Jerusalem Rising

by Barbara M. Britton

  Adah sprang to her feet and untied her sword. “Take this,” she said to a laborer perched on the wall. “Keep watch. If so much as a mouse scurries over the wall, slay it.”

  The man regarded her as if she was possessed, but he accepted the weapon with a gleam in his eye.

  Judith’s head and shoulders swayed to an imaginary song. Adah hurried to her sister’s side and patted her cheeks. “Run home and find me a needle and thread. Have a servant warm some water. Do you hear?”

  Judith nodded, tears staining her cheeks. She stumbled toward their dwelling.

  Jehu and Jehuliel maneuvered a blanket under her mason.

  “We will need a jug of wine too,” Adah called after her sister.

  “Are you celebrating?” Telem rasped.

  “Later. When you can join us.” Adah’s smile trembled. She placed pressure on the soaked veil. “Piercing your skin will be painful.”

  “I don’t think it can get any worse.” He trembled as the brothers shifted his torso.

  “Think again. The best seamstress in our household is my blind mother.”

  Telem groaned.

  Adah jogged to keep up with the brothers as they carried Telem through the streets. “Move aside,” she shouted to anyone in their path. Her hand stayed flat upon Telem’s chest, forcing his lifeblood to stay inside his body.

  Guilt clung to her like a wet garment. “I’m so sorry, Telem. I should never have left my post and gone to the gate.”

  “If you had stayed. You would be dead.” His head rolled to the side. “How,” he released a few short breaths, “could I tell your mother I allowed it?”

  “My mother knows how persuasive I can be. If sighted, she would have joined me in guarding the city. This is our home.” Now was not the time to argue her reason for standing sentry.

  As they approached her home, the door whipped open. Judith stood just beyond the threshold.

  “We have cleared an area in the front room.” Her twin sister held up threaded metal. “I have mother’s embroidery needle.”

  “It’s bent like a hook,” Adah said while the brothers gently lowered Telem to the floor.

  Her mother, hand to the wall, shuffled closer. “You will never close the skin with a straight one. Flesh is too thick.”

  The ground beneath Adah’s feet began to roll like the sea. Blood stained her fingers, hands, and arms. Blood. Everywhere. Blood. “God of Jacob give me strength and skill,” she muttered.

  Adah sat next to Telem on the floor. She clenched her teeth and blinked like she was caught in a dust storm. Lord, get me through this. Judith handed her the threaded needle.

  Lifting the soiled rag from Telem’s wound, she beheld the sword’s damage, and swiftly pinched the skin together. Sweat dampened her forehead. “I was never the best at sewing.”

  “Unfortunately, it was a skill I possessed.” Her mother braced herself against the wall, her face drawn as if she could see the injury. “You will do fine. It’s a simple pattern.”

  Judith pressed a cup to Telem’s lips. “Drink. You’ve braved enough pain.”

  “Begin then.” Telem clenched his teeth. “Before I become accustomed to it.” His head fell backward and he faced the ceiling.

  Adah pierced Telem’s skin with a quick thrust. His flesh was solid. A bubble of blood oozed from her puncture. Her body chilled. Be strong. She looped the thread and pulled it tight, but not too tight to overlap the skin. She tied it. Knotted it. One stitch was finished. A drop of water snaked down the side of her face.

  When she jabbed Telem again, his back arched slightly. Judith offered more wine. The scent of salted meat set Adah’s throat ablaze. She swallowed fast and hard. Thankfully, she hadn’t eaten much since the bread and cake she shared with Othniel. Be courageous. She continued, stitch after stitch, closing Telem’s wound until it no longer gave up fresh blood.

  Judith faced Adah, lips moving, but with no prayers spoken out loud.

  Adah splayed her bloodstained fingers. “Sister, I need you to go to my workshop. Bring me turmeric. Mother will have honey.” She could not allow redness and swelling to set into Telem’s flesh.

  Her sister nodded and hurried toward the door.

  “First row on the shelf. Fourth jar,” Adah said.

  “Am I a delicacy?” Telem’s booming voice was but a vapor.

  She should tease him and say no, but his suffering was the result of helping her fulfill a vow. With tears threatening to spill, she said, “Yes. I don’t know where I would be if you had stayed in your cave.”

  “It seems God has blessed us both.” He swallowed. “And Adah,” he continued.

  Leaning in close to hear her mason’s words, she placed her unclean hand on a soiled rag.

  “Have your sister care for me while I recover.” Telem closed his eyes. A hint of a grin lingered on his rugged face.

  Adah sat back and stared.

  If she hadn’t fought the enemy with her own sword, Adah would have believed Telem had planned his own injury so he could receive Judith’s attention. She dabbed his skin with a clean cloth. Would her sister consider Telem suitable for a husband?

  “Daughter, you must wash.” Her mother received a folded tunic and veil from a servant. We will burn your garments and forget this night. I can help your sister tend to Telem’s skin.”

  “Yes, let us forget this day.” She thought of Othniel. She didn’t even know where he laid his head this night. Would his presence at their station have kept Telem from being wounded? Or would he have been struck down defending the city? Her cheeks grew hot. Pressure tingled behind her eyes. It was no use crying. She had spoken her peace about the injustice to the governor, the rulers, and her father. What was done could not be undone.

  She went outside into the cooking courtyard to wash off Telem’s blood. Her mother’s servant followed carrying unstained clothing. Thankfully, a sheet hung in the back corner to dry. She could change unnoticed.

  Other servants had filled jars with water for cleansing—water that would need to be dumped outside the city once it had turned the color of a tuberose.

  When her skin was clean and her dress did not reek of death, she hurried out from behind the sheet to check on Telem and Judith. This cursed day could not end soon enough.

  “There she is,” a man’s voice called.

  Her father and that fool of a priest Delaiah strode down the street in her direction.

  She left the courtyard and greeted them.

  Delaiah pointed a finger at her face. His other hand rested on the ram’s horn slung from his shoulder. “This is the wild woman who attacked me.”

  22

  Adah gaped at the priest. How could he insult her in front of her father?

  The men blocked her return to her home. They stood with wide stances, their hands on their hips, forming a fortress with their bodies. Her civility hung by one thin fiber after the bloodshed this night. How could Delaiah call her lawless after she’d had to force him to protect his own city? How many more of her people would have died if she did not blow on a reed and scream a warning?

  Lord, give me strength. I need to get back to Telem and back to the wall.

  “Father,” she said, straightening her posture as if giving a defense before a judge. “I believe my actions were misunderstood. I did not strike my elder or touch his skin.” She met the priest’s stare and withheld the urge to grab his adorned robe and shake the truth from his lips. “I pleaded with him to sound his trumpet and warn our men that the enemy was near.”

  “You kept me from doing my duty.” Her accuser leaned forward and spoiled the night air with his fermented wheat breath. “Shallum, your daughter ran past the gate in a man’s robe and confused my guards with her shrieks.”

  “Your guards? There weren’t enough men at the gate to water mules.” She took a step toward her father to explain her actions. “I saw wagons entering our city and wondered why merchants would travel at such a late hour. Then I saw a man in disguise and knew t
his was a trick of our enemies.”

  Her father’s brow furrowed as he thumbed his beard “Weren’t you with Telem?” His question held a hint of surprise.

  She ignored Delaiah’s pious smirk. Hadn’t her father praised the rise of their section of the wall? Surely he knew she and Judith weren’t lifting rocks at heights far above their heads? She would not hide the truth. “I was standing sentry at a low section of the wall so Telem could work.”

  “Hah!”

  The priest’s self-righteous snort curled her hands into fists. “Isn’t that what Nehemiah ordered?” She beheld her father and willed his understanding, for he stood as unmoving as a baked clay vessel. “I had a sharp sword to defend myself and this city.”

  “A city which you stepped out of in the dark of night and fled to the priests at the gate accompanied by men who were of no relation.” Her father stated the charge like he had heard it thrice before.

  What male relation should she have called? She had no brothers or cousins or uncles. Should she have ignored what she saw? Waited on God to foil the attempt? What if God had abandoned Jerusalem once and for all? Nehemiah didn’t believe that and neither did she. God protected the city because a woman dressed in a man’s robe witnessed a man dressed as a woman acting unladylike.

  This time it was her turn to thrust her shoulders back, puff out her chest and dig her fists into her hips. “I sounded a warning to save our people.”

  “I could have sounded the shofar if you didn’t distract me.” Delaiah jabbed his finger close to her eye.

  “But you wouldn’t.” Her charge rattled the rooftops.

  Her father stepped between her and the overbearing temple servant. “No one was killed in the raid. We have a few wounded fighters. One being my own mason.”

  Was that all her father had to say about her heroics? Did he believe the shaded truth of this man over his own daughter? She stepped back and rubbed her arms, trying to warm her skin from the cold shroud that suddenly draped over her. No matter how hard she tried to impress her father, she would never bring him as much honor as a son.

  “You must do something about her, Shallum. If she is not put in her place, all women will think they can act like a man. That girl confronted her elders and the governor as if she had authority. She spoke out of turn in public. Ran through the streets with a sword. This shamefulness must stop.”

  Adah praised God that her father was a wall between the priest and herself, for if no person stood between them, she would have been tempted to speak her mind.

  She placed a hand upon her father’s shoulder and swallowed the rage that caused her body to tremble. She clenched her jaw as the priest came back into view.

  “I am sorry you did not feel my actions were helpful to you or to this city, but I took a vow to help restore Jerusalem’s wall before my father, my governor, and my God. And unless my father forbids me from continuing with my labors, I will work alongside men who are not my relation. They are solely my people.”

  Delaiah flapped his arms. “Shallum—”

  “You heard my daughter. As a man of the law, you know there is nothing I can do about her vow after all this time has passed. I did not disavow her at the assembly.” Her father sounded almost as if he wished he had rejected her plans to restore the wall and have his name written in the record books. “I think it best we return to our duties and prepare for our meeting with the governor tomorrow.”

  The priest cast a squinty-eyed glare upon her. “We all know who is responsible for that insult.”

  Adah blew out a silent breath, thankful her father did not rebuke her labors at the wall or chastise her for Nehemiah’s summons. She bowed to relieve the cramping in her stomach and hoped the show of respect would slow the slander of her name. “My mason is not well. I need to prepare herbs for a dressing.”

  With a nod, she hurried across the street to her storeroom. Once inside, she leaned against the door and basked in the aroma of familiar blossoms, tangy fruits, and earthy moss. Enough moonlight seeped through the window and she didn’t bother to light a lamp. Every jar and bottle had its place, and she knew the precise location of each one.

  The cupboard door hung open. In her rush for turmeric, Judith had probably left it ajar. Adah reached toward the top shelf for lavender oil and halted. There, gawking at her, with its tapered tail and embedded dirt eyes was the wooden lizard Othniel had rescued from the stream. Her eyes tingled with tears. He was gone. Had he only left hours ago when it seemed like many Sabbaths?

  Don’t cry.

  “Protect my Othniel,” she prayed. “I love him.” Uttering those last words gave her weary limbs new life to perform her tasks. With Telem wounded, Jehu and Jehuliel would need her help all the more.

  When her jars of healing oils were gathered and organized in a basket, a droplet of water snaked from her thigh to the side of her knee. She shivered as the wetness eased down her calf.

  Moving backward for a better glow of moonlight, she lifted her hem and glanced at her ankle.

  Blood. Oh no, not her flow.

  “Why now, Lord? Haven’t I done enough?” She faced the ceiling. “I am not a man, nor do I want to be, but this is the worst possible time to be a woman. An unclean woman.” How could she help take care of Telem if she couldn’t touch him, or anyone else without making them unclean and in need of isolation?

  She reached for her necklace to count the beads and calm her spirit, but when her fingers stroked her neck, all she felt was bare skin.

  23

  A woman with her monthly flow was avoided and feared lest a tap of a finger or the brush of her garment caused someone to be unclean and ostracized for a day. Six more suns would have to set before Adah could leave the temporary isolation of her storeroom. Wiping the dust from her work table, she chased the shadows of another sinking sun with every sweep of her cloth. She didn’t have time to sit idle. And by now, gossip would have flooded the city. Her altercation at the gate and her absence from the wall would make an intoxicating whisper. But better her seclusion than another scandal from touching someone and making them unclean for a night.

  She sighed as she reclined on a stool and closed her eyes to pray. Lord, give me relief from my distress. Be merciful to me and hear my prayer. Remember my father as he oversees the city. Heal Telem’s wound that he may work again on Jerusalem’s wall. Walk beside Othniel in a foreign land. I want to be brave and do your work, but all it has brought me is sorrow and scorn. Why do you not protect your people?

  She forgot to breathe and tightness consumed her chest.

  “Adah?” Judith knocked on the threshold and entered carrying a basket. The aroma of warm bread wafted into the room.

  “You are late.” Adah rose. Her stomach stirred at the welcome scent of food. How could she have snapped at her sister who brought her meal? She softened her demeanor and plucked a grape from its stem. “Has Telem been an injured bear?”

  “Perhaps with the servants, but not with me.” A plum-colored blush crossed her sister’s cheeks. “He is thankful for my attention.”

  “There are no signs of festering? His skin is not red?”

  “He complains I am seasoning a stew with all your oils.” Judith placed Adah’s meal on the table. “But otherwise he is kind and grateful. No cross words has he spoken. His skin looks no worse than before, save the stitching.”

  Adah scanned the basket for a small pouch “I am glad. Perhaps his angry words are only meant for me.”

  “Because you do not listen to him.” Judith crossed her arms and leaned against the table.

  “Well, we will have several days apart to practice our patience.” Adah pressed her lips together, and frowned. “You did not find my beads at the gate?”

  Judith shook her head. “Not a one. I even moved some of the watering jars.”

  “The chrysolite might tempt a thief, but who would want to steal small round bits of wood?” Adah broke off a piece of bread and sighed. “Mother gave me that necklace when I mad
e my first fragrance.”

  “I am sorry I did not find a few beads, sister.” Judith snapped her fingers. “I must be tired, for I forgot your drink.” She hesitated in the threshold. “I am sorry, too, for blaming you for Telem’s injuries. I did not know about the wagons until that priest accused you of helping the enemy.”

  “You were in shock after the attack.” Adah slumped against the corner of her work table. “And to think you had to hear that priest’s lies.”

  “How could I not? He shrieked like a newborn.” Judith rubbed her eyes with her fists and wailed like a babe.

  “I would embrace you if the law allowed.” Adah grinned at her elder sister. Judith may have entered the world only a few minutes before Adah, but on this day, her apology and acceptance meant more than a sack brimming with rubies.

  Stifling a chuckle, Judith said, “I am not deaf to the talk on the street, but before I forget, let me see to your drink. The slander will all be forgotten when this wall is finished.” Judith hurried out the door, insisting she would return with a cool cup of water.

  Adah’s stomach grumbled for more food. Tearing off a bigger morsel of bread, she stuffed her mouth full. Footsteps caused her to cover her mouth and force a swallow. “That was fast.” She turned to find her father standing in the doorway.

  Stunned, she stepped away from her food and stood, shoulders back, spine straight. A strange tingle rippled across her skin and had her wishing there was a means of escape from this crowded space. Her father hadn’t entered her storeroom in…she couldn’t remember the last time.

  “Father, I was expecting Judith.”

  “So she said.” Her father set a cup next to the bread basket. “I thought you would be curious about what Nehemiah had to say to the leaders of our city today. After all, you did bring a charge against us.”

  Adah shuffled her feet and almost tripped over her sitting stool. She braced herself against the table. “I had no choice. I had to speak for my friend and my neighbor.” A rhythmic pulse battered her temples and threatened to flood her eyes as she remembered her parting with Othniel. But she would not sob like a forlorn girl. She stood in the truth of her actions. Her cheek ached as if it remembered the sting of her father’s slap. “And I would do it again.”