Telem pounded a stone with vigor. “Where are all my workers? The brothers must keep one eye on the wilderness. Some sentry you are. A legion could have swept in against us.”
Humiliated by her father, and with an ache in her jaw, she glowered at the mason. For the first time in their short acquaintance, he actually shut his mouth and returned his attention to shifting rock.
19
She didn’t know how long she stood in place watching Telem toil against the weight of a boulder. She did not care to move. An anchor may as well have chained her to this spot.
Where should she go after such a humiliating encounter with her father? A confrontation witnessed by the governor of Judah. Should she go out to search for Jehu and relieve him as a guard? Should she stay and help her mason? Part of her wanted to run to her storeroom and mix perfumes, leaving this project of Nehemiah’s to the men. She could easily lift a jug of oil or chop henna blossoms. Fitting rock and securing cornerstones were foreign skills. But she had answered the governor’s call before the priests and her neighbors, and ultimately before God. Tongues would gossip about her absence after the commotion on the steps. Several people had not only seen but also heard her father’s slap.
Generations would know that Shallum and his daughters built this section of the wall. Did she and Judith not seek out Telem? Did they not labor where they could? They would finish this task they had begun, even if neighbors watched and whispered, their glances betraying their distaste of women working alongside men of no relation.
Adah lifted her face toward the afternoon sun and sighed. So much had changed in the previous hours. With Othniel. With her father. Within her. She did not want to share these emotions of betrayal, embarrassment, and love, but she owed her mason an explanation as to where his workers had gone, so she put her feelings in an imaginary jar and capped it with poplar wood.
When her breathing calmed, she spoke. “My father is meeting with the governor. And Othniel.” She swallowed hard to keep her emotions from warbling her words. “He will not be returning to help us.” Biting the fleshy inside of her cheek, she battled the tingle of tears demanding to reappear.
Telem crouched and inspected the wall for gaps. “I gathered as much.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?” Othniel had only left this morning.
“The boy’s father came by while you were guarding the rubble. They argued.”
“You listened?”
“I heard.” Telem stood. “I am all over this area.” He indicated his tools scattered about.
Frustration pulsed through her temples. “You could have warned me.”
“It was not my place.”
“He worked with you!”
“And he worked for you.” Telem studied her with a gaze so dark and deep she could have jumped in and disappeared. “You are not a fool, Adah. He worked for more than a debt.”
“I believe I was a fool. For I never thought he would be taken away.” Pressure pounded behind her eyes. “Not in the way he was. Sent to serve in a foreign land.” She picked up a stick to stir the pitch pot. “Selling our people is against the Law.”
“I know the Law. And when I departed from it, I suffered.” He shuffled closer. “When I lived in the cave, I didn’t have to see people in need. Now, it seems, there is need all around us.”
She halted her stirring stick and leaned upon it. “My conscience is clear. I told the governor and all the rulers about Othniel…and of another sold for taxes and food.”
“That is the meeting your father attends?” Telem burst forth in a laugh and sent a raven soaring from a scraggly tree. “The faster you receive Jehu’s cloak and blend in with the rocks, the better.” He stilled her stirring. “Remember, God sees everything. He sees our sins, but he also sees our offerings.” Pulling the stick from her clutch, he said, “The One True God knows our hearts, and you have a good heart, daughter of Shallum. Now go relieve Jehu and keep us safe.”
“Toda raba. Your praise is like a balm on my wounds.” She glanced around to see if her sister neared. “What about Judith?”
“She took your mother to wash, and I believe they will return with a meal.” Telem’s lips pressed together as if he withheld a smile. “Do not worry. I will take care of her.”
“And you will take care of the food she brings.” Adah would not have believed Telem had a carefree demeanor unless she had witnessed it with her own eyes. Was returning to Jerusalem healing his old wounds? She had all night to ponder such things. If only Othniel was around to hear her thoughts.
“Off with you.” Telem’s voice awakened her from her daydream. He stalked toward the water jar. “Find Jehu and relieve him from his post. I need another man to labor.”
If only it were the last time she heard that sentiment. “As you wish.”
She turned toward the length of the wall that ran south and bordered the Valley Gate. She knew the length by memory after one night of walking back and forth from her father’s section to the priests’ section. But somehow this night felt different, as if she was a lone tower of bricks and her scaffolding had been removed before the work was finished. Keeping Jerusalem safe meant something to her, as it did to Nehemiah and Othniel. Although, one of them would not be here to rejoice when the work was complete. Her conscience ached with that knowledge.
As the setting sun left a haze of simmering scarlet flames, it revealed the silhouette of low lying segments of the wall that lagged in repair behind other areas of the city. She found Jehu leaning against a tower of bricks that Telem had mortared. His cloak lay folded near his post.
Jehu shaded his eyes. “You are early. I can still see your face.”
“Not for long, and Telem needs you more than he does me.”
“I am not so sure about that.” He handed her his cloak. “I do not envy you. The priests squabble like hens. Hanun has been shouting all afternoon. May they take a rest and allow you some peace.”
They cannot give me peace. She held up his garment. “Shalom. I will tie my veil around my ears.”
Jehu nodded and trudged off to seek Telem.
“Stars, come swiftly,” she prayed.
She found a small gap in the wall and peered at the outskirts of the city. A light breeze cooled her swathed body. Palms and tamarisk trees rebuffed the wind, their fronds and branches barely moving.
“Are you happy, God?” She breathed in the scent of fire pit smoke. Usually the aroma of burning oak and acacia ash soothed her soul, but this night, she stood restless. “This is what You wanted. A renewed fortress. A fortified city. A new Jerusalem.”
When the rocks at her side made impressions in her arm, she shifted. Star-lit shadows blanketed the brush. Thankfully, the moon held court over the city, easing the strain on her eyes. A faint odor of clove oil reminded her of her healing palm, but mostly the aroma reminded her of Othniel’s caress. Take care of him, Lord.
A sentry further down sauntered toward the Valley Gate.
She waited and glanced toward his spot a time or three.
Stepping outside her post, she shuffled over uneven dirt and up an embankment to glimpse the length of the southern wall. Where had the sentry gone? Priests labored on the frame of the gate. She even heard a song of praise to God.
Farther south, on a path to the Dung Gate, donkeys labored to pull two wagons. Tarps covered the wagon beds and tented over the load. Were these wagons dumping dung at the far gate? Or were they delayed merchants rounding the city for an eastern gate?
A torch held by a companion of the lead driver served as a bright beacon to the wagon in the rear. Was this a family and the torchbearer a wife? Wrapped like a Bedouin in a dust storm, the wife of the front merchant hunched forward and pulled back the hood of her cloak.
And spit. Was that a beard shadowing her face?
A chill cascaded down Adah’s back. That wife was no woman. Adah would know, for she was not a man.
20
Adah darted toward the south gates, care
ful not to twist her ankle on the rocks, mortar pebbles, and sticks strewn around the outside of the wall. Her breaths came in gasps and pants. Her throat burned. She leapt over the low lying mortared stones. Hanun’s kin met her entry with wide-eyed disbelief, dumbstruck that a woman halted their labors.
No one challenged her intrusion. No blades were drawn. Had her people so soon forgotten the armies who had challenged Nehemiah? Perhaps it was her oversized cloak and her unruly, half-covered hair giving these men of Judah a start.
“Soldiers are heading toward the Dung Gate. Hiding in wagons.” Her chest heaved as she blurted her warning. “We must sound the shofar and alert our people.”
A broad-shouldered laborer assessed her chipped toenails and windblown ringlets. “You’re a woman.” He waved her off. “We have guards posted. Why do our brothers not come with this news?”
Her heart flogged her chest and sent a loud boom echoing from one ear to the other. “I am disguised to fool our enemies.” She tugged on the hood of her cloak. “Would you let them do the same to us? I saw a man swathed in veils pretending to be a wife. Do not let these false women be your undoing.” Gesturing wildly toward the Dung Gate, she said, “Soldiers are hiding in those wagons. Bevakasha. Listen. Follow me. It is only a short run. I know, for my father oversees this part of the city.” She scanned the group of men, meeting every laborer’s stare. “I will not stay silent about danger to my city.”
“We’ve all heard rumors of attacks.” The broad leader assessed his fellow workers. “We will take heed. “He pointed to the laborers closest to the wall. “Stay and defend this section.” With a sigh, he turned toward the others and patted his blade. “The rest, come with me and the girl. If this is a trick of war, we will meet the enemy.”
Thank you, Lord.
She warned everyone laboring in her path as she dodged around campfires and maneuvered past axes and mallets strewn on the ground. “Be brave and courageous,” she called out to the small band of fighting men who believed her story and followed after her. “God will act.”
Will you act this time God? Confuse our enemy? Halt their evil?
When she reached the southern entrance to her city, only a few men labored on the wall abutting the Dung Gate. The stench of animal waste hung in the air. Less than half a dozen priests stood watch. Why weren’t more men securing this entry? Jerusalem had no wooden doors to keep out the wicked.
“Warn these workers,” she huffed to her muscled neighbor. “We must sound a horn.”
His strides slowed. “If you’re certain.”
“I am.” She bent at the waist to control her breathing. “I most definitely am.”
Rising and arching her back, she spied Delaiah, a priest, on the other side of the small clearing inside the Dung Gate. He drank from a tall water jar. A ram’s horn hung from his shoulder.
She sprinted across the wide entryway, her throat burning, her lips parched. Catching sight of the donkeys lumbering closer to the gate, she petitioned God to intervene. Do not forsake us, Lord. Yellow-orange torch flames from the first wagon taunted her prayers.
“Delaiah, sound the shofar,” she rasped, coming upon the imbibing priest.
The temple official sputtered and spilled water on his tasseled robe. His contempt bore down on her. “What is the meaning of this interruption?” He gripped the horn at his hip as though she were a thief and the trumpet was cast of pure gold and in need of protection.
“Those wagons are full of soldiers.” She lowered her voice to keep the enemy ignorant.
Fixing his gaze on the wagon master and his shrouded wife, Delaiah scowled. “Nothing is out of the ordinary. You would have me cause an uproar and distress our governor over a few late travelers?”
“Yes!” She balled her hands into fists and beat the air like a drum. The lead wagon was breaching the gate.
He backed away from her shrill affirmation and flailing hands. “You are the daughter of Shallum.” He jabbed a finger at her nose. “The governor has called a meeting because of your false accusations.”
She didn’t care if this holy man held her in disregard. At this moment, her home and her people were in danger. She would act the mad woman to save the City of David from destruction. Lunging, she gripped the shofar and drew it toward her face.
Before she could place her lips on the mouthpiece, Delaiah clawed after his precious horn, scratching her chin. He grasped her perfumer’s necklace and twisted. His fist crushed her throat.
Her eyes bulged. Gagging, she jerked away. Sandalwood and chrysolite beads sailed into the darkness.
Hands still on the horn, she yanked it closer to her lips. One gust of breath was all she needed to alert her people.
Delaiah stepped forward. His strap went slack. The horn struck her teeth. Hands on her shoulders, he shoved her to the ground with the force of an enraged bull. As she attempted to rise, wooden orbs from her necklace embedded in her palm.
Sneering, the priest tsked a reprimand. “Your father will hear of this lack of respect.” He shifted the shofar behind his body and kicked at her sandals.
Her father’s rebuke was the least of her worries. If she did not warn the people, someone could die. “Sound the trumpet,” she screamed. She would not allow the second wagon to enter her city.
Shaking his head, Delaiah continued drinking.
Righting herself, she spied grass growing from the base of the waist-high watering jars. She bent and picked the longest blade of grass visible in the dim light. Othniel had serenaded her with long leaves before. Placing the blade lengthwise between her thumbs, she pressed her knuckles together, cupped her hands, and blew. A squeaking rumble erupted into the night. She blew over and over so the ghastly whine centered all attention on the crazed woman with the whistle.
“Draw your swords.” She unsheathed her weapon and pointed the tip at the wagon driver. Her lips still hummed with the vibrations of her reed. “Our enemies are upon us. Wield a sword for the Lord!”
Flying into the air, the tarp released armed warriors into the courtyard. Rolling off the cart, foreigners engaged in battle with the closest Hebrew.
Delaiah sounded the shofar.
At last! Praise the Lord! The second wagon remained on the road outside the city.
Shouts. Cries. Clanging. War overpowered the routine clinks of the masons at work. Dust clouded the air. Jittery donkeys attempted a retreat away from the fight.
Adah needed to retreat as well, away from a bloodthirsty enemy.
A foreigner broke free from the chaos and charged her direction. His blade was curved and ready to kill.
Adah raised her sword. Hands trembling, the weapon wavered. How could she pierce her enemy’s studded-leather breastplate? Delaiah drew a jagged-edged knife. Its sharpness may have slit a goat’s throat for temple offerings, but their foe’s weapon went unmatched.
If you won’t act, God, then I will. She shoved the waist-high drinking jar. Water flooded the sun-dried soil. Shining chrysolite gems bobbed in the small river. Her assailant stomped one sandaled foot and then a second and slipped and crashed into a thin layer of mud.
“Retreat,” she shouted at the ruthless man. Her heartbeat boomed with the command. “Don’t make me kill you.”
A broad-shouldered builder appeared sword at the ready. “I don’t mind.” He impaled their enemy with a two-handed thrust of his blade. Blood splattered and wet the ground.
Cupping her mouth, Adah heaved. Her throat burned. Her tongue tasted like sour raisins.
Crack! The spooked donkeys wedged their wagon lengthwise across the frame of the gate, narrowing the path of escape for the spies. Grunting subsided. Enemy soldiers retreated and scaled the cart, rushing to freedom. Their cowardly forms faded into the shadows of the wilderness.
“Check the wall,” her surly priest commanded to the nearest laborers. “Protect any openings.” If only he had used this voice earlier for a warning.
Men from the city advanced into the clearing from nearby st
reets. Nehemiah rode toward her atop one of the king’s horses.
With her fellow Judahites, she ran along the inside of the wall, dodging bodies of fallen fighters face down in the dirt. Any testimony required of her would have to wait. She had to get back to her post and see about her sister, Telem, and the brothers.
As she neared the tower of stones where she had kept watch, a woman’s frantic shrieks stood out from the male voices awakening the night. Judith? Adah’s cheeks flamed. Was her sister injured? She shot through the opening in the wall.
A short distance away, she saw him, by the pitch pot, face up on the ground. It was Telem. Fresh blood seeped into the woven threads of his tunic. Her twin sister clawed at her long dark hair and hovered over their fallen mason.
“No,” Adah wailed. It can’t be. It just can’t be. She stumbled and dropped to her knees by Telem’s side.
“Where were you?” Judith’s blade quaked in her hands. “The enemy came right through the wall.”
21
Adah cupped Telem’s face in her hands. She was a fool to leave her friends. Not only did the enemy soldiers breech the Dung Gate, they also sneaked undetected into the city from the second wagon and laid siege to the low-lying areas of the wall. Lord, why was I the one who had to spy their deception?
“Forgive me,” she said to her mason. Now was not the time to explain the reason she abandoned her post. Telem’s wound needed to be closed. She swallowed the spit pooling in her mouth and willed her stomach not to empty. In the intimate space, it smelled like a calf had been butchered. “Did the blade go all the way through?”
“Can’t look.” Telem grimaced. He held Judith’s head covering over the puncture. “I am dizzy when I lift my head.”
“No. No it didn’t.” Judith’s eyes were as big as walnuts. “I did not see the tip, and I was at his back. Jehuliel had called for me to return.”
“Praise God he did.” She motioned to the brothers who stood slack-jawed near the fire. “Grab a mat or a blanket. We must get him to our home. Hurry!”
Jerusalem Rising Page 12