having seen how Kassite had fought for her life at the trial and continued to treat her with affection and respect.

  She showed them how to erect stone columns as targets for practice shooting with the slings. Every few rounds, she made them move further back and change position, shooting upward or downward, to the left or to the right. The arid, rocky hills provided plenty of stones, the men’s competitive instinct drove them to try harder, and the applause won for hitting difficult targets raised everyone’s spirits.

  By the time the sun cleared the hilltops, their stones were flying over a hundred steps away, hitting the targets at least once in every five shots. Next, they worked on throwing spears at clusters of dry shrubs, where the tips wouldn’t break on impact. It gave the men a feel for weight and direction when throwing a spear, though their accuracy remained poor. Lastly, the two groups engaged in face-to-face combat, using the spears as clubs. There were many laughs and a few bruises, but Deborah didn’t mind. She knew they would never turn into real soldiers without professional training, but at least they’d acquired a basic level of confidence with their weapons. She hoped it would be enough to surprise and chase away a handful of Orran’s soldiers.

  Sallan and Kassite came over to watch. Deborah joined them.

  “They’re not so good with the spears,” Sallan said.

  “Not good?” Kassite sighed. “They are outright terrible.”

  Deborah wiped the sweat from her brow. “The slings are our only hope.” She cupped her mouth and yelled. “Back to slingshots. One hundred and twenty steps from the targets.”

  The men spread out and climbed higher on the hillside.

  Deborah, Kassite, and Sallan watched. The hit rate dropped to about one in ten, but those hits were deadly, knocking down the columns of stones.

  “Not bad,” Sallan said, glancing at Kassite, who nodded.

  Cupping her mouth again, Deborah yelled, “Collect a bunch of stones—twenty stones each—and shoot faster, one stone after another!”

  The men spread out to find stones that would fit in the pouches of their slings.

  “We should get going soon,” Kassite said.

  “We’ll reach Jericho tonight,” Sallan said, “cross the Jordan River tomorrow, and head south toward Moab.”

  “That’s a passive strategy,” Deborah said. “I think we should confront the enemies we know rather than become a target for unknown marauders in Moab.”

  They looked at her, surprised.

  Deborah waved at the group of Edomite men, whose slings released one shot after another. “There are enough of us to set an ambush and take on a small group of soldiers by surprise. We can do it, and when they run away, we’ll be safe.”

  “Look at you!” Sallan chuckled. “Two doses of the Male Elixir, and you’re so full of piss that you’d take on the whole Hebrew army if it came after you.”

  Deborah blushed. “There’s no such thing as a Hebrew army. Each tribe is independent, living on its own land and protecting its own people.”

  “And fighting each other,” Kassite said.

  They watched the men practice with their slings for a while. If there was improvement, it was hard to measure.

  “They’re good men,” Sallan said, “but they’re no fighters.”

  “It’s a matter of chances,” Deborah said. “Going through Moab carries a high risk of a marauder ambush, which we’re unlikely to survive. Aren’t we better off setting our own ambush for Orran’s few soldiers, who may not be coming at all?”

  Sallan sat on a large rock, looking up at her. “Go ahead, tell us your strategy.”

  “We’ll take the western road from Jericho around the Sea of Salt and set an ambush.” She picked up a twig and drew a crude map in the sand. “We’ll pick an isolated spot about halfway down the road, a place that gives us the advantage of complete surprise. We’ll collect stones for the slings, hide well, and wait for Orran’s soldiers.”

  “For how long?”

  “Three days at the most. If they don’t show up, we can safely assume they’re not coming and continue on our way to Edom.”

  Kassite pointed at the Edomite slaves on the hillside, who were scouting for stones and teasing each other at the same time. “With these clowns you propose to fight trained soldiers?”

  Deborah shrugged. “Would you rather rely on them to fight off a surprise marauder attack?”

  “Perhaps she’s right,” Sallan said. “We can’t run forever. That young man Ramrod said there were only five soldiers looking for us in Bethel. Even if Judge Zifron sends another ten, most of the soldiers will search for us on the main trade route. We’ll face no more than a handful of soldiers, and the element of surprise could tip the scale.”

  “Ein Gedi.” She pointed at a spot about a third of the way around the western shore of the Sea of Salt. “It means Goat-Kid Spring in Hebrew. The name implies that the spring supports a population of wild goats, so there must be a nice stream running across the narrow strip of land between the foot of the Judean Mountains and the Sea of Salt.”

  “That is likely,” Kassite said. “But it could be dry, too.”

  “We’ll set up an ambush near the stream, where there must be some bushes and rocks to hide behind. When the soldiers come—if they come—we’ll let them cross the stream and attack them from three directions. Caught in a crossfire of stones flying at them from our slings, with the sea on the left and the cliffs on the right, they’ll panic and run back toward Jericho.”

  Sallan and Kassite looked at each other.

  “A logi
cal plan,” Kassite said.

  “And proactive, as well.” Sallan smiled.

  Deborah nodded, keeping a calm expression, although inside she was bursting with pride, having pushed for a plan that would entail a deadly confrontation in the most isolated place imaginable.

  The men on the hillside were slacking off, obviously getting tired.

  She cupped her mouth and shouted, “Another round—shoot quickly, one stone after the other, but aim well!”

  The men’s slings began to rotate, stones flying in rapid succession. The hit rate seemed better, and when they were done, all the targets were down.

  “Very good,” she yelled. “Collect stones for another round.”

  While they did, she brought Soosie over, tied a spear vertically to the side of the saddle, and tied a leather helmet on top. Leading the horse by the reins, she started running. Soosie was hesitant at first, or maybe his muscles were stiff from the previous day’s hike up the hills, but soon he relented and began trotting after Deborah.

  “Aim at the helmet,” she yelled to the men, who were lined up about a hundred steps away on the hillside. “Don’t hit me or my horse!”

  They began shooting. The stones flew overhead, pounding the ground nearby until one of the stones knocked off the helmet. It was Antippet’s shot, and everyone cheered him.

  Deborah repeated the exercise several times, and the men improved their timing and angles. Eventually, a stone struck Soosie. He neighed, pulled away from her, and ran back to camp.

  The men gathered, talking excitedly, their faces glistening with sweat. Kassite made the customary offering of food to Qoz, recited a prayer, and invited everyone to eat. They finished quickly, packed up the horses, and continued up the Samariah Hills.

  It took the rest of the day to go over the watershed line and descend the eastern slopes, bypassing isolated homesteads that struggled to cultivate the rocky hills. The Jordan Valley, on the other hand, was level and fertile, dotted with flourishing homesteads that enjoyed the endless supply of river water. Further east, the Gilead Mountains shot up to great heights—dark, imposing, and seemingly close enough for her to stretch her arm out and touch them.