Following an increase in vandalism, the men had begun sleeping inside the ark. Each man would take his turn standing guard outside while the others slept, but even this proved problematic because of the ark’s enormous length. Soon the guard was increased to two, one stationed at the prow and the other at the stern to afford better security for both sides of the structure.
A small campfire was kept burning at either end a safe distance from the ark to provide light, warmth, and ignition for torches.
But vandalism wasn’t the only thing plaguing construction. Ham’s drinking had developed into bad habits. He missed at least one day every other week on a drunken binge. After one such episode, Noah’s patience ran out.
Ham had remained in bed late into the morning after a previous night’s indulgence. “Get up, Ham.” When he didn’t respond, his father grabbed his feet and pulled him out of the bed naked onto the floor of the ark.
With his knees scraping against the rough timbers, Ham cried out. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you the price of a drink.”
“What?”
“Your brothers and I have been up working since dawn.”
“So, what? I’m sick.”
“You may not be feeling good, but you’re hardly sick.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means if you’re man enough to drink wine, be man enough to accept the consequences. Being drunk isn’t an excuse to get out of work.”
After that, Ham didn’t drink for a month. And even after he ended his self-imposed abstinence, he made sure he was the first one up the next morning.
One night, as Noah and Japheth slept inside near the prow, they awoke to the sound of Shem’s screaming from the port side of the ark. “Fire!”
He and Japheth rushed through the open frame of that side and followed Shem toward the stern. Flames danced along the shoring timbers supporting the rear section of the ark. The three men quickened their pace, sprinting past the large door opening built halfway down the side of the ark.
The fire was confined to the lower ten cubits on the port side. Ham lay on the ground a few cubits away from the burning timbers, two empty wineskins within arm’s length. “Drunken swine. Get up.” Shem pulled his unconscious brother out of danger, then returned to scale the shoring a few cubits upwind of the flames.
Even before they’d taken to sleeping inside the ark, the family had made contingencies in the wake of the vandalism. Buckets of water and sand were kept at several locations inside the ark in case of fire. Now, while Japheth carried water up for Shem to douse the flames from above, Noah threw dirt on the blaze with a shovel from below. In approximately fifty-four parts, the fire was extinguished. Sounds of music and laughter resounded from several tents down the hill behind them.
He turned to Shem, knowing it was too dark and the distance too far for him to identify anyone. “Did you see anything?”
“Just the fire, Father. Then I took off running.”
His brother stood over Ham, who was snoring loudly. “Ham.”
He continued to snore.
Japheth knelt near his brother’s head and slapped his cheeks. “Ham. Wake up, you filthy winebibber.”
Ham rolled onto his side. “Leave me alone.”
Noah tossed a bucket of water over Ham’s head. He shot upright, swearing while he blew water from his mouth and nostrils. “What in the—” He caught himself, glaring first at his father and brother standing over him, then at the smoke rising from the blackened beams. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.” Noah shook from disgust.
“Last thing I remember was feeling really tired. So I sat down to rest against this beam. I guess I fell asleep.”
The elder picked up one of the two wineskins. “You were supposed to be on guard. And there’s nothing in these that would help you to stay awake.”
“I fell asleep.”
Japheth grabbed the wineskin from his father and shook it in his brother’s face. “This put you to sleep. You lazy drunkard.” Always a defender of his brother, he’d finally had enough. “And this time your drinking endangered both the ark and us.”
“Why you—” Ham lunged at his brother’s leg in an attempt to tackle him. With a single stride, Japheth’s powerful legs broke free, dropping Ham nose down in the earth. He got up spitting dirt and threw a punch at his brother, who sidestepped him, the overswing sending Ham spiraling back to the ground. He crawled away before stumbling to his feet and into the darkness back toward the ark’s prow.
Noah’s anger at Ham was only surpassed by his disappointment. If Ham couldn’t effectively stand his watch, someone would have to take his place. Which meant someone was going to go without sleep. Yet there was no point arguing about it now. Ham was too drunk to realize how close he’d come to being killed tonight, or how much he had endangered the others.
“Shouldn’t one of us go after him?” Shem said.
“What for?” Japheth said.
“What if he falls down and hurts himself?”
“So what if he does?” He cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and shouted after Ham. “Might knock some sense into him.”
Japheth lit a torch, and the three men examined the ground around the burnt shoring. Sets of fresh tracks led from the scaffolding to the starboard side of the ark. The tracks continued across the rise and down the hill to the tent encampment. They extinguished the torch and drew their swords before creeping toward the encampment.
Lamps from three tents backlit the movements of an unknown number of people inside. When the would-be avengers crept within fifty cubits of the closest tent, a man peered out of the flap and shouted to warn his companions. Five armed men charged out of the tents, two from the closest tent, two from the one to its left, and another from the tent behind.
In the darkness, Noah and his sons had the advantage over men whose eyes hadn’t adjusted to the night. He moved left and quickly cut down the two coming from that direction, while Japheth engaged the pair in the center. Shem clanged swords with the one from the tent farthest away. Noah hurried behind his oldest to assist Shem, but by the time he got there, his son’s well-placed thrust through the last enemy’s liver had ended the confrontation.
Women from all three tents rushed out and fell screaming onto the bodies of their fallen husbands and sons.
“I wish we hadn’t had to do this,” Shem said.
“I know,” Noah said. “But we were lucky not to have lost your brother and the ark tonight. We couldn’t take the chance on their returning tomorrow to finish the job.”
“So what are we going to do now?” Still gripping the sword, Japheth gestured toward the women. “You know these men are going to have friends or relatives.”
“For one thing, find a better way of protecting the ark.”
* * *
The passing of sixty months had done nothing to silence the cries of the children of Enoch inside Shechem’s head.
That day had changed him.
For the first time in his life, he feared the influence of Enoch upon the culture of Eden. Like most boys, he’d grown up listening to the teachings of the fathers handed down from generation to generation. Chief of these was that life was a gift from God and only He had the right to take it away.
The procurement of slaves was one thing. So, too, the building of fortifications. And the formation of an army. These were all positive things, indicators of progress and worthy of emulation in a changing world.
But not this. What he’d witnessed that day was not progress. It was savage. How long would it take for this malignant practice to reach Eden?
Tormented by their cries, he tried every way to silence them, including excusing himself from Ramalech’s yearly invitation to attend the celebration. No doubt it would be interpreted as weakness, but better that than to risk embarrassing Malluch by trying to hide his revulsion in front of the prince.
At the same time, he also felt foolish abou
t his own naïveté. He’d been the only one on the balcony that day unaware of what was about to take place. The people of Eden had been bringing their offerings before God since the time of Cain and Abel. Crops. Livestock. Gifts of wine and oil. The only commandment the fathers had passed down was they be the first fruits. But never human sacrifices.
Now, entering his home at twilight, he wheeled around to the sound of a baby crying and the prickle of the hair on the back of his neck. A young woman carrying a child across the courtyard to the servant’s quarters proved to be the source of the disturbance. He rubbed the chilling flesh from his arms and entered the house.
He walked into the bedroom and called to Claudia, just catching a glimpse of the bottom of her garment disappear into an adjoining dressing room. After a few parts, he called again. Not this again. It would be more than uncomfortable for her to fall asleep in there. He’d hoped she was changing, and in anticipation of the surprise poured them both a cup of wine. But when she failed to come out after about sixty parts, He grabbed a cup in each hand and entered the closet. “Not to be anxious, my dear—”
Except for clothing, the room was empty.
Thinking his wife was being playful, he looked around to make sure she wasn’t hiding.
Nothing.
Had he really seen the bottom of her tunic? He passed it off as his imagination and couldn’t wait for her to get home to tell her about it. She would find it curious, if not amusing.
Either way, he hoped she would return soon. He was leaving early in the morning to secure more slaves, replacements for the few who’d escaped, and for those killed trying to.
Now, if he could just find a way to leave Bohar behind.
Chapter 21
Shechem didn’t know the name of the city. All he knew is they were about two hundred furlongs south of the Eden River. Whatever its name, the city was smaller than most, more the size of a town or village really. Still, they’d managed to secure another three hundred men for service to Eden.
Bohar had disappeared again, which could only mean one thing—someone was being raped or someone was being murdered. Maybe both.
“Watch out!” A soldier’s voice rose above the din of the burning village. Across the roadway, a female lion charged a group of three soldiers walking near the wood line. She caught the closest, driving him to the ground and ripping into his side.
“Get her off me!” he cried repeatedly.
Shechem drew his sword and started across the road, while fifteen other soldiers raced to their comrade’s defense. The soldiers surrounded the lion, partially blocking their commander’s view. Falling swords and thrusting spears drew successive howls from the beast. He arrived to see the lion’s chest rise and fall for the last time. A few cubits away, the wounded soldier continued to scream.
“Where did she come from?” Shechem said to no one in particular.
“Out of nowhere,” the injured soldier said, wincing with each spoken word. He took a couple of deep breaths, a soft whimper accompanying each exhale before continuing through clenched teeth. “We were escorting some prisoners when she came charging out of the woods.”
“Better get that wound cauterized fast to stop the bleeding.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier treating the injured man said.
Across the road, Bohar paced back and forth outside a nearby house. With a blood-drenched knife in his hand, he appeared to be searching for something. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
After eighteen parts of searching, he moved out of sight to the rear of the house. Six parts later, a young girl of about thirteen years sprinted from behind the house into the woods opposite the soldiers. She had big eyes, a womanly figure, and a full head of flowing dark hair that bounced off her back as she ran. Bohar trailed sixty cubits behind her.
Shechem did a double-take when the girl passed by, reminding him of one of his daughters when she was young. The thought of her being violated, especially by this pig, made his blood boil. He ran into the woods after them.
A hundred cubits in, he heard Bohar tramping through the trees just ahead, calling to the girl. “If you come out now, I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Don’t do it, little girl. The girl’s parents were most likely lying on the floor back at the house with their throats slit. He also knew the girl would suffer far worse if Bohar found her.
Fifty cubits farther, he caught up to him in a small opening in the forest. His smelly cohort moved along the perimeter of the clearing, crouching every few cubits to peer into the surrounding brush.
“Give up?” Shechem said.
Still breathing heavily, Bohar spun around to reveal a creased brow and gritting teeth. “Not a chance. I’ll find the little tramp.”
“Why don’t you—”
“Ssh!” Bohar put a finger to his lips. A soft rustling and what sounded like the weak cry of a baby came from the opposite side of the clearing. The two men crept toward the sound in slow deliberate steps, coming upon some sort of nesting area. Inside, three lion cubs wrestled with each other.
They’d stumbled on the answer to the lion attack back in the village. Shechem scrutinized the area. Could the male be far off?
His partner moved in for a closer look and the three cubs stopped playing, their noses and whiskers twitching at the unfamiliar scent invading their space. Two of the cubs hissed. The third growled and raised a distinctive left front paw—the second and third toes birth-marked white—in defense.
Bohar fixed his gaze on the tip of a log sticking out into the clearing. He pulled from the woods a three-cubit long tree trunk—its bulbous ragged root still attached to the far end.
He returned to the nest, groaning while he lifted the menacing limb over his head with both hands.
“Are you crazy?” Shechem said. But before he could make a move to stop him, Bohar brought the club down with enough force to shake the ground.
He crushed the skulls of two of the cubs with the single blow. But his choice of weapon, although deadly, proved cumbersome. Straining to raise the log again, the third cub—the one with the white toes—scampered across the clearing. Bohar dragged the bloodied trunk along the ground after the cub.
“Bohar!” You’re not just coldhearted, you’re heartless.
Reaching the wood line, the cub darted into the underbrush.
“No, you don’t.” He swung the huge club over his shoulder, hurling it where the cub entered the trees. The log bounced off the ground and into the woods, striking an object lodged in the branches of a bush. He peered into the hole the club had made.
Shechem couldn’t see much from his position across the clearing, but a faint buzzing sound met his ears.
Bohar flew backwards from the margin as if struck by a bolt of lightning, his piercing screams filling the air. He hit the ground with hundreds of hornets pouring from the hole in the bush, swarming his face and upper torso.
Shechem paused to wrestle with his conscience before rushing to help his confederate, who screamed and rolled violently in the grass. He tried to help remove his tunic, but Bohar bolted into the woods toward the village, two dozen hornets still clinging to his clothes.
“Get that tunic off!”
For his trouble, he received more than a few hornet stings of his own. No matter. At least the girl got away—and the lion cub.
* * *
The next morning, Shechem walked with Malluch down a palace corridor leading to Bohar’s chamber. “And how did you fare against the hornets, Commander?”
He pointed to welts on his neck and right ear and several others on his hands. “Better than Bohar, I’m sure.”
“I was told the physicians had to work through the night and still couldn’t get the swelling down.”
As the pair turned right at the end of the hallway, a feminine scream sounded through the first door on the right. The door flung open and a woman carrying a pitcher of water and some cloths ran out into the hallway. She slammed the
door behind her. With vacant eyes, she stared at Malluch and Shechem. “His face,” she said, twisting her own. The woman scurried down the corridor, sloshing water from the pitcher as she ran.
A long, pitiful moan came from the other side of the door. Shechem turned to Malluch, half hoping the governor would change his mind about wanting to see him. When his silence indicated otherwise, the commander reached for the door.
Bohar lay on a bed with his head and back propped up with pillows and his arms held away from his body. He did not move, even when his two allies approached, although he did acknowledge their presence with another moan.
Shechem understood now why the woman had fled. Huge welts covered his cheeks and forehead, his eyelids swollen shut. His lips, bloated three times their normal size, covered the bottom third of his jaw. He likened the color and lumpiness of his wounds to a large clump of misshapen grapes.
Bohar’s hands didn’t look much better. So savage had been the hornets’ attack that his fingers had swelled together into two separate masses of flesh with barely any definition between digits. Until the swelling went down, they would prove little more than dead weights fixed to the end of his arms.
“Does that hurt as bad as it looks?” Shechem said.
Bohar whispered a curse through swollen lips.
“Easy, my friend,” Malluch said. “I’m sure the commander’s use of sarcasm was merely meant as a distraction to help take your mind off the pain.”
No it wasn’t. He waved at a fly buzzing around his head.
“Is there anything we can get for you?” Malluch said.
Bohar struggled to lift his left arm, pointing to a wineskin on a nearby table.
Shechem retrieved the wineskin and a small hollow reed sitting next to it. He leaned over to give it to him, but again heard the buzzing sound.
Their injured ally moaned loudly and began flailing his arms in front of his face, knocking the wineskin to the floor. Shechem grabbed his arms to restrain them. “Bohar. Calm down.” He continued to struggle. “It’s just a fly.”
Bohar let his arms go limp, and Shechem returned them to his sides. He picked up the wineskin and placed it next to him, gently inserting the reed between his swollen lips.
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