Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Your sister was driven to distraction by Hilda. Surely, if Semiramis learned that you taught Hilda the price of arrogance, it would warm her days and cause her to remember you even more fondly than she does.”

  Minos pondered that, and he saw that although Hilda was young, under age, that she was yet pretty, even if rather innocent. He spoke with his thuggish cousins, Thebes and Olympus, muscular youths who bragged they were much better hunters than the Scouts were. When they sensed the drift of his thoughts, they, too, urged Minos to play a prank.

  “It isn’t as if you’re hurting her,” Thebes said. “Not truly.”

  “Yes, we don’t counsel you to anything as foolish as that,” Olympus said.

  “Isn’t she asking for it by wearing that necklace? ‘Look at me,’ she says. And the way she entices us with her stride and those coy glances over her shoulder.” Thebes shook his head. “It simply demands a reaction.”

  “Besides,” Olympus said. “What woman can resist you? You’ve told us yourself that you need merely crook your finger to make any woman come running. Hilda will count herself lucky to have even been noticed by you.”

  “Yes,” Thebes said. “I, as well, recall that boast, about your crooked finger. It can’t possibly be true, of course.”

  “Oh, it’s quite true,” Minos said. “Believe me.”

  “You’re just bragging,” Thebes said.

  “If I prove it, who will protect me from Beor’s wrath?” Minos asked.

  “What will Beor have to be angry about?” Thebes asked. “In fact, after you’re done, he may give you the girl in marriage. Then you’ll own the necklace.”

  “I don’t want to marry her,” Minos said.

  “Why not?” Olympus asked. “If, later, another girl takes your fancy, marry her, too. I’ve never understood why we only marry one woman. Especially fellows like you…”

  “That’s very strange,” Thebes told Olympus. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Minos walked away deep in thought, to the soft chuckles of Thebes and Olympus.

  A week later, as the snow began to thaw and Beor went on an extended trip, Minos came to his cousins and said, “I’ve been accused too often of being a fool, of leaping before I think. This time and against Beor, I refuse to go. Unless…”

  “Yes?” Thebes asked.

  “Unless you two join me in the prank,” Minos said.

  “Join you?” Thebes asked. “I’m not sure. Then Beor might have real cause for rage.”

  “No,” Minos said. “I’ve thought this out carefully. If the three of us do this, the girl will surely be too ashamed to let anyone know what happened, least of all her father. The stigma of it will keep her silent.”

  Thebes and Olympus glanced at one another in surprise.

  “I believe the handsome devil is right,” Olympus said.

  “It’s brilliant,” Thebes said. He clapped his cousin Minos on the back, staggering him. “To tell you the truth, I’ve had my fill of these haughty Scouts. Do you know that Beor had the gall to tell me the other day that I shouldn’t stagger about drunk in public? A Hamite trying to tell us about drunkenness. If he wasn’t such a mound of muscle—a freak, I tell you—I’d have knocked him to the ground.”

  “This is your chance,” Minos said. “We can hurt him where it will hurt most and without having to worry about retaliation.”

  “Yes,” Thebes said. “Count me in.”

  “Me, too,” Olympus said.

  19.

  The allure of the necklace kept drawing Hilda, that and how the village girls looked at her. They used to make fun of her, that she seemed more like a boy than a girl. They didn’t say that anymore.

  She donned the gown early one morning, slipping on the necklace and sauntering outside. Father practiced archery with the Scouts and wouldn’t be back until noon. So she didn’t need to fear his discovery.

  As she moved between houses, she lifted her chin and pretended not to notice as women stopped, stared and whispered among themselves. Minos, the lazy shepherd, whistled and when she looked, he waved to her.

  She giggled, waving back.

  “I’ll compose a song about you,” Minos shouted. “And about the necklace that brings out the luster in your hair.”

  Hilda blushed. Her father said she was too young for boys. But she noticed them more this year. Minos often took a harp with him to the fields, plucking strings when he should have been watching for lions or wolves.

  Hilda turned a corner and halted as her stomach knotted. Father drove through the village gate. Luckily, his head was turned. So she backed up and ducked out of sight, racing for home. In her room, she ripped off the gown and stuffed the necklace into her strongbox. Putting on her knee-length dress and lacing on heavy-soled sandals, she went into the main room and began dusting furniture.

  Just as her breathing evened, the door opened. Father clumped in, with his peg leg knocking on the floorboards.

  “Hilda.”

  She looked up, her face filled with innocence.

  He didn’t glare or frown or glower, but his eyes seemed to bore into her soul.

  She hung her head as her cheeks burned.

  “Did you just disobey me?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He sighed, clump-clump-clumping until he sat in his chair.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, still looking down.

  “Now you are, because I caught you.” He sighed, putting his heavy hands on the table. “I planned to let you drive for me next week when I left for Shem’s Settlement.”

  Her head whipped up and she to burst into tears. She loved Ruth, Shem’s wife, who reminded her so much of Great Grandmother Rahab.

  “As punishment, you’ll have to stay behind,” he said.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Hilda hung her head again, nodding, before dashing into her room to cry.

  20.

  The week passed. Early in the morning, Father left with the Scouts while Hilda remained behind. She swept the house, debated wearing the necklace now that her father was gone, but decided she didn’t want to turn into a rebellious child.

  A little before noon, she went outside carrying several javelins. She headed to the practice field. Once outside the village, she glanced about. Patches of wet snow clung here and there, while greenery sprouted everywhere, and the sound of trickling water seemed universal. From the mossy palisade spread slushy wagon, cart and chariot tracks. In the direction she headed rose a forest belt, the pine branches swaying in the breeze. She felt eyes on her, but saw no one. Father had taught her to trust her instincts so she kept turning, searching, until a crow cawed.

  She laughed and soon hiked over a flower-carpeted rise and entered a shallow, though rather wide, depression, with many soggy spots. Hay-backed targets stood in a row. There, she target-practiced, hurling javelins until sweat lathered her face.

  “Hilda!”

  Hilda whirled around. Stumbling toward her from the forest ran a girl two years older than she was, who also happened to be her worst tormenter.

  With a javelin in hand, Hilda waited.

  Breathless, hair-disheveled, Ariel clutched Hilda’s arm as tears trickled down her cheeks. “Oh, Hilda, help me. Help me.”

  “What is it?” Hilda asked.

  “A wolf has torn Minos. He’s at the rock in the glade. He’s bleeding. Quick, run to him. Watch over him with your javelin while I get help.” Without another word, Ariel stumbled for the village.

  Hilda gulped as fear wormed into her belly. A wolf had torn Minos. What might the wolf do to her? But she gripped the javelin and sprinted toward the forest.

  In time, she came panting to the rock in the glade. The lichen-covered boulder stood taller than a man, and it was surrounded by forest. A spring seeped with water beside it and the boulder threw shadows on the tall, waving grass behind.

  “Minos!” she called.

  Silence. Hilda glanced around. Just like before, eyes seemed to watch her. Goosebumps rose on he
r arms. They were evil eyes, malicious, wishing her harm. They studied her, gauging, waiting.

  “Minos?” Hilda called in a quieter voice.

  She approached the rock as she kept her javelin cocked over her shoulder. If a wolf waited and tried to pounce…

  “Hilda, over here,” came a hoarse whisper.

  Her heart thudded as she crept to the high grass beyond the rock. Perhaps Minos had crawled into them for concealment. She didn’t see any trail of blood.

  “Help me, Hilda.”

  “Minos?” she asked.

  The grass rustled. Minos rose. His dark hair shone luxuriously, perfectly combed. No dirt smeared his cheeks. He grinned and seemed unhurt.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, with laughter in his voice.

  “Ariel said a wolf tore you.”

  “A beast did, yes,” he said.

  Hilda glanced about, confused. “Is it near?”

  “Very near,” he said.

  She raised her javelin as her heart beat wildly.

  “There,” he said, pointing with his chin.

  She pivoted. He parted grass, approaching her. She frowned. “You’re unafraid,” she said.

  “Now I am,” he said.

  Where he had pointed, grass now rustled.

  Hilda yelled, and she stamped forward, with her muscles quivering as she readied to throw.

  “No!” Minos shouted. “It’s Thebes! Don’t skewer Thebes.”

  In bewilderment, Hilda stared at Minos. Thebes indeed rose out of concealment.

  “Here, let go of that,” Minos said. “Don’t stick us.” He drew the javelin out of her grasp.

  “Good thinking,” Olympus said, rising behind Hilda.

  She blinked, more confused than ever. “Where’s the beast? Where’s the wolf?”

  Minos tapped her on the shoulder.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re the beast,” Minos said.

  “Me?”

  Thebes and Olympus closed in, grinning, evil chuckles bubbling out of them. She felt dwarfed and suddenly in terrible danger.

  “You tore my heart,” Minos told her. “So doesn’t that make you a beast?”

  Hilda became uncomfortably aware that she was alone with them in the woods. She tried to grab her javelin.

  Minos shook his head.

  She backed away from him until Thebes dropped a heavy paw onto her shoulder.

  “Let go of me,” she said.

  Thebes laughed and Olympus reached for her.

  Hilda squirmed. Fingers tightened, cruelly digging into her flesh. She flinched and grabbed for her belt dagger.

  Minos pinned her wrist. “You’re not going to cut us, little Hilda.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered, more terrified than the time Gilgamesh had shot her father with an arrow.

  Minos breathed in her face as Thebes held her arms. “You strut about the village with your amber necklace, thinking you’re our queen. Well, you’re not. You’re a wicked little girl trying to entice us.” Minos leered. “Now, I’m enticed, little Hilda.” He gripped her blouse and yanked hard.

  She screamed as the three men laughed, closing around her.

  Minos ripped again, exposing her from the waist up.

  “Hilda!” a loud and familiar voice shouted.

  “Daddy!” she screamed. “I’m by the rock!”

  The three youths stared at one another in shock.

  “You said Beor was gone,” Olympus hissed.

  Minos flung a hand over her mouth as Hilda sucked down air to shout again. “Down,” he whispered.

  The three youths sank into the tall grass, pulling Hilda with them.

  “Hilda!” Beor shouted. “Where are you?”

  She squirmed until a dagger touched her throat.

  “Silence,” Thebes whispered, his eyes promising death.

  Minos eased up for a look.

  “Down, you fool,” Olympus said, yanking Minos into cover.

  A donkey brayed, and as hot hands held her, Hilda heard the familiar creak of chariot wheels.

  “Do you want your father to find you like this?” Minos whispered into her ear.

  “We should kill her,” Thebes said. “For Beor will kill us if he finds us now.”

  Terror blossomed in Hilda’s belly. And she loathed the grimy hands on her bare flesh. “Oh, Jehovah,” she prayed, “give me courage. Help me think.”

  “Hilda!” Beor shouted. “Where are you?”

  Her father must be by the boulder. Minos had become pale. Thebes trembled.

  “That was her voice before,” a Scout said. “I’d swear it.”

  “I know it was,” Beor said.

  Hilda didn’t want to die or be raped. So she bit Minos’s hand, tasting blood. Minos howled in surprise and tried to shake her off, and he knocked against Thebes. The hot hands lost their grip.

  “Daddy!” Hilda screamed, launching out of the grass.

  Beor’s eyes widened in shock and then into black rage.

  Olympus, Thebes and Minos sprinted for the forest.

  The chariot-driver flicked the reins. The donkeys leapt forward. And Beor, as befitted a master hunter, snatched a javelin from the chariot case. The javelin flashed past Hilda, and she heard a scream as Minos fell to the ground with a javelin through his thigh.

  21.

  Beor and the Scouts took the wounded Minos and a captured Olympus to Lord Japheth.

  “I’ve come to you for fair judgment,” Beor said, and he explained how he had turned back from his trip to Shem, deciding the punishment for Hilda had been too harsh. He said that he thanked Jehovah for his merciful heart regarding his precious daughter.

  Japheth retired to deliberate, even as anger filled his sons and grandsons in attendance.

  “What should I do?” Japheth asked.

  Europa wore a long gown, with her blonde hair in braids and wound upon her head like a crown. She held a paintbrush and stood before a smooth piece of wood, with pigments of green, red and white in small clay cups.

  “If I give Beor justice, I might alienate Javan,” Japheth said, brooding. “But if I do nothing, Beor will become even more enraged. He might return to Canaan, and Canaan might go to Kush and raise a host.”

  “Over one girl?” Europa asked.

  “Over an insult to a Hamite. You know how they are.”

  “Yes,” Europa said. “Try as I have, my sons think less like kings than Rahab’s children. It’s very frustrating. Ham’s children are warriors. This curse on Canaan…” She shook her head. “I don’t see its evidence. In fact, this one-legged Beor is more than a match for any of our sons. You would do well to retain his allegiance.”

  “At the risk of alienating Javan?” Japheth asked.

  Europa became thoughtful. “Injustice drives men to rage. What happened to Hilda was despicable. I do not condone it. So give Beor justice. Show the world that we know how to uphold what is right.”

  Japheth returned to his sons and grandsons, giving Beor the verdict. They marched to Javan Village. There, in the biggest lodge, and before the assembled clan, Japheth fined Minos, Olympus and Thebes for their wicked deed.

  Their grandfather Javan protested, demanding justice for Minos’s wounding.

  “No,” Japheth said. “Minos deserves worse. He can thank Beor’s temperance that he’s still alive. Beor had every right to slay him.”

  “Will you side with them over us?” Javan cried.

  Japheth looked troubled. “Right must triumph over blood.”

  “It wouldn’t be so in Babel,” Javan said.

  “This is not Babel,” the Patriarch said. “This is Japheth Land. Your grandsons must pay the fine.”

  “And if they don’t?” Javan asked.

  Japheth swept his hand to the armed sons and grandsons behind him, those from other villages. “I have brought men to enforce the judgment, which, if it must be gained by arms, will be doubled.”

  Javan brooded as torchlight play
ed off the high wooden rafters. “This will cost you, Father. So I urge you to reconsider.”

  “As Heaven is my witness,” Japheth said angrily, “my judgment stands.”

  Weeks later, Javan and his entire clan uprooted and began the trek to Babel. “One way or another, I’ll be revenged upon Beor and show my father that my word rings as true as the purest bronze,” Javan said. “And lest anyone forget, Semiramis is my granddaughter. We will be welcomed in Babel.”

  Lord Japheth pondered the meaning of this: that one after another, his sons and grandsons headed to Babel. So, at Europa’s urging, he called Beor. “You must convince your father and brothers to move from the Zagros Mountains and to us, for strength lies in numbers.”

  “It’s a long journey,” Beor said. “And there are certain stigmas concerning moving here.”

  “If you mean Noah’s curse, then know that I never have nor ever will enslave Canaan or any of his children. That is my word and my writ. I hope by my latest judgment to have convinced you that my word is both honest and good.”

  Beor nodded gravely, saying, “I’ll do what I can.”

  22.

  In that roundabout way of trade, traders and gossip, Kush and Deborah learned about Japheth’s plan concerning Canaan.

  “He seeks to rob of us of laborers,” Kush growled to his wife. They were in the inner sanctum, rolling special bones under flickering lamplight. “Japheth wants to keep the sons of Ham divided.”

  “So it seems,” Deborah said.

  “We must compel Canaan to move to Babel,” Kush said. “We must end this breach.”

  “We’ve tried several times,” Deborah said. “Canaan still smarts from Nimrod and feels for his son, Beor. Clearly, his feelings in this matter run deeper than we suspected.”

  “I don’t want excuses,” Kush said. “I need plans. Give me plans.”

  Deborah stood motionless as Kush rattled three shiny bones in his palm.

  “How can I win the people over to the idea of building a tower if they’re exhausted from back-breaking labor on the canals and from working in the fields?” Kush asked. “As it is, I don’t dare mention building a tower. Yet if I wait, Bel might use another to reveal his wish.”